I honestly don’t know how long I’ve been standing, frozen, in the middle of the loft, staring at the bathroom door. All I know is that the tears are still falling silently because I can’t stop them and every time I close my eyes, even just to blink, all I see are those lesions. I try to keep the visions out of my head, but they refuse to leave.

Brian did what he did just now to prove a point, but now I’m more confused than ever. I guess the distance he kept between us wasn’t because he was scared I was going to leave or that he was worried about getting too close to me emotionally again. Was it because he was scared he was going to infect me if we got too close? Or is it his vanity that’s standing in the way? Does he think that I won’t want him after what he showed me? By now he has to know that his looks have nothing to do with my feelings for him, and they haven’t for a long time. I just don’t get it.

I want to stay and make him talk to me. I want to find out what’s going through his head. I want to hug him and never let go. I want to make the pain go away – for both of us. But I know that I can’t. He made it perfectly clear he wants me to leave. As we all know, Brian has never been good at dealing with his feelings, and now is no different. My heart aches for him; for us.

I struggle to get my legs to move in the direction of the door; down the stairs, out of the building, into my car, back to the hotel, and then what? I don’t know, and I don’t have time to think about it because I don’t even get three steps toward the door before I hear the loud crash of glass breaking behind me. I jump slightly at the noise and I automatically know what it is; he shattered the mirror in the bathroom. My body won’t let me leave after that, so I slowly walk back into the loft toward the bathroom door. As I get closer, I hear his heavy breathing; maybe from exertion, or frustration, or – I’m not entirely sure.

“Brian,” I call out.

I hear him sigh. It didn’t sound like a frustrated sigh, but more of a resigned sigh. Like he knew I was still here the whole time. “Go away, Justin,” he tells me from the other side of the door.

I lean my head up against the door frame. “No.”

“I’m giving you an easy out. Just fucking take it,” he says, his voice hard, though it cracked there at the end.

“I don’t want an easy out; and I’m not going anywhere so you can just fucking deal with it,” I tell him, purposefully trying my damndest to sound angry. Brian always responded better to anger than to anguish. “Please – Brian, just please come out and talk to me.” I suddenly remember something my mother said to me once, a long time ago, when she wanted so desperately for me to talk to her after I came out to her and my dad. I now know how she must’ve felt. “Don’t run away from me, because I’m not running away from you,” I tell him quietly. He doesn’t say anything. “Please don’t push me away this time – please,” I’m pleading with him again and praying that it works this time.

I feel like I’ve been waiting for hours, though it’s more like minutes, before the door begins to open. I step back slightly from it. His eyes look haunted, with a mixture of what I can only assume to be anger, frustration, pain, and maybe something else that I can’t put my finger on. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, we just stand there, looking at each other. My eyes are still wet with tears and part of me prays he doesn’t notice while another part hopes he does.

I look down at his hands. Neither of them is bleeding, so I’m assuming he didn’t break the mirror with his fist, but probably threw something at it, causing it to shatter. I don’t know what he may have thrown, but I decide it doesn’t matter. I look behind him to see the shards of glass covering the floor of his bathroom, then back at his face. He isn’t looking at me anymore. Instead, he looks down at the floor and sighs.

“Brian,” I begin, softly. “Those –“ I motion to his torso so he knows I’m referring to the lesions, “They don’t – change anything.”

He glances at me again. “They change everything,” he tells me before I can say anything else. I shake my head. He sighs again and moves past me into the bedroom before turning back around to face me. “Justin,” he’s talking to me like I’m a child, but I don’t comment on it. I know that he doesn’t think I know anything about what’s going on with him. Hell, maybe I don’t, so I let him talk to me however he wants to. At least he’s talking now. “I don’t even know why the fuck you want to have this conversation.”

“What do you –“ I try.

He doesn’t let me continue. “Just go home. Go back to New York; back to your life. We both know the only reason you’re here is because Gus told you I’m dying,” he tells me, but then starts speaking gain before I can argue with him. “And I am. Justin – I am dying,” he says it slowly and I can’t help but let it sink in. My eyes start burning again. “And there’s no reason you should be here to see it happen. If you – if you feel guilty about whatever happened ten years ago, forget it. I’m not pissed at you, you didn’t do anything wrong, so you don’t have anything to make up for.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” I insist.

“Isn’t it?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “No!” I tell him, my voice sounding stronger than I feel.

He shrugs. “Then what? Do you feel sorry for me? You feel bad because I managed to lose almost everyone important in my life because of this and you don’t want me to have to die alone?” My head is spinning and I want so bad to tell him that’s not it, but I don’t know if I can speak without losing it. “Well guess what, Sunshine? That was always the plan. It’s how we all came it, and it’s how we’re all going out.”

I try to pull myself together. “I want to be here with you –“

He cuts me off. “Why?” he asks, challenging me.

“Because – because I want to help,” I say lamely.

He huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“For how long?” I counter. “You said yourself that treatment is going to be tough. I know you don’t want Gus to see it, or to help – but I can. I’ve been there, remember?”

“That was different,” he replies, both of us remembering his first round of radiation all those years ago.

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Because we were together then. Because we lo—“ he pauses. “We loved each other then.”

“And we don’t anymore?” Maybe Daphne was wrong after all. Maybe Brian doesn’t still love me. Maybe –

He pulls the sleeve of his shirt up as he takes a few steps toward me. He holds his arm out, palm up. “Look,” he tells me. I look down at his arm, and then back up at him questioningly. “They look a lot like track marks, don’t they?” I look back down at the small dark circular scars creating line across the vein in his forearm. I can’t believe I didn’t notice them before. “You don’t know me anymore, Justin. And I don’t know you,” he’s speaking softly again, for now. “We aren’t the same people we used to be. The reason you’re here is not because you suddenly realized your undying love for me,” he says it like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “You’re here because I was your first lover, and I’m sick, and it scares the hell out of you.” I shake my head. “It’s been ten fucking years, Justin! What’s so different now? What exactly made you realize that you’re so fucking in love with me again?” He’s angry and almost yelling at me now.

“Not again,” I tell him. “I never stopped.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Fuck you,” he whispers, his eyes glassy again. I feel like I’ve been punched. Brian’s never said that to me before – not like that -- and the pain I hear behind it makes me feel a million times worse. “That’s bullshit,” he adds bitterly.

“It’s not bullshit! I made a huge fucking mistake and by the time I realized it, I thought it was too late to fix it. I’d give anything to go back and do it all again,” I tell him, tears beginning to fall once again. “I’d do – anything to make you believe that, because it’s the truth. I fooled myself into thinking I was fine without you –“

“You were fine.”

I shake my head. “I was surviving. I haven’t been happy – truly happy in a decade. And being with you again – it makes me feel alive. I’m feeling things that I haven’t felt in years and I want all those feelings back. I want – I want you back,” my voice breaks with emotion. “I don’t care about the things you did while I was gone because they don’t matter anymore. All we have is here and now.”

He scoffs. “Christ. You sound like Ben.”

“Well he should know,” I tell him and he just stares. “I just want the chance to make us okay again. I know I can’t reverse what I did – I know that. But I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying.”

“My life,” he says suddenly.

“What?” I ask, confused.

He pauses for a moment. “You mean the rest of my life.”

I take a deep breath. “If that’s the case –“

He doesn’t let me finish. “It is the case. I don’t think you really understand what’s going on here. I have a 50% chance of making it six months or longer with treatment. The other 50 isn’t so optimistic. They say if I live a year, it’s a blessing. A fucking blessing.”

I honestly don’t know what to say to that, and I think that was his intention. He’s trying to get it through my head that he won’t be around for much longer. He doesn’t think he’s worth the effort if he’s just going to – die soon, either way.

Six months. Those words keep running through my head. Six months. It sounds like nothing to me. It’s nowhere near long enough. I know Brian doesn’t think I’m strong enough to take this. I honestly don’t know if I’m ready either, but it doesn’t matter. “Do you – Can I ask you something?” I question.

He sighs, but nods.

“Do you think that – if I hadn’t left; if I hadn’t ended things – do you think any of this would’ve happened to you?”

He’s quiet for a long time. I know the answer to the question; the fact that I’m asking it could be considered cruelty. Cruelty towards whom, I’m not sure. Maybe both of us. The painful reality of it is that if I wouldn’t have cut Brian off completely, he could be completely healthy. He could be helping raise his son; he could be going to work; he could still have all of his friends; he could still be going to Woody’s and Babylon on the weekends; he could be – happy. And he isn’t, I know that. How could he be?

After way too many long, agonizing moments he finally speaks. “I thought you said all we have is here and now and the rest doesn’t matter.”

“Just answer the question,” I insist.

He shakes his head. “People break up all the time, Sunshine. What I’m going through now is no one’s fault but my own. I made stupid decisions when I was far too old not to know better, and this is where those decisions have gotten me. It has nothing to do with you.” I think it’s bullshit, but I say nothing. “I told you this was out of guilt,” he tells me. He thinks he’s proven me right.

I sigh. “Yeah, I feel guilty, okay? But that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you –“

“I never said that,” he tells me. “You could very well have feelings for me. But those feelings aren’t love.”

That fuels anger in me that I didn’t know was there. “Oh fuck you, Brian! You can’t tell me who I can and can’t love; even if that person is you. You should know by now that nothing you say is going to make me go away.”

He shakes his head, almost smiling, and walks out of the bedroom towards the kitchen and I follow. “You always were a persistent little shit,” he says as he reaches the bar in the kitchen and leans against it, facing away from me.

“Yeah, and ten years hasn’t changed that,” I tell him. “I can do this, Brian. I’m strong enough to do this.

“I know you are,” he tells me. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is the problem?” I ask hesitantly.

He hangs his head and takes a deep breath. He’s quiet for awhile. “If you – hadn’t come back, you would’ve found out about my dying the same way you found out about Debbie. You probably would’ve come here for the funeral or after, just like you did for her. And just like Deb, you’d remember me like I was when you left.”

“Brian –“ I whisper, shaking my head.

“I just don’t want your last memory of me to be in a hospital bed, looking like hell, hooked up to a bunch of machines. A fucking fall-down mess. Some old dying fag that you once had feelings for. It’s fucking pathetic,” he finishes, still facing in the opposite direction.

If I wasn’t crying before, I am now. I swallow hard to fight off the tears, but to no avail. I’ve never heard Brian talk about himself like that before. I’ve never heard him actually tell me exactly what he’s thinking before.

“It’s not pathetic,” I whisper. I clear my throat and try to sound stronger. “It’s what people do when they love each other.” He says nothing as I approach him from behind. I reach up and touch his side gently.  He flinches slightly and tenses, but lets me touch him. “I’ll always remember you like you were then; and it’s the same person you are now. You may be different in some ways, but you’re the same in all the important ways. You’re still you; you’re still – beautiful, and you always will be, no matter how sick you get. Come on, you’re Brian Kinney, remember?” He doesn’t laugh or scoff like I expected him to at that comment, but I feel his muscles relax a little under my fingertips.

He finally turns to face me. His eyes are wet and my breath catches in my throat. I’ve never seen Brian cry before. “So what do you want?” he asks me.

I step closer to him. “I want you to accept the fact that I’m not going anywhere – and that I’m here because I want to be, not because I feel like I should be or need to be out of guilt or pity or – whatever it is you think. I want you to let me touch you whenever I want to. And, dammit, I want you to want me here,” I huff a laugh as I finish. I hold my breath and wait for his response.

He nods slightly. We stand there for a moment in silence before he attempts a small smile. “I do.”