"Brian, welcome to humanity. You've finally met someone who has been through similar shit as you. And what a shock: he's a kinder, gentler version of you." I frown at Daphne. I despise her overanalyzing mind. "Pfft. You think you know all. I'm not like Justin! I didn't prostitute myself or drink myself into a state of permanent brain-damage and pancreatitis!" I snarl. Her slipper is poking out from the blanket she's wrapped around her shoulders and it starts tapping. Her arms are crossed over her chest holding the blanket around her; her head is tilted and her expression can only be interpreted as 'You are so full of shit'. I wish she wasn't my best friend since I was 5. Otherwise, I could just scoff and inwardly deny that she's right as vehemently as I do out loud, but I can't- even though she hasn't actually *really* said anything. Yet. But what's fucked UP is that 'this kinder, gentler version' of 'me' hasn't done anything really, and the nit has turned me inside-out. He's done nothing wrong or even all that weird except bend over backwards to NOT be weird because he's scared I'll split. And here I am- I've split, in a way. I don't think the twat has ever 'bent over backwards' for ANYone (metaphorically speaking- I don't want to know the details of his hustling career). Fuckin' hell. Daph eyes me closely. "Brian, look. For the first time in your adult life, I can see that you care about someone new. You haven't truly cared about someone you've met since you were about 17. You care about a lot of people- but your friends have been with you since you were a kid. You haven't let anyone in since you were a teenager. I mean, who the hell is there? Michael, me, Debbie, Vic, Lindsay, Emmett and yes, even Ted—" She doesn't know about Ned. Pfft. Don't want to think about him- Justin's brought up the spectre of THAT lovely period of my life PLENTY. "We all love you and you love us-- but all of us have known you for years. And never have you been in love. After you got out of high school, you never got close to anyone new. Not really. Till now. Till Justin." Her tone has become increasing tender. I HATE it. She's not a lezzie but hetero chicks are almost worse than lezzies. "Brian, let yourself let him in. I think you already have unwittingly. Brian," she says again, "he sounds like a wonderful man- yes, with problems, but he's met the master in that regard, hasn't he?" She winks. "You deserve so much, Brian- deep down I know for a fact that you don't believe you do, but you do. And from what you've told me about Justin, he may be the one you deserve. He sounds--" her sentence is cut off by a loud series of thumps out in the hallway, like someone has rolled a hefty bowling ball down the stairs. "What the fuck?" Daphne glances at the clock. "It's only 7:30AM- and no one's going out in this blizzard..." she whispers. I'm up, sliding open the door, curious. I suppress a yelp. And I *don't* yelp. It's Justin, crumpled at the bottom of the landing. "JUSTIN!" I sprint over to him and he looks at me dizzily. "Do you know Brian Kinney?" Aw, fuck! "Do you know him? He's an idiot- he went out in this storm and I have to find him! They said on the radio that people who are getting trapped in this blizzard are dying- rescue crews can't get anywhere right now! He's..." then he seems to recognize he's talking to me. "Brian?" He moves to rub his eyes but cries out as soon as his right arm shifts. I've knelt down next to him, not moving him from his awkward position at the bottom of the stairs- I can't be sure he hasn't broken or injured his spine. "Justin, yes, it's me, Brian. And I'm NOT an idiot." Okay: big picture, Kinney. "Don't move, okay? I'm almost positive you broke your arm and I want to be sure you didn't hurt your neck as well, so don't move," I repeat. "Look, I'm sorry--" "--Sorry's bullshit," Justin says weakly, smiling. I smile a little back, trying to mask my worry. "I just went downstairs to my friend's loft- I didn't go out in the storm. Luckily, she's a nurse- Daphne's a nurse-" already and without a word, she's covered him with a blanket and is examining him. "Um," I mumble over her flitting, efficient activity, "This... this is Daphne..." I look at him a moment. He seems to be dazed again. "Justin, why were you coming after me? You could have died out in that blizzard, you nob! And why did you take the stairs?" "The lift's broken. I have to find Brian..." Jesus. He's utterly delirious. "Y'know, man? I've known Brian Kinney only a little over 2 or 3 days altogether…" He seems to nod out for a bit. "Justin…?" Stay awake, you twat… His eyes are cloudy and blink slowly. "…And I already love him," he continues in a dreamy voice. Christ. "I don't know how to love- I never've loved a person… I'm scared." My stomach is knotting and I'm torn between wanting to throttle the gimp or stand up and walk away like I should've done in the first place. "I think he's falling in love with me too," he adds. I see Daphne glance at me out of the corner of my eye. It's an unspoken 'I told you so'. Bitch. "You know what else?" "Justin, get a grip." Okay... now I pray he'll be alright so I can kill him later. Daphne is still checking him over and I'm waiting for her to nod that it's okay to move him. "…I want to be a man just like Brian Kinney when I get older." I cringe at that for *many* reasons. "I can't be though. I'm all messed up in the head... hell, I nearly drank myself to death. I may still, you know that?" I sigh. I guess the good thing is that at least he's conscious and talking- talking drivel perhaps, but talking nonetheless. "I may still!" He repeats. "Brain-damage or not, death or not, I just wanna go drink. You know? You know that? Even though I can't get my brain to make my legs work, I still wanna drink. Or hey!" He adds conspiratorially. "Better yet: you got any smack, dude? I'll blow you for some smack. Hell! I'll blow you for free- you're fuckin' HOT! I never imagined it possible, but you're almost as hot as Brian… don't feel pissed: NO one's AS hot as Brian. But you look just like him… Hmmmmm…." He stops and is quiet; he has a sloppy, gushy, gaga smile on his face. I wanna slug him. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-Holy fuck. Shit. "I AM Brian," I say as calmly as I can. He doesn't seem to hear me; he's really spooking me- that's hard to do, even for him. Suddenly, he looks around wildly- Daphne is holding his head so all he can move are his eyes. "Where am I?" His train of thought seems to have jumped tracks again. "Shit, I was crawling downstairs and I think I fell- my leg got caught in the banister. I'm so clumsy. It sucks... I gotta find Brian!" I take a deep breath. Fuck- enough of this babbling. "Justin, listen to me, okay? You're dazed- you're right: you fell down the stairs so we're checking you over. You're safe. And I'm Brian. I'm right here, not out in the blizzard. I'm right here with you. I'm okay, you're okay. Do you understand?" Fuck-- I sound like Barney. He looks at me with clouded eyes. "I'm safe...? Brian's… you're safe...? Brian's safe?" I smile. "That's the gist of it, I suppose. Minus the question marks. Yes." Daphne glances at me and nods- Thank God. He didn't hurt his spine. "Sunshine?" "Sunshine!" He beams. "Brian calls me that! I get tingly and," he lowers his voice to a whisper, "And I get all hard when he calls me 'Sunshine'." He tells me this like he's revealing the combination to access Fort Knox. I vaguely notice Daph smirking at me. "Justin, it's ME- it's Brian," I tell him again. "Bri-an," I articulate slowly. Now the bitch frowns disapprovingly. "Don't talk down to him, Brian! He may be completely out of it, but he's not stupid!" "Yeah, right," I huff sarcastically. "Listen Justin, I'm going to carry you up to my loft, okay? Daphne's checked you over. Your back didn't get fucked up in the fall." I glance at Daph. "Will you come up for a minute or two, Daphne?" She smiles now. "Of course. I have my first aid kit- that arm's broken, I'm afraid; I'll set and wrap it well enough for the next few days until you can get him to a hospital." I pick Justin up and head upstairs towards my loft. Daphne follows with her kit. She's in her PJs, still holding the blanket around her. "He has a concussion too, I think," she continues. "I'd keep him awake for the next 14 hours or so. He's so dazed, I don't think I'll bother officially meeting and making a fuss over him until he's more aware-- that way, I can watch you wince and cringe with every gaga thing I say about you. And him. 'Cause just by looking at him I can see he's your type: namely, hot. And I may be biased but I like the things he says about you and the feelings he obviously has for you. He's not lying- not only is he delirious and isn't censoring what he's saying, but if he knew what he was saying about you in FRONT of you, I'd bet a million bucks he'd want to wither away and die!" She nudges me playfully in the back as we reach my floor and she follows us into my loft. "Lastly, even delirious, he's pretty astute. You are *definitely* falling for him." I'm glad I made it through 'lastly' without dropping the kid and strangling her. I can't believe I made it through ANY of it without even a snide comment. I lay Justin down on the bed, keeping him snugly wrapped in the blanket. "Justin?" He looks at me and smiles. "Justin, do you know who I am?" Even though his expression appears cognizant, the brat slips in and out of delirium so frequently I'm honestly not sure. "Brian." "Hm-mmm. Do you know where you are?" I notice Daphne coming into the room with a pan of plaster of Paris to wrap up his arm. "Heaven..." I snort. "No, Justin. You're in my loft." His smile gets sly, like that's what he meant. "Smartass. Fuck off." I pause as Daph takes his arm into her lap. He whimpers in pain and his head whips around to see what's happening. Hhhuhshit. "Justin, Sunshine? Look at me, not your arm. It will hurt for a moment as Daphne sets it but you'll feel much better afterwards. Just let her put the cast on." He looks back at me, his face like a little boy about to burst into tears. Guh. Okay. Distract him. Think Gus but about 15-16 years older. "You like to cook, right?" He nods. "Want to make dinner for us sometime soon?" He grins weakly and nods. "Can you make something with chicken?" "Hmmmm!" He hums happily. "Yeah… I make a great chicken piccata!" "Sounds good... how do you make it?" "You are SO transparent and so LAME!" Daph whispers as she works, smiling. I am. But Justin doesn't seem to think so. He starts rattling off all the ingredients and details about how to cook the dish, wincing terribly in the middle when Daphne quickly sets the bone in his arm. But my little distraction seems to work overall- for him, anyway. I, however, hiss inwardly with every movement Daphne makes fixing him up. I certainly don't listen to him prattling away- not only is chicken piccata utterly boring to me but I'm too freaked out to even pretend to listen. Finally Daphne's done. She kisses me good bye, promises to seriously embarrass me over Justin later when he's more awake, and reminds me of his concussion. Ah, joy. __________________ "What happened?" I ask. I notice Brian sighing in response. I feel like I may have asked him that already. "Have I... have I asked that already?" "Yeah. That's okay. Okay," he sighs, like he's about to recite a story for the umpteenth time, "Like a twat, you went to find me after I left a note this morning saying I had to get out for a bit; you were too unsteady to walk so you were crawling- the lift was broken so you decided to use the stairs. Unfortunately, you ended up falling down them. I was just down one flight seeing my friend and neighbor and we heard the fall- we found you. For being a relatively bright lad, you're SUCH a moron," he adds parenthetically. He rolls his eyes like he's royally ticked but I hear a twinge of relieved worry in his tone. I smile sheepishly. "You broke your arm and got a concussion, but you're otherwise just fine. You were pretty dazed- and you're still pretty forgetful. But in a way you're fucking lucky you fell when and where you did, Sunshine. Otherwise you'd have been an idiot frozen solid in a snow drift, and not just an idiot with a broken arm in my loft. That's the long and short of it." He takes a deep breath. "And, even though sorry's bull Sunshine, I'm sorry I didn't tell you that I was just going downstairs." "Why didn't you?" He looks a little put off. "I was... I wanted space. I just needed to get away." "From me?" My voice is squeaky. I know the answer: 'yes'. "Yeah." I'm quiet awhile. "Can I ask why?" I venture bravely- STUPIDLY. I *know* why! He grimaces and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Christ, Justin…" he glances at me and lets out a small frustrated huff. "Get that irritating, murder-inspiring, wounded look off your face! I'm officially sick of this whole thing! You wanna know? Okay: The reason why is because I needed- NEED- a breather from you. You... you've gotten too…" he doesn't finish. "Annoying?" "Yes." "Aggravating?" "Yes." "Difficult?" "Yes." "Fascinating, entertaining, erotic, beautiful…?" He smirks. "No." "Okay. Damaged? Ugly? Dependent? Weak? Boring? Brainless?" He looks at me, genuinely stunned. "The fuck?" "I said—" "—I heard you." He pauses distractedly. "Wasn't going to say any of that." "Then…?" "For fuck's sake, 'too close'. Okay? You've gotten too close, too fast." Even if I already knew this, hearing him say it makes my heart sting a bit. I don't know why- if I look at it from a selfish point of view, it's fabulous. I got 'too close too fast' to the mysterious, beautiful, seemingly untouchable Brian Kinney. But. It scares the shit out of him. And me, too- I've never felt safe with someone before. "Um. I'm sorry." "Fff…" he waves me off. No 'sorry's bullshit' this time. After a beat, "When I can get out once the snow stops, I'll leave," I say quietly. "At the risk of sounding like a drama queen, I honestly don't want to suck you into the black hole of my life." I chuckle but it's humorless. He's silent a minute or so. I almost literally pray he'll laugh, call me a B-grade diva and tell me I'll do nothing of the sort. But he doesn't. He scowls, staring unseeing at the wall. "Fuck you and your pitiful rants. Your life's not a black hole, Justin. I'm sick of this 'poor me' crap. Listen, if you want to leave, go. When the storm's over, though… you're staying here till then. It's probably healthier for you to be away from me anyway." I look down at my hands. They're fucking trembling again- like the day I met him. Leaving's the opposite of what I want. I want him. But... "Okay," I whisper. Brian gets up from where he was sitting by me on the bed. "Hungry?" Oddly, his voice cracks. "Not really." "Okay, then. It's been over 14 hours since your fall; you can sleep safely now. I'll leave you so you can rest." A yelled 'NO!' catches in my throat as I see him leave the room, taking a blanket so he can sleep on the sofa. Shit. "Good night," I say instead, so low I doubt he hears me. Tears form in my eyes and spill silently onto my cheeks. This is all just an example of how I should be dead. Just dead. Dead, I can't feel hurt, I can't hurt another, I can't do anything. As it should be. I turn out the light, roll over on my side feeling the tears slide sideways on my face and I resolve that once I get back to the center, I'll take care of it. I'll do it the fast way this time. By then, Brian will be free of me anyway. May as well be dead. ___________________ I wake up with my legs cramping terribly and one arm nearly crushed under my head; fucking sofa. It's too small for me to sleep on comfortably. Well, I guess saying that I'm too tall is more accurate. I'm pissed off and can't clearly figure out why (except that I'm sore from sleeping in an awkward position). Oh. Yeah. Justin. He pops into my head in an instant and I curse. Fucker. I look out the windows. The snow's stopped- there's even some very weak sunlight shining through. I can hear the groaning rumble and scrape of plows outside already working on clearing the roads. I guess Sunshine can go back to the center today. Well, good. It's the healthiest, best thing for him to do. He needs someone who can help him help himself- he's a brassy blond brat, but he's also terribly sensitive. I'm *not*. He especially needs to get away from me if he believes he's falling for me. Which incidentally, is ridiculous. I roll onto my side into a fetal position and pull the blanket over my head wanting to block out the loft, the sunlight, the world... I'm innately no escapist but this morning, the cold, empty void where my heart should be feels heavy and leaden and I want the world to disappear. I know I won't sleep but I close my eyes anyway. +++ I guess I was wrong about not sleeping because when I open my eyes, it's apparent from the sunlight in the loft that it's mid-afternoon. I sit up abruptly-- something's different. Something's not right. I look around and the loft is empty; I peer into the bedroom and see the bed is empty too. There's no sound except for the dripping of melting snow on the windows and outside window ledges. "Justin?" Nothing. "JUSTIN?" I call again. Shit. I get up and wrap the blanket around me since I'm naked and the loft is cold. "JUSTIN?" Then I see the paper resting on the kitchen island. What is this? Poetic justice? Is Justin getting me back for doing this to him? I go over and pick up the note, cursing under my breath. It's written in a very uneven scrawl. 'Brian, I want you to know I don't want to leave, I want to be with you-- I lo...' [he crosses out 'lo-' two times]... 'fuck it. I love you. There. I said it. Well, I wrote it. I know you think love's a hetero construct, bullshit, a lie, and I know you would never say so, but deep down you don't believe you deserve love anyway (if you believed in it, of course), and finally, I know I've only known you a short time... but I do. Love you, I mean. But staying here isn't good. -- Always, Sunshine (thanks for that nickname.) (P.S. Don't worry- I took a cab.)' The last few lines are blurry and I don't understand why until a droplet falls onto the paper gripped in my shaking fingers. Some of the ink smears. Fuck me! I slump down on a stool and stare at the piece of paper. A cab? With what money? Pfft, I won't go after him- not for the bullshit reason I'd normally give, though- namely that I never go after anyone. But because it's better with him gone. He's right. It's not good. He needs to focus on himself, not some 38-year-old man. I certainly have better shit to do with my time than spend it with some gushy, slurring, feeble-minded lesbian. Hell. I suppose I can call Mr. Marsh to find out how Justin's doing- you know, just call Marsh periodically- to see how the little shit is making out. I shiver despite the blanket, ball up the note and throw it towards the trashcan (I miss). I head for the shower.