Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

*****

On a Wednesday morning in January, Brian Kinney sat at his desk in the former steam room of the bathhouse he’d turned into the headquarters of his advertising agency three years before, tapping his pen against the open file folder he had spread out in front of him. Truth be told, his mind was anywhere but focused on the campaign he was supposed to be reviewing before presenting it to a potential client later that afternoon. His mind was still stuck on the week he’d spent with Justin over the Christmas holiday.

Although it hadn’t all been sunshine and roses, that was for sure.

In fact, it had started out pretty dicey.

Just thinking about it took him right back to Christmas Eve, when he’d arrived at Debbie’s house almost an hour early because he was so damn nervous about what was going to happen when Justin got there. Justin, who he still hadn’t told about his new station in life.

“Why the fuck did I do this?” he’d moaned as he laid his head down on Debbie’s dining room table and pounded his fist on it a couple of times.

“I told you to tell him. You needed to be honest with him a long time ago.” Michael was standing in the kitchen, helping his mother finish assembling the lasagna.

“Save it, Mikey. I already know you told-me-so.”

Brian lifted his head up in time to see Michael roll his eyes before coming over to the table, where he sat down in front of Brian and reached his hand across to cover Brian’s closed fist, still resting on the surface.

“You got yourself into a mess here, you know that,” Michael said.

“The Brian Kinney special.”

Michael grinned at him. “The one and only.”

Brian let out a loud sigh and put his head back down on the table. “I just want to get it over with.”

Michael rubbed the top of his hand with his thumb. “I know.”

“I don’t know why I thought this would be easier,” Brian continued, speaking directly into the table. “Doing it in person. Like somehow if he saw me, I wouldn’t have to tell him.”

“You’re still going to have to explain what happened. And why you didn’t tell him sooner.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. I thought I’d skip over that part.” Brian sat up and gave Michael a sideways glance.

“I offered to do it for you. Remember?”

“Michael. Yes, I remember. Do you remember why I told you no?”

“So you could continue keeping up the charade, I believe it was. Although those weren’t exactly the words you used.”

“It wasn’t a charade.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“You don’t know what this is like, Michael,” Brian said, his voice rising as he pushed himself back from the table. “I don’t need or want your lecture.” He turned and started toward the bathroom on the ground floor of Debbie’s house. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to piss.”

After a few seconds, he heard Michael’s voice call after him, “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’m fine, Michael. I’ll manage.”

Fuck. Brian knew Michael meant well, but sometimes his need to coddle Brian and try to anticipate his every need was absolutely exhausting. It had been more than six months since the accident, and Brian had acquired a lot of new skills to take care of himself, the majority of them in the four weeks he spent in rehab right after being released from the hospital. Most of it could be summed up in a single sentence: Everything was a lot more complicated now and it all took for-fucking-ever.

And of course Nurse Michael was always right there, ready and waiting to smother him. At first, it hadn’t been too awful, and Michael was just being a good friend, keeping him company and providing distraction while he mostly lay flat on his back for the first week or so, until he could start sitting up a little bit without feeling like someone was holding a red-hot poker to his back, which made it a little more comfortable to watch television or read a book. By the middle of the second week, his brain felt less foggy and he really wanted to do some work, to at least feel slightly less useless. But Cynthia and Ted had both outright refused to bring him his laptop and insisted that everything was fine at the office and they were handling it. They damn well better have been, or heads would roll whenever he did make it back. Brian remembered how far away making it back had felt in that moment.

Then they started weaning him off the really good drugs and sent him off to inpatient rehab, where they almost immediately got him up and into a wheelchair and doing a few things for himself. That turned out to be Michael’s cue to try to do all of those things for him, no matter how many times Brian slapped his hands away or shot back a sarcastic retort. It seemed Michael had become immune to Brian’s derision, though. Brian was just now, six months later, starting to get his friend to understand that he could do all of that everyday shit for himself -- the grocery shopping, the laundry, cooking, all of it. You don't have to be able to walk to buy cereal or move clothes from the washer to the dryer. His hands and arms were working just fine, thank-you-very-much.

Debbie's downstairs bathroom was too narrow for him to turn around in, so he had to go in, roll forward enough so the door would have room to close, then lean backward to close it, while trying not to lose his balance and end up tipping over. God, that would make Michael even more insufferable. Thankfully he didn't need to make any transfers to do what he needed to do, because it would have been absolutely out of the question in this bathroom.

Hell, he had to twist his body sideways just to wash his hands when he was done. Brian winced a little as he felt the resistance from the titanium hardware that was now attached to his spine, stopping the twist short of where his mind still felt he should still be able to go. This was a relatively new sensation, now that he was finally completely free from the molded, hard plastic brace that covered his entire torso that he'd had to wear pretty much any time he was sitting up for the first couple of months of this little adventure, and then slowly less and less for the next couple. It had been so swelteringly hot and uncomfortably tight and he felt so restricted in it, although that was kind of the point, and he was fairly sure that having to wear it for so long had made his core weaker, in spite of the intense physical therapy appointments that had filled many, many days in the last six months, and still had a place on his calendar twice a week.

Shit, he remembered the days before all of this when he was going to the gym in search of a six pack. Now, the goal was just to be able to stay upright for an entire day without feeling physically and mentally exhausted. He was getting there. Slowly. Again, for-fucking-ever.

Brian leaned forward to dry his hands on a towel, before repeating the same process he’d done to enter the bathroom, only in reverse. When he opened the door, Michael was standing outside.

“Jesus, Mikey, I told you, I’m fine!” He was seriously starting to feel like those two words were going to be his mantra with Michael for the rest of their lives.

“I know,” Michael said as he stood back enough to allow Brian to back out of the bathroom before going into it himself. “My turn.” He closed the door.

Brian let out an exasperated sigh as he started back toward the kitchen, knowing full well that if Michael had only been interested in using the bathroom, he would have gone upstairs and used that one instead of waiting outside the one Brian was in. No, Michael definitely just wanted an excuse to hover.

He was halfway across the living room when the doorbell rang.

Debbie turned around in the kitchen, where she was sprinkling cheese on top of the lasagna, and said, “Brian, honey, could you get the door? I’m just about to put this in the oven.”

“Uh, sure,” he said, turning toward the door while a queasy feeling settled into his stomach when he realized the person on the other side could be Justin. He could feel the panic rising in his chest as his breathing accelerated. Christ, Kinney, get ahold of yourself, he thought as he shook his head and pushed himself in the direction of the door and reached out for the knob. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when the person on the other side of the door turned out to be Emmett, juggling several large containers of food.

“Hey, Brian,” he said. “Here, take these, would you?” Emmett unceremoniously plopped the stack of containers right in Brian’s lap before he could answer. “I’ve got more in the car. Be right back.”

For every bit that Michael was suffocating him, Brian could always count on Emmett to act, at least outwardly, like this whole ordeal was just some mildly interesting development in the plot of life. It felt good to be around someone who didn’t treat him like an invalid, although Brian could still see the shadow of sadness in Emmett’s eyes and knew that on some level, there was something there -- sympathy, concern, regret. Things had still changed. It wasn’t like when he talked to Justin on the phone once a week, and pretended that he was still the same, able-bodied man he ever was. At least he’d admitted to himself by now that he was pretending.

One by one, and sometimes two by two, members of the family continued to arrive. Brian’s apprehension was building and his stomach kept dropping to his feet every time the doorbell rang, so after repeating that process four times he’d poured himself a glass of eggnog and added a generous amount of whiskey from Carl’s stash, hoping that the alcohol would help calm his nerves and make him feel a little less like he was going to be sick.

And he’d been sitting there, fidgeting with the glass, when Michael came back from the front door one last time, followed by Justin.

All things considered, Brian guessed it had gone fairly well. As well as things could go when you were telling your (former?) lover that you’d been in an accident six months ago and you were living your life in this wheelchair now but had been too chickenshit to tell him about it because you didn’t want him to think any less of you. He hadn’t thrown up, so he figured that was a small win. Justin hadn’t seemed too angry at him, even though he had every right to be spitting mad at Brian for lying to him. He’d mostly just looked hurt. And that killed Brian. Knowing that he’d caused that hurt, and very easily could have prevented it if he hadn’t been so self-serving, trying to protect his pride at Justin’s expense. Although maybe that was par-for-the-course where Brian Kinney was concerned.

They’d spent most of the week that Justin was in Pittsburgh together. And God, it was like Brian could finally breathe again. They no longer had to limit their connection to words spoken over a telephone line -- they had real, physical connection again. Intimacy. Touch.

He remembered the conflicting emotions that had filled his head the night Justin talked him into going out to Babylon to dance. It turned out that Justin had much more in mind than just dancing. Brian couldn’t deny how it made him feel when Justin brushed his teeth against Brian’s ear and trailed his tongue down the side of his neck -- pure pleasure that felt almost primal -- and he’d missed that feeling. He’d even furtively checked to see if he was getting hard. He wasn’t. But his body was trying to chase that physical gratification, while his rational mind was anxiously tapping him on the shoulder, asking him what the heck he was doing and how he planned to work this out. For the first time. In public, no less.

When fear won out, he ran. Fucking ran away from the whole situation. If that wasn’t the most un-Brian Kinney thing to do, he didn’t know what was. But how do you explain to someone that you once so intimately shared your life with, that you’re no longer the same person? That you can’t be?

They’d gone to bed together that night. And they’d worked it out. Together. And Brian had to admit, it was pretty damn good, even if it was different.

As they lay there afterward, sweaty and tangled in each other’s arms, Brian was finally honest with someone about just how devastating this turn of events had been.

“I didn’t think I was ever going to feel this again.”

“What?”

“This.” He turned his head to look toward Justin. “I don’t know...fulfillment. Expression. Like maybe I can be myself again. Maybe.”

Justin propped his head up on his elbow and looked Brian in the eyes, his brows knitted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Brian sighed and rubbed a hand over his face as he turned to look at the ceiling again. There was no way he could look at Justin for this conversation.

“I’ve used sex as a catharsis for just about every emotion since I was a teenager with a fake ID,” he said. “Happy? Go get a blow job. Sad? Go to the baths. Mad? Hurt? Go find someone to fuck in the back room. It became my identity. Who I was. Hell, I told you that when you were 17 -- I didn’t believe in love. I believed in fucking. With you, though, it was different. It was always different. I didn’t know why, and God did I try to fight it. But then I almost lost you again. So I asked you to marry me. Thought, well, maybe we can make this work, maybe I can change...I could do it for you, to make you happy. To keep myself from losing you. Making you happy could make me happy. But then you told me how much we would both be sacrificing to be together. You said neither of us would be happy. So we called off the wedding. And you went to New York. And I threw myself back into that old, comfortable persona, back to tricking every night. For the same reasons, too -- because I didn’t want to deal with how I felt about being alone. Once again, my identity became sex. And then I couldn't do that anymore.”

Justin was quiet. He was lightly tracing the fingers of his left hand along Brian’s chest.

“You know, I thought maybe for a little while that dear old Saint Joan was right -- someone upstairs had it out for me. God was punishing me for being a fag. Why the fuck else would the universe see fit to take nearly everything from me that ever made my life worth living? First Gus, then you, then this. At least, that’s how it felt at the time. And while I’m dealing with the fact that I feel like I can’t even be myself anymore, like I don’t know who this person is in my skin, I’ve got everyone else orbiting around me, trying to help me, reminding me of how everything has changed. I can still see it in their eyes every time they look at me -- that little note of pity -- poor Brian, look at what happened to him, what he’s become.” He took a deep breath and blinked back the wetness in his eyes. “I didn’t know if I could take it if you looked at me like that too.”

“Brian, I’m not.” Justin took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re still you.”

Brian snorted derisively, still looking at the ceiling.

“You are,” Justin continued. “You smell the same, you feel the same, you look the same...and you’re still the same person underneath all of that. You’re still the same man that I fell in love with. Sex doesn’t define you.”

“I wish I believed that.”

“I wish you did too.”

They hadn’t said anything else to each other that night -- there wasn’t anything left to say. Instead, they fell asleep in the silence, Justin’s arm laying across Brian’s chest, and Brian relished the connection of being able to feel Justin’s touch again. Having Justin’s soft, warm body in his bed. Breathing the same air, together in the darkness. No longer needing words to express how they felt about each other.

Justin had stayed at Brian’s place for the rest of his time in Pittsburgh. They spent four days laughing together, poking fun at each other, holding each other, drinking each other in. It felt like going back in time.

Then Justin had to go back to his life in New York, and Brian was confronted yet again with how much he missed Justin’s voice, his touch, his laugh, seeing him smile. But this time he felt a new level of emptiness -- physically, in his bed, and emotionally, in his heart. The heart that nobody other than Justin Taylor ever believes Brian Kinney has.

And that was why he couldn’t concentrate on his work for shit, even though this presentation was really important and would mean scoring a lucrative new account. He was about to take an early lunch to see if some food would help him focus, when his phone rang, and Justin’s name appeared on the caller ID display. That’s right, he remembered, it was Wednesday.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he answered.

“Hey -- you’re not busy, are you?”

“Not at all. I almost forgot you were calling early today because of your show.”

Brian could hear Justin sigh on the other end of the line. “I wish you could come.”

“I know, me too.” Brian silently cursed the fact that he needed to be the one to make the presentation today. After months of the company -- and Brian -- just treading water, trying to stay afloat, it was time to get 100% back into the game and try to score this account he’d been after since he started Kinnetik. But the timing sure sucked.

They chatted about all of the same things they usually did. Brian smiled as he listened to Justin recount a story about a fellow artist he’d met on the subway. He pulled a paperclip from the glass jar on his desk and fidgeted with it as he updated Justin on the goings on of the last week in Pittsburgh.

Then, Justin broke the usual pattern.

“Have you been going out since I left?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Going out. Like, to Woody’s, or Babylon? Or are you just going to work and then going home and sitting alone in your apartment?”

Brian continued to play with the paperclip and didn’t answer.

“Brian?”

“First of all, Woody’s has a bunch of stairs out front. So no, I haven’t been there in a long time.” He tossed the paperclip back in the jar. “Sucks because I kinda miss having a beer and playing pool. And I go to Babylon once a week to do what needs to be done. I’m the owner, remember? I have to go there. And frankly, me being the owner is the only reason I can get in there. Liberty Avenue isn’t exactly the most wheelchair-friendly place.”

“You know what I mean. Now stop acting like you don’t and answer the question.”

“I’m fine.” There was that mantra again. Only this time not with Michael.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Justin…”

“Okay, I’ll take that as a no.”

“I don’t want to go out.” Brian propped his elbow on the desk and leaned his head into his hand. Great, now he was getting a headache.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s all I can do to sit through my workday right now.” That pained him a little to admit out loud. “I go home, I’m tired, I eat, I shower, I go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.”

“Okay. I just don’t want to see you isolate yourself.”

Brian sighed. Right then, he really missed Justin not knowing. When he didn’t know, he wasn’t worried. And this worry was playing right into what Brian had been afraid of -- Justin starting to treat him differently.

“Christ, you’re starting to sound like Deb. You don’t have to worry about me. Please don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” Justin’s voice suddenly sounded small. “I just...I want you to be happy. I want you to feel like you’re still you.”

“The best way you can do that is to stop worrying about me.”

“I’m not worrying. I care about you, that’s all.” Justin exhaled loudly on the other end of the line. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“I wish I could have just stayed in Pittsburgh.”

“No. Absolutely not. Not because of me.”

“It has nothing to do with you getting hurt, I swear. I just realized how much I missed what we had.”

Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knew exactly how much he’d missed what he and Justin had, for the entire past year. From the moment Justin left him alone in their bed at the loft to leave for the airport, he’d missed him. He’d been ready to change everything for Justin to make him happy, only in the end he thought he had to let Justin go to make him happy. He was still willing to do it, no matter what it cost him emotionally. He’d deal with it, so long as Justin was happy. Only Justin didn’t sound happy right now.

As they finished their phone call and said their goodbyes, Brian was already poking around on his computer, looking at weekend flights to New York.

*****

Brian’s first plane flight post-injury was one of the most dehumanizing experiences he could have imagined. After spending 20 goddamn minutes at security getting the full hands-on treatment, which sucked -- and not in a positive, life-affirming way -- he finally made his way into the terminal, grabbed a sandwich and a drink from a kiosk, and went to the gate. The next step in this little adventure was enduring the indignity of one of the flight attendants pushing him like some sort of invalid in the tiny wheelchair they had that was designed to fit down the plane’s narrow aisle. He was thankful he’d bought a first class ticket, so at least they didn’t have to go far. It was kind of hard to get in and out of by himself, but fuck if he was going to let anybody help him. It didn’t matter that he was the first one on the plane and would be the last one off, so there was no one there to watch -- it wasn’t happening. Period.

It was bad enough that he had to sit in the thing at the bottom of the jetway for a few minutes after deplaning in New York while he waited for them to bring his own chair, which he’d had to gate check. He was a little surprised by how nervous it made him to have it leave his sight, but he didn’t have a choice because there was nowhere to stow it in the cabin. And if they damaged it somehow, he’d be up shit creek without a paddle -- stuck in New York with no way to get around. It hit him in that moment that you don’t really appreciate all of the transportation options your able body provides until it’s no longer able.

He drummed his fingers on his thighs as he waited and watched out the small window as bags were unloaded from the plane. It still felt so strange to touch his legs and have them feel like someone else’s. He wondered if he’d ever get over that feeling. After what seemed like forever but was really only five minutes, a man in a yellow safety vest appeared in the doorway with his chair, which thankfully didn’t seem to be any worse for wear, and he slid into it, picking up the small suitcase he’d brought and putting it on his lap before taking off to get a cab.

Brian hadn’t told Justin he was coming, because he wanted it to be a surprise, but that also meant that he was banking on Justin being home, and the apartment building having an elevator. Which in this city, might not be the safest bet. Yeah, you definitely don’t appreciate your different transportation options until they’re no longer an option.

The only person who knew he was here was Ted, because he knew he’d need someone to call off the dogs when Michael discovered he wasn’t home. There was no way Michael could know about the trip beforehand, because he would end up wanting to come along, and trying to get him to take “no” for an answer would mean enduring endless pestering until Brian finally gave in. And the last thing he wanted on this trip was a third wheel in the form of one Michael Novotny.

So far, so good -- he was handling this on his own.

Brian took a cab to his hotel in Midtown, and in the process realized he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about vans with wheelchair lifts. Sure, it was easier, and didn’t require taking his chair apart and putting it back together on the sidewalk, but it also made him feel like a bit of a spectacle, particularly in this bustling city where it seemed like there were always people around, no matter where you were or what time of day it was. Maybe the subway would be a better option for blending in.

He checked in, grabbed a subway map from the concierge’s desk, and went to his room so he could use the bathroom and drop off his suitcase. When he looked at the bed, it suddenly hit him how tired he was and how much his back was aching. He wondered when he was going to stop feeling so tired all the time. Brian looked at his watch -- 4 p.m. He really wanted to see Justin as soon as possible, but he also really wanted to be horizontal for a little bit. He’d been up since 5 a.m. and had worked until lunch before leaving for the airport. Getting horizontal won out, at least for a few minutes, so he took off his jacket before moving his body to the bed. He lay down, opening the subway map and spreading it out above his head, holding it out at arm’s length. After studying it for a few minutes, he had a pretty good idea of how he’d get to Justin’s apartment, so he laid the map aside and allowed his eyes to close.

Only a minute or two had passed before his cell phone started to ring in the pocket of the jacket he’d tossed onto the other side of the bed. He groped for the jacket, and the phone, groaning when he saw the name on the caller ID: Michael.

“Hey,” he answered, trying to sound casual. Like he hadn’t gone 400 miles away without telling his best friend.

“Hey, asshole. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to New York?” Brian could hear Michael’s familiar tone of I’m-trying-to-be-mad-at-you-but-not-really coming through clearly. “I would have come with you.”

“Bingo.”

Cue Nurse Michael. “In case you needed help with anything.”

“I'm fine, Michael.” Again, the mantra.

Brian could hear Michael sigh on the other end of the line. “Everything go okay?”

“Fine. All good.” He left out the frustration of being felt-up at airport security, tiny airplane aisles, and the airport workers who had looked at him with clear surprise when they asked if he was traveling alone and he said yes. He still wasn’t sure why every service worker he ever encountered now seemed to look at him as if he had more that wasn’t working than just his legs. It was infuriating and made him feel like a child instead of a grown man who owned an advertising agency and probably made more money last month than they’d made in the last year.

“Didn’t you and Justin get enough of each other at Christmas?” Michael teased.

“You know he could never get enough of me. That’s why we couldn’t get rid of him when he was 17.”

They both laughed out loud at the memory of Brian picking up Justin under the streetlight outside of Babylon, and how Justin had stalked him afterward, refusing to give up, slowly wearing Brian down. “I’m onto you,” he’d told him once. And in that moment, Brian had known he was right, even if it would take a bashing, a painful breakup, cancer, months of separation, an ultimatum, a bombing, and five years for Brian to fully admit that he felt the same way about Justin as Justin did about him.

“Thanks for telling me to call him, Mikey,” Brian said.

He remembered how Michael’s usual badgering had taken a different turn as he sat at the dining room table with his best friend in Michael and Ben’s suburban family home on Christmas Day, where he’d spent the morning surrounded by happily married people with kids. Although two of them were Melanie and Lindsay, so he couldn’t really call them all Stepford Fags. Mel and Linds had come back from Toronto for the holiday because Deb would’ve had their heads if they didn’t, and they were staying at Michael and Ben’s so Michael could spend as much time as possible with J.R. One great big, happy, very non-traditional family -- two gay men, two lesbians, three kids. (Well, two kids and one apathetic college freshman.) And Brian fit somewhere in that equation, since he was still Gus’s father even if he’d signed away his rights years ago, so they’d invited him over for the Christmas brunch that Mel and Linds had always hosted in the past, this time being held at Michael and Ben’s.

Michael had noticed Brian’s considerably-less-than-jolly mood and called him out on it in the kitchen as he poured them both a cup of coffee. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. How are things with you and Justin?”

Brian shrugged noncommittally as he poured sugar into the mug and stirred it.

“Is he angry?”

“I don’t think so. He should be, but I don’t think he is.”

“Well, that’s good then, right? So what’s up?”

“I’m an idiot, that’s all.”

“What happened?” Michael moved both of their mugs to the table as Brian followed him.

Ben, Melanie, and Lindsay had taken the kids for a walk around the neighborhood in an effort to burn off some of the sugar they’d consumed, and Hunter had gone to a friend’s house, so he and Michael were alone. Brian was thankful for that because he knew that once he started talking about this, he was probably going to be cussing.

“I asked him if he wanted to come back to my place.”

“And…?”

“And it was pretty damn clear that he didn’t want to. The fucking kid that I couldn’t get rid of, fucking hesitated when I asked him to come home with me last night. Didn’t say a goddamn word.”

“Brian, I’m sure you just caught him off-guard. You hadn’t seen each other in what, a year?”

“And I’d been fucking lying to him for half of it.”

Michael gave Brian a look that had I-told-you-so written all over it.

“Spare me the lecture, Mikey.” Brian put his hand up. “Besides, I know why he didn’t want to come back with me. Why would he want me now?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know why I even thought he’d want to. I guess I thought I could keep pretending nothing had changed.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You don’t know that, Michael.”

“Well, neither do you! You’re assuming that you do, but I’m pretty sure Justin was never in love with your ability to walk.”

“No, but he did kind of like my ability to fuck.”

Michael sighed. “Brian...you know full-well--”

“What, that there are options out there?” Brian interrupted him, his voice rising. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Mikey, it’s not the same. I’m not the same. I don’t even know who the fuck I am anymore.” His voice had broken a little at the end of that last sentence, and it was clear Michael had noticed when he moved to the chair closest to Brian and put his arms around him.

Michael holding him always reminded Brian of when they were kids, and he’d come over to the Novotny house seeking asylum from Drunken Jack and Batshit-Crazy Joan. Michael would always hold him as he tried not to cry, wondering why his parents didn’t love him the same way Debbie loved Michael.

Brian let himself relax into Michael’s touch, feeling the tension melt out of his shoulders as he fought to keep the tears of sheer frustration at bay. About a minute had passed before Michael released him, looked him straight in the eyes, and said, “You should call him.”

Brian shook his head. “No, I made enough of a fool of myself last night. I’m not keen on a repeat performance.”

“So now you’re never going to speak to him again?”

“If that’s what he wants.”

“That’s bullshit, Brian, and you know it. That would never be what Justin wanted. He loves you. And you love him, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“Did I say I didn’t? I’m just doubting whether or not this can still work. With...you know.”

“Oh, so we’re back on that again?”

“It’s kind of important, don’t you think? You said it yourself once, it’s all about sex.”

“I just don’t know why you’re catastrophizing when you don’t even know what Justin thinks or feels, because you haven’t asked him.”

“Big words, Mikey. I see the professor is rubbing off on you.”

“Don’t change the subject, asshole. You need to call Justin. You need to talk to him. You two need to work this out.”

Brian had known Michael was right, even if he didn’t necessarily want to face the conversation he knew he needed to have with Justin. So when Ben, Mel, and Linds had returned with the kids, he’d said his goodbyes, and gone out to the car to call Justin. And in the end, things came out okay. He and Justin had worked it out together.

So now, here he was, lying on a hotel bed in Midtown Manhattan on a Friday afternoon, talking to Michael on the phone.

“You needed a dose of reality,” Michael said. “You’d been stuck in your own head for too long. You needed to realize that your accident wasn’t the end of the world.”

Brian didn’t have anything to say to that. He knew Michael was right. And he knew his silence would say everything.

“Well, I’ll let you go, so you can go see Justin.”

“Okay. Thanks again, Mikey.”

“Anytime.”

“Love you.”

“Always have.”

“Always will.”

Brian flipped the phone shut and stuck it back in his jacket pocket as he used his arms to push himself upright on the bed, shifting so he could push his legs over the side and make it easier to sit up and put his jacket back on. He got himself back into his chair, stuck the subway map in one of his pockets, and went on his way to the subway station. As soon as he hit the sidewalk, he found himself quickly enveloped in a swarm of people bustling one way or another. No one seemed to notice him at all.

Finding the accessible entrance to the station closest to the hotel was interesting, and he nearly gave up and decided to just hail a damn cab, but he found it eventually and proceeded into the depths below the city. He bought a MetroCard, then had to wait for an employee to let him through the gate. The train he needed pulled in just after he got onto the platform, and he waited for the crush of people exiting the train to get off before he pushed his way into the car. Even sitting didn’t take away the need to hold onto the pole to keep your balance, he thought to himself, chuckling slightly. He got off at Union Square to change to the 6 train, marveling as he wound his way through the busy station at how New Yorkers would still rush past you and bump into you without paying you any mind, even if you were in a wheelchair. He loved this city even more now than he had years ago.

When he arrived at Bleecker Street, he quickly found the elevator up to the street level, and dug a piece of paper out of his pocket with the address of Daphne’s friend that Justin was currently rooming with. It was several blocks away, but the prospect of seeing Justin was keeping Brian energized right now. People continued paying no attention to him, casting him no curious or pitying glances, acting like he didn’t exist, and that was just fine with him. Why couldn’t Pittsburgh be more like this?

His elation was quickly erased when he got to the apartment building and was greeted with three steps up to the front door, and couldn’t see any other ways in. Fuck. Fuck this goddamn chair. So much for surprising Sunshine by knocking on his door. He’d have to settle for a phone call. And then, Brian guessed, they’d have to hang out in his hotel room since there was no way Brian was getting into Justin’s third-floor apartment, as best he could tell.

Brian pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Justin’s number.

“Hey, did you forget what day it is, old man?” Justin answered jokingly.

“No, just wanted to talk to you. Are you home?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You might want to go outside.”

“Um...okay…” Justin sounded unsure, but he didn’t argue. Brian could hear him moving, then closing a door. Justin’s voice echoed when he entered the stairwell. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.” Brian hung up the phone then because he figured it wouldn’t be long before Justin got to the ground floor, and he was right. Thirty seconds later, the door opened and Justin barreled out of it, nearly knocking Brian over as he hugged him.

“Holy shit!” Justin exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think? Visiting you.”

“Are you by yourself?”

“Yes,” Brian sighed, rolling his eyes. “Christ, you and Michael both. I’m a big boy.”

“How did you get here? Did you drive all the way here?”

“Nope. Flew.”

“How was it?”

“It was...interesting. And no, I don’t want to talk about it. I want to talk about you. How was your opening?”

“It was great! Sold a few things, made some money, talked to some important people. I feel like I should invite you in, but…” Justin looked awkwardly back at the door.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it. It sucks, but I’m used to it.”

“Sorry. Hey, why don’t we go grab some dinner and catch up? Where are you staying?”

“Midtown. I got a hotel room...I think we can make pretty good use of the king-sized bed.” Brian raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“I’ll pack a bag then.” Justin smiled. “Be right back...give me ten minutes?”

Brian nodded, and Justin turned and went back into the building while Brian rolled himself backward toward the wall to sit and watch the world go by while he waited. The sidewalk here wasn’t quite as active as it had been in Midtown, but it was still much busier than the Pitts. There was a bakery on the ground floor of the building across the street, and a cafe with tables on the sidewalk next door to that. In this city, it seemed everything you needed could be acquired within a few blocks of home. Not at all like the suburban living he’d found himself resigned to as a result of this whole mess.

That’s what it was: a goddamn mess. He’d be money ahead right now if he would have just kept the mansion in the country. Sometimes he still kicked himself over that -- why had he decided to sell it in the first place? Why not just keep it, use it as a weekend getaway if he ever got Justin to come back for a visit? But no, he thought he’d protect his assets and try to get some of that money back, not knowing what rushing back to the city in the rain, going too fast, was going to cost him. He may have survived the accident, but sometimes he felt like a significant part of him died.

He was pondering that while watching a young woman walk a terrier mix across the street when Justin re-emerged with his familiar duffel bag.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Justin asked as he put his hand on Brian’s shoulder, startling him.

“You don’t want to know.” Brian shook his head. “So what’s good around here, food-wise?”

They ended up going to a small cafe a few blocks away that had killer soups and sandwiches, where they talked about Justin’s art show and Brian’s important meeting that had caused him to miss the opening.

“How’d your big presentation go?” Justin asked.

“Eh, okay I guess. I get so tired of feeling like people are fucking looking down on me, you know? It’s like, yeah, I know, you see it...but seriously, it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t affect my ability to do my job.”

“Sounds like how I felt my first year at PIFA. Like, I can still make good art...I’m just doing it in a different way.”

“And if you need two good legs to design an ad campaign, then you’re a bad ad man to start with.”

“So did you get the account?”

“Yeah, but I could tell they were apprehensive. Like they liked my ideas, but they weren’t sure I could pull it off. Like somehow putting together a print-and-television campaign was going to require me running a marathon or something.”

Justin took another bite of his sandwich and and nodded understandingly.

“You know, I’ve only been in this city for a few hours and I’m already loving how much easier it is for me to blend in. I don’t know if it’s the people or the fact that nobody here knows who I am, but it’s kind of nice to not be noticed.”

Justin laughed. “Whoever would have thought Brian Kinney would relish not being noticed?”

“It’s one thing to be noticed for your sex appeal...and it’s entirely another to be noticed for your disability,” Brian said quietly as he ran his spoon idly through the soup that remained in the bottom of his bowl.

“I get it, Brian. I do.” Justin reached across the table and took Brian’s left hand. “But sometimes you just have to say, fuck ‘em, and keep going. Do what you want. Prove them wrong.”

“I try to, but sometimes I feel like I just can’t shake it. Like it’s suffocating me.”

Justin took a deep breath and tightened his fingers around Brian’s hand. “Then maybe it’s not really them who’s judging you. It’s you.”

Brian wasn’t sure how to answer that, because somewhere deep down he knew Justin was right. How the fuck did this kid always have the ability to see right past his bullshit, even when he couldn’t see past it himself? This had nothing to do with other people and everything to do with how he looked at himself now.

“So just say, fuck ‘em,” Justin continued. “And tell yourself that you’re still Brian Fucking Kinney, the smartest, sexiest man I’ve ever known.”

After dinner, they headed back to Midtown and Brian’s hotel room, where they fooled around a bit, but Brian was too exhausted to do anything else.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he fought to keep his eyes from closing. “It’s been a long day.”

Justin ran his hands along Brian’s shoulders and laid his head on Brian’s chest, letting out a soft sigh. “It’s okay.” His lips bore a small smile as he looked up at Brian. “I just want to be together.”

Brian felt Justin hug him closer as he let his eyes drift shut in his lover’s embrace.

The last words that he heard before he fell into a deep sleep were Justin whispering, “I love you. No matter what.”