Stars Made of Paper (6/7)
Stars Made of Paper
Genre: AU, non-h/c
Warnings: nothing more hardcore than canon, angst, Justin/OMC, UST (seriously);
Rating: PG-13R-ish, I don't know anymore!
Word count: this part: 4700
Beta:
moonbrightnites who is an angel of the Lord and a saint and a superhero. All remaining mistakes are mine.
A/N: This fic is for Sakesushimaki <3 Also, feel free to PM me concrit, point out typos, mistakes et all.
Last chapter tomorrow and I'm anxious already!
Chapter 6
When Brian left the conference room, he called Justin and told him that whatever plans he'd had for the evening, they were being changed to Woody's, 8pm.
When Justin walked into Woody's, Brian greeted him with a shot of tequilla pushed into Justin's hand, and a toast “To me.”
Justin smiled, eyes scanning Brian's face and, the more he looked at him, the more the smile grew, until Brian had to avert his eyes, because no one was allowed to look this happy. Even Brian didn't feel this happy and he'd just delivered the pitch of his lifetime. Brian downed the first shot and as soon as Justin drank his, shoved another at him. “To you.” And Justin laughed, nearly choking on the liquor as he drank it a little too quickly.
“How did it--” Justin started, clearing his throat, his voice coming out raspy. Brian raised one hand to stop his further words and the other to pass him another glass.
“To PIFA’s study abroad program.”
Justin's smile faded slowly, eyes flickering to the scratched bar top and then, defiantly, meeting Brian's. He raised the glass with a mocking salutating gesture and downed it without a glitch.
“Who's going?”
“Aren't you? I saw the pamphlets and the forms in your room. So where will it be? Paris? Milan? London? Florence?”
Justin arranged the six empty glasses into a perfectly straight line before the bartender came to collect them.
“I changed my mind. I don't need to leave Pittsburgh to study art.”
“You don't need to study art, at all. But you want to. Like you want to go abroad.”
“No, I don't. And I don't need to.”
“He's not worth it.” Brian cut straight to the point and to Justin's credit, he didn't lie to refute that point. "Daphne told me why you gave up."
“See, Brian, there are things in life that are important, and things that aren't.” Justin's voice was mocking, patronizing.
“Like love? Companionship. Loyalty. Devotion.”
“Yes, important things.”
“Dreams. Ambition. Success.” He was speaking to Justin's back, who was retreating towards an empty booth in a corner, carrying the remaining shot glasses. “Not important things?”
“No. Important things that you can achieve while being with the person you choose.”
“Settling. Compromise. Sacrifice.”
“Yes, and then, right there: Things Brian Kinney doesn't understand.” Smiling again, this time all irritation and no longer happy. The way Brian somehow felt more at ease with. Maybe that was why he liked provoking those emotions in Justin. “Who am I even talking to? Have you ever been in a relationship?”
“Actually, I have.” Justin raised his eyebrows dubiously. “In sixth grade. With a girl. Then I realized that I was unfit for relationships because I'm gay. How come you've yet to catch up?”
“I don’t want to get into a discussion of your romantic theories tonight, alright? Give it a rest.”
“Okay.” Brian raised his hands in surrender. “But I just don’t understand. Are you afraid to leave him alone for half a year?”
Justin huffed a laugh. “This isn’t about lack of trust. I just.” He chewed on his lip. The glasses were on their way to forming a pyramid in front of him. But Justin changed his mind and deconstructed it. “I’m not drunk enough to have this conversation with you.”
Brian grabbed the passing waiter by his forearm and ordered another round with chasers and chips, because the imbibing they were about to engage in could prove to be a health hazard on an empty stomach.
“So.” Justin straightened his back and looked straight into Brian's eyes in a way that demanded complete focus and announced that the previous thread of conversation was over. “How good did it go?”
Brian tried to remain unreadable. It was only fair to return Justin's conversational obstinancy. It wasn't working. He pulled his lips between his teeth and stared back, but Justin knew anyway.
“You were amazing, weren't you? You made them eat out of your hand, didn't you?” Justin leaned forward, elbows on the table, that smile again, that unbearable, unbelievable, impossible happiness. For Brian. The one that made Brian feel like a hero again, or maybe a superhero. Like he could bend steel with his bare hands. And like he could break that happiness with a word.
“I was okay, I guess,” he said, watching the wrinkles in the corners of Justin's eyes deepen, the escaping sound of excited laughter. “Maybe not as okay as, say... a four-stories mural that got Stockwell's whole campaign commitee reaching for hemlock. But close enough.”
“God, can Daphne ever keep her mouth shut?” Justin rolled his eyes, but the look of satisfaction on his face belied his annoyance. He scooted back into his bench to make room for the tray of drinks that arrived, waited for the waiter to leave before he said, “We actually got caught by security once, but managed to convince them we were painting an advertisment. We almost got arrested.”
“Well, what kind of an artist are you if you don't?”
“Almost.”
“Exactly.” Justin didn't take the bait. Most of the time, Brian remembered, Justin could be a real spoilsport. “Give it time. Give it two years. If you don't make it by then, you're kind of a...” Brian trailed off, but Justin was really resistant to those digs tonight. Another reason why happy people were infuriating.
“...a failure?” Justin suggested, exasperation in his voice and his arms held wide apart in resignation.
Brian shrugged, your words, not mine. And Justin kicked his foot under the table. When Brian pulled his feet away, Justin settled into his seat again.
“It's thanks to you, you know?” Brian didn't know, which he expressed with a well-practiced raise of his eyebrows. “That I went to PIFA in the first place.”
How the fuck did Justin figure that? Suddenly Brian found a spot on his pants that required immediate attention. If Brian had really had any impact on Justin's decision back then, it must've been thanks to pain and disappointment he'd provided.
“You know how I was...” Justin bit on his bottom lip and his eyes were cast into some spot way out of the room they were sitting in. Then he shook his head and snorted self-depreciatively. “Yeah, let's drink to... to moving on.” He slid another shot towards Brian, who drank it, because that was exactly something he'd drink to. But.
“I know how you were what?” He hated when people did that. The most important pieces of information were usually left out in elipses. “If you start a sentence, fucking finish it.”
“You just did the same!”
“No, you finished my sentence.”
“Because you trailed off?” If anyone could understand not wanting to say something once you realized it was important, it was Brian. But tonight he felt like he could do anything. Even talk about the things that were better left alone in the past. Even acknowledging them. Because even though those things were painful and embarrassing, they were their things. And they did happen. “Fine,” Justin said, carefully setting his elbows back on the table. “You know how I was...” his eyes drifted to the side. “In love with you.”
Brian didn't confirm or deny, and thank fuck Justin didn't expect him to. That was probably his last chance to derail this train of thought, because maybe important informations were overrated?
“And when I moved out of your place, all I could think of was that... I don't know, I was deluding myself, because you never actually promised it to me, but. All I could think of was that the day of my birthday I'd go to Babylon and find you there. I...” He let out a derisive snort. “I dreamt about it at night, I pictured it when I was at school, I looked up Babylon online and knew the layout of it like the back of my hand. I imagined us dancing, surrounded by the go-go boys and the shirtless guys... it was all pretty vivid in my head. And I even went there twice with Daphne on a Thursday night, to, like, take a test run. Because I couldn't hope to get in if I was still freaked out by crowds, right? Can I have one, too?” he asked when Brian lit a cigarette.
Brian exhaled smoke and laid the box and the lighter on the table, hoping the slight tremble of his hand wasn't perceptible. Okay, Kinney, you asked, now fucking listen. It's not like you regret what you did or didn't do. You always do - or don't do - the right thing. Don't be a pussy.
“So, I managed to go to Liberty Avenue twice. Once I even stood in line to get in, but I chickened out because I didn't have an ID and I was afraid the bouncer would remember me. And I was ready, really. But you didn't come and you didn't answer my calls.” There really was no hurt in Justin's voice. How was it that Justin never wanted Brian's apologies, but Brian always felt like he needed to give them, anyway? What the fuck did Justin always do to fill Brian with regret?
And Brian forgot it in a matter of hours (maybe days, but no more than months, really) but he wanted Justin to still be hurt. He wanted Justin to still harbor those unimportant things that were their connection to the past when Brian still mattered. Now he was just an afterthought. He didn't know how to keep being wanted if he wasn't needed.
“Anyway. I went on my birthday, telling myself that maybe your phone was stolen, or you forgot to call me, which, clearly, shows how much I needed to wake up, right?” Justin grinned, only slightly strained. Brian answered with something that in the near-darkness could be taken for a smile. “And when I didn't find you there, I still couldn't give up. All I could think about was 'Brian didn't come because I'm pathetic. If I get better, I can find him and he's not gonna be able to avoid me anymore.' And sometimes I really felt like giving up. Well, sometimes I did give up, because hey, I didn't even know where you lived, neither did Josh, so even in my delusion I had to admit I didn't have big chances of finding you. And most of the time I knew: 'Justin, you are fucking demented. Wake up. He's gone.'”
Justin's look was distant and maybe a little wistful. But only for a moment. It passed and that derisive snort was there again, the 'I can't believe anyone could be so stupid' one.
“I almost gave up on PIFA, because it seemed like too much effort and it wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth it. I didn't really want anything for its own sake, you know? But I couldn't forget what you told me when my mom got me into PIFA and I thought 'well, if I give up on this, I'll be a pathetic failure. I won't have anything. And if I see Brian again, he'll laugh in my fucking face.'” Justin picked up a glass and slid another towards Brian, pointedly not looking at him.
“Here's to always being defined by other people's acceptance,” Brian offered. Justin smiled gratefully. It seemed like somehow Brian accidentally said the right thing, again. “Good thing that now you have someone else to provide that.”
+
Justin paused in the middle of downing his sixth shot, sloshing half of its contents as he made a broad, helpless gesture with his hands.
“I just. I love him too much to take off for half a year. You know?”
Of course Brian knew, he didn't need to be reminded every minute how comfortably and carelessly Justin was settling into a trap of being attached to one person. Instead of seeing and experiencing all the places that only those who weren't tied down could see.
He was a little bit uncomfortable with knowing, a little bit annoyed with that non-sequitur. They were talking about getting Justin a contract with Brian’s agency and this sudden turn in conversation was not welcome.
Love is like religion - you make it real by believing in it. Also, you don’t argue about religion, because it makes people irrational. There is no way to win that argument, no matter how much sense you make.
“Did he ask you not to go?”
“No, of course not. I didn’t talk about this with him.”
“Because he’d tell you to go?”
“Yes. Even though he’d want me to stay.”
“Are you afraid your…" Brian was sure that word would never stop tasting sour. "...your relationship wouldn’t survive the long distance?”
“It would. Of course it would!”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid. I told you, I don’t need this.” There was hard conviction in his voice. Brian almost believed him.
“I want to dance. Let’s go dancing.”
“There’s no music here.”
“Flawless logic, my friend.”
+
Justin was laughing at the glitter falling onto his upturned face. He was laughing at the music and the way Brian had to hover around his swaying body so he didn't trip over his own feet.
“This place is so loud!” -- and so was his voice. Brian thought that the queens dancing thirty feet away could probably hear him. But then, everything except Justin's voice sounded like a dull murmur to Brian. The blinking lights and the moving bodies were only a background to Justin's skin, Justin's loose limbs, Justin's hips that seemed to find the rhythm even when he couldn't find his own balance. Brian wasn't sure what song was playing, but he was sure Justin's hands were around his and he was following Justin's lead even though Justin was walking backwards and didn't know where he was going. “Last time I was here... a year ago!” He stumbled into a couple dancing behind him and laughed as they pulled him between them. “It hasn't changed!” Brian yanked him back and they maneuvered into a slow dance, Brian's left hand on Justin's hip, the right one clasped in Justin's. He didn't know what the fuck they were doing. Justin couldn't stop snickering.
“I took a whole tab of E,” Brian said. “What's your excuse?”
“For not taking it?” Justin asked, confused.
“Yes, that's exactly what I'm asking.”
“Love.” Justin pulled both Brian's arms forward, draping them over his own shoulders, his face a picture of concentration. “Beauty. Vast amounts of alcohol. You.”
“Don't drag me into this.”
“Don't have to.” He didn't have to. It wasn't Justin's doing when Brian pressed his face against his neck, let his tongue trace a line from the bottom of the neckline of Justin's black t-shirt, to the tip of his chin. It wasn't Justin's fault that it was important for Brian to fill all of his senses with him. “I shouldn't let you do that.”
“You're not. I'm taking advantage of you against your will.”
“Okay.” Justin angled his head so Brian's mouth could ghost over his temple, his cheek, his mouth, but never touching it, because, “Because, see, Brian? I'm loved. And I'm faithful.”
And Brian laughed. Did Justin really think he would refuse Brian in that moment, if Brian really decided to have him, body and soul? Did he really think Brian wouldn't ply him with drinks and drive him crazy with touching, with grinding, with everything, and then that he wouldn't just take Justin like he was rightfully Brian's, like he was the only thing Brian could think of for the past ten days? Did he think Brian wouldn't take him when it was the only thing that made sense when Brian wanted him so much, washing his hands clean off any responsibility, because they were high and irresponsible and Jesus fucking Christ. If Justin really thought Brian was above that, then he was horribly wrong.
“Have you ever been loved, Brian?”
Brian didn't even think of answering that. He thought the question was flawed to its very foundation.
Brian's hands slipped under the hem of Justin's t-shirt and he felt him shivering, pressing closer and moving his head slightly down, as if he wanted to look at the lack of space between them. It would've been so easy to drag him to the backroom, even easier to pull that t-shirt off all the way right there, kiss the breath out of him, get him off on the dance floor, and then in the car, and then fall asleep in the backseat. Then wake up to utter confusion and resentment. Easiest thing ever.
But when Brian finally had Justin, he thought, it would be anything but easy. It would be doubt and fight and surrender, and acknowledgement. But mostly doubt. It wouldn't be easy or obvious; it would be mind-blowing and life-changing and leave Justin lost. Maybe even Brian, too. Tonight just wasn't the time for that.
+
When Brian woke up the next morning, Justin was right beside him in bed, staring at him.
Brian was used to getting that look, even though he usually made sure to get rid of his tricks before they fell asleep.
“Don't look at me like that. You fell asleep on my bed. There was no way I'd go sleep on that fucking lumpy couch. There, mystery solved.”
He could feel Justin relax, even lie back on the pillow.
“I don't remember a fucking thing after Babylon.”
“There's nothing to remember. You were too hammered to do or say anything.” Justin's sigh from between his hands covering his face. “Well, anything that made sense, anyway.” Justin's groan. “If you're going to puke, bathroom is there.” He pointed his finger somewhere north, maybe.
Those well-practiced lines came so automatically Brian was already halfway asleep when Justin jumped out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, straight into the shower. Brian sprawled over the warm spot Justin vacated. His bed was too small for guests. (And their smell of lavender soap, turpentine, smoke, sweat and a lot of wasted hours of dancing, and frustration.) Great, and now Brian was fucking horny.
Why hadn't he made a move at Woody's? Was Justin's touching confession really that much of a turn-off?
Yeah.
Yeah, fucking right it was. Love. Eugh.
+
The last few days, Brian had noticed those annoying impulses. The impulse to drive to that café near PIFA on his lunch break. The impulse to call Justin during slow hours in the office to bitch about graphic artists whose sense of aesthetics didn’t know it died in the nineties. The impulse to call him and tell him not to eat at that new Chinese place off Fuller because their noodles tasted like their chicken that tasted like onion.
And the distractions. The distraction of being unable to get shit done in the living room because there were no wriggling, socked feet tucked between Brian and the sofa cushions.
And the habit of replying to simple questions from Chloe like they were a mean joke, surprising her with this new habit of cattiness.
When he finally called Justin, they hadn’t seen each other for four days.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“Um. Yes, why?”
“I need your help with something. Can I come over?”
“Help with what? Is it urgent? I have a project due.”
“It won’t take much time. I'll be there in twenty.”
Justin had rubber gloves on when he opened the door. Precisely, one glove on and one off, in the gloved hand. “Hey.”
Justin in work mode was always an unsettling sight. His eyes were always a little wild, his movements random and his sentences cut off in the middle. Brian wondered if he was the only person who tended to intrude on Justin’s tete-a-tete with his muses. He wondered if Anthony ever spent half a day being ignored by Justin while in the same room, if it made him feel as possessive, made him want to interrupt just so he didn’t feel forgotten. Brian could imagine that being with Justin felt like a perpetual love triangle. He wondered if being an artist himself made it easier for Anthony or even more unbearable.
He lay there on the twin bed, looking upside down at the portrait that he'd been ignoring for the past two weeks. He couldn't tell if the proportions were right, or what kind of look Anthony had. Through the tendrils of smoke leaving his mouth Brian could only tell the painstaking detail of tiny, careful brush strokes. He only saw that the picture was painted with so much care.
He got up and walked up behind Justin, put his arm around him, exhaled smoke into the blond mess of tangled hair.
"Ugh, Brian. I'm gonna smell like a homeless hippie."
"You already look the part, so you might as well."
Justin accepted the joint from Brian's fingers. He felt the shift of Justin's body, still touching him, but as lightly as possible.
From there, he could see Anthony's face at the perfect angle, rendered with care in warm chiaroscuro, looking at where Justin was standing with a secretive smile. Every time Justin resurfaced from his creative berserk, he would look back at Anthony and probably, Brian thought, smile back, have a silent conversation with him, an argument if he was tired and stressed, and struggle on. Brian had no trouble imagining Justin arguing with a painting.
And looking at that picture, Brian knew that somehow, he'd lost some kind of a race, only he hadn't wanted to take part until he realized he’d come in last.
Justin slipped from his hold back to his work. Brian felt his heart quicken, like an adrenaline rush way too late. Because he'd already lost. He reached his fingers to Justin's shoulders, pressed his hands into Justin's muscles and Justin tensed from the touch. He put his brush down, rolling his shoulders back. Brian let the joint go out between his lips as he gave Justin a massage he didn't need. Finally, Justin turned around, took the butt of the joint and dunked it in his water jar.
"You're going to get this job," he said, with no hint of doubt in his voice, as if it was ridiculous of Brian to even doubt that. He scrunched the shirt on Brian's shoulders under his fingers, gave him a gentle shake, back and forth. "And if you want to relax, you're doing it wrong. Go lie down, I'll give you a massage." But his hands didn't let go of Brian and his eyes were locked on Brian's.
Brian had never wanted to kiss someone so badly. He reached up and held Justin's elbows and he could see his own chest start to raise and fall faster. And he could see Justin swallow and blink, but not moving even one inch, fingers straining the fabric of Brian's collar to the point of almost snapping, his breath coming in quicker, shallow intakes. Brian licked his lips, saw Justin's eyes follow his tongue and then close.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said and walked away while he still could. He went back into Justin's room when he put on his coat and shoes. "Thanks."
He didn't want a consolation prize.
+
He knew it wasn't going to happen even before Daphne told him.
Brian had his share of married, engaged and otherwise taken men. Some of them were in open relationships. He'd had threesomes with couples. He'd been assaulted by jealous husbands. Brian knew how those things worked. It was not how he knew with Justin.
He could fuck him. Justin was probably the type that didn't kiss on the mouth, because that would be too meaningful. He'd kiss Brian. They'd fuck and it'd be mind-blowing and life-changing and then Justin would go back to his boyfriend and wonder, and wonder, and then all the wondering would tear the three of them apart. It wouldn't be a dirty secret, no. And he wouldn't choose Brian over Anthony, because Brian would never be the things Justin needed.
That also wasn't why.
The reason was that if Justin called out the wrong name as he came, Brian would've been furious. With other men, it was funny and pathetic, but with Justin it would've been unbearable and stupid and painful and insulting. The reason was that Justin would go back to his boyfriend and tell him everything, because they had no secrets. With other men, that was kinky and sometimes led to comebacks in threesomes. The reason was that Brian knew he'd want to have Justin again. But he wouldn't, because Brian would've been just a fuck and when you have someone like Justin, you don't allow repeats. And even if you do, Tony wasn't stupid. Neither was Justin. He wouldn't come back for more.
So when Daphne asked him to promise he wouldn't try having sex with Justin, because she couldn't ignore the way he was looking at Justin anymore, and she knew that Justin wouldn't agree even though he wanted to, and even if he did agree it would be a disaster, Brian just said,
“Yeah. Pinkie promise.” And it was the easiest thing he'd ever done.
They arrived at Woody's where Justin joined them with Tony ten minutes later and Brian's greeting was three mock-ups of business cards he printed on company templates to test various fonts (all of them helvetica, regular, 10pt), and all of them read: Brian Kinney, Junior Account Manager.
Justin threw his arms around Brian, saying I told you, I knew it, now you've finally arrived like it was one word.
Brian spent most of that evening watching Tony, who was, unsurprisingly, pretty fuckable up close. He had great lips and elegant bone structure and a voice that calmly commanded attention. He and Justin weren't all over each other or completely in sync, finishing each other's sentences, but, more infuriatingly, sitting separately, acting normally and only occasionally sending each other that look Brian couldn't stand. The one that spoke of admiration, contentment, happiness. Fucking happy people. Two shots and one beer later, Daphne hugged everyone goodbye because she had a morning lab the next day. Tony was telling them about some painter who came from France to paint some mural in one of the uptown skyscrapers and give a lecture at CMU.
“Speaking of France,” Brian interrupted and the conversation came to a brief halt, because that was the first time he’d spoken in the last hour. “Did you know that Justin, here--”
“Brian.”
He ignored Justin's warning, Justin's look and his fist straining around the handle of his mug.
“That Justin applied for a semester abroad in France?”
Of course Tony didn't know. “No, he thought of applying, but changed his mind.”
“Did he?” Tony's eyebrows drew together, his eyes turning to Justin who looked like he was about to throw up. Or kill. “No. Sadly, they rejected his application. Because, see. Justin applied for a program that only one student below third year ever got into. And when they denied him, twice, he was so disappointed he vowed never to try again.”
Tony kept looking at Justin, but it probably only lasted a short moment, while Brian held Justin's stare that went from anger to hurt. The only explanation there could be for the way it made Brian feel, the initial doubt that blended with satisfaction and turned into pleasure, was that there was something wrong with Brian.
“That vow was made almost easy by the fact that--”
“I think it's time for us to go,” Justin said calmly to Tony, putting on his jacket and his scarf.
He was a miserable bastard who would rather hurt the best person he knew than settle for being unimportant. And then, he'd be proud of it.
One day.
Tony cleared his throat, getting out from the booth and nodding at Brian as he left. They were at the door when Justin came back and slammed his palms on the table top.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.
“It's called conversation.”
Justin didn't take the bait. He was kind of a spoilsport that way.
“Why would you say that to him?” Justin's voice faltered. Not really breaking, but it was as if he lost steam. As if he wanted to be angry, but just didn't understand what was happening. Or maybe it was just Brian projecting. “Because you hate him? You wanted to hurt him? Or hurt me? Are you punishing me for something? Why did you do that?”
And Brian gave him the simplest answer possible, the one that made sense, that was true.
“Because I could.”
Justin nodded, not looking at him, refusing to give Brian the one last satisfaction of seeing him react. Brian sat in his booth for a long time after Justin turned away and left.
“Goodbye, then.”
And that was the way Brian preferred it, really. As long as Justin was near, he always had to hold his breath, watch his own hands, second-guess gestures, restrain looks, rationalize feelings that were impossible to justify. Wanting things that weren't good for either of them. Putting up with happiness he could only stare at, uncomprehending, waiting for its collapse. Relying on someone else's strength and kindness instead of his own calculation.
Without Justin, everything was going back to normal, magically.
-Next Part-
Genre: AU, non-h/c
Warnings: nothing more hardcore than canon, angst, Justin/OMC, UST (seriously);
Rating: PG-13R-ish, I don't know anymore!
Word count: this part: 4700
Beta:
moonbrightnites who is an angel of the Lord and a saint and a superhero. All remaining mistakes are mine.
A/N: This fic is for Sakesushimaki <3 Also, feel free to PM me concrit, point out typos, mistakes et all.
Last chapter tomorrow and I'm anxious already!
Chapter 6
When Brian left the conference room, he called Justin and told him that whatever plans he'd had for the evening, they were being changed to Woody's, 8pm.
When Justin walked into Woody's, Brian greeted him with a shot of tequilla pushed into Justin's hand, and a toast “To me.”
Justin smiled, eyes scanning Brian's face and, the more he looked at him, the more the smile grew, until Brian had to avert his eyes, because no one was allowed to look this happy. Even Brian didn't feel this happy and he'd just delivered the pitch of his lifetime. Brian downed the first shot and as soon as Justin drank his, shoved another at him. “To you.” And Justin laughed, nearly choking on the liquor as he drank it a little too quickly.
“How did it--” Justin started, clearing his throat, his voice coming out raspy. Brian raised one hand to stop his further words and the other to pass him another glass.
“To PIFA’s study abroad program.”
Justin's smile faded slowly, eyes flickering to the scratched bar top and then, defiantly, meeting Brian's. He raised the glass with a mocking salutating gesture and downed it without a glitch.
“Who's going?”
“Aren't you? I saw the pamphlets and the forms in your room. So where will it be? Paris? Milan? London? Florence?”
Justin arranged the six empty glasses into a perfectly straight line before the bartender came to collect them.
“I changed my mind. I don't need to leave Pittsburgh to study art.”
“You don't need to study art, at all. But you want to. Like you want to go abroad.”
“No, I don't. And I don't need to.”
“He's not worth it.” Brian cut straight to the point and to Justin's credit, he didn't lie to refute that point. "Daphne told me why you gave up."
“See, Brian, there are things in life that are important, and things that aren't.” Justin's voice was mocking, patronizing.
“Like love? Companionship. Loyalty. Devotion.”
“Yes, important things.”
“Dreams. Ambition. Success.” He was speaking to Justin's back, who was retreating towards an empty booth in a corner, carrying the remaining shot glasses. “Not important things?”
“No. Important things that you can achieve while being with the person you choose.”
“Settling. Compromise. Sacrifice.”
“Yes, and then, right there: Things Brian Kinney doesn't understand.” Smiling again, this time all irritation and no longer happy. The way Brian somehow felt more at ease with. Maybe that was why he liked provoking those emotions in Justin. “Who am I even talking to? Have you ever been in a relationship?”
“Actually, I have.” Justin raised his eyebrows dubiously. “In sixth grade. With a girl. Then I realized that I was unfit for relationships because I'm gay. How come you've yet to catch up?”
“I don’t want to get into a discussion of your romantic theories tonight, alright? Give it a rest.”
“Okay.” Brian raised his hands in surrender. “But I just don’t understand. Are you afraid to leave him alone for half a year?”
Justin huffed a laugh. “This isn’t about lack of trust. I just.” He chewed on his lip. The glasses were on their way to forming a pyramid in front of him. But Justin changed his mind and deconstructed it. “I’m not drunk enough to have this conversation with you.”
Brian grabbed the passing waiter by his forearm and ordered another round with chasers and chips, because the imbibing they were about to engage in could prove to be a health hazard on an empty stomach.
“So.” Justin straightened his back and looked straight into Brian's eyes in a way that demanded complete focus and announced that the previous thread of conversation was over. “How good did it go?”
Brian tried to remain unreadable. It was only fair to return Justin's conversational obstinancy. It wasn't working. He pulled his lips between his teeth and stared back, but Justin knew anyway.
“You were amazing, weren't you? You made them eat out of your hand, didn't you?” Justin leaned forward, elbows on the table, that smile again, that unbearable, unbelievable, impossible happiness. For Brian. The one that made Brian feel like a hero again, or maybe a superhero. Like he could bend steel with his bare hands. And like he could break that happiness with a word.
“I was okay, I guess,” he said, watching the wrinkles in the corners of Justin's eyes deepen, the escaping sound of excited laughter. “Maybe not as okay as, say... a four-stories mural that got Stockwell's whole campaign commitee reaching for hemlock. But close enough.”
“God, can Daphne ever keep her mouth shut?” Justin rolled his eyes, but the look of satisfaction on his face belied his annoyance. He scooted back into his bench to make room for the tray of drinks that arrived, waited for the waiter to leave before he said, “We actually got caught by security once, but managed to convince them we were painting an advertisment. We almost got arrested.”
“Well, what kind of an artist are you if you don't?”
“Almost.”
“Exactly.” Justin didn't take the bait. Most of the time, Brian remembered, Justin could be a real spoilsport. “Give it time. Give it two years. If you don't make it by then, you're kind of a...” Brian trailed off, but Justin was really resistant to those digs tonight. Another reason why happy people were infuriating.
“...a failure?” Justin suggested, exasperation in his voice and his arms held wide apart in resignation.
Brian shrugged, your words, not mine. And Justin kicked his foot under the table. When Brian pulled his feet away, Justin settled into his seat again.
“It's thanks to you, you know?” Brian didn't know, which he expressed with a well-practiced raise of his eyebrows. “That I went to PIFA in the first place.”
How the fuck did Justin figure that? Suddenly Brian found a spot on his pants that required immediate attention. If Brian had really had any impact on Justin's decision back then, it must've been thanks to pain and disappointment he'd provided.
“You know how I was...” Justin bit on his bottom lip and his eyes were cast into some spot way out of the room they were sitting in. Then he shook his head and snorted self-depreciatively. “Yeah, let's drink to... to moving on.” He slid another shot towards Brian, who drank it, because that was exactly something he'd drink to. But.
“I know how you were what?” He hated when people did that. The most important pieces of information were usually left out in elipses. “If you start a sentence, fucking finish it.”
“You just did the same!”
“No, you finished my sentence.”
“Because you trailed off?” If anyone could understand not wanting to say something once you realized it was important, it was Brian. But tonight he felt like he could do anything. Even talk about the things that were better left alone in the past. Even acknowledging them. Because even though those things were painful and embarrassing, they were their things. And they did happen. “Fine,” Justin said, carefully setting his elbows back on the table. “You know how I was...” his eyes drifted to the side. “In love with you.”
Brian didn't confirm or deny, and thank fuck Justin didn't expect him to. That was probably his last chance to derail this train of thought, because maybe important informations were overrated?
“And when I moved out of your place, all I could think of was that... I don't know, I was deluding myself, because you never actually promised it to me, but. All I could think of was that the day of my birthday I'd go to Babylon and find you there. I...” He let out a derisive snort. “I dreamt about it at night, I pictured it when I was at school, I looked up Babylon online and knew the layout of it like the back of my hand. I imagined us dancing, surrounded by the go-go boys and the shirtless guys... it was all pretty vivid in my head. And I even went there twice with Daphne on a Thursday night, to, like, take a test run. Because I couldn't hope to get in if I was still freaked out by crowds, right? Can I have one, too?” he asked when Brian lit a cigarette.
Brian exhaled smoke and laid the box and the lighter on the table, hoping the slight tremble of his hand wasn't perceptible. Okay, Kinney, you asked, now fucking listen. It's not like you regret what you did or didn't do. You always do - or don't do - the right thing. Don't be a pussy.
“So, I managed to go to Liberty Avenue twice. Once I even stood in line to get in, but I chickened out because I didn't have an ID and I was afraid the bouncer would remember me. And I was ready, really. But you didn't come and you didn't answer my calls.” There really was no hurt in Justin's voice. How was it that Justin never wanted Brian's apologies, but Brian always felt like he needed to give them, anyway? What the fuck did Justin always do to fill Brian with regret?
And Brian forgot it in a matter of hours (maybe days, but no more than months, really) but he wanted Justin to still be hurt. He wanted Justin to still harbor those unimportant things that were their connection to the past when Brian still mattered. Now he was just an afterthought. He didn't know how to keep being wanted if he wasn't needed.
“Anyway. I went on my birthday, telling myself that maybe your phone was stolen, or you forgot to call me, which, clearly, shows how much I needed to wake up, right?” Justin grinned, only slightly strained. Brian answered with something that in the near-darkness could be taken for a smile. “And when I didn't find you there, I still couldn't give up. All I could think about was 'Brian didn't come because I'm pathetic. If I get better, I can find him and he's not gonna be able to avoid me anymore.' And sometimes I really felt like giving up. Well, sometimes I did give up, because hey, I didn't even know where you lived, neither did Josh, so even in my delusion I had to admit I didn't have big chances of finding you. And most of the time I knew: 'Justin, you are fucking demented. Wake up. He's gone.'”
Justin's look was distant and maybe a little wistful. But only for a moment. It passed and that derisive snort was there again, the 'I can't believe anyone could be so stupid' one.
“I almost gave up on PIFA, because it seemed like too much effort and it wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth it. I didn't really want anything for its own sake, you know? But I couldn't forget what you told me when my mom got me into PIFA and I thought 'well, if I give up on this, I'll be a pathetic failure. I won't have anything. And if I see Brian again, he'll laugh in my fucking face.'” Justin picked up a glass and slid another towards Brian, pointedly not looking at him.
“Here's to always being defined by other people's acceptance,” Brian offered. Justin smiled gratefully. It seemed like somehow Brian accidentally said the right thing, again. “Good thing that now you have someone else to provide that.”
+
Justin paused in the middle of downing his sixth shot, sloshing half of its contents as he made a broad, helpless gesture with his hands.
“I just. I love him too much to take off for half a year. You know?”
Of course Brian knew, he didn't need to be reminded every minute how comfortably and carelessly Justin was settling into a trap of being attached to one person. Instead of seeing and experiencing all the places that only those who weren't tied down could see.
He was a little bit uncomfortable with knowing, a little bit annoyed with that non-sequitur. They were talking about getting Justin a contract with Brian’s agency and this sudden turn in conversation was not welcome.
Love is like religion - you make it real by believing in it. Also, you don’t argue about religion, because it makes people irrational. There is no way to win that argument, no matter how much sense you make.
“Did he ask you not to go?”
“No, of course not. I didn’t talk about this with him.”
“Because he’d tell you to go?”
“Yes. Even though he’d want me to stay.”
“Are you afraid your…" Brian was sure that word would never stop tasting sour. "...your relationship wouldn’t survive the long distance?”
“It would. Of course it would!”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid. I told you, I don’t need this.” There was hard conviction in his voice. Brian almost believed him.
“I want to dance. Let’s go dancing.”
“There’s no music here.”
“Flawless logic, my friend.”
+
Justin was laughing at the glitter falling onto his upturned face. He was laughing at the music and the way Brian had to hover around his swaying body so he didn't trip over his own feet.
“This place is so loud!” -- and so was his voice. Brian thought that the queens dancing thirty feet away could probably hear him. But then, everything except Justin's voice sounded like a dull murmur to Brian. The blinking lights and the moving bodies were only a background to Justin's skin, Justin's loose limbs, Justin's hips that seemed to find the rhythm even when he couldn't find his own balance. Brian wasn't sure what song was playing, but he was sure Justin's hands were around his and he was following Justin's lead even though Justin was walking backwards and didn't know where he was going. “Last time I was here... a year ago!” He stumbled into a couple dancing behind him and laughed as they pulled him between them. “It hasn't changed!” Brian yanked him back and they maneuvered into a slow dance, Brian's left hand on Justin's hip, the right one clasped in Justin's. He didn't know what the fuck they were doing. Justin couldn't stop snickering.
“I took a whole tab of E,” Brian said. “What's your excuse?”
“For not taking it?” Justin asked, confused.
“Yes, that's exactly what I'm asking.”
“Love.” Justin pulled both Brian's arms forward, draping them over his own shoulders, his face a picture of concentration. “Beauty. Vast amounts of alcohol. You.”
“Don't drag me into this.”
“Don't have to.” He didn't have to. It wasn't Justin's doing when Brian pressed his face against his neck, let his tongue trace a line from the bottom of the neckline of Justin's black t-shirt, to the tip of his chin. It wasn't Justin's fault that it was important for Brian to fill all of his senses with him. “I shouldn't let you do that.”
“You're not. I'm taking advantage of you against your will.”
“Okay.” Justin angled his head so Brian's mouth could ghost over his temple, his cheek, his mouth, but never touching it, because, “Because, see, Brian? I'm loved. And I'm faithful.”
And Brian laughed. Did Justin really think he would refuse Brian in that moment, if Brian really decided to have him, body and soul? Did he really think Brian wouldn't ply him with drinks and drive him crazy with touching, with grinding, with everything, and then that he wouldn't just take Justin like he was rightfully Brian's, like he was the only thing Brian could think of for the past ten days? Did he think Brian wouldn't take him when it was the only thing that made sense when Brian wanted him so much, washing his hands clean off any responsibility, because they were high and irresponsible and Jesus fucking Christ. If Justin really thought Brian was above that, then he was horribly wrong.
“Have you ever been loved, Brian?”
Brian didn't even think of answering that. He thought the question was flawed to its very foundation.
Brian's hands slipped under the hem of Justin's t-shirt and he felt him shivering, pressing closer and moving his head slightly down, as if he wanted to look at the lack of space between them. It would've been so easy to drag him to the backroom, even easier to pull that t-shirt off all the way right there, kiss the breath out of him, get him off on the dance floor, and then in the car, and then fall asleep in the backseat. Then wake up to utter confusion and resentment. Easiest thing ever.
But when Brian finally had Justin, he thought, it would be anything but easy. It would be doubt and fight and surrender, and acknowledgement. But mostly doubt. It wouldn't be easy or obvious; it would be mind-blowing and life-changing and leave Justin lost. Maybe even Brian, too. Tonight just wasn't the time for that.
+
When Brian woke up the next morning, Justin was right beside him in bed, staring at him.
Brian was used to getting that look, even though he usually made sure to get rid of his tricks before they fell asleep.
“Don't look at me like that. You fell asleep on my bed. There was no way I'd go sleep on that fucking lumpy couch. There, mystery solved.”
He could feel Justin relax, even lie back on the pillow.
“I don't remember a fucking thing after Babylon.”
“There's nothing to remember. You were too hammered to do or say anything.” Justin's sigh from between his hands covering his face. “Well, anything that made sense, anyway.” Justin's groan. “If you're going to puke, bathroom is there.” He pointed his finger somewhere north, maybe.
Those well-practiced lines came so automatically Brian was already halfway asleep when Justin jumped out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, straight into the shower. Brian sprawled over the warm spot Justin vacated. His bed was too small for guests. (And their smell of lavender soap, turpentine, smoke, sweat and a lot of wasted hours of dancing, and frustration.) Great, and now Brian was fucking horny.
Why hadn't he made a move at Woody's? Was Justin's touching confession really that much of a turn-off?
Yeah.
Yeah, fucking right it was. Love. Eugh.
+
The last few days, Brian had noticed those annoying impulses. The impulse to drive to that café near PIFA on his lunch break. The impulse to call Justin during slow hours in the office to bitch about graphic artists whose sense of aesthetics didn’t know it died in the nineties. The impulse to call him and tell him not to eat at that new Chinese place off Fuller because their noodles tasted like their chicken that tasted like onion.
And the distractions. The distraction of being unable to get shit done in the living room because there were no wriggling, socked feet tucked between Brian and the sofa cushions.
And the habit of replying to simple questions from Chloe like they were a mean joke, surprising her with this new habit of cattiness.
When he finally called Justin, they hadn’t seen each other for four days.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“Um. Yes, why?”
“I need your help with something. Can I come over?”
“Help with what? Is it urgent? I have a project due.”
“It won’t take much time. I'll be there in twenty.”
Justin had rubber gloves on when he opened the door. Precisely, one glove on and one off, in the gloved hand. “Hey.”
Justin in work mode was always an unsettling sight. His eyes were always a little wild, his movements random and his sentences cut off in the middle. Brian wondered if he was the only person who tended to intrude on Justin’s tete-a-tete with his muses. He wondered if Anthony ever spent half a day being ignored by Justin while in the same room, if it made him feel as possessive, made him want to interrupt just so he didn’t feel forgotten. Brian could imagine that being with Justin felt like a perpetual love triangle. He wondered if being an artist himself made it easier for Anthony or even more unbearable.
He lay there on the twin bed, looking upside down at the portrait that he'd been ignoring for the past two weeks. He couldn't tell if the proportions were right, or what kind of look Anthony had. Through the tendrils of smoke leaving his mouth Brian could only tell the painstaking detail of tiny, careful brush strokes. He only saw that the picture was painted with so much care.
He got up and walked up behind Justin, put his arm around him, exhaled smoke into the blond mess of tangled hair.
"Ugh, Brian. I'm gonna smell like a homeless hippie."
"You already look the part, so you might as well."
Justin accepted the joint from Brian's fingers. He felt the shift of Justin's body, still touching him, but as lightly as possible.
From there, he could see Anthony's face at the perfect angle, rendered with care in warm chiaroscuro, looking at where Justin was standing with a secretive smile. Every time Justin resurfaced from his creative berserk, he would look back at Anthony and probably, Brian thought, smile back, have a silent conversation with him, an argument if he was tired and stressed, and struggle on. Brian had no trouble imagining Justin arguing with a painting.
And looking at that picture, Brian knew that somehow, he'd lost some kind of a race, only he hadn't wanted to take part until he realized he’d come in last.
Justin slipped from his hold back to his work. Brian felt his heart quicken, like an adrenaline rush way too late. Because he'd already lost. He reached his fingers to Justin's shoulders, pressed his hands into Justin's muscles and Justin tensed from the touch. He put his brush down, rolling his shoulders back. Brian let the joint go out between his lips as he gave Justin a massage he didn't need. Finally, Justin turned around, took the butt of the joint and dunked it in his water jar.
"You're going to get this job," he said, with no hint of doubt in his voice, as if it was ridiculous of Brian to even doubt that. He scrunched the shirt on Brian's shoulders under his fingers, gave him a gentle shake, back and forth. "And if you want to relax, you're doing it wrong. Go lie down, I'll give you a massage." But his hands didn't let go of Brian and his eyes were locked on Brian's.
Brian had never wanted to kiss someone so badly. He reached up and held Justin's elbows and he could see his own chest start to raise and fall faster. And he could see Justin swallow and blink, but not moving even one inch, fingers straining the fabric of Brian's collar to the point of almost snapping, his breath coming in quicker, shallow intakes. Brian licked his lips, saw Justin's eyes follow his tongue and then close.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said and walked away while he still could. He went back into Justin's room when he put on his coat and shoes. "Thanks."
He didn't want a consolation prize.
+
He knew it wasn't going to happen even before Daphne told him.
Brian had his share of married, engaged and otherwise taken men. Some of them were in open relationships. He'd had threesomes with couples. He'd been assaulted by jealous husbands. Brian knew how those things worked. It was not how he knew with Justin.
He could fuck him. Justin was probably the type that didn't kiss on the mouth, because that would be too meaningful. He'd kiss Brian. They'd fuck and it'd be mind-blowing and life-changing and then Justin would go back to his boyfriend and wonder, and wonder, and then all the wondering would tear the three of them apart. It wouldn't be a dirty secret, no. And he wouldn't choose Brian over Anthony, because Brian would never be the things Justin needed.
That also wasn't why.
The reason was that if Justin called out the wrong name as he came, Brian would've been furious. With other men, it was funny and pathetic, but with Justin it would've been unbearable and stupid and painful and insulting. The reason was that Justin would go back to his boyfriend and tell him everything, because they had no secrets. With other men, that was kinky and sometimes led to comebacks in threesomes. The reason was that Brian knew he'd want to have Justin again. But he wouldn't, because Brian would've been just a fuck and when you have someone like Justin, you don't allow repeats. And even if you do, Tony wasn't stupid. Neither was Justin. He wouldn't come back for more.
So when Daphne asked him to promise he wouldn't try having sex with Justin, because she couldn't ignore the way he was looking at Justin anymore, and she knew that Justin wouldn't agree even though he wanted to, and even if he did agree it would be a disaster, Brian just said,
“Yeah. Pinkie promise.” And it was the easiest thing he'd ever done.
They arrived at Woody's where Justin joined them with Tony ten minutes later and Brian's greeting was three mock-ups of business cards he printed on company templates to test various fonts (all of them helvetica, regular, 10pt), and all of them read: Brian Kinney, Junior Account Manager.
Justin threw his arms around Brian, saying I told you, I knew it, now you've finally arrived like it was one word.
Brian spent most of that evening watching Tony, who was, unsurprisingly, pretty fuckable up close. He had great lips and elegant bone structure and a voice that calmly commanded attention. He and Justin weren't all over each other or completely in sync, finishing each other's sentences, but, more infuriatingly, sitting separately, acting normally and only occasionally sending each other that look Brian couldn't stand. The one that spoke of admiration, contentment, happiness. Fucking happy people. Two shots and one beer later, Daphne hugged everyone goodbye because she had a morning lab the next day. Tony was telling them about some painter who came from France to paint some mural in one of the uptown skyscrapers and give a lecture at CMU.
“Speaking of France,” Brian interrupted and the conversation came to a brief halt, because that was the first time he’d spoken in the last hour. “Did you know that Justin, here--”
“Brian.”
He ignored Justin's warning, Justin's look and his fist straining around the handle of his mug.
“That Justin applied for a semester abroad in France?”
Of course Tony didn't know. “No, he thought of applying, but changed his mind.”
“Did he?” Tony's eyebrows drew together, his eyes turning to Justin who looked like he was about to throw up. Or kill. “No. Sadly, they rejected his application. Because, see. Justin applied for a program that only one student below third year ever got into. And when they denied him, twice, he was so disappointed he vowed never to try again.”
Tony kept looking at Justin, but it probably only lasted a short moment, while Brian held Justin's stare that went from anger to hurt. The only explanation there could be for the way it made Brian feel, the initial doubt that blended with satisfaction and turned into pleasure, was that there was something wrong with Brian.
“That vow was made almost easy by the fact that--”
“I think it's time for us to go,” Justin said calmly to Tony, putting on his jacket and his scarf.
He was a miserable bastard who would rather hurt the best person he knew than settle for being unimportant. And then, he'd be proud of it.
One day.
Tony cleared his throat, getting out from the booth and nodding at Brian as he left. They were at the door when Justin came back and slammed his palms on the table top.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.
“It's called conversation.”
Justin didn't take the bait. He was kind of a spoilsport that way.
“Why would you say that to him?” Justin's voice faltered. Not really breaking, but it was as if he lost steam. As if he wanted to be angry, but just didn't understand what was happening. Or maybe it was just Brian projecting. “Because you hate him? You wanted to hurt him? Or hurt me? Are you punishing me for something? Why did you do that?”
And Brian gave him the simplest answer possible, the one that made sense, that was true.
“Because I could.”
Justin nodded, not looking at him, refusing to give Brian the one last satisfaction of seeing him react. Brian sat in his booth for a long time after Justin turned away and left.
“Goodbye, then.”
And that was the way Brian preferred it, really. As long as Justin was near, he always had to hold his breath, watch his own hands, second-guess gestures, restrain looks, rationalize feelings that were impossible to justify. Wanting things that weren't good for either of them. Putting up with happiness he could only stare at, uncomprehending, waiting for its collapse. Relying on someone else's strength and kindness instead of his own calculation.
Without Justin, everything was going back to normal, magically.
-Next Part-