Brian/Justin Oneshot "The One That Makes Him Happy"
Title: The one that makes him happy (one-shot)
Author: soulmatejunkee
Fandom: Queer as Folk US
Pairing: Brian/Justin, Ethan (mentioned)
Timeline: Episode 3.03
Rating: R
Warnings: A little angsty
Word Count: 3.903
Summary: Episode 3.03, the carnival, just like we saw it. But then the lights turned out and Brian and Justin went to the cellar to turn it back on... (Brian's POV | you-form)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. It’s all CowLip and Showtime.
A/N: I’m still a german girl… so my english is still NOT perfect. Please don’t be so strict when you read it. All mistakes are mine, no beta (couldn't find a beta reader, sorry.)
„It’s fucking freezing here.“
You look at him. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and his jacket while you are sitting on the cold bottom in jeans and a shirt, but he’s freezing. You don’t freeze, you feel somehow comfortable, even though it scares you that you might have to spend the entire night at the cellar of Babylon with him, because there are ways to warm him and yourself up, ways you would enjoy - ways he would enjoy even though he wouldn’t admit it right now - but you can’t come up with that idea. You could... but you can’t. And you know he wouldn’t let you do down that road. Not anymore.
He knocks on the door again, loud and hard and he yells “HELLO” and “HELP”. The two of you already did that a few times, but no ones going to hear you. Unfortunately no one’s going to miss you. Michael, Ben, Ted, Emmett… they will think you went home or fuck some trick in the darkroom. They won’t look out for you.
“Relax”, you say while watching him. He got thinner, you think. Or is this about his hair, which got a lot longer lately. It makes him look different, a little older and somehow cooler.
“Relax? I don’t want to spend the night here.”
There was a time when he would have been happy to spend the entire night with you. Now he’s craving for someone else. You close your eyes briefly while thinking about him, the other one, the new one, the fiddler. Younger than you are, smaller, more romantic, more idealistic - well, everything you aren’t. Everything he wants.
You sigh when you realize that someone will miss him. So maybe you don’t have to spend the entire night here. “Does he know where you are?”
“No.”
“You didn’t tell him?” You ask.
He shrugs. “I didn’t really plan to come here.”
You nod. Of course he didn’t, he had other plans, and he told you. No, the other one told you, the new one. “Why did you come?”
“Because I wanted to.”
He seems so calm, as if it doesn’t matter that he’s here with you, alone. Just the two of you. He sits down right beside you, pulls his knees up and put his arms around them. He’s making you fucking nervous and he doesn’t even know it.
“It’s kind of funny, I never knew there's a cellar”, he says.
“And that’s funny?”
“I said, kind of.”
You can’t help but smile. And then the silence came, you hate the silence, you always have. Silence was never a good thing, not when you were a child and not when you got older. Silence always has something in common, something bad. It couldn’t really get any worse; you were sitting in a cellar with your ex-lover who’s craving about his new boyfriend.
“They can’t hear us.”
You look at him. He’s still embracing himself and you start thinking about doing that for him, embracing him, keeping him warm. “What?”
“They can’t hear us. It’s soundproof.”
You frown and shake your head. “What?”
“Listen”, he says.
“To what?”
“Exactly.” Now he’s looking at you with his beautiful blue eyes. His blond hair is falling over his forehead, it looks … cute. You feel a shiver running through your body, as always when he’s looking at you. You expected this to stop after he left - but you expected a lot after he left and none of what you expected happened or worked out. Your life is a fucking mess without him. It’s boring and empty and nothing like it used to be. And you know that it was like this before he came into your life, but you never saw it like that. You lived the life you wanted to live - he changed everything and you let him. And then he left.
“Maybe this once was a shelter”, you answer just to say something to stop staring at him as if he is a candy and you were craving for sugar.
“They can’t hear us.”
Your cell phone also doesn’t work, of course. You’re catched - in a shelter - with your ex-lover. You miss the carnival you organized to provoke the GLC and you remember the cute little trick that was around you almost the entire evening. Even when Justin showed up he was there. He was the reason why Justin wanted to leave again only a few seconds after he arrived. And then the lights turned out and now you’re here - in a shelter - with your ex-lover. You sigh.
“What about the turtlenecks you’re wearing lately?” you ask.
“What about them?”
“Since when do you wear them?”
“Since I got them.”
You roll your eyes and look at him. “I am trying to do conversation.”
“About turtlenecks?” he says and looks at you. “There was an offer, 5 for half prize, so I bought them.” He shrugs.
You know he could wear whatever he wanted to, he would always look beautiful, just because he is beautiful.
“Ethan bought them”, he says and gives you a smile. “He thought it would look hot on me.”
You just nod and try to not show him how weird you think it is that his boyfriend buys turtlenecks for him. Then you think that this might be some romantic bullshit, too. And then you think that fucking fiddler is right, it somehow does look hot. He always looks hot, at least for you.
“And he thought I might want to have some new clothes.”
“What’s wrong with the old ones?” You ask. Not that you ever thought he has a great style - except for some tight shirts, but you got used to his style. It’s him. Most of his trousers were too big for him and most of his shoes were just ugly, but… it’s him. He’s beautiful, why would someone change it? You just look at him.
“Nothing.”
You have to admit that you’re not good with doing conversation. So you just sit there and say nothing and you think that this might be the longest night of your entire life.
“Since there’s no place you can run away from me, I think I might take the risk and say… I’m sorry.”
But he is good with conversation; he’s way too good with it. And he’s right, there’s no place you can hide. You two are locked in the cellar, just because you wanted to bring the lights back on, which you did. But then the door fell through and then you saw that there’s no doorknob on the inside and then… then you saw the note on the wall that says “Don’t close the door”. And now you stick here and since there’s nothing else you can do you answer him. “About what?”
“My birthday and Vermont and the picnic. Everything.”
And when he tells you that he is sorry for all the crap you blame on yourself since two months you just want to touch him, feel him, comfort him, kiss him.
“I had this silly idea that… things had to change - between us.”
You wonder if he does want you to be a part of that talk?
“That wasn’t fair to you.”
You raise an eyebrow. You’re not sure if you like that conversation, you’re not good with that, not good with apologizing and also not good with taking an apology. “Things did change.”
“Yeah.” He smiles at you and bite his lower lip. He is fucking beautiful. “You know what I was wishing for at my birthday?”
You only know what he wasn’t wishing for, so you just shrug.
“I had this picture of a blueberry muffin with a small birthday-candle on it and… you.” He still smiles at you. Fuck that smile; it’s more than you can take now. And then you picture it, too. The blueberry muffin with the candle and you; waiting for him to come home from the concert. The concert where he met the fucking fiddler. Maybe you could have given him the blueberry muffin with the candle in the morning, right after he woke up (and a long time before he met the fiddler), with a little smile and a kiss and a “Happy Birthday” and a fuck, of course. Yes… you could have done that.
“A chocolate muffin would have been great, too”, he adds. Then he looks down. You know he’s thinking about what he got instead of a muffin with a candle and me. It’s the same you are thinking about and you have to admit to yourself that if you could chose again, you would chose the fucking muffin.
“But that is not you, so I shouldn’t have blame you for not … doing that”, he says and starts playing with his fingers. He’s not looking at you anymore, but you’re still looking at him.
“You never blamed me.”
“Trust me, I did.” He sighs and starts to traipse with his feet. “I also blamed you for not following me to Vermont.”
You stop looking at him, because you can’t take it anymore. You remember the moment they told you that he had left without you, that he hadn’t wait for you, and that you can’t celebrate with him. You remember how lonely you felt in that moment, because you expected him to wait. He was supposed to be there when you came home. You had bought champagne and you wanted to spend the entire night with fucking him, kissing him and being with him.
You wanted to take him to the next plane to Vermont, because you wanted to spend the whole week with him. You had booked the biggest cottage they had, because you didn’t planed on going snowboarding, you had other plans.
But he didn’t wait for you. You drank the champagne by yourself, staring at your cell phone, waiting for a call. But he never called.
“Now I know you never really planed to go there.”
You roll your eyes. It’s dark, he can’t see it and you know it. He still thinks you don’t care, that you don’t want to be with him - didn’t want to be with him back then. “How come?” You ask him.
“I gave it some thought and that cottage was everything you hate.” He laughs, he’s still not looking at you, and he’s still hurt. So are you. “A big bed, a fireplace, a Jacuzzi, room service. They even put chocolate on your pillow. It was…”
“Romantic?” you ask toneless and he nods. You know it was romantic, you booked it. And you knew what he wanted to have - a little romance. So you thought, why not? If it would make him happy and if it saves you from buying red roses. You had also booked the chocolate on the pillow, because you knew he would love it. It was suppose to be a perfect week. It was your way to apologize for the birthday, because you couldn’t buy those roses.
“When I realized you won’t come I thought you might waiting for me at hom… your loft.”
You roll your eyes again; you still know he can’t see it. It’s not your loft anymore; it feels empty and cold since he’s gone. It misses him.
He looks at you again, his blond hair falling into his face and he gives you a little smile. “But you were to busy for missing me.”
You are already used with thinking about what you should have done instead of what you did. You spend every night thinking about it. Every night when you are done with fucking someone you never going to see again, you won’t even remember, you start thinking about why you’re alone and why you don’t want to be alone. And after a few nights you start to realize that you were naïve to think you could go back to the person you once were - the person you were suppose to be.
“You should have told me about Vanguard”, he says softly.
You nod. You know it. You know what you did wrong.
“And I shouldn’t have left without leaving a message.”
You nod again. He also knows what he did wrong.
“Did you ever thought about following me?” he ask you. And he’s so much stronger than you, because he looks you straight in the eyes. You can barely take it.
“No”, you answer and it’s the truth. You never thought about following him after they told you he had left without you. But you know if he would have left you a note or would have called you and asked you to come, you would have jumped into the next plane to fucking Vermont.
He nods and you know he takes your answer as a prove that you never wanted to go to Vermont with him. You also know you should tell him that you wanted to, but you won’t do it. It’s not important anymore.
“The idea with the picnic on the floor wasn’t mine by the way”, he says, looking down on his feet. “When I saw Ethan that day we did that at his place. We sat there, talked and eat and I thought maybe we could do that, too. Just being together and talking about stuff, you know? I just wanted to be with you.”
Somehow you know - in that moment - that this was the night you lost him. That this was the night he was with the other one for the first time. You close your eyes briefly. What if you would have told him that you couldn’t stay at home that night, because you needed to get your head free after being in the hospital with Michael and after dealing with all the fucking memories of the last time you spend in that fucking hospital? Maybe he would have understood it and maybe he would have come with you instead of going to the other one.
“Anyway”, he sighs, nods and looks at you. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault and I shouldn’t have blame you for … being you. And I shouldn’t have play games and lie to you.”
“Are you happy now?” you ask quietly. You really want to know, because you want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy.
“Yes. I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“Well, I am not used to that kind of relationship”, he says and shrugs. “It’s different, you know. I got a gently wake up every morning, he’s asking me how my day was, if anything is all right and such stuff.”
You feel very uncomfortable. You really don’t want to hear how great the other one is, you already got that. Debbie and Lindsay and Melanie - they all love him and they also love to let you know that Justin finally found someone who appreciates him. And even though you always knew that he makes you feel good, you also know you didn’t appreciate him enough. You know you should have shown it more. “So, he’s a talker? Well, you love to talk.”
See, I know you. I know what you like; you think and look at him.
“I do”, he says. “I am just not used to it. But I am happy. He’s really sweet. Unfortunately his friends aren’t. I hope he won’t stay with them too long and wonders why I am not home and puts one and one together.”
You really don’t want to hear that. Why did you ask? Home… he calls his place home.
“What about you?”
You look at him again, swallow and shrug. “Good, as always.” You lie to him.
He nods and gives you a little smile. “Do you think we can be friends?”
You are sure you’ve never been in such an uncomfortable situation before. Even thinking about being just friends with him makes you sad. When he left, you never wanted to see him again but you knew that this was impossible, because he’s working at the diner and so you will see him. Then you realize that not seeing him isn’t as good as you thought it would be, because you miss having him around, knowing where he is and fucking him whenever you want to… which is always. So you start to look out for him and search for reasons to keep him somehow close to you, like paying for his school again. You know he never would have asked you to do it, but you also know he will find out that you paid it and then he will call you or shows up at your place - at least he will talk to you. And when you’re sure that you can play it cool you offer him a job. He’s not stupid he knows you could have easily asked someone else to do it, so you just let him think whatever he wants to think. As long as he’s taking the offer and spends time with you.
You remember the callboy you hired, the one who had to have blond hair, blue eyes and a schoolboy-look, because you wanted to feel it again. Of course it didn’t work, because you didn’t want to feel it, you wanted to feel him. And he wasn’t there, he isn’t there anymore.
You remember that young trick you took home and fucked close to a faint, because all you could think of was the blond one who should be the one you fuck. You also remember the pain you felt, when you realized your brain was just tricking you and you were still alone.
“Brian?”
“We are friends.”
You try to imagine being with him at your loft, eating thai-food and smoking and laughing about having a baby with a crazy lesbian, like you did with Michael the other night. And you know it will never be like that between you and him, because you don’t want it to be. You already have someone for eating thai and smoking and laughing. With him it’s suppose to be, thai-food, smoking and fucking.
“Good. Thanks.”
You give him a little smile and nod to him. “It’s good that you’re happy.” And that is not a lie. You want him to be happy. You always wanted him to be happy. And you never even thought that you want to be the one that makes him happy, but since he’s gone you know you want to be exactly that. But you’re not - not anymore. And after all it’s still the most important that he is happy.
“It’s good that you’re happy, too”, he answers and smiles back at you. “But I admit that I always wanted to be the one who makes you happy.” He shrugs; he’s still looking at you. “I am a little dreamy schoolboy, right?”
You don’t know how you do it, but you shrug, too and smile at him. You fight against yourself, because all you really want is to kiss him and to feel him and… yes, maybe even to tell him that he does make you happy. And you know you could do that, he would let you, you can see it in his eyes. There is this moment, its right there, between the two of you.
“Anyway”, he says and stands up. He breaks the moment, your moment, and you think maybe if you would have been a little faster. But on the other hand you’re happy he broke the moment, because you know you’re still not the one who makes him happy.
“Anyway?” you ask and clear your throat.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Are you ready?”
You look at him and shake your head. “Ready for what?”
“Getting out.”
The second he says it … everything’s even darker than before, because he turned the lights off again. You’re not sure if you’re proud of him for realizing that if the two of you were stuck here because you were turning the lights back on you can also turn them off again or if you’re pissed because you know he knew that way before he involved you in that uncomfortable talk.
You stand up, too. You can’t see anything anymore. “It’s kinda spooky.”
“Scared?”
“O yes, please save me.”
He’s laughing and you’re laughing, too. It’s easy, it’s dark.
“When I was a child, I had a flashlight under my pillow. I am sure my mother knew that, but my father didn’t. When I turned eleven he decided that I am too old to still use a nightlight. So I turned the flashlight on after my mom closed the door. I did that for almost two years. It took my entire pocket money for batteries.”
You smile. You can easily imagine him hiding the flashlight and being happy after the door is closed and the light’s on. But you have to tease him about it - of course. “You had a nightlight?”
“What can I say? I am a wimp.” He laughs. “And what are you teasing me? You’re thirty and your nightlight is bigger than mine ever was.”
You smile again - or are you still smiling? You’re not sure and it’s not important.
Then the door opens and you see them. People, strangers, Ben, Michael. And you see him - the other one. He’s here, for real. And he sees you, but he doesn’t really look at you, he’s just looking for Justin and he’s obviously relieved when he sees him. There’s a hug and a kiss and lots of touches. And it hurts. But it’s like running into an horrible accident, you can’t look away.
“What happened?”
And there’s Michael. You look at him and shrug. “Nothing. The lights got off, we went down here, turned them on and the door felt shut. And for some reason there’s no doorknob on the inside. Cellphones didn’t work.”
“Are you okay?”
Michael’s really concerned. You put your arm around him. “It had been ten minutes - at most.”
You see them, you see the other ones arm around his shoulder, and they’re leaving. He’s not turning around to you again, you know it. He’s gone.
You try to enjoy the party again, but it doesn’t really work. Your trick seems to be disappeared and all the others aren’t really your type. You know that’s bullshit, but it’s what you keep telling yourself while you leave the party to drive home, with your new car. You wonder if he would like it.
Then you see him, a guy, leaning on your new car. He’s turning around, looking at you, flirting with you - somehow. And you know you will fuck him and then you will ask him to leave.
And when he’s gone you will lie in your bed - alone and you wish you would have bought a muffin and a small birthday candle and would have taken him into your arms and whispered “Happy birthday” into his ear. And when that thought makes you smile a little you wish you would have swallowed your damn pride and would have followed him to Vermont to spend an entire week with fucking him and holding him, which makes you smile even more. And then you wish you would have given him the night at home with the picnic on the floor, because maybe… just maybe, if you would have done that, you would be the one that makes him happy.
Author: soulmatejunkee
Fandom: Queer as Folk US
Pairing: Brian/Justin, Ethan (mentioned)
Timeline: Episode 3.03
Rating: R
Warnings: A little angsty
Word Count: 3.903
Summary: Episode 3.03, the carnival, just like we saw it. But then the lights turned out and Brian and Justin went to the cellar to turn it back on... (Brian's POV | you-form)
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. It’s all CowLip and Showtime.
A/N: I’m still a german girl… so my english is still NOT perfect. Please don’t be so strict when you read it. All mistakes are mine, no beta (couldn't find a beta reader, sorry.)
„It’s fucking freezing here.“
You look at him. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and his jacket while you are sitting on the cold bottom in jeans and a shirt, but he’s freezing. You don’t freeze, you feel somehow comfortable, even though it scares you that you might have to spend the entire night at the cellar of Babylon with him, because there are ways to warm him and yourself up, ways you would enjoy - ways he would enjoy even though he wouldn’t admit it right now - but you can’t come up with that idea. You could... but you can’t. And you know he wouldn’t let you do down that road. Not anymore.
He knocks on the door again, loud and hard and he yells “HELLO” and “HELP”. The two of you already did that a few times, but no ones going to hear you. Unfortunately no one’s going to miss you. Michael, Ben, Ted, Emmett… they will think you went home or fuck some trick in the darkroom. They won’t look out for you.
“Relax”, you say while watching him. He got thinner, you think. Or is this about his hair, which got a lot longer lately. It makes him look different, a little older and somehow cooler.
“Relax? I don’t want to spend the night here.”
There was a time when he would have been happy to spend the entire night with you. Now he’s craving for someone else. You close your eyes briefly while thinking about him, the other one, the new one, the fiddler. Younger than you are, smaller, more romantic, more idealistic - well, everything you aren’t. Everything he wants.
You sigh when you realize that someone will miss him. So maybe you don’t have to spend the entire night here. “Does he know where you are?”
“No.”
“You didn’t tell him?” You ask.
He shrugs. “I didn’t really plan to come here.”
You nod. Of course he didn’t, he had other plans, and he told you. No, the other one told you, the new one. “Why did you come?”
“Because I wanted to.”
He seems so calm, as if it doesn’t matter that he’s here with you, alone. Just the two of you. He sits down right beside you, pulls his knees up and put his arms around them. He’s making you fucking nervous and he doesn’t even know it.
“It’s kind of funny, I never knew there's a cellar”, he says.
“And that’s funny?”
“I said, kind of.”
You can’t help but smile. And then the silence came, you hate the silence, you always have. Silence was never a good thing, not when you were a child and not when you got older. Silence always has something in common, something bad. It couldn’t really get any worse; you were sitting in a cellar with your ex-lover who’s craving about his new boyfriend.
“They can’t hear us.”
You look at him. He’s still embracing himself and you start thinking about doing that for him, embracing him, keeping him warm. “What?”
“They can’t hear us. It’s soundproof.”
You frown and shake your head. “What?”
“Listen”, he says.
“To what?”
“Exactly.” Now he’s looking at you with his beautiful blue eyes. His blond hair is falling over his forehead, it looks … cute. You feel a shiver running through your body, as always when he’s looking at you. You expected this to stop after he left - but you expected a lot after he left and none of what you expected happened or worked out. Your life is a fucking mess without him. It’s boring and empty and nothing like it used to be. And you know that it was like this before he came into your life, but you never saw it like that. You lived the life you wanted to live - he changed everything and you let him. And then he left.
“Maybe this once was a shelter”, you answer just to say something to stop staring at him as if he is a candy and you were craving for sugar.
“They can’t hear us.”
Your cell phone also doesn’t work, of course. You’re catched - in a shelter - with your ex-lover. You miss the carnival you organized to provoke the GLC and you remember the cute little trick that was around you almost the entire evening. Even when Justin showed up he was there. He was the reason why Justin wanted to leave again only a few seconds after he arrived. And then the lights turned out and now you’re here - in a shelter - with your ex-lover. You sigh.
“What about the turtlenecks you’re wearing lately?” you ask.
“What about them?”
“Since when do you wear them?”
“Since I got them.”
You roll your eyes and look at him. “I am trying to do conversation.”
“About turtlenecks?” he says and looks at you. “There was an offer, 5 for half prize, so I bought them.” He shrugs.
You know he could wear whatever he wanted to, he would always look beautiful, just because he is beautiful.
“Ethan bought them”, he says and gives you a smile. “He thought it would look hot on me.”
You just nod and try to not show him how weird you think it is that his boyfriend buys turtlenecks for him. Then you think that this might be some romantic bullshit, too. And then you think that fucking fiddler is right, it somehow does look hot. He always looks hot, at least for you.
“And he thought I might want to have some new clothes.”
“What’s wrong with the old ones?” You ask. Not that you ever thought he has a great style - except for some tight shirts, but you got used to his style. It’s him. Most of his trousers were too big for him and most of his shoes were just ugly, but… it’s him. He’s beautiful, why would someone change it? You just look at him.
“Nothing.”
You have to admit that you’re not good with doing conversation. So you just sit there and say nothing and you think that this might be the longest night of your entire life.
“Since there’s no place you can run away from me, I think I might take the risk and say… I’m sorry.”
But he is good with conversation; he’s way too good with it. And he’s right, there’s no place you can hide. You two are locked in the cellar, just because you wanted to bring the lights back on, which you did. But then the door fell through and then you saw that there’s no doorknob on the inside and then… then you saw the note on the wall that says “Don’t close the door”. And now you stick here and since there’s nothing else you can do you answer him. “About what?”
“My birthday and Vermont and the picnic. Everything.”
And when he tells you that he is sorry for all the crap you blame on yourself since two months you just want to touch him, feel him, comfort him, kiss him.
“I had this silly idea that… things had to change - between us.”
You wonder if he does want you to be a part of that talk?
“That wasn’t fair to you.”
You raise an eyebrow. You’re not sure if you like that conversation, you’re not good with that, not good with apologizing and also not good with taking an apology. “Things did change.”
“Yeah.” He smiles at you and bite his lower lip. He is fucking beautiful. “You know what I was wishing for at my birthday?”
You only know what he wasn’t wishing for, so you just shrug.
“I had this picture of a blueberry muffin with a small birthday-candle on it and… you.” He still smiles at you. Fuck that smile; it’s more than you can take now. And then you picture it, too. The blueberry muffin with the candle and you; waiting for him to come home from the concert. The concert where he met the fucking fiddler. Maybe you could have given him the blueberry muffin with the candle in the morning, right after he woke up (and a long time before he met the fiddler), with a little smile and a kiss and a “Happy Birthday” and a fuck, of course. Yes… you could have done that.
“A chocolate muffin would have been great, too”, he adds. Then he looks down. You know he’s thinking about what he got instead of a muffin with a candle and me. It’s the same you are thinking about and you have to admit to yourself that if you could chose again, you would chose the fucking muffin.
“But that is not you, so I shouldn’t have blame you for not … doing that”, he says and starts playing with his fingers. He’s not looking at you anymore, but you’re still looking at him.
“You never blamed me.”
“Trust me, I did.” He sighs and starts to traipse with his feet. “I also blamed you for not following me to Vermont.”
You stop looking at him, because you can’t take it anymore. You remember the moment they told you that he had left without you, that he hadn’t wait for you, and that you can’t celebrate with him. You remember how lonely you felt in that moment, because you expected him to wait. He was supposed to be there when you came home. You had bought champagne and you wanted to spend the entire night with fucking him, kissing him and being with him.
You wanted to take him to the next plane to Vermont, because you wanted to spend the whole week with him. You had booked the biggest cottage they had, because you didn’t planed on going snowboarding, you had other plans.
But he didn’t wait for you. You drank the champagne by yourself, staring at your cell phone, waiting for a call. But he never called.
“Now I know you never really planed to go there.”
You roll your eyes. It’s dark, he can’t see it and you know it. He still thinks you don’t care, that you don’t want to be with him - didn’t want to be with him back then. “How come?” You ask him.
“I gave it some thought and that cottage was everything you hate.” He laughs, he’s still not looking at you, and he’s still hurt. So are you. “A big bed, a fireplace, a Jacuzzi, room service. They even put chocolate on your pillow. It was…”
“Romantic?” you ask toneless and he nods. You know it was romantic, you booked it. And you knew what he wanted to have - a little romance. So you thought, why not? If it would make him happy and if it saves you from buying red roses. You had also booked the chocolate on the pillow, because you knew he would love it. It was suppose to be a perfect week. It was your way to apologize for the birthday, because you couldn’t buy those roses.
“When I realized you won’t come I thought you might waiting for me at hom… your loft.”
You roll your eyes again; you still know he can’t see it. It’s not your loft anymore; it feels empty and cold since he’s gone. It misses him.
He looks at you again, his blond hair falling into his face and he gives you a little smile. “But you were to busy for missing me.”
You are already used with thinking about what you should have done instead of what you did. You spend every night thinking about it. Every night when you are done with fucking someone you never going to see again, you won’t even remember, you start thinking about why you’re alone and why you don’t want to be alone. And after a few nights you start to realize that you were naïve to think you could go back to the person you once were - the person you were suppose to be.
“You should have told me about Vanguard”, he says softly.
You nod. You know it. You know what you did wrong.
“And I shouldn’t have left without leaving a message.”
You nod again. He also knows what he did wrong.
“Did you ever thought about following me?” he ask you. And he’s so much stronger than you, because he looks you straight in the eyes. You can barely take it.
“No”, you answer and it’s the truth. You never thought about following him after they told you he had left without you. But you know if he would have left you a note or would have called you and asked you to come, you would have jumped into the next plane to fucking Vermont.
He nods and you know he takes your answer as a prove that you never wanted to go to Vermont with him. You also know you should tell him that you wanted to, but you won’t do it. It’s not important anymore.
“The idea with the picnic on the floor wasn’t mine by the way”, he says, looking down on his feet. “When I saw Ethan that day we did that at his place. We sat there, talked and eat and I thought maybe we could do that, too. Just being together and talking about stuff, you know? I just wanted to be with you.”
Somehow you know - in that moment - that this was the night you lost him. That this was the night he was with the other one for the first time. You close your eyes briefly. What if you would have told him that you couldn’t stay at home that night, because you needed to get your head free after being in the hospital with Michael and after dealing with all the fucking memories of the last time you spend in that fucking hospital? Maybe he would have understood it and maybe he would have come with you instead of going to the other one.
“Anyway”, he sighs, nods and looks at you. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault and I shouldn’t have blame you for … being you. And I shouldn’t have play games and lie to you.”
“Are you happy now?” you ask quietly. You really want to know, because you want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy.
“Yes. I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“Well, I am not used to that kind of relationship”, he says and shrugs. “It’s different, you know. I got a gently wake up every morning, he’s asking me how my day was, if anything is all right and such stuff.”
You feel very uncomfortable. You really don’t want to hear how great the other one is, you already got that. Debbie and Lindsay and Melanie - they all love him and they also love to let you know that Justin finally found someone who appreciates him. And even though you always knew that he makes you feel good, you also know you didn’t appreciate him enough. You know you should have shown it more. “So, he’s a talker? Well, you love to talk.”
See, I know you. I know what you like; you think and look at him.
“I do”, he says. “I am just not used to it. But I am happy. He’s really sweet. Unfortunately his friends aren’t. I hope he won’t stay with them too long and wonders why I am not home and puts one and one together.”
You really don’t want to hear that. Why did you ask? Home… he calls his place home.
“What about you?”
You look at him again, swallow and shrug. “Good, as always.” You lie to him.
He nods and gives you a little smile. “Do you think we can be friends?”
You are sure you’ve never been in such an uncomfortable situation before. Even thinking about being just friends with him makes you sad. When he left, you never wanted to see him again but you knew that this was impossible, because he’s working at the diner and so you will see him. Then you realize that not seeing him isn’t as good as you thought it would be, because you miss having him around, knowing where he is and fucking him whenever you want to… which is always. So you start to look out for him and search for reasons to keep him somehow close to you, like paying for his school again. You know he never would have asked you to do it, but you also know he will find out that you paid it and then he will call you or shows up at your place - at least he will talk to you. And when you’re sure that you can play it cool you offer him a job. He’s not stupid he knows you could have easily asked someone else to do it, so you just let him think whatever he wants to think. As long as he’s taking the offer and spends time with you.
You remember the callboy you hired, the one who had to have blond hair, blue eyes and a schoolboy-look, because you wanted to feel it again. Of course it didn’t work, because you didn’t want to feel it, you wanted to feel him. And he wasn’t there, he isn’t there anymore.
You remember that young trick you took home and fucked close to a faint, because all you could think of was the blond one who should be the one you fuck. You also remember the pain you felt, when you realized your brain was just tricking you and you were still alone.
“Brian?”
“We are friends.”
You try to imagine being with him at your loft, eating thai-food and smoking and laughing about having a baby with a crazy lesbian, like you did with Michael the other night. And you know it will never be like that between you and him, because you don’t want it to be. You already have someone for eating thai and smoking and laughing. With him it’s suppose to be, thai-food, smoking and fucking.
“Good. Thanks.”
You give him a little smile and nod to him. “It’s good that you’re happy.” And that is not a lie. You want him to be happy. You always wanted him to be happy. And you never even thought that you want to be the one that makes him happy, but since he’s gone you know you want to be exactly that. But you’re not - not anymore. And after all it’s still the most important that he is happy.
“It’s good that you’re happy, too”, he answers and smiles back at you. “But I admit that I always wanted to be the one who makes you happy.” He shrugs; he’s still looking at you. “I am a little dreamy schoolboy, right?”
You don’t know how you do it, but you shrug, too and smile at him. You fight against yourself, because all you really want is to kiss him and to feel him and… yes, maybe even to tell him that he does make you happy. And you know you could do that, he would let you, you can see it in his eyes. There is this moment, its right there, between the two of you.
“Anyway”, he says and stands up. He breaks the moment, your moment, and you think maybe if you would have been a little faster. But on the other hand you’re happy he broke the moment, because you know you’re still not the one who makes him happy.
“Anyway?” you ask and clear your throat.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Are you ready?”
You look at him and shake your head. “Ready for what?”
“Getting out.”
The second he says it … everything’s even darker than before, because he turned the lights off again. You’re not sure if you’re proud of him for realizing that if the two of you were stuck here because you were turning the lights back on you can also turn them off again or if you’re pissed because you know he knew that way before he involved you in that uncomfortable talk.
You stand up, too. You can’t see anything anymore. “It’s kinda spooky.”
“Scared?”
“O yes, please save me.”
He’s laughing and you’re laughing, too. It’s easy, it’s dark.
“When I was a child, I had a flashlight under my pillow. I am sure my mother knew that, but my father didn’t. When I turned eleven he decided that I am too old to still use a nightlight. So I turned the flashlight on after my mom closed the door. I did that for almost two years. It took my entire pocket money for batteries.”
You smile. You can easily imagine him hiding the flashlight and being happy after the door is closed and the light’s on. But you have to tease him about it - of course. “You had a nightlight?”
“What can I say? I am a wimp.” He laughs. “And what are you teasing me? You’re thirty and your nightlight is bigger than mine ever was.”
You smile again - or are you still smiling? You’re not sure and it’s not important.
Then the door opens and you see them. People, strangers, Ben, Michael. And you see him - the other one. He’s here, for real. And he sees you, but he doesn’t really look at you, he’s just looking for Justin and he’s obviously relieved when he sees him. There’s a hug and a kiss and lots of touches. And it hurts. But it’s like running into an horrible accident, you can’t look away.
“What happened?”
And there’s Michael. You look at him and shrug. “Nothing. The lights got off, we went down here, turned them on and the door felt shut. And for some reason there’s no doorknob on the inside. Cellphones didn’t work.”
“Are you okay?”
Michael’s really concerned. You put your arm around him. “It had been ten minutes - at most.”
You see them, you see the other ones arm around his shoulder, and they’re leaving. He’s not turning around to you again, you know it. He’s gone.
You try to enjoy the party again, but it doesn’t really work. Your trick seems to be disappeared and all the others aren’t really your type. You know that’s bullshit, but it’s what you keep telling yourself while you leave the party to drive home, with your new car. You wonder if he would like it.
Then you see him, a guy, leaning on your new car. He’s turning around, looking at you, flirting with you - somehow. And you know you will fuck him and then you will ask him to leave.
And when he’s gone you will lie in your bed - alone and you wish you would have bought a muffin and a small birthday candle and would have taken him into your arms and whispered “Happy birthday” into his ear. And when that thought makes you smile a little you wish you would have swallowed your damn pride and would have followed him to Vermont to spend an entire week with fucking him and holding him, which makes you smile even more. And then you wish you would have given him the night at home with the picnic on the floor, because maybe… just maybe, if you would have done that, you would be the one that makes him happy.