The Simplest Gift by Sapphire
FeatureSummary:

***Featured Story for December 2015***

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Season 2. While Christmas shopping with Daphne, Justin has a panic attack in a crowded shopping mall. Brian helps him to deal with the aftermath.


Categories: QAF-U.S. FICTION, FEATURED STORY, Brian/Justin, Could be Canon, Gap-Filler, Hurt/Comfort, Christmas Characters: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 7748 Read: 9901 Published: December 23, 2009 Updated: December 11, 2015
Story Notes:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.  The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise.  No copyright infringement is intended.

1. The Simplest Gift by Sapphire

The Simplest Gift by Sapphire
Author's Notes:

Written for the Queer_as_xmas challange on LiveJournal. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Judith.

 

The Simplest Gift

*~*~*~

“Fuck!”

 

I swore loudly as the emerald green light bulb I had been attempting to tighten in its socket came away in my hand. The string of colourful lights, which I’d just spent forty-five minutes laboriously untangling from their impossible knot, flickered slightly and then blinked out in perfect synchrony.  The room, which had until that moment been glittering in the glow of the technicolor lights, was plunged unceremoniously into darkness.

 

“God damn it!” I hissed fiercely, flinging down the string of lights in disgust and blindly blundering my way towards the light switch. 

 

My foot caught on one of the presents the Munchers had given us and which Justin had carefully arranged under the tree. I lost my balance and stumbled. As I groped blindly for a handhold, I was almost garroted by a rouge garland of tinsel that had somehow escaped from the grasp of the evergreen boughs. 

 

Instinctively, I grabbed for something to steady me and swore loudly as my fingers closed around sharp, pointy pine needles. The branch bent and creaked ominously and I was forced to relinquish my grip before I sent the tree – Justin’s Christmas tree - crashing to the floor. 

 

Fuming, I righted myself and continued my perilous journey towards the kitchen light switch.

 

“Fucking tradition,” I muttered morosely. “Fucking trees… ”

 

As I stormed across the room, my foot made contact with something round and spherical, sending it spinning rapidly across the hardwood floor towards the base of the kitchen island. There was a dull thud and the distinct tinkling of broken glass as one of the tree’s ridiculously expensive festive baubles met its demise.

 

I finally reached the light switch and clicked it on with a vicious swipe of my hand. I turned to glare at the offending Douglas fir sapling that stood innocently in the far corner, now looking distinctly disheveled and leaning perilously to the left after my grapple with the tinsel garland.

 

“Look what you did!” I roared at it, pointing at the trail of debris I had left in my wake. “Pine needles everywhere! You’re lucky I don’t cut you down with a steak knife!” 

 

I stomped over to the kitchen cupboard and yanked out the handheld vacuum cleaner, fuming as I cleared up the deluge of pine-scented needles. I was already ardently regretting giving in to Justin’s pleas to get a real Christmas tree for the loft. He’d argued that it would be our first Christmas living together and that we needed to do it properly. 

 

A few months previously, I would’ve told him that he shouldn’t assume our first Christmas together wouldn’t also be our last. I didn’t do happy family holidays. I’d always hated Christmas. The only thing that it was good for was the Christmas and Boxing Day advertising boom.

 

But Justin loved it. 

 

There was a certain sparkle in his eyes when we passed a house festooned with glittering lights. When we wandered through stores, his voice would become animated as he pointed out gifts he wanted to get for his mother or sister or Daphne. He loved the music and the food and the overall sense of joy that seemed to captivate the world.

 

His love of festive cheer was as contagious as his brilliant smile.

 

And I had to admit if only to myself, that I wouldn’t mind if there were future Decembers in which Justin and I could engage in shouting matches over whether or not to bring a tree carcass into the loft to dress up. I wouldn’t mind if the kid spread his Christmas wrapping paraphernalia all over my living room. 

 

I wouldn’t mind not waking up alone on Christmas morning. 

 

But seriously, next year, no tree. Justin could count himself lucky if he got a Christmas poinsettia. 

 

“Oh Brian, we need a real tree,” I muttered in a mocking tone, reenacting the conversation I’d had with Justin a few days previously. “We can’t have a nice synthetic one that won’t make your loft smell like Pinesol. Real trees are more environmentally friendly.”

 

I glowered at the tree with distaste but couldn’t help smiling to myself at the memory of Justin’s adamancy.  Trust that kid to make it sound like a moral responsibility to bring a fucking boreal forest into my living room.

 

 A sound from the direction of the door made me look up and I switched off the vacuum to listen more closely. Someone had just come up in the elevator; I could hear the metal grating clanging open. 

 

I frowned. It was too soon for Justin to be back. He and Daphne had only left to go Christmas shopping an hour before. My intention had been to get the fucking tree decorated by the time Justin got back, ostensibly to prove to him that I wasn’t – as he had delicately put it – a cross between Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch on Viagra when it came to festive cheer. 

 

I also had a strong desire to just please him, although I would never admit that out loud. 

 

To my immense surprise, Justin had announced a week earlier that he wanted to spend Christmas Eve with me instead of going back to his mother’s. He seemed determined to instill in me the same love for the holiday that he himself possessed. I hadn’t yet explained to him why I hated Christmas so much. Painful childhood memories were not something I was ready to discuss with anyone, especially not him. But I appreciated the sentiment. 

 

I figured, that if Justin was sacrificing Christmas with his family to be with me, I might as well attempt to meet him halfway.

 

He deserved it.

 

It had been six months since the bashing on his prom night. Six months, two weeks and three days. 

 

As I thought of this, the coil of apprehension that had been twisting itself inside me all afternoon suddenly tightened. I thought again of the shopping mall and of the crowds of holiday shoppers. I thought of all the sounds and the movement, of all the clamor and chaos. In short, all of the things that could still trigger a panic attack in Justin.

 

It had been four months since he’d been able to go out in public without risking an episode, and only three since he could trust himself to do it alone. 

 

But even now I would get the occasional desperate phone call from him, pleading with me on the brink of hysteria to ‘rescue’ him. Over the phone, his breathing would be rapid and hoarse, his voice so tight with the effort of forcing down panic that he would be barely comprehensible. 

 

The traumatic memories and the panic they induced would always sneak up on him when he least expected it, often triggered by something so small as the sudden clang of an object being tossed into a metal trash can. 

 

The memories were always there, hiding around every dark corner, lurking in every shadow, disguised as normal, everyday things. Watching and waiting until Justin was alone and vulnerable.

 

I was the only one who seemed to be able to dispel his fears.  For some reason, I was the only one who could throw light into the darkness and dispel the demons that haunted Justin’s consciousness, both waking and sleeping.

 

Sometimes I was able to talk Justin through the panic, instructing him to breathe and to listen to the sound of my voice telling him it would be all right. Other times, when it became evident that the episode was not going to abate on its own, I would tell him to go inside- into the nearest grocery store or strip mall- and wait for me to get there. 

 

Something about the promise of my impending presence, the reassuring ‘tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you’, seemed to calm Justin. By the time I had followed his often-muddled directions, he would be pale and sweaty, but no longer on the brink of a breakdown.

 

That afternoon, Justin and Daphne had gone to the Mall at Robinson. With only a week and a half to go until Christmas Day, I had warned the pair in an offhanded way that the mall would be packed. There would be crowds of people, everyone from screaming infants to elderly people in wheelchairs. An ominous sense of foreboding had even prompted me to feebly suggest that they stay inside where it wasn’t minus four hundred and do their Christmas shopping online.

 

Daphne had given me an odd side-ways look as if to say, ‘I know you’re worried about him. Just suck it up and admit it.’ Justin, however, had flashed me an ephemeral smile and had given my hand a brief but reassuring squeeze as he and Daphne left the loft. 

 

I was far from convinced that Justin was as ready for the adventure as he had thought he was.

 

And on this occasion, I had been right.

 

The loft door clanged open loudly to emit two figures, one in a pink parka and heavily laden with shopping bags. The other looked distinctly worse for wear and seemed to be relying heavily on his companion to keep him upright.

 

“Okay, now you can puke,” Daphne announced, pushing Justin over the threshold and allowing her burden of shopping bags to fall to the floor. She looked at me and hastily added, “I mean, you can puke once you’re in the bathroom. Maybe not all over Brian’s floor.”

 

Daphne’s words didn’t register with me beyond the fact that they were not good. At that moment, my complete and undivided attention was on Justin, subjecting him to a rapid visual assessment.

 

Justin’s natural pallor sometimes made it difficult to tell if he was abnormally pale, but standing there next to Daphne, he did look distinctly green about the gills. He was shaking slightly, though I wasn’t sure if it was from cold or nerves. I also noticed the sweat glistening on his forehead, even though he and Daphne had just come in from the bitter cold. Justin’s eyes held an expression of bitter defeat, but his jaw was firmly set, probably with the effort of fighting down the nausea that was rising in his throat. 

 

He made a soft sound that was half-hiccup and half-gasp, raising his fingers to his lips.

 

“I’m going to…” he managed to gulp out before making a beeline in the direction of the bathroom.

 

I made a move to go after him but he feebly waved me away, half-tripping on the tree decorations I’d left scattered in my wake. I watched him go with a mixture of concern and sympathy. Fighting the urge to go after him and demand he accept my aid, I listened despondently to the sound of the bathroom’s sliding door being banged closed.

 

“Hey,” I called after him, trying- albeit belatedly- to sound unfazed. “Take that jacket off before you throw up on it. It’s new.”

 

At times like these, I knew it was imperative that I appear nonchalant and unconcerned. It was my way of communicating to Justin that his episodes weren’t a big deal. It was something we could work out and get over. It was nothing to fuss over or worry about.

 

Although I did worry. A lot.

 

“Same old sentimental Brian,” Daphne commented sarcastically in response to my comment. She sighed heavily and shook her head. “You were right, though. The mall wasn’t a good plan.”

 

I looked worriedly at the bathroom door for a moment before turning to her.

 

“What happened?” 

 

“God, what didn’t happen?” Daphne sighed morosely, reaching up to pull off her toque. “We picked the worst day – the worst day to go to that mall. Not only was there a Christmas Benefit Concert going on but one of the big department stores was also having a ‘two for one’ sale. The place was just wall-to-wall people.” 

 

“I’ll bet,” I said, trying not to sound self-righteous. “I’m guessing Justin didn’t like that.”

 

“He wasn’t too bad at first,” Daphne told me. “We were okay until the concert started. I did ask Justin at one point if he wanted to leave, but he said he was fine.”

 

“Stubborn little fucker,” I murmured darkly. “He tells me that all the time, only I can tell when he’s lying..”

 

“I can tell when he’s lying, too,” Daphne protested, looking offended. “I’ve known him for longer than you have.”

 

From the direction of the bathroom came the unmistakable sound of dry heaving. I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest, reaching up to squeeze the bridge of my nose with my fingertips.

 

“And you don’t think he was lying?” I asked darkly, an edge of sarcasm in my voice. 

 

Daphne hesitated, her look of defiance having momentarily been replaced by one of concern as she too, looked in the direction of the bathroom.

 

“I think he was exaggerating a little,” she said finally. “He wasn’t exactly comfortable but he wasn’t freaking out, y’know? He told me before that he sometimes has to put himself into uncomfortable situations because he’ll never learn to deal with his panic attacks if he isn’t challenged to.”

 

“He told me that, too,” I mused darkly. “I don’t buy it. It’s like throwing yourself to the wolves, expecting that you’ll be able to convince them to throw you back afterwards.”

 

“So how is Justin supposed to deal with his anxiety if he doesn’t challenge himself?” Daphne asked.

 

“He does need to challenge himself,” I answered simply. “But he needs to tame the wolves first.” 

 

“You’re so weird,” Daphne informed me. “I thought only Justin could seamlessly connect natural history with psychotherapy, but apparently I was wrong.”

 

I was about to retort, but more wrenching noises from the direction of the bathroom made me stop and listen. After a moment the sound ceased and there was an ominous silence.

 

The coil of apprehension tightened inside me again.

 

“Do you think he’s okay?” Daphne asked as she followed my gaze, her forehead creasing with child-like worry.

 

“You tell me,” I replied, trying to keep the tightness out of my voice. I fixed Daphne with a hard look. “What happened at the mall this afternoon? Tell me.”

 

Daphne nervously twisted a lock of dark hair around her finger, looking uncomfortable.

 

“Well, we were in that big electronics store,” she began. “Looking for a video camera that would, uh…that is…”

 

She stopped speaking abruptly and then blushed, evidently having given something away. She glanced swiftly over at the shopping bags she’d left piled up on the floor, as if trying to decide how to get to them without me noticing.

 

“What?” I demanded.

 

“Nothing,” Daphne responded infuriatingly. “Anyway, the stage was being set up for the Benefit and one of the backboards fell down. It looked like it was only made of plywood but it really banged down hard. It sounded like a gunshot. Fortunately, it fell forward onto the stage so no one was hurt. Some of the stupid teenyboppers hanging around screamed for melodramatic effect and then started giggling. It was nothing really, but…well, you can guess how Justin reacted.”

 

Alarm bells started pealing in my mind: sounds like gunshots, screaming, crowds. In short, a recipe for disaster as far as Justin’s anxiety was concerned.

 

“He just sort of crumpled,” Daphne continued, now looking unhappy and distressed. “The next thing I knew he was on his knees in the middle of the store, covering his head with his arms. People started swarming around us because they thought Justin was having a heart attack or something. And of course that made it more crowded and claustrophobic. I had to tell people not to touch him and…God, the attention was awful.”

 

I felt a juxtaposition of icy dread and searing guilt welling inside me. I could only imagine. Justin’s episode at Gus’ birthday party back in September had been bad enough. But to have that happen in front of hundreds of people was just too horrifying to contemplate. Even though Justin may not have felt the shame and embarrassment at the height of his panic attack, I knew he would certainly feel it later. 

 

Why the fuck hadn’t I been more insistent on Justin staying away from the mall that day?

 

“I’m sorry,” I told Daphne, although I wasn’t all too clear on what I was apologizing for. “That’s a really shitty thing to happen: to him and to you.”

 

Daphne looked up at me, her eyes bright and blazing.

 

“He’s my best friend,” she told me firmly with the tiniest of tremors in her voice. “I’m not ashamed for or of him. I would do anything for him.”

 

I reached out a hand and laid it on Daphne’s arm.

 

“I know,” I assured her. “And he knows, believe me. What did you do after he collapsed?”

 

Daphne sighed.

 

“I basically had to drag him out of the store. One of the store clerks – this big burly guy – helped to clear a way out for us. I guess I must’ve really been running on adrenaline because I was practically carrying Justin and all of our shopping. He was really, really pale and sweaty. Once, we had to stop because I thought he was going to be sick. He managed to fight down the vertigo, though. The store clerk told us that he’d take us to the first aid room, but Justin wouldn’t go. He said he just needed to go home.”

 

“How did you get home?” I asked, wondering why this hadn’t occurred to me before. Justin and Daphne had taken the bus to the mall but I couldn’t imagine they’d made the return journey the same way.

 

“We took a taxi,” Daphne explained. “The driver took one look at us and said that if Justin puked en route, it would be an extra forty dollars on the tab for interior cleaning. Asshole. Fortunately, Justin managed to hold it down until we got back, thank God.”

 

“How much was it?’ I asked, leaning over to the sideboard to grab my wallet.

 

“Brian, you don’t have-“

 

“Save it,” I snapped, opening my wallet and pulling out a twenty. I pressed it insistently into her hand.

 

“It was only fourteen twenty-five,” she protested, grudgingly accepting the bill. 

 

“Whatever. Take a taxi home. Want me to call one for you?”

 

“Um…” Daphne hedged, looking uncertain. She glanced again in the direction of the bathroom. “Couldn’t I, um…stay? For Justin?”

 

I followed her gaze and wondered what the hell Justin could be doing in the bathroom. Whatever it was, he was doing it very quietly.

 

“Let me take care of this,” I said gently. 

 

I couldn’t find the words to explain without awkwardness that the comfort Justin sometimes needed at this point in his recovery was sexual in nature. I gave Daphne a look of apology. 

 

“He’ll be all right in a few hours,” I assured her. “I’ll tell him to call you later tonight, okay?”

 

Daphne took one last look in Justin’s direction and then nodded slowly. 

 

“Okay,” she agreed. “In that case, if you call me a taxi, I’ll sort out the shopping. Some of that stuff is Justin’s.”

 

While she moved back to where she had dropped the bags of shopping, I went to the phone and ordered her a taxi.

 

After I’d arranged for her cab, Daphne handed me three bags of Justin’s purchases, as well as Justin’s messenger bag that she must’ve been carrying for him. The last item she handed me was a large, white plastic bag from the electronics store that had been their last destination.

 

“You can’t look at this,” Daphne told me sternly. “The content is classified.”

 

“Is it for me?”

 

“Um…” Daphne faltered. “Well, theoretically it’s for you. But I think really, it’s more for Justin. He seemed to have some, uh, interesting ideas about what you and he could do with it…”

 

“Is that so?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah,” Daphne said quickly, blushing. She tugged on her hat and mittens before gathering up the remaining shopping bags. She took one last look in the direction of the silent bathroom.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” she asked, looking at me almost pleadingly. “I just feel like I’m kind of abandoning him. I feel like I should say something to him or something.”

 

“You could say goodbye,” I offered. “He might come out of the bathroom for you if you did.”

 

Daphne hesitated for a long moment and then shook her head decidedly.

 

“No,” she told me. “He needs you now. He’ll understand. Just tell him to call me when he feels better, okay? And tell him not to blame me if you peek at your present.”

 

She hoisted up the shopping bags and then headed in the direction of the door. I waited until she’d reached the threshold before I called after her.

 

“Daphne?”

 

She stopped and turned, looking at me questioningly. 

 

“Thank you. For rescuing him. For bringing him back.”

 

Her face softened and she gave me an understanding smile. 

 

“Just returning the favour.”

 

Then she turned and walked out, the soles of her Ugg boots slapping on the concrete floor outside. It wasn’t until I’d heard the rattle of the elevator gates that I remembered that the gentlemanly thing to do would’ve been to help her out with her burden of shopping bags. But by the time this occurred to me, the elevator was already whirring and I knew there would be no point in going after her.

 

I moved slowly over to the loft door and slid it closed, waiting until I heard the distinctive ‘click’ of the automatic locking mechanism. Justin always felt safer these days knowing that the door was locked.

 

Padding across the main room and up the stairs into the bedroom, I listened for signs of life from the bathroom. There was none. It was disturbingly silent.

 

I tapped softly on the frosted glass door.

 

“Still alive in there?”

 

For a moment there was no response. Then I heard the sounds of someone stirring within, followed a moment later by the toilet flushing and the bathroom sink running.

 

“Can I come in?” I called, my fingers already on the door handle. 

 

When there was still no verbal response, I gave the door a tug and was relieved to find that Justin hadn’t locked it.

 

He was standing in front of the sink and he didn’t look up as I came in. His gaze was fixed determinately on his hands, watching the water stream through and over his fingers. I cast about for something to say, something that would sound casual but not insensitive or indifferent. 

 

“I put up your tree,” I informed him, watching his back and shoulders carefully. “It’s a bit messed up now because I had to tackle it when it tried to make a run for it. I managed to stop it before it jumped out of the window. It wants to be outside with all the other trees where it fucking belongs.”

 

Justin made a tiny noise that may have been a hint of a laugh. I saw the muscles of his shoulders relax a fraction of an inch, but he didn’t turn to look at me.

 

“Turn that tap off,” I said, more because I found the noise distracting than because I was worried about wasting water. Justin hesitated a moment and then reached over to close the faucet, restoring the bathroom to silence.

 

I wanted to go over and touch Justin, to put my hands on his shoulders and turn him to face me. I wanted to put my fingers under his chin and lift his face to mine, wanted to see what was going on in the depths of those deep blue eyes. 

 

But touching him these days required care and caution. I had to make sure he would accept it.

 

I moved towards him tentatively until I was close enough to put out a gentle hand and touch his elbow. When he didn’t move or react, I took a firmer hold of his arm and pulled gently, trying to get him to turn and face me. 

 

He jerked his elbow out of my grip.

 

“Don’t,” he snapped, but there was no weight behind his harsh words.

 

Again he refused to look at me, but from what I could see of his face in the mirror’s reflection, there was defeat and anger and anxiety etched into his features.

 

“Okay,” I agreed gently, backing up. I watched his reflection for a second longer and then added, “I’ll be out in the kitchen. I’m going to order some Italian and then try to get some work done. There’s a fucking shitload of Christmas ads that need to be approved. Come out when you’re ready.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” Justin murmured, his eyes finding mine in the mirror. “And I don’t want to talk.”

 

I met his reflection’s gaze and gave him a look that spoke as clearly as words.

 

’I know you don’t, Sunshine. But you’ll eat and you’ll talk, because I know that’s what you need… Trust me.”

 

I turned and left the bathroom.

 

*~*~*

 

It was about ten minutes before I heard Justin quietly emerge from the bathroom. 

 

I looked up from my laptop and watched his figure moving in and out of sight between the bedroom slats. I hadn’t actually been working - the pretence of doing so had merely been something to occupy my mind. I’d been watching the screensaver, mesmerized by the coloured lines that appeared, streaked across the screen, disappeared, and were resurrected as other lines in other places.

 

I’d been wondering what in God’s name I was going to say to Justin when he finally was ready to talk. What words of comfort could I offer him? “Don’t worry, Sunshine. Having a panic attack in front of hundreds of people is no big deal.”? Or, “Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone noticed.” ? Or worse still, “Maybe there was no one around you knew or will ever see again.”?

 

All very unhelpful, stupid things to say.

 

I’d known Justin long enough to understand that he wasn’t all that different from me when it came to keeping up appearances. While he was nowhere near as self-conscious as I, appearances did matter to him. Like me, he hated to be ridiculed or belittled in public. He couldn’t stand to be made a fool of.

 

I knew that he would be absolutely mortified by what had happened at the mall that afternoon, even more so because he would’ve seen himself as having embarrassed Daphne as well. I knew also that the only person he would think to blame would be himself.

 

I expected Justin to come down the stairs into the main room, but instead I saw him crawl onto the bed and lay down on his stomach. He lay there quietly; the only movement the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

 

I watched his still form for a long moment, struggling with myself as I tried to decide whether I should continue to wait for him to come to me or whether I should go to him. In the end I decided to wait, knowing that what Justin needed most in times like this was understanding and patience. 

 

After another ten minutes had passed with no further signs of life from Justin, I got up and made my way over to the bedroom. I could no longer stand the thought of him stewing in his own self-deprecating reflections. Or worse still, him thinking that I didn’t care. 

 

When I entered the room, Justin looked up, peering at me from over his shoulder.  In the semi-darkness his eyes reflected the light from the kitchen, making his irises shine like moonlight on water. I went to the bedside and climbed carefully onto the mattress, watching his eyes following my movements. 

 

“Better now?” I asked, because that was what I always asked. 

 

Justin looked away and gave a half-nod, which was utterly unconvincing. 

 

“Liar,” I admonished gently, crawling closer to him.

 

Justin made a noise of exasperation and covered his head with his arms tiredly.

 

“Why did you ask if you already knew the answer?”

 

“Because I want you to talk to me.”

 

“I told you I don’t want to talk.”

 

“I know.”

 

I was now close enough to Justin to be able to touch him. Tentatively, I reached out a hand and laid it on the small of his back, at the place where his shirt had ridden up to expose a small amount of skin. 

 

He jumped at my touch.

 

“Your hands are fucking freezing!” he half-squeaked, squirming away from me.

 

“Mmm…your skin is warm,” I murmured, sliding my fingers up his back, underneath his shirt. Justin squirmed again and half-rolled over to face me, reaching behind him to dislodge my hand.

 

The sleeve of his sweatshirt brushed against my arm and I felt a damp spot on the inside of the cuff. I reached out and took hold of the fabric, brushing my fingers over the spot again. Seeing what I was doing, Justin fell still, knowing the significance of what I had just discovered.  

 

What it meant.

 

On two occasions, Justin had woken screaming from a nightmare in which the demons haunting his dreams had followed him into waking. Justin hadn’t let me touch him immediately, but had drawn away, shaking and whimpering. For what felt like an eternity, all I could do was watch him as he sat on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes and the silent tears running down his wrists.

 

Tears that would’ve soaked his shirtsleeves, if he’d been wearing a shirt. 

 

Hopelessness and despair rose in my chest as I wished for the thousandth time that I could spare him these things: the nightmares, the frustration, the panic attacks. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that I should’ve been there to protect him, not only on his prom night but on all the nights thereafter. 

 

I looked down into Justin’s face and saw the pleading in his expression, his pale features perfectly accentuated in the blue and silver glow of the neon lights. I touched his face with my fingertips and this time he didn’t protest. He gazed up at me, his eyes overly bright.

 

“What’s wrong?” I asked softly. I drew my fingertip, feather-light, across his smooth, high cheekbone and he shivered. “Tell me.”

 

The most common reaction I got to this particular question was anger and frustration. ‘What was wrong?’ he would repeat, pushing me away. ‘What was wrong?! Couldn’t I fucking TELL what was wrong?’ 

 

But this time he remained still and silent, as if caught in suspended animation between stimulus and response. For a moment he looked up at me as if trying to tell me something with his eyes. Then he looked away, turning his head to the side slightly in silent refusal.

 

“Justin.”

 

The use of Justin’s given name was something I reserved for only the most significant occasions. Though I always referred to him as ‘Justin’ when I was speaking of him to other people, I seldom ever called him by his name directly in conversation. When I needed to call him anything at all, he was ‘kid’ or ‘Sunshine’. 

 

I knew that Justin loved to hear his name on my lips; it was something profound and special to him. It was as close to ‘you mean something to me’ as I had ever gotten, and this was something I held sacred. I didn’t want it to diminish with time and overuse. 

 

At the sound of his name, Justin looked up at me again as I knew he would. His eyes were so full of hope that I felt a lump form in my chest.

 

I reached down and gently stroked back a lock of blond hair that had fallen across his forehead. 

 

“Tell me,” I repeated, this time a little more firmly but with the same quiet understanding. 

 

Justin paused for a long moment and then gave a long, agonized sigh. 

 

He lifted his hands to his face and drew his fingers down his temples and over his cheeks to his chin. It was as if he were trying to peel away some of his inner turmoil. I could literally see the anxiety building up inside him, the muscles of his shoulders and neck taut with tension.

 

“Everything’s wrong,” he told me finally, his tone a mixture of frustration and anger and despair. 

 

His voice was carefully controlled but I could hear the tremor in it. I hated when Justin did this; kept his emotions bottled up inside him. He would tell no one what he was really feeling until finally he couldn’t stand the pressure. He would erupt in a violent tantrum that would leave both of us angry and bitter.

 

“That’s not good enough,” I told him, trying to gauge how far I could push him. “What is most wrong?”

 

“God, stop!” Justin snapped, having reached his threshold of restraint. I braced myself. “You want to know what’s wrong? I’ll fucking tell you. All I wanted to do this afternoon was go to the mall and buy Christmas presents for you and my Mom and Molly. That was all I wanted to do.  It seemed like such a little thing, nothing I couldn’t handle. Only it was something I couldn’t handle. I don’t know who I was trying to fool. I can’t handle anything anymore. Anything!

 

Justin made a fist and punched it hard enough into the mattress that it left a depression for a second. Then he banged his other fist down beside it and grabbed a fistful of bedclothes, twisting them viciously as if he was trying to strangle something. I could instantly feel the anger, frustration and self-loathing radiating off him in waves.

 

“FUCK!” he hissed. “I’m so FUCKED UP! I can’t do anything right!  First I can’t draw and now I can’t even go to a shopping mall without making myself into a fucking one-man circus. Chris Hobbs was right about me being a freak. I am a fucking FREAK! I fucking hate him. I hate this. I hate my life!”

 

His voice was trembling with anger and emotion; his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I made no effort to stop him as he pounded the mattress again, so furiously this time that he made the alarm clock on the bedside table shake. 

 

He needed to rage. He needed to be angry. He needed to dispose of all that negative energy, accumulations of days upon days of pent up hopelessness and frustration. 

 

Finally, exhausted and tearful, he grew quiet and sank back onto the bed, staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched shut. 

 

“Done?” I asked, not sarcastically but in genuine concern.

 

“I’ll never be done,” Justin murmured darkly. “Ever. I fucking hate Hobbs. He ruined my life.”

 

His eyes were full of hatred and venom, but I knew his death stare was not intended for me. The person who deserved that look had walked off virtually scot-free; a gross breach of justice.

 

“I know,” I told Justin carefully, acknowledging his point. “I mean, are you done for now?”

 

He rounded on me, evidently still fuming on the inside.

 

“Don’t fucking patronize me!” he spat. “You don’t know anything! How can you possibly know how I feel?! You say you understand, but you don’t. You can’t. When was the last time you mortified yourself in front of hundreds of people, huh? When was the last time you took a baseball bat to the head and got so fucked up from it that you couldn’t function? You don’t…”

 

Before Justin could go on, I lunged for him. I grabbed him by the arms and deftly twisted him around so that he was facing away from me. Wrapping my arms around his chest and shoulders, I pulled him back until he was pressed tightly against my chest. 

 

At first he struggled violently, arching his back and kicking out with his legs. He seemed to be glad to have someone to fight, to have something physical to rage against. I held on as best as I could, feeling his heart pounding with adrenaline beneath my fingertips through the fabric of his shirt.

 

“Justin!” I hissed, getting my mouth as close to his ear as I could without risking my jaw being broken by his thrashing head. I gave him a shake and tightened my grip. “Stop it. Stop it!

 

Justin stopped flailing but continued to struggle against my grip until defeat and exhaustion rendered his fight useless. As a last attempt, he tried feebly to pry my fingers loose from where I gripped him about the chest.

 

“Let me go,” he whimpered. “Brian, I can’t breathe.”

 

I doubted very much that I was actually suffocating him, but I loosened my grip so that I wasn’t doing quite such a good impression of a boa constrictor. I continued to hold him gently but firmly, my mouth brushing against his ear.

 

“Shhh,” I murmured softly, feeling him shiver as my lips moved against the sensitive skin. “Quiet down… Let me hold you.”

 

It was several long minutes before Justin finally calmed enough to allow me to hold him properly. I could feel that his body was still tight with tension, his skin still hot and flushed with the fading adrenaline.  

 

I couldn’t remember the number of times we had done this: when I had held Justin like this in the aftermath of an episode, whether it was a panic attack or a nightmare. It felt like an old routine because it was so familiar, but one that was comforting in the knowledge that it worked. We knew afterwards that we could go to sleep and wake up in the morning and things would be better. 

 

When I sensed that he was ready to talk, I carefully shifted his body in my arms so that I could see his face. I put a hand on the back of his head and gently tugged at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, forcing him to look at me. 

 

“Are you listening to me?” I asked seriously, maintaining my grip on him so that he couldn’t look away. His eyes met mine and he held my gaze for a long moment.

 

“I’m listening,” he recited, sounding tried and defeated.

 

“Good.”

 

I paused for a second, allowing the hand that had been gripping Justin’s hair to drop to the back of his neck, my thumb coming around to rest very gently against his Adam’s apple. I could feel the pulse in his throat, his heartbeat slow and even, jumping rhythmically against my fingertips.

 

“You’re not a freak,” I told him solemnly, maintaining eye contact and squeezing his neck gently. “The only freak in this equation is Chris Hobbs. Don’t ever fucking forget that. Because if you do, you’ve let him win.”

 

“I know, but…” 

 

I placed the index finger of my free hand against Justin’s lips, hushing his protest.

 

“No, listen,” I demanded. “People who attack other people just because they’re different have serious issues. You don’t. The issues you have are miniscule compared to Hobbs’.”

 

Justin looked as if he might protest again, but then something changed in his expression and he fell silent. I ran my fingertip over his lips and he sighed softly, laying his head down on my shoulder.

 

“Somewhere inside me I know all that,” he murmured softy. “But I’m still angry and frustrated. I just wish I could be normal again.”

 

I laughed softly, my breath ruffling his hair. It sounded odd in the context of the solemn conversation and Justin looked up at me in confusion.

 

“Sorry,” I apologized, smiling at his bewildered look. “It’s just that you were never normal, Sunshine. If you were ‘normal’, I wouldn’t have looked twice at you. But you’re not normal. You’re different.”

 

“I don’t like this kind of ‘different’,” Justin protested, refusing to acknowledge the sentiment. “I like the kind of ‘different’ I was before.”

 

I heard an edge of lamentation and regret in Justin’s voice and I shifted slightly so that I could wrap my arms more tightly around him. For the first time that afternoon, he melted completely into my embrace, warm and compliant.

 

“You’re worried things won’t ever be the same,” I said, making more of a statement than asking a question. “That’s what’s upsetting you.”

 

Justin sighed heavily, his fingers tracing a complicated pattern on my forearm.

 

“I guess it really just hit me because it’s Christmas,” he explained softly. “Suddenly I had a point of comparison. I kept thinking that, ‘if this was last Christmas, I could’ve gone to the mall by myself.’ ‘If this was last Christmas, I would be able to draw Christmas cards for people instead of having to buy them.’ ‘If this was last year, I could go to Christmas parties without worrying that I’ll have a panic attack.”

 

I leaned down and kissed Justin tenderly on the side of the neck.

 

“If this was last year,” I reminded him, my lips moving against his skin. “You wouldn’t be living with me. You wouldn’t be here with me when I woke up on Christmas morning.”

 

Justin was silent for a moment and then turned slightly to look at me. He smiled a smile of true happiness when he met my eyes. I kissed him again, this time on the mouth, and we lingered over it for a long time, lips and noses brushing.

 

“I guess maybe there is something good about this kind of ‘different’,” Justin murmured, his fingers finding their way into my hair. He drew my head down to his throat and I laid a line of soft butterfly kisses on his skin. “But I still can’t help wishing some things hadn’t changed. I wish my hand could heal. I wish I could go out in public without freaking out. I wish I could stop having nightmares.” 

 

I let go of Justin and lay down on the bed on my side. Reaching over, I tugged him down to lie next to me. He snuggled into the crook of my body and I put my arms around him again. I kissed him softly in the hollow behind his ear and then rested my chin on his shoulder.

 

“Give it time,” I whispered. “Some things may never be the same again. Some things will go back to the way they always were. Some things will never change. All we can do is go with the flow…and enjoy the ride, if we can.”

 

Justin nodded slowly. His hands found mine and he entwined our fingers.

 

“I’m enjoying this ride,” he told me honestly. “It’s a little bumpy at times, but it’s all worth it.”

 

I kissed him on the nape of the neck, trying to tell him without words that I was enjoying the ride more than he could possibly know.

 

“Sometimes bumpy can be exciting,” I mused. “But it’s nice to find the flat places in life as well.”

 

We lay together in the darkness for a long time, not speaking but just enjoying each other’s company. I felt the tension drain from Justin’s body and I was careful to remind myself that this was not the end of this episode. We would have to re-visit it time and time again. 

 

But for now, we had found one of those rare, flat places of serenity.

 

After about twenty minutes, I suddenly remembered that I had intended to order dinner. I extracted myself from behind Justin and was surprised to find that he was still awake. He blinked up at me and smiled.

 

“I didn’t tell you before,” he yawned, stretching like a cat. “But the tree looks awesome, despite being a little lop-sided and disheveled. I love it. And now I have some special things to put under it.”

 

I grinned back at him. Because he had brought the topic up himself, I felt it was finally safe to broach the subject of the abbreviated shopping trip. 

 

“So,” I asked, tongue in cheek. “Are you going to let me open that mysterious present Daphne claimed you got me today?” 

 

Justin blushed slightly, looking adorably embarrassed.

 

“Um…no. You’ll have to wait for Christmas morning. It’s sort of, uh, ‘time sensitive’.”

 

“That so? This gift wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain fantasy of yours, would it? The one about being filmed while having sex in a Santa hat under a Christmas tree on Christmas morning?”

 

He blushed scarlet.

 

“Uh…posssssssibly.”

 

I laughed softly and leaned down to kiss him.

 

“You know, Sunshine? This Christmas could be the beginning of something beautiful.”

 

~*~*~

 

The End.

 

*~*~*~

 

 

End Notes:

Happy Holidays, all!

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