by Trisky
I was sixteen and unknowingly infatuated with Jimmy Bowman, the only guy I knew who was actually out at my age. He was pimply and about thirty pounds overweight. I lived to impress him. I smoked my first joint with him in his parents' basement, which was filled with shag carpeting, plastic covered couches and not much else. We got a little punchy that afternoon and wound up having a contest that involved stuffing olives in our mouths in some amazingly idiotic venture to see which one of us could fit more. It didn't occur to us we could have had a better time using the *real* object of the game. So I fit seven in at once, he gave up at four. He was crying tears of laughter at the sight of my mouth. I tried spitting them out but my mouth and senses weren't cooperating, dulled from the pot. I started gasping for air. Between the gasping and the clouds of smoke, I didn't think to breathe through my nose. I finally managed to dislodge them and Jimmy said the oddest thing to me, "You better keep practicing that." In my head, quite by accident, that was the first time I ever let myself admit I was gay, because I knew exactly what he meant and he was the first person who recognized it in me.
Like Columbus accidentally discovering America, it led to a lifetime of accidental discoveries. I accidentally discovered my calling at Jerk at Work by accidentally getting caught not really jerking off. I wouldn't have Emmett waiting in the wings if I didn't accidentally figure out he was what I'd been looking for all along.
I certainly wouldn't be standing here watching this train wreck waiting to happen without some accidental timing and accidental diarrhea of the mouth.
Accidents I can deal with, but I don't particularly care for startling surprises. I like things to progress in a nice, structured, orderly fashion. You pull the toilet paper over the roll, you keep all of your money bankface and you never, ever attempt to upset the precarious balance of the universe as we know it by trying to challenge Brian Kinney's place in it. I should have known this was a bad idea from the outset. From the first minute Michael dropped that word into the conversation! "We'll just *surprise* him." How did I ever let him convince me that Brian needed a boys night out and that I needed to be a part of it? Too much work stress kept Brian away from Babylon all week. Frankly, I like it when he's occupied. It's the only time I stand a fighting chance with the halfway decent selection of men. I go from "never" to "maybe in the next lifetime", which is a step up in my world. Let Brian stress himself out all he wants. But no, I had to let Michael talk me into this surprise "kidnaping". Of course Emmett was all gung ho, he's all for a surprise and drama anytime, anywhere.
That was my first mistake. Listening to the two of them.
My second mistake was sticking around after our very accidental discovery of a certain blond rumpled twink sleeping on a certain couch of a certain person whom we should have been avoiding to begin with so as not to tempt fate. When you do that and start creating your own accidents by purposefully not thinking, it dilutes the self-discovery. Accidents just have to happen and push you in certain directions, you can't make them happen.
The third mistake was believing that being an ex-accountant and current entrepreneur somehow gives me some kind of linear logic and sense that I can use to offer as an acceptable olive branch to keep the peace. Who can argue with cold, hard facts?
Apparently, every last fucking one of them!
"Teddy, it's none of our business, let them work it out themselves." "You don't understand Ted." "Ted, you're not really helping." I should have stayed home. I would have accomplished just as much there, if not more.
Okay, so I don't profess to know Justin that well, but I'd like to think I can understand him on some level. We don't really have much in common. No one would ever mistake us for being bosom buddies. But I understand a thing or two about unrequited feelings, something he seems to feel is an issue. I've had plenty of experience, and I've been witness to Michael's experience with the concept for long enough. The problem isn't that Justin's feelings are unrequited, it's that they are, in fact, returned. Just not the way he wants them to be. Imagine what he'd do if he had to walk in Michael's shoes for a day or two. The problem, as I see it, is Brian. It's always Brian. He's the common denominator in the equation who requites feelings as if he's handing out admission to some holy mecca where no mere mortal should tread so they must be kept at bay. We wouldn't have half of these problems if Brian would just learn to stick to his own credo. The one he reminds us of over and over again, but which he conveniently forsakes when it stands in the way of having something he wants.
It's actually very disconcerting. Brian with a boyfriend? I would have put the chances of that happening on par with the chances of my making money off my expertise... porn and finance. Accidents can happen and somehow Brian accidentally ended up in a relationship while I accidentally palmed my way into the high end of the tax brackets.
This whole night should have gone differently. We should have just come over to an empty loft, waited around for Brian to come home and tell us all to get the fuck out because he's a busy guy who doesn't have time to hang out with the petty losers he calls friends. We could have left with our tails between our legs, no worse for the wear for trying. Everything would have been fine.
So of course Brian's fucking sink had to choose today of all days to overflow.
I believe Justin when he says that's the reason he's here. Michael... not so much. It doesn't help that Justin is dressed like someone who's been lounging around their house all day. The only problem is, this is no longer his home. Something which, of course, Michael felt the need to point out, as if any of us needed to be reminded. Which, in turn, put Justin on the defensive, reminding Michael that he didn't need to be reminded and that Michael didn't need to remind everyone else. At this point, we've been reminded several times as if anyone actually cared to begin with.
That was when Justin should have made his exit. We still could have gotten away with relatively little harm. Unfortunately the fates seem to hate me because that would be the moment Emmett would have to choose to impart his brilliance.
"Come on boys, even JT and Zephyr work together to help Rage out. Can't we make like the comic and get along for Brian's sake? I'm sure he'd want you to."
As if we needed to be reminded of *that* little endeavor while we were at it. The very thing that started all of this, that party celebrating that thing. Maybe it started before then, but it blew up at that point. See what I mean when you start tinkering with Brian Kinney's place in the world and start second guessing him? Everything just gets tossed all around.
"Rage doesn't exist anymore." Like hell rage doesn't exist, judging from the controlled temper Michael used to inform us of this supposed development. Personally I don't care if Rage has one issue or ten thousand. I don't really have much intention of reading it either way. It's just not my thing. I wouldn't tell Michael or Justin that, it seems important enough to them. Obviously, because Justin wasn't exactly happy to hear Michael's announcement.
"Since when? Shouldn't we decide together what to do with it?"
He had a point. One plus one equals two, so two creators with equal power equals two votes. It's all very simple, basic math.
"What's the point of continuing? I can't find an illustrator in time for the next issue."
"What if I continued to do the illustrations?" I think Justin might have looked just as ridiculous to Michael as I did to Jimmy Bowman choking on seven olives given Michael's bewildered stare. At least I had the excuse of being high.
"I gave it some thought and it's probably not the best idea, don't you think? I don't want to ruin it, let it go while it's still perfect. I say we just fold it in."
"It was never perfect Michael, but whatever, it's your call. I can't draw without a story."
And that was it, that was the way it all should have ended, very civilized and adultlike. So why the fuck did I feel compelled to open my mouth? Because I accidentally believed for a moment that I could actually offer some sound advice?
"You probably need to do another issue, just to recoup the costs of the first issue. I say put aside your personal differences and work on getting yourselves in the black." Logic, sense, rational thought, ergo peace. I didn't even get a chance to offer the whole olive branch, I barely got a pit and a twig out.
"Teddy, it's none of our business, let them work it out themselves." *Now* Emmett decides to use a little propriety. He's the one who started this!
"You don't understand, Ted." What don't I understand Michael? That you're in love with the kid's boyfriend and this has absolutely nothing to do with Rage, comic books or Ms. Manners big mouth?
"Ted, you're not really helping." Don't worry it wasn't you I was trying to help, Justin.
I give up. No one wants to face the harsh reality that personal feelings have nothing to do with business. Business is numbers and calculating them so they're in the positive, not the negative. If they can't make peace as friends, they better damn well learn how to share the branch as business partners unless they feel like owing several thousand dollars. That's my entire point, but if they insist, by all means let it be personal, just don't come crying to me for a loan.
"I'm gonna go. Can you tell Brian the plumber said to call him tomorrow about the bill?"
He brought us so fucking close, two inches from the door. Two inches away from an escape. Two inches from sanity.
"It was perfect to me, Justin. You just couldn't see that. You always had to try to make it something more. Why is that? What was wrong with it?"
I look at Emmett, who has the good sense to at least be looking away, because Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.
"Do you really want an answer to that?"
Oh God. I can hear the branch snap in two. Too bad Brian wasn't walking under it when it fell, then we'd be rid of the problem altogether. I've listened to countless arias and not a single one of them felt as melodramatic as this moment does. Not even the adultresses and murderers. Maybe because I know how they end. I like knowing what's coming. I don't like surprises and unpleasant ones at that. Where's a magic flute to carry me towards destiny and away from this madness when I need one? I don't care how cold and lonely it might be, just take me away from all of this!
I hear the wheels of the door squeak and Brian's voice interrupt, as if on cue. I see my theory has some legs to stand on, because Brian stumbles in accidentally at exactly the wrong moment, seeing nothing but Justin and his mouth agape. He couldn't have planned this if he tried. It had to be an accident.
"Just the person I wanted to see." He sounds... happy? Brian? Happy?
Normally it's kind of kinky to watch Brian almost brand Justin when they kiss. I get some kind of pleasure from knowing Brian is at the mercy of some flighty teenager. I couldn't have asked for better poetic justice than to have him fall for someone more fickle than he is. Brian couldn't handle an adult, Justin's just about his speed and exactly what he deserves as karmic retribution.
Today, however, is not one of those kinky moments. I don't know who's more horrified at Brian's timing, Michael, Justin or me. Emmett is eating up every minute. I wonder why he's not interested in the opera? It's right up his alley.
Brian finally releases a stupefied Justin from his mouth, and he does this thing that I don't think we were ever supposed to see. He kind of brushes his thumb on Justin's lips, as if to close them, sort of shyly proud that he's left him stunned. I try not to watch out of the corner of my eye, but it's beguiling. I need a drink. I need the room to stop spinning. We've upset the Gods and Brian Kinney and now we're all going to pay. This is why we never should have attempted this surprise in the first place, because *surprise* it just keeps backfiring in our faces.
Brian finally turns and notices that he has uninvited company. Uninvited, unrequited... unbelievable, that's what this all is. And Michael, poor Michael, he looks like he's about to become *un*done. It's one thing to think about possibilities... it's another to be slapped in the face with reality. He recovers quickly, I'll give him that.
"Why do you all look like those petrified mummies they store in tombs?"
I have a new theory I'm working on. If the road to self-discovery starts with an accident, then it ends when you plow yourself right into a brick wall.
Much to my chagrin, I hear a weak sound escape my lips.
"Surprise!"
Where's a jar of olives when I need them?