Two Months after Justin Left...New York City...

"A young woman was shot to death today outside her Queens apartment.  According to an official statement made by New York police, the suspect was the woman's estranged boyfriend, who had been the subject of a restraining order due to previous domestic violence.  The victim leaves behind a 2-year-old daughter.  Funeral arrangements are pending." 

"Damn it!"  I struggled to yank my arm out of my sleeve as I heard my cellphone ringing inside my jeans pocket.  Finally managing to pull my arm out, I held the mail between my lips while hefting my satchel higher up on my shoulder as I kicked the wooden door shut to my studio apartment.  My heart fluttered erratically as I noticed the caller ID, and I couldn't help the smile that broke out on my face as I threw my mail down onto the small tray table next to the door and dropped my satchel onto the seat of the lone chair.  I took a deep breath to slow my breathing down before finally issuing a simple, "Hey."

"Hey, yourself.  Why do you sound so out of breath?  Did I interrupt something?  Was he hot?" 

I smiled.  "No...and no.   I just got in.  You DO remember I live on the fifth floor, right?  And no elevator?  Did you forget to take your ginkgo biloba today?" 

"Fuck you," Brian retorted as I laughed.  "I could beat you in a marathon any day. Fucking or otherwise," he added.

I could almost hear the smirk over the phone as I smiled, placing my jacket down over the back of the chair as I walked over to my threadbare couch and plopped down, toeing off my sneakers as they thumped onto the floor.  "I wouldn't mind engaging in that particular type of marathon right now," I confessed wistfully, suddenly feeling a pang of longing welling up inside me and yearning to reach out somehow through the telephone line and pull Brian into my arms.   Since I had arrived here in New York City, I had found it to be exciting, exasperating, exhilarating, and also a bit indifferent to young, hopeful, and perhaps naïve young artists who hoped to be recognized for their work.  Oh, some things had worked out so far - I was actually being given the chance to display a couple of my works inside a small gallery in SoHo, and I had secured a job as a sales associate for MOMA's gift shop - but I was quickly wearing out my sneakers after pounding the pavement day after day to try and promote myself.

I was currently living in a small - make that miniscule - cubbyhole in a brownstone building.  The ‘apartment' I lived in had been - literally - some affluent New York newspaper mogul's extravagant closet years ago.  Now it was my living quarters.  Not that you could do much ‘living' in it.  My futon served as both couch and bed, and my ‘kitchen' consisted of a microwave on top of a tiny table. Period.   A dorm-size fridge held what few drinks & food I could afford.  I was existing...but not really living.   I found the energy of the city itself to be fascinating in its ever-changing kaleidoscope of daily life.  There literally was something to be done every second of every day.  I had figured it wouldn't be easy, and success wouldn't come fast...but I also didn't realize just how hard it would be.  Hard to get your foot in the door, to even be given a passing glance, hard to make lasting friends...but most of all, how damn hard it would to be winding up separated from the man who had been such an integral part of my life for the past five years. The man who had always shown me that he loved me, and who had finally verbalized it; only for me to wind up leaving shortly afterward.  Had it been for my sake, my decision?  Or had I done it because Brian told me I would be making the biggest fucking mistake of my life if I didn't?  At either rate, I was here. And I wasn't one to give up easily.  So for now, this was my reality, and I was determined while I was here that I would do whatever I could to take advantage of it, and promote one of my biggest passions.  If only my other passion were here more often.  

"Justin?" 

I bit my lip to control the heavy sigh that was threatening to escape as I assured him, "I'm still here."

"Everything okay?" 

I swallowed before concentrating on sounding upbeat.  Brian was too adept at noticing even the smallest of changes in my voice inflections when I spoke; so much so that I often thought he could read my mind.  "Yeah...just a little tired is all."

"You need to find a job where you're not on your feet all day," he gently reproached me.

I smirked. "Sorry...but all the rent boy jobs are taken at the moment," I kidded back. 

"You know what I mean.  You can't work at MOMA all day, paint in the evenings, and then stagger home for a few hours' sleep."  He paused for a moment before continuing; I already knew what he was about to say before he said it...and he already knew what my answer would be. But he said it anyway.  "Let me..."

"Brian...No."

I could hear him sigh.  "You know, you are the most stubborn damn man I have ever met."

I smiled softly.  "I prefer to think of it as determined.  But you love me anyway," I added.  "Pauper or not." 

"There's a difference between pauper and street beggar." 

I grinned.  "So I'll set up shop on some busy street corner and sell my wares."

"Well, your ass is pretty unique." 

I laughed.  "Stop it."  I folded my legs underneath me, trying to prevent the enormous yawn from escaping my lips, but unable to totally control it.  I glanced at the small alarm clock resting on the tray table that I used as my eating area, my grooming area; my ‘need to do anything' area.  A cardboard box underneath it served as the equivalent of my storage space.  Yeah, it was pretty fucking pitiful...but at least it was mine. 

I heard him chuckle slightly as I imagined him lying in his bed at the loft, his long legs crossed at the ankles as he held his cigarette in one hand, and his cellphone with the other.  Just the image of it made my cock twitch as I shifted on the futon.  "Well, take good care of that ass," he told me.  "I have a vested interest in it." 

I smiled.  "Oh?  You think I could start selling shares in it?  I could use a little extra money."

"You'd get a mint out of that ass," he agreed as I grinned.  "But no. I have a monopoly on that ass."

"Yes...you do," I told him softly, my heart clenching.  "Brian..."  Now it was HIS turn to read my mind.

"No, Justin.  We've discussed this before, Sunshine.  You're just tired.  In the morning, you'll feel a lot differently...and you'll be your old perky self again." 

I snorted as he chuckled back at my reaction.  "I hate that work ‘perky.'  You know some old art queen was trying to hit on me yesterday, and thought his version of a compliment was to tell me that I had a perky ass?  Needless to say, I didn't stay too long in THAT gallery."

"Have I taught you nothing?  You need to take advantage of what you can...even if it IS tolerating someone's moronic sense of a compliment.  Besides, you DO have a quite perky ass...at least when I'm fucking it."

I DID sigh then; it had been far too long since that had happened.  "Brian...speaking of which, when can we...?" My voice trailed off then; I didn't want to sound like some lovesick little school boy, even though the 'lovesick' part wasn't too far off.

"Soon," he whispered back to me softly. "I promise.  And you know I always keep my promises."  He paused for a moment before explaining, "As soon as business slows down. You know how some clients can be."

I nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see me.  "Yeah, I know.  They only want to deal with the best.  And that's you."

"Of course," he told me, no hint of smugness in his voice; just a lot of self-assuredness. After all, it was the truth; Brian WAS the best at what he did.  "You mean you can't find some hot fuckable guy at one of the clubs?" He sounded aghast, if not downright disappointed.

"And just when do I have TIME to go to the clubs?"  I yawned again as I covered it with my free hand, but the sound didn't go unnoticed.

"Get some rest.  You sound exhausted. I can't believe I'm saying this, but are you eating at least some Ramon noodles? They come in a wide variety of flavors, Daphne tells me."

I laughed.  "Daphne? When did you talk to Daphne?"  She was another person I missed terribly.  Even though we held frequent phone chats - not every day like with Brian, but quite often - it still wasn't the same as her being here.  And with Brian, it was ten times worse. 

"Oh...I call her up from time to time," Brian revealed to me.  "She's a good stress reliever."  I didn't know until later that Brian also spent time with Daphne in person as well as talked on the phone.  He admitted to me that it was the nearest thing to actually being with me; not nearly satisfying enough, however, he would admit.

"Well, I can think of another type of stress reliever."

I could almost see him smile over the phone, the cigarette smoke lazily rising into the air above the bed, as he huskily replied, "Me, too.  Speaking of which...are you comfortable?"

I smiled, knowing precisely what ‘comfortable' meant to him.  "No...but give me a minute, and I WILL be."

"I'll wait," was the soft reply.  "As long as it takes."

Six Months after Justin's Departure - New York City

"Three people were killed inside the Craycraft Cement Company in Brooklyn today, and seven were injured.  Reports indicate the gunman may have been a disgruntled, former employee of the company who had been fired the day before.  When police closed in on the suspect outside the building, he killed himself with a shot to the temple.  The three victims included a young father of three, a long-time secretary of the firm, and the vice-president, a long-time supporter of the LGBT community."

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"Hey!  I've been trying to reach you!  Where have you been?"  I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice.

"Some of us have to work, you know, Sunshine," he replied, bemused.  "What's got you all hot and bothered?" 

"I did it, Brian!  I did it!"

"Did what?  Finally ventured out of your little hobbit home and found a social life?" 

"Who cares about a social life?" 

"Oh, my God...it's finally happened.  You're forgotten everything I've taught you." 

"No, you asshole!  Will you shut the fuck up and listen to me?  I finally got an agent!  Do you fucking believe it? And he asked to represent ME!  I didn't have to seek him out. He went after ME!" 

"It was probably your ass he went after," Brian quipped.  "And then he noticed you were talented with your hands." 

I huffed, knowing he really didn't mean that. "Well, what if he did?" I countered, deciding to play along. "My ass led him to my art, and that led me to an agent!  Brian, do you know what this means?" 

"That you'll literally be working your ass off now? I thought you were already doing that."

"Can you please be serious?" I growled, rolling my eyes.  I took a deep breath.  "It means that I now have an active advocate for my art, and one that has a lot of connections around town.  This could really be big for me, Brian." 

"That's great, Sunshine.  Really," Brian told me softly.  "But you already knew how proud I am of you.  Now everyone else will know how good you are, too." 

I flushed with pleasure over the unexpected compliment; it was so rare with Brian normally.  Oh, I knew he had always believed in me, and thought I was talented.  But it always made my heart leap in my throat to hear him say it aloud.  "Thanks," I whispered after a brief pause.  "I know you do. And that means the world to me."

"Yeah...but it doesn't pay the bills, does it, Sunshine?" he pointed out.

I smiled.  "Not unless you are paying for one of them."  I had lost track by now of just how many Brian had purchased. But I had finally persuaded him to stop doing that.  It did help to pay the bills, but it wasn't the way I wanted to support myself.  I loved Brian for doing it, but I had to find out for myself whether or not my art was good enough to stand up to my toughest competitors.  Hopefully with my new agent, now I would find out.  "Brian..."

"Hmm?" 

I could hear the sleepiness in his voice as I replied, "My agent wants me to stay here in New York while he promotes my work." 

I heard him chuff.  "Where else would you go, Sunshine?  Planning on buying a beret and heading to Gay Paree instead?  Of course he wants you there." 

I smiled, envisioning the Eiffel Tower and the Seine in my mind. God knows I had dreamed about it often enough. But in MY dream, Brian was always there with me, because it wouldn't be the same if he wasn't there.  "Maybe I'll try one on some day," I told him softly.  "But only when we can go together."  I paused.  "No, it wasn't Paris...I was thinking of a much more familiar place where I could work...one day, anyway.  A day in the not-so-distant future."  I could feel the lump forming in my throat.  "I miss you so damn much, Brian.  I miss your kisses, I miss your smell, I miss your arms holding me at night, I miss your outrageously expensive cologne and soap..."  I could hear him chuckle slightly at that, "...and I miss waking up with you in the morning, and going to bed with you at night."  I could hear his soft breathing over the phone and the familiar wheeze as I confessed, "Mainly, I just miss being with you." 

"Me, too," he whispered back in confession. "But sometimes, Sunshine, you have to do things that may be temporarily difficult for the greater good." 

"So said Mt. Kinney," I murmured dryly.  It wouldn't be the first time - or presumably the last - that Brian pushed me to do something that might not be the most pleasant thing in the world, something that would keep us apart. But I always knew that he only did what he felt was best for me in the long term. That didn't mean that I didn't miss him desperately as I was making my way through the maze known as Life, however. 

"You know I'm right, Justin.  It's only temporary.  When you look back on this, you will just see it as a brief blip in time." 

"Will I?"  I sat down on my ratty futon, curling my legs under me as I held my cellphone up to my ear.  "Maybe," I reluctantly admitted.  "But right now? It seems like a lifetime." 

"Yeah," Brian replied breathily, his voice just above a whisper.  I thought I could hear distinct longing in his voice, too.  Why did things have to be this way?  Weren't two people in love supposed to be together? 

"Brian?"

"Hmm?" 

"Sometimes I wouldn't mind being a pauper." 

I heard him chuckle slightly; he knew precisely what I was saying, but then again he always did.  "Go to sleep, Sunshine.  And dream of us." 

I smiled, my eyelids feeling very heavy in response to the soothing sound of Brian's voice, and the unspoken love I heard there, loud and clear.  "Night, Brian," I whispered as the phone dropped from my hand onto the mattress.  I found just enough energy to press the disconnect button before I fell asleep right where I sat, my head resting against the wall behind me. 

"Goodnight, Justin." 

One Year from the Day Justin Arrived - New York City

"New York Police are on the scene of a bombing this morning in lower Manhattan.  Reports are still sketchy, but it is believed at least one device was detonated from a remote location nearby.  Witnesses report seeing a dark-colored sedan speeding away from the scene just as the explosion occurred.  We know there are mass fatalities and numerous injuries, but there has been no specific count provided by authorities. A press conference is scheduled in one hour, and we will carry it live." 

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I glanced over at what had been my residence for the past year, making sure I hadn't missed anything that I wanted to take with me.  Not that I had ever really had much of substantial value here; my artwork and supplies had always been what was most precious to me, in addition to a few special photographs of the ones I loved.  Those were the first items I had carefully packed before everything else.

I nodded, satisfied that I had all that I cared to take, before turning to head over toward the door to grab my duffel bag and large, rolling suitcase. I would have to check that one, but my artwork and equipment were already on their way via UPS.  Making sure my key was lying on the tray table where the landlord had instructed me to leave it, I walked over to the door for the last time.  There would be no argument about this decision.  I wouldn't allow it.  I was doing what was best for ME this time.  I was just about to lean down to pick up my duffel bag when my cellphone rang.  Sliding it out of my pocket, I was surprised to see who it was; he had told me that he would be in some extremely high-level meeting this morning when we had spoken last night.  I frowned, thinking how unlike this was for someone as driven and dedicated to his work as he was; my passion for art was only matched by his for advertising.  "Brian?  Everything okay?"

"Fuck it, Justin. Come home."