Chapter 4 – ‘The waters of the heart push in their tides’ ~o~ Justin “Walk me through the gallery?” Brian asks. And I can’t find any words, so I just nod. I walk by his side, while he moves slowly from painting to painting. I feel like a little kid with a stolen cookie, absolutely blissful and reveling in every bit of the man beside me, but with some faint alarm tainting the moment. I’m also desperate for him to say something. Because even though he was right, even if his approval won’t make my work better or make me like it any more or less - his approval has always been the only one that was important. Not my mother’s, not Debbie’s or Daphne’s - not even my dad’s, which in some guilty corner of my mind, I still wish I had. Brian’s opinion will always be the one. He has been my drive and my motive and my shelter and my inspiration - while also being my greatest stump, my greatest frustration and pain. It’s always like that, isn’t it? Your greatest strength is simultaneously the source of your greatest weakness. We come to a stop in front of a huge canvas. It’s an abstract, a myriad of color… gold, green, brown, hazel… a touch of deep, dark blue, the color of despair. It’s him. His eyes, that last night. One look at his face tells me he knows exactly what he’s seeing. And he looks… pained. Vulnerable. Regretful, even. Though Brian Kinney doesn’t do regrets. That he ever admits, that is. “It’s - magnificent.” he whispers, at last. I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “This is why I don’t like words. All of them…” he gestures to all the paintings, “they’re more than words can say.” And he looks at me then, a soft smile on his face. A smile that’s mine only, that Brian has only ever given me. People always tell me my smile is beautiful, they call me ‘Sunshine’ -they’ve never seen this. This smile. It’s the most beautiful thing. And his eyes are so proud, so happy. Because of me. For me. And in that moment, in that simple moment - the last two years are gone. Purged like some disease. It feels like standing in the warm sun, after a long time in the darkness - a darkness fabricated with half-baked dreams and shattered hopes badly taped back into some semblance of shape, a strange darkness constructed of selective memory and numbness. The rational part of my brain knows there’s so much to think through and decide and talk… but I don’t listen to it, because for the first time in two years, in twenty-four months, in seven hundred and thirty days… I can breath. I can feel. I can smile. So I do. ‘As the scene re-grows, I see in different lights The shades and shadows undulate in my perception. My feelings swell and stretch, I see from greater heights.’ My manager comes to get me, and I feel incredibly pissed off at him for daring to interrupt this. Brian shrugs, smirks. God, I missed that smirk. “Go show off, Sunshine. I have some business to take care of, anyway.” After talking to some guy from the Times and enduring another bone-crushing hug by Debbie, I turn to where I saw Brian last, but I can’t find him. There’s a red tag next to the painting we were seeing, though, and I just know what business he had to take care of. A hand on my shoulder startles me, and I turn to look at Brian, tongue-in-cheek and eyes amused at my jumpiness. I try to glare at him. Doesn’t seem to work. “I have to go now. Walk me to the door?” We walk out together, and I know I’m etching every single second of this into my brain, from the way he looks and smells, to his warmth and his smile. The way we even look right walking together. Shit, two years without seeing him and I’ve regressed to being a goddam teenager with a crush. We stand outside, and he’s facing me. I’m looking up into his eyes, and I’m struck yet again at the openness. The walls aren’t back up. He moves a bit closer, and my breath speeds up. His hand comes up to my cheek, and it’s soft, warm and dry. And then, like it always is, his head comes down and mine goes up and we’re kissing. Kissing, and saying everything there is to say in that kiss. He tastes like I remembered, better. He tastes like he’s mine. I feel free. I feel like everything that was wrong is right. ‘The mindless euthanasia of a kiss’ Then he’s holding me, and I’m holding on to him, hard as I can. “Justin…” he whispers. And that, just my name - it’s enough to make me shiver. He lets go of me. Turns to leave. And suddenly, I just understand. I understand what this was, what this means. I have to think some things through, while not under the influence of him… Brian Kinney is a hell of a lot more powerful than any drug, trust me. We still need to talk. But for now, I only need to say one thing. “Later, Brian.” He stops for a second, and I see the brief flash of happiness and hope in his eyes and in his face. “Later.” He’s walking down the street, and as I see his long figure retreat, I think ‘later’ has never sounded more like a promise. * I’m still fucking floating when I turn to go back inside, but someone is blocking my way. Charlie. Oh, fuck. I cringe internally, preparing myself for tantrums and screams. A long ago fight echoes through my brain - ‘You always forgave Brian!’ - but this time, I’m not exactly the injured party. In fact, I’m the fucking selfish asshole party. I lied to myself, badly. And I hurt someone in the process. So I wait for the ranting - but it never comes. Charlie just looks at me, sad and knowing at the same time. He looks so fucking sad… no, not sad. Not exactly. He looks resigned. Like the other shoe has finally dropped. “I’m… I’m sorry, Charlie.” I say softly. I know, I know… sorry is bullshit, but I really am sorry. “Me, too.” he finally says. “It was bound to happen, Justin. You were never really here, never really with me…” The quiet statement, perfectly truthful, makes me hurt, for him. ‘Cause I built you a home in my heart From rotten wood and it decayed from the start. You can’t find nothing at all if there was nothing there all along…’ “I… I really, really am sorry I hurt you, Charlie. You’re a great guy - but I’m...” “In love with someone else.” “Well… yes. I’ve always been.” He tries to smile - but his eyes are still sad, and it looks more like a grimace of pain. “I know… tonight is the first time I’ve seen you smile in over a year. I remember when I first met you… I wished I was the one to make you smile like that. But I guess it can only ever be him.” He nods, as if confirming this to himself, hugs me quickly, and after a whispered ‘take care’, he’s gone. As if he’d never been. His words reverberate long after, however. Because he’s right. All too right. It has always been Brian - and it can ever only be Brian. Finally walking into the gallery, I feel a new sense of hope. * TBC Author’s note: chapter title taken from a poem by Dylan Thomas (fave poet ever… god, I love him). Songs quoted are: Never is a Promise by Fiona Apple, an extract from a poem by Walter de la Mare and Crooked Teeth by Death Cab for Cutie. Thanks for the feedback, your reviews really make my day :) Let me know what you think!