Brian is hard to live with, so Justin doesn’t.  He hasn’t for years – three heavenly years.

His mom doesn’t understand their arrangement. Debbie thinks it’s Brian’s fault because he’s an asshole. Michael thinks it’s Justin’s fault because he’s an asshole. Emmett and Ted’s opinions are still unknown, although Justin suspects Ted gets it, but Emmett doesn’t. Emmett will never be happy without a roommate – the more the merrier. Justin will forever boggle over the fact that Carl doesn’t seem to mind.

Their arrangement? Two apartments across the hallway from each other and all interaction requiring an express invitation. Brian doesn’t call or text first? Justin won’t open the door and vice versa. Sometimes they don’t see each other for days.

It’s awesome.

Their separation even extends to the elevators. There are two. Brian uses the left one, and Justin uses the right. They’ve only run into each other in the lobby a few times – and thankfully none of those occasions involved a trick in Brian’s wake. Yes, Brian still tricks, but Justin no longer has to worry about walking in when Brian's got his dick buried in some guy’s ass. That had never been fun. Now that they’re “a couple,” it’s even less so. Thankfully, Justin’s not even sure how often Brian tricks. He really doesn’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss, and he suspects Brian feels the same way about Justin’s occasional trick; he’d never admit to being jealous, but evidence points to the contrary.

The fact that they have very different decorating styles was another potential conflagration that separate apartments prevented. Justin is going through an Asian phase with Turkish rugs and intricate Indian carvings – some of them even depicting naked women (gasp!). He’s also fond of plants and cats (he has two of them). Brian hates both. They make him feel “tied down by responsibilities.”  A sentiment that never fails to amuse Justin to no end.

The separate apartments also fix The Garlic Problem. They both love garlic, tons, and tons of garlic, but Brian hates the way it makes his apartment smell. Ditto curries. Justin, whose nose is constantly stuffed up because he’s allergic to both his plants and his cats, doesn’t care what his apartment smells like, so they do their smelly food cooking at his place. And then, of course, there’s the temperature issue. Justin is always too hot, and Brian is always too cold. Separate thermostats solve that problem.  In fact, nearly all domestic strife is averted by their unorthodox living arrangement.  Justin credits it for their relationship, not only lasting but thriving.

Another benefit, which neither of them had foreseen, is the thrill both of them feel when they get an invitation from each other. It always feels a bit like a date – both will shower and dress-up beforehand because the invitations are just infrequent enough to make their time together special. There’s a sexual anticipation that live-together couples lose after a while. When Justin rings his doorbell, Brian will open the door and immediately pull him into a kiss, an erection already testing the sturdiness of his fly. Justin knows – because the same is true for him – that Brian has been stoking his desire all afternoon, imagining the sex that awaited them. They are starving for each other, fucking hungrily both before dinner and afterward, unable to fully sate themselves until they collapse exhausted in a sweaty heap.

Brian at his worst is not a pretty sight, and being in a shared space with him can be harrowing. He’s immune to comforting and resentful of any attempts to talk about whatever it was that's so upset him.  In less polite parlance, he’s a total fucking dick. He says truly shitty things and drinks too much, which only makes the shitty things he says even shittier. He can even shove and throw things, which he ends up feeling guilty about, and feeling guilty only puts him an even fouler mood.  It’s ugly. Back when they were living together – a situation that thankfully only lasted for a few months after Justin’s return to Pittsburgh – they got into some pretty nasty fights, one of which almost broke them up. It was after that fight that they started talking about separate residences. At first, Justin had been devastated. He’d come back to Pittsburgh to be with Brian, and Brian couldn’t stand living with him! (And, if truth be told, he couldn’t stand living with Brian.) He was actually thinking of moving back to New York when Daphne told him about these friends she had. They were both writers with drinking problems and volatile tempers, and they were madly (literally) in love. The only way they could stop themselves from murdering each other was by living a block apart.

Brian had been dubious at first. It meant selling the loft. But all reluctance was wiped away when he saw the apartments Justin and Daphne had found. Corner units with two walls with floor-to-ceiling windows – not quite penthouses but close enough to provide views of the rivers and the hills beyond. Also, the building is right smack in the middle of the revitalized downtown. It didn’t hurt that the guy at the front desk was totally hot and never failed to blush when Brian flirted with him. It was perfect ...

. . . well, that is until Brian – Brian!! – decided he was lonely. Apparently, he could neither live with Justin nor without him. He began inviting Justin over every night, which defeated the whole purpose of their arrangement. Of course, Brian never actually admitted to being lonely; he merely became sullen and mean. For the first few months, they were getting in, even more, fights than they had before. Brian was feeling insecure, and an insecure Brian is not a good thing. An insecure Brian is apt to pull the pin on an emotional hand grenade and toss it at Justin to catch. What to do? Finally, Justin decided to do the least intuitive thing he could think of and started buying sappy cards and slipping them under Brian’s door. They weren’t just sappy – they were nauseatingly sappy, but apparently, they did the trick. Brian stopped being clingy.  Justin had never known what he did with the cards until one day he discovered them stashed in a Gucci shoebox box in Brian’s closet. If Justin had ever really doubted that Brian is all hard-shell and rage, remembering those ridiculous cards reminded him that it’s not true.  Brian was a reluctant softie.

Of course, they still go out together, and even better, they get to bring each other home to whoever’s apartment they planned to spend the night in. And if they squabble? No problem. They go home to their separate apartments and brood in their separate ways – Brian with porn and whiskey and Justin with the cooking channel and weed. There’s no shouting and needling and withholding of sex; just blissful alone time.

There’s also enough space to splatter paint and litter the floor with sketches. No pissing and moaning about clutter. To the contrary, Brian seems to find Justin’s chaos endearing as long as he doesn’t have to live with it on a daily basis.  In turn, Justin finds Brian’s anal retentive neatness tolerable if not enviable. It's only gotten worse over the years. Ted says it really got out of control when Justin left for New York, but it seems to be improving. At least he allowed Justin to mix up his alphabetized spices without getting an eye tick.

Speaking of New York . . . Justin had loved every minute of living there, and he still pays half the rent for the shitty apartment he used to share with a lovable but neurotic roommate. He spends a few days there every few weeks and indulges his love of grit and noise and artistic edginess. He’d made a lot of friends – and several fuck buddies – all of whom he got together with when he was in town.  Yes, there was always a tug on his heartstrings when it was time to return to Pittsburgh, but it was always brief and quickly forgotten in Brian’s bed.

Unsurprisingly, Brian hated Justin’s trips to New York – and he hated, even more, having to feed Justin’s cats and clean their litter box while Justin was away. But that’s what neighbors do for each other, right?  Brian is grumbly for a couple of days and requires placating, but at least he isn’t terrified that Justin wouldn’t return.  There’s something about Justin having his own apartment that soothes him.  Justin might be able to walk out on him, but walking out of a cherished home is different.  Ironically, it’s their separate homes that ease Brian’s insecurities. It makes the rather exorbitant prices they’d paid for their apartments more than worth it.

Oh, and the sex . . . God. Yes, it’s already been mentioned, but it deserves more than one paragraph.  Brian’s apartment is big enough for a . . . Uhm . . . playroom (with a sturdy lock on the door to discourage a curious Gus). Justin had never fucked in a sling before Brian got his own – there’s something about it that is just too personal to do at the baths. Nothing is left to the imagination. Everything is on display. It’s impossible to clench your ass cheeks when you’re in one – hell, it’s impossible to clench anything. The only point of contact is cock and hole, and the narrowing of sensation is intense. There’s nothing to distract from the experience of penetration. He never would’ve thought so before he tried it, but Justin finds it surprisingly intimate, especially when Brian comes completely undone, his gazed fixed on the site of their joining, his cock sliding in and out, rigid, purple and shiny with lube.

Justin knows how it looks because they occasionally switch. Being able to watch his body disappear into Brian’s body . . . fuck, it’s the fodder for more than one fantasy.

Would they have such an incredible sex life without their separate places? Justin doesn’t know, but he isn’t willing to find out. Everything works just perfectly the way it is.

“Mmmm,” Brian says when he opens his door . . . or Justin opens his.  “You’re wearing my favorite outfit – nothing at all.  Can I divest you of your bathrobe? Or are you going to make me wait?”

Justin isn’t sure – both options are appealing for different reasons. Brian reaches for him and kisses him so thoroughly that this could be a first date, or their first date after being apart for weeks instead of days.

“I’ve been jerking off all day imagining this,” Brian says, opening Justin’s robe and sliding it off his shoulders, letting it catch halfway down his arms.  He nuzzles Justin’s neck, inhaling deeply, no longer afraid to find the scent of another lover.  "But don't worry, I left some spunk for you this time."

Another lover. As if. Justin had been there, done that, and found it didn’t hold a candle to what he and Brian have – now more than ever.

They don’t make it to the bedroom. They don’t even make it to the couch. Brian still has his shirt on and his jeans at mid-thigh when he comes. He groans and keeps thrusting. When Justin grabs his ass and squeezes, he laughs breathlessly. This is the moment when, if they were at Justin’s apartment, the cats would come over to investigate, batting at the empty condom wrapper and eyeing Brian suspiciously. He’s not there often enough for them to acknowledge him as a member of the household.  He’s still an interloper. Brian and Justin – especially Brian – are fine with that.

They eat dinner (Brian has hired a cook) and fuck again, and then Justin kisses Brian’s sweat-flushed cheek and says “good night.”  Brian merely grunts in reply. Yes, they sometimes sleep together, but that’s for special occasions – or for comfort when it’s needed. Yes, they watch movies together, but only ones neither of them want to see. Yes, they have bagels and coffee and read the newspaper together on Sundays, but they always alternate apartments from week to week.  The one who’s hosting has to get the food while the visitor brings the coffee, and there are two newspapers so they won’t squabble over the style section.

Years ago when he was still in love with what he thought was love, Justin wouldn’t have dreamed that so much compromise and negotiating could make him happy, let alone prove to be romantic. He would’ve been wrong. He’s glad he stuck around long enough to realize it.

Brian’s already snoring by the time Justin puts on his bathrobe and tiptoes across the hall looking well-fucked and pleased with himself and with life in general. The old lady four doors down sniffs disapprovingly as she walks by. She’s convinced Justin and Brian are married to women and are having adulterous gay sex on the side. Even if he could be bothered, Justin wouldn’t try to correct her. He likes that his and Brian’s relationship confuses people, even scandalizes them. He likes that they’re misunderstood.

He greets his cats and puts on music Brian would hate. He has an idea for a painting that he needs to do sketches for. He’ll be up all night and tomorrow he’ll sleep in. No mothers or roommates or lovers to tell him to get up and do something. He’s alone but not lonely. He smiles at a batik wall hanging Brian loathes and listens to the melodic rush of the Zen waterfall that Brian would’ve summarily banned if they lived together.  Yes, it’s true that in many ways they’re living separate lives, but living together makes people lazy. It leads to fights. To grudges, resentments, and silences.  It’s too high a price to pay for an ordinary love.

Feeling suddenly sentimental, Justin finds his stash of cards and chooses the most annoying one. He’ll pin it to Brian’s door and hope a trick sees it before Brian does.

I hate your hideous new lamp, he writes inside.

It’s one of the sappiest love letters he's ever written.  Only Brian will know why.