More of Alien
So, by this point you've probably all assumed that I've forgotten about "Alien" (aka the fic that wouldn't die no matter how much Josselin tried to kill it). But it's far from forgotten, in fact, it grows weekly. Anyway, it has three sections--I'm calling them sections because when I first started posting bits of it I called them parts--and the first section is done and I'm posting it here. The second section is about 3/5 done, and the third section is about half done (I'm not writing it chronologically, obviously). Because I'm not finished with the whole thing and I'm not going in order, I may end up revising this bit (so definitely, if you have constructive criticism, throw it at me--I mean, I always welcome all kinds of criticism and feedback, but there will definitely be revision going on with this, so tell me what you think, honestly).
So, here's section one of Alien. Some of the first bits were already posted when I first started writing this, the new stuff follows them.
Alien
by Josselin Kohl
PART ONE:
“How hard it is to tell what it was like...”
Dante’s Inferno, Canto I
* * *
Retrospectively, Brian decided that it all began that one Sunday morning in the diner. Sunday mornings are somewhat traditional as being more spiritual than perhaps the usual weekday morning, but for Brian Kinney, Sunday mornings were more traditionally spent in bed, recovering from a massive hangover, so of course he botched the whole thing up.
* * *
Brian’s half-listening to Michael’s enthusiastic story about the creepy guy who’d been stalking him at the supermarket the day before when Emmett and Justin walk into the diner. Emmett looks exhausted and pained; in contrast, Justin’s practically bouncing with energy. Emmett sort of collapses slowly into the booth, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder and groaning softly. “Water.” Emmett says pathetically. “Eggs. Over easy.”
Justin slides in opposite Emmett and greets Brian with an enthusiastic kiss, only afterwards bothering with a verbal greeting. “Hey,” he says to Brian, grinning.
“Hey,” Brian says reflexively in response. “Where the fuck were you last night?” This comment reveals, of course, that Brian is accustomed to knowing where Justin is during the night hours, and might even have worried about Justin when he wasn’t aware of his whereabouts. But no one at the table takes any particular notice of the implications of the question.
“I crashed with Emmett at the munchers,” Justin explains quickly, then moving on his more exciting news. “You’ll never believe what happened to Emmett and I last night.”
Brian and Michael look from hyper-Justin to suffering-Emmett, and then at each other, and then back to Justin, Brian with a carefully bland look, and Michael with a quizzical expression. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?” Justin asks Emmett, who only whimpers in response. “Emmett and I saw an alien spaceship,” Justin announces excitedly.
There’s a moment of complete silence, and then Michael bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I saw a lot of aliens, too,” Michael agrees. “After they gave out those stupid antennae headbands at Babylon and sprayed green body paint all over the place.”
After a second, Brian joins him with a disbelieving half laugh/half cough. “Okay,” Brian says, “no more drugs for you.”
Justin jokingly punches Brian in the shoulder. “Shut up. I didn’t do any drugs. The spaceship was just amazing. Emmett, tell them what you remember,” Justin says coaxingly.
Emmett lifts his head off of Michael’s shoulder and faces Justin with an apologetic look. “I remember that I’m never, never, never, ever taking drugs from Anita again.”
“Whatever,” Justin says, still grinning. “Tell them about the spaceship!”
“There was no spaceship, honey,” Emmett says. “It was the drugs. Reason number four-hundred and thirty-three why you should never, never, never, ever do drugs.”
Justin frowns. “I didn’t do any drugs,” he protests. “I swear.”
“Well, what did the spaceship look like?” Michael asks reasonably.
Justin describes what he saw-a bright light in the sky, and then a circular-type ship, shining the light down on the field they were in.
“Hey,” Michael says, “that’s just like the Vawhe death beam space ship in the latest Space Invaders issue.”
Justin frowns slightly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Weren’t you reading that yesterday at the shop?” Michael continues. “I remember you said something about the design of the villain’s spandex outfit.”
“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Justin agrees reluctantly. “But the ship we saw was…brighter,” he concludes.
“What the fuck were you doing out in a field?” Brian interrupts.
Justin frowns again. “I don’t remember, exactly. Emmett, what were we doing in the field?”
“Fuck if I know,” Emmett declares. “I don’t even remember a field.”
Brian nods with an expression on his face that indicates that he’s weighed all of the evidence and is coming to the only obvious conclusion. Michael looks at Justin with a vague sort of pity and amusement, and Emmett’s still whimpering and begging for coffee. Michael changes the subject back to his story about the creepy guy in the grocery store; Brian listens with his full attention now that his nagging worry about Justin is satisfied. And Justin sort of plays with his food instead of eating and is suspiciously silent.
* * *
So Brian thought that was the end of it. It wasn’t, of course. It was only the beginning.
* * *
One evening that week, Justin comes over after his classes are over. Later, Brian’s thankful that they at least fucked before the arguing started in earnest, which was over dinner, after they had showered and ordered takeout.
While shoveling chicken lo mein into his mouth, Justin begins talking excitedly about the picture he drew today. Brian sorts the food on his plate into separate quadrants before beginning to pick at it, half-listening to Justin and half wondering if he’ll be able to convince Justin to go fuck on the roof. Maybe he can entice Justin by promising that he’ll see more alien spaceships when he comes.
Brian tries this line on Justin, which does manage to make the boy stop talking, but only to gaze at Brian disapprovingly. “You’re not listening to me at all, are you?” Justin surmises.
Brian wonders if this can really be a surprise to Justin after knowing him this long. “I never listen to you.”
Justin rolls his eyes. “Brian, this is important.”
“How can a dream you had when you were tripping be important?”
“It wasn’t a dream! And I wasn’t on anything,” Justin protests, exasperated. “And it’s important because it had meaning for me.”
“Meaning?” Brian echoes incredulously.
“Yes,” Justin says firmly. “When I saw the light-it was just so beautiful. It was like everything in my life finally came clear to me in that moment.”
“Uh huh,” Brian says skeptically, having put his fork down and devoting his full attention to Justin. “I feel that way a lot-at the Baths.”
Justin sighs, as though God has particularly burdened him with having to put up with Brian. “And I listen to all of your stories about the guys you fuck at the Baths, don’t I? So you can suck it up and listen to my story, this once.”
“How about we skip the listening and go straight to the sucking part,” Brian offers.
“Brian!” Justin complains, starting to raise his voice, “This is not about sex!”
“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” Brian says, picking up his fork again and spearing a peapod. “If I’d been with you in that field instead of Emmett, all you would have been looking at is my dick, and we could have skipped the whole epiphany experience. Although,” Brian continues with a slight smile, “I actually think my dick has inspired a lot of epiphanies.”
Justin rolls his eyes again and picks up his empty plate to begin clearing the table, even though Brian’s probably eaten a grand total of one peapod and maybe a grain of rice that was stuck to it.
Carrying the empty dishes, he stops next to Brian’s place at the table and leans over close to his face. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t there,” Justin says, “because this experience was more amazing than any fuck.”
Brian’s face has the most amazing astonished expression on it as Justin walks over to the sink.
* * *
The next weekend brought them all back to Babylon again, despite Emmett’s hung-over oaths the past Sunday about giving up dance clubs. Brian’s in the backroom since Justin’s still pissed with him, and Justin had been dancing but is now sitting up on a stool at the bar, sketching on a napkin. Emmett joins Justin, capturing the stool next to him.
“Hey, honey,” Emmett greets Justin. “You tired of dancing already? The night is still young!”
Justin looks up with a grin. “Hey Em. I’m just distracted, I guess.”
“By what?” Emmett sneaks a look at the napkin, where Justin has sketched the now-familiar shape of the alien ship and the beam of light below it. “Oh,” Emmett says, something darker coloring his tone.
Justin looks up again, gives Emmett a tight smile, and pulls his napkin back to add a few more lines to it. Emmett sighs a little. “Look, baby,” he says, tipping Justin’s chin up to force Justin to look at him. “I’m sorry I don’t remember anything,” Emmett offers. “I wish I could.”
Justin laughs weakly. “Well, I know how that feels.”
* * *
On Monday, Brian brings a trick back to the loft with him at lunch, only to find Justin sitting on the couch with a huge stack of books next to him on the coffee table. He jerks, startled, when Brian opens the loft door, and when he sees the other guy Brian has with him, he quickly begins to pack his entire stack of books in his backpack.
Brian abandons his trick in the doorway to come investigate what Justin’s doing.
“Sorry,” Justin says, wrinkling his nose. “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I just needed a quiet place to read-but I’ll just head back to the library.”
“What are you reading?” Brian asks, grabbing the last book from the coffee table before Justin can snatch it and pack it away. Brian raises an eyebrow at the title. “True Stories of Extra-Terrestrial Encounters?”
Justin closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and waits. “Why the fuck are you reading this?” Brian demands.
“Why do you think?” Justin counters.
“Hey, man,” the trick interrupts from the doorway. “Are we doing something here, or no?”
“Get out,” Brian shouts back at the trick, without taking his eyes off Justin and his books.
Justin clears his throat. “I still think it’s time for me to go.”
Brian shakes his head. “You wanna talk, let’s talk. Why are you reading this shit?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Justin says acidly. “Give me my fucking book back. I’m leaving.”
“You do if you come read in my apartment while I’m not here,” Brian says. “Tell me why you’re reading this or I won’t give it back to you.”
“Christ, Brian,” Justin says exasperatedly. “Fine, keep the damn book. You’re acting like a two-year-old. I’m outta here.” And he zips up his backpack and slams the loft door on his way out, leaving Brian standing alone in the middle of his living room holding a book about aliens.
“Fuck.”
* * *
On Tuesday, Brian sneaks into the back of the diner and puts Justin’s library book back in his bag without saying anything. Justin gives him evil looks when bringing his coffee; Brian assumes he hasn’t found the book yet, or maybe he’s just still pouting-Justin’s like that. But on Wednesday, by which point Brian assumes Justin must have found the returned library book, Justin is still frigid while pouring scalding hot coffee. Brian begins to consider desperate measures-like, actually talking with Justin or something.
On Thursday morning, as he’s gathering his briefcase to head out the door, Brian gets a phone call from Justin’s mother. “He’s not here,” he tells her.
“Oh,” Jennifer says, sounding somewhat worried and generally motherly, which irks Brian at a subconscious level for reasons he’s never going to completely identify. “Well, if you see him, can you give him a message?”
“What’s the message?” Brian asks, adjusting his tie.
“Just remind him that he has an appointment with the neurologist tomorrow morning at 9:30.”
“Is something wrong?” Brian says quickly.
“No, it’s just a routine checkup. I just don’t want him to forget. I’ll leave a message with Daphne, too, hopefully he’ll get it.”
“You might try Deb, too,” Brian suggests. “I think he works this afternoon.”
Jennifer says thanks and hangs up, and Brian heads off to work, turning things over in his head as he drives.
Once at work, he begins pulling up websites on head injuries-he has all the most reputable ones bookmarked on his laptop-and starts searching to see if seeing random bright lights can be a lingering aftereffect of a major brain injury.
Three o’clock finds him stalking the halls of PIFA, and finally rounding the corner to Justin’s favorite studio. Brian knocks on the door but then charges right in without waiting for a response.
Justin’s in there reading a book, and looks up, startled, when Brian comes in. Brian recognizes the book-it’s the one he put back in Justin’s backpack at the diner. Justin’s face falls when he recognizes Brian, and he gives a little sigh. “What do you want?”
“Your mother called,” Brian says, as though that’s enough of an excuse to leave work and hunt Justin down at school in the middle of the day. “She wants to make sure you don’t forget your doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”
“I know,” Justin says calmly. “She left me a message on my cell.”
Brian goes over to the window and stares out at the gorgeous Pittsburgh alley that Justin has a view of. He thinks that he and Justin have fucked in that alley, actually, but it’s hard to be sure-there are so many alleys and they all look different in the dark, and Brian’s never paying much attention to the surroundings anyway. “Justin,” he says finally, staring out the window and fingering his bracelet. He turns back to Justin, who is looking at him patiently waiting for him to spit it out, probably hoping for an apology or something. “When you go to the doctor, mention the light that you saw last weekend.”
Justin’s brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because you say you weren’t doing any drugs and I believe you. But seeing lights like that can be a lingering sign of head injuries. . .” Brian trails off uncomfortably-there’s a reason they never talk about this. “Just mention it to the doctor,” he concludes.
Justin gives a little sigh, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Please?” Brian says, clearing his throat. “Just so I won’t have to worry.”
Justin shakes his head resignedly. “All right,” he agrees. “I’ll mention it to the doctor.”
“Good,” Brian says, but he doesn’t leave right away, still staring out at the alley. “So,” he says finally, acting diffident. “Do you want to come over tonight?”
* * *
Justin does come over that evening, and he ends up leaving his backpack there when he leaves for the doctor. When he gets back from his appointment, he finds Brian at the loft, ostensibly working from home, but actually he seems to be staring at a book lying open next to his keyboard.
“Hey,” Justin says, sliding the door shut behind him, and Brian looks up guiltily. “Whatcha reading?” Justin asks.
“Nothing,” Brian says. “Work stuff. What did the doctor say?”
“Everything’s fine,” Justin says. “And the PT said my hand has more range of motion now than they ever anticipated.”
“What he’d say about the light?”
Justin sighs, and heads for the fridge. “He said it’s probably nothing.”
“Probably?” Brian echoes, following Justin over to the counter.
Justin pours some juice into a glass, and Brian takes a moment to appreciate that he can do that, can hold a glass with his left hand pour with his right, because there was a time when that seemed like a distant dream. “Why aren’t you at work?” Justin asks.
Brian will not be dissuaded. “Why might it not be nothing?”
Justin sighs. “If I really wasn’t doing drugs or drinking, which are the far more likely explanations, then it’s possible that visual hallucinations would be a sign of some sort of lingering damage to the front lobe.”
Brian has a tight expression on his face. “But you said you weren’t high.”
“I didn’t do drugs. But I had a couple of drinks, and who knows what might have got slipped in one of them or something.” Justin gives an exaggerated who-knows gesture.
“Did you tell him that?”
Justin turns back to the fridge. “Brian, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“But it’s a nothing that’s had you obsessively reading crackpot theories about coasters in the sky for two weeks.”
Justin sighs heavily. “Look-would you just forget about it?”
“I want you to forget about it,” Brian says stubbornly, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“I think I’ve done enough forgetting, thanks,” Justin says, grabbing his backpack off the floor. “I need to go.”
“Justin,” Brian says lingeringly.
Justin stops in front of the open door to raise an impatient eyebrow.
“Promise me that if it happens again, you’ll tell the doctor. If anything happens,” Brian says.
“Fine.” And Justin’s out the door and down the stairs before Brian can say anything more.
* * *
Things continue to be weird between them-they’re not arguing outright, at least Brian doesn’t think they are, because if they are he for one doesn’t know what they’re arguing about. But Justin talks less than he used to, so Brian doesn’t know what he’s thinking all the time, and that makes him nervous. Justin seems distracted, too, often sketching quickly in his book but then slamming the cover down when Brian gets near to keep him from seeing what he’s working on.
Brian suspects that Justin is not working on a drawing of his cock.
Brian continues sneaking Justin’s research books out of his backpack and reading them, constantly trying to understand how one bad trip could really put Justin around the bend, and wondering if the right drugs could maybe make Justin forget about it again. When he’s reading one called Understanding Your Alien Encounter Justin catches him. He’s sitting in his chair over by the window, and he’s hidden the book inside on of his trade magazines, but he falls asleep-he can only read about so many sightings of little green men before he drifts off--, and the magazine and book drop into his lap, and when he wakes up, Justin is blowing on his ear and giggling.
Justin teases him about his choice in reading material for a while, and Brian tries to shrug him off, and eventually they end up in bed, and Brian’s pleased that Justin seems pleased that he’s been reading the books, even if they are the most ridiculous things he’s ever read, even worse that Mikey’s comic books, which at least have drawings of hot guys in tights.
* * *
One morning the next week, Brian is working at home again, and makes an interesting discovery when he ignores the phone ringing and listens to the recording Daphne makes on the answering machine.
“Uh, Justin?” Daphne’s voice floats into the loft. “I’ve been trying to reach your cell, but I haven’t been able to get you for like a week now, you freak, and I haven’t seen you, so I just wanted to kind of check and make sure that you’re not dead.”
And that is very interesting indeed, because the previous afternoon, Brian could have sworn that Justin had said something about going over to Daphne’s to work on some homework or something, and if Justin’s been lying about this, that opens up a whole new can of worms. Like, where was he really, yesterday afternoon? And why did he lie about it?
Daphne hems and haws for a minute or so, and finally wraps up, “So, give me a call to let me know you’re okay. And come pick up your messages over here, too-there’s one on the machine from ‘Professor Lilliput’ asking about why you haven’t been to class in a week.”
And that’s even more disturbing, because though Justin isn’t adverse to ditching the occasional class, he’s a very conscientious student.
Daphne finally hangs up, and Brian stares at the answering machine, thinking.
* * *
After distractedly making his way through a conference call that afternoon, Brian leaves the loft and drives the ‘vette over to the abandoned field near Mikey’s apartment. He parks on the side of the road after scanning the street for potential vandalizing little brats, and then walks out into the grass towards the blond head he can see in the middle of the lot, kicking at a broken brown-glass beer bottle.
He plops down on the grass next to Justin, sitting cross-legged. “Hey,” he says, and Justin offers him a distracted smile without stopping the movements of his hand upon the page.
“Can I see what you’re drawing?” Brian asks finally, to get Justin to pause in his sketching if nothing else. Justin obligingly moves his hand and holds his sketchbook up for Brian’s inspection.
Brian examines the drawing of a spaceship. He doesn’t know very much about aliens or spaceships, but he knows enough about art to be able to tell that the way Justin has defined the lighting in the sketch is amazing-just pencil lines and yet the sense of the brightness of the ship is overpowering. “It’s good,” he says finally.
Justin frowns, biting his lip. “It’s not good enough, though,” he says. Brian raises an eyebrow. “I just…can’t express how beautiful it was,” Justin says, his voice conveying his frustration.
Brian frowns, and tries to think of something to say, something supportive and lesbian-like, but all he can think of is-It must have really been something, huh?-and he doesn’t think he can even say that with a straight face. “So,” he says after a silence, “have you gone to class at all this week?”
Justin stiffens at that comment, and Brian regrets saying it, because he doesn’t really want to argue with Justin, but on the other hand, he can’t not bring it up. Justin turns to face him, and Justin’s face is hard. “This is important,” Justin says, and Brian nods, slowly, as though he understands that.
There is another long stretch of silence, and Justin is back to the minute refinings of his drawing while Brian sits there, leaning back on his hands, and wishing that he’d brought his sunglasses and cigarettes with him from the car. He picks a blade of grass, and chews on the end, instead, feeling almost farmer-ish, except there’s a brick wall covered in graffiti twelve feet to his right, which is a comforting reminder. Some cars drive down the street behind them, the sound of their engines growing, and peaking, and then fading away again, and there’s a cricket in some corner of the field, and Brian wonders what the rule is again about counting cricket chirps to get the temperature, and wonders if Justin’s going to stop drawing in the field before the winter comes in a few months, or whether he’s going to have to buy the boy a wool hat.
“Justin,” Brian says finally, and Justin glances up warily. “Look,” Brian says, squinting into the sunlight, “whatever you do, you know I support you,” and he wants to continue, he wants to finish that with a ‘but I really think you should forget about the whole alien thing and go back to attending class regularly,’ but Justin’s face just lights up when he says it, and he can’t say anything more because Justin leans over and their lips meet. Then Justin tackles him down into the dust and weeds and cigarette butts, and all he can do is kiss the boy.
He wants to fuck Justin-he always wants to fuck Justin-but the middle of a field in daylight in the ghetto breeder area is definitely not the place. “Let’s go back to the loft,” Brian suggests, nipping at Justin’s neck. And when Justin nods his agreement, a weight is lifted off of Brian’s chest.
Brian stands up, and offers Justin a hand up, tugging him to his feet after Justin’s gathered up his various art supplies. They walk back through the field towards the car. “You know,” Brian says, “we could probably get a basic chemistry set and do some tests on the soil here-“
“Like the ones suggested at the back of Aliens In Your Backyard?” Justin interrupts excitedly. And on the way back to the car, Justin chatters about the possible meanings of a high iron nitrate level in the soil in the lot, and Brian holds his hand.
END PART ONE
* * *
Feedback welcome, as always. Add a comment here or email me at josselinkohl@hotmail.com
So, here's section one of Alien. Some of the first bits were already posted when I first started writing this, the new stuff follows them.
Alien
by Josselin Kohl
PART ONE:
“How hard it is to tell what it was like...”
Dante’s Inferno, Canto I
* * *
Retrospectively, Brian decided that it all began that one Sunday morning in the diner. Sunday mornings are somewhat traditional as being more spiritual than perhaps the usual weekday morning, but for Brian Kinney, Sunday mornings were more traditionally spent in bed, recovering from a massive hangover, so of course he botched the whole thing up.
* * *
Brian’s half-listening to Michael’s enthusiastic story about the creepy guy who’d been stalking him at the supermarket the day before when Emmett and Justin walk into the diner. Emmett looks exhausted and pained; in contrast, Justin’s practically bouncing with energy. Emmett sort of collapses slowly into the booth, leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder and groaning softly. “Water.” Emmett says pathetically. “Eggs. Over easy.”
Justin slides in opposite Emmett and greets Brian with an enthusiastic kiss, only afterwards bothering with a verbal greeting. “Hey,” he says to Brian, grinning.
“Hey,” Brian says reflexively in response. “Where the fuck were you last night?” This comment reveals, of course, that Brian is accustomed to knowing where Justin is during the night hours, and might even have worried about Justin when he wasn’t aware of his whereabouts. But no one at the table takes any particular notice of the implications of the question.
“I crashed with Emmett at the munchers,” Justin explains quickly, then moving on his more exciting news. “You’ll never believe what happened to Emmett and I last night.”
Brian and Michael look from hyper-Justin to suffering-Emmett, and then at each other, and then back to Justin, Brian with a carefully bland look, and Michael with a quizzical expression. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?” Justin asks Emmett, who only whimpers in response. “Emmett and I saw an alien spaceship,” Justin announces excitedly.
There’s a moment of complete silence, and then Michael bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I saw a lot of aliens, too,” Michael agrees. “After they gave out those stupid antennae headbands at Babylon and sprayed green body paint all over the place.”
After a second, Brian joins him with a disbelieving half laugh/half cough. “Okay,” Brian says, “no more drugs for you.”
Justin jokingly punches Brian in the shoulder. “Shut up. I didn’t do any drugs. The spaceship was just amazing. Emmett, tell them what you remember,” Justin says coaxingly.
Emmett lifts his head off of Michael’s shoulder and faces Justin with an apologetic look. “I remember that I’m never, never, never, ever taking drugs from Anita again.”
“Whatever,” Justin says, still grinning. “Tell them about the spaceship!”
“There was no spaceship, honey,” Emmett says. “It was the drugs. Reason number four-hundred and thirty-three why you should never, never, never, ever do drugs.”
Justin frowns. “I didn’t do any drugs,” he protests. “I swear.”
“Well, what did the spaceship look like?” Michael asks reasonably.
Justin describes what he saw-a bright light in the sky, and then a circular-type ship, shining the light down on the field they were in.
“Hey,” Michael says, “that’s just like the Vawhe death beam space ship in the latest Space Invaders issue.”
Justin frowns slightly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Weren’t you reading that yesterday at the shop?” Michael continues. “I remember you said something about the design of the villain’s spandex outfit.”
“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Justin agrees reluctantly. “But the ship we saw was…brighter,” he concludes.
“What the fuck were you doing out in a field?” Brian interrupts.
Justin frowns again. “I don’t remember, exactly. Emmett, what were we doing in the field?”
“Fuck if I know,” Emmett declares. “I don’t even remember a field.”
Brian nods with an expression on his face that indicates that he’s weighed all of the evidence and is coming to the only obvious conclusion. Michael looks at Justin with a vague sort of pity and amusement, and Emmett’s still whimpering and begging for coffee. Michael changes the subject back to his story about the creepy guy in the grocery store; Brian listens with his full attention now that his nagging worry about Justin is satisfied. And Justin sort of plays with his food instead of eating and is suspiciously silent.
* * *
So Brian thought that was the end of it. It wasn’t, of course. It was only the beginning.
* * *
One evening that week, Justin comes over after his classes are over. Later, Brian’s thankful that they at least fucked before the arguing started in earnest, which was over dinner, after they had showered and ordered takeout.
While shoveling chicken lo mein into his mouth, Justin begins talking excitedly about the picture he drew today. Brian sorts the food on his plate into separate quadrants before beginning to pick at it, half-listening to Justin and half wondering if he’ll be able to convince Justin to go fuck on the roof. Maybe he can entice Justin by promising that he’ll see more alien spaceships when he comes.
Brian tries this line on Justin, which does manage to make the boy stop talking, but only to gaze at Brian disapprovingly. “You’re not listening to me at all, are you?” Justin surmises.
Brian wonders if this can really be a surprise to Justin after knowing him this long. “I never listen to you.”
Justin rolls his eyes. “Brian, this is important.”
“How can a dream you had when you were tripping be important?”
“It wasn’t a dream! And I wasn’t on anything,” Justin protests, exasperated. “And it’s important because it had meaning for me.”
“Meaning?” Brian echoes incredulously.
“Yes,” Justin says firmly. “When I saw the light-it was just so beautiful. It was like everything in my life finally came clear to me in that moment.”
“Uh huh,” Brian says skeptically, having put his fork down and devoting his full attention to Justin. “I feel that way a lot-at the Baths.”
Justin sighs, as though God has particularly burdened him with having to put up with Brian. “And I listen to all of your stories about the guys you fuck at the Baths, don’t I? So you can suck it up and listen to my story, this once.”
“How about we skip the listening and go straight to the sucking part,” Brian offers.
“Brian!” Justin complains, starting to raise his voice, “This is not about sex!”
“That’s too bad, isn’t it?” Brian says, picking up his fork again and spearing a peapod. “If I’d been with you in that field instead of Emmett, all you would have been looking at is my dick, and we could have skipped the whole epiphany experience. Although,” Brian continues with a slight smile, “I actually think my dick has inspired a lot of epiphanies.”
Justin rolls his eyes again and picks up his empty plate to begin clearing the table, even though Brian’s probably eaten a grand total of one peapod and maybe a grain of rice that was stuck to it.
Carrying the empty dishes, he stops next to Brian’s place at the table and leans over close to his face. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t there,” Justin says, “because this experience was more amazing than any fuck.”
Brian’s face has the most amazing astonished expression on it as Justin walks over to the sink.
* * *
The next weekend brought them all back to Babylon again, despite Emmett’s hung-over oaths the past Sunday about giving up dance clubs. Brian’s in the backroom since Justin’s still pissed with him, and Justin had been dancing but is now sitting up on a stool at the bar, sketching on a napkin. Emmett joins Justin, capturing the stool next to him.
“Hey, honey,” Emmett greets Justin. “You tired of dancing already? The night is still young!”
Justin looks up with a grin. “Hey Em. I’m just distracted, I guess.”
“By what?” Emmett sneaks a look at the napkin, where Justin has sketched the now-familiar shape of the alien ship and the beam of light below it. “Oh,” Emmett says, something darker coloring his tone.
Justin looks up again, gives Emmett a tight smile, and pulls his napkin back to add a few more lines to it. Emmett sighs a little. “Look, baby,” he says, tipping Justin’s chin up to force Justin to look at him. “I’m sorry I don’t remember anything,” Emmett offers. “I wish I could.”
Justin laughs weakly. “Well, I know how that feels.”
* * *
On Monday, Brian brings a trick back to the loft with him at lunch, only to find Justin sitting on the couch with a huge stack of books next to him on the coffee table. He jerks, startled, when Brian opens the loft door, and when he sees the other guy Brian has with him, he quickly begins to pack his entire stack of books in his backpack.
Brian abandons his trick in the doorway to come investigate what Justin’s doing.
“Sorry,” Justin says, wrinkling his nose. “I didn’t realize you’d be here. I just needed a quiet place to read-but I’ll just head back to the library.”
“What are you reading?” Brian asks, grabbing the last book from the coffee table before Justin can snatch it and pack it away. Brian raises an eyebrow at the title. “True Stories of Extra-Terrestrial Encounters?”
Justin closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and waits. “Why the fuck are you reading this?” Brian demands.
“Why do you think?” Justin counters.
“Hey, man,” the trick interrupts from the doorway. “Are we doing something here, or no?”
“Get out,” Brian shouts back at the trick, without taking his eyes off Justin and his books.
Justin clears his throat. “I still think it’s time for me to go.”
Brian shakes his head. “You wanna talk, let’s talk. Why are you reading this shit?”
“I don’t need to explain myself to you,” Justin says acidly. “Give me my fucking book back. I’m leaving.”
“You do if you come read in my apartment while I’m not here,” Brian says. “Tell me why you’re reading this or I won’t give it back to you.”
“Christ, Brian,” Justin says exasperatedly. “Fine, keep the damn book. You’re acting like a two-year-old. I’m outta here.” And he zips up his backpack and slams the loft door on his way out, leaving Brian standing alone in the middle of his living room holding a book about aliens.
“Fuck.”
* * *
On Tuesday, Brian sneaks into the back of the diner and puts Justin’s library book back in his bag without saying anything. Justin gives him evil looks when bringing his coffee; Brian assumes he hasn’t found the book yet, or maybe he’s just still pouting-Justin’s like that. But on Wednesday, by which point Brian assumes Justin must have found the returned library book, Justin is still frigid while pouring scalding hot coffee. Brian begins to consider desperate measures-like, actually talking with Justin or something.
On Thursday morning, as he’s gathering his briefcase to head out the door, Brian gets a phone call from Justin’s mother. “He’s not here,” he tells her.
“Oh,” Jennifer says, sounding somewhat worried and generally motherly, which irks Brian at a subconscious level for reasons he’s never going to completely identify. “Well, if you see him, can you give him a message?”
“What’s the message?” Brian asks, adjusting his tie.
“Just remind him that he has an appointment with the neurologist tomorrow morning at 9:30.”
“Is something wrong?” Brian says quickly.
“No, it’s just a routine checkup. I just don’t want him to forget. I’ll leave a message with Daphne, too, hopefully he’ll get it.”
“You might try Deb, too,” Brian suggests. “I think he works this afternoon.”
Jennifer says thanks and hangs up, and Brian heads off to work, turning things over in his head as he drives.
Once at work, he begins pulling up websites on head injuries-he has all the most reputable ones bookmarked on his laptop-and starts searching to see if seeing random bright lights can be a lingering aftereffect of a major brain injury.
Three o’clock finds him stalking the halls of PIFA, and finally rounding the corner to Justin’s favorite studio. Brian knocks on the door but then charges right in without waiting for a response.
Justin’s in there reading a book, and looks up, startled, when Brian comes in. Brian recognizes the book-it’s the one he put back in Justin’s backpack at the diner. Justin’s face falls when he recognizes Brian, and he gives a little sigh. “What do you want?”
“Your mother called,” Brian says, as though that’s enough of an excuse to leave work and hunt Justin down at school in the middle of the day. “She wants to make sure you don’t forget your doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”
“I know,” Justin says calmly. “She left me a message on my cell.”
Brian goes over to the window and stares out at the gorgeous Pittsburgh alley that Justin has a view of. He thinks that he and Justin have fucked in that alley, actually, but it’s hard to be sure-there are so many alleys and they all look different in the dark, and Brian’s never paying much attention to the surroundings anyway. “Justin,” he says finally, staring out the window and fingering his bracelet. He turns back to Justin, who is looking at him patiently waiting for him to spit it out, probably hoping for an apology or something. “When you go to the doctor, mention the light that you saw last weekend.”
Justin’s brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because you say you weren’t doing any drugs and I believe you. But seeing lights like that can be a lingering sign of head injuries. . .” Brian trails off uncomfortably-there’s a reason they never talk about this. “Just mention it to the doctor,” he concludes.
Justin gives a little sigh, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Please?” Brian says, clearing his throat. “Just so I won’t have to worry.”
Justin shakes his head resignedly. “All right,” he agrees. “I’ll mention it to the doctor.”
“Good,” Brian says, but he doesn’t leave right away, still staring out at the alley. “So,” he says finally, acting diffident. “Do you want to come over tonight?”
* * *
Justin does come over that evening, and he ends up leaving his backpack there when he leaves for the doctor. When he gets back from his appointment, he finds Brian at the loft, ostensibly working from home, but actually he seems to be staring at a book lying open next to his keyboard.
“Hey,” Justin says, sliding the door shut behind him, and Brian looks up guiltily. “Whatcha reading?” Justin asks.
“Nothing,” Brian says. “Work stuff. What did the doctor say?”
“Everything’s fine,” Justin says. “And the PT said my hand has more range of motion now than they ever anticipated.”
“What he’d say about the light?”
Justin sighs, and heads for the fridge. “He said it’s probably nothing.”
“Probably?” Brian echoes, following Justin over to the counter.
Justin pours some juice into a glass, and Brian takes a moment to appreciate that he can do that, can hold a glass with his left hand pour with his right, because there was a time when that seemed like a distant dream. “Why aren’t you at work?” Justin asks.
Brian will not be dissuaded. “Why might it not be nothing?”
Justin sighs. “If I really wasn’t doing drugs or drinking, which are the far more likely explanations, then it’s possible that visual hallucinations would be a sign of some sort of lingering damage to the front lobe.”
Brian has a tight expression on his face. “But you said you weren’t high.”
“I didn’t do drugs. But I had a couple of drinks, and who knows what might have got slipped in one of them or something.” Justin gives an exaggerated who-knows gesture.
“Did you tell him that?”
Justin turns back to the fridge. “Brian, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“But it’s a nothing that’s had you obsessively reading crackpot theories about coasters in the sky for two weeks.”
Justin sighs heavily. “Look-would you just forget about it?”
“I want you to forget about it,” Brian says stubbornly, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“I think I’ve done enough forgetting, thanks,” Justin says, grabbing his backpack off the floor. “I need to go.”
“Justin,” Brian says lingeringly.
Justin stops in front of the open door to raise an impatient eyebrow.
“Promise me that if it happens again, you’ll tell the doctor. If anything happens,” Brian says.
“Fine.” And Justin’s out the door and down the stairs before Brian can say anything more.
* * *
Things continue to be weird between them-they’re not arguing outright, at least Brian doesn’t think they are, because if they are he for one doesn’t know what they’re arguing about. But Justin talks less than he used to, so Brian doesn’t know what he’s thinking all the time, and that makes him nervous. Justin seems distracted, too, often sketching quickly in his book but then slamming the cover down when Brian gets near to keep him from seeing what he’s working on.
Brian suspects that Justin is not working on a drawing of his cock.
Brian continues sneaking Justin’s research books out of his backpack and reading them, constantly trying to understand how one bad trip could really put Justin around the bend, and wondering if the right drugs could maybe make Justin forget about it again. When he’s reading one called Understanding Your Alien Encounter Justin catches him. He’s sitting in his chair over by the window, and he’s hidden the book inside on of his trade magazines, but he falls asleep-he can only read about so many sightings of little green men before he drifts off--, and the magazine and book drop into his lap, and when he wakes up, Justin is blowing on his ear and giggling.
Justin teases him about his choice in reading material for a while, and Brian tries to shrug him off, and eventually they end up in bed, and Brian’s pleased that Justin seems pleased that he’s been reading the books, even if they are the most ridiculous things he’s ever read, even worse that Mikey’s comic books, which at least have drawings of hot guys in tights.
* * *
One morning the next week, Brian is working at home again, and makes an interesting discovery when he ignores the phone ringing and listens to the recording Daphne makes on the answering machine.
“Uh, Justin?” Daphne’s voice floats into the loft. “I’ve been trying to reach your cell, but I haven’t been able to get you for like a week now, you freak, and I haven’t seen you, so I just wanted to kind of check and make sure that you’re not dead.”
And that is very interesting indeed, because the previous afternoon, Brian could have sworn that Justin had said something about going over to Daphne’s to work on some homework or something, and if Justin’s been lying about this, that opens up a whole new can of worms. Like, where was he really, yesterday afternoon? And why did he lie about it?
Daphne hems and haws for a minute or so, and finally wraps up, “So, give me a call to let me know you’re okay. And come pick up your messages over here, too-there’s one on the machine from ‘Professor Lilliput’ asking about why you haven’t been to class in a week.”
And that’s even more disturbing, because though Justin isn’t adverse to ditching the occasional class, he’s a very conscientious student.
Daphne finally hangs up, and Brian stares at the answering machine, thinking.
* * *
After distractedly making his way through a conference call that afternoon, Brian leaves the loft and drives the ‘vette over to the abandoned field near Mikey’s apartment. He parks on the side of the road after scanning the street for potential vandalizing little brats, and then walks out into the grass towards the blond head he can see in the middle of the lot, kicking at a broken brown-glass beer bottle.
He plops down on the grass next to Justin, sitting cross-legged. “Hey,” he says, and Justin offers him a distracted smile without stopping the movements of his hand upon the page.
“Can I see what you’re drawing?” Brian asks finally, to get Justin to pause in his sketching if nothing else. Justin obligingly moves his hand and holds his sketchbook up for Brian’s inspection.
Brian examines the drawing of a spaceship. He doesn’t know very much about aliens or spaceships, but he knows enough about art to be able to tell that the way Justin has defined the lighting in the sketch is amazing-just pencil lines and yet the sense of the brightness of the ship is overpowering. “It’s good,” he says finally.
Justin frowns, biting his lip. “It’s not good enough, though,” he says. Brian raises an eyebrow. “I just…can’t express how beautiful it was,” Justin says, his voice conveying his frustration.
Brian frowns, and tries to think of something to say, something supportive and lesbian-like, but all he can think of is-It must have really been something, huh?-and he doesn’t think he can even say that with a straight face. “So,” he says after a silence, “have you gone to class at all this week?”
Justin stiffens at that comment, and Brian regrets saying it, because he doesn’t really want to argue with Justin, but on the other hand, he can’t not bring it up. Justin turns to face him, and Justin’s face is hard. “This is important,” Justin says, and Brian nods, slowly, as though he understands that.
There is another long stretch of silence, and Justin is back to the minute refinings of his drawing while Brian sits there, leaning back on his hands, and wishing that he’d brought his sunglasses and cigarettes with him from the car. He picks a blade of grass, and chews on the end, instead, feeling almost farmer-ish, except there’s a brick wall covered in graffiti twelve feet to his right, which is a comforting reminder. Some cars drive down the street behind them, the sound of their engines growing, and peaking, and then fading away again, and there’s a cricket in some corner of the field, and Brian wonders what the rule is again about counting cricket chirps to get the temperature, and wonders if Justin’s going to stop drawing in the field before the winter comes in a few months, or whether he’s going to have to buy the boy a wool hat.
“Justin,” Brian says finally, and Justin glances up warily. “Look,” Brian says, squinting into the sunlight, “whatever you do, you know I support you,” and he wants to continue, he wants to finish that with a ‘but I really think you should forget about the whole alien thing and go back to attending class regularly,’ but Justin’s face just lights up when he says it, and he can’t say anything more because Justin leans over and their lips meet. Then Justin tackles him down into the dust and weeds and cigarette butts, and all he can do is kiss the boy.
He wants to fuck Justin-he always wants to fuck Justin-but the middle of a field in daylight in the ghetto breeder area is definitely not the place. “Let’s go back to the loft,” Brian suggests, nipping at Justin’s neck. And when Justin nods his agreement, a weight is lifted off of Brian’s chest.
Brian stands up, and offers Justin a hand up, tugging him to his feet after Justin’s gathered up his various art supplies. They walk back through the field towards the car. “You know,” Brian says, “we could probably get a basic chemistry set and do some tests on the soil here-“
“Like the ones suggested at the back of Aliens In Your Backyard?” Justin interrupts excitedly. And on the way back to the car, Justin chatters about the possible meanings of a high iron nitrate level in the soil in the lot, and Brian holds his hand.
END PART ONE
* * *
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