Heartlines
Title: Heartlines
Author: blushemphasises/tinydancer
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Timeline: Post-513
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2,180
Summary: Justin’s moved around enough in his life to lose track of where he is when he wakes up. Home may be where the heart is - or maybe it’s not. Maybe home is waking up exactly where you think you are.
A/N: On AO3, In my attempt to break into this lovely fandom - I offer this fic, enjoy! :)
During the first few months he had moved to New York, there were a lot of adjustments made in Justin’s life and not enough time. Too soon had the call arrived from Daphne, letting him know about her cousin’s apartment. Too soon had he booked the flight to New York while Brian was still in the shower, quickly and quietly he had clicked the word yes to the are you sure? and feeling anything but.
And now…now what? Now he’d be lying in bed in New York, reliving the first few seconds of semi-consciousness when his brain would place himself in the loft, next to Brian and on their bed. And then he would get up and dress for work, getting ready to take another bite of the big, bad gigantic apple.
But it would happen again, and then again, until the disappointment following the initial realisation would become unbearable. No, he wasn’t back in Pittsburgh and no, Brian was not in the bed and yes the desolation and longing ached like hell.
He’d felt it before; the ache was familiar, almost like an old friend. He was seventeen when his life turned upside down and inside out and he was seventeen the first time he had woken in Brian Kinney’s bed. Waking up was like a dream; he had blinked and felt another warm presence in bed, another man. A beautiful man, the face of God. To seventeen-year-old Justin, home was where he lived: where his parents and sister lived, where he grew up and fell off his bike that first time, scraping his knees and elbows. But waking up next to Brian Kinney, there was no ache then, he had not felt it.
It came later, when he would wake up at his house in the suburbs and wish he were with Brian, always with Brian. Even on the verge of tears and Brian barefoot on the side of the road. When he was in the shower jerking off, when he was in class doodling Brian’s name without realising, when he was aside the pool with Daphne, figuring out what he had to do next. The ache had gone when he was in Babylon, finally in Brian’s arms, being lifted above all the queens and studs like he was fucking Simba and loving it.
Fast forward and he’d said the words “Never again!” in an alleyway behind Babylon and suddenly he had no home. Or maybe he did, but not really. Living in the loft, Justin had loved it and he had hated it, but mostly he just loved Brian and tried not to show it.
Brian’s bed had dark sheets and the sheets would smell like them, like sex, their sex. Before opening his eyes, he would sometimes wonder if his mom would come storming in about how late he was before remembering he had no home and the ache would be back. But then Brian’s alarm would go off and although it was different from the one in Justin’s room, it made Justin smile because Brian had started setting the alarm clock earlier for Justin so that he wouldn’t be late for class.
Fast forward, and Justin was fucking careless enough to not set the security alarm and Brian was fucking careless enough to kick out a homeless seventeen year old boy and then, Brian was careful enough to go to New York and find him again. Justin found redemption on the stark white sheets in a hotel suite paid for courtesy of Brian Kinney’s credit card, and then they were okay, he was okay.
And living at Debbie’s house had been good; Michael’s Captain Astro curtains had slowly become familiar and Justin had put up his own sketches proudly, a self-portrait and then one of Brian. He had become less like a nuisance to Brian and more like someone whose company he enjoyed. He was finally feeling a sense of belonging in the place of longing.
Then - pause. A bat to the head and a few forgotten moments later, Justin was waking up to a new hell, one where he was in hospital and he couldn’t remember the most (ridiculously) romantic night of his life.
For Justin, those mornings were riddled with feelings of dread and that was mostly because of all the waiting. He would sometimes blink his eyes open blearily, all drugged up, thinking he was back in the suburbs or at Debbie’s or maybe even in the loft, semi-conscious but still waiting for Brian to come out from the bathroom, or whatever else he was doing. Always waiting, always Brian.
It became worse when he arrived at his mom’s new townhouse - the ache was so persistent, always causing a ruckus in the front of his mind after waking up from countless nightmares and flinching away from his mother’s touch, “don’t touch me!” he had said. And he had meant it.
Living with Brian again had been so, so beautiful at first, full of gentle hands and soft-spoken words, another side of Brian. Justin had even wondered if he were dreaming at times, Brian was there for Justin, taking steps down the road, making sure Chris Hobbs didn’t win, even encouraging his art - always there for him. Always.
Until he wasn’t anymore and Justin had felt so sure, so sure that he was leaving the loft for good but then Brian had said the words, “coming home to you.” And the world shifted a little. After that, he and Brian had taken to checking the time more and more often to make a three am curfew that sounded more important than it really was.
Back then things were all right but never steady, until one day there was something wrong with the picture. Justin’s ache was back in dull thuds and the longing was also back, sometimes in full force. He felt it when he woke up alone in Vermont and he felt again back in the loft, next to a sleeping Brian - so close, yet so very far.
Fast forward and he was waking up at Ethan’s. It was great; no it was simply spectacular - was it not? These were times when, in the first few seconds of semi-consciousness, Justin had welcomed the feeling of longing and the ache, this time for Brian and his loft. Then he would remember where he is and who he’s with and the guilt would grip him so tightly it was uncomfortable. But mornings, he would welcome the formerly unwelcomed guest into Ethan’s shabby little home. And then Justin would blink and smell cheap coffee and chocolates or hear the exquisite strings of Ethan’s violin. “Good morning, beautiful.” Ethan would say, and his tone was never mocking. His smile was always so devastatingly sincere and Justin would smile back, feeling ten times the fraud. “Good morning” Justin would say, even if he knew that it wasn’t one.
And the (not-so) good mornings went on - and on and on. Until Justin had opened his eyes a little wider after a trip to Harrisburg and his glasses weren’t so rosy anymore. Maybe they never were.
The nights and mornings spent at Daphne’s were no different, except this time he let himself think of Brian and didn’t feel too guilty. Allowed himself to dream and smell and breathe Brian until he couldn’t take it anymore and all the chain-smoking in the world wouldn’t solve a thing. And then Daphne knew what he had to do and Justin had put the ache on hold to formulate a plan. He could bring his inner stalker out to play again, and why not? It had worked before.
After that, things were good - no things were fucking great. It was then that the ache and feeling became - complicated. And he was okay with it because there was no way he would let himself want to live at the Loft, even if he was sleeping there more and more and waking up at Daphne’s became a little more difficult. So maybe he didn’t have a home then, but so what? He was having enough inner turmoil anyway - Cody had made sure of that in the worst way possible - no need to figure out why he felt like waking up next to Brian every fucking day.
The cancer is what threw his world upside down, inside out and then shook it around some. He wanted, no needed to be next to Brian and when Brian wasn’t there he had to physically stop himself to call him, to check on him. At first Brian would put up a fight, even after the Chicken Soup Incident he was still putting up a tough front. But after the first radiotherapy session and then the second, he became more and more okay with Justin’s presence, or maybe he was too weak to argue anymore, but Justin likes to think it was the former. “Justin,” Brian would say, his voice raspy and almost unrecognisable “I’m fine,” he'd say. He wasn’t fine.
The times he would sleep at Daphne’s slowly became rare and fewer between long days, and Justin was beginning to feel more than okay with that.
It was almost a no-brainer for Justin; of course he’d go along with Brian to go on the Liberty Ride. But then it wasn’t a no-brainer anymore and then he had a bigger decision to make and even more at stake.
Fast forward, and night time in LA was great. It was beautiful of course, the sky scattered with stars, and the clubs with stars of another kind. Quiet hours was when Justin would miss home the most, Pittsburgh in all its glory. Glorious Pittsburgh Brian had once called it. Justin wouldn’t have many quiet moments, everything was RAGE and movies and clubbing and making sure his hand wasn’t getting overworked, hoping it'd hold out to meet the deadlines.
And when in the morning, Justin would be shocked to find he wasn’t back in the loft or even at Daphne’s, he would think of empty drawers and Brian’s eyes, Brian’s arms, Brian’s mouth, Brian’s cock. Brian, Brian, Brian.
Fast forward, and he was back.
The sheets were the same, everything was the same, Brian was the same and maybe that wasn’t a good thing because Justin had changed and Justin wanted different things and Brian couldn’t - no wouldn’t, give them to him. When are you ever going to change? Never.
Fast forward, and he was gone again but still in Pittsburgh. Sleeping on a second-hand mattress that didn’t smell right and neither did his new apartment. But it was his, and the loft wasn’t his and this was home or maybe it should have been but Justin knew it wasn’t. It was hard. Almost harder than anything he’d ever done. Even harder than keeping his phone on when he was in LA, reassuring himself that reassuring was enough, that he would be back. And all the good that had done. He was back but he wasn’t home and he felt like a pussy faggot but crying wouldn’t help either. He would paint and paint and paint and see Brian in the diner and then he’d be okay. He'd tell himself to get the fuck over it, you weak pussy you’re home now and it’s enough. It’s enough.
“You okay, sunshine?” Debbie had asked once. And Justin had said, “Yeah… It’s for the best, you know?”
He knew he’d still love Brian, never stop loving Brian. It was for the best.
Stop - pause. Babylon went up in flames, smoke and charcoal coloured air. But then there was Brian and Justin was home again.
After the proposal, after Britin and before calling off the wedding, these were some of the best days of Justin’s life. They were alive; they were fucking okay - no better than okay. They were fucking fantastic and their fucking was fantastic, and everything was Brian, seating arrangements and venues - or looking up the meaning of Golden Gardenias on Google.
Was there an ache? Justin can’t remember. Maybe he was too happy to notice it was gone.
And now… fuck. Now he’s waking up and he should know he’s not back home, he should know. But somehow, he still manages to forget and the longing and that fucking ache is so -
Fuck. Nothing is okay.
Justin sighs and picks up the phone.
*
Fast Forward, and -
Justin can feel Brian breathing, his lean stomach muscles are moving up and down where Justin is resting his head. He can sense Brian is awake from the movements above, maybe Brian’s on his phone, maybe he’s checking his email. But Justin’s not fully awake yet so he doesn’t start worrying about Brian over-working himself. Instead he turns his face and kisses Brian’s stomach and then smiles as he watches it quiver.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Brian sounds amused and Justin looks up to meet Brian’s eyes. Brian had indeed been on his phone, probably checking his email. But now there’s a slight smile visible in the curve of his lips.
Justin smiles back.
Author: blushemphasises/tinydancer
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Timeline: Post-513
Rating: PG13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 2,180
Summary: Justin’s moved around enough in his life to lose track of where he is when he wakes up. Home may be where the heart is - or maybe it’s not. Maybe home is waking up exactly where you think you are.
A/N: On AO3, In my attempt to break into this lovely fandom - I offer this fic, enjoy! :)
During the first few months he had moved to New York, there were a lot of adjustments made in Justin’s life and not enough time. Too soon had the call arrived from Daphne, letting him know about her cousin’s apartment. Too soon had he booked the flight to New York while Brian was still in the shower, quickly and quietly he had clicked the word yes to the are you sure? and feeling anything but.
And now…now what? Now he’d be lying in bed in New York, reliving the first few seconds of semi-consciousness when his brain would place himself in the loft, next to Brian and on their bed. And then he would get up and dress for work, getting ready to take another bite of the big, bad gigantic apple.
But it would happen again, and then again, until the disappointment following the initial realisation would become unbearable. No, he wasn’t back in Pittsburgh and no, Brian was not in the bed and yes the desolation and longing ached like hell.
He’d felt it before; the ache was familiar, almost like an old friend. He was seventeen when his life turned upside down and inside out and he was seventeen the first time he had woken in Brian Kinney’s bed. Waking up was like a dream; he had blinked and felt another warm presence in bed, another man. A beautiful man, the face of God. To seventeen-year-old Justin, home was where he lived: where his parents and sister lived, where he grew up and fell off his bike that first time, scraping his knees and elbows. But waking up next to Brian Kinney, there was no ache then, he had not felt it.
It came later, when he would wake up at his house in the suburbs and wish he were with Brian, always with Brian. Even on the verge of tears and Brian barefoot on the side of the road. When he was in the shower jerking off, when he was in class doodling Brian’s name without realising, when he was aside the pool with Daphne, figuring out what he had to do next. The ache had gone when he was in Babylon, finally in Brian’s arms, being lifted above all the queens and studs like he was fucking Simba and loving it.
Fast forward and he’d said the words “Never again!” in an alleyway behind Babylon and suddenly he had no home. Or maybe he did, but not really. Living in the loft, Justin had loved it and he had hated it, but mostly he just loved Brian and tried not to show it.
Brian’s bed had dark sheets and the sheets would smell like them, like sex, their sex. Before opening his eyes, he would sometimes wonder if his mom would come storming in about how late he was before remembering he had no home and the ache would be back. But then Brian’s alarm would go off and although it was different from the one in Justin’s room, it made Justin smile because Brian had started setting the alarm clock earlier for Justin so that he wouldn’t be late for class.
Fast forward, and Justin was fucking careless enough to not set the security alarm and Brian was fucking careless enough to kick out a homeless seventeen year old boy and then, Brian was careful enough to go to New York and find him again. Justin found redemption on the stark white sheets in a hotel suite paid for courtesy of Brian Kinney’s credit card, and then they were okay, he was okay.
And living at Debbie’s house had been good; Michael’s Captain Astro curtains had slowly become familiar and Justin had put up his own sketches proudly, a self-portrait and then one of Brian. He had become less like a nuisance to Brian and more like someone whose company he enjoyed. He was finally feeling a sense of belonging in the place of longing.
Then - pause. A bat to the head and a few forgotten moments later, Justin was waking up to a new hell, one where he was in hospital and he couldn’t remember the most (ridiculously) romantic night of his life.
For Justin, those mornings were riddled with feelings of dread and that was mostly because of all the waiting. He would sometimes blink his eyes open blearily, all drugged up, thinking he was back in the suburbs or at Debbie’s or maybe even in the loft, semi-conscious but still waiting for Brian to come out from the bathroom, or whatever else he was doing. Always waiting, always Brian.
It became worse when he arrived at his mom’s new townhouse - the ache was so persistent, always causing a ruckus in the front of his mind after waking up from countless nightmares and flinching away from his mother’s touch, “don’t touch me!” he had said. And he had meant it.
Living with Brian again had been so, so beautiful at first, full of gentle hands and soft-spoken words, another side of Brian. Justin had even wondered if he were dreaming at times, Brian was there for Justin, taking steps down the road, making sure Chris Hobbs didn’t win, even encouraging his art - always there for him. Always.
Until he wasn’t anymore and Justin had felt so sure, so sure that he was leaving the loft for good but then Brian had said the words, “coming home to you.” And the world shifted a little. After that, he and Brian had taken to checking the time more and more often to make a three am curfew that sounded more important than it really was.
Back then things were all right but never steady, until one day there was something wrong with the picture. Justin’s ache was back in dull thuds and the longing was also back, sometimes in full force. He felt it when he woke up alone in Vermont and he felt again back in the loft, next to a sleeping Brian - so close, yet so very far.
Fast forward and he was waking up at Ethan’s. It was great; no it was simply spectacular - was it not? These were times when, in the first few seconds of semi-consciousness, Justin had welcomed the feeling of longing and the ache, this time for Brian and his loft. Then he would remember where he is and who he’s with and the guilt would grip him so tightly it was uncomfortable. But mornings, he would welcome the formerly unwelcomed guest into Ethan’s shabby little home. And then Justin would blink and smell cheap coffee and chocolates or hear the exquisite strings of Ethan’s violin. “Good morning, beautiful.” Ethan would say, and his tone was never mocking. His smile was always so devastatingly sincere and Justin would smile back, feeling ten times the fraud. “Good morning” Justin would say, even if he knew that it wasn’t one.
And the (not-so) good mornings went on - and on and on. Until Justin had opened his eyes a little wider after a trip to Harrisburg and his glasses weren’t so rosy anymore. Maybe they never were.
The nights and mornings spent at Daphne’s were no different, except this time he let himself think of Brian and didn’t feel too guilty. Allowed himself to dream and smell and breathe Brian until he couldn’t take it anymore and all the chain-smoking in the world wouldn’t solve a thing. And then Daphne knew what he had to do and Justin had put the ache on hold to formulate a plan. He could bring his inner stalker out to play again, and why not? It had worked before.
After that, things were good - no things were fucking great. It was then that the ache and feeling became - complicated. And he was okay with it because there was no way he would let himself want to live at the Loft, even if he was sleeping there more and more and waking up at Daphne’s became a little more difficult. So maybe he didn’t have a home then, but so what? He was having enough inner turmoil anyway - Cody had made sure of that in the worst way possible - no need to figure out why he felt like waking up next to Brian every fucking day.
The cancer is what threw his world upside down, inside out and then shook it around some. He wanted, no needed to be next to Brian and when Brian wasn’t there he had to physically stop himself to call him, to check on him. At first Brian would put up a fight, even after the Chicken Soup Incident he was still putting up a tough front. But after the first radiotherapy session and then the second, he became more and more okay with Justin’s presence, or maybe he was too weak to argue anymore, but Justin likes to think it was the former. “Justin,” Brian would say, his voice raspy and almost unrecognisable “I’m fine,” he'd say. He wasn’t fine.
The times he would sleep at Daphne’s slowly became rare and fewer between long days, and Justin was beginning to feel more than okay with that.
It was almost a no-brainer for Justin; of course he’d go along with Brian to go on the Liberty Ride. But then it wasn’t a no-brainer anymore and then he had a bigger decision to make and even more at stake.
Fast forward, and night time in LA was great. It was beautiful of course, the sky scattered with stars, and the clubs with stars of another kind. Quiet hours was when Justin would miss home the most, Pittsburgh in all its glory. Glorious Pittsburgh Brian had once called it. Justin wouldn’t have many quiet moments, everything was RAGE and movies and clubbing and making sure his hand wasn’t getting overworked, hoping it'd hold out to meet the deadlines.
And when in the morning, Justin would be shocked to find he wasn’t back in the loft or even at Daphne’s, he would think of empty drawers and Brian’s eyes, Brian’s arms, Brian’s mouth, Brian’s cock. Brian, Brian, Brian.
Fast forward, and he was back.
The sheets were the same, everything was the same, Brian was the same and maybe that wasn’t a good thing because Justin had changed and Justin wanted different things and Brian couldn’t - no wouldn’t, give them to him. When are you ever going to change? Never.
Fast forward, and he was gone again but still in Pittsburgh. Sleeping on a second-hand mattress that didn’t smell right and neither did his new apartment. But it was his, and the loft wasn’t his and this was home or maybe it should have been but Justin knew it wasn’t. It was hard. Almost harder than anything he’d ever done. Even harder than keeping his phone on when he was in LA, reassuring himself that reassuring was enough, that he would be back. And all the good that had done. He was back but he wasn’t home and he felt like a pussy faggot but crying wouldn’t help either. He would paint and paint and paint and see Brian in the diner and then he’d be okay. He'd tell himself to get the fuck over it, you weak pussy you’re home now and it’s enough. It’s enough.
“You okay, sunshine?” Debbie had asked once. And Justin had said, “Yeah… It’s for the best, you know?”
He knew he’d still love Brian, never stop loving Brian. It was for the best.
Stop - pause. Babylon went up in flames, smoke and charcoal coloured air. But then there was Brian and Justin was home again.
After the proposal, after Britin and before calling off the wedding, these were some of the best days of Justin’s life. They were alive; they were fucking okay - no better than okay. They were fucking fantastic and their fucking was fantastic, and everything was Brian, seating arrangements and venues - or looking up the meaning of Golden Gardenias on Google.
Was there an ache? Justin can’t remember. Maybe he was too happy to notice it was gone.
And now… fuck. Now he’s waking up and he should know he’s not back home, he should know. But somehow, he still manages to forget and the longing and that fucking ache is so -
Fuck. Nothing is okay.
Justin sighs and picks up the phone.
*
Fast Forward, and -
Justin can feel Brian breathing, his lean stomach muscles are moving up and down where Justin is resting his head. He can sense Brian is awake from the movements above, maybe Brian’s on his phone, maybe he’s checking his email. But Justin’s not fully awake yet so he doesn’t start worrying about Brian over-working himself. Instead he turns his face and kisses Brian’s stomach and then smiles as he watches it quiver.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Brian sounds amused and Justin looks up to meet Brian’s eyes. Brian had indeed been on his phone, probably checking his email. But now there’s a slight smile visible in the curve of his lips.
Justin smiles back.