Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction
“Gus can fall asleep even faster than you can,” Brian grinned.

Justin smiled. “Doesn't it bother him if we keep talking?”

Brian shook his head. “When Gus sleeps, he sleeps mercilessly. Noise doesn’t wake him.”

“I agree with Gus, you know. Showing our work together would be hot!”

Brian smirked. “Can you handle that kind of heat, Sunshine?”

“At least think about it! Really. That would be intense!”

“Tell me how you'd get people to sit for this kind of endeavor.”

Justin shrugged. “Don’t tell them what they’re sitting for.”

“That’s false advertising, Justin. I won’t even contemplate going there.”

“Brian! Think about the impact that kind of exhibition would have!”

“Justin. Think about the consequences that kind of exhibition could have.”

Justin frowned. “What do you mean?”

Brian sighed, and went to the chest, unlocking the top drawer. He pulled out a thick file and sat next to Justin. “Here, take a look.”

Charcoal drawings. Black lines, bleak faces thrown onto paper with certainty and without compassion. Indeed, what Brian saw was what you got.

Justin looked at the gray faces of people he had never met, seized and contained by a man with a sharp eye and an astute hand.

At first, most of the faces were young, and Justin realized these sketches had to be from Brian’s college days. A few were of older men, Brian's professors maybe. Then, a very young Lindsay, vibrant and beautiful, her smile touching you, her twinkling eyes warm. Small wonder Brian had cherished her then. Shane, his physique not quite as developed yet, slender, sleek, his dark eyes alight with laughter. A young woman, who absolutely had to be his sister, her features delicate, her tender smile adorable.

“She’s beautiful,” Justin murmured. “Who is she?”

“Erin, Shane’s sister,” Brian said. His tone warned Justin to steer clear.

A boy, maybe four or five years old. A mischievous smile and laughing eyes. Gus? No, Brian was too neat to get his sketches out of order. Some other kid with the family resemblance, maybe a cousin.

A couple in their forties, probably Shane’s parents. The woman smiled just like Erin, and Justin wondered whether Erin looked like that today. She had to be still pretty. The man was distinguished; Justin imagined silver hair and Shane’s dark eyes behind the wire-rim glasses.

Justin almost dropped the file when he saw the next portraits. Brian's mother.

“Holy shit!”

Brian smirked. “One for the money, two for the show.”

“Fuck,” Justin muttered. He couldn’t even imagine ever drawing his own mother like that. It might have been kinder if Brian had given her horns and fangs. But Brian had simply done her justice, and that was so much worse.

Justin remembered all too well how he had met Joan, when he was wearing nothing but sweatpants and a smile for Brian. Remembered how the woman had had nothing to say to Brian, had only just managed to choke out that what they were doing was a sin and that Brian would go to hell. Remembered how defeated Brian had looked, slumped against the cold metal of his door. Remembered realizing that the damn door was the drawbridge to Brian’s fortress, and that his mere presence had punched a gigantic big hole into Brian’s walls. Remembered how Brian had shrugged it off, as though he was used to this sort of thing.

Looking at those portraits, Justin understood that Brian was indeed used to it. There were maybe ten years between the two renditions. The only change Brian had seen was that the life was slowly draining out of this person.

Gray hair, gray eyes, gray mouth – and words that sounded gray and tasted gray and made you feel gray all over. Had Joan ever had any fun in life? Had she ever felt joy, love, or excitement? Cold eyes, a thin-lipped mouth that sucked the air from you and left you lifeless. All of that, in one accurate portrait.

The second one was just as good. Or just as bad, because Joan still looked malicious.

Next, a woman with untidy hair, blemished skin, unhappy eyes and a mean mouth. She looked so much like Brian’s mother, she just had to be his sister. What was her name again? Clara? Claire? Claire.

A man with a thick neck, his face thrust out at a belligerent angle, eyes that might want to twinkle but narrowed in anger, a vein at his temple that just had to be throbbing, and a mouth that looked like it hissed in resentment. A man who looked like he had wanted much from life, and who clearly felt he had picked up too little. Brian’s father?

A quick glance at Brian's face told him it would be better not to ask. Brian didn’t fit in with that lot, not one bit.

Justin flipped over to the next sketch.

Young Michael. Naive doe-eyes, a foolish grin and the mindless adulation he reserved for Brian alone. Brian had seen all that so many years ago? And kept Michael around?

Emmett, who hadn’t changed all that much. Emmett would look the same in twenty years, and in thirty. Somehow, it was a comforting thought. Brian had managed to capture Emmett’s unique sparkle in the tilt of his head, and the smile on his face.

Ted. Ouch. Had Ted always looked the part of the boring accountant? Even in his younger days, Ted seemed to have lacked initiative and energy. Small wonder Brian usually called him Theodore, god’s gift. Brian’s sarcasm at full force.

Some images later, he met the first charcoal Melanie. What a dyke she had been! Ultra-short spiky hair, no make-up and a guileless gaze. Pretty, vivacious and full of laughter. It would appear life had driven the laughter out of Mel and Linds. But how, and why? And when?

Some more folks he didn’t recognize.

Ryder was next. Justin recalled his face from a company leaflet he had seen. Brian’s cool strokes showed an unimaginative man, a man who hid behind his glasses and, Justin figured, behind unvoiced prejudices. A man who bought other people’s minds and made his money off them. Not a very complimentary portrait.

Cynthia. Justin grinned. Somehow, Brian's sketch managed to convey his own impression of one extremely efficient whirlwind. A woman who got things done.

More people he didn’t know. Tricks? No, Brian hardly ever looked at his tricks that closely. Their faces were unimportant, and Brian wouldn’t remember them long enough to draw them.

Business associates? Members of his team?

Hunter, with all the impudence and self-confidence he possessed. Plus a certain sadness in his eyes that was normally easy to miss. Of course, Brian had spotted it, and, more importantly, had managed to capture it.

A young man, who looked like Brian. Somehow, Justin doubted that Brian ever did self-portraits. The cousin, grown up? A handsome face, a serious mouth that turned up at the corners secretly, the way Brian’s mouth did – as if they weren’t sharing the joke, whatever the joke was. Wide eyes met yours with candor, the face spoke of inner strength, purpose and vigor. Maybe Brian, after all?

Ken and Dave, as though Brian couldn’t see one without the other. The sketch focused on their maturity, their kindness and their composure.

A portrait of Jim, and Justin swallowed. If this was what Jim saw in the mirror, he was a lucky guy. The man’s humanity, charm and good spirits all captured in one gorgeous portrait.

No unkind lights in any of these last portraits, and Justin had to admit he liked these best.

“Fuck, Brian. The old masters would have hated you.”

“Not as much as I hate old,” Brian smirked.

Justin would have liked to ask why these weren’t kept in the studio. Brian always had a reason for everything he did.

“Gus doesn't need to see these,” Brian said softly. “If you’ve looked enough, I’ll put the file back.”

“Not enough,” Justin sighed. “Never enough.”

Brian put the file away, and came back. Justin was relieved Brian settled close to him again.

“Now you know why I don't show them,” Brian said, setting the bowl of strawberries between them and nibbling on one of them.

A small, but visible barrier, Justin thought.

“Some of them are hard-hitting,” Justin conceded. “But it’s a sin to hide them. Brian, you’re fantastic. I’m sure you know that.”

Brian wrinkled his nose. “Don’t mention sin to me.”

“Whatever you want to call it,” Justin said impatiently. “You ought to be out there.”

“I am out,” Brian grinned. “I’ve been out for some twenty years.”

Justin swatted at his arm, he just couldn't help it. “You’re being obstreperous.”

Brian shrugged. “End of discussion.”

“Brian…”

“Stop. I’ll explain, because you’re obviously not getting it. My portraits are like photos. You can take photos of anybody, but if you want to make them public, you need the subject’s permission.”

“Photos, yes. Portraits, no.”

“I wouldn't like it if somebody did it to me, I won’t do it to others.”

Justin frowned. “You didn't like it when I showed your picture at the GLC Art Exhibition?”

“You could’ve asked first,” Brian said.

“To quote Debbie, everybody and the President have seen your ass. What’s the difference?”

Brian stared at him for a long moment; it was a hard, reckoning look. “The difference is, you portrayed me sleeping. Unaware.”

“It was an accurate likeness,” Justin said defensively.

“We won’t mention the slight enhancements,” Brian shot back. “Accuracy wasn't the problem, Justin. You know damn well – and you knew then – that my tricks don’t get to spend the night. I trusted you, and basically, you stole that portrait from me.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“I’ve a right to my own image,” Brian said.

Justin shook his head. “Hell, you’re complicated.”

“Complex,” Brian contradicted. “I’m pretty straightforward, actually.”

“Yeah, you’re so straightforward that everybody else is just going in circles around you. Why didn’t you simply tell me to take it down?”

“I knew you were showing it before I got there,” Brian said. “It was the first time you got to present your work to people who didn’t know you. I wasn't going to spoil that thrill for you; and anyway, I didn't think you'd understand what the problem was. You have a hard time getting it now.”

“Thanks. Just tell me straight out that I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, you’re an asshole,” Brian said, sounding amused.

Annoyed, Justin wanted to scramble to his feet. Brian’s firm grip on his wrist stopped him.

“Don’t always run away when you don’t hear what you want to hear. You said you’d sit it out.”

“I changed my mind,” Justin said.

Brian let go immediately. “You do that a lot,” he commented. “Off you go.”

Justin hesitated. They were not discussing something that had happened more than six years ago, were they? Sighing, he sat back down.

Brian raised that damned, sexy right eyebrow at him. “Changed your mind again?”

“Yeah,” Justin said bitterly, “Assholes do that a lot, didn’t you know?”

Brian bit his lip. “I don’t get you.”

“I don’t get you, does that make us even?”

“No, that makes us complicated.”

Justin snorted a laugh. “Right. Tell me what it is you don’t get, and I’ll try and explain myself.”

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Brian muttered. “You are the one who wants to get inside my head. When I let you in, you’re hurt.”

Justin took a deep breath. Uncommunicative and distant Brian, actually speaking his mind. Wow.

“This shit about the portrait, it makes me wonder about the things you kept to yourself all this time. I mean, I know you weren’t telling me much to start off with, but now I’m beginning to feel you kept all the really important things to yourself.”

Brian shrugged. “That's what I do. What’s the use in talking? Half the time people don’t hear what you're saying.”

“I would’ve heard you.”

“No, Justin. You hardly ever did, even when I was as plain as I could be.”

“Like when?”

“Like when I agreed to stick to your rules. For me, that was a commitment. For you, it was a method of controlling me.”

“You had the same control over me,” Justin disagreed.

Brian raised both eyebrows. “That’s another lie. If you really want to talk, at least show me the courtesy of being honest. Otherwise I don’t see the fucking point.”

“But you did have that control,” Justin said, frowning.

“No. You had control, because I agreed to the rules. You had little intention of applying them to yourself.”

“That’s so not true,” Justin said heatedly. “Of course I did!”

Taking a deep breath, Brian replied, “Did not. If you had taken the rules seriously, it would have taken you longer to break them.”

Justin frowned. “You're saying I would’ve broken the rules, either way.”

“Justin. You were, what? Eighteen? Of course you were going to break them.”

“Nineteen,” Justin said. “I was nineteen. You must’ve broken the rules, a couple of times.”

Brian shook his head, biting his lower lip. “That was your excuse? I hate to disappoint. I didn’t break your rules. Not until you walked out with Ian, and it was clear you weren’t coming back.”

“Ethan,” Justin corrected automatically. “Did you draw that picture of Rage on your Harley?”

“When did you see the Harley,” Brian asked, surprised.

“It was parked on Liberty when I got into town,” Justin said. “I couldn't remember that sketch, and now I’m sure I didn't do it.”

Brian shrugged. “You didn't. I did.”

“He looks like Rage, and yet, he doesn't.”

“Your point?”

“I don’t know what my point is,” Justin said, exasperated.

“Need help,” Brian asked, amused.

“I guess I do,” Justin admitted.

“I meant what I said to Gus. I sketch what I see. You draw what you feel.”

“So Rage is a self-portrait?”

“That’s Rage. How can it be a self-portrait?”

“Rage is you.”

Brian didn't budge, and yet, Justin had the feeling Brian had moved away from him.

“Is that why you pissed on those prints? Because you were upset we were using your face?”

“No. I was pissed at you for standing me up at Babylon, for messing up the loft and above all, for letting Michael sleep on my bed. He knows damn well he’s not wanted there, and first chance he gets, he crawls in. With you, to top it all off. You guys were lucky I didn't piss on you!”

Justin grinned. “That would’ve spoiled the duvet for sure.”

“Exactly.”

“You were jealous.”

Brian shrugged. “I told you I was. You heard what you wanted to hear.”

“Meaning?”

“I was jealous of Rage,” Brian sighed. “I knew you were leaving me.”

Justin shook his head. “I hadn’t even met Ethan yet.”

Brian rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Cautiously, Justin prodded him with his foot. “Say it already.”

“I keep saying it. You don’t hear it.”

“Spell it out for me. You know I’m stupid,” Justin sighed.

“You’re young,” Brian corrected. “I told you, you draw what you feel. Do your own thinking, don’t be so lazy.”

“You already have the solution. Just tell me!” Justin was really getting impatient now.

“Fuck, Justin. You want me to chew your food for you, too?”

“Eew,” Justin shook himself. “Gross!”

“Chewing food for thought is just as gross,” Brian said.

“Fine,” Justin threw up his hands. “Give me a minute.”

He half expected Brian to say he’d need an hour.

So. They had created Rage, who was a fucking super-hero. Brains, courage, strength – Brian. What was wrong with that?

“Drawing a blank,” Brian asked after a while.

Justin rolled his eyes at the pun. “Yes. I still like Rage. I mean, he's a super-hero. And you're our model. What’s your problem?”

Brian shrugged. “Blinded by the light, kiddo. Why did you guys need a fantasy hero all of a sudden?”

“We didn't need Rage. We wanted him.”

Brian groaned. “Justin. Another minute of this, and I’ll end up bashing my head against the wall. You created Rage with Michael because you could handle Rage when you couldn’t handle me; and because you could use Rage to tell me what you wanted from me.”

“Ouch,” Justin said. “I can see why you’d think that, but we weren’t planning it.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “I know.”

“Is that why you didn't like the sketch I did for Gus? Because you thought I was trying to tell you something? I wasn’t, you know. Gus wanted that motif.”

“Right. I’ll spell it out for you, Justin. This once. Rage is a fantasy. Something you created for yourself, and for Michael. As time went on, Rage had less and less to do with me, your so-called model. Ben was correct in his assessment, I think – the comics weren’t about Rage. In the end, they were about Zephyr and JT. When you look at me, do you see Rage?”

Justin hesitated. “I guess I must do, a bit.”

Brian nodded, as though he had expected that reply. “The sketch you did for Gus got to me, because you did it without thinking. You simply drew your dream. When I offered you the reality, you didn’t want it.”

That was brutal. Justin swallowed.

Weakly, he said, “Rage is great. We wanted you to like him.”

“I can’t stand the jerk. In the first issue, he kills the guys who attacked JT; by fucking with their minds, no less. Rage becomes more violent with every issue, and he ends up fighting your internal battles, and Michael’s. You never resolve those issues, though.”

“But he’s strong, and compassionate,” Justin tried to defend his hero.

“Strong? What’s strong about executing somebody by making them believe they are what they hate? I suppose you were flipping Chris Hobbs the bird with that one, and your father. It's still wrong. Compassion? Rage has no compassion, Justin, and that's not just because Michael is a lousy writer. Rage manipulates the world until it fits his requirements, instead of coping with reality. He does what you and Michael would like to be able to do.”

“I’m okay with reality.”

“You're not. First, you tell me you know what to expect from me. Next thing I know, you’re trying to make me an Ersatz-hetero. How is that being okay with reality?”

Reluctantly, Justin acknowledged, “You’ve got a point. That wasn’t fair.”

Brian shook his head. “What wasn't fair was that you were having that discussion with me while your bags were already packed.”

“I was pretty certain you weren’t willing to go there, but I had to try.”

“Instead of being okay with reality and telling me straight out that you were leaving.”

Justin shrugged. “I wanted to give you a chance.”

“Is that what you think, Justin? That you were giving me a chance? You never did, not once. From the beginning, you wanted what you thought I should be. You never even got to know me.”

Justin swallowed. “That’s not true. I know you.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “What do you know that other people don’t know?”

“I don’t know what other people don’t know.”

“That's what I’m thinking.”

Sighing, Justin said, “I meant, I have no idea what Shane knows about you, or Judson, or Debbie.”

“I know what you meant, but it came out right. As far as I’m aware, you don’t know a thing about me somebody else doesn't also know. And when I entrusted you with a secret, you gave it away.”

Ouch. Yes. Justin hastily pushed the thought away. “And you’re saying Shane knows something about you that you didn’t share with anybody else?”

“He does. Gus does. Even your mother knows something you never found out.”

“And you're saying that's because I didn’t want to find out?”

Brian shrugged. “You were too busy altering reality.”

“That hurts,” Justin admitted. “Why have me back, when you think I’m not able to understand you?”

“I thought you were unwilling, not unable. I hoped that would change with time.”

“But you need to be a bit blind to reality. You can’t love somebody when you can see through them.”

Brian gave him that look. The supremely superior look that was usually reserved for Ted or Michael, when they said something incredibly stupid.

“You’re younger than I thought,” Brian said, sounding disappointed. “If you love somebody, you don't mind the flaws.”

Justin sighed, trying to understand what Brian was saying. There was something he wasn’t saying, wasn't there?

“You tried to change me, Brian.”

Brian shook his head. “I may have tried to change your opinions, but I didn’t want you to change.”

“You kept telling me to put up with the things you did.”

“I’m twelve years older than you are, Justin. I have habits that I’m comfortable with. What I wanted from you wasn’t change. I wanted you to see my reality, and decide whether you could live with it. Instead, you kept running away when things became difficult.”

“You didn't stop me.”

“No,” Brian sighed. “Never hold up a traveler.”

“You knew I was wrong. You should’ve stopped me.”

“Stopping you would not have stopped the inevitable. I could have seduced you into staying for another week, or another month. Maybe a year. But eventually, you would have left.”

“We were going to get married. You had a right to stop me then.”

Brian smiled, a sad little smile. When had he seen him smile like that? In the diner, the morning after the King of Babylon contest. A smile that had meant nothing to him then, and now told him he had overshot the mark.

“I tried. I changed. You didn't like the change.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know what it means to you,” Brian shrugged. “To me, it meant you wanted out, period.”

“You encouraged me to go.”

“This is going nowhere real fast,” Brian rubbed his temples.

Justin sighed. “Am I understanding this correctly? You're not willing to change, because you believe it doesn't make a difference. That means I have to change, right?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “If you consider making up your mind and sticking by your decisions changing, then yes, you need to change. Don’t do it for me, or because you hope to get me back. Do it for yourself.”

“Is that what you expect from Gus, at his age? To know his own mind?”

“What does age have to do with it? If you have a brain, you may as well use it.”

“You do agree with something Rage does, then. He changes people.”

“I am not changing anybody,” Brian said, taking a deep breath. “I encourage you to use your head for something other than letting your hair grow.”

“That’s what Rage does. He makes people change their mind.”

“Justin! Rage doesn't change people’s opinions by talking to them; instead, he muddles their mind and ultimately, murders them.”

“But they’re evil. They deserve to die.”

“Listen to yourself, Justin. Do you believe that, deep down?”

Justin thought for a moment. “I guess I do.”

“How come Chris Hobbs is still alive, then? Why didn’t you pull the trigger? Weren’t you ‘ready for a little guilt to tarnish your shiny armor’?”

Fuck. He had entirely forgotten the reason why Brian hated noise. That exceptional hearing of his. You’d think with all the loud music Brian listened to, his hearing would have become impaired. Clearly, it hadn't happened yet. Had Brian heard the rest of his conversation with Shane?

“You weren’t supposed to overhear that,” Justin mumbled.

Brian snorted a laugh. “I have to give you credit for cottoning on so quickly. Judson hasn’t, yet.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me you sketched?”

Brian shrugged. “At the time, only the Sheas knew that I do. Lindsay sort of conveniently forgot. I had no intention of keeping you around, Justin. I wanted you in my bed, not in my life. I still can't figure out how you managed to hold on for so long.”

Fuck. Even now, after all this time, it stung when Brian said things like that.

“But I did, and still you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t realize there was no getting rid of you until the prom. Then, I couldn't tell you.”

No, of course not.

Not Brian.

Brian, who knew how much his art meant to him. Brian, who understood that it wasn't just a matter of switching to his left hand. Brian, the only person who knew the moment the cramps set in and who spent countless hours massaging his gimp hand. Brian, who encouraged him, but never pacified him.

Justin nodded. “I get that. But Rage - you were praising that first issue. Were you lying?”

Brian grimaced. “Fuck, you’d remember that. I always praise Michael; I used to praise him for getting fucking Cs in High School. I commend him for trying. And your drawings are good.”

“You mean that? My drawings are good?”

“I just know that’s a leading question. Yes, Justin. I mean it.”

Justin smiled. “Sketch something with me?”

“Where’s this going,” Brian frowned.

“Dense doesn't look as good on you as Gucci does,” Justin grinned.

Brian sighed, laying his exasperation on thick. “Not a competition, Justin.”

“Not a competition,” Justin confirmed, certain that he was beaming much like Gus.

“Then what?”

“I just want to do something we haven't done before.” Justin shrugged.

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Motif?”

“A portrait. How about… Debbie?”

“Debbie? I hope Gus brought enough reds,” Brian scoffed. “Fine. A portrait of Debbie, in fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Justin squealed. “No way. I need half an hour, at least.”

“How’s your hand holding up? You’ve done quite a bit of work today already.”

Justin shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve had breaks in between. Another half hour won’t make much difference, and then I’ll rest ready for tomorrow when I start on the orchids. Okay?”

“Okay. No more sketching today, promise?”

“I promise,” Justin sighed, hoping he sounded long-suffering, rather than grateful. He was grateful. Grateful that they were able to have a discussion that didn't dissolve into an argument. Grateful that Brian cared. Grateful to have Brian all to himself for a while.

Justin moved until he was facing Brian, grabbed his messenger bag and pulled out his sketch-pad and pencils. He kept digging, certain that he had some charcoal in here somewhere…

“Need GPS,” Brian asked, amused.

“I wanted to give you my charcoals, but I can’t find them.”

“We should use the same medium if you want to compare the portraits,” Brian said reasonably, reaching for his son’s sketch-pad. “I know you don’t like charcoals, I can use pencils.”

“Cool,” Justin smiled and set out the pencils between them. He looked at his watch. “Half an hour?”

“Thirty minutes,” Brian grinned.

“Okay, go.”

Justin set to work, trying to get into that space in his head where he could sketch without thinking. Did Brian ever do anything without his mind going full blast? Certainly not sketching. Every line in his pictures spoke of awareness.

He stole a quick glance over at Brian, who seemed focused on his work. Brian could become engrossed in what he was doing within seconds. Had concentration always been this easy for him, or had he trained himself somehow?

Suddenly, Justin wanted to know more about the young Brian. What had Brian been like at fourteen? At twenty? Even at twenty-five?

Shane. Shane had those answers. But would Shane be willing to share?

Don’t, he told himself. You need to concentrate if you want to match Brian’s standard.

Debbie’s face. Cheerful. Bubbly. Sharp eyes. Large hair, large mouth. Debbie was large. Maybe a little too large?

“Tick, tick, tick, pencils down,” Brian said softly. “Time’s up.”

Justin glanced at his watch. He was aware Brian had stopped working ages ago. Indeed, time was up. Had been up for five minutes, actually. He wasn’t quite satisfied, he hadn’t had time to soften that line, highlight that feature… it would have to do.

He grinned at Brian, who raised an eyebrow in response. “Showtime, Sunshine.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Brian groaned at the lame quip, but handed over his sketch.

Justin put the portraits next to each other, keeping Brian’s close. And stared. That was Debbie all right. Debbie without the wig, and without all the make-up. Debbie without the mask. Terrifying.

Carl had guts, Justin thought. There was no way he wanted to wake up next to that cunning face in the morning. There was no way he’d go to sleep with that person in his bed.

Shrewd eyes, and a glare that looked icy with no eyeliner and no mascara to soften it. Pale skin, ashen hair. A mouth that seemed sunken without lipstick, and the corners drooped. A face that looked vicious and resentful.

It wasn’t even that Brian didn't like Debbie. Was that the face Brian saw when Debbie looked at him? As though Debbie didn't like Brian. And that wasn't true, was it?

“But Debbie likes you,” Justin said, astonished how helpless he sounded.

Brian stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. “Not that it matters, but what makes you think Debbie likes me?”

Bewildered, Justin stared back.

Christ, Brian had gorgeous eyes. All that green and brown and gold… like a summer meadow early in the morning. You could get lost in those eyes.

Brian blinked and leaned back on his elbows. “What are you looking at?”

Justin shook himself. Fuck, what was he thinking?

“Erm. I was trying to figure out why you think Debbie doesn't like you.”

“She likes me as much as she’d like a wart on her nose,” Brian said calmly. “I happen to know. So, how come you think she likes me?”

“She’s nice to you,” Justin said feebly.

“When it suits her,” Brian shot back. “When she wants to get me to do something. I’ll make it easy for you. Name one nice thing Debbie has done for me.”

Justin thought fervently. Brian had a point.

Debbie yelled at Brian whenever she felt he deserved it. And she seemed to think he deserved it most of the time. After the little fiasco with the unlocked loft and the stolen credit card she had taken him in, and let him work at the diner. But that hadn't been for Brian, that had been for him. She told Brian to let go of Michael, and when he did, she shrieked at him.

Oh yes, he had overheard their little talk the morning after Michael’s birthday party. Debbie had thanked Brian, in a roundabout way. At the same time, she had criticized him. He had done what she wanted, but not how she wanted it. And that farewell kiss? More like a consolation prize, Justin realized. You’ve been a fairly good boy, so I’ll like you. For a little while.

Fuck. Jim had been right last night. Whatever Brian did, he couldn’t win Debbie’s approval. Whatever happened, she thought it was Brian’s fault. She had Brian pegged for an asshole, and that was that. Yet, she expected him to clean up after everybody. He even had had to solve that murder case for her. Funny, that. Why had Brian done what should’ve been Carl’s job?

Brian really was the Pittsburgh version of Rage – heartless ad exec by day, defender of queers by night. Justin suppressed his smirk, aware that it wouldn't go down well.

“Accept it. She doesn’t like me, Justin,” Brian said coolly.

Justin sighed. “Are those the faces you see when you look at people?”

“You have trouble looking behind the masks. I have to concentrate to see what the mask looks like.”

How odd, just what he had been thinking. Less concisely, of course.

“Are you saying everybody wears masks?”

“Are you saying they don’t?”

“What’s your mask,” Justin asked, unable to stop himself.

Brian exhaled. “You get to guess.”

Ad exec? Heartless shit? Liberty Avenue’s own Casanova? Label queen?

None of these, Justin decided. In order for the mask to be effective, you have to wear it all the time. Which was why Debbie had slapped her wig back on even before getting to her feet when she had collapsed in the diner that time.

“There is no mask,” Justin said softly.

Brian remained silent.

After a while, Justin said, “I know there isn’t, Brian. Your mask is that everybody thinks you’ve got one.”

“Very good, Sunshine. What you see is what gets you,” Brian snorted.

Justin thought for a moment. Did he really want to continue with this conversation? On the other hand, this was a unique chance. It was unlikely that Brian would be this open again any time soon.

“Why have you invited all and sundry?”

Brian shrugged. “Time to pick over.”

“So, you’re getting rid of Ted?”

Brian grimaced. “First.”

Justin grinned. “You’d think by now he’d know not to bite the hand that feeds him. Emmett?”

“I’m fond of Emmett,” Brian admitted with visible reluctance. “But he's a little scared of me. I think he’s going to stick with Ted and Michael.”

“Michael!” Justin whispered. “You don’t want Michael?”

“No,” Brian said firmly. “I don't want Michael. He can thank Debbie for that.”

“You’ve put up with Debbie all this time,” Justin said hesitantly.

“She’s been putting up with me,” Brian said. “For Michael. I told her years ago she is the one who needs to let Michael go. She’s got enough personality for two people; so much that Michael never got a chance to develop his own. We have nothing in common anymore.”

“You’ve been friends for years,” Justin said, shocked.

“Those High School memories and re-enactments of Captain Astro number 276 have become a little stale,” Brian replied. “Especially as Michael’s memories are selective. I’m bored out of my mind when I’m with Ted and Michael. There are quicker ways to die.”

Justin shook his head. “So, that’s Debbie, Ted, Emmett and Michael gone. Who else?”

“Lindsay,” Brian added.

Justin shot a glance at Gus, who was still sleeping sweetly, his thumb in his mouth.

“Not Gus, ever,” Brian said. “He’s mine.”

“I would’ve thought you'd get rid of Mel,” Justin marveled. “Why Linds?”

Brian shrugged. “I suppose you’ll find out, but you won’t find out from me.”

“Phew. Anybody else?”

Brian laughed at him. “Subtle, Justin. Do your own thinking. What do you suppose?”

Justin sighed, looking back at Debbie’s portrait so that Brian wouldn't see his eyes were damp.

Fuck. Why would Brian want him around? He was even more of a loser than Michael. The way this conversation had been going… And on Friday night, Brian had already said he didn't want him anymore.

A rustle, a movement and suddenly, Brian was holding him close. “Fool,” Brian murmured gently, his warm breath tickling his skin.

Justin took a deep breath, thankful beyond words.

They ended up stretched out on the floor, and Justin felt a lot of his anxiety slip away. He always felt safe in Brian’s arms.

It was familiar, and comforting – his head on Brian’s shoulder, one arm around his waist. Brian's arm circling him, the other hand gently combing into his hair. Shit, he could stay here forever, and never move again.

His restless mind wouldn’t allow it, though. “Did you ever sketch me?”

“Forget it,” Brian said. “No way.”

“Why not?”

He felt Brian shrug. “Because.”

“Because they’re horribly unflattering portraits,” Justin grinned. “Without my cute mask and nice ass, I’m nothing.”

Brian sighed. “Do you ever stop fishing?”

“I’m not fishing. I’m curious.”

“You know what they say about curiosity and cats.”

“I’m no cat.”

“And I’m not about to satisfy your curiosity,” Brian warned.

“Why?”

“Back off.” Now Brian sounded really stern.

Justin tightened his hold, certain that Brian was about to move away. “Doesn’t it bother you to see people like that?”

“Yeah,” Brian snorted. “Reality is a serious bother. You know what to expect.”

“Are you sure that’s the reality?”

“It’s my reality,” Brian said. “I know yours doesn't look like that.”

“It doesn’t? Why not?”

“You like your rose-tinted glasses,” Brian said.

“Didn't you ever wear those?”

He felt Brian shrug again. “I guess everyone does. I don’t remember anymore.”

“You say that about things that happened when you were around fourteen,” Justin murmured. “Did you start seeing people without their mask that early?”

Brian was quiet for a long time, and Justin was already sure he’d get no answer. But finally, Brian said, “It was around then that I realized everybody was a ‘Great Pretender’.”

Fuck. Justin tried to imagine what that must have been like. To see your parents for what they are, and know that you’re stuck with them for at least another four years. What if he had seen Craig for what he was – a homophobic, mean, lame-ass shit? Those father-son days would have been a lot less fun. What if he had seen that his mother was unhappy and discontent? What else could he have seen, and hadn’t?

“Don’t go there, Justin,” Brian murmured. “It wouldn't have changed a thing for you.”

“What did it change for you?”

“I didn’t fall in love with an older man. I knew they wanted me only for my body. I make my own decisions and act on them, because I know I’m the only one I can rely on. I’ve been able to keep most people at arm’s length, because I know that if I don't, sooner or later they’ll kick me in the teeth.”

“Christ, Brian. Is there nothing you believe in?”

“Of course there is,” Brian scoffed. “I believe in myself.”

Justin drew a deep breath. “What about love? You have to believe in love.”

Silence. Then, evenly, “Love is for dreamers, and I’d rather be awake and fucking.”

“But…”

“No but, Justin.”

Don't think, Justin told himself. Just settle down and soak it in. Stay close to him, and keep your big mouth shut. Right now, he doesn't need shit from you. He wants to hold you, so let him. Close your eyes, and pretend you're not even here. You're just a blanket. Give him your warmth, and for once, don’t take anything in return.

After a while, he felt Brian’s tension drain away, and soon, deep, regular breaths told him Brian had fallen asleep.

Justin shifted so that he could hold Brian, remembering how often he had used to do that – wait until Brian was asleep and then draw him into a stolen embrace. Usually, he was careful to let go just before the alarm went off. Still, Brian had never complained on those occasions when he woke up early to find himself in his arms. He had just gently disentangled himself and vanished into the bathroom.

Briefly, Justin wondered whether anybody would miss them. Then again, Gus had said Judson was used to this sort of thing. The room was warm, and cozy. Sunlight poured through the window, dancing on the leaves of the plant on the window-sill. Outside, bees buzzed in the flower beds. It was so peaceful here…

Brian and Gus were fast asleep, and slowly, Justin gave in to temptation and let himself go.
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