“If I stay here, I’m going to go out of my mind. Who knows what I’ll become? … I want to become something different. Something new.”

*****

“I’m thinking of moving to New York.”

Brian mentioned it casually, on purpose, just dropping it into the conversation like some minor detail that didn’t really matter. He also knew Michael well enough to know that it wouldn’t matter how gently he said it or how much he prepared him, Michael was going to freak out.

And that’s exactly what happened -- Michael sat dumbfounded, staring at Brian with a look on his face that would have been more appropriate had Brian said he was going to run off with the circus and become the world’s first paraplegic trapeze artist.

“What?” Michael sputtered as he threw the french fry he’d been holding back down on the plate. “One weekend there, and you’re already planning to move?”

“Not planning. Not yet. I said thinking.”

“Well, thinking, planning...what’s the difference with you, really? Once you make up your mind about something, you’re doing it.”

“Good point.”

“So are you doing it then?”

“I don’t know.”

Truthfully, Brian hadn’t wanted to fly home the night before at all, and not just because of the whole fucking...process...that it was now. Two-and-a-half days wasn’t nearly enough time to spend with Justin. He wondered how he’d made it through the past year without going insane. Maybe in some ways, he had gone insane. For the first few months after Justin left, he’d thrown himself into his work with an intensity that surpassed even his 22-year-old self when he’d first gotten the job at Ryder, straight out of college with his shiny, new marketing degree and his 4.0 GPA. Then, he was anxious to prove himself, to make his own way in the world so he could be absolutely sure he’d never need anything from his good-for-nothing parents again.

Twelve years later, he was again hyper focused on his work, spending most every waking moment thinking about how he could make his campaigns even more compelling, how he could score accounts he’d only dreamed of, this time as the owner of his own firm. Only this time, he wasn’t running away from his family -- he was running away from the feelings he had for Justin that he still couldn’t let go.

That damn kid really had gotten in under the wire all of those years ago -- Debbie had been right. God, it felt like that conversation at Woody’s had been a lifetime ago. When she’d called him out on his typical Brian Kinney bullshit, he’d stopped just short of verbally admitting that he did, indeed, love Justin. He didn’t have to say it out loud though, it was written all over his face and he knew it. She saw it. He knew she would. To be honest, he hadn’t really tried to hide it from her, because he knew she’d see right through whatever front he tried to put up. She always did. She had known him too long, and regrettably, too well.

There had been many ups and downs, sure, but Brian had loved Justin in one way or another almost from the moment their eyes first met. He didn’t know what it was -- love at first sight, maybe. If you believe in that sort of thing. Brian still wasn’t sure if he did or not. The kid just kept chipping away at the walls Brian had put up around himself -- mostly around his heart -- years ago as a measure of protection from the pain of loving and wanting to be loved.

Growing up, he had wanted so desperately for his parents to love him and approve of him and be proud of him. He craved their validation and their affection. But they constantly rejected him, made him feel worthless. His best efforts were never good enough, and that hurt. So he put up the walls. Michael had known him before the walls were fully constructed, so Michael was allowed inside, most of the time anyway, but anyone else who tried to force their way in, to make Brian Kinney feel something, found themselves immediately shut out. Brian Kinney didn’t believe in love. He believed in fucking. Love was painful. Sometimes excruciating. Fucking was in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit.

He’d tried to shut Justin out many times, but he could never quite do it. Justin was already in.

Over the years, their on-again, off-again relationship had many times proven Brian’s theory that love was really just pain, but damned if he didn’t keep coming back for more. When it came to Justin Taylor, Brian Kinney was a masochist.

And when Justin left for New York -- permanently -- Brian dealt with the pain the only way he knew how: working, drinking, drugging and fucking. Five years ago, when Brian had been spiraling out of control with guilt and shame and blame over Justin’s bashing, Michael was the only one who noticed that something-the-fuck was wrong. Brian knew it too, although he denied it. Last year, Michael either didn’t notice, or he was too preoccupied with his family and his new suburban Stepford Fag life to care.

So yeah, maybe he'd gone a little bit insane last year. But he knew for sure he'd go insane this time, if he didn't find a way to get to New York for good.

The weekend had been amazing in so many ways, but it wasn't enough. He remembered five-and-a-half years ago, when he had stood in his bedroom at the loft and told Lindsay that he'd lose his mind if he stayed in Pittsburgh. New York was calling, and he was a shoe-in for the job, or so he’d thought. He'd told Justin that he wouldn't think of him, and that he hoped Justin would do the same. But it was clear what a line of bullshit that was when he took the kid in his arms and held him while he cried. Cried over the idea of losing Brian. Then the job fell through. Brian stayed in Pittsburgh, turned 30 in Pittsburgh, told Justin he wouldn't go to with him to the prom, went anyway, and, well...the rest is ancient history.

Brian had known he was head over heels for the kid the moment their lips connected as they leaned against the Jeep in that damn parking garage. Then love gave way to agony. And Brian Kinney swore off ever acknowledging his birthday again. It hurt too much.

Back then, he’d also told Lindsay that he wanted to be something new and different. He wasn’t even sure what he meant by that when he said it. Regardless, he’d thought at the time that the only way to get that was to leave Pittsburgh. But ultimately, it was Justin who would transform him in a way he hadn't thought possible, even as much as Brian resisted it along the way. And then Justin ended up being the one leaving for New York. And Brian held him and fucked him -- no, made love to him -- and buried his face in his shoulder and tried not to cry. Months after that, Brian Kinney definitely became new and different, only in a way he'd never wanted to be. Who knew what he would become, indeed.

When Brian decided on the spur of the moment to go to New York, he had two reasons. One, he wanted -- needed -- to see Justin again. To feel him, touch him, be with him. Breathe again with him. Two, he had some shit to prove to himself, to his friends, and to the world. But mostly to himself.

He needed to prove that he could still handle himself. That he could manage on his own. That he wasn’t worthy of pity. That he wasn’t an object, or a child. That he was still strong. That he was still intelligent. That he wasn’t going to break. That he really could fulfill that promise of independence his neurologist had once told him he’d have -- that he had to grab ahold of, if he was ever going to do great things again in his life. The great things that other paraplegics were supposedly doing, according to the good doctor. Had he ever done great things? Brian didn’t really know, to be honest. Why not start now?

Could he do great things in Pittsburgh? Maybe. But after this weekend, he wanted nothing more than to do them in New York.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he’d told Michael he’d had the absolute best time. New York was so different from Pittsburgh. In Pittsburgh, people would notice him, see his wheelchair, judge him, treat him differently. In New York, people would overlook him, bump into him, act like he wasn’t even there -- and right now, he felt like that was a relief. It was exhilarating to be just another face in the crowd. At this point, he kind of liked the idea of feeling invisible.

After their dinner at the cafe in the East Village, Brian and Justin had gotten on the subway to head back to Midtown Manhattan. Now that Brian knew where he was going, he wasn’t as apprehensive as he had been the first time. That was one thing he hated about this situation -- the low-level anxiety he’d feel any time a new situation arose. It was one of the most un-Brian-Kinney-like qualities he’d developed since his accident -- just a straight-up fear of the unknown, of getting himself into an embarrassing situation, or getting into something he couldn’t get out of without help. Well, maybe that last part was something he’d always detested, but he didn’t think he’d ever been afraid of it actually happening. Now, it was a distinct possibility, and he didn't like that at all.

He couldn’t deny that having Justin there helped, because he knew Justin would help him if needed, without any judgment, without him having to ask. The only judgment there would be to worry about, would be Brian’s judgment of himself. Of course, maybe that’s all it really was anyhow -- his judgment of himself, projected onto other people. Justin had brought that up at dinner, and Brian was still mulling it over, although he knew that it was probably true. Justin’s insight into Brian’s psyche was rarely wrong, even if sometimes Brian struggled to admit that he was right.

As they settled themselves aboard a northbound 6 train to head back to Union Square, Brian felt Justin’s right hand come to rest on his left shoulder. It was a full train; there wasn’t anywhere to sit, and the woman on Brian’s right bumped into him involuntarily, nearly falling into his lap, as the train lurched forward, but she righted herself quickly. Brian reached up and laid his hand over Justin’s.

They changed trains at Union Square and continued on to Midtown and Brian’s hotel, with Justin letting Brian lead the way. Brian appreciated the subtlety of that action on Justin’s part -- now, most people seemed to automatically walk ahead of him. Just another way that people treated him like a child without realizing that’s what they were doing. It felt odd, as a 35-year-old man, to feel like he was constantly having to reclaim his adulthood.

Brian pushed into the room and Justin followed him, setting his bag down in the armchair next to the television before turning back to Brian and bending down to kiss him -- deeply.

“I’ve been waiting to do that all evening,” Justin said after he’d pulled away and stood back to his full height, before sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. Brian always appreciated when people would get eye-to-eye with him instead of standing over him. He still wasn’t used to no longer being one of the tallest people in any room and any situation. Being roughly torso-level with people was strange and often awkward.

“Why didn’t you? You know I love a good PDA.”

Justin shrugged and looked away.

“You’re the one who’s always telling me that I’m still me,” Brian said. “Now you’re telling me that we could have been making out that entire subway ride and you were playing coy?” A wry grin broke out over Brian’s face.

“Well, I have a reputation to uphold here. I didn’t think it would be very becoming of an emerging serious artist to eat his boyfriend’s face on public transit.” Justin returned Brian’s grin as he playfully kicked Brian’s shoe with his toe.

A brief-but-uncomfortable silence settled between them at that word: boyfriend. It was a word that had always been a bit contentious where Brian and Justin were concerned. At first, Brian had rebuked any mention of anything that even remotely suggested they might be a couple, then slowly, he’d stopped correcting people when they’d refer to Justin as his boyfriend or partner, although he never said anything suggesting it himself. Until he asked Justin to marry him, and bought a country manor for his prince.

“So, we’re still…” Brian let his voice trail off.

“Are we?”

“Do you want to be?”

“Do you?”

Brian wondered if they’d ever really stopped.

They showered separately that night, and Brian noted how strange it felt to be alone under the spray when Justin was on the other side of the wall. Two years ago, they never would have missed an opportunity to shower together. Now, he was guessing that Justin wasn’t sure if Brian would want him in there or not. He did, but he also didn’t want to make Justin uncomfortable by asking him to join him.

Then they settled into bed together, watching the news while propped up on pillows like some sort of old married couple. Brian could feel his eyes starting to close as exhaustion settled into his body and mind -- the long day was catching up with him -- but he didn’t want to fall asleep yet. He wanted to spend every waking moment he could with Justin.

The younger man clicked the TV off and tucked himself under Brian’s left arm. “This is nice,” he sighed.

Brian agreed; it was nice, but it was definitely cuddling. Did this version of Brian Kinney cuddle? Yeah, maybe he did.

Perhaps out of a need to turn this situation into something deeper than just a cuddle, he didn’t know for sure, Brian leaned his head down and captured Justin’s lips in a passionate, hungry kiss. Justin returned the kiss and started letting his tongue slide down Brian’s body as his adept artist’s fingers skimmed over Brian’s chest, caressing his nipples. Brian could feel arousal spreading through his body, but he knew it would stop short of where it really needed to go -- where he wanted it to go. Damn his fucking broken nervous system. And damn the fact that he was so tired that he really didn’t want to mess with the fucking pills tonight, or the headache they would give him after.

So he started turning the tables on Justin, pushing his palm against the bed to roll himself over so he could run his own tongue down Justin’s smooth stomach, before pleasuring his partner in a different way. One that didn’t involve pharmaceuticals, or Brian feeling inadequate. Or broken.

They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms that night. And the next. But Sunday night, Brian was back to being alone in his own bed in his apartment in the suburbs.

And as he lay there in the dark, on his stomach, hugging a pillow, he wondered if he could make it work. If he could finally pull off that move to New York he’d always wanted. He owned his own company now, but he wasn’t sure if that would make things easier or more difficult.

By morning, as he showered and dressed for work, cursing the fact that it took him two full hours to get ready now because simple acts like putting on pants were now complicated acrobatic interludes, he was seriously considering the idea. Maybe he could work remotely, make himself a home office in a new apartment in New York...with Justin...and spend every other waking moment when he wasn’t working and Justin wasn’t creating, just being with Justin. Watching TV together, making dinner together...all of the domestic shit. Fuck if that wasn’t quite the departure from the Brian Kinney of yesteryear. But he wasn’t sure he cared about that anymore.

Brian spent most of the morning in a meeting with about half of his staff, discussing duties and assignments for the upcoming week. He did manage to keep his thoughts on task during the meeting, but as soon as he headed back into his office and settled behind his large desk, his mind was anywhere but where he knew it needed to be. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he went out to Ted’s desk and purposely bumped his chair into Ted’s, startling the older man.

“Theodore...I have a proposition for you,” Brian said as he pulled himself alongside Ted and threw an arm around Ted’s shoulders.

“Gee, I didn’t think I was your type, Bri,” Ted teased.

“Not that kind of proposition.”

“I figured as much. What’s up?”

Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Might as well just say it. “I’m thinking of moving to New York.”

Ted raised his eyebrows and turned so that he was facing Brian. “Okay…” he said slowly, letting his voice trail off, as if he was waiting for Brian to continue.

“I know it’s too early to start a branch office. We’re not ready for that yet. But I’m wondering if I could work remotely...you know, teleconferencing and all of that. And it’s only a 90-minute flight, so I could come back whenever I needed to, for meetings or...whatever.”

“So I’m guessing your flights this weekend went okay, since you’re willing to repeat the process? And you know you’d probably have to do it pretty frequently. We managed without you for six weeks, but it is kind of nice when our fearless leader is around to berate us and keep us in line.”

“The flights were...eh...but I learned some things that I think will make it better next time.” Namely, to book a seat in the first row so he might be able to avoid the fucking aisle chair entirely. He also wondered if he would get arrested if he had some fun with the security officers by moaning with pleasure while they were completing the obligatory pat-down. “Glad to hear you guys are motivated by my somewhat-aggressive management style.” He grinned and snatched a pen from Ted’s desk to fidget with while they talked.

“So do you think that would be do-able?”

“You working from the Big Apple while the rest of us poor schmucks are stuck here in Pittsburgh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if it’s what you want to do, we both know I’m not going to stop you. You probably can do most of what you do here from New York. We’d miss you though. I’d miss you. As a friend.”

Brian looked up at Ted and continued turning the pen from one end to the other, running his fingers from the top to the bottom before flipping it over and repeating the process. “I know,” he said. “But I feel like I need to do this.”

“To be with Justin?”

“That, and...other things.” Brian paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. “I realized some things this weekend. Proved some things to myself. I think maybe being here is holding me back. Keeping me from, I don’t know, embracing what is. Who I am now. Everyone here has this picture of me before, who I was once. I’m not that person anymore. But I think some people still expect me to be. And if they don’t, they feel sorry for me that I’m not.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. Or expect you to still be who you were before.”

“I know that. I do. But I think sometimes you can’t help it. There’s always this...comparison. Regret, maybe. I don’t know, maybe it’s still just pity. You know who I used to be. You remember who I was. Only I don’t think I want to be that person anymore. I used to think I did. A couple of months ago, I would have given anything to turn back the clock and go back to being who I was before. But now…” Brian wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence, so he let his voice fade out.

Ted nodded. “I understand. I won’t say I know, because I’m not sitting where you are. I haven’t been through what you have. But I do know how life changes you. Makes you into someone you never thought you’d be.”

Brian pulled his lips into his mouth and laid the pen back on Ted’s desk. He’d said a lot more than he intended to when he came out here.

“Well, let me know what you think. If we could make it work,” Brian said as he turned abruptly and went back to his office, where he poured himself a cup of coffee and wondered why he’d just practically poured his heart out to Ted Schmidt, of all people. Although he did have to admit, the pair had cultivated an unlikely and unconventional friendship -- a camaraderie of sorts -- over the years. And it was nice to have someone else to talk to besides Michael, who often managed to make everything about him somehow. Ted was even-keel; Michael was half-Italian and half-drag-queen, so he was slightly prone to drama.

Brian was able to get a little work done in the next hour, before he needed to leave for the diner to meet Michael for lunch. He didn’t bother driving, since it was only a few blocks away and the whole process of getting in and out of the car wasn’t worth the inconvenience. Michael had been standing outside waiting for him when he rolled up. Michael held the door for him and Brian resisted the impulse to act like a petulant child and tell him that he could do it himself. He was working on trying to delineate between someone just being polite and someone treating him like an invalid, and it turned out to be a much finer line to draw than he’d thought. But he was trying.

They chose a booth in the corner where Brian could slide onto the bench and push his chair against the wall, out of the way. Sometimes he just needed to sit somewhere else to feel like a normal human being. That was one thing that Michael did get, and respected.

Debbie brought them water and took their orders, and left the two friends to catch up on their weekends.

Brian kept up with the small talk while they ate, answering Michael’s questions about his weekend in New York, trying to figure out whether or not to bring up the fact that he kind of wanted to be there all the time now. As he finished his sandwich, he figured it was as good a time as any, so he told Michael he was thinking of moving to New York.

Michael had freaked out a little bit, not as badly as Brian thought he might, although that could still be coming later. Mostly, his reaction had made Brian take a step back and wonder, was he really still just thinking about this, or had he made up his mind?

“So are you doing it then?” Michael had asked.

“I don’t know.” Brian paused. “Maybe. Probably. I need to do this...for me.”

Pittsburgh had been his home for more than half his life. He hadn’t even gone away to college. His friends were here -- his chosen family. His company was here. For the most part, he’d thought his life would always be here. He’d resigned himself to that fact years ago, after the job in New York didn’t work out. But there were things now that weren’t here. First, his son was in Canada with his mothers, and Brian had only seen him three times in the past year. So that wouldn’t really be much different if Brian was in New York. Most importantly, Justin wasn’t here anymore. Brian had thought he could let Justin go -- that he needed to let him go, give him a chance to be his own man, make his way for himself. Brian had understood that need, perhaps more deeply than anyone else ever could. He understood it even more so now. But over the past few weeks, he’d seen that he and Justin needed each other. They needed to be together. He needed to make that happen.

His life was here in Pittsburgh. But maybe it was time to let go. To step off into oblivion, cross his fingers, and hope for the best.