1.0- TREMONT STREET

Justin’s phone was buzzing again. Cursing under his breath, he fished it out and sighed when Ethan’s name danced on the screen. He couldn’t ignore this call-- that’d be one too many.

“Hey.”

“Where the hell are you, Picasso?” Justin heard distorted strains of violin music in the background. “My creative energy is dying without you.”

“I’m sure it will survive-- listen, I’m on my way back, so speak to you soon?” he said, hoping like hell that Ethan would not question him further.

“Maybe I can come meet you! What road?”

He bit his lip, panicking. “A-Actually, I’m in the shop right now, but I’ll be over in… say an hour?”

“Oh, alright,” Ethan said, with a melodramatic sigh. “Suppose I’ll keep murdering Bach until you save me.”

“See you.” He snapped the phone shut, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he returned to staring at the apartment block across the street.

Tremont Street. A place he should never have returned to, not since the fiasco at Babylon, yet for some reason, it drew him back. Sometimes, whilst on the way home from college, he wound up here before remembering that this was no longer his home. One night, he even got as far as the lift before Ethan called. That brought him crashing back to reality in a hurry. But even that didn’t stop him from gazing at the Loft whenever he could justify it; not because he felt anything, but somehow being here seemed comforting. He wanted to relive the sensation of knowing he’d a home waiting for him, even if it wasn’t the right one.

Other times, he wandered back to Ethan’s apartment, questioning his sanity.

Several Jaguars whizzed past in a blur of silvers and royal blues. Or at least he thought they were Jags; his country club background wasn’t what it used to be. Now he ate ramen noodles whilst sketching depressing tenement blocks on the back of cereal boxes, listening to Ethan saw his way through the violin. That’s what it sounded like, anyway. Still, he’d be waiting with a smile and a kiss, assuring his boyfriend that he was on his way to stardom. You needed to support each other in a relationship, right?

“Out of the way,” muttered an old man, tottering along. His walking stick looked like it might break.

“Sorry,” he said, stepping back. Getting wrapped up in his own world never ended well. He’d try it as a remedy for sleepless nights, invariably with little success. The tiniest thing might remind him of Tremont Street, and he’d drift off to sleep muttering nonsense under his breath, dreaming about being spread naked on a soft bed a million miles away. Shit. He was pathetic. Even now, in the middle of the street, he felt a familiar heat in his lower belly. Maybe he really should head home.

On the brink of finally turning back, he saw a Corvette parked to his right.

“Hey…”

With a stifled gasp, he glanced up to see Brian standing next to him. Where on earth had he appeared from?

“B-Brian. Hello.”

And all of a sudden, the memories slammed into him like a tidal wave. The lazy Saturday afternoons filled with Brazilian coffee and making out, the sound of water trickling from the shower, Brian’s stubble scratching his fingertips, hours of dancing under hot neon lights… Shit. Shaking his head a little, he forced himself back to reality.

“Didn’t expect to see you… here…” Brian said. “Unless you needed a lift?” He broke off with a short laugh, the kind that disguised his nervousness. Why? Was Brian uncomfortable in his presence? The thought provoked a painful twinge in his stomach. Still, he didn’t look too bad, Justin decided, although appearances could be deceptive. It depended on how Brian acted behind closed doors; a suit and cologne couldn’t disguise the empty beer bottles cluttered in his kitchen. But this morning, Justin couldn’t detect any faults.

“No! I mean… I’m going to walk.” He stared at the ground. Where was a sinkhole when you needed one? “I was just passing through, you know.”

“Right.”

There was a pause. A couple of women passed by, giggling about something they heard in Starbucks. He heard a car radio blaring Run DMC. But even those sounds couldn’t disguise the polite scepticism in Brian’s voice.

“So… I’m going!” He smiled what he hoped was an honest smile, and shuffled away, promising that he wouldn’t return to this unexplained vigil anytime in future. Or at least not when Brian was returning from work. Idiot.

He glanced over his shoulder… then wished he hadn’t.  Brian was staring after him with a strange expression. Usually, he recognized every emotion in Brian’s eyes, from annoyance, to sensitivity, to that rare flicker of hope that melted into tenderness when Brian thought no one else else was looking. Justin saw it when Brian teased Lindsay, or cradled Gus, or… on those rare occasions when they smiled at each other.

So what was Brian trying to say now?

After a while of futile suggestions, he chalked it down to simple curiosity. A poor fit, but he’d nothing left.

2.0- VIGIL

Lurking in a shop doorway across the street, pretending not to watch Ethan staggering into a shabby apartment block with his violin and groceries didn’t make for a productive Monday morning. But Brian had spent many a morning pursuing less worthwhile causes. His Botox treatment was overdue by two weeks, and he’d be better off at the bank paying his credit card bill than waiting for proof that Justin got home safely.

But sure enough, his patience was rewarded. Justin, seemingly preoccupied, did show up and enter the same apartment block. Something made him want to blow his cover, grab Justin and bring him back to the Loft just then, until he swamped it his usual emotionless determination. His job had finished. There was nothing left to see.

Besides, he’d no use for this knowledge; the place was a shit hole, as he’d suspected. Cracked windows, peeling paint, weed-smoking tenants. Another government failure. He’d wrinkled his nose at an old lady shuffling out the main door earlier with her head bowed, drowning in moth-eaten cardigans and shawls. Justin lives here. Along with a dorky violin prodigy who urgently needed a haircut.

Shaking his head, he returned to his Corvette (which, miraculously, had not been stolen in the time spent parked here) and drove to Vanguard.

3.0- GREEN APPLES

Green apples…

Stretching his hand to take some, Justin withdrew it at the last minute. He and Ethan could make do with red. Yes, he decided, grabbing a handful and dropping them into his basket. After all, Ethan preferred those, and so buying them would be a considerate, good-partner thing to do. Of course.

Still, he stared at the green ones, itching to snag one for himself. Someone else walked past and shovelled a handful into one of the brown paper bags available.

Beep! Beep! The sound of a million and one items being scanned through at the tills seemed to reverberate in his skull. Or maybe that was a combination of Ethan’s fricking sonata’s from last night. At this rate, they might get evicted for noise nuisance, but he still said nothing. After all, Brian used to hate him jamming to Moby, said it was juvenile crap. Worse, he’d often be straight back from work, tie undone, eating a green apple whilst slouching on his sofa. Damn green apples.  

They littered Brian’s Loft, lolling around on the shiny coffee tables to create an inspired artistic effect, stacked in pyramids, or wedged in their owner’s beautiful hands. He used to love watching the juices run down Brian’s lips, loved the image of Brian in nothing but a towel, lying in bed and cutting up a green apple…

“Beep! This is a customer service announcement…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he whispered, turning towards the vegetable aisle. Ethan was already there, inspecting some sturdy cucumbers which reminded him of something else. To rid himself of these thoughts, he rushed over to Ethan, greeting him with a guilty kiss.

“Get the apples?”

“Yeah. Just need eggs and cheese.”

“And red?”

Justin smiled. “You drink too much. But yeah, if you want.”

“Wine’s always great before sex, you know.”

Before Justin could answer, a silky voice from behind interrupted.

“Dear oh dear, Ian…”

Justin turned to find Brian carrying Gus and smirking. “This is a public supermarket, and my son is only two.”

“Hey Brian,” Justin said with a sigh. “Small world, isn’t it?”

If Brian heard the double-meaning, then he reacted with remarkable calm. “Hey.” He turned to Gus, getting the kid to wave. “Say hello to Sunshine, Sonny Boy.”

Whatever Gus’ babble meant in English, Justin accepted them as a firm welcome. In fact, Gus reached out to him with a smile, making him realize how much he’d missed the child since… Well since the most dramatic split in history. Christ, when was the last time he visited Lindsay’s house?

“My name is Ethan-- not Ian.”

“Beep! This is a customer service announcement…”

Justin couldn’t help grinning at the timing, and when he caught Brian’s eye, he saw the other man smile back. His heart stirred faintly.

“Is that so?” Brian said, cradling Gus against his chest. “Names aren’t my strong point.”

“That why you call Justin “Sunshine”?”

Shit! Justin blushed, and pretended to be engrossed in his shopping basket. God, he’d forgotten about the nickname just then, too relieved to see a familiar face to remember that Brian shouldn’t be so familiar with him anymore. Otherwise, he’d have reacted sooner, or at least questioned why “Sunshine” slipped off Brian’s tongue like butter.

“I use many nicknames,” Brian replied carefully, “invented by… other people. If you’re interested, how does Paganini Junior sound?”

Gus chuckled, as though he understood the joke.

“Well, someone seems in favour,” Brian said, smiling at his son in such a way that Justin felt awkward watching. “This kiddo’s got acute senses. I was about to buy a new Italian coffee table the other day and he cried, so I had to return it.”

And for one glorious moment, Justin shed his careful civility and smiled at Brian.

4.0- SHAMPOO, SOAP AND MEMORIES

Brian stared at his shampoo for too long. Something was wrong. The bottle was screwed shut and sitting in his cabinet as always. He always ensured that his numerous soaps, gels and creams were put away after use. An untidy bathroom was an insane bathroom.

Shaking his head, he placed the bottle on the countertop and unscrewed the lid, spreading a trail of liquid from the top to the immaculate surface. And as usual, a flame of irritation flared in his stomach. No, that simply wouldn’t do. With a cloth, he wiped away the mess and replaced his shampoo in the cabinet. There. Sanity. Normality.

Justin had never grasped the House Rules, and made no attempt to do so. He never put the cap on the shampoo, never replaced it, never stopped leaving soap in the sink, or razors in the cupboard. He’d lost count of how many times he’d cut his hands thanks to an abandoned razor. Oh, it was hell. Waking up every morning to ensure his bathroom time preceded that of Justin so that he could enjoy cleanliness for a few moments before the upcoming Reign of Terror. And it seemed that nothing was too inappropriate to bring into the bathroom: sketches, Xtra gum, one of those abominable hoodies… Brian had even considered banning Justin altogether-- make him shower at Deb’s or wash himself with rainwater. Anything to keep his beloved bathroom clean.

But those days were a distant speck in the past. Justin’s chronic untidiness left with him. After that, Brian had hoped to recognize his Loft again, but on the first evening after they broke up, neatness and order were strangers. It had been an evening without tripping over stray paint bottles, or chucking a hoodie off a chair before sitting down, or clearing away random sketches to see his living room floor, or wondering whether the apocalyptic mess in his kitchen would clean itself. Everything had been in perfect order. And… that was good.

Right?

Pulling a razor from the cupboard, he shaved, trying to think about the work day ahead. Halfway through the second stroke, he paused and glanced to his right. No one. Just silence. Not that he minded, of course, but it just seemed… different. Perhaps he’d grown too accustomed to Justin’s babble whilst they shaved, the rambling conversations he’d always pretended not to hear. One morning he had endured a spirited defence of Surrealist Art, another day it was a rant against the eternal treachery of politicians. From time to time, he’d join in or-- if he dared admit it-- smile as Justin’s hand gestures grew ever more frantic.

Finishing his shave, he spent the next half hour distracting himself by rearranging all his vanity items for no reason. Come to think of it, some of the prices shocked him until he smelled the contents of each bottle and remembered the brand. If smelling good emptied his bank account, then so be it. He could afford the luxury anyway.

Behind his L’Oréal shampoo was a spare stash of condoms. Another thing that Justin had never understood, constantly using it as a punchline whenever he ran out of arguments. That had always made him laugh, and they’d end up kissing like teenagers and then tumbling into bed.

He let the condoms slip through his fingers, where they scattered onto the countertops. Maybe he didn’t need so many.  

Christ-- was he going to spend every morning like this? Not with a whole work day in front of him. Mr Hokashi, wanted to see his ideas for the pretzels account. Lindsay wanted him to take Gus for a walk. He needed to cash a cheque, buy a new suit, phone his accountant… Michael wanted to watch Jaws, and what day could be complete without Babylon?

5.0- AFTERGLOW

Justin lay sprawled on Ethan’s couch, clothed in a light sheen of sweat.

Never had he thought that sex would just become… sex. A great deal of thrashing around in bed, all for a good cause. The downstairs people had banged on the ceiling a couple of times, but he’d been too far gone, too desperate for a release to notice. That release hadn’t quite come, though he’d done his best to pretend the opposite.

He glanced around Ethan’s apartment, noting the dilapidated furniture and peeling walls. Their little slice of heaven, according to the glamorous version of their life. Two starving students struggling to convince the world of their genius, two starving students who would one day be telling fans how miserable, poor and idealistic they were back then.

But really? The problem with being a starving student was that it sounded better in story books. The reality was having another ulcer in his mouth thanks to a nutritious diet of ramen noodles, bitter chocolate and enough coffee to keep Colombian farmers in business until the Apocalypse. The reality was finishing an essay on the kitchen table at half-eight the morning it was due, missing the bus and having to walk in the rain, submit a bullshit excuse for lateness and struggle to catch up. The reality was desperately needed a new supplies, and stealing from college because otherwise, he’d have to choose between heating or drawing another picture of the miserable landscape.

Ethan thought it was romantic.

“What are you thinking about?”

Speak of the devil. Ethan appeared, also naked, and holding two mugs of something hot. Justin took his. Cocoa. A good idea.

“Oh…” He took a sip and winced. Too weak. “Just an upcoming assignment.”

“What about?” Ethan asked, straddling him. “I’m up to my ears in Brahm’s Violin Concerto’s.”

“Cézanne.”

“That the stuff with the distorted figures and shapes?”

He nodded, wishing Ethan would get off him. At the very least, he could pour this mug of hot water that merely tasted like cocoa down the sink and pour himself a glass of wine or something. As if he could afford such a habit, anyway.

“Yeah. That.”

“You don’t like landscapes?”

He’d no problem with landscapes. Brian had loathed them, even gone as far as to banish him from ever drawing them again. Cityscapes were allowed. Seascapes weren’t. Justin remembered calling him a totalitarian, uncultured twat, which only made them both laugh. Brian would tell him that he’d stick a 4B pencil up his ass and that he should spend more time drawing naked for viewing pleasure. They’d giggle and kiss, and then share a cigarette near the window whilst Justin showed him sketches of various cityscapes, mostly centred around The Loft. Everything was centred around the loft.

“Earth to Justin?”

“Sorry, I just-- Do you mind sitting down? I need to add some milk to this…”

Thankfully, Ethan complied without argument, freeing him to add more cocoa powder and milk to his drink. But even then, it didn’t taste any better.

And that particular thought, that adding new ingredients didn’t make a poor drink taste better, would haunt Justin all evening as he lay on the couch, staring up at the peeling walls.