Chapter one: Brian

 

 

4.

 

Brian was four when the name ‘Justin' tattooed itself across his wrist. He stared at it wide-eyed, fascinated, and spent almost an hour touching it, reverently tracing its contours, silently repeating it over and over again in his head.

Justin.

When he finally got enough, he ran downstairs, to the living room where his parents were sitting. When he proudly demonstrated the curvy letters, his mother gasped and started to murmur prayers, shaking her head desperately, while his father just stared at him in disgust.

"What the fuck is this?" he roared. "Are you a fag? Is that what you're telling me?"

Brian just blinked, unsure of what the word meant.

"Is it bad?" he asked softly. The sneer on Jack's face made him recoil.

"I'll show you how bad it is," he promised.

Later that night Brian was lying under his sister's bed, sniffing and cradling his injured hand with the name, with beautiful, perfect name.

His Justin wasn't bad. His Justin was his soulmate, and they would meet one day and be happy forever and ever. No matter what his parents said.

 

 

9.     

 

Brian liked to dream. When his father got too drunk and his mother lost herself in the ocean of prayers, Brian ran away and wandered around Pittsburgh, thinking about Justin and trying to imagine his face. Maybe Justin would be older than him, maybe they would meet soon and Justin would take him away, to comfort and safety and home, real home.  

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't - Claire was only five years older but she'd already found her soulmate. She showed her ‘Joshua' mark to everyone she met, and made Joshua demonstrate his wrist with ‘Claire' written in bold black letters on it twenty times a day. Brian hated her, and he hated that stupid Joshua with his fake laugh and roaming hands. He touched Claire right in front of their parents, but Jack only rolled his eyes and Joan got flustered. They never said a word against it, and Brian just didn't understand.

So his soulmate was a boy. So what? He could bet that Justin was much better and smarter than Joshua.

If only he found him already.   

 

13.

 

Brian didn't make a lot of friends at school. He was known for obsessing over every Justin that crossed his path, so other children preferred to stay away from him. Some tried to pick fights, agreeing with his parents that having ‘Justin' on his wrist was a crime worth beating, but after the first time, which left Brian bloodied, foolishly hoping for Justin to suddenly appear and help him, he started to fight back. He fought viciously and relentlessly, uncaring of detentions and beatings at home, and the bullies eventually backed off.

Brian started to wonder if his Justin existed at all.

 

14.

 

When Brian was fourteen, he was sure he'd met his soulmate. Coach Justin Harris was everything he'd imagined: he was hot, tall and muscular, and most importantly - he was interested in Brian.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you, my boy," he murmured, and Brian melted, ready to give him everything he had. They fucked in the showers the first time, and while it was painful, it was also mind-blowing, and Brian never felt happier.

After several months of bliss he started to notice other things. Justin never spent time with him outside of school. They never talked, they never made plans for the future - they just fucked again and again, in every corner of the school.

"We can't get caught, that's dangerous," Justin used to say, but it didn't make any sense.

He also never showed Brian his wrist, and it bothered him more and more.

One day, when the coach was taking a shower, Brian came closer, sent him a seductive smile and caressed his chest, kissing his lips, waiting for him to relax and let his guard down. When it happened, Brian stepped back and abruptly yanked at the wristlet on Justin's hand. He stared at the thin letters ‘Marissa' on it. He stared and stared, and then rage spiraled up within him, frightening in its intensity.

"You are a fucking bastard," he spat, and when Justin tried to say something, Brian hit him with all strength, with all hopeless fury and failed expectations. He hit him not like a boy, but like a man, and when the coach yelled from pain, Brian just turned away. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressed and pressed until he saw nothing but sparkles. The vomit caked around his mouth when he thought of all the times he'd fucked this man, this stranger, because of some stupid fucking letters written on his hand.

Brian was fourteen when he decided that the whole soulmates thing was complete and utter bullshit.

 

 

15.

 

 In fifteen he met Michael. The boy was kind of dorky, and when they introduced themselves, he stared at Brian with wide, excited eyes.

"You are my soulmate?" he exclaimed, and Brian's treacherous heart skipped a bit before he scowled.

"Why would I be your soulmate?" he asked. Michael showed him his trembling hand, and a wrist where the letter ‘B' was tattooed. Brian frowned.

"Why isn't your name full?" he asked. "Did you always have just one letter?"

"Yeah," the boy replied sadly. "I don't know why. But ‘B' is already something, right? I mean... you are Brian. And when I first saw you, I felt the connection, just like my mother said. We are probably soulmates. Is the name on your wrist ‘Michael'?"

If Brian still held any ridiculous hope, it was dashed that day.

"No," he stated coldly. "It's not ‘Michael'. But it doesn't matter because I don't believe in soulmates."

"Really?" Michael looked both awed and horrified. "Why not?"

"It's bullshit."

 And it was.

 

 

16.

 

 In sixteen Brian bought a bracelet that was wide enough to cover the meaningless letters on his wrist. He never showed his wrist to Michael without it, and maybe it was wrong, since Michael clearly kept believing they were destined to be together and followed him like a puppy, but Brian was hesitant to change things. If he told Michael that the words written on his skin said ‘Justin', would Michael still be his friend? Would he still listen to his every word, welcome him in his home?

Brian didn't know. And he wasn't going to take any chances.

 

22.

 

Theodore Schmidt was one of the most boring people Brian had ever seen. He worshipped the name ‘Blake' on his wrist, and he reminded Brian of himself, of his younger pathetic version that used to spend hours staring at the words, dreaming and hoping. It was so revolting that Brian tried to avoid Ted, not wanting any reminders of how stupid and naïve he'd once been.

Emmett was another matter. No one had seen his wrist, like they never saw Brian's, and when they tried, Emmett just slapped their hands and shook his finger. He wanted to meet his soulmate, but he wasn't crazy about it like other people Brian knew, so they quickly became friends. Emmett's attitude was refreshing, and Brian found himself talking to him more and more.

"Those names are meaningless," he said.

"My parents have ‘Jack' and ‘Joanne' accordingly on their wrists," he said. "But their marriage is based on hatred and misery."

"My sister's husband is beating her and their kids up."

"There are many Joshuas and Claires and Jacks and Joannes. How do they know they found the right ones?"

One day, after listening patiently to his ramblings, Emmett finally spoke.

"Brian, honey. For someone so against the idea of soulmates, you spend an awful lot of time thinking about it. Did you notice?"

Brian had to admit he was right.

He shut up after that.

 

 

27.        

 

"That was amazing!" the trick turned to look at him, still panting and blushing. "No one ever fucked me like that, no one made me feel like... wow. Just wow, really. What's your name? I'm..."

"I don't care about your name," Brian cut him off icily, zipping his pants. "Where the fuck did you come from if you don't know my rules?"

"Rules?" the trick blinked stupidly, making Brian regret he'd chosen to go for him. "What rules? I'm sorry, I'm new here, this is kind of my first visit to Babylon."

"Obviously," Brian curled his lips derisively. "If you ever want me to fuck you again, forget about names. I like my tricks nameless. Got it?"

The man nodded slowly, tried to say something else, but Brian didn't listen. His attention was already glued to another young man, with bright red hair. Smirking, he approached him, and in less than a minute he was already lost in the world of sex and pleasure, forgetting everything, forgetting himself. Forgetting his own name.

 

29.

 

When Brian saw a blond-haired boy in clothes too big for him, standing awkwardly under the streetlight, his world stopped for a moment. For a moment a swirl of thoughts of sunshine and happiness and mine rushed through his head, making his head spin. However he quickly regained control and snorted, disgusted with himself. Sending the hopeful boy a cold look, Brian got in his car and left, without glancing back once.

Soulmates.

Ridiculous.

 

 

Chapter two: Justin

 

 

6.

 

Justin was a happy child. Mostly. When the name ‘Brian' appeared on his wrist, his mother looked disturbed, but only for a moment. Then she smiled at him and proceeded to tell him how happy he was going to be, how his Brian would make all his dreams come true.

Justin's father wasn't so understanding. He left their family for a while, despite ‘Jennifer' glowing on his skin sadly. After eight months he came back, but his relationship with Justin was never the same again.

It hurt. It hurt, but Justin didn't let himself care. He lived in the world of paints and colors, in the world where he already had his mother's love and Daphne's support and Brian, his perfect, faceless Brian who he would meet one day. They would live in a big house and have pets and spend romantic evenings together. Justin had everything planned already. When he told Daphne, she giggled, and then she helped him to plan other details, like what Justin would cook for dinners and where Brian would put his clothes when he returned after work.

He never felt happier.

 

13.     

 

Justin painted three hundred and sixty four versions of Brian. He imagined him blond and red-haired, he imagined him dark and bold, and he fell in love with every option.

Mostly he liked to dream about Brian's character. He imagined his kind eyes, gentle hands, loving smile. He imagined words of trust and affection and love, and when his father threw some cutting remark, or the bullies at school laughed at him for having a boy's name on his wrist, Justin just shrugged it off.

He knew what he wanted. And he knew he would get it one day.   

 

 

17.

 

When Justin met Brian, he recognized him instantly. He didn't need to know his name, or to see his wrist - everything was obvious. Brian was the most beautiful man in the world, and the pull between them was so strong that Justin barely managed to keep standing.

He hoped for a smile and for a kiss. Instead he got an icy glare and the door of the car slamming shut.

His Brian left him before they even talked.

That night was the first in many years when Justin closed himself in his bedroom and cried.

 

 

***

 

 

"You don't even know it was him," Daphne was saying. "Just some guy you felt attracted to, it doesn't mean he's the one for you, Justin."

"I don't care," Justin kept staring at the portraits he'd painted, portraits that couldn't come close to the real thing. "I don't even care if his name is really Brian, or what is written on his wrist. I just know that he's mine."

"Well, that's not creepy at all," Daphne rolled her eyes. Justin smiled at her fondly.

So his soulmate wasn't particularly interested in meeting him. It wasn't good, but it also wasn't the end of the world.

Justin just had to persuade him to give them a chance.

 

 

***

 

He went back to the streetlight and kept returning for several evenings until he finally saw Brian again. The man was just as beautiful as he'd seemed five days ago, and Justin watched him transfixed, with his mouth agape. When Brian and his friends disappeared in a bar, Justin followed them, excited and scared at the same time.

He found them near one of the pool tables. His courage was alternatively overwhelming and deserting him, so Justin spent almost half an hour just observing the company. He learned the names of Brian's friends - Ted, Emmett, Michael, but no one actually said ‘Brian', and Justin started to get anxious. He relaxed only after looking at his man again, because yes, he had to be Brian. Every cell in Justin's body kept screaming it.

Brian was the centre of everyone's attention. He played like a professional, sent brief smiles to his hopeful suitors and mostly remained silent, listening to his friends' chattering.

The short black-haired man named Michael was obviously infatuated. He looked at Brian like he'd hung the moon, and while Justin could understand him, he also didn't like it. How could anyone lust after someone else's soulmate? Could it be that Michael didn't know what was written on his friend's wrist?

"Brian, stop that," Emmett finally complained, and all at once Justin's heart stopped.

Brian.

Brian.

His mind was witnessing wave after wave of emotion. As it crashed down, he closed his eyes briefly, feeling everything in him explode first in shock, then in pure elation.

He was right. He was right, this man was his Brian, and he was the right Brian, not like others Justin had known.

It wasn't a mistake. It was destiny.

When the men moved to the bar to order drinks, Justin finally felt a new rush of determination. He approached, wavering only slightly, and when Brian's eyes stopped at him, he smiled.

"Hi," he said softly. "I was wondering if you would like to..." Talk? Drink? Dance? While Justin was trying to decide, Brian grimaced in distaste and started to turn away from him. Without thinking Justin grabbed his shoulder, and Brian shuddered as if his touch was electric. He turned back to him, and even though his eyes were wide and amazed and a little vulnerable, his voice was cold.

"I'm not interested. Do I have to spell it out to you?"

Justin's face fell and he bit his lip, unsure.

"Let's leave, Brian," Michael said haughtily. "It's getting too crowded here."

Brian wrapped his hand around Michael's shoulders and left, not sparing Justin a glance.

Well.

It hurt even worse this time.

 

 

***

 

Justin was everywhere. He followed Brian to the bar and to Babylon, never doing anything other than watching. He knew Brian noticed - everyone noticed. He was sort of a joke to them, but being laughed at didn't bother Justin as much as Brian's constant attempts to ignore him.

He almost gave up hope when he heard Brian and Michael talking one day.

"Just fuck him already!" Michael was hissing. "Fuck him and get it over with, maybe he'll leave you alone then!"

"Shut up," Brian said.

"You fuck anyone, everyone! Why won't you fuck him, what's so special about him? Just tell him to never say his name to you and that'll be it!"

"Shut up," Brian repeated.

"I don't understand!" Michael nearly yelled in frustration. "I don't understand why it matters! Even if you learn the names of some of your tricks, so what? We both know what your wrist says, we both know we'll end up together at some point! Aren't you tired of lying, of pretending?"

Brian laughed then. He laughed and laughed, and he continued laughing even as Michael stormed from Babylon, furious.

Justin remembered how to breathe.

He learned more than he'd dared hope for.

Brian fucked everyone but him. Apparently it somehow made him special since Michael was so infuriated.

Michael didn't know for sure what Brian's wrist said. He thought his name was there and that Brian just pretended because he didn't want a relationship.

Why did Brian hate the idea of soulmates so much?

 

 

***

 

 

They never exchanged words, but Justin knew Brian was becoming more and more aware of him, of his presence. Now all Justin had to do was enter Babylon and Brian's eyes were immediately on him, in that exact second, watching him silently. The connection between them was growing, the pull was getting practically unbearable, and it seemed Brian almost stopped fighting it. He now allowed himself to watch Justin in return, often declining tricks' offers in favor of continuing to exchange glances with him.    

Justin thought he could fly in moments like that.

One day he got so bored standing motionlessly that he accepted some guy's offer to dance. He wasn't going to let him do anything apart innocent touching, but then he saw how Brian was looking at him. His jaw was clenched tightly, his darkened eyes locked on Justin and his dancing partner, searing holes through them.

Encouraged, flattered, excited, Justin pressed closer to the man and smiled at him flirtingly, stroking his back. The man leaned closer, reaching for his lips, but in the next moment he was pushed away and suddenly Brian was there, almost growling.

"Get away from him," he hissed, his voice low and warning. The trick stumbled away, and Brian stared at Justin. Anger and arousal were swirling inside him, feeding off each other - it was so palpable that Justin felt almost burned by it.

"Hi," he said cheerfully. "Is it the day when you finally decide to talk to me?"

Brian glared at him, remained silent. He also didn't walk away, and Justin's foolish heart sang in delight.

"Dance with me," he whispered. "Please?"

Brian's hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him to his chest, grinding their hips together. Their contact sent a tingle up Justin's spine and he hugged Brian close, drowning in the sea of feelings and sensations.

"No names," Brian whispered into his ear. "No names, got it?"

"Yes," Justin whispered back. Right now he could promise him anything in the world. "Yes. Okay."

They danced, and then they kissed, Brian's fingers tugging at his hair, his lips and tongue and teeth forcing Justin to open his mouth wider, making him breathe faster and faster, until he felt dizzy. 

Brian took him to his loft that night, and their first time was gentle and careful, more making love than fucking. Justin's skin was tingly from kisses, from Brian touching him again and again like he couldn't get enough, like he wanted to devour him, to absorb him.

Being told to fuck off in the morning was surprisingly unexpected, although why, Justin had no idea. He already knew Brian was wary of any relationship. Did he really believe sex would change that?

He did cry, a little. Mostly it just made him feel even more determined to win Brian over with time.

 

 

***

 

Brian couldn't resist him. He took him to the loft almost every night, fucking him with abandon, leaving his marks everywhere, then throwing him out.

They never talked about names. Brian never looked at his wrist.

Justin wasn't sure if he was happier or sadder than before their meeting.

 

 

***

 

  Michael hated him. He refused to call him ‘Sunshine' like Emmett, or even ‘the blond' like Ted. He chose Brian's impersonal ‘you' when addressing him, and it was both amusing and irritating.

"Stop wasting his time!" Michael spat.

"You are nothing to him," he taunted.

"He has another soulmate, and it's not you!" he boasted. Justin listened, and nodded, and then ignored him. He felt sorry for Michael. Brian's fear of soulmates had broken him; Brian's inability to confess what was really written on his wrist strung Michael along all these years, making him hope for something that was never going to happen.

How many opportunities had Michael missed? How many times could he have met his true soulmate, but hadn't, because his attention belonged solely to Brian?     

 

18.

 

A year later Michael still hated him. Brian still refused to ask for his name, but he still fucked him and talked to him and took him to fancy restaurants.

He also still fucked everyone who walked by him, not caring if Justin saw it, smirking cruelly whenever Justin tried to protest.

Justin started to wonder if those conversations and dinners were enough.

 

 

***

 

 

Brian started to become obsessed with Justin's wrist. He never tried to take away his wristlet, but when they fucked he caressed it and squeezed it and stared at it, sometimes greedily, sometimes longingly. There were times when Justin woke up because Brian was stroking the skin under his wristlet gently, reverently, soaking in the letters he never looked at.

He was especially cruel after such times, and Justin's heart kept breaking.

 

 

***

 

Justin was still eighteen when he realized he'd made Brian up. Loving a real man with all his insecurities and flaws was proving to be much more difficult than loving a perfect faceless image.

For the first time Justin thought that Brian could be right. Brian kept insisting that soulmates were bullshit, and maybe they were. Finding your soulmate didn't mean instant problemless existence and happily ever after. A lot of couples broke up despite being soulmates, some hated or even killed one another, some preferred the company of other people.

Justin's perfect Brian never existed, and his strength for dealing with the real one, with Brian who said and did cruel things and then kissed him like he was the most important person in the world, was rapidly diminishing.

He wasn't strong enough for this.

He wasn't strong enough for Brian.

Maybe Brian should have found another soulmate.

 

 

19.

 

Justin was nineteen when he left Brian for someone else. He came to the loft, grabbed several things that he kept there and told Brian that whatever it was they had, it was over.

Brian didn't say a word. He just stood there, looking lost and devastated. Justin had never seen this look on him. It was doing strange things to his heart, so he turned and left, trying to forget, just forget.

Trying not to look back. 

 

 

Chapter three: Brian

 

 

31.

 

When the boy left him, Brian tried to lose himself in sex and drugs, and dreams. Dreams about evenings spent together, dreams about cuddling and watching bad TV shows and laughing. Dreams about making love.

He'd never thought he could miss someone that fiercely.

 

 

***

 

His blond didn't come back. The days kept passing, blurring, but there was nothing, not a word, not a phone call. Brian was getting desperate.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he'd asked the boy to show his wrist. What would have happened if the name on it wasn't ‘Brian'.

He would have probably lost his mind.

But it didn't matter, did it? Because soulmates were bullshit, Brian still believed in it.

He only wished his nameless boy was with him, listening to his complaints and smiling like he held all answers in the world.

 

 

***

 

The more miserable Brian became, the more furious Michael got. One night, after another fruitless argument, he jumped to Brian and grabbed him by his bracelet, tearing it from his wrist. He stared, speechless, at the word ‘Justin' on it, then looked at Brian. His eyes were watery, his breathing came out in sharp, shallow rasps.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why didn't you tell me? All these years, I hoped..."

"You hoped what?" Brian spat. "That you and I will ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after? Are you even serious, Michael? I told you from the beginning that the name on my wrist wasn't yours, it's your fault if you chose not to believe me."

"But you knew I kept hoping!" Michael yelled, clenching his fists. "You knew I didn't believe you, that I still hoped, and you let me do that! You let me live like that, you took my chance to find a real soulmate from me! Always keeping me close but not too close, always giving me some... some scraps of your affection and watching how pathetically grateful I was for them!" 

"You are my friend," Brian said dully. "My best friend. I always loved you. I'm sorry if it's not enough."

Michael fell silent after that, still looking like he wanted to cry.

"Why the hell did you push HIM away if he's the one you really want?" he finally asked. And Brian flinched, because talking about his blond was unbearable. Because memories were still plaguing him, still tearing him apart, and he was starting to forget his reasons for ruining the relationship he'd longed for as a child.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know." 

 

 

***

 

Michael came back the next day, excited and seemingly forgetting about harsh words exchanged yesterday. He babbled and showed Brian his wrist, where the lonely ‘B' had turned into ‘Benjamin'.

Brian didn't feel happy. He didn't feel upset. He felt nothing at all at the news, and Michael noticed it and sighed and called him an asshole. Then he hugged him like before, like all times when Brian needed him, and said.

"If he's the one for you, get him back."

"I don't even know his name," Brian replied bitterly.

"Does it matter?" Michael pulled back to look at him. "You love him. You will love him no matter what his wrist or his birth certificate says."  

 

 

***

 

Brian thought about it. In the end, he agreed with Michael.

But it didn't mean he was going to do anything. He had been happy before, and he could be happy again. He didn't need anyone for it. He didn't.

 

 

***

 

 

One day Brian saw his blond on the street - he was leaving the shop with a grocery bag, looking sad and dejected. Brian stopped and watched him, unable to look away, and the thoughts of miss him, need him, want to try again filled his head, refusing to go away.

He went back home, but he didn't even remember doing it.

He kept thinking.

 

 

***

 

 

After that, Brian had gotten obsessed. He'd turned into a stalker, into a creepy kind where he kept sitting in the car in front of the boy's house, greedy for the smallest glimpse of him. He followed him to work and followed him back home, watching over him, admiring him from afar.

He stopped fighting the feeling of longing. It was hopeless anyway.

When he saw his blond in the arms of another man, he wanted to die. Then he wanted to get out of the car and to pummel the man into the ground, but fears and insecurities came back with full force, paralyzing him.

What if the name on the boy's wrist wasn't his? What if he'd met his real soulmate and forgot all about Brian? Their relationship had been one-sided - the blond had kept giving, while Brian had given very little back.

Was it worth getting hurt over it eventually? When some other person could still come into picture, when his blond could still decide he was better off and leave him to rot alone?

If Brian had given himself to him, if he had given his heart, his devotion, his everything, for him it would have been forever. But it wouldn't have been forever for the boy, not when he was just nineteen years old.

Brian had always imagined his soulmate older, stronger, more cynical. After the coach he'd stopped imaging altogether, and now he knew why. No imagination could come up with someone as perfect as the boy - his artistic, loving, genuine, inventive boy who brightened his life and who had left emptiness behind, after he left.

Brian needed the boy, but he didn't want to need him. He hated that feeling, so once again he left, swearing to himself that he wouldn't be back.

 

 

***

 

Brian was thirty one when he realized he was full of shit.

 

 

***

 

 

Not caring that it was the middle of the night, he drove back to the house where his blond had rented an apartment. Anxiety, hope, adrenaline were coursing through his veins, causing his body to tremble, his hands to shake.

Brian got out of the car, staring intently at the third floor, at the windows that he knew belonged to his boy.

Not, not to ‘his boy'. To Justin.

"Justin," he said out loud, tasting the word for the first time in many years.

"Justin," he repeated, savoring it.

"Justin!" he shouted, as loudly as his lungs allowed. "Justin! JUSTIN!"

The curtains finally moved, and for a moment Brian stopped breathing. Justin's sleepy face was the most beautiful sight imaginable.

"Brian?" he murmured, squinting. "What's wrong, why are you..." His eyes widened when he realized how Brian called him, and Brian smiled, feeling childishly, genuinely elated.

He was right. His blond was Justin.

His Justin.

"Well?" he asked. "Will you come downstairs, or should I wake the rest of your neighbors?"    

A wide grin split Justin's face. Even from here Brian could see how his blue eyes lip up, and then he moved away from the window.

Logically Brian understood that he was probably coming outside, coming to him, but his stupid heart started pounding at a sickening rate, still worried, still anxious.

In the next second the door was opening and Justin was rushing to him, smiling and shining and so breathtaking, so his.

The kiss felt like being reborn. Like being able to breathe after nearly drowning.

Brian hugged him tight, nuzzling his hair, breathing in his scent again and again.

"I love you," he said. "Do you hear me? I love you."

Justin didn't answer, and when Brian started to panic, thinking too late, too late, too late, Justin shifted in his arms, stepped away and then hesitantly offered him his wrist.

Brian froze. And stared. He thought of what he'd felt seeing ‘Marissa' on the coach's wrist. How disappointment was so bitter that it had nearly crushed him.

Then he remembered that he didn't care, so he gently touched the offered wrist and carefully removed the wristlet from it.

Brian had never thought he could fall in love with his own name.

 

 

***

 

 

Justin was possessive of his wrist. When they were walking down the street, Justin's fingers kept tracing the letters on Brian's skin, as if making sure they were really there.

Brian laughed at him for that and pretended to huff and shake his head in annoyance, but he often caught himself caressing Justin's wrist in return, staring at it in a disgustingly besotted way.

Others - other people who still wore wristlets - looked at them with derision, murmuring how even the greatest fell, but Brian just smiled.

He was happy. There was nothing he had to prove.

 

 

32.

 

They had fights. Justin wanted things to constantly change while Brian preferred them to remain as they were, but every argument, even the most severe, always ended with kisses, apologetic murmurs and wild make-up sex.

After the fourteenth time Justin stormed out from the loft, Brian glanced at the calendar and realized they had spent a year officially living together. One amazing, deliriously happy year.

He decided to count every year they spent like that.

 

38.

 

Brian was thirty eight when he stopped counting.

 

 

The end