Warm water spattered over the expensive tile and the clear glass doors and walls of Brian’s shower, as he stood alone, letting the heat wash over his body. His aching muscles, knotted from tension and stress and fear, softening only slightly under the water’s caress. He looked down at the angry, red scar that now marred his once-perfect body. He knew he still wasn’t supposed to be getting the stitches too wet, but he didn’t care. Hopefully keeping the water at his back would be enough protection. He needed this time alone. Needed to feel the water and the warmth. He just had to hope that Justin understood that -- had gathered that much from Brian sliding the bathroom door shut behind him, leaving Justin standing in the bedroom telling him not to jerk off in the shower because he “had other plans.” But Justin’s plans wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- come to fruition. Not tonight. The last thing Brian needed right now was Justin to see him like this. Imperfect. Vulnerable. In Pain. Sliced open. Laid bare.

He willed the water to wash away the sheer exhaustion he felt -- be it from the surgery or from the stress of trying to hide his illness from everyone, he wasn’t sure. He’d seen the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror, and he knew Justin had seen them too, just a few minutes before in the bedroom.

“You know, you look really tired.”

“Just jet lag. I’m fabuloso, senor.” He’d tried to play it off as if it was nothing. When really, it was everything.

He’d also tried -- and failed -- to conceal how much it hurt when he bent down to take off his pants and the movement pulled at his incision. Justin had caught that too.

“What, did you hurt yourself?” The fucking concern was all over Justin’s face.

“Must have pulled a muscle in Ibiza.” He’d tried to play that off too.

“Bet I can guess which one.” Justin bought it. Thank God. The God he didn’t believe in. Hadn’t believed in since he was a boy, when he’d started to realize that religion was bullshit that people used to make themselves feel superior to others. At least, that was how his mother had always used it.

He sure as fuck wasn’t going to tell his mother about this. Hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to tell his partner.

That’s what Justin was -- his partner. Even though Brian would just as soon put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger than admit that out loud. Or admit that he loved him. Maybe he’d never have to. Maybe the cancer would pull the trigger first.

But he did love Justin.

And still, he’d been too -- what, proud? scared? too something -- to tell him. To tell him that he hadn’t gone to Ibiza at all. That he hadn’t spent the last several days in sunny Spain. He’d spent two of them in a hospital bed, and the rest in a dark hotel room with the curtains drawn -- restless, in pain, and alone. Alone because he’d been too proud -- or too scared -- to let Justin come with him. To let Justin know what was going on. That he had cancer.

That his body had betrayed him. His own cells had divided themselves so furiously that they’d formed a cancerous lump in his testicle. That a part of his manhood had been cut out of him because it was diseased. Replaced with a piece of plastic. A reasonable facsimile. Now, he was imperfect.

He was afraid. Afraid of dying from cancer like his old man had. He still felt like the fucker deserved it. But what had he done to deserve this?

He really had planned to go to Ibiza. At least, at first. He’d always wanted to die young. Better to go out in a blaze of glory than to end up some diseased old queen. To remain unspoiled by time, like James Dean. To just disappear. No fanfare. No funeral. No tears. To go to Ibiza and never be seen again. To die young. Still beautiful. Still perfect.

Buy a one-way ticket to Ibiza, party ‘til you drop, and then discreetly disappear. He’d been dead serious when he said that, as he walked up the hill with Jennifer and Justin after Vic’s graveside service. That was the original plan. The world would probably be better off without him anyway.

Then Lindsay showed up at his door with Gus, and he looked into his son’s eyes -- carbon copies of his own, set into a miniature face that was a perfect blend of himself and Lindsay. And he thought about leaving Gus behind. Could he? Would Gus be better off without his old man?

Then Michael came to the loft, suddenly feeling a “preponderance of death.” If only Michael had known how apt his choice of words had been at that moment. They’d shared a joint, while Michael talked about mortality. Being the one left behind. Michael was scared of being alone.

“Everywhere I turn, I’m confronted with the inevitable fact of one’s mortality.” Michael’s words rang true for Brian. Truer than Michael could have ever realized.

So Brian tried to shrug it off by saying, “Death can really hang you up the most.” And it had been hanging Brian up for a few days already -- having to face up to his own mortality, and whether or not he really wanted to die young, as he’d always said he did. If he was willing to allow that to happen. Wished for it, even. Did he mean it, or had it only been lip service all along?

Michael was afraid that Ben and Hunter would die first and leave him alone, to be the one to pack up their things and turn out the lights. If only Michael knew how wrong that statement would be, if Brian had his way. Would they be packing up the loft instead? Could he leave Michael behind, without a second thought? They were practically brothers. Loved each other like brothers. Fought like brothers, too. But at the end of the day, they were bonded for life. However abbreviated that life may be.

“I’m glad I have you,” Michael had said. “It’s nice to know that, no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other, like we always have. Right?”

If Brian had had the balls -- pun intended -- to go through with his plan, Michael would have been very wrong.

Michael had hugged him from behind and kissed his cheek, and Brian had been glad that Michael couldn’t see his face. Because hearing the converse of what he had planned, put into words by his best friend, hit Brian right in the gut, and he had a hard time keeping his expression neutral.

Brian tried to never really let anyone get close to him. At least, not as close as they would have liked. Even Justin and Michael, the two people he cared about the most -- although he’d never say that -- he kept at arm’s length as much as he possibly could. The less you have to hold onto, the easier it is to let go.

But did he really have nothing to hold onto? What about Gus? And Michael? And...Justin.

He’d had two plane tickets in his possession when Cynthia stormed into his office demanding to know why he dared to take off when he had a full schedule of meetings that week with all of his largest accounts. A one-way ticket to Spain. A round-trip ticket to Baltimore for an appointment at Johns Hopkins that he wasn’t sure he’d keep. He still hadn’t decided where he was going. He didn’t know when he’d be back. If he’d be back. Either way, they’d have to manage without him. Be it for a few days or indefinitely.

Then came Justin. He was going to have to tell Justin something. But he didn’t know what. So he told Justin he was going to Ibiza, and tried to ignore the hurt in Justin’s eyes when he realized Brian was taking the trip without him. The trip they’d planned to take together if Justin won the bet. Only he hadn’t won the bet. Brian had. And if Brian hadn’t won the bet -- hadn’t hooked up with Dr. Blow Job the night that Vic died, what would have happened? If he hadn’t told the uncomfortable truth about Vic being lucky to have those four extra years and ended up being thrown out of Debbie’s house after she slapped him? If he hadn’t gone out, hurt and angry and grieving, seeking to numb out with sex? Would Justin have eventually found the lump? Would Brian have noticed it? Neither of them had yet, at that point. How long would it have taken? Would he have still had a 99% chance of survival by the time one of them noticed something was wrong? Did it even matter?

The dominoes had been set in motion with that stupid bet. And they’d fallen, one by one, in perfect sequence, leading him to where he was right now -- minus one testicle and plus one potentially fatal disease. But even if it didn’t take his life, he felt it had already taken his dignity. His manhood.

When Justin questioned why Brian was taking the trip alone, all of the fear and uncertainty Brian was feeling suddenly rushed to the surface and burst forth in the form of anger.

“We’re not fucking married! And I don’t need to get your fucking permission if I want to go somewhere.”

He’d known as soon as the air left his lips -- too forcefully, too loudly -- that he shouldn’t be yelling at Justin. He wasn’t angry at Justin. He was angry at the situation he was in. Choosing between death and a disease that might make him wish he was dead. And now confronted with the thought of leaving Justin behind.

This had felt so different than three years ago, when he’d told Justin that he was going to New York to take the job that ultimately fell through. That he wouldn’t think of Justin, and hoped Justin wouldn’t think of him either. And when he’d held Justin while the kid cried, he knew, even back then, that he hadn’t meant a goddamn word of it. He loved that kid, even then. Even if he hadn’t known it yet himself.

But this -- this would be forever. Irrevocable. This could not be undone with two weeks’ notice and a moving van.

Brian had to leave the room for a moment to collect his thoughts and calm down, before he said or did anything else he’d regret. And it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest to hear Justin tell him that he was right. Because he wasn’t. Brian shook his head and hoped that Justin understood. To hear Justin try to take the blame, apologizing if he’d done or said something to piss Brian off. Brian had looked into Justin’s eyes only briefly -- until he couldn’t look at them anymore because it hurt too much.

“It’s not you.”

Brian had wrapped his arms around Justin, pulling Justin’s face into his collarbone, resisting the urge to kiss him because he knew that if he allowed himself to connect to Justin in that way, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from telling Justin everything. And he wasn’t sure he was ready to do that. If he ever would be. Instead, he’d pulled away and painstakingly painted on his mask of not-caring over the vulnerable one that had nearly come to the surface unabated. He walked back to his desk and was about to finish packing his bag when Justin drove the metaphorical knife straight into Brian’s heart. The knife that only Justin could hold.

“It’s okay. You go do whatever you have to do for whatever reason you have to do it. I just want you to know I love you. And I’ll be here when you get back.”

Brian couldn’t look Justin in the eye. He had to look down, to keep his mask up, because he could feel it starting to slip.

Justin’s words echoed in his head as the younger man walked out of the office, holding his coat.

I love you. And I’ll be here when you get back.

I love you. I love you.

He didn’t deserve to be loved. He didn’t deserve this kid.

It was time to go. Time to make a decision. A seemingly impossible choice, between two fates, neither of which Brian could have ever guessed would be in the cards for him. But clearly, the universe had other plans.

He turned off the lights in his office, one by one. When he got to the last one, the frustration and grief overwhelmed him, leading him to pick it up, swing it over his head, and slam it to the ground. The lamp was broken. And Brian was too.

As he hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back the tears that were gathering in his eyes, he knew then that there was absolutely no way that he could leave Justin and go to Ibiza, never to return. He’d made his choice. There was no other one to be made.

He wanted to tell Justin everything. But he couldn’t. And he didn’t know why. Why he was so reluctant to admit that he was facing something that felt so sinister. So frightening. But he couldn’t bring himself to look into his lover’s clear blue eyes and shatter his world. Because that would mean admitting that his own world felt shattered as well.

He wanted to ask Justin to come with him to Baltimore. Because he was afraid. Afraid he would end up like his father. He’d been gripped by that fear more than once in his life, but he never thought cancer would end up being something he and his old man had in common.

But he couldn’t admit that he was afraid. Not to himself. Not to anyone else.

So he’d gone alone. And come back wondering how in the hell he was going to hide this from everyone. And particularly, from Justin.

Brian turned off the water in the shower and grabbed a towel to dry off, wincing as he gingerly dried his groin, parts of it still swollen and tender from the surgery. He wondered how he was going to keep this from Justin -- or, more specifically, how he was going to keep Justin out of his pants.

They hadn’t had sex in two weeks now -- a new record for Brian, who had been maintaining his reputation as the Stud of Liberty Avenue for over a decade by sucking and fucking almost everything that moved and had a dick, seven nights a week. And it wasn’t for Justin’s lack of trying, either. He’d tried more than once, and Brian hadn’t been able to bring himself to let Justin see him or touch him -- not in that way. Not once he’d known what lurked under the tender skin between his legs.

Brian had been fighting a ruthless mental battle as Justin read his incredibly long, mostly made-up fortune, pushing Brian back onto the pillows and teasing him with soft kisses that tasted of shrimp stir fry before putting his hand into Brian’s pants. Brian’s arousal had nearly outstripped his fear of Justin finding his dirty little secret when the younger man’s fingers touched the imperfection and pleasure was quickly replaced by pain. He knew it was probably just tender from being poked, prodded, and manipulated by the doctor, but he questioned how he hadn’t felt this before. Hadn’t noticed a thing. Now that he knew about it, it was all he could think about. All he could feel.

He’d passed off the hiss of pain he couldn’t stop as a reaction to Justin’s hands supposedly being cold. Justin, ever practical, offered to warm them up. But that wouldn’t help, because that wasn’t the problem. So Brian had pretended to yawn, pretended to be tired, and left Justin sitting alone on the floor.

The next day, Brian came home from work to find Justin in the bedroom with two tricks -- one for each of them, apparently. He couldn’t even allow Justin to touch him or look at him, so how in the hell was he supposed to let some random trick touch him? So he’d pretended to have forgotten something at the office, and walked out of the loft. He wanted to get in the Corvette and find some country road where he could push the accelerator flush with the floorboard and let the engine roar as a way of working out his frustration. But he couldn’t do that, because he’d forgotten to grab his keys from atop his briefcase on the kitchen counter, in his haste to leave a seriously uncomfortable situation. One that he desperately wished wasn’t happening to him.

He didn’t even have his keys to the office. So he’d walked down the street and around the corner to the diner, praying he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. He didn’t. He spent thirty minutes nursing a cup of bad, lukewarm coffee and thanking a higher power he didn’t believe in that Deb had the night off to grieve her brother’s death. Brian knew that if she’d seen him, there would have been no getting away from her without having to admit the truth. But she wasn’t speaking to him. And that was a good thing, because she always saw straight through the facades he had so expertly perfected over the years. The facades that fooled almost everyone else, even her own son. But they didn’t fool her, and they didn’t fool Justin. He knew he was treading uneasy ground, that could give way and swallow him up at any moment. But he still couldn’t say it. Not to Justin. Not to anyone.

Once Brian felt the coast was probably clear, he walked back to the loft, hoping that Justin hadn’t locked him out. He hadn’t. Brian found Justin sitting alone on the sofa, looking confused. Disappointed. Rejected. Because he had been. And it hurt Brian more than it hurt Justin, but Justin didn’t know that. Couldn’t know that.

Brian had wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around Justin, kiss him deeply, and assure him that he had done nothing wrong. That Brian still wanted him, but there was something he needed to tell him. A lump the size of a gumball in a machine suddenly turned into a boulder that had crashed to the ground between them. And Brian couldn’t get around it. Didn’t want to try. So he’d gone to the bathroom, closed the door, and took a shower, then went to bed without saying a word. Justin joined him about an hour later. They’d gone to bed in silence that night, both of them hurting and lonely -- Justin because he probably thought Brian wasn’t attracted to him anymore, and Brian because he couldn’t bring himself to tell Justin what was really going on.

As he hung up the towel and pulled on his sweatpants over a clean pair of the ugly-as-sin boxer briefs that were the only thing that didn’t hurt like fuck right now, Brian knew he was only delaying the inevitable. There was no way he was going to be able to keep this from Justin for much longer. But he still didn’t feel ready to have that conversation. What would he say?

“Justin, I have cancer. I lied to you like a fucking coward. I didn’t really go to Ibiza. I had surgery in Baltimore, and now I’m a one-ball wonder. Only not, because they replaced it with this piece of plastic that will never be as good as the original. And I’m fucking scared to death.”

No, he still couldn’t say it. Because then he’d have to admit that every last word of it was true.

Brian exited the bathroom and proceeded slowly down the steps to the living room, trying not to limp as he held onto the door frame to steady himself. He was still so fucking tired and sore. Much more than he’d anticipated he would be. And he knew he wasn’t finished with the treatment -- the surgery had only been stage one. The results of the biopsy would determine how they would proceed next: radiation or chemotherapy. Brian wasn’t looking forward to either of those, because he knew both were going to result in weeks or months of the same exhaustion he was feeling now, coupled with other fun side effects like vomiting up everything you’ve ever eaten and generally feeling like death warmed over. And if the choice was chemotherapy, there would be the inevitable loss of his hair, and the simultaneous loss of any hope that he’d be able to continue to hide his condition from not only the people he loved but the whole fucking world at-large. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

He walked slowly across the loft and took a seat next to Justin, barely holding back a grunt as he sat down, making sure not to allow any pain to show on his face as his weight shifted over his angry remaining ball and the still-foreign prosthetic. Justin had his sketchbook laying open on his crossed legs, and didn’t look up. His expression was odd. Hard. Almost expressionless, really. A mask that would make Brian Kinney proud, if he weren’t wondering what the hell had caused this sudden shift in mood. Justin had gone from excitedly blathering on about Hollywood and Brett Keller and how Rage was going to stay hard-assed, edgy, and queer, to strangely quiet. Eerily so.

“There’s a message for you on the machine,” Justin said. His voice was flat, save for a barely perceptible edge. He didn’t look up from his drawing.

Brian could see the light flashing on the machine from his position on the sofa, but that wasn’t unusual, since he wasn’t exactly the best at checking his messages. At least not on the landline.

“Who was it?” he asked.

“Maybe you should listen to it,” Justin said, his tone still unreadable as he continued sketching.

“Okay…” Brian pushed himself up from the couch, failing to conceal the grunt of discomfort this time. Justin still didn’t look up. Didn’t even cast him a sidelong glance. What the fuck was going on? Who the hell was this message from? And why had it seemingly taken all of the wind out of Justin’s sails? He’d been so animated just twenty minutes earlier, as he was telling Brian about his and Michael’s meeting with Brett Keller. Brian hadn’t paid as much attention to him as he should have, however, because he’d been too distracted by pain and fatigue, after spending the entire day at the office. Maybe Justin was angry about that -- thinking that Brian had been belittling his and Michael’s effort and the recognition it had garnered from the big-shot Hollywood director.

Justin had also told Brian not to jack off in the shower because he had “other plans.” Clearly he must have changed his mind, because Justin certainly didn’t seem to be in the mood for sex now.

Brian pressed “Play” on the answering machine, and skipped over all but the first few seconds of three messages from Michael, Cynthia, and Ted that had all been left days ago. He hadn’t bothered listening to them then, and still didn’t now. He wasn’t worried about what those messages contained -- he was sure that whatever had been needed was already taken care of. And if it wasn’t, they’d remind him. He was more interested in this mysterious message that had Justin so on-edge.

Then he came to the message Justin had apparently overheard being left.

“Hello, Mr. Kinney, this is Dr. Rabinowitz from the Johns Hopkins Oncology Center. I’d like to discuss your post-surgery options, so please give me a call at 410-555-4832.”

Fuck. So much for keeping this to himself. His secret was out, and he hadn’t been the one to reveal it. At this point, he wasn’t sure if that was for better or for worse.

“Is there something I should know?” Justin still hadn’t looked up from his sketchbook, although his pencil was now scratching across the page with increased speed, pressure, and fury. Definitely fury.

Brian felt rooted to the spot where he stood. Unsure what to say or what to do. Unable to move or speak, as he attempted to gain control over his racing thoughts and engineer some sort of a graceful way out of this mess he’d created. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure there was going to be a good way out of this. No matter how he played it, Justin was going to be angry at him, and rightfully so. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get Justin to understand that he’d been too scared to tell him the truth. He’d really wanted to tell him, but he didn’t feel like he could. At least not without feeling even more exposed than the damn disease was already making him feel. He’d been afraid of what Justin would think of him. Scared that Justin would leave him and he’d be alone anyhow. Better to keep it a secret and still have Justin by his side, even if he still felt like he was alone.

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.” The grating voice of Brian’s mother rang in his head, from a memory of when he was 12 years old and had lied about being at a friend’s house, when really he and that friend had snuck over to a nearby fast food joint with a few stolen dollar bills to drink soda and eat french fries. His mother had caught them throwing away the empty cups in the trash can at the end of the driveway, and when she questioned him about it, he couldn’t keep the story straight, so he’d had to admit that he’d stolen the money from her purse when she wasn’t looking. His father had hit him with the leather belt that night -- one lash for each dollar he took.

Brian shook his head to rid it of the awful memory that he truly didn’t want to recall. He often wished he could just forget the first 18 years of his life, save for the parts he’d spent with Michael. And Debbie. They’d been a godsend to him in a very difficult time, and he doubted that even they knew the full breadth of the positive impact they’d had on his life. If he hadn’t met Michael, and then Deb by proxy, who knows where he would have ended up or what he’d be doing? If he’d even still be sane. He didn’t want to think about that. Just like he didn’t want to think about this.

“I fucking thought we were partners,” Justin said, his voice tight, interrupting Brian’s reminiscence. Justin still didn’t look up. Brian stared at Justin’s hand moving across the paper in huge, angry strokes, until his hand seized and he had to quickly flip the tip of the pencil upward to keep from ruining his work.

Brian couldn’t fight the impulse to return to Justin and take the contracted hand into his own, massaging out the cramped muscles that he knew were painful. It was a habit he couldn’t break. Didn’t want to break, really. One small, tender gesture he’d allow himself to display openly.

But as soon as Brian took Justin’s hand, the younger man wrenched it from his grasp and finally looked up at Brian, his eyes flashing. Narrowed blue steel.

“I didn’t think we kept secrets from each other anymore, but apparently we do. So is that where you were last week?” Justin’s voice was steadily getting louder. “Baltimore? Having surgery for fucking cancer?” He was practically shouting now, and slammed the sketchpad and the pencil down on the coffee table, never breaking eye contact with Brian.

Brian sank down onto the sofa and ran a hand over his face. He didn’t know where to start. And he had a feeling it wasn’t going to matter. It was futile. Justin would probably leave anyway. Why would he stay with someone who didn’t respect him enough to tell him that he had cancer? Brian’s litany of excuses all felt horribly inadequate.

“Brian.” Justin’s voice had softened slightly, back to its normal tone. “Please talk to me. Tell me what that message was about. Are you okay?”

Brian sighed and put his head in his hands.

“You’re scaring me,” Justin said, his voice now so quiet it was approaching a whisper. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

“I…” Brian sat up again and started to speak, but had no idea what words to say next. He had so many words, phrases -- goddamn excuses -- swirling around in his head. “I… Yes, I went to Baltimore last week. I… had surgery at Johns Hopkins.”

“What kind of surgery?” Justin was keeping his voice even and measured, seemingly having realized he was going to have to coax the information out of Brian. And Brian was thankful to be coaxed, because it gave him some direction in the sheer chaos that had erupted in his mind.

“They called it an orchiectomy. Sounds much nicer that way. Almost fucking poetic.” Brian snorted. “They cut a fucking--”

“I know what it is,” Justin interrupted, a slightly nervous edge having crept into his inflection. Of course Justin knew what it was. The kid was still a goddamn public service announcement on legs. Although Brian guessed he really wasn’t a kid anymore. And he definitely wouldn’t be after this. Brian had stolen Justin’s innocence once, and was about to take another part of it now. “Why did you need to have a testicle removed?” Justin asked. His fear was apparent now, in the slight tremble of his voice.

“Why do you think?” Brian slouched and rubbed his hands over his face, still unable to say the words. Perhaps because it would make this horrible situation too real if he uttered the phrase aloud: I have cancer. So he didn’t.

“Do you have…” Justin allowed his words to fade off. Apparently he couldn’t bring himself to say it either.

“Testicular cancer,” Brian blurted out. Just get it fucking over with. Lay it out on the goddamn table in all of its glory, for Justin to take it or leave it.

“How long have you known?” Justin’s facial expression was one of concern, although his tone was incredulous and becoming slightly perturbed.

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?! And you never thought you should tell me? I’m your partner for Christ’s sake, Brian. Why didn’t you tell me?” Justin was up and pacing the floor now.

“I couldn’t.” Brian stayed on the sofa, still looking down, his head still in his hands.

“Why the fuck not?” Justin was starting to sound livid. And Brian felt like a puppy who’d peed on the floor. He’d had all of the fight sucked out of him and couldn’t even bring himself to match Justin’s irritation. Usually the two of them would trade barbs, tit-for-tat, but not today. Brian didn’t have the energy. Mentally or physically. He wanted to be furious at having his secret uncovered, and at being yelled at by his partner when he was the one who was sick, but he really just felt defeated.

“I don’t know.” Brian knew his own voice was barely audible, and that he was mumbling, as if he was hoping to not be heard or understood.

Justin must have felt like he needed to change his strategy, because he sat back down next to Brian, lowered his voice and said, slowly and evenly, “Brian, please talk to me. Don’t shut down on me now.” Brian felt the younger man place a hand on his thigh -- a gesture of comfort, he guessed.

“I was scared, okay?” Brian spat as he looked up and turned his head toward the large picture windows that overlooked the city skyline. The words tasted as sour as his stomach felt.

Justin took his hand now. “Of what? Of telling me?”

Brian sat quietly for a few breaths before murmuring, “Of everything.”

“You can tell me now. You don’t have to be scared.”

“Yes I fucking do!” Brian found some strength, tenuous as it may have been, and used it to try to sound in-control, even if it didn’t make sense with the words coming out of his mouth. His mask had already slipped far enough. He couldn’t allow it to fall completely.

“Why, Brian? I’m here with you. I love you. We’ll get through this together. You don’t have to do it alone.” When Brian didn’t respond, Justin squeezed his hand. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. What are you afraid of? Let me help you.”

Brian wasn’t sure if he could put into words everything that frightened him about what was happening to him right now. There was so much. So many unknowns. Had they gotten it all? Was it farther along than they had originally thought? Had it already spread? Would it come back? What were the next steps? What would they be like? What would happen to him? How bad would it get? Was he going to die, like his father had?

“I couldn’t tell you.” Brian finally spoke, still gazing out the window and avoiding Justin’s eyes. “I was afraid of what you’d think. What you’d say. That it would all be too much for you and you’d leave.”

“I’m not leaving. We’re partners. We have a commitment. And I plan to stand by it.”

“You might not want to. You don’t know what you’re in for.”

“Neither do you. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m still not going anywhere. I don’t care how bad it gets. We’ll get through it.”

“It might get really bad.” And I might not want you to see me like that, Brian added silently to himself, almost ashamed of the thought. Here Justin was, offering him unconditional support, and all Brian could think of was saving face. Not appearing weak.

“You don’t know that. Why don’t we call the doctor back? There’s no use in sitting here stressing out over things we don’t even know.”

“We?” Brian finally turned back to look Justin in the eye.

“Yes, we. I’ll be right here. You’re not doing any more of this alone. I don’t care what you say.” Justin exhaled loudly and shook his head. “It’s bad enough that you went through the surgery alone.”

Brian shrugged and focused his gaze back on the floor in front of his feet. “I managed.”

“How? Did you stay in the hospital?”

“Only two days. I got a hotel room after that.”

“And you stayed in it by yourself?”

“Yeah. I was just sleeping most of the time. Or trying to.” He left out the detail that most of the time he’d actually been too uncomfortable to sleep for more than an hour or two at a time, and that the pain pills they’d given him had made him feel nauseous, which was a bad combination since he could barely manage to get back and forth to the bathroom unassisted.

Brian remembered how he had lied to get released on that second day -- told them he was going to a hotel with his partner who was on his way to Baltimore as they spoke -- simply because he couldn’t stand to be in a hospital room any longer. He still hated hospitals, and probably always would. As soon as he could piss on his own and eat solid food, he’d wanted out of there. Had they known he was going to a hotel by himself, they never would have released him so soon, and he knew it. He’d thought he would be able to handle it. And he’d very nearly been wrong. But he’d slept as much as his pain would allow, and lived off of room service trays -- when he could stomach food at all. Eventually he’d managed to recover enough to feel like he could make his way back to Pittsburgh and force himself to function at a somewhat-normal level. And now, here he was. Still pretending everything was fine, and being forced to admit that it wasn’t.

“I wish you would have told me.” Justin rubbed his thumb over Brian’s palm. “I would have gone with you.”

“I didn’t want you to.” Brian was still avoiding eye contact with Justin.

“Brian, I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want me to go with you?”

“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that.” He could own up to it this time, since it was already in the past. But he still didn’t want to think about how it might apply to the future.

“Are you forgetting about how you’ve seen me? In a coma, then having panic attacks every day and nightmares every night, with a hand that was less than useless?”

“You got better.”

“Yeah, because of you. I wouldn’t have been able to do it on my own. You don’t have to either. So you can get it out of your head that I’m leaving, because I’m not. Not even if you try to make me leave.”

“I don’t think I could throw you out,” Brian admitted reluctantly, although he managed to look Justin in the eye for a brief moment. “I’m too tired. I feel like shit.” He did have to admit that forcibly throwing Justin out of the loft would accomplish his goal of being able to take care of this entirely on his own with no help from anybody, but he also knew that being alone wasn’t truly what he wanted. He’d already come face-to-face with that in a hotel room in Baltimore. He just didn’t want to be treated like a victim or an invalid, or like he was going to die. And he hoped Justin wouldn’t do that.

And as reluctant as he’d been to tell Justin the truth, now that it was out, Brian was relieved that he wouldn’t have to hide how awful he felt. At least, not at home.

“Let’s call the doctor back, then,” Justin said as he got up to retrieve the cordless phone. “And after that we can go to bed.”

“It’s barely dinnertime.”

“I don’t care. We’ll do it anyway.”

“What if it’s not that easy? What if it’s bad news?” Brian still couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole thing was worse than it appeared on the surface. That was how his whole life had been. Everything good that happened to him always ended up eclipsed by bad. It had happened to him ever since he was a kid, although the worst example was Justin’s prom -- when Brian had finally admitted to himself that he’d fallen in love with Justin, and the night had ended with Justin getting his head bashed in. Now, Brian had finally managed to start his own advertising firm, and he was about to be out-of-commission for who knows how long.

“Then we’ll deal with it.” Justin handed Brian the phone. “But right now, you don’t even know what he’s going to say.”

Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out the doctor’s business card. His hands were shaking as he dialed the number. The call was answered quickly by a receptionist who sounded much too chipper to be working in a office that regularly handed down sentences of death and misery.

“Johns Hopkins Oncology Center, how may I assist you today?”

“Um.” Brian struggled to find his voice amid the sudden nervousness he was feeling. He wasn’t sure which was worse: not knowing anything, or knowing that he was about to find out what he could expect from the next few weeks in his life. Maybe from the rest of his life. “This is Brian Kinney. I’m returning Dr. Rabinowitz’s call.”

The receptionist put Brian on hold for a few minutes that felt like an eternity, and he tried to calm his pounding heart as he listened to the tinny-sounding smooth jazz hold music. He put the handset on speakerphone, because, frankly, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to hear this or be able to digest it on his own. He wanted -- needed -- Justin to hear it too.

Finally, the doctor was on the line, and it was time for Brian to face his fate. At least, that’s how it felt. Like he was going before a judge, jury, and executioner, all at once.

Brian was trying to pay attention, but he was so distracted by the swirling thoughts in his head and the feeling of dread in his stomach that he felt like he was only hearing about half of what the doctor said.

“Biopsy results… Early stage… Common… Optimistic… Radiation treatment… Chemotherapy… Risk… Success rate…”

Several of those words sounded positive, which helped alleviate some of Brian’s worry and untwist his gut a little.

“It’ll be your choice, Mr. Kinney.” That was the first complete sentence he’d managed to comprehend since the doctor picked up the phone. “You decide how you’d like to proceed from here. We can do chemotherapy, which will further reduce your chances for recurrence, but there are certainly some significant side effects and risks involved. Or you can choose to go through with radiation treatment, which will be shorter and have less side effects, but has its own risks. Or you can do neither, and we will continue to monitor you, but that will leave you with a much more significant possibility of recurrence.”

“What would you do if you were me?” Brian was surprised he’d even managed to speak, much less ask a coherent question. He’d been expecting for Dr. Rabinowitz to tell him what to do, to lay out a treatment plan in front of him and tell him where to be and when. Instead, the man was giving him choices. That put Brian on edge. He wasn’t the one with the medical degree. Justin, being the silent partner here, laid a reassuring hand on Brian’s knee, as if to remind Brian that he was there, supporting him no matter what.

“I really can’t answer that, Mr. Kinney. It’s up to you. There are benefits and risks to either treatment. Looks like I do have an email address on file for you. I can send you some information if you like.”

Brian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

“Absolutely. If you decide to pursue follow-up treatment, I’ll be referring you to the office of a colleague in Pittsburgh, so you won’t have to commute back and forth. Let me know as soon as possible, Mr. Kinney, so we can get everything set up. I know this is a difficult choice to make. I’ll have someone send you some more information that you can look over, and I’ll talk with you soon, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.” Brian hung up the phone, his fingers groping blindly at the buttons as he leaned forward to lay it on the coffee table. Feeling numb. How the fuck was he supposed to decide any of this? Why was any of this being left up to him? He didn’t feel qualified to make this choice. Sure, it was his life, but he didn’t have any sort of medical training or knowledge. The fact that it was being left up to him felt frustrating. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

“Well, that was...not at all informative,” Brian said, sighing as he leaned back against the throw pillows on the sofa.

“He sounded optimistic,” Justin said, gently squeezing the hand that was on Brian’s knee. “They caught it early, so that’s good.”

“I guess. I just don’t know what I should do. This is too fucking...much.” Brian raked his fingers through his hair, tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. “How in the hell am I supposed to decide this?”

Justin slid an arm around Brian’s shoulders and tucked himself in close to Brian’s side, pulling his feet up onto the cushion. “I’ll support you in whatever you decide,” he said.

“What would you do?”

“I don’t know, Brian. It’s not an easy choice.”

“If I do nothing, then it might come back. Losing one ball is bad enough. So, I know I have to do something. The chemo, or the radiation...something. But what?”

“You don’t have to decide tonight. Let’s wait until tomorrow, look over what he sends you, and go from there. Make an informed decision, when you’re not dead tired. Let’s go to bed, get some rest, and come at it with fresh eyes in the morning. Okay?”

Justin got up, put the phone back on the charger, and started turning off lights in the loft, while Brian still sat on the couch, feeling like he couldn’t move because the weight on his mind and soul was too heavy right now. Making the wrong choice here could have far-reaching consequences.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Justin said as he passed by Brian again and brushed a hand over his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Why don’t you go lie down? Close your eyes, rest a little...we can talk about all of this tomorrow.”

Brian rose slowly and limped up to the bedroom, trying to somehow move his left leg as little as possible as he walked, no longer caring about appearing “normal.” Walking hurt right now, and he’d been trying to hide that all day. He climbed carefully into bed, then collapsed down onto the soft sheets. The second his head hit the pillow, Brian realized just how bone-tired he really was.

Trying to spend the entire day at the office hadn’t been his best decision. He’d snapped at Cynthia more than once -- if he wasn’t careful, she’d probably rip his other ball off with her own two hands -- and had nearly fallen asleep at one point on the sofa that he kept in his office. He’d fumbled his way through a meeting with a client, thankful that he’d done this for so many years that it felt like he could do it on autopilot. Cynthia was still pissed at him. Still thinking he’d gone off to Ibiza and left her to cover for him while he tanned his ass on the beach. If only she knew the truth. That the only thing even remotely close to tanning he’d done was lie under that bright-ass light in the operating room as he counted backward from 10.

He felt like he’d watched his life flash before his eyes as the numbers counted down. Justin. Gus. Michael. Lindsay. Deb. Joan and Jack. Justin. The flow of oxygen through the mask they’d stuck over his nose and mouth had made him feel dreamy and disoriented. Slightly high. Like a good buzz. He remembered his eyelids suddenly feeling impossibly heavy, and a dark curtain closing in from the edges of his field of vision. He’d tried to push aside the fear he felt in that moment by remembering why he was doing this -- because he didn’t want to leave the people he loved. And he did love them, even if he didn’t have the balls to own up to that. The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on Brian.

But Cynthia couldn’t know the truth, because then she’d feel sorry for him, and he couldn’t deal with that. Didn’t want to deal with that. Even as much of a heartless bitch she could be where business was concerned, Brian knew she cared about him. And he cared about her. Trusted her. Would trust her with his life. But he couldn’t tell her this. He didn’t want or need sympathy from anyone.

He hadn’t wanted anyone to know. Not even Justin. But Justin was too close to hide it from. Maybe Brian had known that all along. He hadn’t counted on the doctor selling him out so soon, though. Now, here they were. And maybe Justin knowing wouldn’t be so bad.

Brian had nearly drifted off to sleep by the time Justin joined him in the bed, startling him a little.

“Sorry,” Justin breathed. “I was really trying not to wake you.”

“S’okay,” Brian mumbled as he felt Justin curl up against him, hugging him close. Justin kissed his chest twice, so lightly and gently, then sniffed softly, like maybe he was crying. But Brian couldn’t muster the energy to open his eyes.

“Love you,” Brian heard Justin whisper, just before he slipped off into oblivion.

The next morning, nothing felt any clearer to Brian. Sleep hadn’t brought with it any divine wisdom or reassurance, and he still felt like shit. He shuddered at the thought of what he was going to feel like a week or two from now, if the surgery on its own had left him feeling this wiped out.

He was up much earlier than usual -- a distinct disadvantage of going to bed before 8 p.m. -- so he slowly slid out of bed, successfully managing not to wake Justin, and hobbled into the bathroom to take a piss. Brian paused to examine his reflection in the mirror after washing his hands. He didn’t look any better than he felt. Shit. How long was he going to be able to pass this off as jet lag?

Justin was still sleeping soundly as Brian passed through the bedroom, on his way to his computer. He hoped that the email he’d been promised the previous evening was waiting for him in his inbox, and it was. So he got up, went into the kitchen, made coffee, then settled in to weigh his options. An hour later, he was armed with a lot more information, but he still had absolutely no fucking clue what he should do. And his coffee cup was empty.

He rose from his desk chair and padded slowly into the kitchen, where he put the empty mug into the sink and was trying to figure out how he could cobble together a decent breakfast from what little food he had in the loft, when Justin came down from the bedroom.

“You’re up early,” Justin said, yawning and stretching his arms overhead as he spoke.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Not at all. Feeling any better this morning?” Justin wrapped his arms around Brian from behind and tucked his chin over Brian’s shoulder.

“Physically or mentally?”

“Either. Both.”

“Not really.” Brian shrugged.

“Hmm. So what did you find out about your treatment options?” Justin released Brian and gestured toward the corner where Brian’s computer resided. The glow of the screen reflected softly against the brick wall behind it, making it relatively obvious what Brian had been doing.

“A whole hell of a lot. And not fucking much.” He sighed. “I still don’t know.”

“What’s your gut telling you?”

“My gut is telling me that I should have run off to Ibiza when I had the chance.” Brian let out a breathy, sardonic laugh. “Then I wouldn’t have to decide.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t go to Ibiza.” Justin grabbed Brian’s hands and pulled their bodies together before kissing him. “I’d have missed you.”

“Give it a few weeks. You might be wishing I’d have gone after all, when you’re stuck dealing with my sick ass. I’m not nice when I’m sick.”

Justin let go of Brian’s hands, then got down a mug from the shelf and poured himself a cup of coffee. “You’re not nice most of the time anyway.”

“Thanks a lot, you twat,” Brian said, playfully smacking Justin on the arm with the back of his hand.

“Hey, aren’t you glad that your asshole persona is still believable?”

“Gotta keep up appearances. Can’t be going all soft in my old age.”

“Brian, I’ll gladly deal with you when you’re sick,” Justin said, suddenly serious again. “I just want you to be okay.”

Brian didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to be okay too. He didn’t want to be sick at all. But that ship had sailed, and long since disappeared over the horizon. Brian really didn’t want to have to stand by and watch while Justin proved how much he loved him. But he knew he wasn’t going to have a choice but to bear witness to exactly how much Justin cared about him. No matter how little Brian thought of himself, or how unworthy he felt of such love and devotion.

So he kissed Justin on the cheek and patted his shoulder, then went to take a shower. He was putting on his tie when Justin came back into the bedroom, looking confused.

“Where are you going?” Justin asked, his brow furrowed.

“Work,” Brian replied, keeping his inflection nonchalant, as he tightened the knot.

“The fuck you are. You need to rest.”

Brian exhaled loudly. This was definitely one reason he hadn’t wanted anyone to know -- he didn’t want anyone trying to tell him what to do. What he needed.

What he needed was to feel normal. Like nothing was amiss.

“I have things I have to do at the office,” Brian said. He tried to keep his voice neutral and not sound annoyed. Being mean to Justin had never worked. Past experience told him that being mean only made Justin push harder to get what he wanted. He knew Justin was trying to be supportive and caring, but it was still annoying as shit. Brian Kinney wouldn’t consent to being taken care of or ordered around like a child. “I was out for a week. I’ve got a huge pile of work I have to catch up on.”

“Brian, you have to take care of yourself.”

“If I don’t have any money, I won’t be able to take care of myself. Or you.”

“I’m sure your staff can handle it for a few more days. The ship won’t sink just because you took a couple more days off.” Justin crossed his arms. “You need time to recuperate.”

“Been there. Done that. Don’t have time for more.”

“Brian--”

“Look, Sunshine...I just got Kinnetik off the ground. I’ve already had to put off meetings with the clients who are practically bankrolling this little venture, and I really can’t do it again. I’m stressed as shit, and I can’t afford to be off work right now. End of discussion.”

This illness certainly had piss-poor timing. Not that there’s ever a good time to be diagnosed with cancer, but right after opening your own business had to rank up there as one of the worst.

Justin sat down onto the wooden ledge around the bed and put his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay,” he said. “I know I’m not going to win this argument with you. But promise me you’ll at least try to take it easy. And if you start feeling bad, you’ll come home. Can you do that?”

Brian rolled his eyes. “I think I can survive sitting in my executive chair, looking over paperwork and approving copy. It’s not that strenuous.”

Except that’s exactly what he’d been doing -- almost all he’d been doing, save for that one meeting -- the day before, and he’d come home feeling like he’d been put through the wringer. Hopefully today would be better. He truly had no fucking idea what he was going to do about work once he started treatment and had even more fatigue to look forward to, complete with a side of nausea and vomiting. Lovely.

“Call me if you need anything,” Justin said. “I mean it.”

Brian leaned down and kissed him, then pulled on his suit jacket and walked back out of the bedroom, stopping to grab his briefcase from the barstool in front of the kitchen island.

“I will,” he said, over his shoulder. But he knew he wouldn’t.

Brian stopped at the diner on the way to the office, for some breakfast and another cup of coffee, to go. He went for a muffin instead of his usual egg white omelet, since he didn’t really have time to wait and didn’t want to linger too long in the diner, in case one of his friends came in. His friends that he had already decided he wouldn’t be sharing his news with, at least not anytime soon.

Michael couldn’t know, because he’d almost certainly go all Italian mother on him, trying to cook for him and buy him groceries and do his laundry and a whole list of shit that Brian really didn’t need or want Michael trying to do for him. Michael would hover. Michael’s mind would immediately jump to thinking of the worst possible outcomes. He’d inherited a penchant for drama, being half Italian and half drag queen, and Brian didn’t want to deal with drama right now. Michael would probably cry. Brian would end up being the one to comfort Michael, even though he was the one who was sick. He wasn’t fond of keeping something this big from his best friend, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it when Michael’s love for him turned overbearing. And it would. So Michael couldn’t know. At least, not for as long as Brian could manage to keep it from him.

Emmett couldn’t know, because he’d be right alongside Michael, making Brian feel like an invalid who couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself, although with less tears and slightly less drama. Ted would be harder to hide it from, since he’d be around Brian at work all day. But Brian would have to try. Ben -- was he a friend? Or was he only connected to Brian because he was Michael’s boyfriend? Ben would probably be the only one who would understand Brian’s need to not have people fawn over him. But Brian couldn’t ask him to keep it from Michael -- he refused to be the one to come between Michael and Ben like that. Ben made Michael happy, and Brian wanted Michael to be happy. So none of them were going to know, either.

Debbie still wasn’t speaking to him, so she probably wouldn’t give a shit. After what he’d said about Vic, Brian didn’t blame her for slapping him or throwing him out of her house on the night Vic died. The night his sought-after trick had found a lump on his testicle, and sent Brian’s stomach plummeting to his knees right there in the back room at Babylon. Brian hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at Debbie for the entire duration of the graveside service -- partially because of what he’d done, and partially because he was too stuck inside his own head. As they all shared their fond memories of Vic and laid roses on the casket, Brian had been thinking about the news he’d received at the doctor’s office earlier that morning. About the prospect of being the one inside the box, about to be on the wrong side of the dirt, sooner rather than later.

Brian felt like he was on board a runaway train, speeding off through hills and valleys and around sharp curves at a speed far too great. He wanted off. He wanted to jump. But he was stuck. He’d have to ride it out. Even if he had no idea where he was headed. Sometimes he didn’t want to know.

Coffee and paper bag in hand, he walked through the lobby of Kinnetik without speaking to anyone, went into his office, and cursed his decision to partition off his space with a clear glass door that he couldn’t hide behind. Beautiful and architecturally interesting as it was, it didn’t provide the privacy he desperately craved right now. The stack of file folders on his desk looked daunting, even more so than it had the day before. Like he’d made no headway. And he probably hadn’t. Yesterday, he’d barely been able to focus, because he couldn’t find a comfortable way to sit, and he was trying to not have to take any of the narcotics he’d been prescribed that made him feel loopy and high, but not in a good way. He had to hope that today was going to be better, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

He took a sip of the coffee -- straight-up black today -- as he sat down in his chair and eyed the pile of paperwork that awaited him. Suddenly, he wasn’t very hungry anymore. He felt anxious and a little sick, wondering how he was going to dig out of this and still keep up with everything that needed to be done for his business for the next who-knows-how long. And he still had a decision to make. A very important one, that would decide so much about his future.

The knot of trepidation remained in the pit of his stomach as he moved through his workday as well as he could, making the familiar motions more out of habit than out of conscious thought. Approve this. Sign that. Fix something that you told someone else to do but they fucked it up so you have to do it yourself if you want it done right.

It wasn’t until the afternoon meeting he had planned with Ted, Cynthia, and his art director and lead copywriter, that his facade started to crack. He was standing, like he always did, because he liked the effect it had on the power dynamic in the room, with everyone else sitting while he stood. It punctuated the fact that he was the boss -- he was in charge. In control. And then the room started to spin. And he wasn’t in control anymore.

He was forcing out words two or three at a time, trying to respond to what was happening in the meeting. Trying to sound like his head wasn’t swimming and he didn’t feel like he was going to vomit on the floor. Drinking water to try to force down anything that might be trying to come up.

“Brian?” Ted asked when Brian was forced to make an awkward pause and lean on the table to keep his balance and stay upright. That was the moment when he suddenly remembered he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Ted’s eyes were laden with concern that Brian didn’t want to see. “You okay?”

Cynthia’s voice came next. “Brian?”

Then all of their eyes were on him as he tried to steady himself, to stand up straight so he could leave the room and sit down in the safety and solitude of his own office, on the other side of the sliding partition.

Fucking Ted followed him, though. And Ted had already seen more than Brian had wanted him to see. More than he wanted anyone to see.

“Brian?” Ted said again.

“I’m fine,” Brian lied. He knew he didn’t sound very convincing right now. But he had to find some way to throw Ted off his trail.

“Well, you sure as hell don’t look it. You practically fainted in there.”

“Yeah, I’m just a little tired from my trip. That’s all.”

“Well, maybe you should go home. I mean, we can finish this tomorrow--”

“I said I’m fine,” Brian said, perhaps a little too loudly. But he needed Ted to believe it as much as he needed to believe it himself. “Now let’s finish the goddamn meeting.”

He got up and went back into the conference room, with Ted trailing behind.

They finished the meeting, with Brian sitting at the head of the table instead of standing, and all four of his senior staff members throwing worried glances his way periodically. After they adjourned, Brian sat alone in his office again, where he picked at the muffin he’d bought this morning, in an effort to get something in his stomach to try to calm the turmoil in his body. How in the hell was he going to keep this up, possibly for months?

His thoughts returned to weighing the pros and cons of the choice he needed to make about his future. Chemo seemed to be the surer bet when it came to preventing a recurrence, but it would mean a month or more of some rather torturous side effects, not to mention one very obvious one that would mean that everybody would know exactly what was going on. Brian shook his head. He didn’t like to think about that one. Then there was the radiation -- probably two or three weeks, with an appointment every day Monday through Friday to fry his remaining ball and the lymph nodes in his groin that could still be harboring the precursors for cancer. He’d still feel like shit, but for a shorter time, and he’d still have his hair. Vanity definitely preferred the radiation route.

Brian lasted another hour at the office before he crammed a few of the folders on his desk into his briefcase to take home and review where no one would be watching him out of the corner of their eye, wondering what was going on with him.

Justin was home, drawing on his computer, when Brian pulled back the door to the loft, which suddenly felt much heavier than he remembered.

“You’re home early,” Justin said as he turned to face Brian and raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” Brian left out the fact that he still felt lightheaded and shaky and probably shouldn’t have driven home. But he sure as fuck wasn’t going to ask Ted to drive him, and he hadn’t wanted to worry Justin. He'd save that for later.

The look on Justin’s face told Brian that Justin didn’t really believe him, but he wasn’t going to challenge him either. Brian would take it. He didn’t really want to have to explain or defend himself right now. He abandoned his briefcase on the barstool -- he’d come back to what he’d brought home to work on later -- then took off his jacket and loosened his tie before going over to the sofa and collapsing down onto it. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he willed the slight vertigo he’d had for most of the afternoon to go away.

Justin came over and stood behind Brian, then started rubbing his shoulders, working his agile artists’ fingers into the muscle. It felt nice, but Brian didn’t think there was anything that could possibly work out the tension that was in his body right now. Brian let his eyes close and his hand fall down to the cushion.

“Brian, your hands are shaking,” Justin said. “What’s going on? Have you eaten today?”

Fuck.

“Talk to me,” Justin said as he stopped massaging Brian’s shoulders and came to sit down next to him on the couch. “Don’t shut me out. I want to help you. What do you need?”

“I need this knot in my stomach to go away. I need to just make a damn decision so it will.”

“A decision about what?”

“You know. What I want to do.”

Justin nodded and took one of Brian’s hands in his. “What are you thinking?”

Brian exhaled, forcing air through barely parted lips. “Is it too vain of me to say that I really, really don’t want to lose my hair?”

“I don’t think so. I’d say most people who have been through chemo would probably say the same.”

“Except that I have a fucking choice and a lot of people don’t. And that particular potential side effect has a lot more weight in this decision than I’d like to admit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. You feel what you feel.”

“I guess. It just...deciding to go with chemo seems to make it feel a lot more serious too. The radiation seems a lot...neater. Tidier. Less serious? I know that doesn’t make any fucking sense. I mean, it’s going to suck either way. But it might suck less.”

“Maybe.”

“So what do you think I should do?” Brian turned his head to look at Justin.

“I think you should do what you’re comfortable with.”

“You’re no help.”

“Sorry. I think you know which one you’re more comfortable with though.”

“I’m not comfortable with either, to be honest. But yeah, I do know. The radiation. Still fucking scary. Maybe a little less scary.”

“Okay. Then that’s what you should do.”

So Brian made his decision, called the oncology center to let them know, and set the ball in motion that would carry him through this particular chapter in his life. For better or for worse. Now, he just had to strap in for whatever came next, and try to be okay with it. But he did feel like he had an enormous weight lifted off of his shoulders now that he knew what path he’d be following.

He did manage to eat some dinner, now that some of the unease in his gut had abated, although it still wasn’t completely gone. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And he figured it probably wouldn’t be gone for a long time -- at least, not until he knew with some degree of certainty that he would come out of this on the other side, and be okay.

Knowing that Justin was fully by his side and one-hundred-percent on his team definitely helped, and Brian found that he was actually a little bit glad now that Justin knew. That he wouldn’t have to do all of this alone.

They spent the rest of the evening on the sofa, Justin curled into Brian’s side, with his head resting on Brian’s shoulder, watching old movies on some obscure cable channel. Brian never touched the work he’d brought home with him. For some reason, it seemed a little less important now, at least for the moment. It could wait until tomorrow.

Eventually, they’d gone to bed, with Brian’s body pressed against Justin’s from behind, conforming to Justin’s every curve, holding him and feeling grateful that he had someone to hold onto. Someone to help carry him through this. Even if he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such companionship.

“Will you be there with me?” Brian whispered, long after silence had fallen between them.

“Huh?” Justin asked sleepily.

“Will you be there with me?” Brian murmured the words again as he pulled his arms tighter around Justin’s body, hugging the younger man’s back closer to his chest. “For all of it. No matter how ugly it gets.”

“I will, Brian. I love you. I’m staying. No matter how ugly it gets.”

Once everything was set in motion, anxious anticipation replaced the agonization of making the decision. Brian had a date now. A date that would be the beginning of an even more extended period of feeling like crap. A date that he knew he was going to need to make arrangements for, and prepare for. But trying to do that at work without having anyone really know what was going on, was proving to be a minefield -- one wrong move, and this could all blow up in his face.

He tried to take care of as many of the in-person client meetings as he could, in the week between the phone call that had decided his fate and his first radiation appointment. He still wasn’t feeling great, but it was a little better than it had been when he’d first returned from Baltimore. He could at least function on a reasonably normal level, and Cynthia and Ted weren’t looking quite so worried anymore. Maybe they thought he’d picked up some weird illness in Spain. At least, he hoped that was what they thought.

“I’m going to be coming in at 10 instead of 8, starting on Monday,” he’d told Cynthia. “For at least two weeks.”

She raised her eyebrows as she looked up from her computer. “Everything okay?”

“Fine, fine. I just have something I have to do.”

“Every day for two weeks?”

“Maybe more.”

“Brian, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“I mean, with what happened the other day in the staff meeting--”

“I was fine. I just got busy and forgot to eat. Low blood sugar.” Brian really needed her to stop asking so many questions.

“Is Justin okay?”

“He’s fine.”

“How about Gus?”

“He’s fine too. Christ, what’s with the inquisition?” Brian could feel his agitation growing.

“I care about you, Brian. We’ve been working together a long time. I can tell when something’s not right.”

Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

“I’m fine,” Brian said quickly, before she could continue. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go threaten to hand out some pink slips in the goddamn art department, since none of them can do anything right.”

“Ah, there’s the Brian we all know and love.” She sighed and turned back to her computer, her nails clicking on the keyboard as she typed. “I’ll block out your calendar in the mornings for the next two weeks. Let me know if anything changes.”

“I will. Thanks.” Brian tapped his fingers on the edge of her desk before walking away. This was probably going to be harder than he thought -- trying to keep his illness a secret at work. Cynthia knew him fairly well -- he’d spent almost as many of his waking hours with her in the past few years as he had with Justin, thanks to his propensity toward being a workaholic and a relentless perfectionist who would rather take the time to do something himself than let someone else fuck it up. So she was probably going to pick up on the fact that something was going on. The real question was whether or not she’d say anything to him about it, or if she’d just keep up silent surveillance.

He started to go down to the art department to take out some of his frustrations on some poor, probably-innocent intern, but instead he took a left turn back into his office, where the stack of file folders and paperwork was finally, thankfully, starting to dwindle. He was planning to try to work as much as possible through the radiation treatment, but in the back of his mind, he had a nagging thought that wouldn’t let go, that was telling him that he might not be able to.

This whole thing was so fucking scary. And Brian Kinney wasn’t someone easily frightened. But this was unknown territory -- a place he’d never been before, and he had no idea what lay within. Just going to Baltimore and having the surgery had been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, if he was being honest with himself. He’d probably never be honest about that with anyone else, though. Not even Justin. Sure, Justin knew he was scared, because he’d told him that much, but not how scared he was. That he’d actually been fucking terrified out of his mind. Still was, really. And not just of the cancer. But Brian Kinney didn’t admit things like that.

He’d never had surgery before. Never been admitted to a hospital before, although he’d had several visits to the emergency room as a kid. And not for your usual, accident-prone childhood injuries either. No, this was stitches and broken bones at the hand of his asshole father, framed by lies fabricated by his mother to cover for the drunken, abusive motherfucker who took out all of his frustration and aggression on his quiet, sensitive son, forcing Brian to develop a thick, hard shell around his feelings and emotions that would be difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to penetrate. If anyone ever wondered why Brian Kinney was the way he was, they needn’t look any further than how he was raised.

His father drank and played poker every night at the union hall as a way to escape his shitty life. Trapped in a blue collar job that he hated. Trapped by a wife and two kids that he never wanted in the first place, that he apparently somehow felt obligated to. But only obligated enough to stay. Not obligated enough to actually give a shit about them.

His mother found her own escape in alcohol as well. Still did. Every time Brian had seen her in the past few years, she’d had liquor on her breath and was unsteady on her feet. Who the fuck goes to church drunk? Joan Kinney, that’s who.

Neither of them had ever liked Brian very much.

They’d acted at least somewhat amicable toward Claire -- their blonde-haired, blue-eyed perfect daughter, who’d fallen in love with the quarterback of the high school football team. She’d married him right out of high school, and ten years later found out that fairy tales are just that: tales. That when you actually take the time to look at the details, maybe things aren’t quite as perfect as they once seemed. And now she was a divorcee, stuck with two kids by the Spawn of Satan. But they were Joan’s perfect grandchildren who could do no wrong, even when one of them was accusing Brian of molesting him. You would think Joan would have known her son better than that. Brian still hadn’t forgiven his mother or his sister for thinking that he would do something like that. He didn’t think he ever would.

If Brian had anything to do with it, Joan would never find out about Gus. She’d never have an opportunity to ignore Gus, berate him, or make him feel lesser than, like she’d always done with Brian and would no doubt do with his son as well. It’s hard -- no, fucking impossible -- to learn how to love when you grow up in a loveless household headed up by a hateful marriage of convenience. Feeling like you can never do anything right. Like no one will ever approve of you or be proud of you, even if you bring home the goddamn Nobel peace prize. A household where trying to feel loved only earns you rejection, pain, and ridicule.

That was the house Brian had grown up in. The upbringing that had scarred him not only physically but emotionally as well. The emotional scars were the worst. The physical ones were all hidden, or faded beyond recognition as time had passed. But the emotional scars felt like they’d never fade. Many of them were still vivid. And they still haunted him to this day. Lingered in the back of his mind when he was with Justin, reminding him what a piece of shit he was and how he didn’t deserve love, because he was a worthless son of a bitch. Made it fucking impossible for him to admit that he loved Justin, to say the goddamn words, because he was afraid that if he actually said it, let himself be open to it, that it would be snatched away from him like so many other good things had in his life. Taken away and replaced with the all-too-familiar feelings of pain and loneliness. Their relationship would end up yet another casualty of Joan and Jack.

Brian was trying to let Justin in. Trying to let himself be open to the idea of allowing another human being to share his experiences, his emotions, and his pain. But it was really fucking hard. Because he really, really didn’t want Justin to see him at his worst. And that was more than likely what was about to happen. Brian was about to be a very difficult person to love. There was nothing he could do to change that or stop it. And he didn’t know how he’d get through this if it all proved to be too much for Justin.

Brian stayed at the office very late on Friday night, trying to wrap up everything that he possibly could in preparation for Monday -- the day he’d start radiation treatment, bright and early at 8 a.m. Too fucking early, but he wanted to get it over with so he could get on with his day, and ultimately on with his life.

It was technically early Saturday morning -- past 1 a.m. -- by the time he managed to clear his desk of everything that had built up for him over the week he was in Baltimore, and all of the things that had piled up since then. Justin was supposed to be working at the diner until at least midnight, so Brian decided to stop by on the way home, in case Justin was still there. Friday nights could be unpredictable -- you never knew if it would be dead, because everyone was out at the clubs, or if it would be packed full, because they’d all left the clubs and needed their fix of greasy burgers and fries to soak up all the alcohol.

But the diner was practically deserted, and Justin wasn’t there, so Brian decided to buy a couple of lemon bars in an effort to not look like he’d only been coming there to see his boyfriend. The boyfriend he didn’t have, as far as the world at-large was concerned. Just as Brian dropped a good portion of his change into the tip jar, Deb rushed past the counter -- past Brian -- saying goodbye to her coworker on her way out the door, barely even glancing at Brian. That hurt more than he’d like to admit -- to have his second mother ignore him completely. The person who had comforted him and told him she was proud of him when the woman who gave birth to him treated him like a second class citizen. And now she was acting like he wasn’t even there. The woman who had seen all of the wounds he’d hidden from the rest of the world. The ones you could see, and the ones you couldn’t.

Brian had been doing a lot of thinking over the past two weeks, about a lot of things. But mostly about life and death. Mortality. How fleeting life was. How he’d taken good health for granted for 32 years, only to be confronted head-on with the possibility of becoming what he’d never wanted to be -- old, diseased, and imperfect. How he should have never said that Vic was fucking lucky to have gone out the way he did. That Vic’s last four years were gravy. That it could have been a lot worse.

He knew Vic probably would have agreed with him, but that hadn’t been the right time to say it out loud. And now he was paying the price for that.

No excuses, no apologies, no regrets. Brian’s mantra that he’d clung to for over a decade was getting much harder to live by.

He wanted to follow Deb out the door of the diner and down the street. To stop her, and tell her everything. Because he could use one of her hugs right now. Her arms to hold him, pull him back together, and make him feel safe. Her physical reassurance. Her voice in his ear, telling him that he’d be okay. No, he wasn’t the sullen teen, petrified of his father anymore -- he was a grown man who could take care of himself -- but right now, he could use some comfort. A mother’s love.

But he didn’t follow her. As he left the diner and took a step toward his Corvette parked on the street just outside the front door, he could see Deb heading down the sidewalk toward her modest home. The home that Brian remembered as always having been full of love. Such a stark contrast from the place where his bed and his childhood possessions had been. His supposed home, that had never felt like a home at all. Debbie’s house, though, had always felt like home.

And he’d fucked all of that up when he shot his mouth off in Deb’s living room on the night Vic died. The night Brian’s life changed forever, too. But she didn’t know that. Was she ever going to speak to him again? He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. But he hoped she would forgive him, eventually. He needed her, although he’d never own up to that. Just another aspect of Brian Kinney that stayed hidden behind his walls. Brian Fucking Kinney didn’t need anyone.

“You’re the only one you need. You’re the only one you’ve got.”

He’d said that to Justin years ago, not long after they met. Back when Justin was still mostly Brian’s stalker. Justin had claimed to “need” Brian, and Brian had told him that he only thought that because society had taught him that “we all need each other.” Brian told him it was a crock of shit. And Brian had been trying to buy into that his whole life -- to convince himself, and prove to himself and everybody else, that he didn’t need anybody. But that was the real crock of shit.

He opened the car door and haphazardly tossed the paper bag containing the lemon bars into the passenger seat, taking one last look at Debbie’s retreating figure as he started the car and headed toward home.

Justin was already in bed when Brian walked through the door of the loft.

“I didn’t know you meant 2 a.m. when you said you’d be working late,” Justin called, his voice echoing across the loft from the bedroom.

“Sorry, I had a lot I had to get done.” Brian draped his coat over the back of the barstool and deposited his briefcase and the lemon bars on the counter. Justin emerged from the bedroom in his sweats and gave Brian a hug and a kiss.

“Well, I missed you,” Justin said.

“You were at work.”

“I see you went there too.” Justin raised an eyebrow and picked up the white paper sack.

“Yeah, I was seeing if you were still there. I was going to give you a ride. But you weren’t there, so I had to at least try to not look like some lovesick lesbian.”

Justin peered into the bag. “So you bought lemon bars?”

“Yep. Seemed to be the easiest thing to get. No waiting. Keeps well.”

“True. And you like them.” Justin grinned. “Even if you pretend not to eat such things, ever.”

“I saw Debbie.”

Justin suddenly looked wary. “How’d that go?”

“She didn’t speak to me. Acted like I wasn’t even there.”

“Yeah, she had a few things to say about you during my shift.” Justin sighed. “I told her I wasn’t going to talk about you behind your back. You guys will have to work this out yourselves. I’m not going to be the go-between.”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me,” Brian said, looking down at the counter and running his fingertips absently over the granite surface.

“She loves you. She was upset. You were upset. Everyone was stressed out. Sometimes people say things they don’t mean.”

Brian shrugged.

“Brian, she loves you. She just needs some time.” Justin wrapped his arms around Brian and pressed his face into Brian’s chest. Brian breathed in Justin’s scent and let his touch ground him. This was where he belonged. What he needed.

He also needed a shower and to go to bed before he fell over. Brian felt dead on his feet after working for almost 16 hours. Now, he just had to cross his fingers and hope that what he’d done was enough to get him ahead of the game so that next week might be a little less stressful, at least at where the office was concerned. There was no way to avoid it being stressful in other ways.

Brian kissed the top of Justin’s head. “Shower,” Brian said. “Then bed. Okay?”

“Okay.” Justin released Brian and kissed him on the lips before returning to the bedroom. Brian trailed behind, shedding clothing as he walked up the stairs.

The shower felt better than any he’d had in days -- a relaxing end to what had been a very long day, letting all of the stress and worry wash down the drain. Or at least, trying to.

Justin was already asleep when Brian joined him in the bed. He paused to look at Justin’s face -- so peaceful as he slept, and still as perfect as it was in waking life. The face he hoped he’d be able to wake up next to every morning until forever, even if there were no locks on their doors and no rings on their fingers. Even if he’d probably never be able to say that. He carefully laid an arm over Justin’s chest and nestled his face in the crook of Justin’s shoulder, before allowing sleep to claim him.

When Brian awoke the next morning, he was alone in the bed, but he could smell coffee and hear Justin rustling around in the kitchen. He stretched his body out as long as he could get it and yawned, relishing the fact that, at least for today, he wasn’t in pain. He actually felt pretty good, although he knew those days were probably numbered, at least for the near future.

He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror after taking his requisite morning piss, noting that sleeping until 10:30 a.m. apparently did wonders for dark circles under the eyes. He was actually looking fairly normal today -- maybe he’d be able to go out for one last night at Woody’s or Babylon before turning himself in for two weeks of torture. And maybe no one would ask questions about where he’d been the past several days.

He found Justin in front of the kitchen island, making an omelet that looked like it was more vegetables than eggs. Brian wrapped his arms around Justin’s waist from behind.

“Looks good,” Brian said.

“I’m glad, because you need to eat. You need nutrients to keep your strength up.”

“Yes, mother.”

“I’m not your mother.”

“Yes, partner.”

“That’s better.”

Brian kissed Justin’s cheek and let him go, patting Justin’s ass affectionately before walking away to pour himself a cup of coffee and take a seat at the bar.

“So how are the plans for Rage-heads-to-Hollywood coming along?”

“Brett said he’d let us know. But he seemed confident that he wouldn’t have trouble finding backing for the project. He really wanted to meet you, though.” Justin plated his culinary creation and slid the plate over toward Brian.

“Probably best that he hasn’t yet. I haven’t felt very Rage-ian lately.” Brian grabbed a fork and dug in. “Wow, this is actually really good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“My compliments to the chef.”

“Yeah, well, the chef says you’re too skinny. You’re lucky I didn’t load it up with cheese.”

Brian made a face. “No thank you. So what are you going to do if you’re needed in Hollywood sooner rather than later?”

Justin took in a deep breath like he was steeling himself for Brian’s reaction to what he was about to say. “Tell them that I can’t come out yet because I have a prior commitment,” he said.

“Bullshit.” Brian snorted derisively. “I refuse to be your prior commitment. You’re not giving up this opportunity for me.”

“I wouldn’t be. If they want my artwork bad enough, they’ll wait on me.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then it wasn’t meant to be.”

“But what about Mikey and Sunshine’s big dream?”

“If it’s meant to be, it will be. Speaking of Michael, are you going to tell him?”

“About what?”

“You know what.”

“Absolutely not. You know how he’d be. I wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. He’d be over here all the time. We’d never be able to have sex again.”

“Brian Kinney, always thinking about sex.” Justin rolled his eyes.

“I do have a reputation to uphold.” Brian grabbed Justin by the arm and pulled him closer, and was about to make a grab for somewhere a bit more suggestive when the buzzer for the downstairs door sounded. “Who the fuck is that?” he asked Justin. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. No one.”

“Better not be fucking Michael,” Brian grumbled as he made his way over to the speaker and pressed the button. “Who is this? What do you want?” he barked into it.

“Well, that answers my first question -- you’re home,” a familiar voice responded. Debbie.

“Of course I’m home. What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Brian said as he took a seat next to Debbie on the sofa.

“Well, I didn’t think I did either,” she said, looking down at her hands in her lap.

“So what are you doing here, then?” Brian was trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but it was difficult.

“I felt guilty about the way I treated you last night. At the diner.”

“What, like I wasn’t even there?”

“I know you didn’t really mean what you said that night. The night Vic died. At least, not the way it came out. I know you loved Vic. That he meant a lot to you growing up. To you and Michael both. You were grieving too. We all were.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Now it was Brian’s turn to look down at his own hands.

“I know you didn’t, honey.” Deb laid a hand on Brian’s knee. “We were all upset.”

“You do have a mean right hook.” Brian looked up at her and let his mouth turn up into a slight smirk. His trademark move for trying to take control of uncomfortable situations that involved too much talk about feelings.

Debbie’s eyes met Brian’s. Her expression was sorrowful and apologetic, and a touch guilty. “I overreacted,” she said. “I shouldn’t have hit you. Knowing what things were like for you as a kid…and I should know because I was fucking there...I should never have hit you. I’m sorry.”

Brian shrugged. “I’m not a kid anymore. I can handle it. And I probably deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. I took something out on you that I shouldn’t have. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the last two words I spoke to my baby brother were, ‘Fuck you,’ and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“He knew you loved him.”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t show it then. And now I can never make that right. But I can make things right with you. That’s why I’m here.”

Brian snorted. “I’m not dying, Deb.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this, it’s that none of us are ever promised tomorrow, kiddo.”

Deb’s words were ringing far too true for Brian right now. No one is promised tomorrow. Or even good health, for that matter.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said. He hoped his commiseration was vague enough.

“Surely you’re not drinking this early in the morning. You look like you just woke up.”

“I did.”

“What’s going on with you anyway? Michael said he hasn’t seen you in over a week. Are you two fighting or something?”

Leave it to Deb to meddle in his and Michael’s business, as always -- even when there wasn’t anything between them to meddle in.

“Nothing’s going on,” Brian said, looking away because he knew if he looked her in the eye, she’d know he wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I just have a lot going on at the office.”

“Ah...how is it, owning your own place? Being your own boss?”

“There’s a shit ton of bureaucracy. And I feel like everything is coming down to me now. But it’s nice to not have to answer to anyone.”

“Well, I’m proud of you, honey. The way you turned things around. I always knew you would. Nothing and no one keeps Brian Kinney down.” She was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath and continued, her expression suddenly turning from pride to concern. “Now, why don't you tell me what's really going on?”

“Huh?” First line of defense: try to play dumb. Act like you didn't hear.

“You heard me.”

Shit. He knew this was going to happen. It was why he'd been thankful she had avoided him the past couple of weeks.

“Nothing,” Brian said. He tried to make eye contact with her in an effort to make himself more convincing, and hoped it wouldn't have the opposite effect.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me. I know you too well. This isn't about being busy at work. We've hardly seen you since the funeral.”

“We just talked about this. You fucking threw me out of your house. Pardon me if I didn't think you’d miss me.” Second line of defense: sarcasm.

“Let me finish,” she chided him in the way that only she could. “Now, the Brian Kinney I know would be fucking his way through half of Pittsburgh if he was stressed about work. But the boys said you haven't been going out with them, either. Now don't bullshit me this time. What's going on?”

Justin, who had been trying to busy himself cleaning up the kitchen the entire time Brian and Debbie were talking in the living room, suddenly paused and stared at Brian from across the loft, one eyebrow raised and head cocked slightly to the side.

Meanwhile, quite the fight was taking place in Brian’s head. Should he tell her? He remembered how close he’d come to telling her the night before -- how his pride had stopped him. How badly he’d wanted her touch, and how that desire had almost been enough to push him to apologize. To tell her everything. Now, here she was, apologizing to him instead. And here he was, lying to her.

“I have cancer.” He blurted it out before he could stop himself. Before the fear that she’d tell every goddamn person in Pittsburgh won out over his need to have the love of a mother when he felt like his world was falling apart. Before he could think better of it. Much like he had with Justin, once he’d been backed into the corner by an ill-timed phone call and the resulting answering machine message. It still felt so strange to wrap his tongue around the words: I have cancer. Like somehow saying it out loud made it even more real than the surgical scar and the plastic ball already had.

“What?” Debbie’s voice was so quiet he almost couldn’t hear the single word she’d uttered, but her disbelief was clear as she looked at Brian and let her jaw go slack.

“Are you going to make me say it twice?” He hoped not, because he really didn’t think he could say it again. He didn’t want to hear it again.

“I just want to be sure that I heard--”

“You heard it,” he cut her off, turning his head to look away from her as his shoulders slumped forward, almost curling in on himself. An old measure of protection that he did involuntarily anytime he felt exposed.

“Shit.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “Are you--”

“Alright? Maybe. They already took my ball. I had surgery in Baltimore when I told everyone I went to Ibiza. I start radiation on Monday.”

“Oh God, honey.” Debbie wrapped her arms around Brian and pulled him into a tight embrace. The one he’d been craving so badly as he watched her walk away down the dark street the night before. It felt just as good as he hoped it would -- comforting, grounding, pulling together the pieces that felt so close to falling apart at any moment. Her touch was warm, bringing him back from the numbness he’d been drifting in and out of since his diagnosis. He let his face sink into her shoulder and his eyes close as she rubbed his back and whispered, “You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to be okay.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Debbie holding Brian while he breathed against her and tried not to let his emotions get the best of him. It was hard, because her touch brought with it such release -- he’d let someone else in. Someone else who could be an ally. Someone who could help take a little bit of the burden, so that it wouldn’t all fall to Justin.

“Do you need anything?” she asked him once she’d released him, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “Tell me what you need. What I can do.”

“I need you to keep this between us. Don’t tell Michael.”

“But--”

“No buts. Please. I’ll do it myself when I’m ready, and right now I’m not ready.” Truthfully, he didn’t know if he ever would be ready.

“He cares about you. You know that.”

“That’s the problem.”

“Why do you have such a problem with people caring about you?”

Brian chose not to glorify that question with an answer. Mostly because he didn’t want to think about the answer.

“Just, please don’t tell him. Don’t mention it to anyone.” He looked into her eyes and hoped that the urgency of his plea was clear in his own. “Don’t make me regret telling you.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just you and Justin.”

“But, Sunshine was here when you went on your trip…” Brian could see Debbie putting the pieces together in her head as she let her voice trail off. “He was covering for me at the diner. Don’t tell me you went by yourself.”

Brian pulled his lips into his mouth, the way he always did when he felt contrite or was nervous about something. Right now, he was both. And his non-answer probably told Debbie everything she needed to know.

“Oh, honey…” She hugged him again, even more tightly this time. “I wish you weren’t always trying to prove how much you don’t need anyone. We love you. I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to do this alone. You’re not alone.”

He knew she was right. Even if he still didn’t quite believe her words -- couldn’t fully wrap his mind around other people caring about him. Not in this way. Not unconditionally. He’d been told all of his life -- implicitly and explicitly -- that he was alone. That he didn’t deserve love or a connection with others. The connection he’d desperately sought for most of his childhood, until he started to find it in Michael and Debbie. But even once he’d found it, he was already so jaded that it had been hard for him to believe it was real. That their feelings for him were sincere, and not some cruel trick to draw him in and make him let his guard down so they could push him away and make him feel even more alone.

He’d found that connection with Justin as well, but that one had been even harder to come to terms with. And he’d been burned by it twice already -- once at the hand of Chris Hobbs when he’d nearly stolen Justin’s life and Brian’s soul along with it, and once at Justin’s own hand, when he’d left Brian standing in the middle of Babylon in disbelief, watching Justin walk away with another man who had promised him the romance that Brian wouldn’t allow himself to give. Back then, Brian couldn’t bring himself to show how he felt, because it meant putting himself out there. Being vulnerable. Letting someone past the walls he’d built to protect himself so many years before. Accepting whatever came, even if it hurt. Acknowledging what he felt for Justin, even then. How deep those feelings went. How unfamiliar the territory had been for Brian. And back then, Brian had ended up being the one who got hurt. Left alone.

But he’d let Justin come back to him then, because he’d realized how lonely he was without Justin. And now, here they were, with a whole new situation that could so easily come between them and end with Justin deciding he just couldn’t do this anymore. That he couldn’t deal with Brian’s stunted emotional growth and inability to let someone care for him. Brian knew that, if he was being honest, he had to acknowledge that he really did have a need for love and affection and belonging. Even Brian Kinney couldn’t escape that, no matter how much he wanted to protect himself from the pain that seemed to inevitably result from letting his guard down and giving into those needs. Letting himself feel loved. Not alone. He was trying, but it was definitely unsettling. Maybe even scarier than the cancer itself.

Debbie had eventually promised not to speak a word of what she knew to anyone, not even Michael, so long as Brian promised to let her know if he needed anything from her -- anything at all. And he was thankful to have someone else to lean on, even if it meant that this situation he’d once been so desperate to keep a secret from everyone, including Justin, was starting to get out. He just hoped it would stop there. He had his lover and his surrogate mother to lean on, and that would be enough to carry him through, although he hated to admit that he needed carrying at all.

He stood at the door for a few seconds after he let Debbie out, rehashing in his head what had just happened. Still not sure if he should have told her or not. He had his doubts about whether or not she’d keep her word and not tell Michael, but it was out of his hands now. Whatever happened from here, he’d deal with it. He didn’t have a choice.

Justin walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist.

“You okay?” Justin said.

“Yeah. I didn’t really intend on telling her. It just sort of...happened.”

“Do you wish you hadn’t?”

“Not yet.” Brian sighed as he turned around to face Justin and pulled their bodies back together. “I might if the next person who comes to the door is my oldest and dearest friend.”

“Hopefully she won’t tell him.”

“I know he cares about me. But I just can’t deal with him right now. I love him, I do...but I can’t.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Or anybody else. It’s your story to tell, not mine or anyone else’s.”

“Let’s go out tonight,” Brian said, abruptly changing the subject. “Woody’s and Babylon. I need a distraction.”

“You sure you’re up to that?”

“Don’t start that shit, Sunshine. I feel okay today. And I know my good days are probably numbered, so I’d better put in an appearance now while I can, before I have everyone beating down the goddamn door to make sure I’m not dead.”

Later that day, Brian found himself standing in the shower, staring down at the tiny purplish dots that now permanently marked his body. They were pinprick-sized tattoos, framed by temporary ink-drawn lines that would assist in lining up the gigantic torture device that would hopefully fry any remaining cancer out of his body. He’d spent nearly two hours at the oncologist’s office on Thursday while they set everything up and made their marks, preparing him for what was to come next week, and the week after that.

The marks were a part of his body now, and always would be. Just like the scar that was now on its way to becoming a thin, pink line on his groin. Another imperfection. Another reminder of something he’d really prefer to someday forget. The whole process on Thursday had been intended to put him at ease, but it had ended up having the opposite effect. It was all such serious business, and everything had to be absolutely precise, or else the radiation therapy would do more harm than good. There was no room for error. And the consequences could be deadly.

Looking at his body now, Brian wondered if he’d ever be able to bring himself to be seen at the baths or in the back room again. Or had the legend of Brian Kinney died when Dr. Blow Job told him he had a lump on his testicle?

After a few minutes, Justin came through the bathroom door that Brian had left slightly ajar this time -- a departure from what he’d been doing daily for the past two weeks -- bringing Brian back out of his thoughts and into the present.

“Mind if I join you?” Justin asked, somewhat seductive, somewhat trepidatious.

Brian pushed the glass shower door open slightly in a silent invitation. They hadn’t showered together since before he went to Baltimore. Brian hadn’t wanted Justin to see him. To see his new imperfections. He still wasn’t sure that he wanted Justin to see him, but here they were. It was happening. And unless he planned on never letting Justin see him naked again, it had to happen. Might as well be now.

Justin stepped in and kissed him, softly at first, then harder. Eventually their hands wound their respective paths down each other’s bodies to where they usually did when they showered together. Brian knew this wasn’t going to work -- at least, not the way he wanted it to -- but it felt so good. He closed his eyes and tried to let the pleasure he was feeling push out the garish images that kept flashing through his mind of a bloody, disease-ridden ball being sucked out of his body and plopped into a sterile metal tray. A scene he didn’t even remember, but had imagined in a dream that simply wouldn’t go away. It tried to haunt him every time he closed his eyes. This was no exception, even as much as he wanted it to be.

He snapped his eyes open and shook his head slightly, in hopes he might be able to dislodge the disturbing mental picture. Then he reconnected his lips with Justin’s for a moment before running his tongue slowly down the younger man’s torso until his mouth took over the work for his hand. Brian focused all of his energy on bringing Justin past his tipping point, and it wasn’t long before he was successful. Justin came. And then Justin tried to return the favor.

As Justin sank to his knees in front of Brian, the older man became more and more uneasy. Justin was eye level now with everything Brian hadn’t wanted him to see. Brian laid a hand on the wall and leaned against it to steady himself, fighting the impulse to pull Justin back to his feet and do something -- anything -- to keep him from looking at the marks that signified the nightmare Brian currently found himself trapped in. He felt Justin’s thumb lightly trace the scar, followed quickly by Justin’s warm mouth around his cock, which still wasn’t doing what Brian wanted it to do. Not all the way. And it was fucking frustrating. Embarrassing, even though this was Justin, who knew exactly what was going on and would never attribute it to some kind of personal failure on Brian’s part. Even so, that’s exactly what it felt like -- a personal failure.

So Justin wasn’t more than a few seconds in when Brian pulled away.

“Stop,” he said, as he turned his face toward the hand that was still on the wall and pressed his forehead against the tile.

Justin did as he was told, and the next sensation Brian felt was Justin’s hand on his shoulder. He still didn’t turn his head. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Justin’s eyes.

“Okay,” Justin said softly. “It’s okay.”

No, it’s not, Brian thought to himself, unable to verbalize exactly what he was feeling. How inadequate he felt. How worried he was that this would be permanent. That the doctor had been wrong when he’d told him that nothing would be affected. And now he wouldn’t only be a one-ball wonder, but a fucking impotent one at that. Unable to give his lover what he needed. What he deserved.

“You just need time to heal.” Justin was always the voice of reason. And sometimes it was maddening as hell.

Brian kept his forehead against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, willing back the tears of frustration that burned at his eyelids. He wanted to cry because he hated feeling this way -- like his body was never going to feel normal again. But he wasn’t going to fucking cry about this.

Justin was rubbing Brian’s shoulders now, and the touch felt sublime -- cool fingers on hot skin.

“Do you still want to go out?” Justin asked, his voice still quiet and careful, as if he was afraid he’d spook Brian if he spoke too loudly. “We can stay in and relax. I can go rent some movies.”

“No, I need to feel like everything’s okay for a few hours. We’re going out.”

They were at the diner around 7 p.m., sharing a booth with Michael and Ben.

“I was starting to think you’d turned into a hermit,” Michael said, his gaze fixed on Brian. It was clear from his eyes that he was partially joking, partially not.

“Just a lot of shit to do at work.”

“Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t taken that vacation now, huh?”

You have no idea, Mikey, Brian thought to himself. No fucking idea. But he had to stay noncommittal, so he just shrugged and stole a french fry from Justin’s plate.

Justin and Michael spent the rest of the meal chattering excitedly about Rage and Brett Keller, while Ben looked bored and Brian only half listened to them. He was distracted by what Justin had told him that morning -- that he wouldn’t leave if Hollywood came calling, not now. Not while Brian needed him. And Brian felt exceedingly guilty at even the possibility of being the catalyst for Justin giving up such a huge opportunity. Brian was a big boy. He’d figure things out if he had to. Find some way to make it work. To get through this without Justin, just like he had the surgery. But he’d be damned if he was going to let Justin stay back in the Pitts playing nursemaid and pass up a chance to work on a film.

Justin had mentioned on the night they met that he’d always wanted to become an animator. Although Justin’s artistic interests had certainly diversified during his on-again-off-again attendance at PIFA, Brian knew Justin still had a love for animation. It showed every weekend that Justin would spend watching television intended for children more than 10 years his junior, purely to enjoy the art. While it sounded like Rage was headed for being a live-action feature rather than a cartoon, this could still be a huge break for Justin, with a lot of exposure that could lead to a successful career doing exactly what he’d always wanted to do. And isn’t that what everyone wants?

Brian knew Justin would disagree with him on that point, though. He’d probably say something like, “Yes, a career is important, but family is more important.” He’d say that he considered Brian to be his family. And that he wasn’t going to abandon family in the middle of a crisis.

What Justin wanted out of life and what Brian wanted were two very different things. But Brian had to admit that the line between the two men’s ambitions had become increasingly blurred over the past few months. Starting with the whole Stockwell debacle. Career success was still important to Brian, sure, but he was also starting to realize that other things were important as well. Namely, feeling like you had someone you could depend on when you needed it. And not just yourself. But that didn’t mean that the possibility of needing help was any easier for Brian to accept. He still resisted it. And he knew he would resent himself and this whole fucked up situation if Justin ended up losing out on anything because he was stuck caring for his sick lover.

Brian was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice that the conversation at the table had gone silent until Justin’s hand came over his own that had been resting on the table. “Are you going to eat or are you just going to sit there and stare off into space?” Justin asked. The question sounded innocent enough -- light and jovial, even -- but the look in his eyes that only Brian could see said a lot more.

“Yeah, sorry. Just distracted. Thinking about work stuff.” He knew that Justin was fully aware that wasn’t really the case, but it seemed to be the most convenient excuse to give Michael.

“Well, quit thinking about work and just enjoy yourself,” Michael said. “I’ve never known Brian Kinney to put work over pleasure.”

Christ, his reputation was really coming back to bite in him in the ass. He’d spent his entire life managing various pains and stresses by drinking, drugging, and fucking -- apparently to the point that no one could handle him doing anything different.

Brian knew he needed to pull himself back to the present, before Michael or Ben or anyone else read too much into his mood, which he was fully aware was a very un-Brian-Kinney-like blend of reflective, anxious, and sullen. If he wanted this few hours of feeling normal, then he was going to have to act that way.

So he finished as much of his meal as he could force down, trying to ignore the concerned and confused looks he was getting from Ben across the table, and taking a moment every now and then to try to actively participate in the conversation -- throwing out his usual sarcastic barbs in an effort to throw off anyone who might suspect something was up.

Brian played a couple of games of pool with Michael and enjoyed a few beers at Woody’s, feeling like he’d successfully managed to convince his best friend that everything was a-okay. Then they continued on to Babylon, where they met up with Emmett, who was the only person that night to provide a reasonable distraction for Brian without making him feel like he was trying to avoid landmines. Em was just...Em. Bright, happy, and pulling no punches. Brian never thought he’d be thankful for Emmett, but tonight, he was. After a few minutes, Justin successfully managed to pull Brian away from the group and off to the dance floor, where they could have a conversation none of their friends could hear.

“You still doing alright?”

“Christ, this is fucking exhausting.”

“We can go home if you’re tired.”

“It’s not that. It’s fucking...emotionally exhausting. All of this pretending to be fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

“We’re in fucking Babylon, Sunshine. Not exactly the place for an emotional breakdown.”

“And we don’t have to be here. We can leave if you need to leave.”

“I need a drink.” Brian turned to walk toward the bar, but was stopped short when Justin grabbed his arm.

“Brian--”

“Just let me have this, Sunshine. While I still can.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Brian could hear Justin’s voice behind him as he walked up to the bartender and ordered a glass of his preferred substance of pain relief -- whiskey. He needed something to calm his nerves, because the stress of keeping this secret was starting to wear on him, even though he still had zero desire to come clean with anyone except the two people he already had.

They drank and danced until 2 a.m., both of them turning down several guys who’d tried to cruise them. Brian, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to perform and didn’t want to be on display in the back room, and Justin, because he apparently felt beholden to Brian. The copious amount of alcohol Brian had consumed helped him not be too angry about that. At least, not for right now.

Brian was comfortably numb by the time he fell into bed at the loft. He vaguely remembered Justin pulling off his shoes and pants, and feeling Justin’s warm body press into his, before he closed his eyes to drift off into a sleep that he hoped would not be plagued by nightmares of bloody, disembodied testicles and Vic Grassi coming back to taunt him about being old, diseased, and imperfect. All of the things he’d never wanted to be, that now he was. And now he was afraid he was holding Justin back too. The kid wasn’t even 21 years old, and now here he was, stuck taking care of a sick partner. Brian’s doctors had assured him he’d be fine -- that this type of cancer had a 99% cure rate with surgery and follow-up treatment -- but all of the platitudes in the world couldn’t assuage the guilt he felt for saddling Justin with this, coupled with the nagging thought in the back of his mind that he wasn’t worth Justin’s trouble, no matter what Justin said to the contrary, and no matter how hard Brian tried to convince himself that Justin was telling the truth.

Brian awoke the next morning with a raging hangover, worse than any he’d felt in years. How much had he had to drink? Knowing just how much pain he’d been trying to numb, he figured it was probably much more than he should have. He rolled over and squinted at the clock -- just after 8 a.m. T-minus 24 hours until he’d be lying on a metal table in the oncologist’s office, half naked, while they shot radiation into his body. Until the countdown began to Brian hoping and praying that somehow he’d be the exception to the side effects he’d already been warned about, because he wasn’t sure he could bear to be seen that way. Not even by Justin or Debbie. And certainly by no one else. Though he might not have much of a choice.

Brian didn’t want to end up driving Justin away, because he loved Justin and didn’t want to think about what life would be like if he left for good. But he also didn’t want to deal with the guilt of having Justin take care of him. Having Justin put his own life on hold for Brian. Justin, who would probably be too fucking nice to tell Brian off if he turned into a raging lunatic during this whole process. Not that Brian really wanted to be told off in the first place, because that would probably mean Justin walking out on him. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. There was no way to win. All he could do was hope that everything would work out in the end.

Monday’s alarm came far too early for Brian’s taste. Not that it interrupted his sleep at all, since he’d been awake for two hours already, too anxious to sleep. Justin had been sleeping soundly, his soft, warm body curled into Brian’s side. His breathing was slow and deep, and Brian tried to use its rhythm to calm his own, but it was no use. This was it. There was no turning back now. No changing his mind and deciding to go a different route. He was all in.

Justin rolled over when the buzzer started and looked sleepily up at Brian.

“You’re up,” the younger man said.

“Yeah. I’ve been up.”

“You need sleep.”

“Well, tell that to my brain. Maybe then it’ll slow down and stop running through all of these doomsday scenarios.”

Justin took Brian’s hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it. “You’re going to be fine,” he said.

Brian stared up at the ceiling and took in Justin’s words, trying to calm the unease in his mind that just wouldn’t let go, even though he knew Justin was right. “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he said.

“Stop.” Justin kissed Brian’s lips, as if he was trying to keep him from saying anything else. “You’ll drive yourself nuts.”

“I think that ship has sailed, Sunshine.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Justin repeated. “What time do we have to be there?”

“Not we. I. I have to be there at 7:45. You have class at 8, remember?”

“I can skip.”

“You’re not skipping. I’m not getting you fucking thrown out of school. You’ve stopped and started enough already. You’re finishing your goddamn degree this time.”

“Brian…”

“Don’t ‘Brian’ me. You’re going to class. End of discussion.”

“But--”

“But nothing. I’m a big boy. I can drive myself.”

“You’re stubborn too, you know that?”

“Part of my charm.” Brian smirked at Justin as he slid out from under Justin’s arm and stood up. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Wasn’t I just the one reassuring you?” Justin said as he rolled out of bed and walked over to Brian, reaching up to give him a hug and a brief kiss.

“Class.” Brian poked Justin gently in the chest. “Promise me you’ll go to class. That I’m not going to walk into the goddamn lobby when I’m done and find you waiting on me.”

“Okay, okay,” Justin relented. “I’ll go to class. But you’d better call me if you need me.”

“Okay,” Brian sighed as he fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was starting to lose his patience with this whole exchange. He didn’t need or want Justin to be this worried about him. Surely he could at least get through the first day of radiation treatment without needing Justin to play nurse.

“I mean it.” Justin grabbed Brian’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “You’ve done enough proving that you don’t need anybody.”

“Okay, Jesus Christ,” Brian huffed. “I promise I’ll call you.”

“Good.” Justin pulled Brian in close to him and pressed his face into Brian’s collarbone. “There’s nothing you need to prove to me. I know you’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I would say the same about you,” Brian said softly into Justin’s ear before the blond let go of him and shuffled into the bathroom.

He knew Justin was right, but that didn’t make it any easier for the man who had always prided himself on seeming invincible to entertain the real feelings he was having about this situation. That he was still scared of what was happening to his body, and that fear made him feel weak. He’d been forced into a life of showing no weakness at a very young age by Jack Kinney, who simply wouldn’t have his son being a “sissy boy.” Brian had trained himself to conceal his insecurities behind a strong front, impenetrable by outside forces, except those Brian willingly allowed in -- Mikey and Deb. At least, it had seemed impenetrable until he met Justin.

Brian hadn’t wanted to let Justin past his walls at first. Not at all. But it hadn’t taken Justin long to catch on to what was going on behind Brian’s mask. Justin had latched onto that, reminding Brian once early on in their relationship that he was onto him, and being mean to Justin -- one of Brian’s go-to maneuvers for pushing away people who got too close -- wasn’t going to work. That Brian couldn’t push Justin away, because Justin wouldn’t allow it. Justin kept coming back. Although Brian hadn’t really wanted to push him away anyhow. He’d forced himself because he was uncomfortable with what he felt for Justin. He hadn’t known what to make of the feelings that bubbled up inside him -- and occasionally threatened to overwhelm him -- every time he was around this kid. Sometimes he still didn’t, even now. And sometimes it still felt uncomfortable to accept the things Justin did because he cared for Brian, pure and simple. Because Justin loved him.

“What are you thinking about?” Justin said as he came up behind Brian, who was still standing in the same spot beside the bed, lost somewhere inside his head. He felt Justin’s arm come around his shoulders.

“It’s nothing,” Brian said as he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so.” Justin raised an eyebrow in his typical “I-don’t-believe-you-but-okay” facial expression as he let his hand fall from Brian’s shoulder and turned to go down the steps toward the living area of the loft. “I’ll start breakfast.”

“Don’t bother. I’m not hungry,” Brian sighed.

“Well, you need to try to eat something. Your body needs fuel, remember?”

Brian didn’t respond. He let out a loud exhale as he turned and walked into the bathroom, where he hoped a hot shower would help ease some of the tension in his muscles and the queasy feeling in his stomach. It didn’t.

The smell of the food Justin had made didn’t help his stomach either, when Brian emerged from the bedroom dressed in his suit and tie, knowing that he was going to have to try to force down some of it, because yet again, Justin was right. Brian had been listening, even though he hadn’t really wanted to hear any of it, as one of the nurses at his oncologist’s office had gone through the instructions of how he needed to eat to best support his body during what he was about to put it through. Justin had insisted on accompanying Brian to the appointment, so he’d heard every word of it too, and apparently committed it to memory, judging from the way Brian’s refrigerator looked right now. A far cry from the beer, poppers, and guava juice that were usually the only things in it now that Justin wasn’t technically living at the loft. The only time a home-cooked meal was made in Brian’s kitchen was when Justin made it. And right now, Justin was supposedly still living with Daphne, although he spent most nights at the loft. Brian wasn’t sure who they were kidding. They were essentially living together again now, even if it hadn’t been made formal or official.

“Don’t you think you’re kind of overdressed to just be going to a doctor’s appointment?” Justin asked as he spooned some scrambled eggs onto a plate alongside the sliced fruit and toast that already adorned it. “They’re just going to make you take your clothes off anyway, so what does it matter?”

“I’m going to work afterward,” Brian said nonchalantly as he took a seat at the dining room table and picked up the newspaper that Justin had apparently already retrieved.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Justin brought two plates over to the table and returned to the kitchen to pour coffee for both of them.

“We’ve been over this. I can’t take two weeks off. And I have a meeting with a potential new client this afternoon. Dandy Lube. And it’s not the kind of lube you think.”

Justin completely ignored Brian’s joke. “You don’t even know how this stuff is going to affect you, and you’ve scheduled a meeting for this afternoon?” He set a coffee mug down in front of each of their chairs before taking his seat and starting in on his own breakfast.

“Couldn’t be helped.” Brian shrugged as he took a small sip of coffee, then a bite of the toast, which he hoped would settle his stomach a bit so he could eat some of the other things too. He really didn’t want Justin to think he didn’t appreciate the effort, because he did. “This was the only day they could be here.”

“Well, I hope for your sake that you don’t end up passing out in the conference room or throwing up on someone’s shoes mid-presentation.”

“Quit being a drama princess. I’ll be fine.”

Brian managed to eat a little over half of what was on his plate before giving up. He was surprised that Justin didn’t hassle him about it, but he didn’t. They parted ways shortly thereafter -- Justin reluctantly on his way to school, and Brian on his way to what might as well have been his execution.

The strong scent of antiseptic hit Brian the second he exited the elevator on the fifth floor of the medical arts building that was attached to the hospital via a glass-enclosed pedestrian bridge. With his already queasy stomach, the smell was a little too strong. Brian gulped as he walked through the brightly lit lobby of the oncologist’s office and approached the small window that the receptionist sat behind. He signed in, tried to smile at her and look at least halfway like he wasn’t about to come out of his skin, then went to take a seat in one of the most uncomfortable chairs ever created. He looked around the room at the other people who were waiting -- some clearly other cancer patients, and some for whom that wasn’t so clear. He had to remember that he didn’t know their stories, though. After all, he was one of those “normal” looking people too. And it didn’t mean that he wasn’t stricken with the same disease as the people who had scarves covering their bald heads. Brian felt a little guilty for being thankful that wasn’t him, and hopefully never would be.

“Brian Kinney,” he heard a woman call a few minutes later from a doorway she was propping open with her body. He took a deep breath as he rose from the chair, cursing the way his heart rate had started to climb at the mere mention of his name, and walked over to the doorway, past the nurse, and into a long hallway with several doors.

“How are you today, Mr. Kinney?” she said brightly as she closed the door behind her.

Brian grunted noncommittally. He wasn’t into pleasantries today, but he figured he’d better at least not be rude, since this woman was probably about to assist in aiming a radiation gun at him. So he tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice as he said, “Okay, I guess.”

“A lot of patients are very nervous before their first treatment,” the woman chattered on as she led him through an open door and closed it behind them. “If there’s anything I can answer for you to help put you at ease, I’m happy to do it.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Brian muttered as he shed his coat and laid it over a chair in the corner. He cast a wary glance at the large machine that was about to shoot radiation into his body, noting how cold and uncomfortable everything looked.

“Well, I’ll leave you to change, then.” She handed him one of those godawful cotton hospital gowns that ties up the back and exposes your ass. Normally, clothing that exposed one’s ass would be intriguing for Brian, but not today. Not this. “I’ll knock before I come back in.” With that, she turned and left the room.

Brian slowly shed all of the components of his suit until he’d stripped down to his underwear, then shed that as well. He knew undressing slowly wasn’t really going to stop or delay anything, but he did it anyhow. He put on the gown and tied it the best he could. He’d barely had a chance to do that when he heard her knock. When he didn’t object, she opened the door and helped him up onto the table, then asked him if he was comfortable, which seemed like the world’s stupidest question right now. He was pretty much going out of his mind by this point -- of course he wasn’t comfortable.

Once she got him settled and propped into the correct position, she used the marks on his lower abdomen to line up the equipment, then advised him to relax and settle in, and to be as still as possible until the treatment was finished. With that, she left the room and he was all alone, half naked on a table with the machine looming over him. It wasn’t long before the whirring and beeping started. Not more than a minute or two had passed before Brian wanted to move worse than he had in his entire fucking life. Suddenly his legs itched, his skin crawled, and he just wanted to get the fuck off of that table and out of the building. But he couldn’t do that. So he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it, distracting himself with thoughts of more pleasant things, like Justin and Gus.

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the woman’s hand was on his shoulder and she was saying his name. Brian blinked his eyes open and tried to come back into the present moment.

“That’s it for today, Mr. Kinney,” she said as she helped him sit up. “We’ll see you again tomorrow. And I should warn you, you’ll feel fine for the next few hours, but you’re going to hit a wall around noon -- nausea, pain, fatigue -- they’re all normal side effects. In fact, I would suggest that for the next few days you just stay home and take it easy. Don’t go to work.”

Clearly, she didn’t realize he had a business to run and didn’t have that luxury right now. “Thank you nurse,” he said sardonically. “That’s excellent advice.”

If he could have done that, he probably would have. Probably should have, to be honest. But he had a presentation this afternoon, so he’d have to press on, and hope that her prophecies were incorrect, or at the very least, exaggerated.

Much to Brian’s chagrin, it turned out that she did know what she was talking about. The morning went smoothly, with nothing out of the ordinary to report, but he started to feel a bit drowsy around lunchtime. He was sitting on the sofa in his office reviewing some proof sheets -- wearing his wool coat because he’d also suddenly gotten very cold -- when his eyelids started feeling very heavy. He made the conscious decision to close them for brief moment, and that was apparently all it took. What seemed like only seconds later but was probably close to an hour, Brian was startled awake by Ted standing over him, saying his name.

“Brian?” the older man said, as Brian tried to bring himself back to full consciousness as quickly as he could. He sat up, much more slowly than he wanted to, swallowing back the nausea that had apparently blossomed in his gut while he slept.

“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong?” Ted asked, clearly concerned about having walked in and found his boss napping in the middle of the workday.

Brian hoped he successfully managed to rearrange his face into an expression that reflected what he said next: “Nothing. I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well, for one thing you look like shit.”

“Thank you,” Brian said derisively.

Ted looked back at the door as if he wanted to make sure they were alone, before taking a seat next to Brian on the sofa and leaning in almost conspiratorially. Brian’s stomach was churning by this point, both from the treatment as well as his worry about how he was going to explain his way out of this one.

“Now, this is the second time this has happened--”

“Fucking accountants. Do you have to keep a record of everything?” Brian closed his eyes and put his head down, knowing that there probably wasn’t going to be a way out of this without telling Ted something.

“I just want you to know that you can trust me, as a friend and as someone who has been through it all. I mean, there’s nothing I haven’t seen or done, which is why I don’t presume to judge anyone. But there’s one thing I know. The first, and hardest step you’ll ever have to take--” Ted paused for a beat, looked toward the door again, and lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “--is admitting you have a problem. And once you’ve done that, you’re on the road to recovery--”

“It’s the big C, Ted,” Brian interrupted him, just wanting at this point to get it the fuck over with so he wouldn’t have to listen to Ted wax eloquent about the merits of his 12-step program. He’d rather Ted know about the cancer than think he’d gone off the deep end with drugs or alcohol and keep hounding him about coming to one of his goddamn meetings.

“Cocaine?”

Brian let out a breath that nearly turned into a chuckle at how dense his chief financial officer was being right now. “It’s bigger.”

“Crystal?”

“Bigger.”

“Caffeine?”

“It’s cancer, Theodore.” Jesus fucking Christ. Of course Ted was going to make him say it out loud -- fully -- and not get away with a euphemism.

Ted was staring at Brian now, in complete and total disbelief. He blinked his eyes a few times and began to stutter. “C- c- c- … c- c-”

Apparently Ted couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud either.

“But relax,” Brian snorted. “They got it. I’m in radiation. I started this morning.” With everything out in the open now, Brian found he could no longer hold back the wave of nausea. “Would you excuse me for a moment?” He got up and tried to walk quickly to the bathroom, although his body was protesting -- suddenly he was very sore in addition to being dead tired and sick as a fucking dog. Barely making it to the toilet in his private bathroom in time, Brian vomited up the coffee he’d had while he’d been trying to keep himself awake. Thankfully, breakfast seemed to have digested and gone on its way by then.

When Brian came back out, Ted was standing by his desk holding a glass of water out to him.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” Ted said. Brian raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean, that you’re going to be alright.”

“Thank you,” Brian said as he limped slowly over to the sofa and sank down onto it again. He settled himself back onto the cushion he’d leaned against the arm of the sofa earlier to act as a pillow, then exhaled with a sigh and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his stomach and trying to will his body to stop aching. And this was only day one. Christ. What the fuck was he in for?

“Is there anything I can do?” Fucking Ted was still hanging around, but maybe he could be helpful after all.

“As a matter of fact, you can do three things,” Brian said. “First, keep your big mouth shut, or you’re fired.” He sat up again and pointed a finger at Ted, as if to prove that he meant what he said. He’d already told three more people than he’d originally intended on telling, and he really, really needed it to stop here.

“Sealing, sealing.” Ted made a zipping motion with his fingers across his lips. “Second?”

“I want you to cover for me this afternoon.” Brian swallowed forcefully and hoped that he wasn’t going to be sick again. “With Dandy Lube.”

“Cover...for you?”

“Make the presentation. Look, if you could pretend you were Pavarotti at that pathetic pasta palace, you can do this.” Brian laid back down on the sofa cushion in an effort to quell the nausea.

Thankfully, Ted capitulated quickly and didn’t require any further convincing, because Brian wasn’t sure he could do much more talking without throwing up. The older man nodded his head reluctantly. “What’s the third?”

“Call me a cab,” Brian sighed and closed his eyes in resignation. “I’m going home.”

Brian’s cab ride home had been absolutely torturous, as he sat in the back seat trying to keep himself from being sick. He could hardly hold his eyes open, but closing them made him feel even more nauseous when combined with the motion of the car.

“Sir, we’re here,” the driver finally said, after what seemed like the longest drive ever, even though they’d really only traveled a handful of blocks.

“Thank you,” Brian croaked miserably as he handed the driver a wad of cash with shaking hands. He held tightly onto the car door as he stood, pausing for a moment to get his balance before stepping onto the sidewalk and starting the trek toward the front door of his apartment building. Since when did this sidewalk get so long?

He really hadn’t been prepared for just how much this shit was kicking his ass, even though he’d been told more than once what side effects to expect from the radiation therapy. He’d given his oncologist’s warnings the usual Brian Kinney treatment -- thinking that those things were what happened to lesser human beings who didn’t know how to handle themselves. People who were weak. Not to Brian Fucking Kinney.

But here stood Brian Fucking Kinney, so exhausted that he barely had the strength to pull open the glass door at the entrance to the building. He did get through the door, albeit sluggishly. Thankfully the elevator was already on the ground floor, so he wouldn’t have to stand around and wait for it to come back down. He raised the gate, moving slowly and painfully, stepped in, lowered the gate back down, and began his ascent up to the top floor.

He didn’t even know if Justin would be home, since Brian himself was not usually home at this hour. On one hand, he hoped Justin wasn’t home, because Brian really didn’t want Justin to see him like he was right now, although he didn’t know why he felt that way -- why there was an undercurrent of fear and embarrassment beneath how exceedingly ill he felt right now. On the other hand, he hoped Justin was home, because Brian was finding it difficult to stand upright and had no idea how he was going to get all the way to his bed -- the one place he really, really wanted to be right now, more than anything -- without collapsing. And he was somehow supposed to get up tomorrow morning and do it all over again. And again. And again. For two fucking weeks.

Brian leaned against the back wall of the elevator as it crawled toward the top floor, closing his eyes and swallowing hard to hold back the sickness that was still threatening to occur, even though he long ago had absolutely nothing in his stomach. Not even water. He’d tried that before he left the office, and found that he couldn’t even keep that down. Apparently now that his fate wasn’t as likely to be dying of cancer, it would be dying of dehydration instead.

When the elevator finally slowed to a stop, Brian opened his eyes and reluctantly pushed his body away from the wall, bending down to open the gate once again. Why the fuck didn’t the landlord replace this stupid freight elevator with something more modern, with an automatic door? He briefly wondered if he should call and complain, but then realized that replacing the elevator would mean it would be out of commission for weeks, and he’d have to take the stairs, which would be exponentially worse right now. So, the old, rickety elevator would have to stay. And hopefully stay working.

He fished his keys out of his coat pocket, jammed one into the lock, and turned it. He almost didn’t have the strength to slide the heavy, metal door open, and had to lean heavily onto the door frame as soon as he had it open. The room seemed to be tilting slightly, and somewhere along the way the chill he’d been feeling back at the office had morphed into unbearable heat. He needed to get his coat off, but his arms felt too heavy right now.

“Brian?” he heard Justin’s voice call from the bedroom, just before the younger man’s quick footsteps descending the three stairs that led to the living area. “Are you okay?”

Brian tried to gather as much stamina as he could to stop leaning on the doorway, stand upright, and step into the loft. As if he needed to prove that the answer to Justin’s question was yes, even though it was painfully obvious that the answer was no, he wasn't okay. He left the door standing wide open simply because he didn’t think he could manage both closing the door and walking across the room. He chose walking across the room, just trying to make it to the sofa without falling over.

Justin was beside him quickly, wrapping an arm around Brian’s waist and allowing him to lean a good portion of his weight onto Justin’s body. As much as Brian hated showing weakness, in that moment, he was thankful Justin was there, although some small part of him still wanted to protest Justin’s help, to try to preserve his pride. Justin got him over to the couch, helped him out of his coat, and supported him as he sat down. Brian settled back against the pillows, hugging his arms around his body. He already felt damp with sweat from the fire that seemed to be burning inside of him now, consuming him from the inside out. A few seconds later, he heard the door to the loft slide shut, and a few seconds after that, he felt the sofa cushions sink down a bit as Justin took a seat beside him.

“You promised you’d call me,” Justin said softly. Apparently Brian looked in too bad of shape for Justin to be angry with him. Although Brian had to admit he would have been a hell of a lot more comfortable with anger than he was with compassion. Anger, he knew what to do with. Compassion was a lot harder to take in. Brian had broken his promise. Justin should have been livid right now. But he didn't sound that way at all. He sounded worried.

“I’m really hoping you didn’t drive home like this,” Justin said, his voice even more hushed now.

“I didn’t know where you’d be,” Brian mumbled. “I asked Ted to call me a cab.”

“Does Ted know?” Justin didn’t have to use specifics; Brian knew exactly what he meant.

“He does now.” Brian moaned and pulled his arms tighter around his stomach as some sort of cramp pulsed through his lower abdomen. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt his face twist into a painful grimace.

“What’s wrong?” Justin’s concern was clear from his voice. Brian felt Justin’s hand settle on his knee.

“I think my entire digestive system...” Brian paused and swallowed hard again, “...is revolting.”

“Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?”

“No,” Brian choked out as he gritted his teeth against the pain that was moving through his abdomen in waves. He didn’t think he could stand up right now, even with help. “There shouldn’t be anything left in there,” he said. Every time Brian spoke, he could feel his stomach rolling. He kept having to stop every few words to swallow, in what would probably turn out to be a futile attempt to keep things moving in the right direction -- down instead of up. He opened his eyes and looked at Justin, whose big, blue eyes held so much of that damn compassion and worry that Brian could no longer look him in the eye, because it made him uncomfortable to see it. He looked down at the coffee table in front of them instead.

“I don’t know why you tried to go to work today.”

“No lectures, please.” Brian didn’t have the energy to argue about this. He’d gone to work because he felt like he had no choice. He still felt like he had no choice, although he was starting to seriously doubt whether or not he’d be able to pull it off, if this was the scene that was going to repeat every weekday for the next two weeks. God forbid if it got any worse. Brian wasn’t sure how that was even possible right now. He didn’t want to entertain the thought.

Justin sighed. “Do you think you can make it to the bed?”

“Give me a few minutes here first.”

Brian leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and focused on making his breaths longer and steadier. The cramps seemed to have subsided for the moment, thankfully. Justin was running his hand lightly over Brian’s thigh. It was a small gesture of comfort, but it really did help, if for no other reason than to remind Brian that he wasn’t alone. Even if he didn’t want to admit that he found it comforting. Or that he needed that right now. But it still felt nice.

“Let me get you some water,” Justin said. “I’ll be right back.”

Brian still didn’t think he could stomach anything right now, not even water, but he didn’t bother to object. Justin’s footsteps grew farther away, glasses clinked against one another on the shelf in the kitchen, the refrigerator opened and closed, and plastic crackled as Justin unscrewed the lid on a bottle, whose contents Brian could hear being poured into the glass. Then the footsteps grew nearer again and the glass was pushed into Brian’s right hand. He took hold of it and tried to will his hand not to tremble as he brought it up to his lips and took a small sip. The cold water felt good going down -- a welcome contrast to the heat that was still radiating through his body, although not quite as intensely as it had been just a few minutes before. When that sip seemed to settle fairly well after a minute or two, he took another, then another. Maybe he was done with the vomiting for awhile. He sure as fuck hoped so.

“Ready to try to go to bed now?”

Brian nodded slightly, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to look at Justin. Now, he was back to feeling like he was about to fall asleep sitting up. He wanted so badly to resist all of Justin’s help -- to shoot off some smartass remark as if that would somehow, in Brian’s mind, prove that he didn’t need anyone to help him walk the short distance across the loft to the bedroom.

Justin gently took the glass from Brian’s hand and wrapped his arm around Brian’s waist, helping him back to his feet. Brian had to open his eyes now so as not to trip over anything, but he still avoided looking at Justin. He hated how much he was having to lean on the younger man to stay steady and walk very slowly toward the bedroom. His legs and feet felt like they were made of lead as they moved up the steps together, finally making it to the bedroom, where Brian sank down onto the wooden ledge that surrounded the bed. He bent down to take his shoes and socks off, ignoring the slightly dizzy feeling that came over him when he did that, because he wasn’t willing to allow Justin to undress him, although Justin was trying to.

“I can do it,” Brian insisted, his voice not nearly as forceful as he would have liked it to be.

Justin let out a long, audible breath, but didn’t say anything.

Once he got his shoes and socks off, Brian divested himself of the rest of his clothing piece by piece, periodically shrugging off Justin’s attempts at assistance, until he was down to his underwear. He felt so sweaty and sticky, but he knew he didn’t have the energy to take a shower right now, no matter how good it would feel. The sheets were deliciously cool on Brian’s skin as he laid back onto the bed, letting it cradle his tired body. He was completely spent, at fucking 2 p.m., for Christ’s sake. But he could finally let himself sleep.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out as gradually as he could. He felt the bed move slightly as Justin climbed in next to him. The younger man gently draped his arm across Brian’s chest, his hand coming to rest on Brian’s right arm. Justin’s touch was light as he moved his hand slowly up and down Brian’s arm, the same way he’d done with Brian’s thigh earlier, on the sofa. Like he was just letting Brian know he was there. Again, reminding him he wasn’t alone. Every bit of Brian’s current situation went against his usual independent nature, but in that moment, he was too mentally and physically exhausted to fight it. Justin’s gentle kiss on Brian’s cheek was the last thing he remembered before he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke and focused his eyes on the clock, he was surprised to see that three hours had passed. Even though he’d been asleep longer than he would have liked, it did seem to have done him some good. He didn’t exactly feel refreshed, but he felt at least a little bit better than he had when he’d barely been able to crawl into bed. Like maybe he could get out of bed now without falling over. Small victories.

Justin wasn’t in the bed with him anymore, and there were noises of metal spoons against pots and smells of garlic and onions drifting up the stairs from the kitchen, which Brian supposed made sense, given that it was almost dinner time, and he’d slept most of the afternoon. Christ, where had the day gone? He’d started it thinking he’d be able to go about his business as usual once his hour of torture was over, but clearly he’d been very wrong. He hoped tomorrow would be better, because he still had so much that he needed to get done at the office.

Brian climbed out of the bed carefully, testing his footing and his balance to be sure that the dizziness and nausea wasn’t going to return the second he stood up. Thankfully, it didn’t, although his body was still very sore. He walked sluggishly into the bathroom to take a piss and splash some water on his face to rinse away the lingering sticky feeling from whatever-the-fuck that hot flash had been that came over him earlier. When he was done, he put on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and decided to rejoin the world of the living for as long as his body would let him. Gripping the door frame to guard against any sudden vertigo, Brian walked down the steps into the living room.

“Hey,” Justin greeted him from the kitchen, where he stood behind a steaming pot on the stove. “Feeling any better?”

“Some.” Brian let his body drop down to the sofa and pulled his feet up onto the cushion. Just getting dressed and walking from the bedroom to the living room had taken most of his energy.

“Good. Debbie made you some soup. She brought it by while you were asleep.”

“Jesus, I must have really been out of it if I slept through her being here. I'm pretty sure that voice of hers could wake the dead.”

“You were snoring.” Justin smiled as he continued stirring the soup. “Ted called too. He wanted to be sure you got home okay.”

“Did he mention how the presentation went?”

“You asked him to make the presentation?” Justin was trying to act nonchalant, but he was clearly surprised. As well he should have been. He knew full well Brian’s need for control, particularly in his business.

Brian merely shrugged in response.

“He didn’t mention anything,” Justin said. “He was just worried about you. He said you were already pretty sick when you left.”

“Speaking of work, aren’t you supposed to be at the diner tonight?”

“Deb told me to take the night off.”

Brian sighed. “You can’t keep doing that.” This was exactly why he hadn't wanted anyone to know. It was why he’d told everyone he went to Ibiza. Because he didn’t want to be treated like an invalid or a victim, or like he was going to die. And he certainly didn’t want everyone rearranging their lives to take care of him.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” Justin said. “She didn’t want me to either.”

“I’m fine.” Brian tried to make his voice sound as self-assured as possible, although he was painfully aware of its incongruence with his body language as he folded in on himself on the sofa, his body still aching and way too tired for having just woken up from a fucking three-hour nap.

“You’re not fine. Want some soup?” Justin changed the subject before Brian could object to the idea of not being fine. Brian knew he wasn’t fine, but that didn’t mean he wanted anyone else to know that. He didn’t need or want Justin to confirm that he knew. But Justin was almost always able to see right through Brian’s bullshit, and Brian could already see that skill was going to be a thorn in his side for the next few weeks.

He also wasn’t entirely sure if he could stomach food right now, but he knew he had to try. If he didn’t, he was only going to feel worse. So he reluctantly agreed to try the soup, and started the process of moving to the table, much more slowly and painfully than he would have liked. Brian could feel Justin’s eyes on him, watching him as he made his way across the room and sank down into the chair, propping his elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands with a sigh. Brian didn’t have the words to articulate just how much he hated showing weakness. But his hand was being forced here, by something completely out of his control, and he didn’t like that at all. Brian Kinney didn’t take well to feeling out of control.

Justin brought a bowl over and set it in front of Brian. It was Debbie's chicken soup. He remembered it well from his teenage years. Anytime he or Michael wasn’t feeling well for any reason, be it physical illness or just needing comfort, she would make that soup. He hadn’t had any in over a decade now -- not since she’d brought several containers of it to his dorm at Carnegie Mellon when he’d caught mono. He had a lot of memories tied to this soup. How it always made him feel warm and like someone cared. She loved him, and this was one way she showed it.

The thought made a lump start to form in Brian’s throat. Goddamn it. He really didn’t want to be emotional right now. He’d long ago reached his limit for showing vulnerability today. It had been much easier for him to decide to let people in to help him through this than it was to actually let them in now that push had come to shove. Now that he actually needed them -- although he’d never admit to that out loud -- it was incredibly difficult to accept. Although he knew that what he actually disliked was the lack of control that came along with needing someone else’s help. Brian closed his eyes and pulled his lips into his mouth, taking a breath to try to compose himself.

“You okay?” Justin said, as Brian heard him set his own bowl on the table and settle into the chair on the other side.

“I’m fine.” Brian tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but it was hard to do. He hoped he’d pulled it off.

“If you don’t feel like eating right now I can--”

“Justin. Please.” Brian cut Justin off, then paused to take a breath that was perceptibly shakier than he would have liked. “I just need a minute.” This wasn’t just about the soup, and he hoped Justin understood that without him saying so, because he didn’t think he could put into words what he was feeling at the moment. Didn’t want to, either.

Thankfully, Justin seemed to get the picture. He didn’t say anything else, and he didn’t come over to Brian either. He let him have his space.

Once Brian felt like he could open his eyes and they wouldn’t have tears in them, he started in on the soup -- one small bite at a time, testing how it felt in his gut. Hoping he’d be able to keep it down. It tasted just the way he remembered it. They ate in silence, with Justin glancing up at Brian every so often, his concern obvious, which made Brian slightly edgy. Brian managed to eat more than half of his bowl of soup before his discomfort at being studied over the dining room table got to be too much. He figured he’d better not push his luck by trying to eat too much anyhow.

“I’m going back to bed,” Brian said abruptly, pushing the chair back and standing a little too quickly, causing him to have to steady himself with his hand on the table before he could proceed. Justin started to stand up as well, presumably to help him back to bed, but Brian held up his other hand and said, “Don’t. I’ve got it. I’m okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Justin or himself.

Brian managed to stand upright and take several careful steps into the bedroom without falling, before curling up on his side in the bed and pulling a pillow over his head to shut out the world.

“Brian,” he heard Justin’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. “Do you--”

“I’m fine.” Brian cut Justin off again by repeating the two words that he desperately wanted to will into becoming true, no matter how much of a stretch that seemed to be. “Leave me alone.” He tried to keep the venom out of his words, because he did know that Justin meant well, and Brian also knew that the anger he was feeling right now was at the circumstances, and not Justin himself. But it was hard not to take it out on Justin, simply because he was there. So Brian rephrased his demand, turning it into more of a request that he hoped Justin would honor. He removed the pillow from his face before saying, “Please...I need some time to myself.”

“Okay,” Justin said. His voice was calm. He didn’t sound offended or upset. Part of Brian wanted him to be upset so he’d leave him alone for sure, but another part of Brian -- the one not very many people got to see -- didn’t want to run Justin off. Because Brian didn’t want to think about what it would mean if Justin didn’t come back. Not only for his immediate future, but for the shared future that he knew he wanted with this kid, who wasn’t really a kid anymore. Although the desire to share his life with another human being was still foreign for Brian, and more than a bit unsettling. Most of the time he still wasn’t willing to acknowledge it, even to himself.

“I’ll be out here if you need anything,” Justin said, sounding slightly hurt, if anything, before his footsteps took him farther away again.

The television came on in the living room a few seconds later, and Brian was grateful for the distraction from the thoughts swirling in his head right now. He put the pillow back over his head and pulled his knees in closer to his chest. His stomach felt slightly queasy, but nothing urgent, at least not yet. Hopefully if he stayed still, it would fade away.

His frustration with this whole situation was quickly escalating. This was already much worse than he’d ever thought it would be, and it was probably about to get even worse than that. He was stressed about the pile of work that he knew he’d left on his desk at Kinnetik, that had probably grown even more this afternoon in his absence. He was worried about how the presentation had gone with Dandy Lube, with Ted in his place. He’d hated doing that, but he didn’t have a choice. There was no way he would have been able to make that presentation. He had to find a way to try to get through the whole day at the office tomorrow, although he honestly had no fucking clue how he was going to do that.

He spent a long time lying in the bed, brooding, before the nausea won out. He staggered into the bathroom, where he lost a bit of the soup, though not all of it, thankfully. Maybe he’d still get some nutrients out of it. Justin was standing outside the bathroom door with a steaming mug in his hand when Brian slid it back open.

“I’m fine,” Brian insisted, before Justin could say anything. Again, those two words that most certainly weren’t the case. Who the fuck was he fooling? Probably no one, but he’d keep repeating them anyway.

Brian collapsed back into the bed and pulled his legs up toward his chest again, hugging the pillow he’d had over his head earlier. He was back to feeling clammy and a little too warm, though not as much as earlier.

Justin set the mug down on the bedside table next to Brian.

“I made you some ginger tea,” he said. “It’s supposed to help.”

Justin sat down on the edge of the bed, and an uneasy look came over his face. Like maybe he was about to say something that he wasn’t sure he should say. Brian could hear him take a deep breath before he started speaking.

“I don’t think you should go to work tomorrow,” he said.

“I have to.”

“No, you have to take care of yourself.”

“Don’t fucking tell me no, Sunshine. We’ve been over and over this. My business doesn’t stop just because I’ve fucking got cancer, okay? It can’t stop. I have people depending on me now. I have shit I have to do, and there’s nobody else who can do it.”

“What about Ted?”

“He’s a fucking accountant. He doesn’t know the first thing about advertising. Our college degrees might both say ‘business,’ but they’re very different. I can’t ask him to keep trying to play my part.”

“How about Cynthia? She’s worked with you forever.”

“Cynthia doesn’t know.”

“What? Why the fuck not?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone to know!” Brian’s voice was rising, and he was starting to slip into not giving a fuck about that. “Because I thought I would just be able to take care of this whole thing myself, and no one would ever know about it. I know that was stupid, but it was what I wanted.”

“I don’t understand, Brian. I don’t understand why you’d want to go through this by yourself. Why you’d feel like you had to.”

“I already told you!” He was practically shouting now. “Because I’m a fucking coward, and I didn’t want anyone to know it! I’m fucking terrified, okay? And I don’t like that. I don’t know what to do with that.” There. He’d finally said it. It was out in the open. The full magnitude of the fucked up thoughts that had been running in circles in Brian’s brain for the past few weeks.

“Brian, I care about you.” Justin kept his voice calm and even, despite Brian’s increasingly agitated tone. He seemed completely unfazed by Brian’s admission. “We all care about you. We want to help you, so you don’t have to be scared.”

“That’s part of the problem.” Brian lowered his voice to his normal inflection. He knew he needed to stop taking his frustration out on Justin, before he really fucked things up even more than he probably already had. He pushed his face into the pillow that he was still hugging to his chest, because he could feel the tears starting to form in his eyes. The tears that he didn’t want anyone to see. Not right now.

“What? Needing help?” Justin tried to take one of Brian’s hands in his, but Brian jerked it out of his grasp. “Why are you so afraid of needing somebody?”

“Because I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove that I don’t need anybody. Nobody was there for me most of the time anyway. So all the better if I didn’t need them at all.”

“Everybody needs some help sometimes. And that’s okay. Needing help doesn’t make you a weak person, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.” Brian buried his face further into the pillow. He physically couldn’t bring himself to look at Justin right now. “I don’t like that I’m doing this to you. You didn’t sign up for this.”

“You’re not a burden, Brian. I’m here because I want to be here. I love you and I want to help you.”

There were those words again. The three little words that had made Brian’s decision for him as he and Justin stood in his office before his supposed trip to Ibiza. Back when he still had both of his testicles.

I love you.

I love you.

Brian didn’t know why those words were so goddamn hard to hear. Why they almost hurt. What made him feel like no one should ever be saying those words to him. At least, not the way that Justin meant them.

What was broken inside of him that kept him from being able to say them back to the one person who deserved to hear them?

He knew he felt it. But he still couldn’t say them back.

Maybe the only reason was because he was a fucking coward. Maybe trying to blame his lack of emotional intelligence on Joan and Jack was simply making excuses. Maybe the real reason he couldn’t bring himself to say the words was because he was scared. Scared of putting himself out there. Risking it all. Being open and honest, instead of trying to hide behind his Brian Fucking Kinney facade.

Brian felt the mattress sink down a bit as Justin slid into bed beside him and placed a hand hesitantly on Brian’s shoulder, as if to check and see if he was okay with being touched right now. Brian hated himself a little bit for making Justin hesitate at all.

When he didn’t object, both of Justin’s arms came around Brian -- and around the pillow he was still clinging to. He could feel the soft thump of Justin’s heartbeat against his back as the younger man spooned him.

“I love you,” Justin whispered, repeating the words one more time. But it was what he added this time that made Brian’s heart ache. “I hope you believe that.”

Justin’s words made Brian hurt. Like he’d been punched in the gut.

“I love you. I hope you believe that.”

What the fuck kind of monster was he that he was making the only person he’d ever wanted to be in a relationship with doubt whether or not he believed that person loved him?

With that thought, the tenuous grip Brian had over his emotions slipped, and the tears started to fall, unbidden, into the pillow he was still clinging to and hiding his face in. He cursed the way his shoulders started to shake, no doubt making it clear to Justin what was happening. He couldn’t hide anymore. Justin’s arms tightened around him, pulling their bodies even closer.

“It’s okay,” Justin whispered. “Let it go. I know.”

Three sentences. All so short. But they said so much.

Justin’s cheek was turned, pressing against the back of Brian’s neck as the younger man held him close, as tightly as he possibly could. Brian could feel moisture between his skin and Justin’s. Justin was crying too. Brian wanted to hate himself for that as well. Here Justin was, giving something he didn’t have to give to a man who simply couldn’t bring himself to accept it without a fight. Brian’s own insecurities and the actions he took to try to conceal them were driving both of them to their emotional breaking point. Brian, because he was struggling to feel like he was worth all of this, and Justin, probably because Brian’s internal struggle upset him too. And that thought made Brian feel even worse.

Brian knew that Justin desperately wanted and needed for Brian to believe his words. And he did believe them. But that didn’t take away the internal resistance that had been so ingrained in him over years and years. The way his childhood had trained him to be. The way he’d trained himself to keep the softer, more sensitive person inside his hard shell safe from the pain that seemed inevitable. If he didn’t let someone in, then he couldn’t be hurt when they left. If he hurt them first, then they couldn’t hurt him. If he rejected them, then they couldn’t be the one to reject him.

He didn’t want to reject Justin. Or hurt him. But sometimes it felt like Brian’s subconscious was on autopilot, and he was constantly having to fight against the urge to protect himself. No matter how unnecessary that protection was.

Some dark part of Brian’s brain wanted to push Justin away because he was afraid he wouldn’t be loved at his lowest. That maybe it would be easier to avoid the situation entirely, to avoid the pain of wanting -- needing -- someone to care about him, then having it ripped away from him like it had been so many times in the past.

Justin didn’t know the half of why Brian was the way he was when it came to relationships. And Brian didn’t want him to, honestly. Justin knew he’d had a fucked up childhood. A fucked up relationship with his family. Still did. And that would have to be enough.

Acting on impulse, before that dark part of his brain had an opportunity to stop him, Brian rolled over to face Justin and kissed him deeply. Saying with his actions what he couldn’t say with words. He pulled back and studied Justin’s eyes, still damp with tears, as were his own.

“I know,” Brian said simply. “I know.”

That would have to be enough, too. At least, for now.

Justin hugged him even harder, pressing his face into Brian’s chest this time. They fell asleep like that, their bodies so close it was as if they were inseparable. And maybe in some ways, they were.

Brian still felt awful in the morning, but he was thankful that he hadn’t been sick in the middle of the night, and he hadn’t been awakened by nightmares of bloody testicles in cold, sterile operating rooms. The cup of tea Justin had made him was still sitting on the nightstand, now gone cold -- a visual reminder of Justin caring for him. Something he was trying very hard to be okay with.

One day down. Eleven more to go -- or nine, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Plus however long it took afterward for all of the side effects to go away. He already couldn’t wait for the weekend, when he’d get a break, supposedly to recover. Although with how bad the first day had been, he wondered how he was going to feel by Friday, and he had an inkling that it wasn’t going to be good.

He tried to slip out of bed as gently as possible, so as not to wake Justin, who was somehow still asleep, even though Brian guessed it was probably 8 or 9 when they’d fallen asleep. Now it was after 6 a.m. Less than two hours until Brian had to start this torturous process over again.

His oncologist had talked to him about medications that would help with the nausea, but they wanted to hold off to see if he needed them. Some people didn’t, and there was no point in medicating for something if they didn’t have to, he’d said. Brian had hoped he would be one of those people, but yesterday had proved him wrong. He knew nothing would take it away completely, but if something could at least make it to where he could hold more than a few bites of something down and wasn’t spending the entire day feeling like he was on some neverending carnival ride, it would be a welcome change.

Brian didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands after taking care of his morning business, so he kept his head down. He was fairly sure he looked like shit, and he didn’t need the visual confirmation of that. His eyes felt dry and slightly scratchy, so he knew they were probably swollen and red, and he definitely didn’t want to see that. Didn’t want to see the after-effects of the emotions he’d been unable to hold back the night before.

The shower was beckoning to him, an answer to his desire to rid himself of the sticky, sweaty feeling that still lingered on his skin from all of yesterday’s sickness. He at least felt like he’d be able to stand long enough to let the water rinse away some of the previous day for a fresher start today, so he turned on the water, waited for it to warm up, and stepped in. He’d never had a shower feel so amazing, without there being some sort of sex involved. But the warm water left him feeling renewed, physically and mentally.

As he dried off, he spotted the tube of prescription skin cream he’d hidden away behind a few other items on the bathroom counter. He wasn’t sure why he’d hidden it in the first place or who he was trying to hide it from. He’d been supposed to put some on yesterday morning too, but had forgotten -- out of sight, out of mind. He hoped he hadn’t already fucked up by forgetting it yesterday, since he’d been warned that he was probably going to start seeing a painful skin reaction to the radiation within the next few days, and this stuff was supposed to keep it from being as bad as it would be without it. After how yesterday had gone, he certainly didn’t want to find out what would happen if he tried to pretend he’d be immune to that side effect as well. So he moved it to the front when he was finished with it, in hopes he wouldn’t forget again. Although who knew how out of it he was going to be by the end of the week?

When Brian stepped out of the bathroom to get dressed, towel wrapped around his waist, Justin was awake and lying on his side in the bed, head propped up on his hand.

“Morning,” Justin said. “You look like you’re feeling a little better.”

“For now.” Brian shrugged. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

“Did you think about what I said yesterday?”

“What’s that?” Brian opened a drawer, pulled out a pair of underwear, and carefully bent down to put them on. He was still sore from the surgery, and now had the radiation side effects to contend with as well, making the movement slow and painful.

“That I don’t think you should go to work today.”

Brian frowned as he pushed hangers to the side in his closet, trying to decide what to wear. Whether or not he was going to work today played a key part in that decision. He honestly didn’t know what to do. If he should ask Ted to cover for him again today, or if he should try going into the office for a couple of hours, if for nothing else than to retrieve his laptop and some of the things he needed to work on. Or should he come clean with Cynthia, so she could help Ted pick up the slack? There was just so much that had to be done. It was overwhelming, and Brian’s current physical and mental state made it even more so.

Suddenly, Brian remembered that he’d left the Vette at the office yesterday, so he didn’t even have a car right now.

“Shit,” he said aloud.

“What?”

“I left the goddamn car at work yesterday.” The only way Brian could think of to retrieve his car was to call Ted and ask him to come by the loft on his way to Kinnetik and pick him up, so he could get in his own car and go straight to the oncologist’s office. He hated to inconvenience Ted, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I can walk over and get it,” Justin said, looking over at the clock as he sat up the rest of the way and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Sunshine, it’s eight blocks away. And it’s six in the morning. I’ll ask Ted to pick me up.”

“I’ll walk fast. It’s not that big of a deal. I walk to the diner all the time, remember?” Justin disappeared into the bathroom for a couple of minutes, leaving Brian to continue considering whether his wardrobe for today would be jeans and a t-shirt, or suit and tie.

“This is farther than the diner,” Brian said as he ultimately decided on the suit and tie. He had to at least try to get some work done.

“I don’t care.” Justin walked out of the bathroom and over to the closet, where he pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of his too-baggy, too-long cargo pants that always bunched up over his sneakers and dragged the ground. He looked at the dress pants and shirt in Brian’s hand. “Again?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, again.” Brian gave Justin a look that he hoped would keep the younger man from objecting.

Justin sighed loudly as he tugged his t-shirt on over his head. “Alright,” he said. “But do you promise to come home this time before you’re about to fall over?” He sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his sneakers.

Brian rolled his eyes as he pulled up his pants. “Yes. I promise.”

“And you mean it this time?”

“I meant it yesterday. I just didn’t know where you were, so I didn’t call. I didn’t want to put you out.”

“You’re not putting me out,” Justin said as he picked up the hoodie he’d apparently thrown in the floor at some point yesterday and put it on.

“Stop leaving your shit on the floor.”

“Stop trying to change the subject.” Justin walked over to the partially-dressed Brian, whose pants were still unbuttoned and shirt halfway on, and wrapped his arms around him, looking up at him with a serious look on his face. “You’re not putting me out,” he repeated. “Now, where are your keys?”

“Probably still in my coat pocket.” Brian knew there was not going to be any changing Justin’s mind on this, so he might as well let him go. After all, Justin wasn’t stopping him from going to work, so maybe this would have to be Brian’s compromise.

Justin was out of the bedroom and down the steps before Brian could finish buttoning his shirt. “Eat breakfast!” he called over his shoulder as he picked up Brian’s coat and started digging through the pockets in search of keys. “I made some packets of frozen fruit that you can use to make a smoothie. There’s protein powder on top of the fridge. I thought that might be easier for you.”

Fuck if this kid hadn’t thought of everything. And fuck if it didn’t feel kind of nice to have someone doing things for him just because they cared. Even if it was hard for him to believe or justify. He was trying, though.

The loft door slid open and shut before Brian could respond. He finished dressing and wandered into the kitchen to make the smoothie as he’d been instructed, because he didn’t want to have to endure the lecture that would surely follow if he refused to eat. He knew he needed to, but after yesterday, he was more than a little gun shy.

He opened the freezer to find about a dozen baggies filled with various fruits and greens. Out of sheer curiosity, he opened the fridge too, and found it was also full of cut up fruits and vegetables, alongside the leftovers of Debbie’s soup, and a couple of other prepared dishes he couldn’t identify. Clearly, Justin had been busy yesterday. He emptied the contents of one of the bags into the blender, added some of the protein powder, and dumped some milk in on top of it. The color wasn’t too appetizing as the various ingredients swirled together into one, but it would probably be easier to eat than anything else he’d tried yesterday.

Pouring it into a glass and then taking a sip, he decided it wasn’t half bad, even if it looked terrible. It tasted vaguely of ginger, which he knew was one of the ingredients that had been recommended to help calm his stomach. But it combined nicely with the other things. He carried the glass over to the sofa and sat down, not wanting to push his luck with the renewed energy he seemed to have after his shower this morning. He didn’t want to use it all up and end up dead on his feet again before he even made it to the office.

Thirty minutes later, Justin was back, and Brian had finished the smoothie. It felt okay in his stomach for now, but he knew the real test would come in a few hours.

“You ready to go?” Justin asked.

“I can drive myself.” The independent part of Brian still wasn’t willing to let Justin do absolutely everything for him. He didn’t really even want Justin there during the treatment, although he couldn’t put his finger on why -- maybe it was still that dark undercurrent of fear and shame that he couldn’t manage to shake.

“I know you can. I just wanted to make it easier for you today. If you’ll let me.”

“I--” Brian started to argue. He didn’t want to be mothered or nursed, but he also didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. So he compromised again. “I’m still going to work,” he said, his tone self-assured and seemingly daring Justin to object. Brian would allow Justin to drive him, but he wasn’t going to allow it to be an excuse for Justin to keep him from going to work.

“I know. I can drop you off and pick you up.”

Brian had to fight himself to keep from petulantly reminding Justin that he wasn’t a child. For Christ’s sake, Justin sounded like an elementary school carpool mom right now. But Brian didn’t say anything. He just shrugged and started putting on his coat.

They drove to the hospital campus in silence, which was strange to Brian because Justin was almost always chattering away about something -- the kid loved to talk. Maybe Justin was as anxious as Brian was. Or maybe he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Brian knew his emotions were on a hair trigger right now, in spite of his best efforts to stay calm and not do anything stupid when it came to Justin. Neither of them spoke until they were in the elevator of the medical arts building, where Justin laced his fingers through Brian’s and squeezed his hand as he said, “You’re going to be fine. You’ve got this.”

Clearly, Justin had more faith in the process than Brian did at this point. After the hell that was Monday, Brian really didn’t want to think about what the rest of the week was going to look like.

When they stepped off of the elevator, the smell of antiseptic hit Brian’s nostrils again -- only this time, it was almost sickening and he had to hold his breath for a few seconds to keep from being ill. Justin was still holding Brian’s hand as they went into the office and walked together up to the receptionist’s tiny window, where Brian signed in again, tried to smile at her again, and also tried to look like he wasn’t about to come out of his skin, again. Having Justin here helped, even though that was hard to admit, even to himself.

They sat down in the waiting area, their hands still intertwined. Justin was rubbing his thumb lightly back and forth over Brian’s. Justin smiled at Brian, turning up the corners of his mouth just slightly. When Brian’s name was called, Justin squeezed his hand again before releasing it so he could stand.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done,” Justin said, still offering that reassuring smile.

Brian followed the same scrub-clad woman that he had the day before, back through the maze of hallways to the same room. He was sure that by the end of this process, he’d know the way by heart, although he didn’t think he wanted to.

“How was yesterday?” she asked as she held the door open for him and then closed it behind them.

Brian scoffed. That was certainly a loaded question. He ended up telling her how he’d tried to go to work, how awful he’d felt from about lunchtime on, how sick he’d been, how he’d swung back and forth from freezing cold to unbearably hot, and generally felt like death warmed over. She kept nodding her head seriously -- her expression so fucking understanding and unsurprised that it kind of pissed him off -- the entire time he was describing the torture he’d endured. But what she said next was not what Brian wanted to hear.

“Those things are all normal side effects,” she said when he was finally finished recounting his tale. “Some of them might start to build a bit and get worse. We can give you a prescription to try to help with the nausea, because we do need you to eat to keep your strength up. This is hard on your body. You’re asking it to do a lot right now. You need to listen to it, and rest when it asks you to rest. And try to maintain a healthy diet. Lots of fruits and vegetables, and lean protein. I’m going to let you change now, and I’ll go get that prescription for you. Be right back.”

He was probably going to end up subsisting on Justin’s smoothies and Debbie’s chicken soup for the near future, he thought to himself as he shed his clothing and changed into the gown she’d left on the table. But he guessed that was okay -- it sounded like it would meet the requirements of what he needed. Maybe he’d feel a little better if he could keep some food down today.

When she came back, she handed him a small slip of paper that he stuffed into his coat pocket, and started the process of getting him into position for today’s treatment.

The time went by more quickly this time, because he was still tired enough that he fell asleep almost immediately, and the next thing he knew, he was awakened by the nurse’s gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Kinney,” she said softly as he blinked his eyes open and tried to focus on her. “You’re all done for today. Go ahead and take some of the medication as soon as you can get it filled. Tomorrow, take some before you come in, and that will help it be more effective. Remember, listen to your body. Take it easy.” She helped him up and left him to change back into his clothes.

Now, he was back to wondering whether or not it was a good idea to try to go to work today. But then he remembered the pile of work he had waiting for him on his desk, and felt like he had no other choice.

When Brian re-entered the waiting room, Justin had his legs crossed and pulled up into the chair to prop up his sketchpad. He looked up at Brian and gave him that gentle, reassuring smile again.

“Hey,” the younger man said as he flipped the sketchbook shut, stuck it into his messenger bag, and stood up. “All done?”

Brian nodded silently and led the way out of the office, still not saying anything for the entire elevator ride back down to street level. They were halfway to the car when he dug the small piece of paper back out of his coat pocket. “I need to stop by the pharmacy on the way to the office, and get this filled,” he said. “Maybe then I won’t be puking my guts out.”

“Okay,” Justin said. Justin had been playing the part of supportive partner perfectly, which irked Brian a bit, simply because he wasn’t used to this and it made him slightly uncomfortable. Because he didn’t know how to play the role of the supported partner himself, without feeling weak. He’d never been one to allow himself to feel that way. Growing up, he couldn’t, because then Jack would call him a Sissy Boy and smack him around to try to toughen him up. And now, even though no one was going to hit him, he still didn’t like the feeling, although now it was mostly about control, and feeling like he was in control of everything -- control of his emotions, and control over every situation he found himself in. This situation ran against that desire, because there was so much that was out of his hands.

They waited around for 20 minutes at the pharmacy, side by side in the chairs closest to the counter, waiting for Brian’s name to be called. Finally, it was, and he paid for the medicine and the small bottle of ginger ale he planned to take back to the office with him as extra insurance, and walked back out to the car with Justin, where he downed one of the pills and crossed his fingers that it would do what it was supposed to do.

Not long after that, they were pulling up in front of the former bathhouse that Brian had converted into the headquarters of his advertising agency. The building had just the character he’d been looking for in an office, and seemed apropos for a business owned by the stud of Liberty Avenue. The thought made him idly wonder if he’d ever feel like the stud of Liberty Avenue again, or if it was time to admit defeat and accept the fact that he was now an old, diseased queen.

“What time do you want me to come back to pick you up?” Justin interrupted Brian’s thoughts.

“I’ll call you,” Brian said, not particularly wanting to nail himself down to a schedule. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to work, but he was planning to push himself until he couldn’t any longer, regardless of whether or not anyone else agreed he should. There was simply too much happening right now as he worked to get his company off the ground. He’d already had to take too much time off, and didn’t want to think about the fact that he was probably going to have to take even more before this was over and done with. So he had to take advantage of feeling halfway awake and halfway human, and try to get done everything he could today.

Justin gave Brian a look that said he didn’t quite trust him to do what he said. “If I haven’t heard from you by noon, I’m coming to get you,” he said. “No arguments.”

So Justin was putting his foot down, Brian thought. He wanted to argue, but he didn’t want to waste the energy, because he knew Justin was every bit as stubborn as he was. So he nodded in reluctant agreement and took his briefcase out of the backseat.

“Later,” Brian said as he closed the car door and turned to walk toward the entrance to his business.

He walked into the office with the same air of confidence he always did -- wordlessly daring anyone to walk up to him and take him on. And it worked as it always did. He felt eyes on him, watching him -- probably ones who had witnessed him leaving the day before, sick as a dog, although he’d been too out of it to remember who had seen him. He didn’t feel bad right now, but he knew that he sure as hell didn’t look great. Maybe -- hopefully -- they’d just assume he was hung over. Not exactly the most professional impression for the boss to leave, but better than having the entire office know that he had cancer.

Brian settled into his desk chair and opened up his email -- 30 fucking unread messages, not counting the 40 in the spam folder. He sighed to himself and opened up the first one. He was never going to get to any of this crap that was piled up on his desk, because he was probably going to be answering goddamn emails the entire time he was here.

He was about halfway through his response when Ted knocked on the glass door and came right in without waiting for an answer. Just like he always did. Brian wondered why he even bothered to knock in the first place.

“Bri?” Ted said. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Do you see this pile of shit?” Brian gestured to the stack of folders and proofs and papers beside him on the desk. “If I’m not here, it’s not getting done. How was the presentation, by the way?”

Ted shrugged. “We haven’t heard from them yet,” he said. “They said they’d let us know today. They were meeting with Vangard after they left here.”

Of course they were meeting with fucking Vangard. And if he’d been able to give the presentation yesterday, they would have known for sure that they’d be wasting their time to even bother with Gardner Vance and his band of inept loons. Now, he just had to hope that Theodore had managed to drum up enough self confidence to win them over.

“Well, I’ll leave you alone,” Ted said, drumming his fingers on Brian’s desk. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with. I’m happy to do it.”

Brian nodded once in silent thanks as Ted turned and left the room. Brian turned back to his email, so he could at least try to dig out of the hole.

An hour later, he was finishing up with the last unread message and trying to use the ginger ale to quell the uneasy feeling that was starting to build in his stomach, when Ted strutted back into the room, exuding far more confidence than was typical for Ted Schmidt, former drug addict and professional porn king, whose self esteem was generally in the toilet most of the time, and that appeared to be the way he liked it. But now, Ted seemed like a different person than he had been just an hour before.

“Bri?” he said. “Dandy Lube just called. We got ‘em.”

“Way to go, Theodore. I told you you could do it.” Brian said a silent prayer of thanks to a God he didn’t believe in. Ted Schmidt had saved Brian’s ass. What kind of fucked up universe was this?

“Yeah, it was a little dicey at first,” Ted paused and shrugged casually, like he did this shit all the time, no big deal. “But I managed to convince them.”

“How’d you do that?” Brian was genuinely curious, although he had some idea, because he remembered how he’d first nailed -- in more ways than one -- the Dandy Lube account at Vangard years ago.

“Just thought to myself, ‘What would Brian Kinney do?’ After that, it was a snap.” Ted smiled, then paused and looked Brian over. “You know, you don’t look so hot. Why don’t you let me mind the shop, and you go home?” Ted had already picked up Brian’s coat off the back of his chair and was holding it up as if waiting to assist Brian in putting it on.

“Not yet,” Brian said, having to work very hard to not say what he was really thinking, because he didn’t take kindly to anyone telling him what to do. Certainly not Ted Schmidt, even though he meant well. “Justin is coming to get me at noon, if not sooner. In the meantime, I need to try to get some of this shit done.” He sighed aloud as he eyed the offending stack of photos and proofs that needed to be approved, concepts that probably needed finesse that only he could give, and paperwork that needed the approval of a CEO. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” Brian let his voice trail off as he flipped open a folder and picked up a stack of photos to flip through and choose the best.

Ted returned Brian’s coat to the back of the chair and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Alright,” he said. “But take care of yourself this time, okay?”

“Christ, do you have to mother me?” Brian said, his acerbic wit fully intact, despite his waning energy.

Ted held his hands up in mock surrender and raised his eyebrows as he turned and left the room.

By 11 a.m., Brian had made a bit of a dent in his work, but he was starting to feel bad again -- cold, tired, and a little nauseous. Could he squeeze out one more hour? He was certainly going to try. He took his ginger ale and his stack of work and moved to the sofa, where he could lie back and look over the proofs for the latest Eyeconics campaign. A few minutes later, he started having trouble focusing his eyes, then a few minutes after that, he must have fallen asleep, because the next time he looked at the clock, it was past noon, and the only reason he was awake was because Justin and Cynthia were standing in his office, and Cynthia’s voice had brought him back to consciousness.

“Would you like to let me in on what the fuck is going on?”

“Would you like to let me in on what the fuck is going on?”

Brian blinked his eyes and tried to focus on either Cynthia or Justin. He wasn’t sure what was going on at the moment himself. Why were they both standing in his office? Justin was here to pick him up and drag him out of the office and back to the loft -- that much he knew -- but why was Cynthia with Justin? Had she followed him in? Or had she already been in the room when Justin came in?

Cynthia’s voice was only slightly angry. She sounded more worried and confused than anything.

“I’ll...be outside,” Justin said, taking a wary step toward the door.

“No,” Brian said. “Stay.”

Justin looked around nervously and apparently decided to take a seat in Brian’s desk chair, probably so he could be as far away as possible from Brian and Cynthia.

Cynthia took a seat next to Brian on the sofa, and seemed to be taking in his full appearance, which he was sure wasn’t up to his usual standards right now.

“Now, I know there’s something going on, so don’t try to tell me nothing is,” she said. “We’re not just coworkers, Brian. We’re friends. I would hope you feel like you can trust me.” Her usual no-nonsense tone morphed into caring, concerned friend with her last two sentences.

Brian didn’t say anything, partially because he didn’t want to, and also because he was having to put a lot of effort into not being physically ill right now. Clearly, the medication he’d taken had not done anything to abate the upheaval in his stomach, which was coming right on schedule, at the same time it had the day before.

“You can either tell me, and save us both some trouble, or you can not tell me and I can find out myself,” Cynthia said. “I have my ways and you know it.”

Brian could barely concentrate on her words, because he was so distracted by what was happening inside of his body. He didn’t even know why he was bothering to try to not be sick in front of Cynthia, because he was about to have to tell her everything anyhow, regardless of whether or not he wanted to. If he didn’t, she’d find some way to dig it up, and probably be even more pissed that he hadn’t told her.

He decided to give up on that before he lost the battle with his stomach, and pushed himself up off the sofa, making his way to his private bathroom as quickly as his sore body would allow, not even bothering to say, “Excuse me,” because he was afraid of what would happen if he opened his mouth and tried to speak.

Brian was a little surprised that Justin didn’t follow him into the bathroom, but grateful that he didn’t. He guessed Justin knew him well enough to assume that Brian wouldn’t want an audience for what was, so far, the most undignified part of this. He hoped and prayed that he wasn’t going to come across a more undignified part, but there was still time, unfortunately. Too much time.

When he thought he was done enough to at least have a conversation, Brian rinsed his mouth out at the sink and walked slowly back out into his office. Cynthia was still on the sofa, but Justin was gone.

“Where’d he go?” Brian asked as he made his way back over to the sofa and sank down heavily onto it, running a hand over his face as he leaned back against the pillows. God, he was so fucking tired.

“He had a phone call,” she said. “So, like I said, you can either tell me, or I can find out myself. Your choice. But I wish you would trust me. Remember when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer two years ago? And I was coming into work day after day, just trying to push through when what I really wanted to do was fall apart? And you sat me down one day and made me tell you what was wrong. From then on, it seemed like everything was taken care of. Every time she needed a ride to treatment, there was a cab waiting for her, already paid for. There was a constant stream of all of the right foods being delivered to her house. And any time I needed a day off, I had it, no questions asked. You took care of her, and me. And I never asked you to do that. But you did, and I don’t know how either of us would have made it without you. Please, Brian, let me repay you. Let me help you. With whatever this is.”

Brian was staring straight ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could still see Cynthia’s pleading look. He’d done all of those things for her two years ago because it was how Brian Kinney took care of friends. Did everything he could to help them, quietly, never expecting or even wanting a thank you or any sort of fanfare. He preferred to do it all under the radar. Keep up the mystique of the man who everyone thought didn’t give a shit about anybody but himself.

But she was right. They weren’t just coworkers. They were friends. He cared about her, and she cared about him. And he owed her this much.

“I’ve got cancer,” he sighed. The words still weren’t getting any easier to say, no matter how many times he had to repeat them. “Testicular cancer. I didn’t go to Ibiza for a fucking vacation a week after I opened my own firm, like I let you think I did. I had a ball removed in fucking Baltimore.”

“Brian…” Cynthia let her voice trail off, and Brian felt her hand come to rest on his arm. “Are you--?”

“Alright?” Christ. He was so sick of that being the first question out of anyone’s mouth when he told them, because he didn’t really know how to answer it. He was, but he wasn’t. “They think. I’m in radiation now, and it’s making me sicker than I’ve ever been in my entire goddamn life.”

“Then why the hell are you here? You should be at home, in bed, and you know it.”

“Because there’s too much shit here that needs done, that only I can do.”

“Now, Brian, you know I love you, right? And we both know that there’s only one of you, which is probably a very good thing. But I’ve worked with you for five years, and I’ve got a pretty good idea by now of what you like and what you don’t. I know that isn’t all of what you do, but I could probably take quite a bit of this off your plate, if you’ll let me. And I hope you will. You need to take care of yourself. I can take care of things here.”

She wasn’t wrong. She probably could take care of everything. But did he want her to? Could he relinquish enough control to let her?

Did he have a choice?

“Ted knows too.” Brian worked his jaw and braced himself for her reaction.

“And you told him before you told me?”

“He practically forced me to. If I didn’t, he was probably going to drag me to one of his 12-step meetings,” Brian grumbled.

Cynthia rolled her eyes. “And that would be the worst thing possible for you, wouldn’t it? Mr. Pain Management himself.”

“Hey, I’m not an addict.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say. You can tell me all about how you’re not an addict the next time you’re standing out in the snow, smoking a cigarette on a day when the art department can’t do anything right, and you have a tight deadline to meet.” She laughed a little, then turned serious again. “So, will you let me? Let us? Will you let Ted and I take care of things here?”

Brian sighed. Piece by piece, and person by person, his plan to not let anyone know, to deal with this on his own, was falling apart. And along with it, his mask was slipping. Revealing the vulnerability underneath.

Cynthia leaned forward and picked up the proofs that had apparently slid out of Brian’s hand and onto the floor under the coffee table after he fell asleep. She considered them carefully, then pulled out one and handed it to him. “This one, I think,” she said. “Right?”

“Right,” he said. Shit. She did know him pretty well. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Brian reluctantly agreed to Cynthia’s plan. “But I’m bringing my laptop home with me,” he added quickly, his voice firm. “I want to be kept updated. And I want you to bring me things when I ask for them. None of this telling me no and reminding me to take care of myself. I’m not a goddamn invalid.”

At that moment, Justin walked back into the room and looked between Brian and Cynthia cautiously.

“Everything okay in here?” he said.

“Yes,” Cynthia answered for both of them as she stood up and straightened her skirt. “Brian just agreed to go home and stay home for the next two weeks.”

Brian opened his mouth to object -- he’d agreed to no such thing -- but she shushed him by purposely stepping on his foot, which Justin couldn’t see from his vantage point.

Cynthia strode over to his desk like she owned the fucking place, picked through several of the items on its surface, made herself a stack to take back to her own desk, and stuck the few things that were left on top of Brian’s closed laptop before stuffing it all into his computer bag and handing it off to Justin.

“Tell him he’s not to touch any of that until he’s gotten some sleep,” she said, in her matter-of-fact, all-business voice. “We don’t need our CEO doing shitty work because he’s too proud to take a goddamn nap.” She turned to address Brian again. “Now, get your ass out of here before you pass out.”

With that, she strode out of the room, her heels clicking on the tile floor, clutching all of the work she’d just removed from Brian’s desk to her chest. Brian wanted to be angry at her for taking charge like she’d just done, but he couldn’t be. He had to admit that he felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He had a lot less to worry about. He knew she would take care of things. And what she couldn’t, Ted would. He did have friends. People who cared about him and wanted to help. Even if accepting their help still left Brian feeling a bit unsettled.

Justin slung the computer bag over his shoulder, picked up Brian’s coat from the back of his desk chair, and carried it over to the sofa where Brian sat. He held it up while Brian put it on, and they walked out of the office together.

As they walked toward the front door, Brian tried his best to stay upright, not stooping over like he wanted to because of how much his stomach hurt, and to walk as normally as possible, in spite of how much his body was aching. He just needed to try to look and act like his usual self for 30 more seconds, until they got out the door. Maybe to the car. Which he hoped to god was parked close by. It was -- it was parked on the street right outside the front door.

Justin opened the car door for him, which Brian would have normally protested, but right now, he was too tired to care. He just wanted to get home and crawl into bed. The less he argued, the faster that would happen. Brian collapsed heavily into the passenger seat and closed his eyes.

“So, who was your phone call from?” Brian was just making conversation, as Justin climbed into the car on the driver’s side.

“Huh?” Justin started the car and put it in gear.

“The phone call you were taking while I was barfing.”

“Oh, that. It was Michael.”

“Why the fuck was Michael calling you?” Brian opened his eyes and gave Justin a sidelong glance.

“Something about Rage. We do write a comic book together, you know...in case you forgot.”

How the fuck could he forget? One of the only times in his life he’d ever truly regretted his actions was the night he literally pissed all over Justin and Michael’s work in a fit of drunken jealousy after discovering his boyfriend in bed with his best friend. Even though they weren’t being physically intimate -- at least, not on purpose -- Brian’s head had been filled with all of the thoughts of the emotional intimacy Michael and Justin were sharing, planted there by Ben earlier that night at Babylon. Fortunately, all he’d had to do to fix his colossal screw up was reprint all of the comic book pages from Justin’s computer, and apologize to Justin and Michael. That was one instance when he’d had to throw aside his mantra of “No excuses, no apologies, no regrets.” And now, his partner and his best friend could have a shot at Hollywood fame, all because of their little comic book about a gay superhero.

“Have you guys heard from that Keller guy again yet?” Brian asked.

“Uh, no...not yet.”

“Well, I’m sure it won’t be long until you do.”

Justin didn’t say anything. He reached down and turned the radio up instead, which Brian thought was strange, given that Justin hated the ‘70s and ‘80s rock station that Brian preferred to listen to, and that’s exactly what was playing.

But Brian didn’t have a chance to question Justin’s odd behavior, because at that exact moment, Brian found himself gripped with an abdominal cramp far worse than what he’d experienced the day before. This was so intense it brought tears to his eyes almost immediately, and for a few seconds he couldn’t breathe. When he finally could breathe again, he inhaled with a sharp gasp, which was what caught Justin’s attention.

“Shit, are you alright?” Justin hastily turned the radio back down and pulled over, even though they were only a block from the loft.

Brian squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, waiting for it to pass so he could speak.

“Brian?” Justin grabbed Brian’s arm, hard. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Feeling the tears pricking at the inside of his eyelids, Brian squeezed his eyes shut tighter and gripped his thighs with his hands just to have something to hold onto. Justin let go of Brian’s arm and slipped it under Brian’s left hand, allowing him to shift to clutching Justin’s hand instead. Brian was sure he had a white-knuckled grip on it, and even that wasn’t helping. He wanted to pound his fist on something just to work out this pain, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of his thigh or Justin’s hand. After several more agonizing seconds, the pain finally started to subside a bit, enough to allow Brian to utter two tense words: “Drive. Please.” He needed to get back to the loft, because his body seemed to be threatening to do more than just vomit this time.

Justin had to let go of Brian’s hand so he could drive, although he seemed reluctant to do so. When they finally pulled into Brian’s reserved parking space in the lot behind the building, Brian was already trying to calculate if he was going to be able to make it upstairs and to the bathroom before something really, really bad happened. He suddenly felt impossibly hot. Sweat quickly formed on his brow and started to run down his back. He was also feeling a bit lightheaded, and was thankful when Justin helped him out of the car and up the stairs to the back door. Brian didn’t have the wherewithal to fight with his pride right now, so he didn’t.

The elevator took fucking forever to climb up to the fourth floor, and by the time Justin got the door to the loft open, Brian practically had to run to make it to the bathroom in time -- at least, as much as he could run with the amount of pain he was in. It seemed that diarrhea had joined vomiting as one of the side effects of his treatment. Lovely. Just fucking great.

Brian was fairly sure that what he was feeling then must have been at least similar to giving birth. He’d have to remember to ask Lindsay, if he ever told her about this little adventure. Although with the way things were going, Brian was sure it wouldn’t be long before his dirty little secret was practically plastered across the front page of the local fag rag. No matter how much he didn’t want it to be.

He ended up spending most of the afternoon either sitting in front of or on the toilet, with the time in between spent lying down on the ceramic tile and allowing its coolness to seep through his sweat-soaked t-shirt, although it seemed like nothing was going to cool him down. He’d shed the rest of his clothes almost as soon as he came in, and really wanted to forego the t-shirt and underwear as well, because he was so goddamn hot. But he’d left those on, so that if he died, he at least wouldn’t be butt naked in the bathroom lying in his own mess. Brian knew that thought was melodramatic, but right now, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

Justin seemed to be at a loss, not really knowing how to help. Not that there was anything he could have done anyhow. The only thing either of them could do was just wait this out. Justin had called Debbie at one point, to let her know that he wasn’t coming in to work again that night, and also seemed to be asking for her advice on what to do. Apparently Brian and Justin were both far outside of their comfort zones, here, and neither of them could truly help the other. There wasn’t much Justin could do for Brian, and Brian had no idea what to ask him to do. But Justin did what he could -- bringing Brian water, and wiping his face with a cold, damp washcloth, which felt so good, even if it was something Brian would never have ordinarily allowed anyone to do for him, and he’d probably murder Justin if he ever mentioned it to anyone else.

Once Brian had gone more than thirty minutes without being sick, Justin asked him if he wanted to move to the bed. He did, but he wasn’t sure he could get up off the floor. Brian felt like he’d expelled every bit of his strength into the toilet that afternoon. It took them a few tries, but eventually Justin managed to help Brian get up, and guide him to the bed. Brian was embarrassed at how unsteady he was on his feet and how, without Justin propping him up, he probably would have ended up in a heap on the floor. Justin helped him into the bed, where Brian lay there on top of the covers, still far too overheated to even consider getting under them. Brian felt like the room was spinning around him, and had to close his eyes before that sensation made him nauseous again.

The nurse certainly hadn’t been lying when she’d told him this morning that things would probably get worse. He shuddered at the thought of what the next several days were going to be like, if this was what happened on day two. He hoped that the worst was over for today. And that maybe tomorrow, the pills would help.

Brian spent the next few hours sleeping off and on, but thankfully not as sick as he had been earlier. He woke up around 8 p.m. to find Justin sitting on the bed next to him, poring over his art history textbook and making notes.

When Justin realized Brian was awake, he turned to him and gave a small smile, and his usual quiet, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Brian said back, his voice hoarse. “God, that was awful.”

“Yeah.” Justin flipped the textbook shut, keeping his pen inside to mark his place. He set the book aside on the nightstand and laid down, propping himself up on his elbow. “You scared me.”

“Well, buckle up, because I have a feeling it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” Brian sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“I know. But it’s hard to watch.”

“Did you change your mind yet about staying?”

“Brian…”

“Don’t stay because you feel guilty.”

“I’m not. And I don’t.” Justin exhaled a frustrated-sounding breath.. “What do I have to do or say to make you believe that I’m here because I want to be? Not because I feel obligated. The reason it’s hard to watch is because I care about you. I don’t like to see you sick or in pain and not be able to do anything to help. That’s all.”

Brian didn’t respond to that. He had nothing to say. He was the one who felt guilty for making Justin feel that way -- scared and frustrated -- even though there was absolutely jack shit he could do about it.

“You should probably drink some water,” Justin said. “And try to eat something.”

The mere thought turned Brian’s stomach. He didn’t really want to do either of those things, even though he knew he needed to do both. He felt like his body was working against him -- like he was stuck in some horrible catch-22. He needed to eat and drink to support his body because he’d been so sick, but the unpleasant truth was that doing either of those things could likely end up making him sick again.

“I’ll try,” he said. “No guarantees.”

Justin got up and rummaged around in the kitchen for a bit, and eventually brought up a bowl of soup and a glass of water. Brian pushed himself more upright and piled up the pillows behind him so he could lean back on them. The water went down easily -- once he started drinking it, he realized how thirsty he was. Justin went to get him some more water, while Brian took a hesitant first bite of the soup, followed by another, then another. It took him longer than usual to finish it, mostly because he was nervous about seeing it again. But it seemed to settle fairly well. Thank god. Maybe the meds were helping more than it had seemed earlier.

Once he’d finished the soup and a most of a second glass of water, Brian managed to convince Justin to bring him his laptop and the files Cynthia had allowed him to bring home -- apparently he’d fulfilled his nap obligations, as demanded by his office assistant herself. Justin had resumed his studying, and Brian was typing an email when Justin’s cell phone started ringing somewhere in the living room.

He set the thick book aside again and stood up, walking quickly down the stairs and across the loft so he could get to the phone before it went to voicemail. Brian heard him answer it, then the door to the loft sliding open. Brian looked up from his computer just in time to see it slide shut again. He wondered why Justin would need to go out in the hallway to take a phone call. Shrugging as he returned to composing his email, Brian figured maybe whoever was on the other end was outside -- perhaps another student from PIFA collaborating on a project. Maybe dropping something off. Brian wasn’t terribly concerned about it, although he did notice that when Justin came back into the loft -- alone and with nothing in his hand but his phone -- he did seem a bit tense.

Brian fought not to ask Justin who he’d been talking to, like he had earlier. He’d really only been making small talk to try to distract himself from how awful he felt, but he’d since realized it had been a little nosy of him to ask. It really was none of his business, he reminded himself. Just because they were partners -- which Brian was almost ready to begrudgingly admit to, even if only to himself -- didn’t mean they had to tell each other every little thing. Justin had his own life and had just as much of a right to take a phone call in private as Brian did. Brian knew how that was, and he respected it. But he did wonder what had Justin so on edge.

“Everything okay?” he asked, figuring that was innocuous enough.

“Fine,” Justin said. He didn’t elaborate any further, and Brian didn’t ask any more questions.

Early Wednesday morning, Brian began a ritual he wanted nothing to do with. The ritual that would be his at least until the end of the following week, maybe longer, depending on how long it took his body to recover. He woke up, feeling like shit. Climbed out of bed, in pain. Walked slowly and stiffly into the bathroom, because he could hardly move. Took a shower to wash all of the sweat and sickness from the day before down the drain. Had to stop halfway through to sit in the floor of the shower and lean against the wall to gather enough energy to finish bathing. Got out of the shower, dried off, and applied the prescription cream to the skin that was already starting to look a little red, although it wasn’t particularly painful yet. Took the pill that he hoped would stop him from puking his guts out later like he had for the past two days, although he’d already resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably be spending most of the afternoon in the bathroom, one way or the other. He’d truly never thought this would ever be his life. He’d much rather be waking up with a hangover from a particularly wild night at Woody’s or Babylon. The last thing Brian Kinney ever thought he’d be was so ill that he couldn’t stand up for the entirety of a ten-minute shower. But, here he was.

Justin had class again that morning, which meant Brian would have to drive himself back and forth to his radiation appointment. Only now that he’d had Justin come with him once, he felt a little strange about going alone. He didn’t really want to go alone, actually -- although getting him to own up to that thought would certainly be a tall order. He’d much rather have the knowledge that someone who cared about him was there, waiting for him, than to exit the building alone and have to drive himself home. And, in the back of his mind, he was wondering what he would do if, in a few more days, he didn't feel up to driving himself. What then? He supposed he’d have to cross that bridge when he came to it.

He wouldn't be going to the office today. Cynthia would probably kick him out immediately if he tried. He had to trust that she would take care of everything that needed to be done, and that she would call him if she needed his input. For control freak Brian Kinney, that was hard. But it was the only thing he could do. He’d already proven over the course of the last two days that he couldn’t expect himself to go in to work and get much of anything done after his treatment. And if the increased fatigue he was already feeling was any indication, today was going to be much worse.

The ritual continued as he came out of the bathroom and started thumbing through his closet -- only this time, he’d be donning jeans and a t-shirt instead of his suit and tie. Justin was already out of bed, and Brian could hear the blender going, signifying that breakfast wasn’t too far away. He actually felt kind of hungry this morning -- probably because he’d barely managed to keep down much of anything over the past few days. He wasn’t ordinarily a big eater anyhow, but the amount he’d managed to eat in the last 48 hours was paltry, even for him. Brian dressed and came down the stairs, settling into one of the chairs at his small dining table.

“You’re going to class today, right?” were the first words out of Brian’s mouth the instant Justin shut the blender off. He figured he’d better head off at the pass any aspirations the younger man had for staying home and playing nurse today. Justin had his own obligations and responsibilities, and Brian would be damned if he was going to get in the way of them.

Justin sighed loudly as if he’d been anticipating this conversation and had already resigned himself to the answer. Good, Brian thought to himself, because he didn’t feel like arguing.

“Yes, I’m going to class, if only because I know you won’t let me do anything else,” Justin said. “And I have the lunch shift at the diner today, which I should probably work, since I’ve called in for two days in a row. Although I hate to do that to you.”

“Do what to me? I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.”

“Leave you alone, with the shape you were in yesterday.” Justin raised an eyebrow at Brian as he poured the contents of the blender into a glass he’d just taken down from the shelf. “I think Deb is off today, though. I could see if she could come and sit with you. Keep you company. If you want.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine.” He loved Debbie, and appreciated everything she’d done for him over the years, but the last thing he wanted today was his Italian surrogate mother hovering over him or smothering him.

Justin didn’t say a word. He probably knew better than to argue with Brian, when his mind was already made up. And right now, it was. He was an adult, and he’d figure out how to manage the day on his own. The loft was relatively small, and the bathroom was only a few steps from the bed. With any luck, the meds would make things easier, and maybe not trying to push through and go to work would leave him with more energy than he’d had on Monday and Tuesday.

“You probably shouldn’t drive yourself, though,” Justin said. Apparently Justin did still have a bone of contention he wanted to pick.

“I’ll be fine,” Brian insisted. “It usually takes a couple of hours before I start feeling bad.”

“You look like you’re already dead tired right now, and you just woke up.”

Justin wasn’t wrong. Brian was dead tired. But he was also stubborn.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated as he unfolded the newspaper and started reading -- his way of shutting the conversation down.

Justin sighed again and dropped the subject entirely. He ate his own breakfast without saying anything to Brian.

Brian dropped Justin off at PIFA on his way to the oncologist’s office for day three of torture. He’d had to promise Justin yet again that he’d call if he needed anything, although Brian didn’t know what Justin planned to do about it, since he’d be busy with school and work until late afternoon, and Brian didn’t intend to interrupt any of that.

The treatment went exactly as it had the previous two days, although the sympathetic look on the nurse’s face when she saw Brian told him exactly how much worse for wear he was already looking. He’d been avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror, because he knew he wasn’t going to like what he saw. She took note of how differently he was dressed today, commenting on his casual attire.

“Staying home from work today?” she said.

Brian shrugged and looked away. He was, but that didn’t mean he liked doing that.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she continued, in spite of his non-answer. “You look like you’re very fatigued, Mr. Kinney. You need to rest and take care of yourself, or you’re only going to make things worse. If you listen to your body before it starts screaming at you, it might not scream quite so loudly.”

Brian didn’t say anything to that either, even though he bristled at the idea of getting lectured by anyone. He’d probably slept more than 12 hours of the last 24 -- he didn’t know how much more rest he could possibly need.

The rest of the treatment went exactly as it had the previous two days, and Brian was soon exiting into the waiting room, alone. As much as he didn’t want to feel like he needed anybody to come with him, he missed Justin’s presence a little bit.

Brian leaned against the wall of the elevator as he rode down to street level, suddenly realizing just how exhausted he was. And he still had to drive home.

Making his way back to the loft was when Brian realized he’d made a mistake by insisting he drive himself. He’d been okay earlier, but apparently all of the walking around he’d already done just trying to get through his appointment had sapped all of his energy. As his eyelids became heavier and it got harder to focus on what he was doing, he found himself having to pull into a parking lot so he could allow his eyes to close for a few minutes. Justin had been absolutely right -- he shouldn’t have driven himself -- but fuck if Brian was ever going to let him know that. He just had to get home in one piece, no matter how long it took him to do it.

Eventually, he did make it home, although he had to take some more time to rest in the car before starting his journey up to the top floor of the building, where he’d finally be able to collapse onto the sofa or into his bed, whichever one he was able to make it to without falling over. He stumbled into the loft after what felt like forever in that rickety, old freight elevator, practically falling face-first onto the sofa. Was this seriously what he’d become? That he couldn’t even drive himself home for 20 minutes without having to stop halfway for a break, and when he did get home, he was so spent that he felt like he’d run a goddamn marathon?

After a few minutes, he managed to sit up and turn on the TV, which helped him feel more like he was just spending a relaxing afternoon at home, rather than being forced to stay there, partially by his own body, and partially by the tiger of a woman he’d hired to be his assistant. It didn’t take Brian long to come to the conclusion that daytime television lacked a lot to be desired, and apparently was only watched by a very specific subset of the population, as was evidenced by the commercials he saw over and over again at every break.

Even when he wasn’t working, Brian was always thinking about marketing. He couldn’t turn his mind off. But that’s the price you pay for being good at what you do, he supposed. When the horrible ads -- and thoughts of how he could do it better -- started driving him insane, he turned the TV off again, leaned back against the pillows and sighed. He had no idea how he was going to get through the next two weeks at home without going absolutely crazy. Brian Kinney definitely wasn’t a homebody. If anything, he was a bit of a workaholic, who spent most of the time that he wasn’t at work either at the bar or the club, or at the diner with his friends. And right now he could do none of those things. He was about to get very well acquainted with the four walls of his apartment, whether he wanted to or not. And it already felt a bit lonely.

Since Brian felt like he had a little bit of energy, at least for the moment, he figured he’d better prepare as best he could for what was likely to come later -- by putting extra bottles of water on the nightstand, along with a couple of the protein bars Justin had apparently picked up at the grocery store. Then, all he could do was wait for the inevitable. And the waiting was torture in itself.

He decided to go ahead and change out of his jeans and climb into bed -- maybe he could get in a nap before his forced bonding time with the toilet. He fell asleep quickly, and didn’t wake up until his body was telling him he had a very short time to drag himself out of bed and get to the bathroom. He made it, just barely -- wondering when or if the meds he was taking that were supposed to help with this were even doing anything.

The rest of the afternoon was essentially the same shit -- no pun intended -- different day. Too much time spent lying on the bathroom floor, sweating, although not quite as much as the day before. So maybe the meds were helping, after all. Thank god. Eventually, he managed to pick himself up off the floor and go back to bed, where he laid for a long time, staring at the ceiling and trying to force himself to stay awake for some unknown reason. He was rapidly losing that battle when he heard the loft door slide open and Justin walk in, having a hushed conversation with someone on his cell phone that Brian couldn’t quite hear. He was too tired to really focus on trying to listen in, so the only part he caught was the tail end of the conversation, as Justin got closer to the bedroom.

“I know, but I just can’t do that right now. I’m sorry. Anyway, I have to go. I’ll let you know if something changes.” He paused and let his messenger bag fall to the floor beside the dining table. “Uh huh. Bye.”

Brian saw Justin flip the phone closed and lay it on the table, along with his keys. Justin looked slightly agitated, but seemed to be trying to quickly erase that emotion from his face as he walked up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Justin said. His smile was gentle, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

“For now, yeah. And not lying on the bathroom floor, so I’d say that’s a win.”

Justin laughed, his expression softening and becoming more natural as his sunshine smile beamed out. Seeing that smile always made Brian happy too, even if most of the time he kept that emotion to himself.

“Yeah, I’d count that as a win,” Justin said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “So, I see you survived. Not quite as bad today?”

“I guess. I’m still kicking.” Brian shrugged. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Justin said as he toed off his shoes and climbed into the bed alongside Brian, letting his fingers trace lazy, random patterns across Brian’s bare chest. “I wish I could have stayed with you today.”

“I’m okay. You’ve gotta do your thing too.”

“I talked to my professor today.” Justin paused and took in a deep breath. He sounded a little nervous. “He said I can do some extra reading at home and get notes from another student, so I can skip the early morning lecture. I’ll still have to leave a few times for tests or small things that I have to be on campus for, but that frees up my mornings. And Deb and I got things rearranged at the diner for the next couple of weeks so that I can have some time off. So I’ll be able to stay with you most of the time.”

Brian wasn’t sure how he felt about Justin making these arrangements without asking him first. On one hand, he was pissed that Justin was reworking his life, especially school, to fit around this unwanted blip in Brian’s life. But on the other hand, Brian knew how he’d felt today -- weary, lonely, and a little afraid that he wasn’t going to be able to get himself home and was going to have to call Justin to come get him, which would have been far more embarrassing than just letting Justin drive him in the first place. Maybe having Justin around wouldn’t be that bad. And, he had to admit, if anyone was going to be taking care of him, he’d rather it be Justin, because he wasn’t smothering him. He was just...there. And it was nice.

Brian napped while Justin made them dinner, and he managed to sit at the table and eat most of it, and keep it down. Another win for the day. They spent the evening together on the sofa, Brian’s arm around Justin, watching trashy, mindless reality TV shows and smoking a little pot. Brian wondered why he hadn’t thought of smoking earlier in the week, because it seemed to help quite a bit with the low-level nausea he was still feeling, even though he was no longer stuck in the bathroom. And he definitely felt a lot less anxious. Having more of an appetite was a plus as well. If he was going to have to begrudgingly give up his cigarettes and booze -- at least temporarily -- maybe he’d just become a bit more of a pothead in the meantime. He did have a good excuse.

By 9:30, Justin was claiming to be tired and wanting to go to bed, although Brian was fairly sure that was just a ruse to get him to go to bed. It didn’t take much suggestion, though, because he was tired. Whoever would have thought that Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor would be in bed at 9:30, to actually sleep instead of just fuck?

Too exhausted to worry about the answer to that question, Brian was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

That night, however, he didn’t exactly sleep peacefully.

He didn’t remember much of the dream when he awoke from it -- only that he’d been trapped in a room filled with fire, unable to escape, and was starting to be consumed by the flames licking at his skin, when he started hearing Justin calling his name. Slowly, Justin’s voice got louder and the sound of the crackling flames faded away as Brian came back to consciousness, with the last vestiges of a terrorized scream on his lips. He was drenched in sweat, and still felt like he was burning, even though he obviously wasn’t -- he was in his bed, in the loft, with Justin. No flames. He wasn’t trapped. He was safe.

His breath was coming in large, uneven gasps -- gulps of air that he hoped might cool him down, that weren’t.

Justin’s hands were on his shoulders -- still resting there after they’d shaken Brian awake.

“You’re okay,” Justin said, his voice quiet, calm, and even. “It was just a dream. Whatever it was, it was just a dream.”

Brian felt so strange to be the one waking up in the middle of the night, screaming and gasping for air. He vividly remembered helping Justin through many sleepless nights, plagued by nightmares of prom and Chris Hobbs and baseball bats in parking garages. And he’d had a few of those himself, while Justin was still in the hospital, lying in a coma. Those, he’d dealt with alone. But when Justin came to live with him and Brian assumed his self-appointed role as Justin’s protector, he’d made up his mind that his own nightmares had to stop. And apparently his brain had been inclined to listen, because they did stop. Back then, he’d needed to focus on Justin. Now, he was the one being focused on -- being comforted by his lover as he tried to come down from an adrenaline rush generated by something that wasn’t even fucking real.

Justin settled back into the bed next to Brian, snuggling up to his side, one arm laid over Brian’s chest almost protectively. Brian would have thought that having someone else pressed against him like that would only have made him even hotter and more uncomfortable, but his own body was so warm that Justin’s actually felt cool against his skin. Calming, even. He focused on slowing his breathing down to a more normal tempo, while Justin ran his hand up and down Brian’s upper arm.

They were lying together like that, still in the dark, and Brian had just about drifted off to sleep again, when he heard Justin speak softly.

“I feel guilty, sometimes.”

“For what?” Brian tried to pull himself back into full consciousness again, although he knew he was probably mumbling.

“Not finding it.” Justin paused and exhaled. “The lump. I feel bad that I didn’t find it. You know, earlier.”

“What would that have mattered? It wouldn’t have kept any of this from happening. You couldn’t have stopped the cancer before it started.”

“I know, but I feel like I should have been the one to find it.”

“Hell, I never felt it either. Not until after he did.” Brian didn’t have to explain who ‘he’ was -- they both knew. “And then once he did, I couldn’t not feel it. It felt so obvious then. And it actually kind of hurt. But I’d never noticed it. So why the fuck didn’t I find it?”

A few seconds of silence settled between them before Justin quietly said, “I wonder how long it was there?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. It was there. Now it’s gone. And I’m dealing with the aftermath. But feeling guilty isn’t going to do anything -- not for me, not for you. So, don’t. Please. Just don’t.”

“No excuses, no apologies, no regrets?”

“Something like that.” Brian reached up and intertwined his fingers with Justin’s. “I’m going to be fine. Someday we’ll look back on all of this, and it’ll just feel like a distant memory.” Right then, it felt like hell, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“I know,” Justin breathed. “I just wish there was more I could do.”

“You’re here. That’s all you can do.”

They were still holding each other’s hands when they both drifted off to sleep again.

Thursday morning, Brian’s ritual was repeated. Only this time, Justin would be coming with him again. A welcome accompaniment. Thursday looked a lot like Wednesday had, only not as lonely, and with a joint smoked even earlier as an attempt to stave off some of the sickness. And on Thursday, it seemed to work. Friday was an entirely different story.

Friday was the day from hell.

It started off normally enough -- at least, Brian’s new “normal.” Wake up, shower, try to get some food into his stomach, go to the oncologist’s office, get zapped with the ray gun. Come home, sit around a bit, try to sleep, and wait for the least pleasant symptoms that would lead him to spend most of the afternoon in the bathroom.

When he’d laid down in the bed, he’d been freezing cold -- to the point that he’d stolen one of Justin’s more oversized hoodies to wear to bed, because his long-sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and the duvet weren’t enough. He was still shivering. Justin brought him some of the ginger tea, which helped warm him a little. At least, enough to fall asleep.

Two hours later, Brian woke up suddenly roasting, and couldn’t throw the covers off or shed his clothes fast enough. In that moment, he would have given anything to go back to shivering, because the heat seemed to be the far more unbearable of the two extremes. Although it seemed neither condition could be resolved by normal means -- nothing truly warmed him when he was freezing cold, and nothing really cooled him off when he was this hot.

Shortly after that, he was in the bathroom, vomiting up everything he’d ever eaten in his entire life. At least, that was how it seemed. This was even worse than it had been before he started taking the medication that was supposed to stop this shit. Every time he thought he was done, because there was no way there could be anything left in there, dry heaves would come, and then his body would somehow find something else to expel.

Justin was with him, trying to comfort him. Taking care of him. Being the perfect goddamn partner -- more than Brian felt he deserved. Trying to find something -- anything -- he could do to try to help. Although that day, it seemed like nothing did. Like nothing possibly could.

After what felt like hours on the bathroom floor -- and probably was hours, although Brian had long ago lost track of time -- Justin helped Brian back into the bedroom. Brian wanted to pull away from Justin’s touch -- even though he knew without it he would fall -- because today, everything hurt. His body hurt, his muscles hurt, his stomach hurt, his skin hurt...hell, it even felt like his hair hurt. Even though Justin’s touch was gentle, it was painful. Brian fought not to say anything, though, because he wanted Justin there. Mostly, Brian didn’t want to be alone.

Back in the bed, Brian curled his body around a pillow that he clutched tightly to his stomach, in hopes that the pressure might help stop the sharp pain he was experiencing. He spent the next hour like that, with the pain oscillating back and forth from a dull ache to a sharp, shooting agony. On top of that, the skin on his lower abdomen was starting to turn a bit redder, and felt like a sunburn. His clothing rubbed it and irritated it, adding to the discomfort he was feeling. Justin was rubbing his back, ever-so-lightly. Brian tried to pretend that wasn’t uncomfortable too. But the truth was, it was physically uncomfortable, and if he was being honest, it was emotionally uncomfortable as well.

Brian had no idea why Justin had saddled himself with caring for Brian when he was this ill. Volunteered, even. When it seemed like there was no end in sight to the torture and the agony, and Brian knew full well that he wasn’t the easiest person to deal with when he was sick or in pain. He was trying not to take it out on Justin, but it was hard, and he felt like he was about to lose the fight.

On Friday, Brian was wishing he would have just gone to fucking Ibiza and let the cancer claim him, to save everyone the trouble.

After his third trip from the bed to the bathroom and back, leaning on Justin the whole way so as not to trip over his own feet or fall to the ground when his exhausted legs gave out, Brian curled up around the pillow again and hoped against hope that this would all be over soon, one way or the other. He really didn’t understand what invisible force was keeping Justin anchored to his side.

“How are you still here?” he asked Justin, his voice much more weak and hoarse than he wanted it to be. “How the fuck are you still here, dealing with this shit?” He wanted to scream and yell, and let out his frustration at the whole fucked-up mess, but neither his voice nor his stamina would allow it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Justin looked at Brian, his clear, blue eyes full of confusion.

“You should be out living your goddamn life. You’re too young for this shit. I brought all of this on myself, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it.”

“You didn’t bring it on yourself. It just...happened. It wasn’t anything you did.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, neither do you. Sometimes things happen and we don’t know why. They just do.”

“Right now, I wish I was dead.” There. There it was. Out with it. He’d come clean. Laid it out there on the table.

Justin laid a hand on Brian’s arm. The touch, even though it was gentle, set off a twinge of soreness in his arm, but Brian didn’t pull away. He was trying to let Justin do what he felt he needed to do -- what he wanted to do, to try to comfort his lover -- even though it was hard. Really fucking hard. And right now, it physically hurt.

“Don’t say that,” Justin said, his voice barely above a whisper. Brian could hear the thickness of tears in Justin’s voice. They matched the tears that were building up behind Brian’s closed eyelids, threatening to fall. “I know this really sucks. But you’ll get through it. We’ll get through it. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’d told Justin before all of this started that it might get really bad, although at the time, he’d hoped and prayed he’d be wrong. But Justin had promised to be here, no matter how bad it got. For all of it. And he was.

But no matter how much Justin said he loved Brian, and no matter how many times he demonstrated it through his actions, Brian couldn’t help but feel unworthy of Justin’s sacrifice. Even when Brian managed not to say that out loud, and even when he tried desperately to convince himself that he was worthy -- and remind himself that Justin loved him -- there was always the nagging voice of his father in the back of his mind, reminding him that he was a worthless piece of shit. His father might be dead -- taken from earth three years before by the disease that was now making Brian himself miserable -- but his words still remained, haunting his son. Making him feel like he’d rather be dead than have to depend on someone else to take care of him. To have to depend on someone else’s love for him to drive them to take care of him. To keep doing it, over and over again, no matter how bad it got.

“I’m still here because I want to be,” Justin said softly. “Because I love you, and I want to help you.”

With that, the tears started to fall, mingling with the sheen of sweat that was still on Brian’s face.

“I know,” Brian murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry’s bullshit.” Justin laughed a little as he repeated one of Brian’s signature phrases. Brian couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as well, through the tears.

“But I do love you,” Justin continued. His expression was sincere. So goddamn sincere. “And I’m keeping my promise. No matter how bad it gets.”

That meant Brian didn’t have to be alone. And for that, he was secretly grateful.

Saturday morning brought with it a very welcome break in Brian’s new routine. No alarm needed to be set, and there would be no early morning trip to the oncologist’s office. After how awful Friday had been, the weekend break from treatment was a huge relief, because it essentially meant that Brian didn’t have to leave the house -- or the bed -- if he didn’t want to. He needed the mental break, and he knew his body needed a break as well.

The thing about cancer treatment is that it doesn’t discriminate between the cancer cells and the healthy cells -- it has to harm some of the healthy cells in order to get rid of the cancer cells. And that was what had Brian feeling like absolute shit. The weekend break was intended to give his body a chance to recover from some of the abuse he’d been putting it through in the name of making sure that this godforsaken illness never came back.

Brian rolled over in the bed and looked at the clock on the nightstand. It was just after 9 a.m. He’d slept fairly well that night, in spite of how sick he’d been during the day. He only remembered having to get up once in the middle of the night, and it turned out to be a false alarm. Even better, he’d managed to get himself to the bathroom and back into the bed without waking up Justin.

But Saturday morning, Brian was alone in the bed, and he didn’t hear movement elsewhere in the loft -- no water running in the shower, no sounds of breakfast being made in the kitchen. He didn’t smell coffee brewing.

“Justin?” he called out as he propped himself up on his elbows so he could see out into the living room. There was no response. He must have gone out somewhere.

Brian lifted himself up into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed so he could stand. He already felt quite a bit better than he had yesterday. Thank heaven for small miracles, he thought to himself. Christ, when had he gotten semi-religious?

He padded into the bathroom, which he’d spent far too much time in over the past week. He caught a glimpse of his reflection out of the corner of his eye as he passed the mirror, and stopped. He turned to face the mirror fully and took in what he saw. He’d lost weight, and he could see it in his face. His eyes were dark and dull. He needed to shave. His skin was much paler than usual. He didn’t quite look like himself.

Shaking his head slightly to rid it of the image of what he’d become, he turned away from the mirror and continued on the path he’d intended on taking when he entered the bathroom -- taking a piss, then stripping off what little clothing he was wearing so he could take a shower.

He leaned against the wall with one shoulder to conserve his energy -- which seemed to be in short supply lately -- as the warm water washed over his back, pulsating and prickling against his skin. When he turned around to face the spray, he winced as the water hit the reddened skin on his abdomen and burned a little. He turned the temperature down so he would be able to stand to wash the front of his body.

When he was finished, he laid a towel over the closed toilet lid and sat down to dry off. No point wasting his limited stamina trying to stand up for that task. Once he felt he was sufficiently dry, he pushed himself up to stand and walked back out into the bedroom, looking around the loft briefly to see if Justin was back. He wasn’t.

Brian pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and walked slowly down the stairs. He saw the newspaper lying on the table, and a note in Justin’s handwriting alongside it.

Went out to run some errands. Back soon. Love you. - J

Brian ran his thumb lightly over the last two words of the message. Love you.

Love you too, he thought to himself. Love you too.

Brian was reading the newspaper on the sofa when the door to the loft slid open, and Justin stepped in, his arms laden with a variety of bags that appeared to be from several different places.

“Good morning,” Justin said, smiling at Brian as he unloaded the bags one-by-one onto the kitchen island. “Sleep well?”

Brian nodded and refolded the paper, setting it aside on the glass coffee table in front of him.

“I hope I didn’t wake you when I left,” Justin continued. “You looked so peaceful, I thought I’d just leave you alone. Let you get some sleep. You probably needed it.” He dug around in one of the bags and produced a small, white takeout container. “Muffins from the diner,” he said. “I thought you might like something different this morning. Deb sends her love.”

Brian got up from the sofa and went over to where Justin stood, wrapping his arms around the younger man’s waist from behind and kissing his cheek softly. “Thank you,” he said. “And not just for the muffins.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as Brian took a seat on one of the barstools and leaned onto the countertop with his elbows. After a moment, he reached over and opened the box, picking up one of the muffins and taking a bite.

“Wow, they’re actually halfway fresh today,” he remarked.

“They’re fresh every day,” Justin said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen them come out of the oven with my own eyes.”

“Yeah, okay,” Brian laughed. “Sure. Some days they definitely seem fresher than others.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that. But it’s a 24-hour diner on Liberty Avenue, not a four-star restaurant.”

“You can say that again.”

“Doesn’t stop you from eating there almost every day, does it?”

“Guess not.” Brian shrugged and took another bite of his muffin.

“I stopped by the video store and rented some movies,” Justin said. “I figured we could just stay in and chill this weekend. Order takeout if you’re up to that, or I can cook if you’re not.” He started unloading groceries from one of the other bags that littered the counter, moving a small assortment of fresh fruit and vegetables into the refrigerator while Brian watched. He liked it when Justin cooked for him, even though he’d never said as much. And he agreed with Justin that a home-cooked meal just felt good. Comforting. Much better than Thai takeout multiple nights in a row. Although he’d probably never say that.

They spent Saturday lounging around the house, watching some of the DVDs Justin had rented, sharing a joint as they sat together on the floor and listened to some smooth jazz, and generally just taking it easy. It was exactly the kind of day Brian needed, even if it was far out of character for Brian Kinney.

By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, Brian was starting to go stir crazy. He hadn’t left the house, except to go to his treatment appointments, for five days. Even though he was still physically tired, he was mentally restless. And that led him to say something that surprised even himself.

“Why don’t we go to Debbie’s tonight? For the family dinner?” he said, breaking the silence they’d been lying in, together in the bed.

“I really don’t think she’s expecting us to be there,” Justin said. “She’d understand if you don’t feel up to it.”

“I feel okay. And I’m the one suggesting it. I know she’s not expecting me. I want to go.”

“Who are you, and what did you do with Brian Kinney?” Justin laughed as he rolled over to face Brian. “I always thought the only reason you ever went was because she’d probably come over here and drag you out of the loft by your balls if you didn’t.”

“I need to get out of this goddamn apartment, or I’m going to lose my mind,” Brian groaned.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea? I mean, you’re definitely still not 100%.” Justin paused for a moment before adding, “And the others will be there.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s dinner at Deb’s. Just a bunch of sitting and eating and bitching. I think I can handle that. And I can handle our friends. If they question me, I’ll just say I’ve been busy at work. Ted will back me up on that.”

“Okay,” Justin agreed, although he still sounded reluctant. “But if you start getting tired, we’re leaving. I’ll make up some excuse if I have to.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Again, I’m not your mother. Thank god.” Justin shuddered. “I just don’t want to see you wear yourself out.”

“I told you, I’ll be fine.” Brian looked into Justin’s eyes, noticing that there seemed to be something Justin wasn’t saying, although Brian couldn’t quite read what it was. He definitely seemed hesitant to go to dinner at Debbie’s, which was strange. Justin normally looked forward to family dinner. And Brian didn’t buy for a minute that his hesitation was only out of worry for Brian’s well-being. There was something going on that Justin wasn’t telling him about. But pushing to try to find out what it was simply wasn’t Brian’s style. Justin would tell him if he wanted him to know. Although Brian really did want to know.

Brian and Justin were the first to arrive at the Novotny house for Sunday dinner. Debbie looked surprised to see them. “Well, look who it is!” she called as she came out of the kitchen, a broad smile on her face, wiping her hands on an apron that featured the most garish print one could possibly find. Brian idly wondered where on earth she’d found the thing. Probably the same place she bought all of her loud, brightly colored wardrobe. Who sold that shit? And who bought it, besides Debbie Novotny? She came over to the pair and gave them both hugs and kisses on the cheek. The hug she gave Brian was much more gentle than her usual style. She moved her hand up to cup his cheek as she released him.

“How are you doing, honey?” she said, giving him a smile that had a hint of something else in it...sadness, maybe. He wasn’t sure.

Brian shrugged noncommittally, not really wanting to say any of what was coming to his mind in response to that question. He settled for saying, “About as well as could be expected, I guess. I had to get out of the fucking house before I lose my mind.”

“Well, I hope Sunshine’s taking good care of you. And that you’re letting him.” She gave Brian a pointed look and bustled back into the kitchen, turning back briefly to gesture toward the living room. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring you something to drink.”

“I don’t need anyone to bring me anything,” Brian protested. “I can get my own.”

Justin grabbed Brian’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, saying under his breath, “Let her.”

Brian reluctantly walked over to the couch and took a seat. Justin sat down next to him.

“Michael and Ben won’t be here tonight,” Deb called from the kitchen as she filled a glass with water from a pitcher she kept in the door of the refrigerator. “Hunter had a swim meet.”

Brian wasn’t sure if that news had him feeling relieved or disappointed. He was relieved because he wouldn’t have to worry about his best friend noticing something was off with him, then incessantly pestering him to find out what it was. But, at the same time, he was disappointed because he’d been hoping to make an appearance for Michael tonight, since he hadn’t seen him in over a week and knew it was probably only a matter of time before Michael started worrying because Brian hadn’t been around.

However, Brian did take note of the split second of relief that broke out across Justin’s face, before he rearranged it into a more neutral expression.

“So, Michael’s been telling me Brett has a few studios interested in making Rage into a movie,” she said as she came back into the living room, holding two glasses of water. She handed them to Justin and Brian and took a seat herself. “I’m so excited for you boys. I just knew you’d both be famous one day.”

Brian looked at Justin, confused. Justin hadn’t mentioned anything to him about Rage, or the fact that there were actually studios interested in the film now. That seemed like big news that had gone completely unmentioned.

“Yeah, it’s pretty surreal,” Justin said, ignoring Brian. Then, he changed the subject. “So how are you guys getting along without me at the diner?”

“We’re doing just fine,” Debbie said, smiling. “Don’t you worry about us. You just worry about taking care of Brian.”

“Nobody needs to worry about me,” Brian groused. “I’m fine.”

“We know, honey,” Debbie said, smiling gently. “We’re all just trying to make things easier.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Brian muttered.

“Well, let us try anyway,” Debbie said, just as a timer went off in the kitchen, interrupting their conversation with a loud beep. She pushed herself up out of the armchair she’d briefly settled into and went back into the kitchen.

“You didn’t tell me you guys had heard from Brett,” Brian said, raising an eyebrow at Justin. Maybe that was why Justin had been so nervous about coming, and why he was relieved Michael wouldn’t be there.

The younger man shrugged. “There’s really nothing to tell. He’s shopping it around to the studio bigwigs, hoping he can find someone who’s open-minded enough to let us keep Rage queer. And besides, you’ve got bigger things to worry about right now.”

“I still care about what’s going on in your life.” Brian gave Justin a brief peck on the lips. “I want you to tell me these things.”

“It’s hard to even think of talking to you about what’s going on in my life when you’re lying on the floor in the bathroom, sick as a dog, or when you’re in bed, in pain that I can’t do anything about, or so exhausted that you can’t keep your eyes open.” Justin looked down at the floor, seemingly not wanting to make eye contact with Brian.

“Well, distract me. Give me something good to think about, okay?” Brian took Justin’s hand and gave it a squeeze. Fuck, he thought to himself. This illness had not only taken over his life, but Justin’s too. To the point where Justin hadn’t even bothered to share this news with Brian, either because he thought Brian wouldn’t care, or it seemed too insignificant.

Justin didn’t say anything. And Brian couldn’t help but notice that he seemed relieved when the doorbell rang and broke off their conversation.

“Justin, could you get that?” Debbie called from the kitchen. “I don’t know why any of you kids bother to ring the doorbell anymore.”

When Justin opened the door, Ted stood on the other side, and he seemed just as surprised to see Justin as Debbie had been.

“Justin,” Ted said as he stepped inside and started taking off his coat. “Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight. How’s Brian doing?”

“You can ask him yourself,” Justin said, gesturing to the left, where the back of Brian’s head was clearly visible over the back of the couch.

Brian raised his hand in a silent greeting, without turning around. “I hope you haven’t run my business into the ground yet, Theodore,” he said over his shoulder, somewhat serious, somewhat sarcastic.

“Not yet, boss,” Ted said, hanging up his coat. He walked into the living room, where he joined Brian on the couch.

“Good,” Brian said. “So how are things?”

“They’re fine. Business as usual, for the most part. Leo Brown was making some noise about wanting a new model for their underwear line, but we’re taking care of it. Emmett -- who apparently is a football fan, that surprised the hell out of me -- anyway, he suggested Drew Boyd from the Ironmen. We approached him, and he eventually agreed, although he seemed a little apprehensive at first. We’ve got the photo shoot scheduled for next week. So see? Everything’s fine. We’re taking care of it.”

Brian nodded and ran his fingers around the rim of the glass of water he was still holding. While he appreciated Cynthia and Ted taking such good care of Kinnetik and its clients, the fact that they hadn’t called him even one time since he’d left the office on Tuesday kind of made him feel like he wasn’t needed at all. It was a stupid thought, and Brian knew it, but his insecurities were lurking much closer to the surface these days.

“Not that we don’t still need you, boss,” Ted added quickly, as if he’d read Brian’s mind. “I just wanted you to know you don’t have to worry. Take some time to take care of yourself. Let Cynthia and I take care of the office for now.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the door opening and Emmett waltzing in, flamboyant as ever in a bright pink shirt and skin-tight plaid pants, clutching a small paper bag. “I’m back with the butter,” he called, looking over at Brian, Ted, and Justin in the living room before he continued on to the kitchen, where Debbie took the bag from his hand.

“Thanks, honey,” she said. “You’re a lifesaver. I can’t believe I ran out of butter. I’m not sure where my head has been lately.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” Emmett said, before kissing Debbie’s cheek and patting her shoulder.

The doorbell rang again, and Justin got up to answer it without being asked. Brian turned around to see who it was. This time, it was Lindsay who walked in, holding Gus’s hand.

“Dada!” Gus cried out when he saw Brian, running over to him and practically throwing himself into Brian’s lap.

“Hey, Sonny Boy,” Brian said as he ran his hand through Gus’s hair, tousling it. It felt so much like his own. It was still so surreal to think that this tiny human was half him, half Lindsay. Together, they’d created a person. Sometimes, when he was alone, Brian wondered what kind of person Gus would grow up to be. Would he be straight? Would he be queer? What would he be passionate about? What would capture his interest? What would he do with his life? Finding out the answers to those questions -- someday -- was a big part of the reason Brian was putting himself through the torture he was right now. So he could have a surer shot at being around to see Gus grow up.

“Do they…?” Ted let the question trail off as he looked at Brian, then at Lindsay, then at Emmett. Brian knew exactly what he was asking.

“No,” Brian said softly. “Just you, Justin, Deb, and Cynthia.”

Ted nodded in silent agreement that he would keep Brian’s secret. The secret that Brian had started to wonder why he was still keeping. Sometimes he thought it might be easier to just have everyone know, rather than having to put so much effort into keeping it from them. He’d managed to make himself look halfway normal today by shaving and giving himself a mini facial with some of his pricey creams and potions before they left, while Justin made fun of him for being vain. And he was doing a decent job of keeping from wincing when he moved and his pants rubbed the burn that was forming on his stomach. But it definitely would have been easier to not have to pretend that everything was fine.

Debbie interrupted Brian’s thoughts by announcing that dinner was ready and calling them all to the table. They squeezed in around the dining room table that wasn’t really intended to hold them all, just as they did on most Sundays. But even though it was cozy, it was comfortable. It was just about being with each other, sharing their lives. Usually, that would have been something that Brian would only begrudgingly let himself be a part of, but this week, he found himself appreciating it more. It felt nice to be a part of a family.

“Where’s Mel?” Debbie asked as she set down the last dish and took her seat at the table.

Lindsay looked down at her plate and cleared her throat before speaking. “She, um, had something else she had to do,” Lindsay said. Brian could tell by her mannerisms and the look in her eye when she raised her gaze to meet his that she was lying -- he’d known her too long to think anything else. But the others seemed to buy her story, so he didn’t question it either. He was sure he’d hear about it later, if there was anything to hear about.

By the end of the meal, which was much heavier than anything he’d eaten in the past week, Brian’s energy was flagging. Although he didn’t really want to leave and go back to the loft for what felt like six more days of house arrest, he gave Justin a look, cueing the younger man to say, “I have some homework I really need to get to, so we’d better go.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you two have homework,” Emmett laughed.

“Is that what they’re calling it now?” Lindsay’s voice chimed in.

“Laugh all you want,” Brian said as he stood up and followed Justin into the living room. “You both know you’re just jealous.” If only that was the real reason they were going home, Brian thought to himself. But he knew his body wouldn’t be willing to cooperate, no matter how much he wanted that release. That connection with Justin. Even though he knew Justin understood why it wasn’t happening right now, that didn’t make it any easier. Brian Fucking Kinney was all about sex. And he hadn’t had any in weeks.

Debbie was trailing behind them, and pulled Brian into a hug when he turned around after picking up his coat. “Take care of yourself, honey,” she said quietly, so that only he could hear. “You let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Ma,” he said sincerely, returning her embrace.

As he and Justin left Debbie’s house, Brian realized he felt full. Satisfied. And not because of the meal. It was because of the company.

Monday morning, Justin dropped Brian off for his treatment. Justin wasn’t staying, because he had to turn in some work at PIFA and go to a group meeting concerning a project he was working on for one of his classes. Brian had agreed to call a cab to take him home afterward, although he secretly felt a bit disappointed that Justin wouldn’t be waiting for him today when he was finished. He’d gotten used to that last week. Liked it, even. Although he’d be keeping that thought to himself, lest he start looking or sounding like a lovesick lesbian.

But when the cab arrived, Brian found himself giving the driver the address for Kinnetik rather than the loft. He was feeling pretty decent this morning after the weekend break, so maybe he could put in an hour or two at the office, just to be sure that everything was really going as well as Ted said it was. Who cared if he was in jeans? He was the boss. He could wear whatever the fuck he wanted.

Brian hadn’t been in his office for more than ten minutes, and had just started digging through his email inbox, when he heard a familiar voice.

“What are you doing here?” Cynthia was standing just inside the doorway to Brian’s office, her hands on her hips.

“What’s it look like? I’m working.” He turned back to his email and hoped she would go away. Although he knew that wasn’t likely. Cynthia didn’t give up easily. That was one of the things he liked about her most of the time. Just not right now. Not on this subject.

“You are not supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be at home. Does Justin know you’re here?”

“Christ, I feel fine,” Brian grumbled as he turned to face her. “And he’s not my fucking keeper.”

“Sure, you feel fine for the moment. But I’ll tell you right now, I’m not dragging your tired ass out of here in two hours when you crash.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Have you stopped to think that maybe the reason you’re feeling better is because you’ve taken some time to rest? Like you should have been from the start, if you hadn’t been too proud to let us help you?”

Brian didn’t respond. He just turned back to the computer and clicked the mouse to open another message.

“Fine,” Cynthia said after a few seconds of silence had gone by. “Suit yourself.” He heard her turn and walk back out the door.

Good, he thought to himself, although he was a little surprised she’d capitulated so quickly to his staying in the office. That wasn’t really like her.

He found out about 15 minutes later that “suit yourself” apparently hadn’t meant, “go ahead and do what you want.” It had meant, “Fine, if you’re going to make me do this, I will.”

This time, Brian heard two sets of footsteps enter his office, and the next thing he knew, Cynthia was standing on the other side of his desk, her palms pressing down onto it as she leaned toward him. Ted was standing behind her, looking slightly uncomfortable. Confrontation really wasn’t Ted’s strong suit, after all.

“Look,” Cynthia said, in her no-nonsense, don’t-mess-with-me tone. “I know you like to be in control. You like to know everything that’s going on all the time. It’s part of what makes you so good at your job. But I need you to know, in no uncertain terms, that we have this covered. Everything here is fine, and we will let you know if you are needed. But right now, you need to be at home. In bed. Resting. Ted is taking you home. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Brian blinked at her and raised his eyebrows. She had balls, that was for sure. He wanted to be surprised that she’d taken him to task like that, but he really wasn’t.

“Did you hear me?” she said, her voice so low it was almost a growl. “I said, you’re going home. We will see you no earlier than next Monday. And for Christ’s sake, can you trust us that we know what the fuck we’re doing?”

He sighed and closed the message he’d been reading, and started the process of shutting his computer back down. He knew Cynthia well enough to know that arguing with her would be pointless. She’d fight with him until he was exhausted, and then she would drag him out of the building once he was too tired to fight, in spite of the fact that she’d just said she refused to drag him out when he crashed from pushing himself too hard. So he stood up and put his coat back on.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go home. Only because if you’re in here standing over me all day, none of us will get any work done. But I want a daily briefing on what’s going on here. You didn’t call me even one time last week.”

“Because I didn’t need to.” She stood and straightened the hem of her blouse. “And I don’t need to do that this week either. You need to focus on getting better. That’s it. Don’t argue with me.” She walked around behind his desk and took him by the shoulders, guiding him toward Ted and giving him a gentle shove forward. “Now, go home.”

Brian walked side-by-side with Ted out of the office, neither of them saying a word. They sat in silence as Ted drove to the nondescript brick building that housed Brian’s loft apartment.

“Thanks for the ride,” Brian muttered as he reached for the door handle so he could exit the car.

“We really do have it all under control,” Ted said. “I promise. Your baby’s safe.”

“I know.” Brian pulled his lips between his teeth. He did know. He just didn’t like feeling powerless, and he’d had his fill of that in the last week. Still had another week to go, too. “Thanks again,” Brian said. He turned and walked toward the entrance to the building, as Ted drove away.

As he rode the elevator up to the fourth floor, Brian hoped that Justin wasn’t home, so he wouldn’t have to deal with another confrontation about where he’d been. One was enough for today. Luckily, Justin wasn’t back yet. Brian had dodged that bullet. He could feel the all-too-familiar fatigue starting to descend upon him now, as he draped his coat over one of the barstools in the kitchen and walked over to the sofa, collapsing down onto it. He probably had gotten out of the office at exactly the right time, as much as he hated to admit it.

The rest of the afternoon went much like the afternoons of the previous week had. At least it was somewhat predictable now, Brian thought to himself. While sometimes things varied in intensity, and there might be slight differences in timing, for the most part, he had at least a rough idea of what was about to happen most of the time, which made it at least a little easier to submit to it. That didn’t mean he liked it -- not by any stretch of the imagination -- but at this point, he took comfort in the fact that there probably wouldn’t be any more surprises.

Lindsay had called at one point, and Brian had answered it, against his better judgment. As with most conversations he had with Lindsay, she did most of the talking, which was a good thing, because Brian was half asleep for most of the call. But he did pick up that Melanie’s mysterious absence at Sunday night’s dinner was because she and Lindsay were fighting. And he could have sworn he heard Lindsay say that the reason they were fighting was because Lindsay had sex with some guy at the art gallery, but he figured he must have misunderstood. Why would Lindsay cheat on Melanie? That didn’t make any sense. They’d been together for-fucking-ever. Maybe that wasn’t what she’d said at all. Maybe it was just his addled, exhausted brain, making shit up. He was too out of it to ask questions, though, and didn’t even remember ending the phone call. But apparently he’d said all the right things, because she hadn’t called back or come over. Thank God.

Justin came home in the early afternoon, just as an exhausted and sweaty Brian was crawling back into bed, after returning from the bathroom. Justin spent the rest of the afternoon on the bed with his sketchpad and textbooks scattered around him, as Brian drifted in and out of wakefulness. He brought Brian water, soup, tea, and a cool, damp washcloth to lay over his forehead when he was having another one of those goddamn hot flashes. Justin gently rubbed Brian’s back when he was curled in on himself with a painful muscle spasm. Justin was ubiquitous. Always there. Doing what needed to be done, without Brian having to ask. And Brian was quietly grateful for that.

Later that night, long after dinner was done and Brian was settling in to bed again at what he considered to be a toddler’s bedtime -- but whatever-the-fuck, he was absolutely beat -- Justin’s cell phone rang. He didn’t go outside to take the call this time. He just stood over on the other side of the loft, behind Brian’s desk, probably because he didn’t want to disturb Brian if he was already asleep. Justin’s voice was so quiet that Brian couldn’t make out what he was saying. At least, not at the beginning of the call. Gradually, Justin’s volume increased slightly as he became more agitated with whomever was on the other end of the line.

Brian heard nine words come out of Justin’s mouth in an irritated, semi-whispered hiss, before the urge to sleep overtook his desire to listen in on the call.

“Stop asking me about it, because I’m not going.”

Tuesday was one of the bad days. And it didn’t show itself to be until Justin had already left for another meeting with some of his classmates concerning their group project. Justin hadn’t really wanted to leave, even though at that point, the day looked pretty average. At least, Brian’s current average -- which was truly anything but. Justin had complained that the only reason the group had to meet again today was because a couple of members had refused to pull their weight in the prior day’s meeting, so they didn’t get everything done that they needed to. Brian had told Justin that he should go -- not to worry about him. He’d be fine.

And then, it started. Tuesday was edging closer and closer to being far too similar to Friday. Brian awoke from one of the approximately five thousand naps he felt like he now took during the day to a sharp, shooting pain in his stomach, and barely managed to drag himself into the bathroom in time. He sat in there for a long while, burning up hot and sweating like he was in the steam room at the baths. Eventually, he felt it was safe to try to go back to bed, where he fell asleep again, because sleeping was far preferable to suffering through this shit while awake. Not too long after that, though, he was awakened by the sound of someone banging on the metal door to the loft.

“Brian!” he heard a voice call from out in the hallway, in between the banging. “Brian!”

He recognized that voice. Michael.

Fuck.

Brian wasn’t sure he had the energy to get out of bed and walk to the door at the moment, but that was okay, because he didn’t want to answer it anyhow. He didn’t want to talk to Michael. He prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that Michael would think he wasn’t home and would give up and leave soon.

The alternating bangs and shouting stopped after a minute or so, and Brian breathed a sigh of relief. But that relief was stolen from him the second he heard a key being turned in the lock and the door sliding back.

“Brian?” Michael called from the doorway as he stepped into the loft. Brian was lying as still as he could, as if he hoped he wouldn’t be seen. But that was stupid, considering the fact that his bedroom didn’t really have walls, just sliding, frosted glass partitions that, at the moment, were about as open as they could be.

A string of expletives made their way through Brian’s brain as he frantically tried to figure out what the fuck he was going to do. Michael’s footsteps were edging closer to the bedroom as he continued calling Brian’s name.

Then, Michael saw him.

“There you are,” Michael said. “What are you doing in bed at noon on a Tuesday? And what the fuck are you doing home, anyway? I drove by Kinnetik, and I didn’t see your car, so I came over here to see if you were home…”

Brian was only half paying attention as Michael chattered away at the bottom of the steps to the bedroom. He was still trying to come up with some kind of a plan to explain all of this to Michael without telling him the truth. And he was coming up empty.

Michael suddenly paused in the middle of his babbling, probably because Brian wasn’t responding.

“Hey, are you okay?” Michael said as he came up the steps.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Brian opened his eyes and looked directly at Michael, knowing full well that he looked every bit as shitty as he felt right now. And there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it. Apparently, he was coming clean with his oldest and dearest friend right-the-fuck now. And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Michael murmured as he stood still in the bedroom, his big, brown puppy dog eyes wide with shock as he looked Brian up and down.

“Chernobyl,” Brian replied sarcastically.

“What?”

“Christ, I’m so sick of explaining this shit to people.”

“Explaining what shit? To what people?”

Brian groaned, half out of exasperation and half out of actual physical discomfort, but didn’t answer Michael’s question.

“Brian, what’s going on?”

Brian took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. He was stalling for time and he knew it. Because he honestly didn’t know where-the-fuck to start.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked again. His voice was suddenly quiet, and full of concern, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed and turned slightly so he was looking directly at Brian. “Oh God...Ben mentioned he thought something might be going on… It’s not…” He let his voice trail off, with an unasked question hanging in the air. But Brian read between the lines. HIV. Michael was afraid he had HIV and now he was sick.

“No,” Brian said. “It’s not that.”

Michael breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he said. He paused for a moment before saying, “Then what’s wrong? Something’s definitely wrong here. Don’t try to tell me there isn’t.”

Might as well get it over with, Brian thought to himself. “It’s cancer,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. He’d give Michael a moment to get over the freakout Brian knew he was about to have, before he gave him the rest of the information -- surgery, radiation, blah blah blah.

“What?” Michael said again, blinking at Brian in disbelief like he was trying to make a different vision of his best friend appear by closing and reopening his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t going to freak out, after all

“Cancer, Mikey. I’ve got cancer.”

“Christ, Brian.” Michael’s eyes were filling with tears now, just as Brian had figured they would. “Are you…”

“I’m not fucking dying, Mikey.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask.”

“I’m not okay either. Well, I am, but I’m not. I don’t know how the fuck to answer that question, and everybody and their goddamn brother asks it as soon as I tell them.”

“Wait, who else knows? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Brian really, really didn’t want to answer this question truthfully. Because he didn’t want to listen to Michael’s reaction after he answered it. So he shrugged and gave a vague answer: “A few people. Only because I had to tell them. Kind of like how I’m having to tell you right now. I wasn’t going to tell anybody.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Not even Justin? He’s your partner for Christ’s sake, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“No. Nobody.”

“Why not?”

“Are you a fucking broken record, Mikey? I didn’t want anyone to know because I just...didn’t. Okay? That’s why I told everyone I went to Ibiza.”

Realization was dawning now in Michael’s eyes. “So what were you really doing when you told everyone you went to Ibiza?” he asked, his voice full of trepidation.

Brian looked away from Michael, breaking eye contact before he answered. “I was having surgery at Johns Hopkins. I had a testicle removed. I have testicular cancer. I’m in radiation now.”

“Oh my God, Brian.” Michael’s eyes had filled with tears again, and this time one fell and made its way down Michael’s cheek, where he wiped it away with the back of his hand. His voice was barely above a whisper. “If I lose you, I don’t know what I’ll do…”

“You’re not going to fucking lose me,” Brian said, barely concealing his exasperation at Michael’s theatrics. This was exactly why he hadn’t told Michael sooner. “I’m fine. This type of cancer has a 99% cure rate with surgery and follow-up treatment. I’m going to be fine.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position, then stood up, so that he was standing over Michael, as if to prove exactly how fine he was at the moment, even though he was well aware that standing took more energy than he could afford to give up right now. “Now, we need to talk about your use of your emergency key to my apartment.”

“You weren’t fucking answering,” Michael said, attempting to defend himself, as he stood up as well. Since Brian was taller, though, he still had the upper hand.

“Me not answering the door is not a goddamn emergency. I have the right to not answer the door, even if I’m home.” Brian tried to casually move over by the closet so he would have something to lean on if he needed it. And he probably would. But he needed to stand for this part of the conversation, even if it took every last ounce of stamina he had.

“But, I’m your best friend…”

“Michael, we have those keys so we can water the fucking plants and bring in the goddamn mail when one of us is out of town, or for when there’s an actual emergency. Not to barge in on each other, best friends or not.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe because I didn’t want you to know!” Brian yelled, even though he knew he was expending energy he didn’t have. “Maybe because it’s none of your fucking business! We don’t have to tell each other fucking everything!” Suddenly, he was feeling dizzy and off-balance. He caught himself with one hand on the closet door, trying desperately to hold himself up, because the last thing he wanted to do right now was fall. Not in front of Michael. He steadied himself enough to take a few shaky steps to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and propped his elbows up on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

“Why did you come over here, anyway?” Brian mumbled into his hands. He looked up and waited for Michael’s answer.

“Because I hadn’t seen you in a week…” Michael paused and shifted his weight from foot to foot, like he was uncomfortable. “And I wanted you to help me convince Justin to go to Hollywood. But I guess now I know why he’s not going.”

Now, it was Brian’s turn to be surprised and confused.

“What?” he said, squinting at Michael. “What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t he tell you? Brett asked him to fly out to help convince some of the studio execs that Rage is a film worth making.”

“No, he didn’t tell me.” Brian’s frustration at the fact that Justin had kept this from him was building, quickly. “Why the fuck can’t you go instead?” he asked Michael.

“Because Brett doesn’t want me. He wants Justin. Something about how they respond better to pictures than words.”

“And Justin told him he can’t go right now...and it’s because of me. Fuck.” Slowly, Brian was putting the puzzle together. The bits and pieces he’d picked up from Justin’s phone calls were now starting to make more sense. Brian ran a hand over his face. God, why hadn’t he figured this out sooner?

“I’m sure he doesn’t--”

“Shut up, Michael.” Brian cut him off. He really didn’t care what excuses Michael had on Justin’s behalf. What he cared about was the fact that Justin had been lying to him by fucking omission. He’d said no to a fucking golden opportunity so he could stay home and take care of his sick partner. Justin had turned down something that had the potential to change his life as well as Michael’s, and it was all Brian’s fault.

“I didn’t mean to--”

“Shut. Up.” Brian laid down on the bed and pulled his knees up toward his chest, burying his face in one of the pillows and pulling another over his head, hoping Michael would take the hint and leave.

“Is there anything I can do?” Michael sat back down on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Brian’s shoulder. Brian moved away from his touch.

“You can leave me alone.”

“There must be something I can--”

Brian lifted the pillow up off of his face before saying, “What don’t you understand about fuck off?”

Michael ignored him and kept right on going. “Why are you alone anyway?” he asked. “Where’s Justin? You can barely stand up. Don’t think I didn’t notice that, because I did.”

“Justin had to do something for school,” Brian mumbled into the pillow that his face was still halfway pressed into. “He has his own goddamn life to live. I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

“I can stay if you--”

“Would you just go home, Michael?” Brian shouted as he pushed himself up onto his forearm so he could look his best friend square in the eye. “Go home! To your wife, and your kid!” With that, he collapsed back down onto the bed and sandwiched his head between the pillows again.

For a few moments, Michael seemed to just be standing there in Brian’s bedroom, probably giving him the gobsmacked look that he was so good at. Then his footsteps retreated, and the door the loft slid open and shut. Brian heard keys jingling outside the door, and the deadbolt sliding in the lock.

He’d wanted to tell Michael to leave the goddamn key on the counter on his way out, but he didn’t. Because he was too afraid that there might be an actual emergency while he was still at the mercy of this damn disease, and he might end up needing Michael’s help. Particularly if Justin went to Hollywood. Which he would be, if Brian had anything to do with it.

Brian was lying in bed, trying to come up with a plan to somehow convince Justin to go to Hollywood, when the heavy, metal door slid open and shut again. This time, it was Justin’s voice that rang out through the loft.

“I’m back,” Justin called. Brian heard the soft thump of Justin’s messenger bag hitting the floor. Goddamn kid, always leaving his shit all over the floor. Justin’s familiar-sounding footfalls ascended the three steps up to the bedroom.

Brian kept his eyes closed. Maybe he’d pretend to be asleep, so he could buy himself more time to come up with a reason why Justin should go to Hollywood and become a big, fat, fucking success. The success he deserved to be. The success he would be if he wasn’t tied to a partner who had fucking cancer.

But the bed sank down a little as Justin took a seat, and Brian felt a hand come to rest on top of his own. “You okay?” Justin said softly. “I know you’re not asleep. Because when you are, you snore a little.”

Brian cracked an eye open and looked at Justin. “Fucking deviated septum,” he muttered.

“Answer the question. What’s wrong?”

“Michael came by.”

“Shit.”

“You’ve got that right.” In more ways than one, Brian thought to himself. “Used his key and forced his way in here.”

Justin didn’t say anything, but Brian could see the nervousness in his eyes and his facial expression. He seemed to know exactly what was coming next. And that it wasn’t going to be good.

“He had something very interesting to tell me,” Brian said.

“Oh? What was that?” Justin feigned ignorance. It was all Brian could do to keep from rolling his eyes.

“You tell me. I think you know.” Brian fought to keep his voice controlled and even, and not to explode with the anger that had been simmering inside of him since Michael’s revelation.

He was angry with Justin for not telling him what was going on, and he was also angry at the fact that Justin apparently felt he couldn’t go. That he’d told Brett he couldn’t go. And it was all because of Brian. Although he was sure Justin had omitted that part. From the pieces of phone conversations he’d overheard, Justin wasn’t being 100% honest with Brett either. And he knew Justin hadn’t been honest with Michael, because Brian had asked him not to tell anyone about the cancer. Now, Brian was wondering which of those phone conversations had been with Brett, and which had been with Michael. Not that it mattered at this point. Brian was just hoping that Justin hadn’t already fucked things up with the director who held the keys to his partner and best friend’s futures.

“What did Michael say?” Justin asked again, in a slightly different way.

“He told me that Brett has been asking you to fly out to L.A. to help him make the case for turning Rage into a feature film. That he wants you to come show off your art to the studio execs. Help convince them that film about a queer superhero is worthy of their studio.” Brian stopped for a moment and took a deep breath before continuing. “I think you should go.”

“I can’t do that right now, Brian, and you know that.”

“Because you’re stuck here, taking care of me.”

“I’m not stuck.” Justin nervously ran a hand through his hair. “Like I’ve told you a dozen times, I’m here because I want to be. I don’t want to go to Hollywood right now.”

“If I wasn’t sick, would you already be gone?”

Justin opened his mouth to answer, but Brian cut him off.

“I think we both already know the answer to that,” Brian said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Brian climbed out of the bed, around Justin who was still sitting beside him, and walked slowly into the bathroom.

Justin followed behind him, watching him as he knelt in front of the toilet and vomited. Justin crouched down beside Brian and ran a hand down his arm. “Don’t stress yourself out over this,” he said. His voice was pleading. “You’ll make yourself sicker.”

“What do you care?” Brian shot back at Justin, once he felt like he could catch his breath. “You’re leaving anyway.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Brian wasn’t fucking worth this. He wasn’t worth this sacrifice. Not on Justin’s part, and not on Michael’s by proxy.

“Brian,” Justin said, reaching his hand out to touch Brian’s arm again. This time, Brian wrenched it out of Justin’s grip.

“Don’t touch me.” Brian kicked his legs out to the side so he was sitting on his butt, and scooted over by the shower door, sagging against it. He pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his forehead on his knees. He was curled up into a ball, like he’d done so many times as a child in an attempt to protect himself from the wrath of Jack Kinney. But this time it was for protection from the hurt he was about to bring onto himself. That he had to. Because he wasn’t going to be the reason that Justin fucked up his life and his future.

Brian knew what he had to do. He had to pull away from Justin. Stop being so dependent on him. So that Justin could go to Hollywood without feeling guilty. Brian had to prove that he could take care of himself. That he didn’t need Justin to take care of him.

Wednesday, they rode all the way to Brian’s treatment and all the way home in complete silence. A silence that had started for Brian on Tuesday evening and continued all through the night and into the morning. Every time Justin tried to speak to Brian, Brian simply didn’t respond.

Brian could tell Justin was getting frustrated with the silent treatment, but that was for the best. That was exactly what Brian needed to happen. He needed Justin to be pissed at him, so that he’d leave and not look back.

The night before, after a long time of sitting on the floor, leaning against the shower, Brian had decided to get up and go to bed. He shrugged off all of Justin’s offers for assistance, instead choosing to struggle to his feet on his own, using everything that was within his grasp to pull himself up to standing and steady himself. Justin kept grabbing ahold of Brian’s arm, and Brian kept pulling it out of his grasp.

“Brian, I’m begging you. Don’t be mad at me. The only reason I didn’t tell you is because I didn’t want you worrying about it,” Justin had said at one point, his voice pleading and on the verge of tears. “Let me help you.”

The clear emotion in Justin’s voice had nearly broken Brian as well, but he managed to keep his face neutral and his gaze expressionless. He made his way slowly back to the bed, pressing his hand to every stable surface between the bathroom and the bed as he walked. Justin was still following him.

Brian crawled back into the bed and turned his back to Justin, partially because giving Justin the cold shoulder was part of what he had to do, and partially because he didn’t trust himself not to lose control over his own emotions in that moment. This was fucking hard. And it hurt. But it had to be done.

If Brian was going to cry, Justin couldn’t see it. Not right now.

Brian forcefully pulled the duvet up over himself, nearly pulling it over his head too. He felt Justin lay a hand on his shoulder and start to speak again.

“Brian, please…” Justin let his voice trail off into nothing, like he was at a loss for words. He sounded like he was crying now.

Brian squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as he could, hoping he’d be able to hold back the outward manifestation of the feelings he could feel brewing within himself. His emotions were running far too close to the surface now. His walls were crumbling. But he couldn’t break down. He had to be strong.

Eventually, Brian felt the mattress shift as Justin’s weight was lifted from the bed, and he heard Justin move down the stairs and out of the bedroom. Now that he was alone, he let one of the tears fall -- feeling it slide out of the inside corner of his right eye and across the bridge of his nose before falling onto the pillow. As much as he didn’t want to push Justin away or let him go, he knew he had to. And it would hurt like hell, but he’d get through it. He had to.

Brian did the same thing on Wednesday that he’d done on Tuesday evening -- turning away from Justin’s touch, pulling away any time Justin tried to help him with something. Ignoring Justin when he spoke, even when he sounded upset and Brian wanted nothing more than to tell him that it would be okay -- that all of this was for his own good. And Brian waited until he was alone to let his own emotions go -- anger that Justin had kept this from him, and sadness that he was going to have to finish all of this alone. But wasn’t that how he’d wanted it in the first place? Now that he was faced with that reality, he wasn’t so sure he wanted it that way anymore. But he didn’t have a choice.

Wednesday, Brian ended up sicker than he had been during the entire course of his treatment. Probably because he was stressing himself out over this situation with Justin. Once again, the fucking kid had been right. Brian was making things worse for himself.

But no matter how many times Brian turned away or refused to speak or even acknowledge Justin’s presence, Justin was still right there. He stayed, and he didn’t go anywhere. He barely left Brian’s side. Which was making it really fucking hard for Brian to isolate himself and push Justin away.

Justin still brought the tea, and the food, and the water, and the medications. He took one look at Brian’s abdomen, where the radiation burn was really starting to show itself, and went straight into the bathroom and came back with the tube of skin cream. Justin started to put it on for him, but Brian pushed his hands away.

“Okay,” Justin said quietly, pushing the tube into Brian’s hand. “You put it on then. But that looks like it really hurts. You need to take care of it.”

Brian did as he was told, wincing when he touched the red, peeling skin, and then held the tube back out at Justin without saying a word. It did hurt like hell. But the physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional pain Brian was experiencing right now. He needed Justin to be mad at him, but he just wasn’t. He wasn’t taking the bait. He was continuing to be the fucking oh-so-understanding partner of the goddamn year. And Brian wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

At one point, he could hear Justin talking on the phone, presumably to one of his professors, judging from the professional tone of the conversation in conjunction with what Justin was saying.

“Yes sir,” Justin said. “I understand. But I can’t leave today. It’s...it’s really bad.”

Hearing that only made Brian angrier -- it sounded like Justin was blowing off something important, again, in favor of taking care of him.

When Justin came back up to the bedroom, with more water that Brian hadn’t asked for, Brian finally spoke.

“You should go to class,” he said flatly.

“It’s fine, Brian.”

“No, it’s not. You should go.”

“It’s really not a big deal. I don’t want to leave you alone when you’re this sick.”

“I’m fine.” His voice was still completely devoid of emotion, one way or the other. He didn’t sound mad. He didn’t sound upset. He didn’t sound sad. He was just...there. Existing. And that was it.

“You’re not fine.”

“I’m fucking fine!” At that moment, all of the pent-up rage that Brian had been holding inside came to a boil and burst forth with a shout, in a voice far too hoarse and a little too weak to make his point as forcefully as he wanted to make it. But he was doing it anyway. If not speaking to Justin wasn’t working, and not letting Justin touch him wasn’t working, then he’d have to try yelling at him. And hope that he could keep his voice from breaking and giving away how he really felt about what he was doing.

“Brian, it’s okay.” Justin kept his voice calm. “I know you’re upset. I know you’re hurting, and you don’t feel good. Just...calm down...please.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” All of this yelling would be far more effective if he could stand while he did it, Brian thought to himself. But he knew exactly what would happen if he tried that. He’d end up on the floor, and he probably wouldn’t be able to get up without help. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to show how much he needed -- and wanted -- Justin’s help. Brian felt like something was being forcibly ripped out of him, as he struggled to push that something -- Justin -- away. He was doing this to himself as much as he was doing it to Justin. And he felt every bit of it, deeply. But Justin had left him no choice. Brian was breathing hard now -- harder than he wanted to be. His breath was coming in harsh, ragged gasps.

“Brian, please.” Justin’s tone sounded a touch desperate now. And his voice was starting to waver. “You have to calm down. Relax. It’s okay.”

Brian had to do it now, or he wasn’t going to have the strength to do it. The physical strength, or the emotional strength. He took as deep a breath as his body would allow him to, and screamed at Justin as loudly as he could.

“Leave! Get out! You should get the fuck out of here and go to fucking Hollywood and be the biggest goddamn success you can be! Stop holding yourself back because of me! I won’t fucking stand for it! I won’t let you do that!” Brian couldn’t look Justin in the eye, because he didn’t want to see the visual representation of the hurt he was causing.

“Brian, I’m not--” Justin was definitely crying now. Brian steeled himself so he could continue.

“Get the fuck out!” Brian shouted, so loudly and forcefully it made his throat hurt. “I’m not worth it! I never have been and I never will be! I’m just a worthless piece of shit.” Brian paused and took in a shaky breath as unwanted tears started to form in his eyes. “I’ve never deserved anything good to happen in my whole life. And I don’t deserve you. You should go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” With that, he turned his back to Justin and hoped he’d gotten his message across, loud and clear. Even though he’d said much more than he’d meant to say. He’d verbalized one of the private thoughts he’d kept to himself for all of these years. Jack had said it to him over and over again, and Brian had kept it in the back of his mind ever since, but he’d never said it out loud. Now, he had. To Justin, no less.

Justin sat down on the bed and gently placed his hand on Brian’s back. “Brian, you’re not worthless…” His voice was barely above a whisper. And it was full of sadness. So much sadness.

“Get out,” Brian interrupted him, his own voice thick with tears. “Please. Leave me alone.”

“Brian--”

“Leave. Go do your thing. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Justin took in a few breaths, pausing after each as if he was starting to say something, but no words were coming out. Then, he got up from the bed with a loud exhale, and his soft, quick footsteps left the room. A few minutes later, they left the loft entirely.

Brian suddenly felt sick. And this time, it wasn’t just from the radiation.

He dragged himself out of the bed and stood up on trembling legs, barely able to make it into the bathroom before he collapsed onto his knees and threw up.

This time, he was sick because of what he’d done. But he knew he hadn’t had a choice. He’d done what needed to be done. What had to be done. And now he’d have to live with the results of that. But that was okay. He’d survive. He always had. As long as Justin had what he needed to be successful, Brian would find a way to make it through.

Brian was sitting on the tile floor in the bathroom, shaking and sobbing in between dry heaving, when he thought he heard the loft’s metal door slide open. There was nothing fucking left in his stomach -- how in the hell was he still this sick? And who the fuck was coming in now? It had better not be Justin, he thought. Mostly because Brian didn’t have the strength to push him away again. He was completely spent, emotionally and physically, and far too ill. He wanted to go back to bed, but he was too weak and shaky to get up off the floor. Shit. What had he done now?

Brian heard a light knock on the sliding glass door that he’d left open between the bedroom and the bathroom. He lifted his head up, and saw Debbie standing in the doorway.

He blinked up at her, suddenly feeling like a kid again. He didn’t even want to think about what he must look like right now.

“Oh, honey,” she said softly as she stepped into the room, knelt down next to him, and wrapped her arms around him.

Her touch was warm and comforting. Secure. And he broke down in her embrace, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she held him tighter, her hand cupping the back of his head like he was a child instead of a grown man. They sat for a long time, exactly like that. Debbie holding Brian, rubbing his back, while he let go of everything he’d been holding in.

“You’re okay,” she whispered in his ear. Over and over again.

He wished he believed her.

When the tears and the uneven, ragged breathing had abated, she let him go and gently wiped his cheeks with her hands. She held his gaze for a moment, with a look that expressed more than words ever could. A look that told him how much she loved him and cared about him.

“Let’s get you up off the floor and back into bed,” she said as she pushed herself up to stand, then helped him to his feet as well. He was still shaking, but Debbie either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. She led him to the bed and helped him lie down, pulling the covers up over him like she was tucking him in.

“This reminds me of taking care of Vic for all of those years,” Debbie said, a sad smile on her face. “Only you’re going to be just fine, honey. This is temporary. It sucks ass, sure, but it’s temporary.”

Brian looked up at the ceiling, taking in a deep breath, then letting it go. He was lucky. He had to remember that. He wasn’t dying. He was going to be fine.

“So, what was all of this Sunshine was telling me about you yelling at him that he should just leave you and go to Hollywood? That you were worthless and you didn’t deserve him? That you didn’t deserve anything good?”

Brian didn’t say anything. He knew he didn’t have to. Debbie would say what she came here to say, whether he responded or not. And right now, that was probably for the best, because he wasn’t sure what to say.

“I know how hard it is for you to hear people say that they love you. For you to let people care about you, and to hear them say that they do. But that kid loves you. And you need to listen to him. And it might do you some good to try to love yourself too. See yourself the way he sees you.”

Brian started to speak, but Debbie shushed him.

“I’m not finished,” she said. “I never understood how on earth two people could bring a child into this world and then treat him the way your parents treated you. I know how hard they made it for you to let other people in -- to trust people -- because all they ever did was hurt you. So that made you scared. Scared that if you let people in, they’d end up hurting you too. And I think maybe you’re still scared of that. But honey, that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be loved, just because you’re afraid to let it happen.”

Debbie took a breath, seemingly to let that sink in for a moment, then continued. “Love isn’t always bliss, that’s for sure. There’ll be pain sometimes, absolutely. But I think that pain can remind us of how deeply we love someone. How special they are to us. And I think that’s exactly what Sunshine is to you. You love him. You’ve loved him for a long time. You know it, and I know it. But you’re scared, because you know sometimes that love hurts. You want to avoid the pain. But we can’t have the rose without the thorns, honey. You deserve love. You deserve happiness. And you have to stop sacrificing yourself for what you think is best for everyone else.”

Brian knew she was right. That was just what he did -- what he’d always done. He put everyone else’s needs above his, because he didn’t feel like his own desires deserved any consideration at all. He’d shown his love for other people by falling on the sword multiple times in his life. And he wasn’t sure how to stop doing that. But he knew he had to try, before he ended up losing Justin for good.

“Now, I’m going to send Sunshine back in here,” Debbie said, “and you’re going to let him take care of you, you hear me? You’re going to let him show you how much he loves you, and you’re not going to fight it. He’s not going to hurt you. And you have to stop hurting yourself because you’re afraid he’s going to.”

She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, then patted his hand before getting up and walking out of the room.

A few minutes later, Justin came back in, while Brian was still lying in bed, looking up at the rafters and allowing Debbie’s words to run through his head on repeat.

He’s not going to hurt you. And you have to stop hurting yourself because you’re afraid he’s going to.

That was exactly what he’d always done his whole life. I’ll hurt you, before you hurt me. I’ll reject you first, so you can’t reject me.

He’d thought he was protecting himself. But in the end, he was only hurting himself more. And that was what he stood to do here, if he let himself be driven to push Justin away so hard that he might not come back. That wasn’t what Brian wanted at all. But it was what he’d been willing to do if it gave Justin what Brian thought he wanted -- the opportunity to go to Hollywood and be a huge fucking success. Although now that he really thought about it, that probably wasn’t what Justin wanted at all. Justin wanted to be with Brian. And Brian wanted to be with Justin.

Justin sat down next to Brian and hesitantly touched his arm. Brian reached up and took Justin’s hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” Brian said. “And don’t tell me it’s bullshit.”

“I know. And I know why you were doing what you were doing.”

“Because I’m the world’s biggest asshole.”

“No, because you love me and you want me to be happy. Only, what you wanted me to do wasn’t going to make me happy. I don’t want to go to Hollywood and leave you here to fend for yourself. I’m not doing this out of guilt or obligation. There aren’t conditions on our relationship. Or on my commitment to you. I’m taking care of you, helping you, because I love you.”

“I know.”

“Then act like you know it,” Justin said. “You have to let me make my own decisions sometimes, and trust that I know how to make the right decision for me. If this thing with Rage is meant to be, then it will be. And if it’s not, then I’m okay with that. Because I have you.”

Brian squeezed Justin’s hand in his and bit his lip. Then he let the words tumble out of him before his own fear could stop him.

“I love you,” Brian said.

No sooner had the words left his lips than Justin pulled him into an almost suffocating, desperate embrace. Justin kissed him, then buried his face in Brian’s collarbone. Brian could feel the moisture from Justin’s tears on his skin. And soon after, he realized that he was crying himself.

It felt so strange to say those three little words to someone in a way that was more than platonic, but Brian knew he meant them with every fiber of his being. Right down to his soul. He loved Justin, and he wanted to be with him. Forever, if time would allow.

On Friday morning, Justin woke Brian up gently with a kiss. Slowly, it dawned on him what day this was. The last day of his radiation treatment. Finally.

These last two weeks felt like they’d dragged on forever -- full of sweat and misery and heat and cold and sickness and pure, raw emotion. And while they’d certainly felt like hell, Brian couldn’t deny that something good had come out of all of this pain.

He’d finally been able to tell Justin that he loved him. He’d been able to say the words.

So this morning, when Justin followed the kiss with, “I love you,” Brian managed to return the sentiment not only with his actions, but with his words.

“I love you too,” he said, kissing Justin again, more deeply. He was still getting used to wrapping his tongue around those particular words, but he liked how they felt. And how they made Justin look at him.

And it was a hell of a lot easier than saying, “I have cancer.” Three words which he hoped he would never have to utter again.

One more day of treatment, and then it would all be over with. He could finally start getting back to his normal life. And he couldn’t fucking wait.

But in the meantime, he had to repeat the same old routine one more time.

Justin joined him in the shower this time, helping him wash his back, giving him support when he needed it because he was still so damn tired. He made a half-hearted grab at Justin’s cock while they were in there, but Justin stopped him.

“Jesus, Brian, no,” Justin said, laughing a little. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but you need to conserve your energy. I’m sure you’ll make all of this up to me soon enough.” He winked at Brian as he turned off the water and grabbed two towels, handing one of them to Brian.

They dried off, dressed, ate breakfast, and drove the all-too-familiar roads to the oncologist’s office one more time. Took one more trip in the elevator, up to the fifth floor. Brian signed in one more time with the receptionist who now knew him by name. Made the journey through the maze of hallways that he was fairly sure he would now be able to navigate in his sleep. And some days, it had felt like he had been sleepwalking. He changed into the cotton gown one more time, and dozed off again as the machine whirred and beeped around him, hopefully killing off any last vestiges of cancer that might have remained in his body. So that he’d never have to go through any of this again.

The nurse bid Brian farewell one last time, saying, “I’m sure you won’t miss seeing me, but I want you to know I wish you the best. Take care of yourself.”

He was certainly going to try.

Brian met Justin in the waiting room, and they walked out together, for what would hopefully be the last time for at least a little while. Brian knew he’d still have to go back for scans and blood tests to be sure that the cancer was really gone, and that it hadn’t returned. But he hoped he’d never have to make daily visits ever again. And that he’d never be this sick ever again.

He had one more afternoon to get through. Thankfully, it turned out to be one of the better days. Still not great, but better. Probably because he’d spent most of Thursday sleeping, which had been sorely needed after the emotional hell he’d put himself through on Wednesday. Justin hadn’t left his side the entire day on Thursday. And Brian hadn’t questioned it. He’d merely accepted it, and let himself feel cared for.

On Friday evening, Brett Keller had called again, this time with some very good news -- he had a studio signed on to turn Justin and Michael’s comic into a feature film, even without Justin there to show off his artwork in person. Rage was about to be a movie star. And Brian couldn’t have been happier for his partner and his best friend.

Slowly, Brian started to ease back into his normal routine. Although most of the more unpleasant side effects had lessened considerably or disappeared entirely, the fatigue seemed to be reluctant to let go. So he’d taken Monday and Tuesday off from work as well. And although he hated to do it, when he went back to work on Wednesday, it was only for a half day, so he could avoid needing to take a nap on the couch in the afternoon like some kind of a preschooler. And it would probably be that way for at least the first week or two, according to what his doctor had told him. But at least he wasn’t stuck in the bathroom. He’d choose to count his blessings, there.

He’d had to tighten his belt a couple of notches when he put on his suit that morning, as a result of the weight he’d lost over the last two weeks. While under normal circumstances, Brian would consider weight loss to be a positive thing, this wasn’t the way he wanted to lose it. This weight loss had left him looking and feeling more sick than sexy. But his suit hid it well, and hopefully now that his appetite was getting back to normal, he’d be back to looking healthy and fit in no time. Well, healthy anyhow. Fit might have to wait until he had enough energy -- and his doctor’s blessing -- to get back to the gym.

Brian stopped by Cynthia’s desk on his way in, handing her the latte he’d purchased for her when he’d picked up his own this morning. Just the first step in saying thank you for picking up the slack, and for having the balls to stand up to him and force him to take care of himself. Although he’d probably never say that to her in as many words. He wouldn’t have to; she’d known him long enough to understand the words he didn’t say as well as she understood the ones he did.

“Glad you’re back, boss,” she said, smiling as she looked up from her computer.

“Me too,” Brian said. “You have no idea.”

With that, he turned and walked into his office, where he settled into his chair and turned on the computer. He knew he’d have dozens of unanswered emails, but he felt a lot less stressed about that than he figured he would. He’d get done what he could, and the rest could wait. He’d learned his lesson about what happened when he didn’t listen to his body and take a break when he needed it, and he didn’t intend to have to learn that lesson again.

Ten minutes later, Cynthia came in to dump a stack of file folders onto his desk.

“Gee, thanks,” he said sarcastically. “I thought you wanted me to take it easy.”

“Just making sure you don’t get bored,” she laughed.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. By the way, I’m leaving at lunch. For the rest of this week, at least.”

“Good,” she said. “There’s no rush on any of this. I’ve already taken care of the things that are on tight deadlines. Whatever you don’t get done that needs done, I’ll take care of it.”

She smiled at him and tapped her fingernails on his desk briefly before turning and walking out.

Ted came in a little while later, to get Brian’s signature on some documents for a new hire. They really had taken care of everything while he was gone, right down to conducting an interview he’d hadn’t been able to make it in for on Monday. He’d felt bad about not being able to be there, but figured that falling asleep on the table in the conference room would probably be poor form for the CEO of the company, so he’d reluctantly agreed to allow Cynthia and Ted to step in on his behalf.

“Doing okay, Bri?” Ted asked as he closed the folder that contained the stack of forms, after Brian had signed off on them.

“Fine, thanks.” He’d said that word a lot recently, he realized. Only this time he wasn’t just saying it as if he was trying to will it into fruition. He actually meant it.

“Good. I’m glad.” Ted gave him a sincere smile. The sort of smile you’d give a friend. “Glad you’re alright.”

Brian was too. And he was a hell of a lot more thankful for a lot of things in his life -- his friends, his success, his health...and Justin.

He honestly didn’t know how he would have made it through the past couple of weeks without Justin. He didn’t want to think about how things would have gone if he’d kept his condition a secret from everyone like he’d originally intended. Actually, he didn’t think he would have been able to keep it a secret for long, now that he knew the full range of what surgery and radiation treatment did to a person. At the very least, there was no way he would have been able to keep it from Justin. He didn’t know why he’d even tried. Maybe he should thank Dr. Rabinowitz for leaving that message on his answering machine that forced him to come clean with Justin. And he knew he was going to have a lot to do to thank his lover -- his partner -- for sticking by him, without fail, even when he’d acted like an asshole.

Lindsay came by Brian’s office midway through the morning, to sit on his sofa and lament about how Melanie was treating her like a second class citizen. It turned out Brian’s tired brain hadn’t made up the story about Lindsay fucking some guy at the art gallery -- she actually had done it. Sam Auerbach. The guy she’d been organizing a show for. Apparently he’d awakened her latent desire for dick, although Lindsay still insisted she was a lesbian. The whole story was so strange that it was no wonder Brian thought he’d misheard her or made it up entirely. As disturbing a development as it was, it also had Lindsay reminiscing about the time she and Brian had fucked in college -- “mid-summer madness,” he called it. Sometimes Brian wondered if she was still secretly in love with him on some level, buried deep down. Or what else she wasn’t telling him about how she truly felt. Or maybe what she wasn’t telling herself.

Of course, Brian didn’t have much room to talk when it came to not being honest with people. He still hadn’t told Lindsay about the cancer. And at this point, he didn’t think he ever would.

When 12:00 came around, Brian packed up a few things to take home to work on later in the afternoon, shut down his computer, and left the office.

“See you tomorrow,” Cynthia called after him as he walked toward the front door. He lifted his hand and waved to her without turning around.

As he walked out onto the sidewalk, Brian felt a sense of relief. He was back. His business hadn’t fallen apart in his absence. He had people he could trust and depend on, who had stepped up to fill in the gaps without question or complaint. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t needed. He’d fit right in today like he’d never been gone. And that felt good too.

He stopped by the diner on his way home to grab a sandwich. Deb was there, just as he hoped she would be. He wanted to see her. Thank her.

“Hi, honey!” she chirped brightly, coming out from behind the counter to give him a hug. “It’s so good to see you! What can I get for you?”

“Turkey on wheat, no mayo. To go.”

“So, the usual? I think you’ve got room for the fuckin’ mayo, kiddo.” She playfully poked him in the ribs.

Brian shrugged. “Don’t want it,” he said.

“Whatever you say,” Deb said in a resigned voice, rolling her eyes before walking over to send the ticket with his order on it into the kitchen. Once she’d done that, she came back and took a seat on the stool next to Brian at the counter.

“So how are things with you and Sunshine?” she said, her voice much quieter than her normal tone.

“We’re fine.”

“Good. I hope you’ve realized just what a good thing you’ve got. Both of you. It’s rare, and it’s special, and a lot of people go their whole lives and never find it. Don’t throw it away because you’re too afraid to feel it.”

She laid her hand over his for a brief moment and looked into his eyes. It felt like she was staring straight into his soul. She knew him well -- regrettably, too well, she’d once said -- and he knew that there wasn’t anything he could hide from her. She’d see it. She always had. Probably always would.

“Thanks for talking some sense into me the other day,” he said. “And for the hug. I needed it.”

“I know you did, honey. You were scared. And so was Sunshine. He showed up on my doorstep, in fuckin’ tears. He said you weren’t listening to him, you were just screaming at him. That you told him to get out. He told me he was afraid of what you might do.”

“I wasn’t going to off myself or anything,” Brian muttered as he looked down, running his fingertip over a chip in the formica on the counter.

“I don’t think that’s what he was afraid of.”

Before Brian could say anything else, the bell in the window between the kitchen and the rest of the diner emitted a loud ‘ding,’ signifying that one of her other tables’ order was ready. Debbie patted Brian’s hand and gave him a reassuring smile as she got up to retrieve the plates and deliver them to their recipients across the diner.

Shortly after that, she was bringing Brian his order.

“You boys need to take care of each other,” Deb said as she handed Brian the bag containing his sandwich and a bonus lemon bar she’d stuck in at the last second. “And remember, tomorrow is never promised.”

“Yes, mother,” he said, hoping that came across as sincere and not sarcastic. If there was one thing he’d learned over the past month, it was that he couldn’t take his life or the people in it for granted. “Thanks,” he added, just as extra insurance.

“Anytime, kiddo. Anytime.”

Brian returned home to an empty loft, setting his briefcase and coat down on the bar before taking a seat at the table and unwrapping his sandwich and the lemon bar. He was glad to be back to eating relatively normally, even if he wasn’t quite 100% yet. His normal routine felt good. Comfortable. Like getting back to an old friend.

But there were a few things he was going to change.

Mostly having to do with Justin.

He wasn’t going to take for granted anymore that Justin would continue to be there, even if Brian didn’t bother to show him that he cared -- that he loved him, even. He wasn’t going to expect Justin to read between the lines and pick up his true feelings from subtle actions all the time. He was going to make more of an effort to let Justin past his walls, even if that meant having to face the fear that he’d wind up getting hurt because of it.

That was just the risk he’d have to take. Taking a chance on love.

When Justin came home later that night, after his shift at the diner, he was holding a bouquet of flowers -- a colorful mix of daisies. Brian was sitting on the sofa, watching TV and working on his laptop while he enjoyed some whiskey. Man, he’d missed unwinding in the evenings with his old friend Jim Beam.

“What are you doing bringing home flowers?” Brian asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you allergic?”

“Not to these. And if I take my medication like I’m supposed to, I’m okay. Anyway, I just thought I’d brighten the place up a little. You know, since things are looking up.” Justin grinned. “Symbolism.”

“God, you’re a dork,” Brian said, smiling and shaking his head. “And a lesbian. I’m fucking a lesbian.”

“You know you love me anyway.” Justin’s entire face was lit up with his sunshine smile as he retrieved a vase from the top of the refrigerator and filled it up with water. He stuck the bouquet in it and set the vase in the middle of the dining room table. “There. Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Hey, did you get those from that sidewalk vendor down the street?” Brian closed his laptop and placed it on the coffee table, before turning off the television. Now that Justin was home, he no longer needed the distraction. He’d much rather spend the evening sharing some quality time with his partner -- a phrase Brian Kinney never thought he’d say, even to himself.

“Yeah, why?” Justin had moved into the kitchen and was starting to take vegetables out of the refrigerator and set them on the countertop so he could begin making dinner. Another little slice of domestic bliss that Brian Kinney would probably never admit he enjoyed, although Justin seemed to know it, even without Brian saying it. Justin knew how to read between the lines.

“No reason. Just curious.” Brian shrugged and tried to act nonchalant.

The truth was that he remembered that sidewalk vendor well, from the night two years before when he’d nearly stopped and bought Justin a bouquet of roses, after Melanie of all people had given him some unwanted advice on how to show Justin that he loved him. Brian wondered how things might have been different if he’d said yes after the guy offered to wrap the bouquet up for him to take home to his partner. Would they have spent months apart while Justin chased romance with the violin player? Where would they be in their relationship right now if Justin hadn’t left? If Brian hadn’t driven him away, out of fear? Fear of the unknown. Fear of letting Justin in. Fear of taking the risk and letting Justin know exactly how much he cared for him.

He wasn’t going to let that fear rule his life any longer.

Together, the two of them had shared good times, and bad times. They'd shared birthdays and family celebrations and a ridiculously romantic dance at Justin’s senior prom. And they’d each been there for each other when it felt like the world was falling down around them. Brian had been there for Justin after he was bashed, when things were incredibly dark and it seemed like there was no way out. And Justin had been there for Brian through the hard times as well -- when he’d lost his job and nearly gone bankrupt making sure Stockwell lost the mayoral election, and now, through cancer. Even when it was ugly, Justin had been there. Even when Brian hadn’t been the easiest person to love, Justin had never stopped loving him.

The strength of their relationship had certainly been tested over the last month, but it seemed like they were coming out even stronger on the other side. Just like they always did. Just like Brian hoped they always would.

Brian came over to where Justin was standing in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around him, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes met Justin’s baby blues.

“What was that for?” Justin asked.

“Just because.”

Justin pulled Brian closer and returned the kiss, even harder this time. As their lips connected and the line between their bodies blurred, Brian felt a familiar warmth and hardness in his groin that he hadn’t felt in weeks. Justin had clearly felt it too, as he broke off the kiss to raise his eyebrows and give Brian a salacious grin.

“Is that a thing of beauty?” Brian breathed, his relief palpable.

“And a joy forever,” Justin added.

Their lips met once again, their tongues pushing against one another and scrabbling for purchase inside each other’s mouths as they made their way to the bedroom practically as one unit, tearing their clothes off the whole way. Dinner was forgotten for the moment; they had far more important things to attend to. They made love hungrily -- like two starving men -- finally reconnecting after weeks of forced celibacy, and Brian wondered if he’d ever had better sex in his entire life. Except this time, it wasn’t just about the sex itself. It was about what he and Justin shared. What he hoped they could share for a lifetime.

And as they lay together, bathed in the soft glow of blue neon lights, Brian turned over to face his lover and said the words he hoped he’d never struggle to say again.

“I love you.”

He’d never meant anything more.