“It’s just four walls and a floor. And top of the line appliances, and stainless steel countertops, and imported Italian fixtures--”

“It’s more than that. It’s where we made love for the first time.”

“That wasn’t love. I just gave you a rim job and fucked your brains out.”

“It was love to me.”

*****

The first day that Cynthia was in New York was a bad anxiety day for Justin.

He’d been doing great -- going to the coffee shop almost every day -- and Brian was proud of him. He was overcoming something that was very, very hard, and Brian knew that. He remembered how hard it had been for Justin to trust the fact that not everyone on the sidewalk wanted to kill him. How hard it had been for him to be alone in the loft for an extended time. How hard it had been for him to trust other people. How hard that still was.

The day Cynthia was due to arrive -- just in time for the meeting Brian had planned with Picture Perfect Optics, a company that sold high-end cameras, lenses, and other photography equipment -- Brian sat with Justin at the table over breakfast and worked very hard at convincing him to go to his studio and get what he needed so he could keep painting. Brian was feeling fine -- really good, actually, for the first time in a very long time -- and he knew he’d be fine for the hour or so that Justin would be gone, or even longer if Justin chose to stay at the studio for a while. But convincing Justin of that was a tall order.

Brian Kinney, however, was very good at selling things.

He never thought he’d be using his marketing skills to “sell” Justin on going to his studio, but if it worked, it worked. And ultimately it did.

Thankfully, it worked better than his earlier attempt at selling Cynthia on letting him come to the meeting. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to continue following his doctor’s orders and staying home, and he knew better than to piss her off, so he’d agreed, with the promise that she’d come by the apartment when she was done and catch him up on what happened, because he refused to be totally out of the loop.

Justin procrastinated until early afternoon, puttering around the house, obviously putting off going to his studio, until Brian gently prodded him out the door with a hug and a kiss and promise that there would be more where that came from later.

He hadn’t been gone for more than ten minutes when Cynthia arrived, dressed to the nines in her power suit -- the one Brian knew she wore when she wanted people to know she was not to be fucked around with.

“You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you in sweatpants,” Cynthia said, as she stood after giving Brian a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, well, I’m on house arrest, so… no point in getting dressed up. Besides, no one will let me work.”

“Only because we love you.” Cynthia smiled, slipping her stiletto heels off as she took a seat on the sofa and spread the contents of her briefcase across the adjacent cushion. “Since you’re so keen on working… I wanted to ask you about the campaign for this adaptive robotics company, GoodLife Connection.” She shuffled through the papers until she found the one she was looking for. “I was looking at what you have planned, and this is way outside of their budget.”

“I know.” This was why he’d intended on taking care of this account personally.

“Okay… You know they’ll have to say no to you then, right? Or did that kidney infection affect your brain too?”

“My brain is fine. And it’ll be right within their budget, because I’m covering the rest of it.”

GoodLife was a small startup designing specialized custom robotics and prosthetics. Their mission was to help people live their best lives and still do what they love, regardless of their physical limitations. They were coming up with some truly creative solutions, and they’d been sent his way by Alison, the triple amputee who’d helped him launch his disability justice campaign years ago when he’d first moved to New York. Their mission was near and dear to his heart, so it was a no-brainer that he’d help them get the most for their advertising dollar, even if some of those dollars came from his own pocket. He wanted to see them succeed, and he knew they were a small fish in a big, big pond. Once he explained all of that to Cynthia, she was on board as well.

Brian did manage to convince Cynthia -- and Justin -- to let him go to the meeting with GoodLife, in light of the fact that he was going to be doing something over-and-above their normal course of business, and he really wanted to be there.

Not to mention the fact that they’d been working on this really cool robotic exoskeleton setup that, if he played his cards right, he hoped he might get to try out someday. At this stage in the game, he hadn’t walked in so long that he wasn’t quite sure he even remembered how it felt. But it was definitely something he wanted to experience again.

He met Cynthia at her hotel at 9 a.m. the next morning, after promising Justin that they were just going to the meeting and then he’d be right back home. Brian hoped that Justin would find something to do to distract himself, so he wouldn’t be sitting at home worrying about Brian the whole morning. He’d tried to encourage Justin to go to his studio, but Justin seemed very, very reluctant, and Brian wasn’t sure why.

The meeting went very well, with he and Cynthia tag-teaming. While they were surprised at the large “discount” they were going to be receiving on their advertising campaign, they were grateful for the exposure they’d be getting. Brian just hoped it would do the trick.

Cynthia also got to meet Alison, whom she had only seen in photos from his campaign all those years ago. Alison was now married and had three kids, and it was hard to believe how much time had passed since she’d first agreed to take a chance on Brian and join him in his quest to bring awareness to the inherent ableism in society and the fact that people who are disabled are still just people, who deserve the same privileges and have the same rights as everybody else. Now, he was paying her back by taking a chance on something she believed in.

They went back to the apartment immediately afterward, just as had been promised, only to find that Justin wasn’t there. Instead, there was a note on the counter, in Justin’s “new” handwriting that Brian was now beginning to be able to recognize.

Went to the studio. Might work there for an hour or two. Call if you need me. - J

Brian was glad he’d decided to go, and hoped he’d end up staying all day -- not because he didn’t want to see Justin, but because he wanted Justin to see that he could live his life and didn’t need to worry about him.

Brian got the wine Justin had ordered with the groceries out of the refrigerator, figuring, what the heck, it’s Friday and they were basically done for the day, so why not relax and unwind a little? He poured a glass for himself and another for Cynthia, handing it to her before wedging his own between his thighs and making his way over the sofa.

Brian was working on taking off his jacket and getting himself onto the chaise lounge when he heard Cynthia say, “So, have you given any more thought to what I said about opening a New York office?”

“I guess that means you really are serious about a move, then.”

“Of course I was serious. The men in the Pitts really are the pits.”

“Well, I can’t speak for the heteros, but I found the pool of homos to be more than satisfactory.”

“That’s because all the good ones are gay. But that’s really not my reason for wanting to move. I’m ready for a change. And you’ve been getting so many new accounts out here that there’s just no way you can keep doing this by yourself.”

She was right about that. He hated to admit it, but she was.

“I’ve got a lead on a possible sublease in a month or two. A friend of mine who lives here in the city is going to Europe for six months for a work-study and is looking for someone to sublet her apartment. That would let us get a feel for things, see how it would work with both of us here in the city. I’ll keep my place in Pittsburgh until we’re sure we won’t kill each other.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Brian said, chuckling. “I’m sure Justin will be happy about this arrangement too. He was already telling me I was working too much before any of this happened.”

“So he’s back working in his studio now?”

“Yeah. Has been for a couple of weeks now, with a minor hiccup because I fucked up.” He chose not to mention the reason why the minor hiccup was really more of a major one for Justin -- those were his private details to share. “I’ve been trying to get him to tell me what he’s working on, but he just keeps saying he’s ‘experimenting.’ I keep hoping he’ll want me to come down there and see something, like he used to, but nothing yet.”

“Maybe you should just go. Surprise him.”

“I don’t want to intrude on his space… Especially not when he’s already feeling insecure about things. I don’t want him to feel any pressure from me. He’ll show me when he’s ready. I just have to wait. Now, that’s fucking hard, but it’s what I have to do.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been married for almost ten years,” Cynthia said as she shed her jacket and pulled her stocking-clad feet up onto the sofa cushion next to her hip. “And you’re married to the kid whose mom showed up at the office one day with a duffel bag full of his underwear and his allergy medication and his favorite movie.”

“You and me both. And he’s not a kid anymore.” Hasn’t been since the night of his prom, Brian thought to himself.

“I guess I thought you’d just be continuing your gay sex-god lifestyle forever.”

“Gay sex-god?” Brian laughed. “This wine must be stronger than I thought. I’ll have to tell Justin he did a good job picking it out.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do, and so did I, kind of. I don’t know. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s hard to know what the future would have held, had this not happened.” Brian flicked his thigh with his thumb and forefinger, then pushed his hands down on the sofa cushion and shifted his weight a little, part pressure relief, part gesture of what exactly “this” meant. He reached for his own glass on the end table and took a sip.

“You seem happy, though.”

“I am. I’m fucking lucky. Luckier than I ever thought I’d be. I’ve got more than I deserve, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve always felt like you deserved more than you got. At least, before.”

Brian nodded and took another sip of his wine. Cynthia had seen a lot, especially in those first few years at Ryder, when Claire would march into his office demanding to be seen so she could whine about having to take care of their drunken parents all by her lonesome, and Cynthia would end up being privy to a conversation about how he didn’t give a shit about their good-for-nothing parents because all they’d ever given him was bruises and low self-esteem. That she was the “wanted child,” and she could deal with them, because he didn’t want anything to do with them anymore.

Of course, as much as he wanted to, he’d never been able to completely sever the tie. The marks of his father’s physical abuse had long ago faded, many of them tended to personally by Debbie Novotny, but the effects of the emotional abuse inflicted by their mother still remained to this day, no matter how many years had passed and no matter how many times Justin or anyone else contradicted her words. There was a certain essence that was Brian Kinney -- the seemingly unshakable confidence, the bravado, and the devil-may-care attitude -- but underneath all of that, the scared kid who wondered why his parents didn’t love him was still there, and probably always would be.

“You’re a lot different now than you were all those years ago, before Justin came back,” Cynthia said. “Before you moved here. You came out of that accident a different person than you were before, because you had to...but you just… You weren’t you. Something was wrong. And who could blame you, really? But I think we were all a little scared. No one knew what you were going to do, and no one wanted to ask or say too much.”

“I couldn’t be that person anymore. I remember I had no idea who I was going to be then, either. I was lost. Justin found me.”

“The only one who ever could.” Cynthia smiled, her eyes soft. “So do you have big plans for your tenth anniversary?”

“What, is buying him a house not enough?”

“I thought you said that was just an investment property.” The look in Cynthia’s eyes and her single raised eyebrow told Brian that she knew it had never really been just an investment property.

“He misses his mom. What else was I going to do?” Brian was trying to sound defensive, but it wasn’t really working. Not that Cynthia was going to buy it anyhow.

“He has you wrapped around his little finger, doesn’t he? So it is a gift then.”

“I don’t know about his little finger, but that ass will get him anything he damn well wants. By the time I get all the renovations done, it probably will be an anniversary gift. I do have something else I’ve been thinking about, though… But it’s a surprise, so if you tell him, I’ll fucking fire your ass.”

“I think it’s pretty hard to fire a partner.”

“Didn’t stop Gardner.”

“Point taken. Anyhow, I won’t tell him. What’s your big secret plan?”

He told Cynthia everything he’d been kicking around for the past several days, since the night he and Justin had spent hours talking, just being honest with each other. The night they’d laid all their cards on the table, face up. The night Brian had finally talked about all of his memories of the night Justin was bashed, for the first time in their entirety. Justin had mentioned again how much he wished he could remember their wedding, because it was the moment when he’d finally gotten everything he’d wanted since he was 17 years old. Brian hated that the lost memory of their wedding day was still weighing so heavily on Justin’s mind. He wanted to give Justin back that memory, even if the original was lost forever.

The grin on Cynthia’s face got bigger and bigger the more Brian talked. By the time he was done, her smile was wide and she was shaking her head, looking down at her nearly-empty glass of wine.

“Brian Kinney, I always knew you were a closet romantic,” she teased.

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make sure your office here doesn’t have any windows.” He leaned over and gave her a playful shove.

“Need I remind you that our current office is in a former bathhouse? Not many windows there either.” She turned her head up and finished her wine. “But you don’t scare me anyhow. I know all of your secrets.”

“Not all of them.”

“Maybe not, but I know you well enough to know that the tiger is really a pussycat.” She winked. “I’m happy for you though. I know he’s going to love it.”

By the time Justin came back home, Cynthia and Brian had consumed most of the bottle of wine, although Cynthia was a good bit tipsier than Brian was. They’d ordered Thai food and had it delivered, and it sort of reminded Brian of old times. Late nights at the office, working on something that simply wouldn’t leave him alone until he got it done and got it out of his head. How they’d often end up talking about more than just business. Those were the nights that made them more than coworkers. The nights that made them friends. Maybe even family.

Cynthia stayed in town for a few more days, while Brian eased his way back into work. Justin seemed to be doing the same, going to his studio for longer and longer. Brian noticed that the art supplies in their home office were dwindling. On the day that Cynthia left to return to Pittsburgh, the only thing that was left was the easel, and Justin spent the entire day in his studio.

For the first time in months, things were starting to feel more normal. It felt like it had been a long time coming.

Too long.

The next week, Brian had a doctor’s appointment. This one involved a whole lot of lectures. A lot of telling Brian things he already knew.

He was well aware that he’d been neglecting his health, in a lot of ways. Small ways, things that didn’t really seem to matter that much at the time. Some of which had already added up to something big. The rest of which he was hoping he’d caught in time.

He’d fucked up and he knew it. He’d done things he couldn’t afford to do. Lived above his means, so to speak, for too long where his health was concerned. All he could do at this point was hope that he hadn’t done anything that couldn’t be fixed.

And this wasn’t even the appointment that would truly answer that question. That would come the following week. This was just his regular annual checkup with his spinal cord injury specialist -- the one whose job it was to manage his overall care and tie together the efforts of the handful of other doctors Brian saw for the plethora of effects that came with spinal cord injury. The one injury that set off a domino effect of secondary health risks that he’d have to manage for the rest of his life, whether or wanted to think about them or not.

He didn’t have a choice. He’d been trying to pretend that he did, but his body had proven to him exactly who was in charge, and this time, Brian was inclined to listen.

He was tired of feeling like shit.

He wanted to feel good again.

Wanted for his life to feel good again.

So instead of pretending that nothing was going on, and that he was fine, he chose to be honest. To talk about the back pain and the nerve pain and the weird spasms and all of the things he felt weren’t quite right. Of course, that also meant that he had to be honest when he was asked questions about things he knew he was supposed to be doing -- like whether or not he’d been keeping up with his standing therapy. The answer to that was no, because his only means of doing that at home had been walking around with his braces and crutches, and that hurt his back. It had been painful for a long time. He’d often done it anyway, because having a different way to move was kind of nice, but he had gotten out of the habit during their unplanned month-and-a-half in Pittsburgh, since he didn’t have the necessary equipment. And once he was out of the habit, it simply hadn’t been something he’d wanted to get back into when he got home. He’d been in enough pain; he didn’t need more. He could have ordered himself a standing frame, sure, but he hadn’t. Why, he didn’t know. He already had too much to think about, he supposed. He hadn’t wanted to add one more thing.

That admission brought with it the longest lecture of the entire visit. A long list of all of the benefits of standing therapy -- keeping his bones strong, his muscles healthy, reducing spasticity, helping to prevent urinary tract infections…and those were just some of the physical benefits. He knew exactly what the mental benefits were too, and he clearly remembered how great it had felt to stand at his full height for the first time after his accident, all those years ago with Jamie, his physical therapist. Essentially, standing therapy probably would prevent or help a lot of the things Brian was struggling with right now. As if he needed a reminder that he had brought all of this on himself.

There were certainly other options for standing, and he knew that. Rob had a standing frame that he used every day. Of course, Rob also had a solid self care routine that nothing ever got in the way of. Brian knew it hadn’t always been that way, though, and he knew that Rob could empathize with the struggle he’d been having to try to keep everything in balance when it felt like his entire world was crashing down around him. Brian needed to get back on track with his own self care. He knew that too. Hearing all of it from another person really wasn’t necessary. But, here he was.

Push had come to shove, and it was time to start changing some things.

The doctor sent him for a seating evaluation a couple of days later to try to find a solution for his back pain, which apparently was owed at least in part to the ways in which his body had changed after nearly eleven years of not using his legs at all. This was one of the times when Brian really hated this shit. His body had been such a huge part of who he was for so long, that it was still difficult to look at all the ways in which it had changed, and would probably continue to change, and accept them with open arms. But he didn’t have a choice here, either. He tried out a lot of new things that were supposed to improve his posture -- which was currently for-shit, he was told, although those weren’t the exact words used -- and in the end, ordered himself a new chair that would hopefully be more comfortable for his ever-changing body. And he ordered the standing frame too. Because the human body simply wasn’t designed to sit all the time.

But, like all the lessons Brian Kinney had ever learned in his life, that was yet another one that he’d apparently needed to learn the hard way.

Later, he called Rob to commiserate with someone else who would understand.

“Am I the only one who thinks it’s fucking stupid that you have to have a prescription and fill out a shit ton of paperwork to order a wheelchair when your goddamn legs don’t work?” Those were the first words out of Brian’s mouth when Rob answered the phone.

“If you want your insurance to cover it, you do. You know this.” Rob’s voice was calm, like always. It didn’t seem to matter what Brian said to him, Rob was a difficult person to agitate. He always went with the flow. Sometimes Brian was jealous of his ability to just take things as they came without getting too caught up in them.

“Well it’s fucking stupid. What the hell else am I going to do?”

“Stay in bed, I guess. I’m pretty sure that’s what people did back in the day before there were wheelchairs. It’s why most people died from spinal cord injury back then. Bedsores and infections. I, for one, am glad that was not my fate, and I know you are too.”

“It just seems like it’s a no-brainer. Like they should be able to look at you and tell that you need it. No prescription necessary.”

“Alright, Brian. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“So you just called me out of the blue to rant about medical bureaucracy?”

“Had my physical today.”

“Ah. The truth comes out. Didn’t go well, I assume?”

Brian recounted the whole story to Rob, down to what had gotten him thinking about the absurdity of wheelchair prescriptions for the last hour, before he finally picked up the phone and called Rob just so he could get it out of his head. Rob listened patiently on the other end of the line, hmming and mm-hmming at all the right times, until Brian was finished.

“Hey, you remember that standing chair that guy from Ohio had last year in D.C.?” Rob said. Brian didn’t really remember, but there had been so much going on and so many people to meet and talk to that he’d been a little overwhelmed with it all, being his first time to go to something like that. “Anyway, it’s pretty cool,” Rob continued. “I would love to have one, but my insurance won’t cover it and I can’t afford it right now. You could, though.”

They talked about how handy it would be for business meetings and all of those other times when it really just sucked to not be on eye-level with other people -- again, Brian was so grateful to have Rob to talk to about things like this, because he absolutely got it -- and it also got Brian thinking about how he could use something like that to help him carry out his plans for his and Justin’s anniversary. He knew he’d called Rob for a reason. He might not have known the reason at the time when he’d dialed the phone, but they’d gotten there eventually.

By the time he hung up the phone, the wheels were already turning in Brian’s head, and he was soon doing the research.

By the end of the week, he’d decided to go for it and placed the order. He already couldn’t wait to try it out. It wouldn’t be practical for everyday use because it would be much heavier and clunkier than his regular chair, and Brian liked to move easily -- it was why he’d chosen a titanium chair and kept his accessories to an absolute minimum, to keep weight down and to keep things from getting in his way. But there were certainly plenty of situations in Brian’s life when it would be good to be six-foot-two again. Soon, he’d be able to do that.

Then came the closing on the house. Thankfully, with Ted acting as his agent, Brian didn’t have to be there, because he knew that a business trip right now would probably be pushing Justin past his limit, not to mention pushing himself past his own temporary physical limits that he still needed to be mindful of, even when he didn’t want to.

The day of the closing, Brian had barely given Ted time to get back to the office before he was calling to talk next steps. There was so much that needed to be done -- the first task of which would be choosing contractors. Brian had already made the decision to put Ted in charge of the project, even giving him the freedom to hire someone temporarily to manage it. Ted sounded surprised at that -- nervously asking Brian if he was feeling alright, if there was something he, as Brian’s financial adviser, needed to know about -- but once he was assured that Brian was fine, he rolled with it pretty well.

Hell, Brian was surprised too, because he liked controlling things. He knew that better than anybody. So much of his life up until this point had been all about finding ways to control everything he possibly could. But he was starting to learn that Rob was right -- he couldn’t control everything. It just wasn’t possible. There were just some things that he had to let go of, and this project was going to be one of them. So he authorized Ted to start looking for someone who would be familiar with Brian’s desires when it came to making the house ADA compliant, and who would be able to keep whatever contractor they went with on-task, on-budget, and on-time, without Brian having to worry too much about it.

Brian’s first week of owning a house in the suburbs was a week filled with video calls, phone interviews, and a whole lot of not being sure exactly where to start, while at the same time being limited to only being able to complete those tasks while Justin was at his studio. Thankfully, he was spending quite a bit of time there again. Brian was still wondering what Justin was working on, but he was busy enough with his own work that he didn’t have much time to worry about it.

Ted found a project manager, and Brian vetted him, then resolved to let go of the process and trust that what needed to be done would be done without him hovering or micromanaging. It would be hard, but he would do it. He had to, for his own health and sanity.

But even all of this positive action, working toward taking better care of himself, couldn’t stem down the apprehension Brian felt on his way to his appointment with his urologist. Brian hadn’t seen him in months, and he didn’t have privileges at the hospital they’d taken Brian to when he was sick, so he hadn’t been involved in Brian’s care at all. They’d be playing catch-up. And Brian was really, really hoping that the blood tests he knew he’d be taking would show that his kidneys were still functioning properly. That he hadn’t fucked anything up permanently with his little adventure in ignoring his body and the warning signs it had tried to give him.

Looking back now, he saw them all -- the headaches, the backache, the odd weakness, the nausea, feeling too warm when he was outside on a cool day, and later, the confusion he’d experienced right before everything exploded and refused to be ignored any longer. But for some reason, back then, he couldn't see it at all. Maybe he just didn’t want to.

Now, he knew he had to.

Rob had been absolutely right -- nothing was worth his health.

Just as Brian figured there would be, there were more lectures, and more telling him things that he already knew and had simply chosen to ignore. He knew exactly what he was supposed to be doing -- he just hadn’t been doing it, but now he’d been scared straight. There were also blood tests and urine tests, which he wouldn’t have the full results of for several days -- a nerve wracking several days of not knowing whether he’d fucked himself over for good or if he got lucky.

Brian went back home and spent the rest of the afternoon in his office, looking at reports and approving artwork and ad copy -- glad to be back in the habit of doing his thing and actually having enough energy to do it without feeling like he needed to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon.

He was in the middle of trying to figure out how to modify the artwork for GoodLife Connection’s first print ad to be exactly what he wanted it to be, when his cell phone rang. It was Michael. Brian hadn’t talked to him in a while -- at least not by voice. They’d texted and chatted, staying caught up with each other, but they didn’t talk on the phone quite as often anymore. He started not to answer, thinking about how much he still needed to get done on this campaign, then remembered the promise he’d made to himself -- that he wasn’t going to let work take over his life again. It would be nice to talk to Michael and catch up with his oldest and dearest friend. So he saved what he was working on and answered the call.

“Hey, Mikey. What’s up?”

“So, when were you going to tell me?” Michael’s tone was strange, and Brian wasn’t quite sure how to read it. He hoped he wouldn’t regret answering the phone.

“Tell you what?” Brian leaned back in his chair, settling in for what sounded like it could be a long conversation, although he had no idea what the hell it was about.

“That you and Justin are moving back to Pittsburgh.”

Brian was lost for a moment, before he figured out that Michael must have been talking about the house. But how did Michael know about that?

“Considering that we aren’t moving back, I guess never,” Brian said, keeping his voice nonchalant, with just the right amount of annoyance sprinkled in, as he tried to fish for whatever it was Michael knew, without revealing too much himself. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If you’re not moving back, then why did your business just purchase a house in our neighborhood?”

Shit, Brian thought. How the fuck did Michael find out so soon? Ted and Cynthia were really the only ones who knew, aside from Jennifer, who was contractually obligated to keep it private, and a couple of other people at Kinnetik who wouldn’t be talking to Michael at all. Surely it wouldn’t be Ted. But he would be the one most likely to be talking to Michael.

“You know, Theodore was a really good friend...it’s a shame I’m going to have to kill him,” Brian said. He was joking, but at the same time testing the waters to try to see exactly how Michael acquired his newfound knowledge.

“What? Ted knew about this?” Michael sounded surprised. So it wasn’t Ted.

“Okay, so if he didn’t tell you, who did?”

“One of our neighbors saw that the house had been sold and they did some digging and found out who purchased it.”

“Christ, is there anything the gay mother hens don’t cluck about? So, what did they say about me?” Brian picked up his pen and started tapping it lightly on the desk.

“Nothing. They just knew that it had been purchased by Kinnetikorp. I think Ben and I were the only ones who knew who it would be. They were mostly worried that the house might get rented to some… less-than-savory people.”

“You know, in some neighborhoods, we would be the less-than-savory people, Michael.”

“I know. But you know what I meant. They were just curious.”

“More like fucking nosy.” Brian put the pen down and switched to playing with the paperclips, dumping a small amount out of the cup that he could arrange into various patterns on the desk.

“So, if you’re not moving back, why’d you buy a house?”

“I didn’t buy a house. Kinnetik bought a house.”

“Which means you bought a house, Brian. Now quit arguing semantics and tell me what’s going on.”

“Don’t get your tits in a twist. Christ, you really are your mother’s son. It’s an investment property. I’m renovating it to make it ADA compliant, and I’m planning to do short-term rentals.”

“Oh, like that B&B app?”

“Exactly. It’s fucking hard to find an accessible place to stay where they really did think of and consider everything. And sometimes they’ll say it is and it’s not. So I want to offer that to people -- a place that really is accessible -- should they wish to visit our illustrious hometown. And it will give Justin and I somewhere to stay when we do need to come back to Pittsburgh for one reason or another.”

“So does that mean you’ll be coming back more often?”

“I don’t know,” Brian sighed. He paused for a few seconds, then added, “Maybe.”

“Brian, that’s--”

“Don’t start planning any dinner parties just yet, Mikey.”

“I’m not. I was just going to say, that’s great. I miss seeing you sometimes, you know? I mean, we saw each other almost every day for more than 20 years.”

“Minus that time when I got pissed at you for buying a house and you got pissed at me for telling you that you could be a Stepford Fag if it made you happy,” Brian chuckled.

“And now, here you are, buying a house.”

“This isn’t my first time buying real estate, Mikey.”

“I know, but… Brian, it’s a house.”

“Yes, and I own our apartment here as well. One also might consider that to be a house. Again, not my first time. There’s nothing symbolic here, so stop trying to make it into something it’s not. It’s an investment property, and it will make our lives more convenient when we’re in town. That’s all.”

Michael sighed on the other end of the line. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do say so. And, by the way, if you even so much as breathe a word of this to Justin, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re sitting here telling me there’s nothing symbolic, and now you’re telling me that it’s a surprise for Justin? How the fuck is that not symbolic?”

“It’s just not. But I do want to surprise him with it, so if you could just...not tell anyone else, that would be great.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“They damn well better be.”

“When have I ever--”

“Michael.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“That includes your mother. Especially your mother.”

“I promise I won’t tell Ma. Cross my heart and hope to die, or whatever.”

Brian laughed. “Jesus...you really are perpetually 13 years old, aren’t you?”

“Hey, when you own a comic book store, you have to stay a kid at heart, I think.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Mikey.” Brian heard the faint jingle of a bell coming from Michael’s end of the line.

“Gotta go,” Michael said. “I’ve got customers. But I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, Mikey. Now keep your damn mouth shut.”

“You have my word. Love you.”

“Always have.”

“Always will.”

That night, Justin seemed to sense Brian’s worry over his impending test results, in spite of his best efforts to let it go because there was really nothing he could do. Justin had been at his studio until fairly late, so by the time he was home and had showered, Brian was already in bed with a book, trying to keep his mind from wandering to the great unknown that was weighing heavily on it.

“Did your appointment go okay?” Justin asked as he climbed into bed and snuggled up close to Brian.

“I guess.” Brian set the book aside and turned over to face Justin. “I probably won’t know anything until next week.”

“I hope you’re okay.” Justin laced his fingers through Brian’s and pressed them to his lips.

“Me too. But if not, then I guess we’ll deal with it, huh?”

“Yeah, we will. Together.”

That was one thing that was changing -- no more trying to handle things on their own. No more keeping things from each other for the sake of not worrying one another. All that did was create more pain, and more worry.

Yet another lesson from Brian Kinney’s school of hard knocks.

The next week seemed to crawl by. Brian was back to going about his normal week for the most part, with work and client meetings and even his regular appointment with Rochelle, which felt so different now that he’d opened the door to talking about things with Justin. He could never have imagined what a difference it made to just open up and talk. That's not to say it was easy or that there wasn't still a lot of work to be done, but after months of feeling as if he was getting nowhere, he felt like they were making progress at long last. Like he was finally able to let go of what had been haunting him for more than 15 years. Maybe soon he’d be able to sleep soundly without the help of medication to keep the nightmares at bay.

The phone call Brian had been waiting for came on Friday afternoon, just as he was beginning to think he’d have to wait through another agonizing few days of not-knowing. He felt his heart rate speed up as he answered the call and held the phone to his ear, silently praying for good news.

Thankfully, that was what he got. Everything looked fine. No permanent damage. Just a hard lesson in what could happen if he neglected his health, and a personal vow to never put himself in that position again.

Justin had been spending more and more time in his studio, which Brian was thrilled to see, although Justin had remained tight-lipped about what he was working on. Brian tried not to ask too many questions, but he couldn’t help himself -- he was curious about what Justin was doing, and he loved seeing what he created. He really just wanted to be supportive, and he wished he could get Justin over the insecurity he seemed to have developed about his work since his accident. He’d seen what Justin had painted at the apartment while he was still recovering, and he was impressed. It was different from Justin’s previous style, but it was still really good. Justin, however, was still reluctant to believe Brian’s words -- seeming to think that Brian was just trying to be an encouraging partner rather than giving an honest opinion on his artwork.

So Brian was surprised, to say the least, when they were sitting at a cafe near Justin’s studio having dinner one evening, and Justin suddenly offered to take Brian over to the studio to show him what he’d been working on. It was totally out of the blue, and Justin even seemed a little bit excited about it, although that excitement was definitely tempered by nervousness. Brian certainly wasn’t going to argue, but it was such a sudden change that he wondered what had brought it on. However, the closer they got to the studio, the more Justin’s anxiety seemed to take over and his excitement started to fade. Brian tried to be reassuring, holding Justin’s hand in the elevator as they rode up to the floor where Justin’s studio was, and smiling at him each time Justin gave him a nervous glance.

Brian was desperate to find a nonverbal way to tell Justin that he wasn’t going to judge, because his words seemed to fall on deaf ears as Justin’s anxiety rose. It didn’t matter what Justin had been working on, if he was happy with it, then Brian was happy and would support him. But he could hear the unease in Justin’s breath as he unlocked the studio door. Brian’s hand rested on the small of Justin’s back in silent support as he pushed the door open.

The first thing Brian saw when they entered the studio was the canvas that had been on the easel by the window -- the only thing that hadn’t been thrown asunder the last time Brian had been there. The one Justin had been working on back in December.

Brian remembered what this painting had looked like before -- before Justin’s accident. Before their whole world fell apart. Not only Justin’s world -- both of their worlds. Because while the physical aspects of Justin’s accident had happened only to Justin, this tragedy and all of its secondary effects really had happened to both of them. Just like the prom.

The painting had been bright and happy -- shades of red and yellow, blended together into an abstract piece that just made a person feel sunny. Like sunshine. Like Justin. Sunshine. To the untrained eye, the strokes might have looked haphazard, but Brian knew the attention to detail that Justin put into each and every one of his paintings. Those strokes were anything but haphazard. They were carefully placed, painstakingly drawn, with a finesse that Justin simply didn’t have anymore. At least, not right now.

The upper half of the canvas still featured the streaks and spatters of red and yellow, but now, there was a dark, inky black covering most of the lower half -- like an eclipse. It was a stark contrast to the upper half. Brian was sure it was supposed to be. And he was also sure he knew what it symbolized.

But at the very bottom edge, there seemed to be a sunrise emerging -- pinks and oranges and reds and yellows -- light pushing out the darkness. He knew what that symbolized too.

The strokes were different, but the entire piece was still breathtaking.

“Justin, this is…” Brian let his voice trail off as his fingers reached out, seemingly of their own volition, and touched the edge of the canvas. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Justin’s voice was quiet. Shy. Unsure.

“You believe that, don’t you? Because it is.”

“I’m trying to believe it.”

Brian pushed himself over to where Justin was standing and took his husband’s hands in his own. “I know,” he said, looking up at Justin, giving him a reassuring smile. Justin still looked uneasy.

“I’ve been working on some different things too,” Justin said. The timid voice he was using sounded so strange. So not-Justin. He was biting his lip too.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready. I understand.”

“No, I want to.” Justin took a deep breath and walked over to the workbench in the corner on the same wall where the door was. On the workbench was a clay sculpture, about two feet tall. The closer they both got to it, the more clearly Brian could see what it was. It was him.

It was a tasteful nude, modestly positioned, with his likeness sitting atop a square column, the strong muscles of his upper body clearly visible as he sat, head bowed, hair falling over his face, looking down at his legs. They hung just like they always did now -- soft and limp, visibly too-thin, his feet exhibiting the relaxed, slight downward curl that they had anytime they weren’t being pressed against a surface by the weight of his legs.

This must have been what Justin wanted to show him. What he was excited, yet nervous, for Brian to see.

“What do you think?” Justin said softly. He waited for a couple of seconds for Brian to answer, before he started nervously filling the silence left by Brian’s speechlessness. “I’d never really worked with clay before, outside of high school art class and the one class I had to take at PIFA in the interest of being a ‘well-rounded artist.’” He made air quotes with his fingers when he said those last three words. “But I wanted to try something different. Kind of my own rebirth. And this piece is kind of about yours. Your rebirth.”

Brian felt like he’d had multiple rebirths in his life. Of course, to have rebirth, one must also have death. And he’d had plenty of that, too. Deaths and rebirths. Positive and negative, always in balance, in perfect harmony with one another, even when it didn’t seem that way at the time. When he’d met Justin. Justin’s prom. Justin’s recovery. When Justin left him in search of romance and candlelight dinners. When they reunited. When he lost his job at Vangard. When he started Kinnetik. The cancer. The Liberty Ride. Justin’s foray to Hollywood. Justin coming back home. Justin leaving him again. The bombing. Their brief engagement. Their called-off wedding. Justin leaving for New York. His own accident. Several deaths in a row -- easily the darkest time in Brian’s life -- brought back into balance by Justin’s return to it and his unconditional acceptance of Brian, exactly as he was. For that, Brian would always be grateful. In some ways, he felt like he had a debt that could never be repaid.

This sculpture was how Justin saw him. Brian was looking at himself -- at his body -- through the eyes of his husband. The strength and the weakness, in contrast to one another, but also in balance. The beauty, blended with tragedy. Longing. The longing that was clearly evident in his face, cast downward, gazing at the most visible reminder of what he’d lost nearly eleven years ago. He knew he would always feel that longing. No matter how far he’d come in accepting the hand he’d been dealt in life, that longing would always be there. Wishing things could be different. But, at the same time, appreciating the fact that he was still here. That he still had a life to live. That he had someone who loved him, unconditionally. Someone who brought out the best in him, and, in a lot of ways, had transformed him into a totally different person. His true self, perhaps.

That was what Justin saw.

It was what he always had.