Slowly, But Exceeding Fine; Chapter Nine
Title: Slowly, But Exceeding Fine
Author: lemon_bar
Rating: R
Summary: Sequel to 'A Thousand Beautiful Things'. Brian Kinney lives in the highest loft on Tremont Street. He has imported Italian fixtures, designer clothes and neon blue lights above his bed. He has also gone to bed every night for the past three weeks holding a teddy bear with movie-star glasses and a purple T-shirt, and can't help thinking the bear is just a placeholder.
Previous Posts: Chapter One; Chapter Two; Chapter Three; Chapter Four; Chapter Five; Chapter Six; Chapter Seven; Chapter Eight;
Chapter Nine: All The Lost Things
“Just checking,” Justin said lightly as he finished brushing his teeth. He rinsed his toothbrush then dropped it in the holder Brian had by the sink, stopping to smile at how his toothbrush looked sitting in the holder beside Brian’s.
“Why do you say that?” Brian asked as he walked into the bathroom, tying his tie.
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure-out how things run here.”
“This is your home, they run however we want them to run,” Brian said.
“Okay,” Justin said agreeably, and smiled. Brian watched Justin as the blond headed out of the bathroom. He’d heard the phrase too frequently from Justin to dismiss it so casually. It always followed a casual inquiry into the loft set-up, or Brian’s behaviour. ‘You forgot your clothes’, and Brian would say that he hadn’t forgotten them, and Justin would shrug and say ‘Just checking’. He’d done it several times, and Brian, following a comment from Dr. Erik, was beginning to realize that it was because Justin was uncomfortable.
“Are you okay?” Brian asked, following Justin back into the bedroom again.
“Yeah,” Justin asked, scrunching his face in that way he did when he wasn’t sure what the hell Brian was talking about.
“I’ll pick something up for dinner, Tai good for you?” Brian asked, knowing Justin had learned this was his way of saying he was working late.
“Sure,” Justin said. “Later.”
“Later,” Brian said.
He thought about it on the ride to Kinnetic. The only conclusion that he could arrive at was that he was an idiot. Things had been awkward since they’d woken-up on Thursday morning, Justin slightly hung-over and both of them naked. Justin’s memory of what happened the night before was clear, however, and Brian had blinked bleary eyes open lifting his head to look at Justin, who he was partially lying on, and was immediately confronted with a frozen expression on Justin’s face. He hadn’t been able to interpret it. It was partly shock and embarrassment, but there had been fear and there had been panic as well. Brian had sat up and Justin had quickly wriggled free, apologizing for seemingly nothing at all, and stumbled to the bathroom.
Brian had known it was too fast. He couldn’t help it. He had stopped tricking, he was living with a very attractive young man who was becoming increasingly relaxed and less concerned with keeping his body constantly covered. Justin high and giddy and horny and relaxed had been too much to resist. Three days later and their conversation was down to a bare minimum, and it was always awkward.
And then there were Justin’s questions, and casual dismissals. Dr. Erik said that Justin was likely not seeing the loft as his own. Wasn’t quite used to the idea of living with someone and sharing a space. He was looking at it like he had to fit in to Brian’s lifestyle, hence the ‘just checking’. He was checking, in a way; checking to see what the unspoken rule was so that he wouldn’t make a big thing about it, so he could learn to accept it. Brian had dismissed this when Dr. Erik had said it, but now he wasn’t so certain. He walked around the loft naked, it was habit and sometimes it was also laziness. Mornings were when he usually did it, too set on the idea of his first hit of caffeine to stop and throw on clothes. Justin had seemed fine with it even after their first morning when Justin had moved in. But then again, he’d been making breakfast and had drawn Brian’s attention to his lack of clothes. He hadn’t brought it up again, but Brian had realized that neither had Justin really looked at him when he was naked.
Just like when they climbed into bed. Brian was always naked, was comfortable only when he slept naked. Justin, however, always seemed hesitant about climbing into bed with him. He also always wore clothes. The answer was obvious but it had taken Brian a ridiculous amount of time to come to it. He was parading around naked like a peacock, around a victim of sexual-abuse who was also a virgin. Consciously or not, he was making what was supposed to be their home, as in Justin’s home as well, completely uncomfortable for Justin.
“Fuck,” Brian muttered. He wasn’t prepared to change how he lived. He was comfortable this way; this is what he needed to do for him. But then there was Justin, cooking like a housewife, avoiding confrontations, following unspoken rules even when it made him uncomfortable, and now Justin was also trying to deal with the new implied pressure for sex. Brian knew just what Justin was thinking. That now their casual embraces, their kisses, their make out sessions on the couch would turn into sex, because Brian wanted it.
It was true. Brian really wanted to have sex with Justin. He didn’t, however, want to have sex with Justin until the blond was ready for it. It was all ridiculously complicated. “This is why I don’t do ... this shit,” he muttered to himself. But there was no use stepping around it, if agonizing sessions with Lindsay and Dr. Erik had taught him anything, it was that ignoring something only made it worse. “Fucking relationships.”
..........................
Justin had resolved to not think about it. It wasn’t working very well, but he was determined to try. He tried to not think about it as he watched Brian work at the computer at night, his fingers dancing on the keyboard, his intense expression not totally unlike when he ... He tried to not think about it as he made breakfast, as he climbed into bed at night, as he went into the bathroom every morning to wash and brush his teeth. But Brian’s naked body was everywhere and it always reminded him, and even when Brian was clothed, Justin would still remember.
The truth was that Justin wanted it. He wanted Brian to touch him, he wanted Brian to be with him the way they had been that night. He didn’t want to be drunk or high to get it. That was the truth. The problem, though, was that if he wasn’t drunk or high, then Justin was too fucking terrified. It was hard enough, sometimes, to let Brian hold him, to kiss Brian. Sometimes he’d drown in a flashback, other times he was devoured by panic. “Fucking Hobbes,” Justin snarled.
After all this time, after hours of therapy devoted to talking over and over again about it, Justin was still afraid. And now that he had something he wanted, had experienced something he’d been wanting. Now he was jumpy all the time. How could he explain to Brian that it was too soon? That what they had done had been amazing, and good, but that was all Justin could give. That he needed to adjust to it, and figure things out before he even considered doing anything more, or doing what they had done again without drugs or alcohol this time.
“Jesus Christ, Taylor,” he said to himself. “It’s just sex!” He exhaled in a frustrated ‘whoosh’, and dropped his paintbrush back into the canister. He was too full of nervous energy to settle into a painting. “Might as well do something productive with all my time,” he said, grabbing his keys from the counter where he’d left them, and his bag. He’d bought himself a cell phone, mostly because Brian kept making subtle hints about wondering where the fuck he was whenever he wasn’t in the loft.
He set the alarm, locked the door, and jogged down the stairs. It was time to go home, pack his shit, and really move in with Brian.
.............................
“Justin, Honey,” Jennifer greeted, more than a little shocked to see her son standing on her doorstep when she opened the door.
“Hi,” Justin said.
Jennifer gasped, her eyes watering, and made a little gurgling sound before she lunged forward and hugged her son tight. “Oh Sweetie!” she said. “Oh!”
“I can’t stay long,” Justin lied. “I just came to pick-up my things.”
“But ... but where are you staying?” Jennifer asked.
“Justin!” Molly called, racing down the stairs and flinging herself into his arms. “Holy shit! I was totally heading out to visit you! You prick! Why didn’t you tell me you left?”
“Molly!” Jennifer said, scandalized by her daughter’s language.
“I’m telling you now,” Justin said. “I came to pick-up my things. Where’s Tigger?”
“Oh,” Jennifer said, one hand going to her throat and she shook her head.
“Molly?” he asked, since she seemed more reliable.
“Justin, Tigger got hit by a car. Not that long after you left, he kept breaking out of the house all the time after you’d gone. I think he kept trying to find where you went, but he broke out, and Mr. Jennings down the street was backing out of his driveway,” Molly explained.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Justin asked. “And I asked when you came!” he said, turning to look at his mother. “I asked you, and you said he was fine!”
“Justin,” Jennifer said.
“I didn’t want to upset you. It was so stupid,” Molly said. “I kept knowing I should, but I couldn’t,” she said.
Justin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I just need to grab a few things,” he said flatly.
“You can stay for dinner, Sweetie,” Jennifer said.
“I just need to grab my things,” he repeated.
“Okay,” Jennifer said. She went to the front hall table and opened a drawer, handing him a key.
“What’s this?”
“Your father,” she said. “Well...” She shook her head and blinked. “Your father packed your things. They’re in the garage.”
“What happened to my room?” Justin asked. Molly wouldn’t meet his eyes. Neither would his mother. Pushing passed them, he climbed the stairs and found the door to his bedroom, it was closed and when he pushed it open he felt something break in him. The walls weren’t even the same colour. He’d painted a mural on one wall when he was thirteen. He made a collage above his bed. Both of those were gone. Now it was just plain beige walls and four pieces of exercise equipment. Even his curtains had been replaced by Venetian blinds.
He’d borrowed Blake’s car, and was now happy he had changed his decision to just use a cab. He’d planned to take only a few things, to leave the rest with his parents and pick it up later if he needed it. But now he opened the garage to see his life packed-up in boxes, and suddenly he didn’t trust his parents with it anymore. He hauled everything into the car, sending Molly away when she tried to help. He packed everything in, and then he stalked down the driveway.
“Where are you staying?” Jennifer asked.
“Like you care!” Justin said.
“Justin,” Molly said, her voice sounding small.
“Anywhere but here!” he said. He left the garage open. Let his father come home and see the empty space in the garage. Maybe for one minute he might remember that he had a son. Maybe for one minute, he might regret all the things he’d ever done. Maybe, but Justin didn’t think so.
........................
Brian got home and the loft was dark. It was also quiet. Three cautious steps in and he nearly tripped over a box. He made it to the kitchen, flicked on a light and looked closely at the stack of boxes by the front door. They smelled of dust and aging cardboard, and he worried for a moment that he might never be able to rid the loft of the smell. Then he returned to the real problem, which was how the boxes got there, what was in them, and why Justin was not anywhere in sight.
Justin’s keys were on the counter, where he always left them no matter how often Brian tried to make him leave them in the bedroom. Justin’s shoes were by the front door. Beyond that, Justin seemed completely missing. Except that the blue lights were on in the bedroom, and the comfort those lights provided Justin was one of the first things he’d learned when Justin had moved in.
Brian would never admit that he was concerned and a little cautious as he crossed the floor. He stood at the side of the bed and peered down at Justin, sprawled on his stomach, his head on a pillow, his arms wrapped around it. Even in the blue-light, Brian could make out the tear tracks on Justin’s red face. Justin had cried himself to sleep that much was clear. Brian had no idea why, though.
He slipped his shoes off and then sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Justin’s back. He wondered if Justin would talk to him, or if maybe he should phone Emmett or Blake. Lately they hadn’t been saying much of anything to each other.
Lindsay had told him specifically that Justin needed a steady and relaxing environment so he could focus on more important things. Like getting used to the speed at which the world outside of Liberty moved, and the sheer number of people. Brian had fucked up, though, because he’d unintentionally made Justin’s home environment more taxing. There were dark circles under Justin’s eyes, a result of the nightmares that woke him and often made it impossible for him to return to sleep. And ever since Wednesday, Justin had seemed more cautious when Brian was near him then anything else.
Now Justin was also dealing with whatever had happened that had upset him enough to cry himself to sleep. From the sheer number of boxes in the entranceway, Brian thought he could guess where Justin had gone.
“My dog is dead,” Justin said. Brian was as startled by the silence being split by that flat tone as he was that Justin had woken and he hadn’t noticed. “He’s been dead for a while.” Brian kept his hand on Justin’s back and wondered if there was anything else. He knew Justin had loved his dog. Once Justin had started talking, he’d had endless stories about ‘Tigger’, so named because the dog would sometime hop around, and also because the honour of naming the dog had fallen to a much younger Molly.
“They made my room into an exercise room. My mural is gone,” Justin said. “I don’t exist anymore. Not to them. Any sign of me is in those boxes. I’m not real. They never planned for me to come home.” Justin was crying again, Brian wondered if he noticed the tears. He shifted his hand from Justin’s back and tucked some blond strands of hair behind Justin’s ear. Justin’s face was hot to the touch he’d been crying so hard. “My dog is dead, and I’m not real,” Justin said, and he was openly sobbing, and came into Brian’s arms like a lost child, and Brian just held on.
He held on while Justin sobbed, until Justin didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie there and breathe, though Brian wondered if maybe Justin was wishing he didn’t even have the energy for that anymore either. He tucked Justin’s head under his chin, then smoothed back the blond hair and kissed his forehead. “You’re home,” he said. “You’re home, you’re home.” Justin sighed and flopped a hand to Brian’s knee and just lay there and listened. “You’re home.” And Brian thought, he’d say it until Justin believed it, because it was already true.
on to Chapter Ten
Author: lemon_bar
Rating: R
Summary: Sequel to 'A Thousand Beautiful Things'. Brian Kinney lives in the highest loft on Tremont Street. He has imported Italian fixtures, designer clothes and neon blue lights above his bed. He has also gone to bed every night for the past three weeks holding a teddy bear with movie-star glasses and a purple T-shirt, and can't help thinking the bear is just a placeholder.
Previous Posts: Chapter One; Chapter Two; Chapter Three; Chapter Four; Chapter Five; Chapter Six; Chapter Seven; Chapter Eight;
Chapter Nine: All The Lost Things
“Just checking,” Justin said lightly as he finished brushing his teeth. He rinsed his toothbrush then dropped it in the holder Brian had by the sink, stopping to smile at how his toothbrush looked sitting in the holder beside Brian’s.
“Why do you say that?” Brian asked as he walked into the bathroom, tying his tie.
Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure-out how things run here.”
“This is your home, they run however we want them to run,” Brian said.
“Okay,” Justin said agreeably, and smiled. Brian watched Justin as the blond headed out of the bathroom. He’d heard the phrase too frequently from Justin to dismiss it so casually. It always followed a casual inquiry into the loft set-up, or Brian’s behaviour. ‘You forgot your clothes’, and Brian would say that he hadn’t forgotten them, and Justin would shrug and say ‘Just checking’. He’d done it several times, and Brian, following a comment from Dr. Erik, was beginning to realize that it was because Justin was uncomfortable.
“Are you okay?” Brian asked, following Justin back into the bedroom again.
“Yeah,” Justin asked, scrunching his face in that way he did when he wasn’t sure what the hell Brian was talking about.
“I’ll pick something up for dinner, Tai good for you?” Brian asked, knowing Justin had learned this was his way of saying he was working late.
“Sure,” Justin said. “Later.”
“Later,” Brian said.
He thought about it on the ride to Kinnetic. The only conclusion that he could arrive at was that he was an idiot. Things had been awkward since they’d woken-up on Thursday morning, Justin slightly hung-over and both of them naked. Justin’s memory of what happened the night before was clear, however, and Brian had blinked bleary eyes open lifting his head to look at Justin, who he was partially lying on, and was immediately confronted with a frozen expression on Justin’s face. He hadn’t been able to interpret it. It was partly shock and embarrassment, but there had been fear and there had been panic as well. Brian had sat up and Justin had quickly wriggled free, apologizing for seemingly nothing at all, and stumbled to the bathroom.
Brian had known it was too fast. He couldn’t help it. He had stopped tricking, he was living with a very attractive young man who was becoming increasingly relaxed and less concerned with keeping his body constantly covered. Justin high and giddy and horny and relaxed had been too much to resist. Three days later and their conversation was down to a bare minimum, and it was always awkward.
And then there were Justin’s questions, and casual dismissals. Dr. Erik said that Justin was likely not seeing the loft as his own. Wasn’t quite used to the idea of living with someone and sharing a space. He was looking at it like he had to fit in to Brian’s lifestyle, hence the ‘just checking’. He was checking, in a way; checking to see what the unspoken rule was so that he wouldn’t make a big thing about it, so he could learn to accept it. Brian had dismissed this when Dr. Erik had said it, but now he wasn’t so certain. He walked around the loft naked, it was habit and sometimes it was also laziness. Mornings were when he usually did it, too set on the idea of his first hit of caffeine to stop and throw on clothes. Justin had seemed fine with it even after their first morning when Justin had moved in. But then again, he’d been making breakfast and had drawn Brian’s attention to his lack of clothes. He hadn’t brought it up again, but Brian had realized that neither had Justin really looked at him when he was naked.
Just like when they climbed into bed. Brian was always naked, was comfortable only when he slept naked. Justin, however, always seemed hesitant about climbing into bed with him. He also always wore clothes. The answer was obvious but it had taken Brian a ridiculous amount of time to come to it. He was parading around naked like a peacock, around a victim of sexual-abuse who was also a virgin. Consciously or not, he was making what was supposed to be their home, as in Justin’s home as well, completely uncomfortable for Justin.
“Fuck,” Brian muttered. He wasn’t prepared to change how he lived. He was comfortable this way; this is what he needed to do for him. But then there was Justin, cooking like a housewife, avoiding confrontations, following unspoken rules even when it made him uncomfortable, and now Justin was also trying to deal with the new implied pressure for sex. Brian knew just what Justin was thinking. That now their casual embraces, their kisses, their make out sessions on the couch would turn into sex, because Brian wanted it.
It was true. Brian really wanted to have sex with Justin. He didn’t, however, want to have sex with Justin until the blond was ready for it. It was all ridiculously complicated. “This is why I don’t do ... this shit,” he muttered to himself. But there was no use stepping around it, if agonizing sessions with Lindsay and Dr. Erik had taught him anything, it was that ignoring something only made it worse. “Fucking relationships.”
..........................
Justin had resolved to not think about it. It wasn’t working very well, but he was determined to try. He tried to not think about it as he watched Brian work at the computer at night, his fingers dancing on the keyboard, his intense expression not totally unlike when he ... He tried to not think about it as he made breakfast, as he climbed into bed at night, as he went into the bathroom every morning to wash and brush his teeth. But Brian’s naked body was everywhere and it always reminded him, and even when Brian was clothed, Justin would still remember.
The truth was that Justin wanted it. He wanted Brian to touch him, he wanted Brian to be with him the way they had been that night. He didn’t want to be drunk or high to get it. That was the truth. The problem, though, was that if he wasn’t drunk or high, then Justin was too fucking terrified. It was hard enough, sometimes, to let Brian hold him, to kiss Brian. Sometimes he’d drown in a flashback, other times he was devoured by panic. “Fucking Hobbes,” Justin snarled.
After all this time, after hours of therapy devoted to talking over and over again about it, Justin was still afraid. And now that he had something he wanted, had experienced something he’d been wanting. Now he was jumpy all the time. How could he explain to Brian that it was too soon? That what they had done had been amazing, and good, but that was all Justin could give. That he needed to adjust to it, and figure things out before he even considered doing anything more, or doing what they had done again without drugs or alcohol this time.
“Jesus Christ, Taylor,” he said to himself. “It’s just sex!” He exhaled in a frustrated ‘whoosh’, and dropped his paintbrush back into the canister. He was too full of nervous energy to settle into a painting. “Might as well do something productive with all my time,” he said, grabbing his keys from the counter where he’d left them, and his bag. He’d bought himself a cell phone, mostly because Brian kept making subtle hints about wondering where the fuck he was whenever he wasn’t in the loft.
He set the alarm, locked the door, and jogged down the stairs. It was time to go home, pack his shit, and really move in with Brian.
.............................
“Justin, Honey,” Jennifer greeted, more than a little shocked to see her son standing on her doorstep when she opened the door.
“Hi,” Justin said.
Jennifer gasped, her eyes watering, and made a little gurgling sound before she lunged forward and hugged her son tight. “Oh Sweetie!” she said. “Oh!”
“I can’t stay long,” Justin lied. “I just came to pick-up my things.”
“But ... but where are you staying?” Jennifer asked.
“Justin!” Molly called, racing down the stairs and flinging herself into his arms. “Holy shit! I was totally heading out to visit you! You prick! Why didn’t you tell me you left?”
“Molly!” Jennifer said, scandalized by her daughter’s language.
“I’m telling you now,” Justin said. “I came to pick-up my things. Where’s Tigger?”
“Oh,” Jennifer said, one hand going to her throat and she shook her head.
“Molly?” he asked, since she seemed more reliable.
“Justin, Tigger got hit by a car. Not that long after you left, he kept breaking out of the house all the time after you’d gone. I think he kept trying to find where you went, but he broke out, and Mr. Jennings down the street was backing out of his driveway,” Molly explained.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Justin asked. “And I asked when you came!” he said, turning to look at his mother. “I asked you, and you said he was fine!”
“Justin,” Jennifer said.
“I didn’t want to upset you. It was so stupid,” Molly said. “I kept knowing I should, but I couldn’t,” she said.
Justin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I just need to grab a few things,” he said flatly.
“You can stay for dinner, Sweetie,” Jennifer said.
“I just need to grab my things,” he repeated.
“Okay,” Jennifer said. She went to the front hall table and opened a drawer, handing him a key.
“What’s this?”
“Your father,” she said. “Well...” She shook her head and blinked. “Your father packed your things. They’re in the garage.”
“What happened to my room?” Justin asked. Molly wouldn’t meet his eyes. Neither would his mother. Pushing passed them, he climbed the stairs and found the door to his bedroom, it was closed and when he pushed it open he felt something break in him. The walls weren’t even the same colour. He’d painted a mural on one wall when he was thirteen. He made a collage above his bed. Both of those were gone. Now it was just plain beige walls and four pieces of exercise equipment. Even his curtains had been replaced by Venetian blinds.
He’d borrowed Blake’s car, and was now happy he had changed his decision to just use a cab. He’d planned to take only a few things, to leave the rest with his parents and pick it up later if he needed it. But now he opened the garage to see his life packed-up in boxes, and suddenly he didn’t trust his parents with it anymore. He hauled everything into the car, sending Molly away when she tried to help. He packed everything in, and then he stalked down the driveway.
“Where are you staying?” Jennifer asked.
“Like you care!” Justin said.
“Justin,” Molly said, her voice sounding small.
“Anywhere but here!” he said. He left the garage open. Let his father come home and see the empty space in the garage. Maybe for one minute he might remember that he had a son. Maybe for one minute, he might regret all the things he’d ever done. Maybe, but Justin didn’t think so.
........................
Brian got home and the loft was dark. It was also quiet. Three cautious steps in and he nearly tripped over a box. He made it to the kitchen, flicked on a light and looked closely at the stack of boxes by the front door. They smelled of dust and aging cardboard, and he worried for a moment that he might never be able to rid the loft of the smell. Then he returned to the real problem, which was how the boxes got there, what was in them, and why Justin was not anywhere in sight.
Justin’s keys were on the counter, where he always left them no matter how often Brian tried to make him leave them in the bedroom. Justin’s shoes were by the front door. Beyond that, Justin seemed completely missing. Except that the blue lights were on in the bedroom, and the comfort those lights provided Justin was one of the first things he’d learned when Justin had moved in.
Brian would never admit that he was concerned and a little cautious as he crossed the floor. He stood at the side of the bed and peered down at Justin, sprawled on his stomach, his head on a pillow, his arms wrapped around it. Even in the blue-light, Brian could make out the tear tracks on Justin’s red face. Justin had cried himself to sleep that much was clear. Brian had no idea why, though.
He slipped his shoes off and then sat on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on Justin’s back. He wondered if Justin would talk to him, or if maybe he should phone Emmett or Blake. Lately they hadn’t been saying much of anything to each other.
Lindsay had told him specifically that Justin needed a steady and relaxing environment so he could focus on more important things. Like getting used to the speed at which the world outside of Liberty moved, and the sheer number of people. Brian had fucked up, though, because he’d unintentionally made Justin’s home environment more taxing. There were dark circles under Justin’s eyes, a result of the nightmares that woke him and often made it impossible for him to return to sleep. And ever since Wednesday, Justin had seemed more cautious when Brian was near him then anything else.
Now Justin was also dealing with whatever had happened that had upset him enough to cry himself to sleep. From the sheer number of boxes in the entranceway, Brian thought he could guess where Justin had gone.
“My dog is dead,” Justin said. Brian was as startled by the silence being split by that flat tone as he was that Justin had woken and he hadn’t noticed. “He’s been dead for a while.” Brian kept his hand on Justin’s back and wondered if there was anything else. He knew Justin had loved his dog. Once Justin had started talking, he’d had endless stories about ‘Tigger’, so named because the dog would sometime hop around, and also because the honour of naming the dog had fallen to a much younger Molly.
“They made my room into an exercise room. My mural is gone,” Justin said. “I don’t exist anymore. Not to them. Any sign of me is in those boxes. I’m not real. They never planned for me to come home.” Justin was crying again, Brian wondered if he noticed the tears. He shifted his hand from Justin’s back and tucked some blond strands of hair behind Justin’s ear. Justin’s face was hot to the touch he’d been crying so hard. “My dog is dead, and I’m not real,” Justin said, and he was openly sobbing, and came into Brian’s arms like a lost child, and Brian just held on.
He held on while Justin sobbed, until Justin didn’t have the energy to cry anymore. Didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie there and breathe, though Brian wondered if maybe Justin was wishing he didn’t even have the energy for that anymore either. He tucked Justin’s head under his chin, then smoothed back the blond hair and kissed his forehead. “You’re home,” he said. “You’re home, you’re home.” Justin sighed and flopped a hand to Brian’s knee and just lay there and listened. “You’re home.” And Brian thought, he’d say it until Justin believed it, because it was already true.
on to Chapter Ten