Breakage

Part III 

Justin had never been in Babylon when it was empty before, even during his brief employment. Strangely, it looked smaller without all the gyrating bodies packed into it. The floor was bare and the strobe lights were off. It was nothing but a big room, really. Nothing magical. Nothing to hang a life on.

The rehearsal for the Rage party seemed to be going smoothly, although Justin had little to do. The director Brian had hired had everything in hand, blocking out the movements with the actors on the stage. Michael was hanging over the edge of the stage, listening to everything and occasionally chiming in, but Justin stood back by the untended bar. Brian was standing against the bar, too, several yards away. Several yards and about a million miles, Justin thought.

After slamming out of the Jeep the night before, Justin had walked around alone for a long time. He thought about going to Woody's, but it would be a hassle. The bartenders knew him of course, and they knew Brian bought drinks for him, but they wouldn't serve him directly. And if he let some other guy buy him a drink, that would lead to a different hassle. Besides, what if Brian showed up there himself?

He considered going to Debbie's or Lindsay's or even Daphne's. But it would be so humiliating to show up unwanted on somebody's doorstep again. How many times had he run away from Brian like this? And why, each time, did it always feel like Brian had really run out on him?

I'm not a kid anymore, Justin thought. I have to stay and face things. Or --

Or --

Or I have to really leave. Really leave Brian.

The sustaining anger in his chest shriveled into a hopeless sick feeling. Staying or leaving, neither would help. The best you can do? Yes, Brian had said. Yes.

Eventually he caught a cab and went home. It was no surprise that Brian wasn't there.
Of course he must have gone tricking, but that was too predictable for Justin to even bother getting angry over. He went to bed early and fell right asleep. But something in him must have been waiting, because at five minutes to three he woke up. Brian still wasn't home. Justin listened in the dark, becoming more and more irritated, until 3:15, when the loft door finally slid open. Late, Justin thought. But what did it matter, anyway, another few minutes? Another few tricks? Their rules had never meant anything. Never made a difference.

Justin turned his back in the bed and pretended to be asleep, although Brian would know better. Brian climbed in, bringing the smell of beer and cigarettes with him. They didn't touch each other, but some time before dawn Justin half-woke again, to find that he had rolled towards Brian out of habit. But Brian wasn't in bed. Justin raised his head enough to hear that Brian was pacing in the living room. Justin had a moment of pity for him, that Brian couldn't escape as he was doing, before he fell back asleep.

Over breakfast, Brian acted as if nothing had happened. He reminded Justin of what time they needed to leave for the rehearsal, and poured out cereal for both of them. Justin could hardly answer. It was impossible to just forget everything, but it was equally impossible to talk to the smooth impervious face Brian was showing him. He didn't know how he would respond if Brian wanted their usual morning fuck.

It didn't matter; Brian didn't come near him. He tossed himself on the couch and spent the morning flipping through TV channels, something he rarely did. Justin wanted to look busy and productive, so he forced himself to sit in front of the computer and read through Michael's draft for the next issue of Rage. He waited in vain for some image or graphic idea to form in his mind, to start him working.

As the afternoon came on Brian started to wander around the loft. Justin slid his eyes sideways, trying to watch his movements without Brian noticing. Brian went to the liquor cabinet and poured out a drink. Several times he went back for more. When he finally went into the kitchen, Justin felt momentarily relieved: at least he was putting some food in his stomach, too. But then he heard Brian snort something up a nostril instead.

Justin couldn't stop himself. He called over, "Are you going to get wasted now, when we need you for the rehearsal?"

Brian gave him a bleary glare but didn't answer. He went back to the TV. Little by little, the volume became louder and louder, as if he were trying to drown something else out. Justin stomped over to stand behind the couch. "Do you have to blast it? I'm trying to work."

Brian rubbed his temples, a fretful new mannerism he had picked up lately. "My head hurts."

"Well, no wonder!"

"Fuck you," Brian said, without even turning to look at him.

When it was time to go, Justin grabbed the Jeep keys and gave Brian a defiant look. Brian only smirked, as if he were humoring a child's whim, and got into the passenger seat.

But once at Babylon, Brian made an effort to pull himself together, and Justin tried to answer Michael's greetings cheerfully. The last thing Justin wanted now was for Michael to butt in, asking concerned questions, and it seemed as if Brian felt the same way.

At least we feel the same about something, Justin thought grimly.

Some of the extras, the dancers who would come out first, were standing around. One of them, a tall muscular young man with spiked hair, sidled up to Justin and leaned close beside him on the bar. "Hello there. This is interesting stuff, isn't it?" Justin nodded and shrugged. "I heard you're the author? You're so young."

"No, I did the graphics."

"You must be very talented."

Justin opened his mouth to say something rude, but suddenly realized Brian had moved closer. He could hear them. Justin turned towards the other man and said, "Oh, I have a lot of talents."

"I bet you do." He leaned in even closer, smiling down into Justin's face. He was tall and thickset, with heavy biceps, overbuilt for a dancer. It wasn't a look that attracted Justin. "I'm Nick. I have a few talents myself."

"Really?" Justin tried to sound flirtatious.

"Well, I work with my body, you know."

"Pathetic," Brian said to the air. "Standards are really slipping nowadays."

Nick looked over at him in confusion and back at Justin. "Who's this?"

"Honestly, I have no idea," Justin said. He had suddenly lost interest in annoying Brian. He said to Nick, "Listen, just fuck off, okay?"

Brian, never turning his head towards them, hooted. Nick flushed. "Well, fuck you too, kid!"

"Another witty comeback," Brian commented.

Justin said, "Sorry, but I'm not interested. Go back to the rehearsal."

But it seemed Nick was a man who was all too ready for a fight. "What do you think, kid, you're my boss because you drew some comic pictures?"

"Fuck off, I said!"

Brian said, "He doesn't seem to want your company, Mr. Nick."

"Oh, are you after him? You can fuck off. I was first."

"No," Brian laughed under his breath. "No, you really weren't."

For a few moments Brian and Justin were united by the shared joke. Justin even managed a little grin, which flitted away. But the sense of being laughed at by both of them for some unknown reason was too infuriating for Nick. He made a sudden lunge in Brian's direction, startling Justin, and then checked himself.

Brian was still leaning on both elbows with his back to the bar, and hadn't even pulled himself up. He merely looked the other man in the face for the first time. Nick stood, irresolute, not liking what he saw in Brian's eyes.

"Main actors! Places again!" the director shouted from the stage. Although the call wasn't for him, it seemed to remind Nick what he was doing. He broke eye contact with Brian, glanced again at Justin, and finally walked away.

"Guys like that would rather fight than fuck," Brian said. "Stay away from him."

"I don't need your advice. I'm getting some air," Justin said abruptly, and stalked off towards the doors.

Brian watched as Nick returned to a huddle of the dancers, waiting on the side. The director was cueing JT and the bashers to center stage. He wasn't happy with the way the fight was working out. As they started the run-through yet again, Nick slid away from his group and headed towards the exit, just as Justin had. Brian's attention had been drawn to the actors; he didn't notice. At the doors Nick passed Ben, who was coming in.

Ben saw Brian and came over. "How's the rehearsal going?" He took his glasses out of the inner pocket of his jacket, to look over at the stage.

"Art comes to life. Or is it life comes to art? Hey, Sap!" Brian's voice echoed across the big empty space. Gary Sapperstein looked around in annoyance. "Can't we get any drinks over here?"

"Fuck off, Kinney! The bar's closed."

"Hey," Michael said, bouncing up to Ben's side. "How was your seminar?"

"Boring, apparently, judging by the number of students who fell asleep. Will the rehearsal be much longer?"

"No, the director said they're almost done. It's going good, don't you think, Brian? Brian, did you hear me?"

"What? Yeah, it's fine."

"We should head over to my mom's."

"Where's Emmett? And Ted?" Ben asked.

"Oh, poor Em woke up with the flu or something. My mom sent Vic over there with chicken soup, to keep him company. And Ted had to be at the web site. Saturday night's a big night for him."

On stage, JT hit the ground. A group of men stood over him, clubs beating down. Brian watched.

"So it's only us, just the four of us, to tackle all of Debbie's dinner?" Ben put his hand to his stomach, wincing comically.

Michael grinned. "Be prepared to eat yourself to death."

The director yelled something and they started over. Brian's eyes were fixed on the stage as JT went down again. They heard the body slam. "Ouch," Ben said. "Going for realism, aren't they?"

The Sap, who had been checking the outside lights, came back in and walked over, a malicious smile on his face. He looked at Brian, who seemed as comfortable against the bar as if he owned the place, and said, "Hey, Kinney. I just saw your little sweetheart out in the alley. He's about to get it but good."

A hard jolt went through Brian but his eyes didn't leave the actors. "Yeah?" he shrugged. "Doing it out there? No class, these kids."

"No, no," the Sap said, very pleased. "I don't mean fucking. He's about to get the shit kicked out of him, I'm telling you."

At first there was no reaction at all. Then the Sap, waiting smugly, got more than he had hoped for. Brian burst into movement, shoving him forcibly out of the way, and ran for the doors. Without turning, without asking, without even thinking, he knew Michael was following.

The alley behind the club was lit by one high fluorescent on the top of the building next door. In a few hours it would be crowded with men starting to couple off, but now it held only two people at the far end. Justin was pinned against the wall by the dancer Nick, who was looming over him in a fury. Whatever ideas he had had about touching Justin before, it was clear that now he only wanted to hurt him.

"I said, get your fucking hands off me!" Justin was shouting. Brian skidded to a stop and tried to catch his breath. He had sobered up since the morning, at least he thought he had, but now he felt dizzy. The alley seemed to tilt for a minute. He forced his eyes to focus again and saw that Justin was fighting to break free. Nick shouted something in his face and flung him back against the bricks again. Brian saw Justin's skull come within an inch of striking the wall. Then Justin fell . . . and the clubs came down . . .

No. Brian took a breath. That hadn't happened. Justin was still standing, calling Nick a motherfucking shithead. His arms were straining against the bigger man's. He was overpowered but defiant.

Admiration he wasn't even aware of rushed up in Brian. As Nick leaned over Justin again, Brian said mildly, "Is something wrong?"

Both of them jumped, startled out of their private drama. They stared at him. Brian leaned against the wall beside Justin, appearing casual, as if they were all merely chatting. As if the other two weren't still grappling. As if he didn't need the support.

Brian shot a look back down the alley and saw that not only Michael but Ben had followed him. They stood off a little way, listening and waiting. "You know," Brian managed to say to Nick, "I thought I heard him tell you to let go."

Nick hesitated and his grip slackened a little. Justin took instant advantage and gave him a hard shove. Nick came right back at him, starting to swing, but Brian thrust out his arm to block him.

"Well," Nick said, taking a step back. He gave Brian a nasty leering smile. "Sorry, I didn't realize. So this little twink belongs to you?"

"Fuck you," Justin spluttered, enraged. But Brian said, "He belongs to himself."

Nick laughed and started to turn away. Brian reached out and took him by the arm, taking firm hold. Their eyes met. In the same even tone Brian said, "But if you touch him again, I'm going to touch you. And in a way you won't like."

"Fuck off!" Nick shook himself loose, turned, and collided with Ben, who had walked closer.

"You should be more careful," Ben said with meaning. Nick's eyes flickered back and forth between them, frightened now. He muttered a curse, slid behind Michael, and was gone.

Brian was still leaning on the wall beside Justin, who was breathing hard and staring straight ahead. They didn't look at each other. Brian fumbled to light up a cigarette, taking two or three tries because his hand was shaking, but no one noticed.

Ben and Michael exchanged looks and waited. Brian blew smoke. When no one said anything, Ben finally ventured to Justin, "What happened? The guy wouldn't take no for an answer?"

Justin burst out, "He wouldn't take 'Go fuck yourself' for an answer. Then he said he was going to kick my ass. Asshole!"

"I told you to stay away from him," Brian said.

Justin's anger doubled in an instant. "I don't have to ask you! And I don't need you to run to the rescue all the time!"

"Well, that's gratitude," Michael began, but Ben waved him to silence.

"You didn't need rescuing?"

"I could have handled it. You really think I'm some kind of pussy, don't you? I'm not afraid of an asshole like that!"

"I know you're not," Brian said. He took another long drag. "I know you've got balls. I'm well acquainted with them, remember?" Justin made a face which meant, Not funny. "I know you're strong, stronger than you look. You can almost pin me to the bed, at least if you get me by surprise. Almost. But you're young and you're pretty." Justin blinked. Even in his anger, this was distracting: Brian never said anything about his looks. "That makes you a target. And nothing is going to make you six feet tall. Have some fucking sense."

"What's it to you? Like you fucking care anyway!"

Brian pushed away from the wall, tossed down his cigarette, and ground it under his heel. He leaned over, just as Nick had, to hiss into Justin's face. "I already scraped you bleeding off the concrete once. I'm not doing it again. I'm not."

Justin stared at him, speechless. Michael said, "Brian, come on, don't start with all that," and put a hand on his shoulder. "Brian?"

"Christ," Brian said, and turned to stalk off. "Thank you," he threw over his shoulder. It took all of them a minute to understand who he meant.

"Uh, sure," Ben finally answered in surprise, but Brian was already out of earshot. "Michael, should we - ?"

"I'll be there in a minute."

Ben nodded and walked away after Brian. Michael stood near Justin. After a moment he patted Justin's arm. Justin wished he wouldn't, but he gave a half-smile in return, trying to recover his temper. Michael said, "Look, I know how you feel. He always had to protect me from the bullies at school."

"You probably liked it."

"Sure I did. You do, too. Oh come on, you know you do. It shows you how he feels."

"Oh, I know how he feels! Responsible. Tied down. Stuck with a kid who needs to be taken care of all the time."

"Jesus. Can't you take it a little easy on Brian?"

"There's nothing easy about Brian, Michael."

In front of Babylon, Brian was standing by the parked Jeep. Ben stood by him. "Are you okay?"

"I fucking told him to watch out, I told him. I can't be watching over him every goddamn minute."

"It doesn't sound like he expects you to."

"That kid expects everything."

Ben, growing more concerned, saw that Brian's face was drained of color, while his eyes were blazing. "Maybe you should go home. You don't look good."

"No, we have to go to Debbie's." Reminded, Brian looked impatiently back down the alley. "Hurry the fuck up, both of you!" he shouted.

As Justin and Michael approached the Jeep, Brian shouted again, more loudly, even though they were now right in front of him. "Hurry up and get in the car!"

"Take it easy," Michael said, taken aback.

"I'm not going," Justin said. "I'm going home."

"No, you're not. Get in the car."

"I'll take a cab. I'm going home."

Brian's hands shot out. He grabbed the front of Justin's jacket and jerked him forward towards the car. Taken off balance, Justin crashed into Brian's shoulder, then tried to yank away, shoving his hands hard against Brian's chest.

"Hey," Michael said in alarm. He had often seen Brian pull or push at Justin, using his shirt to put him where he wanted him, but it had always looked like a game -- maybe a little playacting, Michael suspected, of the way they were together in bed. Certainly Justin had never seemed to mind, always following where Brian was leading him. But Michael had never seen Brian handle him so roughly before. And he had never seen Justin resist.

"No," Justin said, trying to break Brian's grip. Brian was opening the Jeep's front door with one hand and clutching at Justin with the other.

"I said, get in the goddamn car! Now!"

"Let go of me!" Justin shouted, in the same tone he had used just moments before to Nick. He struggled harder.

Suddenly Brian changed his mind. He shoved Justin away with such force he was flung back into Ben, who caught at him. "So go! Leave! Get the fuck out of here!"

"Stop it, now, both of you," Ben reprimanded, using his professor's voice. "There's no need for this."

"Jesus, Brian, calm down," Michael said.

"Fuck!" Brian slammed his hand into the Jeep's hood, then stood staring off down the street, breathing hard.

Ben still had an arm around Justin. He said quietly, "It's been a rough evening here. Let's all calm down. We'll go to Debbie's and have dinner, and everybody will feel better."

Michael murmured behind him, "I can't take them to my mother's when they're like this."

Justin didn't hear him, but he shook free of Ben and said again, "I'm not going."

Ben whispered to Michael, "We can't send them home like this, either. Would you trust them together right now?" Michael's face changed. He nodded. Ben said as brightly as he could to Justin, "Come on, Debbie's waiting. And she's already missing half her guests. We'll be in deep shit if we don't all go."

At that, Justin shoved past Brian, opened the door, and climbed into the Jeep -- into the back seat. Brian said, "You still have the keys, Sunshine."

Justin's hand came out of the window, dangling the keychain. Michael took them before Brian could. "I'll drive. Come on, Brian, you sit up front with me." He was surprised but relieved that Brian didn't argue. He looks terrible, Michael thought. Maybe he's got the flu like Em.

On the way Michael and Ben tried to make small talk, to cover the tense silence. Brian soon had his own solution. He leaned over and switched on some jangly thumping music, turning it way up and rubbing at his temples again. Michael couldn't understand how someone with a headache wanted such loud music, but he said nothing. Even if he had, no one would have been able to hear him over the noise.

The lights in the house seemed too hard and bright, and the cooking smells were overwhelming. Debbie came roaring over to greet them, wearing an apron that said "FUCK THE COOK -- HARD" and waving a wooden spoon. "Everything'll be ready in a minute. How was the rehearsal?"

"Good, good," Michael said with as much confidence as he could muster, but his eyes were darting nervously, following Brian, who walked past Debbie straight to the refrigerator.

"Hey, Sunshine, what's the matter here?" Debbie put a hand under Justin's chin.

"Nothing."

"Don't tell me, everything's written on that beautiful face. You're not getting sick, too, are you? Vic just called. Emmett still feels like crap, so they rented a bunch of Bette Davis movies and Vic's going to spend the night there."

They clustered into the kitchen under the downpour of Debbie's chattering, but no one sat down. "So what's with all the long faces? Did they fuck up the rehearsal? Sunshine?"
Justin shook his head. "Bet they did. Ha! I told you, Michael, you should let me direct." Debbie gave a great laugh. "I could tell all the pretty boys where to go, right?"

"Tell us where to go," Ben said.

"Oh, just sit down anywhere, all of you." Michael and Ben pulled out chairs. Justin stood behind his. "Brian, the food's on the stove, not in there. What are you after?"

"Beer," Justin said in disgust. "Because he can't stay clear-headed for one minute longer. He might have to think if he did. He might have to feel something." He sat down.

Brian really was pulling a beer bottle out of the refrigerator. In a strangely polite tone he said over his shoulder, "Why don't you mind your own fucking business?"

"Jesus," Debbie spluttered. She looked around at all of them, but Brian had gone over to the sink and Justin was glaring at his back. Michael and Ben, who hadn't done anything, were the ones who looked guilty. "What the fuck is this?"

"Sorry, Deb," Ben said. "I thought they'd stop when they got here. They're having some kind of argument."

"About what?" Debbie demanded. She had no doubt she was entitled to know. She said to Justin, "What the fuck is going on with you two?"

"Nothing," Justin said. "That's the point. There's nothing going on with us. And there never was."

Brian turned to stare at him. He was wordless, but Debbie wasn't."What are you talking about? Never was?" Her eyes darted to Brian, ready to accuse. "All right, what special Kinney fuck-up did you pull now? Come on. What did you do? What did you say?"

"Nothing," Brian said, or at least his lips formed the word. His voice was almost too low to hear.

"Of course, nothing!" Justin said. Ben put a restraining hand on his shoulder, but Justin never felt it. All he had put up with from Brian, all the hopes he had held back and the hurts he had coped with, all the feelings he had tried to manage, flooded over him at once and nearly choked him. "There's nothing to say, there's nothing to feel, there's nothing there at all! I've been wasting my time with a man who doesn't - who doesn't care - " he turned to shout the final accusation directly at Brain. "Who has never once said he wanted a future with me!"

And Brian broke. Debbie saw it happen; there were no other words for it. His skin and bones and muscles held together, but something stretched too hard and too long finally burst inside of him. Frightened, she put out a hand to him, but he didn't see; he didn't even know she was there. He was trying to force something out. Finally the words came, as if they were searing his throat. "Yes, I did," he said. "I did!"

"What? What do you mean?" Justin was incredulous. "I've been waiting almost two years for you to say something to me, something real. I think I would have noticed if you had. I think I would have remembered."

"But you didn't!" Brian shouted. He was enraged. "You didn't remember a fucking thing!" Before Justin could react, Brian flung up his arm and brought the beer bottle down, smashing it into the edge of the sink. They all cried out as the glass shattered, spraying across the kitchen counter. Beer and foam flooded over the edge and poured to the floor.

"Oh, my God," Debbie moaned, not at the mess, but because she suddenly realized what he meant.

So did Justin. His mouth fell open; he looked almost stupid. "You mean -- you were -- " he fought to breathe. "You told me you wanted to be with me, at the prom?"

Brian turned to Debbie urgently, as if she could translate. "He was glowing. Glowing. Sunshine, you call him, forget that! He was a goddamn super nova. I thought I was going to go blind just looking at him. And I wouldn't have cared."

"Brian, " Debbie said softly. She walked closer to him, skidding a little on the mess on the floor, and put a hand on his arm. He had cut his hand, but she decided to let the blood flow. Let the wound run clean. Get the poison out. "You mean while you were dancing?"

He nodded, over and over, urging her to understand. Justin started to say something, and checked himself. Brian took no notice. He went on explaining to Debbie. "I don't know why I went there. I told him I wouldn't go. But Michael had - he said - after I tried to use the scarf -- "

"Brian," Michael said in sudden warning. "Don't."

Debbie shushed him, but Brian had already veered away. "So I went, and he looked -- he looked - "

"He looked beautiful," Debbie said in encouragement. "Glowing."

"We started dancing. I was looking at him and - he didn't say anything, but I - " Brian paused. "It wasn't hard. It was easy."

"What, honey?"

"I felt it," Brian said. "I didn't think about it, I didn't stop it. I didn't hold it back. I just felt it, and I knew I felt it. And I looked at him and I realized - fuck, this is easy. It 's not this hard impossible thing. I felt it, and I could say it."

"Jesus," Justin whispered, and put his face in his hands.

"So you did?" Debbie prompted gently.

"Yes." Brian had quieted. The music in his head was louder than ever, but he had stopped fighting it. "I told him I can do this. We can do this. First he thought I just meant the dancing. It took him a minute, but then he knew. He knew what I meant." He gave the mocking little half-smile they all knew so well, staring at the floor, not seeing it. "Then he really glowed."

"Did I -- Brian -- " Justin's voice was shaking. "Is that when you kissed me?"

Brian took his eyes off the floor and tilted his head all the way back, to look at the ceiling instead. Still speaking to Debbie, he said conversationally, "And ten minutes later he was sprawled out on the pavement, bleeding all over the fucking place."

After the wave of emotion, his sudden blankness was even more unnerving. Debbie put her head to the side, considering him. Finally she said, "You didn't put him on that pavement, Brian. Is that what you think?"

"The fucking ambulance got lost," Brian said, still looking up. Now he sounded almost bored. "That's why it took so long. The 911 woman on the cell phone made me stay on. She said stay on until they get there."

Ben and Michael both started to say something, but Debbie cut them off. "Let him talk," she whispered.

"She kept asking me questions. What happened, sir? Where was the victim hit? Where is the blood coming from? Is the victim breathing? Is he breathing?" He paused, then started again. "Is he breathing? I don't know, I don't know. Do I have to look, how do I look. Sir, you need to clear his airway if he isn't breathing. I'll talk you through it. Can you lean over him, sir, can you put your hand on his chest? Yeah, I am, I am. He's bleeding so much, it's everywhere. It's on my hands. It's on my scarf. Do you hear anything, sir? Fuck, fuck. I can only hear myself! My own breathing. My own breathing's so loud. Fuck." Debbie's eyes were filling but she nodded, trying to encourage him. But Brian's eyes were closed now. "Calm down, please, sir. Help will be there soon. Can you tell if the victim is breathing?"

Justin, riveted, had a crazed thought that he sounded like Mysterious Marilyn giving a seance. He bit back a sick laugh. Brian went on, murmuring as if he were half-asleep. "I have to put the phone down a minute. Damn, I slammed it, I dropped it. Did I break it? Hello, are you there? Yes, sir. Is the victim - Yes, fuck, he's breathing! He's breathing. I can feel his chest moving. That's good, sir, don't move him now. Try to stay calm. Where the fuck is the ambulance, where the fuck is it? He's bleeding to death. He's dying right in front of me. He's dead. That's it. He's dead." He stopped.

He was finished. Debbie said, "He's not dead. He's not dead, Brian. He's right here." With the full force of her personality, she added, "And your love isn't what hurt him. Do you understand that? Do you?"

Brian opened his eyes to look at her. He blinked, as if he had left a dark room and his eyes couldn't adjust to the brightness.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Debbie said gently. She put her heavy hand, bright red nails gleaming, on his cheek. "We all thought so much about what Justin went through. I never asked myself what you went through, standing there in that garage, waiting for whatever was going to happen."

Justin stammered, "But why didn't you -- after -- ?"

Brian didn't seem to be answering him. He said to Debbie, ""And then after . . . he wasn't mine. And it wasn't easy any more."

Justin remembered Gus waving the toy bat at his birthday party, and the flash of the real bat in his brain, how the fear and the anger had suddenly overpowered him. Brian had been there that day and held him in his arms. As he had held him on the dance floor . . . Justin remembered. Not the prom, not the people. That would never come back. Just the feeling of Brian's hand on the small of his back, and his voice saying, "We can do this."

"Brian," he said out loud, and stood up.

But Brian, with his back braced to the sink, had started to slide to the floor. He went down very slowly. Debbie knew she couldn't hold him but she pulled him a little to the side, to keep him out of the beer mess. As Justin came over to him, she said automatically, "Watch out for the broken glass," and stepped back herself. Brian was sitting now, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Justin knelt between his legs.

Brian tried to say something, swallowed, and tried again. "Any day," he whispered. "Any day I would stand between you and -- " he needed one more breath. "And a baseball bat." Justin put his arms around Brian's neck. Brian closed his eyes and leaned his face into Justin's chest.

"Michael, Ben, come on," Debbie said, in as low a voice as she could manage. They huddled together. "We better leave them. I'll clean this up later."

Michael shook his head. Ben murmured, "She's right, Michael. They need some privacy."

"But Ma, look at Brian. He's crying."

"I know."

"I don't think Justin knows how to handle him like this."

"Then it's time for him to learn," Debbie said firmly, and took Michael by the arm.

They walked for a long time, then stopped for a cup of coffee, letting the time pass. Debbie jokingly lamented her wasted dinner. Michael was worried and wanted to return to the house. Debbie kept refusing and the conversation grew heated. Finally Ben said, "They probably went back to the loft by now anyway," and that seemed to settle it. Michael went home with him, still grumbling, with Debbie's caution in his ears: "And don't call them at home, either."

When Debbie opened her front door, only the far light in the kitchen was still on. The mess had been cleaned up and the food had been put away. She turned back to the dark living room. Despite what she had said to Michael, she thought they might still be here. So she wasn't surprised, stepping closer, to see the dim outlines of two bodies wrapped together on the couch. As her eyes grew accustomed, she made out Brian face down on top of Justin, fast asleep with his head on Justin's chest. Justin was on his back, arms wrapped around him, and smiling at her over Brian's head.

"You didn't fuck on my couch, did you?" Debbie demanded in a hissing whisper, hands on hips.

"No," Justin whispered back. "We were talking. He was -- " he paused, not sure if he should break Brian's confidence. But Debbie said, "Did he cry it out?" and he nodded. "Then he fell asleep. He hasn't been getting any sleep for so long, he needs it."

"I'll get a blanket, it's cold in here." She came back with a quilt and tried to wrap it around them. The couch hardly seemed big enough just for Brian's long legs, let alone both of them. "I can hardly tell where one of you ends and the other starts, in the dark," she said, keeping her voice low.

"Yeah, I have that problem, too." She could tell he was grinning.

"Behave." She fussed a little more with the quilt, dissatisfied, pulling it up and patting it back down. After a little harder pat than she intended, she glanced in concern at Brian's face. "I don't want to wake him."

"I've never seen him sleep so soundly. I mean, not unless he's completely hammered. He's always restless and tossing around, and every little thing wakes him up."

They listened together to Brian's heavy raspy breathing. "Never," Justin whispered again. "Deb, did you know he was at the hospital every night I was there? He stayed out in the hall, I never saw him."

Debbie's mouth fell open. "Fuck me. Oh, fuck me, why didn't I know that?" Justin had to bite back a giggle as she actually smacked herself in the chest. "I should have realized. I should have known him better. I thought -- " she shook her head in disgust at herself. "Well, you're here for the night. Will you be able to sleep like that, Sunshine?"

"I'm okay. Thanks for letting us stay."

She leaned over and kissed his forehead, plumping the couch pillows up behind him and pulling the quilt up again. Justin smiled, feeling as if he were being tucked in with his old teddy bear - the one named Gus - instead of his lover.

Debbie straightened and strained in the dim light to look again at Brian. "Sometimes he didn't come here for Michael," she said. Justin understood that in her mind's eye she was looking at a younger Brian. "Sometimes he came here to be with me."

"He loves you, Deb."

"Well, you too. Remember that, in case he never manages to choke out the words."

"I don't need the words," Justin said. "I just needed to be sure."

She could just see the gleam of his old brash Sunshine smile: his confidence finally restored. She could also see that he was trapped by Brian's weight, immobilized. "I hope you don't have to take a piss. You don't, do you?"

"Jesus. I didn't until you said that."

Debbie tried to mute her blaring laugh, without much success, but Brian didn't stir. "'Night, Sunshine," she said, and headed for the stairs.

Justin settled his chin on the top of Brian's head and willed his mind away from his bladder. Brian's chest rose and fell in a slow even rhythm against his own. Justin kissed his hair, and settled down to sleep.

 

*****
 

They were awakened by Vic arriving home the next morning. He pretended not to be surprised to see them, joking, "That must have been some dinner," and asking only one question, did they want coffee. Brian shook his head. He was very calm, so very calm that Justin correctly identified it as a cover for embarrassment. Debbie let them go home without a fuss, or even insisting on feeding them breakfast, although she couldn't resist giving them two bear hugs apiece.

At home for the rest of the day they spoke quietly to each other. Brian was like someone convalescing from a long illness, who needed peace. They chatted about little things and watched TV. Brian played solitaire games on the computer and read magazines. Justin sketched. They went to bed early and made love, unhurried and gentle, in the dark, with the blue lights off. Brian fell asleep and stayed asleep.

Justin had forgotten to set the alarm, but they woke up early anyway and made love again. Afterwards, instead of heading for the shower, Brian rolled up against him and suddenly started to talk into the pillows. He told Justin about the personal loan he'd taken out to cover the PIFA tuition, and about the financial trouble Vanguard was in. Justin was startled and alarmed, but he listened quietly. He asked, "Brian, you know I've never had to deal with all this stuff. You have to spell it out for me. How much trouble are we in?"

"We'll be all right." Saying "we" was so easy, neither of them noticed it. "As long as Vanguard stays in business, we're okay. I'm still making big bucks, I can handle the payments."

"I could drop out for a year, try and get a real job, and go back later."

"I don't want you to do that. Even if Vanguard goes under, I'm still employable. . . but the market's better in New York. What would you think about that?"

"Sure, I could -- " Justin stopped himself. The habit of saying what Brian wanted to hear was going to be hard to break. He added more honestly, "I'd rather not, right now. I know there are good schools there but I like the institute. After I graduate it would be great. But I'll go if we have to."

"We'll see. Probably not." Brian yawned and nuzzled his neck. "Vance will pull it out of the fire. He won't let that company go under."

"Neither will you."

"Fucking right," Brian said, with a flash of his usual arrogance. "I've got a couple of new business presentations coming up that are works of genius."

"If you do say so yourself," Justin teased, and kissed his nose. He thought about Matthew and Jonathan, planning their big futures, all rosy ideas and no worries or work. This was the real future, Justin realized: money, jobs, school, what they could or couldn't do next. "Are you going to work?"

"I'm going to work at home for a few days. Let Vance squawk, I don't give a shit." Brian paused, and answered Justin's unvoiced question. "But there's no need for you to skip class."

So for the rest of the week, Justin went to class as usual, although he begged off his shifts at the diner. Debbie made no protest. They spent every evening at home, ordering in food. Justin doubted if Brian had ever spent so much time at the loft. By Wednesday they were getting a lot of phone calls, which seemed to make him impatient. With Lindsay he talked determinedly about Gus and nothing else. With Debbie, he handed the phone to Justin. And with Michael, who took to calling three times a day as if regularly scheduled, he was teasing, answering all of Michael's insistent questions with the jokey non-answers of which he was master.

"Me too. Always have," he ended one call with Michael. Justin knew what he was replying to. Just a little while ago he would have been scorched with jealousy, not of Brian's feelings for Michael - that had never hurt him - but by Brian's easy admittance of them. Now he only thought it was sweet. Brian could say this love without choking, because it was smaller.

Near the end of the week, Justin started to get nervous about how Brian would handle the Rage party, fast approaching on Saturday. "We don't have to go," he said bluntly. It was Thursday evening, and Brian was tossing a salad for dinner.

"Of course we do, it's your fucking comic. Why not?"

"But - have you even been out of the house yet, this week? You've been like a hermit."

"I've been out a little."

"Walking? Shopping?"

"Out."

The thought of tricking never crossed Justin's mind, but then it hadn't crossed Brian's, either, not seriously. Justin was still uncomfortable. After a moment he said, "I thought we weren't going to do this any more."

Brian's hands stilled. Justin could almost see two or three smart-ass remarks pass through his mind, but he didn't utter them. He said, "We're not. But this isn't like that." Suddenly he grinned. "This is a surprise."

"A surprise?" Justin smiled too. "What?"

"You'll see."

"When?"

"A few days. Maybe Saturday. After the party."

Justin wasn't even excited about the launch. Rage didn't seem important anymore, although of course he wouldn't say so to Michael. He kept an eye on Brian as they were dressing to go, expecting to see - what? He seemed all right. He had a drink before they left, but that was nothing, and he even criticized Justin's shirt and made him change it.

Babylon was almost back to normal too, crowded and noisy but a little happier in feeling. It was strange to see women in the crowd. Justin felt a little breathless as his mother and Debbie descended on him, shrieking congratulations, and trying to get him to put on a Rage mask. It felt scratchy and he took it off immediately. Brian was refusing one outright; he heard him laugh and shout over the music to Michael, "I thought the masks were a good idea a few weeks ago, but I changed my mind!"

"Come and dance!" Michael swooped him off to the dance floor. Justin found Ben beside him.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes." Justin smiled up, grateful for the concern. "Yes, everything's fine."

Later Justin stood back from the crowd, submitting to interviews with journalists that Brian had also planned. Nothing had been forgotten, and everything was going well.

The emcee shouted something and the room went dark. Then lights burst out on the stage and the dancers whirled out. Justin couldn't see, and didn't care, if the bad-tempered Nick was still among them. The huge room reverberated with applause and the pounding noise. Stage smoke poured over them. Justin, nervous again, looked around urgently for Brian. Daphne pointed one way, Lindsay another, but he finally found him leaning against the bar, watching from the same vantage point as he had viewed the rehearsal. "Hey," Justin said breathlessly.

"Want a Rage-tini?"

"No. I mean, sure. Are you okay? How's your head?"

Brian narrowed his eyes. "Don't fuss, dear."

"Brian."

"Shut the fuck up and watch the play," Brian said, smiling. He pulled Justin against him.

On stage, JT fell on cue and the bashers crowded around him with their clubs. Rage came to the rescue, to whoops and more applause. It really is exciting, Justin thought. It plays well. Brian must have been thinking the same thing, because he said in Justin's ear, "You two were right, this was a good idea."

Rage was bending over JT, lifting him up in a kiss. Justin turned in the crook of Brian's arm and looked up at his face. They kissed, too. When they broke it, Brian said, "Want to get out of here?"

"Okay. Why?"

"To see the surprise."

Slipping away from your own party was probably rude, and leaving without saying goodbye to your friends or your mother certainly was, but Justin didn't care. He tried a few questions in the Jeep, but Brian was enjoying teasing him too much. They didn't drive too long. Justin was surprised to find himself in a residential neighborhood, a better one than where they lived. Brian parked in front of an older apartment building with interesting architectural features. It was well-kept, with a wrought-iron front gate.

Brian had the key to it. Justin raised his eyebrows. "I bribed the realtor," Brian said.

"Realtor? What realtor?"

"The one I went to see this week."

Justin was too bewildered to ask anything else. They rode up in a smooth elevator - it didn't creak like the one in their building - to the top floor. Brian had another key.

It let them into a completely bare and immaculate space. Brian fumbled for a light switch and one overhead light came on. Hardwood floors, newly polished, stretched out into the far shadows.

"There's no kitchen yet," Brian said. His boots echoed across the floor. "It used to be a studio. Come here, look up, there are skylights over here."

"Brian, what the fuck's going on?"

"We could partition this end off as a studio for you, and put a kitchen in over there. Or maybe over here." He crossed to the farther end. "We could partition off the bedroom, too. But I like an open plan."

"Brian Kinney, stand still and tell me what the fuck you're talking about."

"I was thinking about selling the loft."

"Oh God, why? Because of Vanguard? Has it gone under?"

"Fuck, would you relax?" Brian walked back over. Justin was still hanging in the doorway. Brian put a hand under his arm and pulled him into the apartment. "Vance called yesterday and said - all right!" he threw up his hands comically, as if to ward off the sudden accusing look on Justin's face. "I was going to tell you, I was."

"Were you?"

"Am I going to have to report in daily from now on? Look, Sunshine. I was waiting to tell you until now, because it's part of the surprise."

"Oh. Okay," Justin said uncertainly. "This apartment is the surprise?"

"Yes."

"And Vance -- ?"

"He called to tell me the bank agreed to the loan extension. So we're okay."

But Justin had finally learned not take these statements at face value. He thought about it first. Then he said, "It's okay so long as new business is brought in."

"Right. And I'm going to take care of that."

Justin planted himself in front of Brian and took his chin in his hands. He searched Brian's face, looking for the bluster that hid his real thoughts. It wasn't there. Brian grinned, confident, and snickered a little at Justin's worry.

"So it's a happy ending?"

"As long as I work my butt off for it."

Justin said with meaning, "Happy endings always have to be worked for."

As soon as he said it he knew how ridiculous it was. He could hardly blame Brian for groaning, but he smacked at his head anyway. The next minute they were both laughing, pulling and pushing at each other.

"Wait," Justin said, and pulled away again, out of Brian's reach. He started to walk around the space, peering up at the darkened skylights. "So why do you want to sell the loft?"

"You don't like this? We can make anything we want to out of it." Brian added, "I can ask your mother to handle the loft sale, she'll make a few bucks."

"But Brian, you love the loft. It's your place. It's your home."

Brian put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. He grimaced. "I don't know how to make it our home. I just don't."

Justin stopped dead and stared at him. "Christ, Brian. I don't need that." Brian was silent. "I don't need as much as you think I do."

"No?"

"No." Their voices kept echoing. "We don't have to move. I like where I am. Where we are."

"All right. If you're sure."

Justin turned his back to hide a grin. He added mischievously, "I wouldn't mind shopping for some new furniture, though."

Brian had a sudden horrifying vision of the two of them in some furniture store, cozily picking out a coffee table. "Sunshine, if you hold my hand or call me honey, I'll cut off your fucking balls."

Justin started laughing. He heard Brian come swiftly up behind him, but he expected a grab to his shoulders. Instead, Brian's foot snaked expertly around his ankle and yanked his leg out from under him. Thrown off balance, Justin had a half-second of panic as he started to fall. He flailed out and Brian caught him. Justin let himself go and he was borne to the floor, firmly but with care. Brian's hand cradled the back of his head, to keep him from striking the hardwood.

It will always be like this, Justin thought, as Brian started to kiss him. The ground would always be shifting out from under them; balance would always be fought for; sometimes the fall would begin. It would always be hard and difficult and complicated and exhausting. But the landing would be sweet.

"Name your wish," Brian said in his ear.

"Mmmm." Justin smiled, his eyes closed, thinking of the possibilities.

He knew his real wish had already been granted.

 

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