Waking Up

Post-314 - Assumes all show canon

*****

 

The next morning Justin woke up in Brian's bed. Of course that was nothing new. It was more familiar than the bed that was supposedly his, in the apartment he shared with Daphne. Yet something felt new. And wrong.

Justin rolled over, although he already knew Brian wasn't there. He propped himself up on an elbow and yawned, looking around. Everything seemed all right - until he looked out into the living room and saw that it was nearly empty of furniture.

In a moment it all hit him again. He had been kicked out of school and Brian was broke. No job, no position. No classes, no degree. No anti-Stockwell campaign to concentrate on. No plans.

Justin fumbled on the floor to find his briefs, then headed down the bedroom steps to the kitchen. He steered automatically around the bench, although it wasn't there any more. It had been sold off with the Naked Guy painting and so much else. At least the kitchen hadn't been ransacked for sellable items yet. Maybe Brian's microwave or the juicer would be next.

He spent a few minutes picking through a bowl of oranges, slicing some in half for the juicer and tossing out the moldy ones. Using the juicer made him think about that other one, the Philippe-Starck, gone in the robbery two years ago. The loft looked almost worse now than it had then. But this time he wouldn't run away. "Guess I've lost everything," Brian had said. "Not everything," Justin had answered, and he meant it.

The only clean thing he could find to drink out of was a martini glass. Justin gulped down the juice and poured more, looking over again at Brian, who was ignoring the noise in the kitchen. He was standing bare-chested at the windows, smoking, just as he had the night Michael's hustler had barged in on them.

Michael! Justin remembered. Michael was gone, too, along with the Corvette and that pushy kid who kept coming on to Brian. Well, that's one good thing, Justin thought.

He grinned, and decided to say it out loud. "That's one good thing," he called over.

"What?" Brian didn't turn.

"That Hunter kid is gone."

Brian blew a long cloud of smoke. "I'd like to know where."

"You mean you'd like to know where Michael is." Justin felt repentant. There really wasn't anything good about any of this. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Brian from behind, holding up the juice as an offering. "Have something to drink."

"This is drinking?"

"This is nutrition. You need it."

Brian rolled his eyes but took it. Justin leaned his cheek against Brian's back and said into his shoulder blade, "It's Wednesday."

"The day after the historic election." Brian raised the glass to the windows, in a toast. "To the salvation of Gayopolis. "

"It's a Wednesday and we don't have anything to do. Any place to go. Not until - " Justin glanced without thinking towards the exquisite little clock that sat on the coffee table, but it wasn't there, because the table wasn't there. "Not until two. What time is it? Seven, eight?"

"What's at two? Tea with the Queen?"

"My shift at the diner." All of a sudden Justin felt overwhelmed. Until this moment, he had been focused on Stockwell and the election. It had filled the days since his suspension from school. Now what? He was nearly as driven and ambitious as Brian, and the thought of empty aimless hours frightened him. He blurted, "What are we going to do all day?"

"I'm sure we can think of something," Brian purred.

Justin rubbed his chin against Brian's skin in acknowledgement, but persisted, "Even you have to do something besides fuck all day."

"Do I?" Brian pulled away and stubbed out his cigarette. "Why? Nobody's going to pay me to do anything else."

"He should have gone to Debbie's."

"What? Who?"

"Hunter. He should have gone to Debbie's."

"So the police could raid her instead?"

"Why would they bother her? Michael should have stayed home with Ben. They could have told the police Hunter had run away again. They could have pretended they didn't know where he was, and he could have hidden at Debbie's."

"That wouldn't have worked," Brian said angrily.

"Why not?"

Brian couldn't think why not. It made him angrier. "Why don't you shut the fuck up and make some coffee?"

"Make it yourself," Justin retorted, but he went back into the kitchen anyway. He opened a cabinet, stared blankly at soup cans, and tried another. Cereal boxes and margarita salt. He tried two more, slamming the cabinet doors. "Shit, I can't find anything in here any more. Did you move the coffee?"

Brian had followed him and was leaning against the support beam. "It's in that one - no, I think - " he paused, shrugged as if he didn't care, and looked away.

"You don't know where anything is either." The coffee turned out to be in the refrigerator. Mollified, Justin swung the filter out of the coffeemaker and began measuring in the grinds. "This kitchen used to be organized. If I wanted something, I knew exactly where it was."

"Because you put it there."

Brian didn't add, "When you moved in after the hospital," but Justin knew what he meant. He remembered how he had felt those first few days, back once again at the loft. Too nervous to go out and too restless to sit still, he had unpacked his clothes and then re-organized everything in the kitchen. It hurt his gimpy hand but he couldn't stop. Now that he thought about it, hadn't he rearranged Brian's drawers and the closet, too?

What was I thinking? Justin wondered. And why didn't he kill me? He began, "Why -- " and broke off. Brian raised an eyebrow. Justin changed his question. "So why did you move everything after -- ?"

He meant, after I left you. Brian paused, then repeated flatly, "Because you put it there."

"But -- "

"Listen. Because **you** put it there."

"Oh." Justin, startled, fixed his gaze on the water dripping into the carafe.

"You were all over everything." Brian stared out at the loft. Justin was even more startled by this second admission. So that was why there had been so much new furniture, so much redecorating. His presence had been erased, by new futons and a Mies Van Der Rohe coffee table - and a computer neatly packed for removal. Brian said, "And now there's nothing here at all."

"I'm here." It had seemed enough last night, in the euphoria of the victory celebration. "I mean, I'm here again."

"True. But financially, you're only another liability."

"Fuck you, I am not. At least **I** have a job." He meant it as a joke, but as soon as he said it he wished he hadn't. He added quickly, "And you don't have to worry about paying my tuition anymore."

"Wish I did," Brian said. "You know, maybe now that Stockwell lost, the dean would consider letting you back in."

"I don't think so. Here." He handed Brian a coffee mug. They stood looking at each other.

"Stockwell's credibility took a pounding, thanks to - " Brian made a mock bow.

"The Concerned Citizen."

"So the dean might be more willing to listen to your side of it." Brian waited. Justin poured a second cup. "Well?" Justin shook his head. "Why not?"

"I was pissed off, when he told me to apologize to Stockwell. It got out of hand."

"Meaning you mouthed off? Did you tell him to go fuck himself?"

"Similar language."

"Great. Nice way to burn your bridges."

"I didn't think I'd want to cross them again. And actually, I don't. I don't want to go back there."

"All right, there are other art schools in the Pitts. Lindsay says the Mandell school is good."

"You asked her? It's not as good as the Institute."

"Well, if you can't have the best, you have to settle for second best."

"Brian -- "

"A degree from a good school is better than no degree from a top school. Go down today and get an application for next semester."

"The dean won't give me a reference. I bet my professors won't, either."

"So what? You had straight As and have a wunderkind portfolio to show. Lindsay can give you a reference. So can I, for that matter." He grinned. "Shall I include your rating on the fuck-o-meter?"

"Brian -- "

"'To Whom It May Concern, I highly recommend the undersigned applicant as a sex fiend. He sucks cock like a pro and his ass -- '"

"Brian!"

"What?"

"There's no point. I won't be able to pay that tuition either."

The grin vanished from Brian's face. He stared down at his coffee. "We'll think of something. Get the application in anyway. "

Everything I'm saying is hurting him, Justin thought. And I thought I was going to be a comfort to him, show him he could lean on me for once instead of the other way around.

Brian glanced up from under his long lashes. "Will you do that?"

But maybe it will make him feel better, if he thinks he's helping me. "Sure," Justin said. It sounded weak, so he added with more strength, "That's a good idea." Brian nodded, satisfied. Justin put down his coffee and went to him, stretching up to kiss him in the crook of the neck. Brian nuzzled him a little in response. Justin said in a throaty voice, "Shall I work on my recommendation now?"

"Not now." Brian straightened and Justin dropped his hands in surprise. "We have things to do."

"We do? Like what?"

"You have to get to Mandell -- "

"I can do that later."

" -- and I have to get to the store."

"The store?" Justin was dumbfounded. "Did you take a job at the Big Q or something?"

"Will you get your head out of your ass? Michael's store. Somebody's got to look after it."

Shit, I have to stop forgetting about Michael, Justin thought. Because Brian never will. "I'm sure Ben will take care of it."

"Ben has a job," Brian said dryly.

"You just said we were going to fuck all day."

"See?" Brian said to the air. "Sex fiend."

"Look who's talking."

"So young and so horny."

Justin wiggled his hips at him and stuck out his ass, which Brian promptly swatted. "Do that again," Justin taunted. "Come on, the store can survive another half hour." Brian hesitated and put down his coffee.

"You know you can't resist me," Justin said.

Suddenly Brian lunged at him, pushing him back and pinning him against the kitchen counter. Justin yelped in delighted surprise, laughing up into Brian's mouth as he leaned in for the first kiss. "See? You really can't resist me."

"Yes, I can," Brian said, as his hands yanked at Justin's briefs. "But as it happens - " he paused for another hard kiss. "I don't want to."

 

*****
 

A few hours later Justin went dutifully over to The J.H. Mandell Memorial School for the Arts and asked to speak to an admissions advisor. A grandmotherly type with an ample bosom listened brightly to his request and asked what high school he was attending. She thought he was looking ahead to next year. Justin cursed his baby face inwardly and explained that he had more than a year of college behind him already.

Ten minutes later she was still confused. Well, why shouldn't she be? Justin wasn't surprised. Mandell was the school that took in the kids who weren't good enough to get into PIFA. So why would anyone from PIFA, especially someone claiming a 3.9 cumulative, want to transfer?

Justin smiled and smiled, trying to imply that he had left PIFA voluntarily without actually lying about it. He had no idea if this could work. For all he knew, his transcript might arrive with the legend "SUSPENDED" stamped across it. Maybe it was like the army, and he'd be getting the equivalent of a dishonorable discharge.

Don't ask, don't tell. "I'm having financial difficulties," he finally said in a confiding voice. The woman's forehead cleared. Mandell was substantially cheaper than PIFA. This was the first thing that made sense to her.

"If your application is accepted - and if your portfolio is as good as you say your transcripts are, I can't imagine why it wouldn't be - we'll put you in touch with a financial aid officer. We try to be affordable for every student. Didn't you qualify for aid at the Institute?"

"No, my father's income is too high. But in fact he hasn't been helping me."

Her face clouded over again. "Then may I ask how you were managing?"

"I had a private source of income, which is no longer available."

"I see," she said uncertainly. "Well. We're getting ahead of ourselves. First you have to complete your application. You'll have to hurry, we've almost stopped taking applications for the spring semester. Do you have slides of your work to submit?"

"Umm, no. Can't I just show my portfolio?"

"It's not what we usually do, but -- " she looked at him. Justin gave her one of his best wide-eyed looks of appeal, which always worked on Debbie. She beamed back. "Well, given the time constraint maybe we can make an exception. I'll speak with the head of the department. Then we need to get in your transcripts. We can work the finances out afterwards."

"Thank you." Justin stood up. "By the way, I saw signs up about a student art show?"

"Oh yes, that's on Friday, in the Student Union, two flights up in this building. It's not one of our public shows, it's more for the professors and students. You need a pass to get in. No, wait. It would be a good thing for you to see, considering. Let me give you a temporary student ID. Don't tell the dean," she added, smiling.

"I'm not going near the dean," Justin said. "Thanks."

An hour later he met Daphne for lunch, catching her between classes at a coffee shop that was a favorite student haunt. She thought Mandell was a great idea. "Oh, you always like Brian's ideas," Justin teased, passing her a fistful of sugar packets before she asked for them. Daphne liked her coffee super-sweet.

"Well, he's right. You have to do something."

"I could get a job."

"Like what, full-time waiter?"

"No, I thought maybe I could do what I was doing at Vangard, only for real. Start at the bottom in somebody's art department."

"What would Brian say about you starting at the bottom?"

"I don't know but I'm sure it would be obscene." He grinned and she giggled. "If I start to make a little money, I could start paying his loan back."

"Did he ask you to?"

"No, of course not, but he's in so much fucking debt. If he hadn't paid my tuition he would at least have -- "

"It's not your fault he's in debt and it's not your fault he lost his job," Daphne said forcefully. They had had this discussion several times already. "Get it into your head. This is delicious, you want a taste?" Justin leaned over to take a bite out of her vegetable-stuffed pita. A little balsamic vinegar dripped down his chin and she swiped at it with her napkin. "Anyway, you have a lot better chance of paying him back if you wait until you finish your degree and get a real job. Anything you get now is going to pay shit. You're better off with tips at the diner."

"I don't want to go Mandell."

"It's a pretty good school."

"Yeah, exactly. Good but not excellent. That's the point. I know, I know! Brian says I'm being a snob. Which is rich, coming from Mr. Designer Label."

"I guess he won't be buying designer now," Daphne said. Justin felt a pang. As silly as it was to worry about labels, he knew it meant something to Brian, to be able to dress well. "So what's he going to do? Is he looking for a job?"

A wave of depression hit Justin and suddenly he didn't want to talk any more. "Yeah, sure he is," he said. But he hadn't seen any evidence of it.
 

*****

As soon as he turned the store sign to CLOSED, Brian pulled out the Jim Beam he had packed along in the morning. He had forgotten to bring a glass, so he swigged it out of the bottle, leaning on the counter, staring at the display of Rage comics he had moved to the center of the floor. When the phone at his elbow rang he looked at it with loathing. One more Spiderman question would be too much for his temper. But it was Michael's store. He grabbed the receiver and barked, "Astro Comics!"

There was a fraction of a pause and for a moment he held his breath: was it Michael? Then Justin's voice said, "It's after closing, isn't it? Why are you still there?"

Brian exhaled hard. "I can't tear myself away."

"Everything all right? I tried you at the loft first."

"I don't know how to set the fucking store alarm. I have to wait for Ben but he has a faculty meeting."

"Well, if you're going to be there awhile, I'll come keep you company. My shift's over in ten minutes. Want me to bring you the turkey meatloaf?"

"I'm sick of that shit. And I'm not hungry."

"You're drinking," Justin said, surprising him. He added in a teasing voice, "Michael will fire you."

"I waited until closing. Come over."

He hung up and paced the store, turning off most of the lights and straightening racks that had been disturbed. In the gloom the bright splashy comic covers faded to grays and whites. Finally he paced back behind the counter and glared at the counter stool which had been hurting his ass for half the afternoon. "Put a fucking decent cushion on it, why don't you?" Brian asked out loud, talking to Michael.

He shoved it aside and went all the way down on the floor, ignoring the dust, to sprawl out on his aching back. The hard cold floor felt good somehow. Supportive. I'm as low as I can go, he thought with black humor. Selling face-to-face, dealing with the great unwashed public.

Well, it wasn't much different from advertising. Figure out what the customer wants and give it to him if you've got it. If you don't, figure out how to change what he wants to what you have. Make him long for something he never knew he needed. Only instead of selling by brand or image or catchy slogan, now Brian was selling by charm. Smiling. Fixing his eyes on the customer. Making the customer think he was important - that Brian gave a shit about him.

It was hard work, he had to admit. Harder than he had thought. But it couldn't be this hard for Michael, because he really was interested in people, or at least people who were interested in comics.

Selling . . . if he could just get Michael's ear, he'd sell him on coming home and working things out. There must be legal options. Why had he let Michael run off like that, like some kind of fugitive out of a bad B movie? All for some hustling kid who would hustle Michael right out of his life savings if he had the chance.

But Michael hadn't called. Brian had his cell phone against his skin, inside his shirt, so he couldn't possibly miss the vibration. It was maddening to think of Michael, driving around with no destination, going nowhere in his 'vette. And Justin right here - going nowhere even faster.

He better have picked up that application, Brian thought, or I'll have his ass. And not in the fun way. He needs to be in school. "I can't pay that tuition either," he had said.

Brian took a long swallow of Beam and started the calculations in his head once again, trying to make the numbers come out better. If he sold the loft, he could --

The door clattered open. "Brian?" Justin called. Brian didn't bother to answer. A moment later Justin's head came over the counter, looking at him upside down.

"Jesus, are you that plastered already?"

"No," Brian said truthfully. "Not yet."

"I brought you some food anyway. It's not the meatloaf, it's the chili. Come sit up here and eat it."

"No."

Justin's face disappeared for a moment as he walked around the counter to stand at Brian's feet. Brian smiled up, his mouth crooked. "So," he said conversationally. His right arm cradled the Beam. "How was your day, dear?"

"You look like some old wino in the gutter."

"Not old."

Justin heaved a dramatic sigh and knelt down, then stretched out beside him, wriggling his way in between Brian and the bottom of the counter.

"What are you doing?" Brian asked.

"Descending to your level. Give me some." Brian passed him the bottle. They were pressed together, with Justin on his side, propped up on an elbow. Brian was still on his back, but instead of staring at the ceiling he looked up at Justin's chin, watching it waggle as he spoke.

"Debbie's nearly out of her mind with worry," Justin said. "She kept screwing up all the orders. Did you or Ben hear from Michael yet?" Brian shook his head. Justin waited, but when Brian said nothing he changed the subject. "I called the rehab place but they said it's too early in the program for Ted to have visitors or phone calls. And you know what Emmett told me? You remember that guy?"

"Justin, there have been so many, many guys."

"I mean the guy who was into crystal, the one who put Ted in the hospital. Blake."

"What about him?"

"He's one of the counselors now, can you believe it? He's all rehabilitated and he works there. Poetic irony, huh?"

Brian snorted. "I don't see anything poetic about it. Maybe he can put Ted back into a coma and put us all out of his misery."

"Brian," Justin reprimanded, giving him the censorious look that reminded Brian of Jennifer. "So how was the store? Were there a lot of customers?"

"Enough. Mikey gets more business than I thought. They all act like he's their best buddy. When's he getting back from vacation, where's my special order? Blah, blah, blah. Assholes. And I couldn't answer some of the fucking questions. One guy came in here asking for the gold edition of Metroid Men, the one where Laser Head - I mean, Laser Face - Laser Chest - "

"Laser Eye."

"Laser Dick loses his powers. He didn't know what year it was so how the fuck should I? I couldn't find it. I talked him into the second issue of Rage instead." He poked Justin with his elbow. "He liked the blowjob on the cover. And having an issue with the artist's autograph."

"What? I haven't signed any."

"I know, I had to do it for you when he wasn't looking."

"Jesus, Brian. But I thought you knew about comics."

"Only whatever's seeped into my brain while Mikey was babbling away. You probably know more, you did all that research."

"I can help out here, if you're going to keep doing this. It's not like I have anything else to do."

"Did you pick up the Mandell application?"

"Yes, but - "

"You'll have to put samples together."

"Brian, I really don't think -- "

"Shut up," Brian said, and grabbed at his neck to pull him down for a kiss. He could taste the Beam more sharply in Justin's mouth than in his own. Justin tried to keep talking but Brian forced his mouth open wider. He reached for Justin's zipper.

Justin pulled his hips and head away, laughing a little. "You can't fuck me into shutting up."

"It's worked before."

"You told me to speak up for myself."

Brian groaned. "You listen to me at the wrong times."

"You're the one who's not listening." Justin felt a little sorry he had stopped him. He leaned down and flicked his tongue across the top of Brian's ear. "I guess we could talk after."

"No," Brian said in falsetto. "I'm not in the mood anymore. I have a headache." Justin smacked his shoulder and they kissed again, laughing.

The door jangled open. "Brian?" Ben called out, as Justin had. Justin jumped in surprise and scrambled to his feet, popping up like a spring toy from behind the counter. "Justin, hi, what are you -- " Ben began, still with his hand on the door, holding it open. "Is Brian here?" Brian stood up behind Justin. Ben closed the door and looked at them, smiling a little. "I'm sorry to break anything up. But you know, I don't think Michael would like you to - "

"We were just resting," Brian said. "After a hard day's work, we thought a hard --"

"Hi," Justin cut in with determination. Brian was amused to hear embarrassment in his voice. "Did you hear from Michael?"

Ben put his bag and books down by the wall and came over to them. Justin sat on the stool while Brian set the Beam up on the counter, like a bartender filling an order. "Want some?" he asked.

"There's chili," Justin offered.

Ben shook his head to both. He looked worried, which was hardly a surprise. Brian waited, keeping his face neutral. After a moment Ben said, "I spoke to the lawyer, the one Mel referred me to. He pointed out that if anyone is in touch with Michael, they would have to say so if they're questioned." His eyes met Brian's. "So in a way it's good to be able to say truthfully that you don't know anything. I'm sure Michael wouldn't want you to get in trouble."

"Really," Brian said. He felt Justin glance at him but didn't turn.

"I also feel sure," Ben went on in his calm way, "that Michael and Hunter are both okay. And that Michael wouldn't want you to worry. And that he knows he can count on you."

"You feel that."

"Yes."

Brian nodded and started picking with restless fingers at the label on the bottle. Count on me? he thought. So I don't even get to talk to him, all I get is second-hand cryptic messages from the Professor. This is so fucked up. That kid could be telling Michael a thousand lies and he'll swallow every one.

Ben was still talking. " -- about the foster mother idea in the meantime."

"Foster mother?" Justin asked.

"It was something Brian suggested. I asked the lawyer about it. He says Rita doesn't have much chance of keeping custody, not with Hunter hating her and running away from her, and with her prison record and his charges of abuse."

"I didn't know she abused him."

Ben hesitated. He couldn't repeat what Hunter, regressed to the agonized child he had been, had told them. "That's why Michael promised we'd never let him go back to her. But we don't want him put in another state home, either. The lawyer said it's possible for a gay couple to adopt, or maybe just Michael." He grimaced. "I'd rather it were me, but my positive status is a problem. It's ironic, because Hunter being positive too makes him less likely to be adopted, you'd think they'd want someone like me to -- well, it doesn't matter. In any case, Brian suggested to me this morning that Debbie could be an emergency foster mother. The lawyer said it was a good idea but she had to go through some kind of qualification process. And I haven't spoken to her yet."

"She won't say no," Justin said.

"I'm sure she won't. The real problem is everything moves so slowly in the legal system, and Hunter's growing up every minute."

"And you were saying this was all Brian's idea?" Justin slid his hand out and pinched Brian's elbow.

"What?"

Brian said, "Justin may have suggested something."

"Oh, really? Well, the more great minds fixed on this the better." Ben smiled at Justin but his look went back to Brian. "If we could establish Hunter legally at Debbie's, he could still live with us informally. I don't want him to be Debbie's responsibility. I took Hunter on. He's my responsibility."

"He seems to be Michael's at the moment." Brian gave him a hard look back. It had been Michael's decision, he knew; Michael and his open heart that led him so right, and his rash impulses, which sometimes led him so wrong. Brian couldn't help blaming Ben all the same. "Next time, take in a stray cat instead, why don't you?"

Justin shifted uneasily but Ben didn't respond to his anger. "It's good of you to help keep the store open. I hope you didn't have a hard time."

"I know how to sell things."

"I can be here tomorrow, I don't have to teach on Thursdays."

Justin said, "I can help out, too."

"You're going to be busy," Brian said. "Getting your samples together."

"Christ."

"You moved the Rage display?" Ben asked, walking over. He frowned at it.

"Much better visibility."

"Too much so, I'm afraid. The bottom half has to be covered, that's why Michael had it in those racks."

"And cover up Rage's dick? His best selling point?"

Justin said laughing, "Did you use Rage's dick to sell today?"

Brian shook his head regretfully. "Only breeders came in."

"Lucky thing," Ben insisted. "Michael gets a lot of kids in here, Brian. We can't have a blowjob on display like this."

"It catches the eye."

"I know. Justin's work is very forceful, very expressive. But the last thing we need right now is more trouble with the police."

There was no arguing with that. Justin went to help Ben, not minding a bit, apparently. Brian, silenced, went on drinking. He watched with hard eyes as Justin helped to cover up his own work.

 

*****
 

The next afternoon Justin let himself into the loft, tossing Brian's mail next to the computer. He saw Brian wasn't home. Justin didn't know where he was, but he doubted he was out for the day.

Justin decided to sit down at the computer and check his email while he waited. If he had other things he had been hoping for a chance to check, too, he didn't let himself think about them.

He had free run of the loft and everything in it, as if he still lived here. He could hardly go back to acting like a visitor, after all. He knew the kitchen faucet had to be swiveled to the right when you shut off the water or else it would drip. He knew the cubes jammed in the icemaker if you held the button too long. He knew there was something wrong with the electrical connection for the third bulb in the bathroom, which blew out constantly, although Brian didn't care enough to get it fixed; he just kept replacing the bulb. He knew how long a shower you could take before the hot water ran out.

It was so familiar he sometimes forgot he had someplace else to go. And it was annoying, if he stayed over too many nights in a row, to realize he'd forgotten to bring another change of clothes or had left something he needed back at Daphne's place. His place. One morning, during his brief employment at Vanguard, he had stomped around cursing, because he hadn't brought a jacket and the temperature had dropped twenty degrees overnight. "Why don't you stop living out of a bag and move back in?" Brian had demanded impatiently.

"I told you, I like taking care of myself for a change." He had said that the night Brian took him back, right after the first fuck, before they had even left the office.

"So pay me rent if it'll make you feel better."

Justin was looting through the closet, trying to find some jacket of Brian's that wouldn't look ridiculous on him. He paused and shot Brian a look. "You want me here?"

"You ARE here."

"My jacket isn't." Brian's answer wasn't good enough, but he hadn't expected it to be. Justin gave up on the collection of jackets, all fine leather and too fine for him, and reached for a heavy cable sweater Brian never wore. He could pretend it was fashionably big and push up the sleeves. Brian walked over and helped pull it over his head, smoothing it down over Justin's chest.

"The door's open," he said in the low intense voice he used in bed. "Whenever you want."

Justin looked up into Brian's face in surprise and his resolve nearly melted. But he knew what he wanted. He had moved in and out of this loft so many times, for so many reasons. He had come to escape his father, not once but twice, and to heal after the hospital. No more. The next time he lived with Brian, he wanted it to be permanent. So he had answered lightly, "Eventually," and Brian had nodded.

Now, sitting in front of the computer monitor, Justin thought about it again. With all this financial trouble, it would make more sense for them to share expenses. His contribution would really be worth something to Brian now.

But that wasn't a good reason either. "I want to come home to you," Brian had said that final time. It was the closest they had come to the right reason.

There were more pressing problems. Justin checked his email, dumped spam, laughed at a joke someone from the Institute had forwarded, and answered a quick hello from Molly. He clicked out of the email server and then, as if he hadn't thought about it at all, hadn't even considered it, it was just an impulse, opened up the "Recent Documents" listing. It would show him what Brian had last been looking at on the computer.

He had been expecting - what? A resume, maybe, or the draft of a cover letter seeking employment. Or listings of agencies. Instead he seemed to be looking at legal articles. Justin frowned in confusion and then saw the heading: "Bankruptcy."

"Oh, shit," he said out loud. "Shit!"

Before he could take a closer look, he heard the elevator. Hastily he clicked out of the files. By the time Brian slid the door open, Molly's letter was back on the screen.

Brian was carrying a grocery bag. "Hey," he greeted Justin casually. They hadn't made plans for Justin to come by, but he wasn't surprised to see him. They rarely planned to be together -- they just were. He dumped the bag on the kitchen counter. "Chicken. I thought we could eat in."

"It's cheaper," Justin agreed, forcing a smile, but his chest burned. If Brian was thinking about declaring bankruptcy, it was even worse than he had thought. Wouldn't he lose the loft? And all his credit for years and years?

Brian came over to kiss his cheek, glancing at the monitor. "How's Molly?"

"Bratty as ever. But at least she writes. We get along better in email than we do when we talk." Justin tried to keep up the chatter while his mind was whirling. "My mom grounded her for not doing her homework. Sometimes Mom's kind of hard on her."

"Well, at least she cares." Brian leafed through his mail. He paused at one envelope, looked again, and tossed it down unopened.

"What's that?"

"Nothing yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Those gold card bills will be coming in soon. You want a drink?"

"Not this early. If you make the minimum payments, your credit is still okay, isn't it?"

"And the debt keeps growing. You have any idea how high the interest is on those cards?"

"But when you find a job, you can start paying down the principal." Justin waited. "Right?"

Brian walked over to the liquor cart. He could feel Justin's eyes boring into his back. He couldn't face more Jim Beam for some reason, so he chose vodka and splashed some into a glass. Now he could face Justin, at least. He turned and met Justin's look, the look he could feel trying to go right through him, with a blank impervious face.

"Did you make any phone calls today?"

"Phone calls?"

"About getting a job." Justin sounded a little exasperated, which gave Brian a grim satisfaction. He made a half-movement, about to toss himself on to the futon before he remembered it wasn't there, and then looked for somewhere to sit. The computer chair Justin was parked in was the only thing left.

"Fuck," Brian murmured, and climbed the platform steps to lie down on the bed. Predictably, Justin came and stood over him. Hoping to distract him, Brian put out a hand in invitation. "C'mere."

Justin didn't move. "Brian, you have to snap out of this. Wake up."

"I just got in bed."

"That's not what I meant." But Justin relented momentarily. He kicked off his sneakers and climbed on to the bed, propping himself against the wall with some of the pillows. Brian rolled on to his side to face him and held out the vodka. Justin shook his head and went back doggedly to his point. "You have to do something," he said. "You have to get another job. You haven't even been looking since Vance kicked you out."

"I've been busy."

"I know, we were both concentrating on the election. It was hard to think about anything else. And you did it, you were the straw that broke Stockwell's back. But it's over. You have to think about your next step." Brian didn't answer. Justin thought about the bankruptcy articles but didn't want to admit he had looked at the files. Finally he said, "You can't just give up."

"When are you going back to Mandell?"

"Tomorrow, but don't change the subject."

"What the fuck is the subject, nagging? Ball-breaking?"

"Brian, you're so busy trying to help me and Michael, you're not doing anything for yourself."

"Your concern is touching. Now fuck off. Or better yet, suck me off." Brian tilted his head up to give him a leer. Justin couldn't help smiling, but it vanished from his face when Brian took another gulp of vodka.

"Getting shit-faced every day isn't the answer to unemployment. If you don't do something you're going to wind up like Ted. Look at what happened to him when he lost his business."

"He fulfilled his final destiny as a total asshole?"

"I mean he fell down the rabbit hole."

"I'm not taking any magic mushrooms, Alice. I can't afford drugs, remember?"

Justin took the glass out of his hand. "There's more than one way to do it. Drinking all day works, too." Brian suddenly rolled over, away from him, and reached for the phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"The White Queen. Do I have your permission?" Brian's voice was sharp. He was beginning to feel like the subject of an interrogation. Justin heard it, along with the echo of their voices in the empty loft. He knew he was pushing too hard. "Hey, it's me," Brian said into the receiver. He sounded so warm Justin was surprised, as if he were talking to Michael. Then he realized it must be Lindsay.

Feeling a little guilty, Justin leaned over and kissed the top of Brian's head. Brian rolled back to him, sliding an arm around him and pulling Justin down to snuggle into his chest. Justin sighed. He gave up his questions and gave in to the comfort of Brian's body. "Tell her I said hi," he yawned, suddenly sleepy. He listened for awhile as Brian chatted about Lindsay's new job and Gus. After a time he stopped following the conversation, stopped thinking about bankruptcy and debts. And second-rate schools.

Just before he drifted off he heard Brian say, "I want to come by your gallery tomorrow. There's something I want to do," but he didn't think about that, either.
 

*****
 

On Friday, on his way to dropping off his application, Justin stopped first at the student art show. The advisor was right, they were checking student IDs, but he was just waved in. I guess I still look like a student, he thought.

He spent an hour wandering the two big halls, his heart sinking. He had been hoping to be wrong, but it was just what he had thought, a place of mediocrity. Not that there weren't some excellent pieces - that tree-bark sculpture was brilliant - but most of it was dull. Competent, yes, signs of good technique everywhere. But so little of it was challenging or original. He had known this without even seeing it; he had said so to Brian.

"So maybe you'll be their top student," Brian had argued. "When you're finished you can go out and show the world how good you are and nobody but you will give a shit what school you went to."

Justin left the exhibit without speaking to anyone and went down two flights of stairs. He stood in front of the "Undergraduate Admissions" door, clutching the folder with his completed application in his hands. The portfolio on his back, which most of the time he noticed no more than one of his own limbs, suddenly felt heavy and uncomfortable. He shifted it, thinking about the pieces inside it, his pick of his own best work. There were some that had flowed out of him, created out of a dream; there were some that had been worked over and revised and sweated over and cursed at. They were all good in their way. He knew when he wasn't doing his best and always trashed the offending piece before he could get attached to it. Daphne had once tried to stop him from throwing out a portrait of his mother she liked, but the perspective was off and the expression was wrong, and he was adamant. What he kept was good. Damn fucking good.

Make that too fucking good, for this place. This place would accept less than his best. For the first time in his life he'd get As he hadn't earned. He could coast and still be a top student, instead of fighting his way past other talented, driven people.

"It's not a question of snobbery, it's a question of standards," he had tried to explain to Brian. What if he lost his surety, his own eye for method and creativity?

"Just get your fucking degree," Brian kept repeating in exasperation. He was being practical, he knew Justin would have a hard time launching any career without a college education, and the lack of a degree might haunt him for years. He was right, of course.

But this was wrong.

Justin turned his back on Admissions and walked rapidly towards the main entrance. He stopped for only a moment to shove the folder, bulging with forms, into a garbage can. Then he put his hand on the exit doors, shoved them open, and stepped out into the gray drizzling day.

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