let’s have a conversation Returning to his suite, Justin sets the plate down on the night table. He didn’t mean for it to clank against the wood, but he wasn’t paying much attention and the loud crank causes Brian to jump up, “Fuck!” “Sorry,” Justin answers sheepishly. Looking around, Brian rubs his face with his hands before looking back at Justin with a smile, “No problem.” He chuckles, gesturing to the food, “Want pizza?” Brian is about to protest the thought, when his stomach growls. With a smirk, he answers, “I guess one won’t kill me.” “I’ll help you work it off,” Justin playfully suggests before feeding Brian a slice. After swallowing, Brian asks, “Got anything to drink?” Justin walks over to the mini-fridge, yawning as he grabs two bottles of water. “Why don’t you come back to bed? You’re still tired.” Shaking his head, he hands Brian a bottle. “I’m okay.” “I know you’re okay,” Brian responds as he lightly grazes his fingers against Justin’s cheekbone, “But you’re tired.” He forces a smile, “I haven’t been sleeping well.” Brian nods; his face expressionless. He has learned through the years that it was always best to keep a blank expression during conversations such as this one: less chance for someone to make false assumptions. Looking down at the bottle in his own hands, he admits, “I keep seeing them when I close my eyes… and not in a good way.” Biting his lower lip, he takes a deep breath, “I think about what it must have been like for them: knowing that they were about to die and there was nothing they could do about it.” He looks up at Brian for a moment before looking down again, “I picture them lying there, just bleeding… and no one is there to save them. Shot in the head, Brian! They were shot in the head, like… like… it just isn’t fair!” Cautiously, Brian rests his hand against Justin’s shoulder, giving him the silent support to continue. “I was so fuckin’ scared, Brian. I didn’t know if we were going to make it. Every time I looked at someone I had to think if that person was hired to kill us.” He swallows hard, “I had to be strong for Molly. I was all she had left! And she was all I had left too…” He can feel the tears beginning to form, but he doesn’t care. “And then we get to France and I find out that my only living uncle hated me for surviving the bashing! And though he supposedly forgave me, he could barely look at me! He didn’t care about Molly, he didn’t care about me! All he cared about was his stupid bank account and Bertrand’s selfish brat of a son… that asshole sent us away at the first sign that someone was looking for us! He sent us away! He didn’t fuckin’ want us: we weren’t worth anything to him.” He bitterly pulls his shoulder back from Brian’s hand. Without a word, Brian brings his hand back on Justin’s shoulder. Closing his eyes, Justin takes another deep breath, “We can’t go back, Brian.” Frowning, Brian isn’t sure what he means. Turning to look at him, Justin continues, “We can’t go back to Pittsburgh. I love you, and I wish I could be with you… but I can’t go back to Pittsburgh. Not just because of the memories…but it’s just too dangerous.” Brian nods, “Carl is having some people look around to see if the hit is still out for you and Molly.” Biting his lip, Justin nods slowly before looking down at the floor, “I missed you.” “Me too,” Brian admits. He smiles sadly, asking, “Are you going to leave?” Brian shakes his head, “No.” “But we can’t go back to Pittsburgh!” Justin explains, a tear spilling down his cheek. “I know. We’ll work it out, okay?” Justin smiles again, this time with a bit more spirit and hope. “Okay.”