I pace in the hospital waiting room, alternating glances between the clock and the hallway. Christ, I feel like I’ve been waiting for days. The doctor finally comes into view, clad in surgical scrubs with beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Are you here for Mr. Kinney?” he asks me as he approaches.

“Yes,” I reply, waiting desperately for him to tell me what the fuck is going on.

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry, son. We did all we could –“

I feel like the breath has been knocked out of me and I’ve lost all control of my body as I collapse to the ground. This can’t be happening. He was fine a few days ago. They’re lying. He’s going to be okay. He’s not – he can’t be –. NO!

“NO!”  I jolt awake and find myself sitting straight up in bed, sweating and gasping for breath. My whole body is shaking as I try to steady my breathing.

I feel his hand hesitantly touch my bare back before I hear his voice. “You okay?” he whispers from beside me. I look over to see him leaning up toward me, concern crossing his features.

I try to speak, but I can’t seem to, so I just nod. I drop back to the bed and cover my face with my arm. I take a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth, willing my heart rate to return to normal.

“Nightmare?” he asks. I nod again. “Do you want to talk about it?” I shake my head and remove my arm from my face so I can see him. I reach out to grab his hand and pull him toward me. I wrap my arms around him and he buries his face into my neck. I hold him a little tighter than necessary, but he doesn’t say anything.

Tears sting my eyes and I use all the strength in my body not to completely break down. “I don’t want to go back to sleep,” I choke out.

I feel him nod against my neck. “Okay,” he whispers back.

I loosen my grip on him and push his shoulder so he’s on his back. I climb between his legs and cover his body with mine, the side of my face pressed firmly against his chest. His arms find their way around my shoulders as I grip his sides, as if holding onto him for dear life – and that’s exactly what I feel like.

He runs his hand lightly down my back and then back up. “You’re shaking,” he tells me. I don’t answer. “Talk to me.”

I’m unable to stop the tears now. I feel like an idiot for crying over a fucking dream, but I can’t seem to bring myself back to reality. It felt so real. A sob escapes my body and he grips me tighter.

“Justin,” he says, his voice still rough from sleep. “You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. I shut my eyes tight and bury my face into his warm, smooth skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I repeat over and over again. I’m not even totally sure what I’m apologizing for – everything, I guess – but I just can’t stop saying it.

He takes my face into his hands so I’m looking at him. He shakes his head and wipes my damp cheeks with his thumbs. “Was it about prom?” he asks.

I shake my head and choke out a laugh. “I wish,” I tell him. I lean my face into his touch and take a deep breath. I feel myself starting to calm down as his hand wraps around the back of my neck, rubbing away the tension there. I can’t help but remember all those years ago, after I got bashed, when I’d wake up with nightmares and Brian would stay up with me, like he is now, and talk to me or rub my shoulders until I calmed down. Those tender moments no one knows about – moments that had me falling more and more in love with him each time.

It’s dark in the loft, but I can make out his face enough to see worry still written on his features. Without thinking, I lean up and catch his mouth in a heated kiss. He stalls, surprised, for a moment, but eventually returns the kiss, his hand never leaving the back of my neck.

I press my face as close to his as I can manage as we make out on his bed like a couple of teenagers. He lets me take control and parts his lips so I can deepen the kiss. My tongue brushes against his and he tastes like Crest toothpaste, cigarettes, and that unique Brian taste I could never quite place. The kiss is rough, wet, and hot – and exactly what I need right now. I press my newly hardened cock against his groin and he breaks the kiss suddenly, gently pushing my face away from his.

He looks confused, but his eyes are dark and blazing with lust. “We can’t,” he tells me.

“Why not?” I pant, trying to resume the kiss, but he won’t let me.

“Gus,” he whispers back.

Shit. I forgot Gus was here, but alas, he’s only a room away and Brian’s bedroom is far from soundproof. I sigh, but nod in reply. “Right. Right, yeah, okay,” I mutter and roll off of him.

He looks at me for a moment, silent, before grasping my waist and pulling me toward him again. “Come here,” he says. He gives me another quick kiss before I settle easily into his arms. I relax into his embrace with my cheek against his chest and his mouth against my hair, and we sleep, our bodies never losing contact.

­­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________

I make my way up to the loft, grocery bags in hand. I hesitate when I see that the door is cracked open. As I approach the doorway, I hear voices coming from inside.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to yourself again,” I recognize Michael’s voice automatically. I have the fleeting thought that I should walk away and not listen to their conversation, but before I can, I hear Brian’s voice.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice indifferent.

“You know damn well. I’m talking about Justin,” Michael replies. The mention of my name sparks by decision to stick around and listen for awhile.

“What about him?” Brian asks. “And what exactly am I doing to myself?”

I hear a sigh, most likely from Michael. “You went through hell after he left, Brian. And now he flies back into town and you’re suddenly back together after nine fucking years?” he rants.

“Ten,” Brian corrects him.

“All the more reason!” Michael shouts.

There’s a short hesitation from Brian. “I thought you two kissed and made up a long time ago,” he muses.

“This isn’t about me liking Justin or not liking Justin. Hell, I don’t even know the guy anymore. It’s about you being – a glutton for punishment or some shit,” Michael replies.

Brian huffs a laugh. “It’s not a big deal,” he says.

“Of course it’s a big deal. I mean – how do you know he’s not going to just leave again?” Michael says.

Silence fills the loft and I press my ear closer to the door. “I don’t,” he responds quietly.

“See? Do you really want to go through all that again?” Michael asks, sounding more concerned now.

“No. Of course I don’t,” he responds. I shake my head. No, Brian. Don’t. “But – is it so bad that I’m enjoying it while he is here? Is it better to be alone?”

Michael sighs and I hear footsteps inside the loft. “You don’t have to be alone. What about Kevin?”

“You know what about Kevin,” Brian replies.

“You said he wants to come back. Maybe –“ Michael starts.

Brian cuts him off. “I don’t want him to come back. I don’t feel the same way about him as he feels about me – or thinks he feels about me.”

“But you feel that way for Justin,” Michael says, and it’s not a question.

After a few moments, Brian starts talking. “He might leave again – and hell, he probably should. But you know, he might stay. So as long as he wants to be here, I’m going to let him be here. And if he leaves – then so be it. Either way, this is my decision,” he sounds so fucking sad that it makes me want to cry. Either that or run in, grab him, and tell him how wrong he is. I’m not going anywhere.

“Christ,” Michael breathes. “Well what about him? Do you really want him to be here when –“

He’s interrupted when Brian clears his throat, his voice becoming hard. “He’s free to leave, Michael. I’m not forcing him to be here. I told him to leave, and he wouldn’t.”

“Of course not. He’s not going to leave on his own now,” Michael concludes.

“Mikey –“ Brian starts again, his voice softer now.

“Okay, okay. It’s none of my business, anyways. And you’re right, it is your decision,” he sighs. “I’m one to talk, anyways – he’s not the only one that left.”

“Don’t –“ Brian starts.

“Shut up,” Michael interrupts him. “Just let me say that I’m sorry with no remarks. I’ve been really shitty to you. You were always there for me, especially when Ben has gotten sick, and I shouldn’t have run away like that.”

“Don’t feel obligated,” Brian warns.

“That’s not it. I love you, you asshole,” Michael replies with a laugh.

“Me, too,” Brian’s voice is so quiet that I can barely hear him. I take the silence that follows as my cue to walk in. I slide the door open and step inside. I see Brian sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen with Michael in front of him, hand placed on the back of his neck. They both turn to look at me.

I stand in the doorway, feeling slightly uncomfortable for a moment. “Hey,” I greet.

“Hey, Justin! It’s been a long time,” Michael smiles and makes his way toward me. He takes me into a hug and I raise my free hand up to hug back.

“Yeah, it has,” I say. I look at Brian, but he’s not looking at me.

Michael pulls away. He looks from me to Brian, then back to me. “Well, I should be going. Ben’s waiting for me,” he says.

I glance back at Michael. “Tell him I said hello – Hunter, too,” I tell him.

He nods. “I will.” He looks back at Brian and they share a look I can’t decipher. He looks at me, again, with a smile. “Bye,” he says and makes his way past me and out the door.

I watch him close the door behind him before I walk into the kitchen. Brian still doesn’t look at me or say anything as he pours a shot of Beam. “Brian –“ I start. I don’t even know what I plan on saying, but he doesn’t give me the chance to figure it out.

He downs the shot. “I’m going to bed,” he mutters and walks around the bar opposite me toward the bedroom.

“Okay,” I say, and place the grocery bags on the counter in the kitchen. “Can I come?” I ask tentatively, cautious of his current mood. He shrugs and continues into the bedroom. I leave the groceries abandoned in the kitchen and follow him, shutting off the lights as I go. He removes his shirt and jeans and crawls into the bed in only his black boxer briefs. I strip my clothes off, too, and get on my side of the bed. He’s facing away from me.

“Brian?” I whisper.

“Hmmm.”

“I need to tell you something,” I reply. I take a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t go to Mom’s yesterday,” I tell him. He doesn’t respond. “I met up with Kevin at Woody’s,” I finally tell him. I feel there should be no secrets between us now. I don’t want to hide anything from him – I’ve learned from experience that that doesn’t work.

For a moment, I think he’s not going to say anything. “What for?” he finally asks.

“He called here and asked for me,” I explain. “He said he wanted to talk to me about something.”

“What did he say?”

I shake my head. If I tell him about Kevin’s request, he’ll probably be pissed. And I already told Kevin I’d do it, so I decide against disclosing that information. It isn’t necessary information right now. Instead, I ask him a question of my own. “Why won’t you answer his calls, or – talk to him?” I ask.

Finally, he turns so he’s onto his back and looks at me. “That’s it?” he asks, incredulous. “He’s going through you to find out –“

I shake my head. “No,” I interrupt him.  “This is my question, not his.”

He sighs. “What are you getting at, Justin?” he asks. I can tell by his voice that he’s becoming frustrated with me.

“Just – do you ever think that maybe it’d be better to be with him?” I ask. Brian’s stare remains blank. “I mean, he knows what you’re going through, he can –“ I stall. I don’t know how to continue. I just need to know how he feels about Kevin – and about me. We haven’t spoken about us since the night at the house, and I’m desperate to know what’s going on in his head.

He turns away again. “No one’s keeping you here,” he says, his voice cold and distant. “You’re the one that said you wanted to be here. If you’ve changed your mind, you can go whenever you want. You don’t have to push my ex on me to soften the blow –“

My eyes widen. “No!” I practically yell. “That’s not what I’m doing.” How could he think –

“Then what? Tell me what this is really about, if that’s not it,” he says. I feel him slipping away from me emotionally, reverting back to that cold, indifferent façade I once knew so well, so I decide to stop before he closes down completely.

“Nothing,” I finally say. “It’s not about anything.”

He twists his body so he’s looking at me. “No, I don’t think it’d be better to be with Kevin,” he says. “I’m a grown man, and I know who I do and do not want. I’m also fully capable of making my own decisions.”

“Okay,” I respond in a whisper.

Again, he turns away from me. Silence fills the room for a moment before he speaks again. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going in the first place? Why’d you lie about it?” he asks.

I think about the answer to his question. “You know, you haven’t exactly been completely honest with me, either. You still haven’t told me how you became positive,” I tell him pointedly.

“Yes, I did,” he says.

I scoff. “A needle – that’s all you’ve told me.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” he mumbles. “And anyways, you’re the one that said you didn’t care about what happened while you were gone – that it didn’t matter. I don’t know shit about your life in New York for the past ten years, so why does it even matter to you how this happened to me?”

I quickly realize that he’s right. I haven’t told him anything about me, and yet I expect him tell me all of this about him. After all, he did spill his guts to me the other night. Perhaps it’s time I return the favor. I sigh heavily before I begin. “Do you want to know? Fine,” I say, sitting up in bed. “I’ve spent the last ten years working on my art. I spent most of my days painting and sketching at my apartment in Chelsea. I have a few shows a month and I do some freelance work. At night, I stayed home a lot. When I wanted to go out, I did. I have a few friends that I go out with – none are that close, though. I’ve had two boyfriends since you – Brendan and Travis. The longest relationship was a year, and that ended over three years ago. I don’t speak to either of them anymore. Anything else you’d like to know?” I finish. He says nothing.  “Now it’s your turn.”

“I was injecting heroin,” he says before I’m even given the chance to prepare myself. He turns toward me. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” he asks.

“Why would you – use heroin?” I ask him. I have to admit that was what immediately crossed my mind when he told me he was infected from using a used needle, but I guess I never thought it could actually be true. Sure, Brian was never a stranger to recreational drugs. Doing bumps on the dance floor at Babylon, buying tablets of E from guys in the back room, and of course the countless amount of weed he’s smoked, but – heroin?

“It doesn’t matter,” he answers. “I was at a party and I used a needle that had already been used by someone else, only to find out later that the person that used it was positive.”

“How did you find out?” I ask him, swallowing hard.

“A few weeks later, I ended up in the hospital,” he starts. I look at him questioningly; he notices. “Overdose,” he says and I think I may have just audibly gasped. “They ran routine blood work and diagnosed me with HIV. About a month later, I saw the asshole that left his needle on the table filling an antiviral prescription at the pharmacy. I put two and two together.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating. “I guess there’s no way to be sure it was that needle that infected me, but that’s the only thing that made sense. I got sloppy and stupid, and I’ll be paying for it until the day I die. I detoxed at a drug rehab center, as strongly suggested by the hospital, and that was it.”

“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper after awhile.

“Tell me, did that make anything better?” he asks.

I shrug. “No, I guess not,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it,” he mutters and turns his head to look up at the ceiling.

I lay back down beside him. I study his face, but he doesn’t look back at me. “I thought about you all the time,” I tell him. He looks over at me, but says nothing. “Every time I went to club or a bar, played pool, had sex, saw an advertisement, saw – a guy in a suit,” I laugh at how ridiculous I must sound. “What I’m trying to say is that you were everywhere. I’d pick up a sketch pad and draw you without even realizing it. All of my paintings have you in them – whether it be a figure, or a theme, or just a color. I couldn’t escape it – I don’t even know if I wanted to escape it. Ten years and I still dreamt about you almost every night. How fucking pathetic is that?” I ask with another laugh.

He shakes his head a little. “It’s not,” he says in almost a whisper. I wait for him to continue. “It actually sounds pretty damn familiar. Do you have any idea how hard it was to not think about you? I gave up on trying a long time ago.”

Without a second thought, I close the distance between us with a deep kiss to his lips. I whimper with need as he rolls us over so he’s on top. I briefly wonder where Gus is tonight, but I quickly decide it doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is this – us. His skin, warm and smooth, pressed against mine. His hands, strong and yet gentle, gripping my hips. His breath, warm against my face.

We lay here afterward; our arms and legs tangled together, his sweat-drenched chest and swollen lips pressed to mine. “Love you,” I murmur against his mouth. He lets out a soft sigh in response and hugs my body tighter to his. I smile then, knowing I got the exact answer that I wanted.