Near the Chalet, Wednesday night, 11:30 p.m…

Brian can’t think, except to acknowledge that he needs to find Justin, having lost track of him minutes ago. He stumbles into the woods, fighting to force air into his lungs, haunted by Justin’s gaze when he pushed him away, by the way he pronounced his name as he understood who Liam Byron really was.

Using the light from his phone to guide his steps, Brian tries to discern his surroundings and stops in the middle of a narrow track. He has no idea where Justin has gone, but it can’t be that far since it’s darker in that direction and therefore harder to find his way. All Brian can see are trees and bushes, however. He attempts to calm himself so he can listen for any sign indicating the blond’s location, but he hears nothing, so he resumes his search.

He refuses to think about what it all means. The pressure in his chest is already unbearable enough. Brian has no control over what will happen, not to mention that the FBI is going to have his ass for inadvertently revealing who he is. Although Brian knows, deep down, that a part of him wanted Justin to know the truth, or he would never have kissed him. But he can’t help but wonder what the fuck he really hoped to accomplish, risking everything for a brief reminiscence of his past.

Of course, Justin has always been able to make him do things he’d never considered before. That’s why he’s combing the woods at almost three a.m., more than an hour after Justin disappeared. He’s worried that, considering the state Justin is in, being out there could be dangerous. But he also knows Justin doesn’t want to be found and decides to momentarily give up the search, hoping his former lover will eventually agree to talk to him.

When he arrives at the chalet, the rental is still in the same spot. Brian sits on the swing bench and waits, hoping for a miracle.

***

Justin hasn’t moved for the past couple of hours. At first, he wanted to scream, but he was too afraid Brian would hear him. Now, he is in some kind of trance, has been for a while. He can’t move, can’t stand up, so he stays here, leaning against a tree and waiting.

It’s unreal. Every time he thinks, ‘Brian is alive’, his eyes moisten. He’s not sure of the reason, if it’s the lie, the overwhelming sense of deceit, or this hint of joy he doesn’t know what to do with. He’s missed Brian so much. He grieved for him for years, and what he feels now that he knows Brian was alive the whole time is killing him. The mere thought of facing Liam - Brian - petrifies him. He doesn’t know if he will yell or cry or hug him or not say anything at all and leave.

Justin exhales deeply and looks up, tears running down his face. He can barely discern the branches against the night sky. His body is shaking from the cold or shock, maybe both. A cry echoes through the woods, probably from an animal, but Justin doesn’t react to it. He swallows and closes his eyes, shaking his head in an effort to get rid of these overpowering feelings. In the end, he can’t, so he sobs some more.

He loses track of time. When he stops crying and gazes upward again, he realizes the sky is getting lighter. Sunrise must be close, which means he’s been sitting here for hours. He doesn’t want to move, but he can’t stay here forever, and no matter how mad he is at Brian, he also knows the brunet must be worried sick about him by now. So, he slowly gets up, brushing debris off of his pants. Looking around, he realizes that in his haste to put as much distance between himself and Brian as possible, he didn’t pay attention to the surroundings and therefore doesn’t know where he is.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he begins to walk, assuming if he finds the lake he will be able to locate the chalet.

He wanders around before fortuitously encountering the path to the lake. He keeps walking as the sun begins to rise. When he reaches the chalet, he sees him immediately, sitting outside. No matter how hard he tries not to cry again, he can’t stop the tears, but he barely feels them running down his face as he moves toward Brian. He halts in front of the porch, the brunet looking down at him.

Justin comes closer as Brian stands up. It’s obvious the brunet is as much as an emotional mess as he is and doesn’t know what to do or say. Justin keeps gazing at his face, trying to understand why he didn’t recognize him, although he realizes that on some level he did, even if his mind refused to believe it. Moreover, Brian has done a great job disguising his appearance. Those eyeglasses, coupled with the beard and the Aston cap, have completely transformed him.

Justin removes Brian’s cap, placing it on the bench. He then takes the glasses off of the brunet’s face, his heart missing a beat as he finally sees Brian’s eyes and notices they're a different color thanks to the contacts he’s using.

Gazing at the turmoil in those black eyes, he steps closer. He raises his hand, touching Brian’s face. The brunet closes his eyes as he does, and before he realizes what he’s doing, Justin envelops Brian in his arms.

Brian shivers. They don’t talk, since Justin doesn’t want to, not yet. He knows when they do, it’s going to be ugly. For now, he just needs to be with Brian for a while. The shock of knowing he’s alive is beginning to wear off, yet it’s impossible to describe how he feels as he holds him. He has prayed for this moment countless times, knowing it would never happen. And now that it has, he may be beyond grateful, but he is also incredibly angry.

Thus, when he steps back and breaks their embrace, his voice immediately takes on a cold edge. “How could you?” he whispers harshly. While one part of him may not care that the last six years were a lie if it means Brian is alive, another part of him hates the brunet for it, and for letting everyone endure the ordeal of his death. “How could you let your friends and family think you were dead?”

Brian doesn’t respond, averting his eyes.

“Answer me,” Justin demands. When Brian keeps ignoring his question, he pushes him backward and snarls, “Fucking answer me!”

“Don’t,” Brian warns, managing to hold still. “I can explain, I just…”

“You just what? Accidently forgot to tell us you were alive? What?” Justin snaps.

“It’s complicated, okay?” Brian retorts.

“Oh, no, you don’t…” Justin barks derisively. “People only use that one when they are too chicken shit to tell the truth.”

“You don’t know anything!” Brian suddenly yells.

“So tell me!” Justin exclaims, although as he hears his own voice, he realizes how tired he is. He can’t handle another lie, but even more, he worries that he might not be able to bear the truth. It’s impossible to believe that Brian had one good reason to fake his death.

Brian sighs. “Sit down,” he commands, waiting for Justin to comply. When the blond hesitates, Brian insists, “Please.”

Justin holds the brunet’s gaze for a few seconds, but finally takes a seat on the bench.

“I’m going to make coffee. If you want to hear the whole story, we’re going to need it.” Brian informs him.

“You won’t lie this time?” Justin can’t help but question.

Brian stills in the door frame. After a few seconds, he replies, “I never lied to you.”

Justin stares at Brian, shaking his head. “You have some fucking nerve to-”

“Justin,” Brian cuts him off firmly. “I’m going to tell you everything. If you still feel like I’m a lying piece of shit afterward, then you can spit in my face. But do me a favor. Stop judging me before I’ve explained.”

Something in the brunet’s voice stops Justin from protesting.

***

Brian retrieves two cups from a cabinet and pours hot coffee into them. He makes his way back to Justin and sits next to him, handing him a cup. Justin accepts it, wrapping his hands around the mug to warm them.

“You’re cold?” Brian asks. It’s barely five-fifty in the morning, and even though the air is fairly mild, Justin is shaking.

“No,” Justin denies.

Brian frowns. He stands up before Justin can protest, disappearing inside the house and returning a few seconds later with a large blanket, which he carefully places around Justin’s shoulders.

Justin tenses but swaddles himself in the warm cover.

Brian picks up his cup of coffee, taking a sip. He can’t believe he’s going to tell Justin everything. Hell, he’s having a hard time processing that Justin knows he used to be Brian Kinney.

“I’m not sure where to start.” Brian whispers, breaking the deafening silence.

“Maybe start with your supposed death?” Justin interjects sardonically. “Since, obviously, you weren’t murdered like we’ve all thought for six years.”

“Obviously,” Brian echoes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to be involved in this mess.”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Justin snorts. “Although I’m still wondering why you risked talking to me in the first place. I assume I wasn’t supposed to know you’re alive, was I?”

Brian doesn’t respond to Justin’s assumption, letting the blond know he’s right. Truthfully, he should have kept his distance and refused his request to learn more about photography. At the time, Brian convinced himself he was doing it so he’d know why Justin was in Lakevallée, but that’s bullshit.

Something must show on his face, because Justin doesn’t push the matter. In fact, the blond reaches out and covers his hand briefly, before letting go as if realizing what he's just done. The gesture shakes Brian. Justin has always been able to read him better than anyone else, but knowing he still does is both comforting and disturbing, especially considering how angry the blond is.

“Let’s start with the very beginning, six years ago,” Brian says, clearing his throat, “when I saw something that I shouldn’t have and was left to die in a parking garage.”

“You mean… you really were shot?” Justin inquires in astonishment, having probably thought that Brian had orchestrated his death.

“I was,” Brian confirms quietly. “I woke up more than two years later, to a world where everybody I knew thought I was dead.”

“What do you mean you-” Justin begins, but the brunet cuts him off.

“Justin,” Brian urges, “if you want to hear my story, stop interrupting.”

The truth is, relating all that happened to him is fucking hard. He’s had nightmares for years now, and he’s never talked about it with anyone, except Carl. And even then, he’s never been able to tell the whole truth.

“I was shot in the parking garage at the precinct, the night I went to provide a statement against a guy named Harry Malone for being involved in the murder of the hustler Debbie found in the dumpster.”

“Jason Kemp?” Justin asks.

Brian nods. “That guy, Malone, told Stockwell to off Kemp. He was the largest contributor to Jim’s campaign, and still is one of the most influential motherfuckers in the Pitts, with connections all over the country. He is a criminal, a trafficker in stolen art, and... a murderer.”

“He… he tried to kill you?” Justin deduces, obviously shaken.

“He did,” Brian looks down at his hands. “I would have died, if Detective Horvath and Agent Bennett hadn’t found me so quickly.”

“But they said your body was found in an alley.” Justin mutters.

“It was a lie,” Brian denies, “to protect me. Horvath and Bennett discovered evidence that Malone had threatened to kill the people I cared about if I didn’t die.”

“What do you mean?” Justin interrogates agitatedly. “You mean it was you or… everyone else?”

“Apparently.” Brian responds. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember what happened?” Justin seems more and more surprised.

“No. That night is a complete blank for me.” Brian affirms in a low voice, before explaining, “But since being alive meant that you were all in danger, Horvath and Bennett decided to contact the U.S. Marshals service. They advised them to tell everyone that I had died, so whoever tried to kill me wouldn’t finish the job. It was unlikely I would survive anyway. The bullet fractured my skull and caused a massive hemorrhage, even though the shooter’s aim was off.” Brian pauses, allowing Justin to process all this information. When the blond doesn’t say anything for a bit too long, Brian quips, “Your tongue missing?”

“I… can’t believe you really were shot,” Justin utters in shock, the brunet hearing the unmistakable edge in his voice.

Brian impulsively reaches for the blond’s leg and squeezes it in reassurance, as he reminds him, “Hey... I’m okay.”

“I know,” Justin whispers, gazing up at Brian. Their eyes lock for a few seconds, before Brian eventually withdraws his hand, as the blond encourages, “Tell me more about… shit.” He curses, having a hard time processing what has happened to Brian as he repeats incredulously, “You were in a coma for two years?”

“Yes… waking up after so long is quite an unpleasant experience, not to mention that rehab is fucking hell. I may be lucky the bullet didn’t kill me, but the damage it caused was… quite hard to overcome.” Brian divulges. “As for discovering that everyone in your life thinks you’re dead, well…”

“How did you deal with…I mean, when you woke up…” Justin stammers, obviously trying to understand what Brian must have felt back then, although he doesn't know how to formulate his question.

“My brain was damaged, which in this case was a blessing,” Brian volunteers. “I couldn’t really think normally and was just fighting to get through one day at a time. It took me months to recover, to regain the power of speech, to dress myself, to eat on my own, to walk, to fully understand the extent of what had happened to me.” Brian remembers, knowing he’s come a long way since then. “For months, I didn’t realize my previous life was over. You’d be surprised what the brain is capable of doing to protect itself.”

Justin tenses next to Brian.

“Brian Kinney is really dead you know,” the brunet enunciates.

The doctors had explained that considering the severity of his brain injury, he would most likely never be the man he once was. And the truth is, Brian believes they were right. He acts differently since that time, which is probably why Justin didn't recognize him. Of course, hiding from a psychopath hasn’t helped him reconnect with the person he once was either.

Justin ignores his statement and asks, “I still don’t get why you stayed away. Why come up with a new identity in Lakevallée?”

“Because,” Brian replies, “for one, I was officially dead. Two, Malone is a fucking murderer, but he’s also smart. The FBI has been tracking him for years, but they still don’t have any evidence that would lead to his conviction. And unfortunately, my testimony regarding Jason Kemp’s murder is useless, even more so now that Stockwell is dead and can’t verify my statement.”

Justin frowns, “Why would Malone have you shot if it wasn't enough to convict him then?”

“I don’t know. He probably thought I had more information than I really had. Or maybe he wanted me dead because I talked to the police in the first place. Who knows with a psycho like him?” Brian asserts. “Both the FBI and the US Marshals service are convinced if he knew I’m alive, he would still have me hunted down and killed. Because of course, the guy can’t stand to lose.”

“So you hid here for all these years, waiting for the day he’d be arrested.” Justin discerns.

“I entered the witness protection program.” Brian clarifies. “I became Liam Byron, a photographer in Lakevallée, officially raised as an only child in New York, and whose parents died in a car accident when he was younger. Well, that’s the story I’m supposed to relate if asked.”

“But…” Justin stammers, “it’s not true. Your mother…” his voice trails off. Gazing up at Brian in shock, Justin whispers, “Joan? She… she died?”

Brian gazes at Justin and nods.

***

Knowing all that Brian has been through is making Justin sick. He would be lying if he were to say he’s forgiven him for staying away for so long, but the blond’s anger is dwindling, now replaced by a deep feeling of unfairness. If he could, he would tell Brian that everything is going to be okay. He so badly wants to kill the motherfucker responsible for their ordeal, never once having thought he could loathe a man like he does Malone. Not even Chris Hobbs succeeded in eliciting such hatred from him.

He hates himself, too. He can’t help it, even though it’s an irrational feeling. He knows he isn’t to blame, but his head can’t overrule his emotions, and his heart is yelling at him for giving up on Brian all those years ago. Listening to him telling his story feels like a punishment, but most of all, looking at the brunet’s face as he claims Brian Kinney is dead is like a punch to the gut.

Justin questions if Brian is right, if the man he knew survived - knowing firsthand how a damaged brain can change you, not necessarily for the better. When Justin was attacked, he became sullen, hesitant, and needy. To this day, he’s still pretty sure he wouldn’t have left Brian if not for the bashing. The physical injuries weren’t the only factor that made him lose his self-esteem, his confidence. The knowledge that a man wanted him dead caused as much damage, if not more.

In Brian’s case, it’s even worse. Not only did he suffer a trauma from which he barely recovered, but he went through it all alone, with no one to help him. He lost everything, every person who mattered to him, his job, his friends.

And now his mother is dead. Sure, she was a cold, pathetic bitch, but she was his mom. Between her passing and the fact that he had to pretend not to know Justin, it’s no wonder Brian yelled and threw him out the day before.

“You want to talk about it?” Justin proposes, scooting closer to Brian.

“About what?” Brian hoarsely asks.

“Your mom…” Justin specifies. “I can’t imagine what you must have felt when you learned about her. Who told you?”

“Allen,” Brian answers. At Justin’s interrogative stare, he clarifies, “He’s FBI. He’s been leading the investigation of Malone for the past four years.”

Justin shakes his head, imagining the news of his mother’s death being delivered so abruptly after so many years in hiding. “I can’t begin to imagine what you've been through…” he utters, itching to touch Brian.

The brunet peers at him. As he does, Justin moves even closer and, refusing to think about it, he simply leans in and kisses Brian. His companion immediately responds, grabbing him by the neck and breathing hard against his mouth as they both deepen the kiss.

A rush of longing courses through Justin’s body at the first touch of Brian’s tongue against his own. This is Brian. The blond is still processing that he’s here, in his arms, claiming his lips and making him his with a single kiss. He never thought he would have this again and, truthfully, describing how it makes him feel wouldn't make sense. Putting into words the feeling of having the man he loves back - the man he’s always loved - when he tried to accept for years that he was really gone, would be ludicrous.

“Brian…” Justin utters in wonder against his lips, before devouring the brunet’s mouth again as he moves to straddle his lap. The cover falls from his shoulders, Brian immediately accommodating him and enveloping him in his arms.

Brian’s hands slide into his hair, gripping his locks as he abandons himself to Justin’s touch, smashing their lips together, invading and probing. The blond doesn’t know how long they kiss. He is consumed by his emotions, by the bliss his body feels, assaulted by years of grieving and yearning.

When their lips finally break apart, Justin needs a minute to catch his breath. He places his cheek against Brian’s, not ready yet to lean back. The brunet is panting in his ear, his hand softly caressing his neck. Justin’s heart fills with something indefinable, and he suddenly hugs Brian again, tightening his grip.

Brian lets him, even though he is squeezing too hard. Justin begins to cry then, and every time Brian tries to makes him lean back so he can look at him, the blond only hugs him harder.

“Hey…” Brian breathes out, his warm breath tickling the side of his neck. “Justin…” he calls his name as gently as he can.

Justin shakes his head against Brian’s shoulder and buries his nose deeper in his neck. He isn’t sure why he is reacting this way. “I’m sorry,” he eventually mumbles when he stops crying, wiping the tears away from his face.

“What for?” Brian inquires tenderly, placing a chaste kiss on his temple.

“For letting you go?” Justin answers, peering up so that he can look into Brian’s eyes. “I should never have left you.”

Brian’s eyes soften as he understands what Justin is talking about. “You wanted something I couldn’t give you.”

“No, I didn’t,” Justin replies. “I was just a scared kid who made a mistake.”

“Does it matter now?” Brian questions with a sad smile. “You can’t change the past and neither can I.”

“No, hear me out,” Justin ignores Brian’s dismissive statement, professing instead, “I love you. I always have.”

Brian looks away.

“It’s the truth,” Justin insists, placing his hand on Brian’s cheek to force the man to gaze back at him.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Brian counters, pushing Justin off his lap. “You still have your life and we can’t...” he nervously rubs his face and snorts, “we can’t ignore that I’m supposed to be dead and that you can’t tell anyone I’m alive. Once you return to Philadelphia, this…” he gesticulates between himself and Justin, “whatever we're doing here, this will be over.”

“What? No!” Justin denies, standing up to face the brunet. He has just found Brian again; how can the older man think he will agree to leave him?

“You think this is what I want?” Brian glares up at him. “That we have a choice?”

Justin’s brow furrows. “We can figure something out.”

“No.” Brian cuts him off, standing up himself and moving to the edge of the porch.

Justin walks to his side. “But Brian-”

“Justin… I can’t leave this town.” Brian elucidates as he directs his gaze at him. “And you staying here or visiting or whatever the fuck you decide to do will only lead to people becoming suspicious that something is going on. Either way, you need to leave.”

Justin realizes the situation is fucked up. But he isn’t ready yet to let go. “We don’t have to say anything to anyone. I could move here and pretend it’s because I fell in love with the town. It would hardly be a lie.”

“It’s not that simple. The FBI already knows you're here.” Brian informs him. “And believe me, if you push it, I’m sure they will have no problem making me disappear again.”

“So don’t let them!” Justin begs, placing his hands on Brian’s chest.

“And risk something happening to you?” Brian reformulates, placing his hands on top of Justin’s. “I can’t do that.”

Justin steps back. How can Brian appear so resigned when the mere thought of being apart makes Justin’s blood run cold? “You're not even going to pretend that you care?” The words escape before he has time to think.

“For Chrissake, Justin, of course I care!” Brian explodes. “I care enough to be scared shitless that Malone will find me and decide he should teach me a lesson by killing the people I love, just because he can. I’d even be willing to start over one more time if it means you're safe, because if we’re together, you won’t ever be. Don’t you get it?”

Justin feels his heart thump erratically in his chest. “I…” he utters, taken aback by Brian’s reality check. “I just…”

Brian cups Justin’s cheeks in his hands, forcing the younger man to look at him. “You’re going to go on with your life, like you planned.”

Justin snorts derisively. “Right.”

“You have no choice.” Brian insists, his eyes boring into Justin’s.

“So you say,” Justin argues, leaning back and breaking their touch.

Brian’s face hardens. “For fuck’s sake, Justin, stop behaving like a brat.”

“Fuck you!” Justin snaps back angrily. “You think you’re going to dictate what I do? Well, think again! I lost you for almost six years, there’s no way I’m going to go on with my life.” He spits the words disdainfully before storming inside the chalet.

“What are you doing?” Brian inquires in astonishment as he follows Justin inside, the blond stopping by the couch to grab his duffle bag.

“I’m going to crash at Connor’s.” Justin responds without bothering to turn around, stuffing his sketchbook into his bag. As he zips it, he articulates, “I need to think about what I’m going to do, and I can’t do that here, when you’ve obviously already planned everything that’s going to happen in my life.”

“Justin…” Brian calls out to him, a hint of fear tinging his voice. It’s almost enough to make him cave, but not quite.

“I need some time,” Justin asserts, looking up at Brian. Noticing the fear on the man’s face, he softens, “I’ll be back later, I promise. I just need to be alone right now.”

“You mean, you need some time away from me,” Brian clarifies.

Justin sighs, nodding, “I do.” He walks to Brian, gazing at him, inquiring, “Can you blame me?”

Brian stares at him for a few seconds, before finally shaking his head.

“I’ll be back,” Justin promises once more. He kisses Brian’s cheek - the brunet standing immobile as Justin’s lips linger on his skin - before walking out of the chalet.