True Believer

Brian woke up with a weight on his chest and something looming over him. He let out a startled cry and bucked as hard as he could. The weight cried out, too, and toppled to the sheets beside him.

"Christ!" Brian complained, now that he knew what had happened. Apparently Justin had climbed up on him, fully clothed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Wow, you have some reflexes," Justin commented. Unperturbed, he climbed right back up to straddle Brian, who didn't resist this time, and sat on his chest.

"You should know all about my reflexes by now. Lower."

Justin scooted down Brian's body so he could sit on his cock instead. "Better?"

"If you're going to wake me up like this, you could at least be naked."

"Later," Justin said cheerfully. "You shouldn't still be sleeping anyway, it's after 12. We weren't out that late last night. I've been up for hours. I went -- "

"Will you take this shit off already?" Brian reached to unzip Justin's jeans.

"Brian, I want to show you something."

"Good. Hurry up."

"Not that. Not now. Stop!" Laughing, Justin smacked Brian's hands away. "Listen -- "

"Then let me go back to sleep."

"No."

"Fuck. Can I have a cigarette at least? Or a cup of coffee?"

"No and no. This is important. Come on. I just went downstairs to check for the mail and this letter came that I want to show you." He reached for some papers that had fallen on the bed. "I -- "

"Is taking a piss allowed?"

Justin hesitated, as if he really couldn't decide, so Brian bucked him off again and headed for the bathroom. "Hurry up," Justin said, propping some of the pillows behind his back. He realized his hand, clutching at the letter, was shaking. I'm excited, that's all, Justin thought. I'm excited . . . No, that's not the first thing to say. What's the first thing?

He had been rehearsing what he might say to Brian at this point for days. Now, like an actor losing his lines, it had all gone out of his head. It's the excitement, he told himself. I'm a little anxious, too, that's all. If he doesn't think it's a good idea what will I . . .I'm excited. I'm a little anxious.

Brian stood by the bed. Justin looked up at him and thought, Oh fuck. I'm terrified.

"So what is all this? Did you get your draft notice?"

"Sort of." Justin cleared his throat and sat up straighter. Brian got back on the bed, stretching out naked on his side to face Justin, and raised his eyebrows. Justin said, "Okay. Well, the first thing is, I -- I -- Do you remember when I went to see my grandmother?"

"No."

Justin blinked. "No? It was only a month ago."

"What I remember," Brian said, "is that you said you were going to your grandmother's. But you didn't, you went somewhere else."

Justin gaped. "How did you know?"

"So this is your big confession?"

"Yeah, kind of. The thing is -- "

"Where did you go really?"

Justin tried to catch his breath. The conversation wasn't going right. "New York. I was in New York."

Whatever Brian might have been guessing, that wasn't it. He stared. "With who?"

"My mother, I told you. No, really, that part was true. Look, just listen a minute." Brian was silent. Justin tried to start again. "Do you remember that brochure you left on the pillow for me that morning? The one for an incredible art college in Manhattan?"

Suddenly wary, Brian looked at him for a moment. Then he said, "That was Metro Art & Design. It was the best of all the ones I looked at."

"Definitely. Well, I kept looking at the brochure, and I looked them up on their web site, and I researched their professors, and their graduates, and their classes and -- and it sounded so great and I -- so I applied for admission this fall."

Brian didn't move. Brian didn't speak. Brian had no reaction. But something had suddenly changed, and definitely for the worse. Justin tried to control his panic. This was the hard part, he had to get past this point, and then everything would be all right. It would. It had to be.

"My mom came with me for the interview. They gave me a special appointment because we were coming from out of town. I brought my slides, my portfolio, and everything. She helped me explain about what happened at the Institute, but they didn't seem to care that much. The advisor was really interested in my slides and my old SAT scores. He said I'd hear in six weeks but it came in sooner than that." Justin held out the letter. His hand was still.

Brian didn't take it. He asked, "And that's your acceptance?"

"Yes. Brian -- "

"Congratulations," Brian said. "That's good. That's what you should be doing."

"Brian, I'm not finished, you have to listen to me. I thought -- "

"What about the tuition?"

"Well, it's even higher than the Institute, but --"

"Okay, I can -- "

"Fuck!" Justin exploded. "Don't you dare offer to pay my goddamn tuition in another city!" Brian shrugged and sat up to reach for a cigarette. "You can't afford it anyway," Justin added, spluttering. He didn't know why it was making him so angry.

Brian lit up. "And you can?"

Justin sighed heavily. All right, he thought. I guess we have to do this the hard way. Maybe in a couple of centuries he'll let us talk about the real issue. He said with as much patience as he could, "As a matter of fact, yes. They're going to give me financial aid."

"I thought your father made too much money."

"It doesn't matter any more. I filed as an emancipated minor."

"Emancipated? What the fuck is that, has Lincoln returned from the grave to free you?"

"It's when you can prove you've been living independently of your parents for over a year." Justin cleared his throat. "In most states," he informed Brian, "I'm not technically an emancipated minor because I'm over eighteen. However, for purposes of schooling, under Pennsylvania law, someone under twenty-one can -- "

"Are you going to art school or law school? Get to the fucking point."

"The point is the way Metro handles it. Their guidelines are that they won't take my father's income into consideration if I can prove I've been living without his support for over a year. And I've been living on my own a lot longer than that."

"You were living with me. And Debbie. Not to mention -- "

"I just said you. I mean, I used the loft address and claimed I was paying the owner rent all along. Are you going to turn me in?"

"I'd rather turn you over." Brian gave him a crooked smile and took another drag on the cigarette.

"In a minute," Justin said, trying to play along. "So they're giving me some aid and letting me take out a student loan for the rest."

"You can't swing that. You don't have collateral."

"I only need a co-signer to back it up."

"I -- "

"No, no! It's okay, my mom did it. It's all taken care of. She has her townhouse as collateral and she's making some money now. In fact, she's giving me $5,000 to get settled into an apartment, out of her last commission. I didn't want to take it, but she kept saying she felt so awful she hadn't helped with my tuition at the Institute, at least she could do this. So how many months' rent do you think that would be? How long will it last?"

"In Manhattan?" Brian seemed to consider it. "A week."

"Come on, Brian, it can't be that bad."

"And what happens when the $5,000 runs out and your next waiter job doesn't cover expenses?"

"Well, by that time," Justin said deliberately, "I figure you'll have found a job." Brian's face, carefully calm, carefully neutral, carefully distant, suddenly flushed. Justin watched, feeling almost sorry for him, as he tried to keep down the sudden rush of emotion. Once upon a time he would have teased Brian for this, goaded him for letting his feelings show. "Brian Kinney gives a shit!" he had once crowed. But now he pretended not to notice. He added lightly, "And then you can start paying the rent."

"I see," Brian said. "So you made all these plans without mentioning them to me? Why?"

"I wanted to find out if Metro would really take me first."

"And now I'm just supposed to go along with this?"

"Yes," Justin said, trying to tease. "You're just a tagalong." Like I was going to be, he thought, when you were making your plans at Vangard.

"Fuck you." Brian stubbed out the cigarette.

"Okay. Now?"

For once Brian didn't seem to be diverted by this invitation. He went on glaring at Justin, his eyebrows furrowed. Justin leaned over, ignoring his stony face, and tried to kiss him. When Brian turned his mouth away, Justin kissed his cheek and ear instead. If they made love now, it would soothe his fear and Brian's anger, and let them talk in the language that for them worked better than any words. The words could come after.

"Brian," Justin murmured, stroking his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

Brian relented. He exhaled hard and wrapped one arm around Justin, too tightly for comfort. His other hand slid up into Justin's hair. Taking firm hold, he pushed Justin down on to his back and started to strip off his clothes.

At first their fucking was a little desperate. Justin clutched at whatever parts of Brian he could reach, as if Brian would get away if he didn't hold on. But after a time Brian slowed down their pace. His hands and mouth became more gentle and the tightness in Justin's chest eased. They could hear each other now.

Afterwards they lay wrapped up together, lazy, as if it were an ordinary Saturday afternoon like all the rest. Justin was reluctant to break the quiet, but he knew the best time to get Brian to talk was after fucking -- assuming you could consider any moment a good time to get Brian to talk, of course. Keeping one arm wrapped across Brian's chest and his right leg tangled through both of Brian's, Justin asked in a low voice, "So what do you think of my New York idea?"

"I believe New York was my idea," Brian said. "Remember?"

"Yes. That's how I knew you would like this plan."

"Oh, I do?"

"Don't you?" Brian was silent. Justin said, "You've been wanting to go to New York practically since I first met you. Don't you think it's exciting?"

"For you, yes." He added, "I want you to do this."

"I want us to do this." He waited. Brian said nothing. Justin started to breathe a little harder, as his chest constricted again. "You don't want to? Why not?"

"I have a new account. You know that. And even more PR work."

"I noticed." Freelance writers, artists, and photographers had been in and out of the loft for a month. Justin had tried to stay out of the way when meetings were going on, although Brian didn't seem to care one way or the other. He had splurged on new furniture for the entire loft and had created a mini-office around his computer area. Katie, the assistant editor from the Frame who had given him the account, loved to stop by for lunch. Last time she had kissed Justin hello and goodbye like an old friend.

"But Brian, don't you want to get back into advertising full time? You could -- "

"I told you before, I'm not crawling to any big Manhattan agency with nothing to show for myself and begging for a job."

"This is different. You have work now, it's not like you're unemployed." Brian didn't answer. Justin persisted, "You don't even have to give up the Frame, do you? You don't have to be in the same city to handle an account. I know Ad Alley has a lot of clients that aren't in Pittsburgh. Those Gleam On furniture polish people are headquartered in San Diego. Everything's done over the 'net."

"I could come back once or twice a month for meetings, put in some face time," Brian said quietly. Justin realized he had been thinking it through after all. "It's not that far away."

A wave of excitement hit Justin "And if you come back a lot, so can I. I mean, you want to see Michael and Gus, and I can visit my mom and Daphne and Debbie -- "

"Slow down, I didn't say I would go yet. I had been thinking before . . . that maybe I really could open my own shop here, if things went well. Two more accounts would be enough to do it."

"Can't you do that in Manhattan?"

"Get serious," Brian said in annoyance. "Do you know how hard it is to run your own place? Do you have any idea what the competition is like in Manhattan? I can just see myself, trying to compete with the hometown talent in New York. No fucking way."

"Sorry," Justin said in a small voice. He seemed to have stepped on to a roller coaster; his heart was pounding and his stomach kept lurching as he went up and down. "I didn't realize."

"But I wouldn't have to open my own agency," Brian went on. Justin decided to stay quiet. Brian seemed to be talking to himself anyway. "If I can convince the Frame to stay with me, I could . . . " He stared up at the beams overhead. Justin squeezed his eyes shut, praying Brian would finish the thought without Justin having to ask him anything. Finally Brian said, "If I can keep the account, I'll be bringing new business into any agency that hires me. My PR work, too. Some agencies have departments for both."

Justin dared to ask, "That would make you a valuable prospect, wouldn't it?"

"Bringing in new accounts is the hardest part of the business."

"So you wouldn't be crawling to an agency, you'd be offering them something they'd really want. Your talent plus your own clients."

"Mmmm." Brian had a sudden vision of himself, standing in some corner office overlooking Madison Avenue, dangling the Frame account in front of some eager employer. That employer wouldn't have to know he needed a job to support a struggling artist. Brian smiled at the ceiling. "Maybe this could work."

"Of course it can! I told you so!" Justin hugged Brian harder, ecstatic, and sat up. Brian smiled at him. Justin burst out, "We could go next weekend and start looking for an apartment, I thought maybe downtown if we -- " But Brian stopped him.

"Shhh," he said, pulling Justin back down to quiet him. "Not now. Later."

Justin gave him one more anxious look. "But you'll go?"

"Yeah, why not?" he said lazily, as if Justin had proposed trying a new restaurant instead of changing their lives.

Justin didn't care. He beamed and tilted his head up to kiss Brian again. He was dying to start making plans, but never mind, they had time. If Brian wasn't ready to talk all about it, that was okay. The important thing was that it was settled.

He was excited, with thoughts and questions about the move whirling through his head. But the relief, after all the strain of waiting and worrying, had tired him out. By the time Brian lit up his second cigarette, Justin had fallen asleep.

Brian waited, finishing his smoke while Justin's breathing deepened. Then he slid quietly away from Justin's hands, careful not to disturb him, and stood up. He pulled on his jeans and paused by the bed, looking down.

Justin's face was relaxed, his mouth open a little. His hair was plastered back with sweat, reminding Brian of the way he wore it when they first met. He looked like the schoolboy he had been then. Brian wasn't charmed. He found it disturbing.

Restless, he walked down the bedroom stairs and drifted around the living room, trailing his hand across the fine leather of the new black couch, finally halting by the windows. He thought about Justin at seventeen, eager and certain he could take on the world. But Justin had become a man, with no use for a boy's dreams any more.

And now he thinks he's solved everything, taken care of everything, Brian thought. He thinks all that comes next is happily ever after.

But Brian wasn't sure what "happily" meant and he didn't believe in "ever after." He stood at the windows a long time, wide awake and staring out at his little corner of Pittsburgh.

 

*****
 

Two weeks later Michael came by the loft after closing up the store. Justin was on his computer and Brian was on the phone in his office area. When he let himself in, Brian waved at him, both in greeting and to let Michael know he couldn't be interrupted. "Let me check my calendar," he was saying into the receiver.

But Justin called, "Hi, Michael! Come and look at this space!" Brian snapped his fingers; he was being too noisy. "Oops, sorry," he murmured.

Michael joined him, careful to keep his voice down. "What do you mean, space?"

"Loft space. We've been looking at the New York listings. Some of the apartments are fantastic." Justin added ruefully, "If you ignore the prices. Christ. I think everybody in Manhattan must be a millionaire."

Michael looked over his shoulder as Justin clicked on the virtual tour of one of the listings. "Wow, that does look great. Skylights and parquet floors. But do you need something that big?"

"Brian says we should invest in space now, even if it's run down. We can renovate later. Here, look at this one."

"Hmm. That's even better."

"That's what I think, but it's in Brooklyn. But Brian's such a snob, he wants to be in Manhattan."

"Ben has some friends in Brooklyn. They say their neighborhood's very trendy. So are we going over to Woody's?"

"Wait, look at one more." Justin brought up another one. "This is in Greenwich Village."

Michael made complimentary noises again, then checked the price. "Jesus. You know Brian still has to pay off his debt. Should you be looking at something this expensive? Can you afford it?"

"We can if this comes through," Brian said suddenly behind them.

"What'd they say?" Justin asked, his face lighting up.

"They said they were very interested. I've got an appointment Saturday with one of the partners."

Justin let out a whoop. Michael asked, "Who? What?"

"A place called Breckmann & Associates in Chelsea. They're not a big shop, but they have some great accounts. Very creative. I've got a preliminary interview with them. They're very interested in me. And in getting the Frame," he added dryly.

"New York, here we come," Justin sang out, and clicked off the computer. "I'll call the broker my mother told me about, maybe we can see some of these places after your interview."

"All right. We'll get up early Saturday and drive straight through."

"You want to stay overnight? I'll have to change my shifts."

"No, let's save the money. We can drive back Saturday night."

"That's a lot of driving," Michael said.

"Might as well get used to it, we'll be driving back a lot."

"That's good to hear."

"I better go," Justin exclaimed, looking at his watch. "I'm on at the diner," he explained to Michael, and went into the bedroom to change.

Michael said, "So it's just you and me for Woody's?"

"Where's the Professor?"

"Writing like a fiend. He started another book."

"Then it's just the two of us," Brian said. Justin reappeared long enough to grab his keys off the table, kiss Brian goodbye, and wave at Michael. After he left, Brian went to the fridge. "Want to start here? How about a beer?"

"Sure." Michael sat down at the counter. As Brian flipped off the bottle caps, Michael said lightly, "You've talked about New York so much. But I guess you're really going this time."

"Seems that way."

"It sounds great," Michael said. He was forcing himself to sound cheerful; Brian heard it. Michael couldn't stop himself from adding, "Especially for Justin." Brian handed him the beer without answering. Michael, recovering, said quickly, "I mean since he's already been accepted. But looks like you'll find a job soon, too."

"I want to have something definite by the time we go. Breckmann would be a good shop to get into."

"And you're sure you can take the Frame account with you?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Mark's only interested in the campaign and Katie will probably like to have an excuse to pop into New York from time to time."

"I'm going to miss you," Michael blurted.

"You've got the Professor and the baby hustler."

"Stop calling Hunter that," Michael reprimanded, but he laughed at the same time. "The real baby's coming soon, too. Melanie's just a few weeks from delivery. You'll still be here for that, won't you? You can't miss me becoming a father."

"Relax, we're not on the run from the law." Brian grinned. "Not like some people I used to know. Justin's not starting school until the fall. We'll move over the summer."

"And you have to sell the loft first, right?"

Brian blinked. "I hadn't thought about it."

"God, this is going to be so hard. I remember how I felt when I was in Portland without you."

"This isn't as far. I'll be back a lot on weekends."

"But it won't be the same."

Brian leaned over the counter closer to him and gave him a soft smile. "It's already not the same, Mikey."

"I guess. I mean, I know you have Justin and I have a whole family now, and -- "

"But even though it's not the same, it never changes. Nothing really changes between us, Mikey." Brian smiled wider and turned their catch phrase upside down. "Never has, never will."

Michael laughed again, then suddenly stopped. "Never was," he said.

"What?"

"It never was."

"Could you translate from the fortune cookie for me?"

Michael took in a breath, hesitated, and then suddenly rushed on as if afraid to wait. "We never were," he said. "Us as a couple, I mean. I don't mind any more, I love Ben so much. But sometimes I still wonder . . . why didn't it ever happen? Why didn't you want it? You know there was a time I did."

"Jesus." Brian was too taken aback to find words. He put down his beer and fumbled in his shirt pocket for a cigarette, then stopped as if he forgot what he was looking for. "Jesus," he said again, and met Michael's eyes.

Michael was trying to smile. Until he had seen the apartments on the computer screen, the reality of Brian leaving hadn't sunk in. "You know, I always thought if I ever managed to get the courage to ask you this, I'd have to be really drunk. I never pictured us sitting here sober together."

"How the fuck did you picture us?" Brian asked. "Madly in love, with rings on our fingers? And me vowing never to fuck another guy?"

Michael admitted, "It was always hard to get that part of the picture into focus."

"No wonder. Don't you know me better?" Brian sounded annoyed.

"You were just never attracted to me, right? No, no, it's okay. You can tell me. I 'd like to really know."

"Mikey, haven't I always told you how hot you are?"

"Then what was it?"

At first he thought Brian would refuse to answer. Would he hide behind some obscene joke, or a show of indifference? But Brian said, "You were all I had. For a long time."

Michael's brows drew together. He asked, "So you mean . . . you didn't want to risk it?" Brian shrugged and picked up his beer again. "I know what you mean. I think. Look at Teddy and Em. They're finally on speaking terms again but they're not really friends." Brian nodded. His shoulders relaxed. He thought the conversation was over, until Michael persisted, "I think we could have done better than they did. It could have been great."

"Come on, Michael. I would have been the death of you."

"What? Are you kidding?"

"And then your mother would have headlined on the evening news, for murdering me. High drama, much angst. No thanks."

"I can't believe this," Michael said. "So it was because you -- you thought you were protecting me? From yourself?" Brian shrugged again. "That's completely insane. Hey, what about Justin, doesn't he need protection?"

"He can take care of himself," Brian said dryly.

"Christ," Michael said, but he smiled. Brian smiled back; they were both a little relieved. "Well, let's get going. Let me take a piss first."

Brian nodded and went on drinking his beer as Michael went into the bathroom. He knew Michael was happy now; his ancient riddle finally solved in a way that satisfied him. It had worked out for both of them, and now Brian would never have to add the rest. He would never have to explain why it was different with Justin. He would never have to put into words the feelings Justin had created in him that no one else ever had -- feelings he didn't want to name, feelings he wouldn't stamp with conventional labels. Feelings he resented sometimes, because they made him do things which he had no intention of doing.

Like moving to New York when he wasn't really ready, for instance.
 

*****
 

The weekend after Brian's first interview at Breckmann, Justin insisted they host a "family" lunch at the loft. "We can tell them about the apartments we saw and your interview. It'll give everybody a chance to put their two cents in and give us all their opinions," he argued. "Might as well get it over with. And we should do it soon, before Melanie has the baby."

"Do we have to spend every minute of every fucking day planning this move? And why do I have to feed these vultures?"

"If we don't do something, Debbie will. You really want her to host a party for us?"

"Oh God," Brian groaned, but Justin knew he had clinched it.

Most of the family came, except for Vic, who had gone away for the weekend with Rodney, and Hunter, who refused to leave his new Nintendo game to watch "that guy" (as he referred to Justin) play house with Brian.

Ted had been joining them at the diner more often, and always came for Debbie's dinners, although none of them had seen him at Babylon. He hadn't been in the loft since before his rehab, and almost seemed nervous when he came in. Justin, trying to put him at ease, went forward to play host before Brian could cut in. "What do you want to drink, Ted?" he asked.

"Sparkling water, and lime if you have it."

"Water?" Justin repeated in astonishment, then flushed suddenly, realizing. "Um, sure."

"Off the sauce?" Brian asked. "But you're not a booze hound, you're a crystal queen."

"Brian," Lindsay said.

Ted said, "I'm still in program, and they tell you to stay completely sober. No addictive substances at all."

Brian shuddered. "Remind me not to try rehab," he said to Justin.

"Why don't I remind you to shut up? Melanie, how about you, you can't drink either, right?"

"Just ginger ale, baby, thank you."

"Me too, please, Justin," Ben said. "I don't want to drink this early."

"Well, this is going to be a fun afternoon," Brian observed.

"I'll have champagne," Emmett said airily.

"Thank God."

"Don't pop your cork over me," Emmett said.

Lunch went well. Despite his complaints, Brian enjoyed hosting an event as long as he could make an impression, and today he had the chance to show off all the new designer furniture in the loft. He was still making payments on his debt, but he had enough cash flow now to spend for fun again. The lunch spread was proof of that. They had catered it in from Justin's favorite gourmet shop, spending an entire afternoon tasting dishes and arguing over which to choose. They had come home with a little of everything, including a spicy dip they had used on each other - a detail Brian was about to share until Justin jerked his head in reminder towards his mother. She was the first to bring up the topic of their move.

Jennifer asked, "Honey, are you two planning on taking all this new furniture with you? These are lovely pieces, but I don't think you're going to get space as big as this." Her voice was calm and cheerful, and she felt rather proud of herself. After the first excitement of helping Justin contact Metro and make his application, the sadness of knowing he really was moving away kept stinging at her. But she was determined not to spoil his excitement. After all, if he had gone to Dartmouth like Craig had wanted, he would have moved away long ago.

"Maybe we can," Justin said. "Anybody need the salt and pepper?"

"I guess if you had known you were moving, you wouldn't have bought all this shit," Debbie said to Brian.

"Somebody forgot to tell me he was making moving plans."

"Somebody forgot to tell me he was trying to get back into advertising," Justin retorted.

"Maybe you two should fuck less and talk more," Debbie said.

"Why?" Brian asked.

Jennifer coughed. "Justin tells me you might have a good job prospect, Brian."

"It's called Breckmann & Associates. I'm scheduled for another conference call with them on Monday. They haven't made a formal offer but they've already discussed salary with me." He lifted his champagne glass as if toasting himself. "And they know they're not getting me cheap."

"And your account with, um, that magazine will go with you?"

"It's called In the Frame," Lindsay said.

Brian said, "I haven't asked them yet, I want to settle with Breckmann first."

"You haven't told Sidney yet, either," Lindsay said. Brian shrugged. Sidney wasn't much in his thoughts these days.

"Could I get some more ice here, Sunshine?" Debbie asked.

"Sure." Justin got up.

"You might as well bring in the ice bucket," Brian said.

Gus, who had been wandering around the loft while they ate, gnawing on the heel of a gourmet Irish soda bread, came up to Melanie's elbow and asked for apple juice. "Ask Daddy," Melanie said. "If he has such a thing."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because people don't mix liquor into apple juice."

"Maybe I'll start now for Gus," Brian said brightly. "Come on, Sonny boy." He led Gus into the kitchen. Behind him Ben asked Jennifer about local real estate prices, and all of them started to complain about rising costs.

In the kitchen, Justin filled up the ice bucket from the icemaker dispenser, while Brian found the apple juice which Justin, in fact, had remembered to buy for Gus. "You know, my mom might be right about the furniture," Justin said.

"It doesn't matter. I should probably sublet it fully furnished. We'll get new stuff in New York."

Justin paused, holding the bucket. "What do you mean, sublet the loft? Aren't you going to sell it?"

"No."

"But -- " Justin floundered. He had assumed Brian would clear up the rest of his debt with the sale -- and then he'd be free and clear, ready for a new start. Of course Brian loved the loft. It wouldn't be easy for him to let it go, but still . . . Justin hadn't even asked, it had seemed so obvious. "Why not?" he stammered.

"In case."

"In case of what? Fire, looting, act of God?"

"In case things change. This was your idea, so you should be able to keep the New York apartment. You could always get a roommate to help carry the rent. And I can come back here if I have to."

"Come back?" Justin repeated, feeling dazed. Then his eyes widened in anger. "Oh, I get it. We're not getting married but we are having a prenuptial agreement, is that it? You're already figuring out how to undo everything."

Brian shrugged and poured the juice for Gus, who was standing by his knees. "You wanted me to think about the future."

"Not that kind of future, you shit! You won't make plans with me but you'll make plans for leaving me?"

"I am making plans with you, for fuck's sake. What do you think all this is? What were we just talking about out there? And I'm not going to leave you. I already told you that. Don't make a big epic drama out of it."

"Brian Kinney, if you -- "

"This is for your benefit. It's in case you change your mind."

"I'm not going to change my mind!"

"Then it won't be a problem. Right?" Brian smirked and handed the cup to Gus. "Use two hands, Sonny boy." Gus took the juice carefully, nodding.

"So even though we're moving to another city together, you still think we're only some temporary - I don't know - some whim on my part?"

"I told you," Brian said. "It lasts as long as you want."

"You just don't believe anything I say, do you?" Justin demanded. His voice rose to a shout. "You don't believe in my feelings, you don't believe in my promises, you don't -- you don't believe in us long-term at all!"

The babble at the table suddenly paused. Even Debbie's voice was silenced.

"Christ," Brian said. "What are we, a religion? Do I have to recite an oath of faith every week at church?"

Justin threw the ice bucket into the sink. It crashed loudly against the stainless steel and the ice clattered into the drain. Gus, interested, stood up on tiptoe, trying to peer into the sink. His glass tilted and juice started to dribble down his overalls.

"Something wrong?" Only Lindsay, wanting to take Gus away, had dared to come into the kitchen. "Gus, come inside with Mommy." But Gus suddenly became obstinate. He stepped back behind Brian and shook his head. "Gus," Lindsay repeated. "Come with me."

"Leave him alone, he's fine," Brian said.

Lindsay looked at him, then at Justin, who was gripping the edge of the counter and staring straight ahead. "Are you all right?" she asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Leave him alone, too," Brian barked, at the same time Justin said, "Sure, I'm great, can't you tell?" Lindsay started to stammer something but Justin stamped past both of them and went back to the table.

"We're out of ice," they heard him announce.

"That's okay, Sunshine," Debbie said sympathetically.

"Brian," Lindsay said in a low voice, reprimanding him without knowing why. Brian rolled his eyes.

An hour later coffee had been put on to brew and the pies Debbie had brought were waiting on the counter. Gus had gotten restless, so Brian and Lindsay had taken him for a walk. In the new sitting area Brian had created by the Cloud painting, Jennifer and Debbie were reminiscing once again about their own pregnancies, while Melanie put on false smiles, pretending she hadn't heard these stories before. She rubbed her belly when the baby kicked.

Justin was at the other end of the room, slumped down in a corner of the new black leather sectional, with the other men grouped around him.

"Look, it has to be his decision," Michael was urging him. "Don't get mad. It's his loft."

"I know, Michael."

Emmett said, "Well, Brian's had the loft a long time. He probably just can't bear to give it up." He looked around speculatively, as if he had never been in it before. "So how much rent do you think he's going to ask for it?"

"Whatever it is, you can't afford it," Ted said.

"How do you know? I'm quite the success with my parties, for your information."

"I'm sure you are," Ted said quietly. His attempts to joke with Emmett now the way they used to never seemed to work.

"And you're not my accountant."

"No, I'm not anybody's accountant." Ted drank down his third sparkling water, trying to keep his eyes off Justin's beer.

"Can we stick to one topic for bickering over at a time?" Michael asked.

"I'm not bickering," Justin said. "With you or Brian. What's the point?"

"Maybe Brian's just being practical," Ted tried again. "The rent would be a steady income for him." He looked at Justin's face and corrected himself. "For both of you."

"That's true," Ben put in.

"I guess."

"Honey, look," Emmett said. "He's going with you, what more do you want? Brian Kinney, following somebody else's lead. Imagine that." Justin managed a smile and Emmett leaned over to hug his shoulders.

"He's scared shitless," Michael said. The others all looked surprised.

Justin raised his eyebrows. He was surprised, too, not at what Michael had said but the fact that he said it out loud. Then he nodded. "I know, Michael," he said again. Michael opened his mouth. Justin added quickly, "And if you say, 'That's Brian,' I'll kill you faster than Icetina or Razorback could do it."

"I guess you don't need me to tell you what Brian's like any more," Michael said smiling. Justin smiled back and they clinked beer bottles in a toast.

 

*****

Justin decided there really was no point discussing the loft sale - or rather, non-sale - with Brian again. Michael was right about one thing; it was Brian's loft and therefore Brian's decision. It might make it harder to afford the kind of space Brian wanted in Manhattan, but Brian seemed to think he'd be getting a big salary even by Madison Avenue standards. The Breckmann partners had been very impressed by Brian's portfolio and his awards, and were eager to talk to the editors at the Frame.

So there was no point worrying about money, either. They'd manage one way or the other. As for Brian, and his refusal to trust that Justin wouldn't someday walk out on him again, there didn't seem to be any cure for that. Maybe in ten years he'll start to believe in me, Justin thought sourly.

He was on his way home after a day at Ad Alley, and had other things to think about. Ironically, Jake had finally decided Justin was ready for a full-time position, and had offered it to him that morning. Justin hadn't intended to give notice so soon -- he wanted to save as much as possible before the move -- but he didn't want to mislead Jake, either. He explained why he couldn't accept, but asked if he could stay on part-time for now. Jake had agreed.

So that's one thing settled, Justin thought, as the elevator clanked up to their floor. Wonder if Brian settled with Breckmann yet?

In the loft he dumped his messenger bag to the floor, checked through his mail and tossed down Brian's by his computer, yawned, and froze. "Hey," he said, startled. "I didn't think you'd be home already."

Brian was sitting in the high-backed chair under the Cloud painting, as upright as the very pregnant Melanie had been during their lunch on Sunday. His hands were resting precisely, evenly, on his knees. That his hands were quiet at all was unusual. His briefcase was tipped over on its side by his feet. He still had his suit and tie on.

Justin came closer and said, "You look like you're posing for one of those old-time sepia photos. All you need is a bow-tie and a tall hat." When Brian still didn't move or answer, he added, "Or an embalming."

"That would work." Brian's voice was flat. "I'm dead anyway. Dead in the water."

"Shit, what is it?" Justin went to him and stood uncertainly by Brian's chair. "What happened?"

Brian let out a little snorting laugh and suddenly relaxed his body, stretching his long legs. He gave Justin a sick smile that alarmed Justin even more. "I explained my New York plan -- correction, your New York plan -- to Mark and Katie today. I told them I'd be joining a leading Manhattan agency and they'd have all the agency resources at their disposal."

"Did Breckmann actually make you an offer? You didn't -- "

"No, but I had to play it like that. Breckmann won't take me without the Frame in my pocket. And the Frame wouldn't go with me unless I offered them Breckmann. I thought."

"So you made it sound like a definite thing to both of them. I get it."

"But I didn't," Brian said. "The Frame said no."

"Oh, shit!" Justin made a jerky movement, about to hug Brian or climb into the chair with him, but something about the way Brian was sitting stopped him. "Why? Why wouldn't they?"

"Mark thinks anyone outside of Pittsburgh won't understand the Frame's concerns. This is where they're based. He wants somebody who's up to date on what's happening here, at the local galleries."

"But they're a national magazine, and the New York art scene is so much more important!"

"Yes, but they bill themselves as an alternative to a New York outlook. I knew that, but I didn't think -- fuck. It's not like I write their articles. It's only the fucking advertising. It shouldn't make a difference to him."

"But it did?" Brian nodded. Justin asked, "What did Katie say?"

"She said she agreed with him. She's pissed at me, for talking about leaving right after she gave me the account."

"Oh God," Justin moaned. He perched on the narrow arm of the chair, trying to slide an arm around Brian's neck. Brian didn't respond. "But it's your campaign, don't they have to stay with you to use it?" Justin asked.

"No. They said if I go, they'll buy the work from me outright. They'll give me a development fee, for the concepts and the creative. Then they'll give it to their old agency to produce. And that," Brian added, "will be the end of that. No follow-up promotions, no tie-ins, no new campaign for next year."

"If you go?" Justin whispered.

"Breckmann won't take me, if I don't bring clients with me. I'm too expensive."

"You're not changing your mind?"

"The circumstances have changed."

"Brian. We've made so many plans already."

"The plan was that I'd have clients. And a job waiting."

"But we -- "

"Get off," Brian barked, pushing at him. "I want a drink."

"Smells like you've had a few already," Justin said angrily, and stood up. Brian went to the liquor cart and splashed whiskey into a glass. Justin, feeling his legs starting to shake, sat down in the chair. It was still warm from Brian's body. "Are you saying you don't want to go any more?"

"I'm saying I can't."

"You're not going. You're refusing to go?"

"I'm sorry, isn't English your primary language? Yes, I said I'm not going. Would you like me to write it down so you can study it?"

"What about me?"

Brian's voice said, "What about you?" -- but it was only in Brian's head, an echo of a blue-drenched memory. Were they really saying these things to each other again? "God," he muttered into his whiskey glass, and took a burning swallow. Then he lifted his head and met Justin's look. "You need to go to Metro."

"Without you," Justin said. "Without you?"

Brian sighed and glanced away from the accusation in his eyes. "It's only for a few years," he tried, dropping his biting tone. "You could visit on weekends, and come back after you graduate."

"Oh, that's good. Very clever. And you don't fucking believe a word of it!"

"Justin -- "

"Why can't you just look for a job in Manhattan? Why can't you? How fucking hard can it be?"

Suddenly Brian roared at him, making Justin's breath catch. "Things are finally breaking my way here!" he shouted. "I'm getting back into my field, I'm starting to make real money. After all this struggling and penny-pinching and being poor. And trying to prove myself, over and over. I fucking hate it. I can't keep doing this. I'm not twenty years old!"

"But -- If you -- "

"How many fucking times do I have to start all over? How many?"

"Brian," Justin whispered, and put his head in his hands. He realized now what he was asking. It wasn't a mere job hunt for Brian, an ordinary change and an ordinary move. This felt to Brian like being thrown out of Vangard again. Like he was no one. With nothing.

He had overcome that; he had fought his way into a new career and then fought his way back to where he needed to be. And now Justin was asking him to walk away from it.

From the beginning, when he had first asked his mother to help him apply to Metro, he had refused to consider what would happen if Brian wouldn't go with him. His mother had tried to ask several times, and each time he had brushed her off. He hadn't wanted to think about it.

But there was nothing to think about, anyway. There was only one answer. "Then I'm not going, either," he said.

Apparently it was the wrong answer. Brian slammed down his drink, spilling it. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Metro is even more prestigious than the Institute. This is everything you need, everything you should have. You're just going to throw that away?"

"I don't want to! But Brian, I told you when I moved back in here that I'm committed to staying with you. If you can't go, then I can't."

"So true love -- " Brian nearly spat the words, "-- true love comes first and to hell with the rest of your life and your talent? Are you still singing that song?"

"Not to hell with it. It's important. But it's not 'my' life. It's our life, our life together." He added, "You're supposed to feel the same way."

"Oh, am I? Thanks for letting me know. If you stay here you'll be producing mediocre advertising that your heart isn't in for years. Or maybe Debbie will retire to being a grandmother and you can manage the diner."

"Brian -- "

"Do you want to become an artist or not? Do you?"

"I am an artist," Justin said. "I'll always be an artist. No one can take that from me. No one. Not Chris Hobbes. Not my father. Not any dean at any school. And you know who made me realize that? You did."

Brian flung out his hands in a helpless gesture. This wasn't what he wanted to hear, and he had nothing to say in return. He looked at Justin, who had lifted his chin and was staring back at him with the familiar calm obstinacy which drove Brian mad even as he admired it.

Brian felt suddenly that he couldn't stay here any more. He couldn't talk, he couldn't argue. He couldn't stare into those eyes. He couldn't breathe.

"Let's go to Babylon," he said abruptly.

Justin's jaw dropped. Then he spluttered, "What? We're in the middle of a conversation!"

"No, we're in the middle of a fight, and I've had enough of it." Brian downed the last of his whiskey and gave Justin a strange bright smile. "Come on, we can always fight again later. Let's get drunk. Let's get laid. Let's come home and then get laid again."

"Brian, you are so - " Justin was still angry, but he couldn't help laughing. "You're incorrigible."

"Ooh, it's one of those big words you used to study. I'm going to change my clothes. Want to shower with me first?"

"But -- " Justin paused. He thought about staying here, listening to Brian badger him with a thousand and one good reasons why he should still go to Metro. Maybe Babylon wasn't such a crazy idea after all. Brian would relax a little; and maybe he'd get used to the idea that he wasn't going to get his own way about this. Still . . . Justin said ruefully, "Debbie told us to fuck less and talk more."

"Are you going to take advice from someone who dresses like that?"

"Oh, all right." The yearning to close the gap between them and feel close to Brian again couldn't be held back any longer. Justin went to him and they wrapped their arms around each other. Neither of them felt as calm as they were pretending.

The hot water in the shower was soothing. Brian stood a few moments under the stream with his eyes closed, letting it slice down his chest and back. They soaped each other up, rinsed, and then fucked gently, without speaking.

When they got out, Justin stood toweling his hair while Brian examined his face in the mirror. "Think I'll take this five o'clock shadow off," he said, and took out his shaving bowl. "You too?"

"No, I'll go for the stubble look."

"That'll take you days," Brian cracked, and Justin swatted his ass with the towel.

"I'll get dressed."

Brian shaved methodically, examining his face critically as he did every time, looking for the lines and wrinkles that hadn't really started yet. Not yet. He stopped his mind from thinking about anything else.

As he splashed water, he heard a faint tap-tap-tapping sound. He paused. Then he called out, "What are you wearing?"

The tapping stopped. Justin called back, "Um, I thought the green with the cut-out slash. Or my new blue with the stripes."

"Wear the green, it's tighter."

"Okay." After a moment, the tap-tap-tapping started again.

Brian wiped his face with the towel, looking in the mirror but listening to the sound. Justin was typing something on his keyboard.

 

*****
 

The Friday night crowd at Babylon was raucous. Brian set out to drink hard and Justin kept pace. They saw people they knew - even waved to Emmett - but didn't stop to talk. They didn't really speak with each other, either, except to shout drink orders above the noise.

On the dance floor Justin let himself go, working himself into a dripping sweat, his fingers sticking to Brian's bare arms. Brian merely bounced along in time, keeping his hands on Justin's waist, and nuzzling kisses into Justin's neck whenever he leaned in close enough. No one else tried to cut in, or if someone did neither of them noticed.

Eventually Brian took Justin by the wrist and led him wordlessly to the backroom. He fucked him hard against the wall. This time someone did try to join them, but Brian waved the guy off without even checking him out.

By the time they got back to the dance floor Justin was wobbling on his feet. "I'm drunk," he shouted into Brian's ear.

"Just what I was aiming for," Brian shouted back.

"Why? You've already had your way with me."

Brian snickered. "Oh, I'm not done with you. Believe me."

"I do," Justin murmured. The dizziness increased. He melted against Brian's chest, burying his face under Brian's chin. Something flecked at his face and arms. Justin opened his eyes again and saw glitter coming down from the ceiling. He had dreamt this once, dancing with Brian at Babylon, on a New York street with confetti coming down . . .

Brian was nearly holding him up. "I have to go home," Justin said.

"In a while. You're all right." Justin murmured something; Brian couldn't hear what. But he said, "Don't worry, I've got you."

So they stayed. The crowd thinned out and last calls were shouted. Brian still wanted to stay, as if he would never leave this world. Justin hung on to him and waited.

It was an hour before daybreak when they finally returned to the loft. "I'm so tired," Justin said dreamily. He dropped his clothes to the floor and sprawled naked across the bed.

"Too tired?" Brian asked.

Justin opened his eyes, said, "Never," and held out his arms. Brian laughed.

They made love again. Justin, waking up more, surprised Brian by becoming playful. "I was afraid you wouldn't even stay conscious," Brian teased.

"Well, maybe I'm not done with you," Justin retorted.

Afterwards Justin snuggled under the duvet, as content as if there was nothing to worry or fret about. Never mind, tomorrow would come soon enough. He glanced at the clock. Well, tomorrow was already here, really.

Brian got up to go to the bathroom and came back with something in his hands. "Still awake?"

"Yes," Justin said with his eyes closed.

"'Dear Sir or Madam,'" Brian read, "'In regards to your offer of admission to me for Metro's fall semester, I regret that I will be unable -- '"

"Brian," Justin said in protest. He opened his eyes. Brian was sitting naked on the side of the bed beside him, holding the letter Justin had been typing while Brian was shaving. "I thought I saved that in a file you wouldn't find," he said crossly.

"Good thinking, but you forgot to take it out of the printer."

"Shit. Well, I don't care. I don't want to fight about this," Justin said. "I'm not changing my mind."

"You can't give this up."

"I can't give you up."

"So you're going to sacrifice everything - again - for what you believe in? For us?" Brian opened his hand and let the letter float to the floor. He gave Justin a little push, motioning him to move over, and climbed in beside him under the duvet. After a moment Brian said, "But what I mean is, I can't let you give this up."

"I -- "

"So we'll go."

Justin gasped. He felt wide-awake and sober now, but maybe he hadn't heard right. "We'll go?"

"Call your mother tomorrow, I'll have her handle the loft sale."

"The loft sale?"

"Am I in bed with a parrot? Yes, the loft sale. As in I better sell this fucking thing, because we're going to need the money to get us through the first few months. I better sell the 'vette, too. Nobody needs a car in Manhattan anyway, and it may take me awhile to find a job."

"Oh my God, are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You'll change your mind again when you sober up."

"I already sobered up and I'm not changing my mind." Brian turned his head to meet Justin's eyes. Morning light was starting to creep along the floorboards. "I promise," Brian said.

"But you said -- "

"For fuck's sake, you're not still going to argue!"

"You asked me how many times you would have to start over."

"Apparently the answer is one more. Just one more. I don't think it will kill me, do you?"

"Now you're sacrificing everything," Justin whispered. "For me."

"So I'll take on New York with my bare hands," Brian went on, as if he hadn't heard. "I'll put in some time as a fucking middle manager for somebody who thinks he's getting me cheap. Then he'll find out what I can really do. . . And then I'll make the fucker put me on the big accounts - and pay me what I'm worth." He stuck his tongue in his cheek. "I figure a year."

"I figure six months," Justin said. He put an arm across Brian's chest and kissed his shoulder. He needed to find some way to let Brian know he understood what he was doing.

Sacrifice everything . . . for what you believe in: the words repeated in Justin's mind. But was the voice his own or Brian's?

"This is how it felt after the election," Justin said. "Remember? After all our work against Stockwell. It was exciting in a way, putting up the posters. You did your kick-ass commercial that killed him . . . then all the celebrating. And then I woke up and -- and I remember I felt lost. I didn't know what would come next."

"Mmm."

"But I woke up here, in your bed. You were standing at the windows. Everything was confused, everything was scary. But we were together." Brian pretended to stick his finger down his throat and made a gagging noise. Justin laughed and smacked his chest. "Don't make fun. It's real."

"Did I still look like some hero to you? Standing tall at the window while another glorious morning dawned in the Pitts? You were probably dreaming, anyway."

"No, I told you, it was real. I woke up in your bed that morning." He tried to find the words. "No matter where we're living, I'll always be waking up in your bed, don't you understand what I mean? Our bed, from now on. That's for tomorrow and next week and next year."

"Shhh," Brian said, stroking Justin's back. "Don't make a speech."

But Justin's voice grew stronger. "I'll wake up with you the morning after the next time we go clubbing. And the morning after we watch some late show on TV. The morning after my next dental appointment and -- and the morning after you buy some fabulous new suit. The morning after Christmas and the morning after the Leather Ball. The morning after we have a stupid fight and the morning after another fantastic fuck." Brian hooted. "The morning after I sell my first important piece to some big collector. The morning after you win another advertising award. The morning after you turn 35 and have the world's worst hangover. The morning after they start dropping nuclear bombs or the oceans flood the continents, or the fucking planet splits itself in half for no reason at all." He took a breath. "And every morning after that, too."

Brian wanted to laugh at him but he couldn't. He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him, along with his protests and defenses and his will to resist. There was nothing left. Nothing but the relentless kid who had turned into a terrifying young man right in front of him.

Then the realization hit him. "I believe you," Brian said in utter astonishment.

There was a pause, and then Justin was the one who laughed. A firm strong hand took Brian's own under the covers. Brian closed his eyes in bewildered happiness, and slept.

END
 

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