When Brian dies it isn’t anything like Justin expects. He doesn’t feel as if anything is amiss or even wrong as Brian leaves for work that morning. He doesn’t feel a pain in his chest or just know when Brian is gone; when he’s no longer alive. No, Justin continues to draw, ignoring the request Brian gave him to pick up his shit that morning right before he left for work, giving Justin a quick slap on the ass and a slightly painful but playful nip on the back of his neck before Brian was gone, heading for Kinnetik. It doesn’t even happen like Justin would’ve thought. It’s nothing dramatic; nothing where Justin can come running to his side and save his life. It’s not even cancer, or a heart attack while Brian’s buried dick-deep in a random trick’s ass. No, it’s a car accident. A fucking car accident. It’s some drunk driver driving a jeep cherokee and going over forty fucking miles over the speed limit. It’s a drunk driver who plows into the side of Brian’s beloved corvette, mangling the car, and the owner inside. They say Brian died instantly. The call comes mid-afternoon the same day while Justin works furiously on a sketch for Rage. He draws with a renewed passion and vigor, that comes with the joy of being home finally, and not in the unknown and scary city that is New York City. Justin answers the phone, expecting to hear Brian’s lustful voice come over the line, demanding phone sex, or that Justin come stop by Kinnetik for something even better than that. What he gets is not what he expected. As soon as the news is delivered, Justin drops the phone, watching the black object with little to no interest as the man on the other end continues to speak, his words falling on deaf ears as Justin slowly backs away from the phone before making his way quickly towards the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach in the toilet. He doesn’t leave the loft for days. He ignores the pounding that comes on his (No Brian’s, he’s constantly reminding himself) door for days. He ignores the growling in his stomach. He ignores the fact that he’s starting to stink and badly needs a shower. He doesn’t even cry. He stays in bed and stares at the ceiling numbly, only getting up to use the bathroom, or grab a glass of water. He ignores the consistent ringing of the phone. He just lays there and unsuccessfully tries to block everything out of his mind as Romeo and Juliet type scenarios swim through his brain. Yet, he never reaches for where he knows Brian keeps the booze and pills. He never grabs a razor, determined to end his life. He never swallows the poison. After what seems like months (or maybe years?) but can only be days, the door to the loft slides open. Justin almost expects to see Brian there. He almost expects (wishes) he’d wake up to find this was all a bad dream. He can almost hear Brian mocking him and laughing as Justin tells him of it, before he turns Justin around and fucks him hard, banishing all thoughts of the dream from Justin’s mind. But, it’s not Brian, it’s Daphne, and Justin squeezes his eyes shut and pretends to be asleep. He ignores her when she climbs into bed with him and wraps her arms around him. He ignores her until he can’t take it anymore and he finally breaks down and cries. When Brian dies it’s nothing like Justin expects. When Brian dies, Justin closes his eyes and prays. He prays to a God he never believed in. He prays that God will turn back time. He begs him to take his life and give Brian back his. His prayers go unanswered. When Brian dies Justin doesn’t feel alive anymore, and for the first time, wishes he wasn’t.