Brian . . . .



Had Justin ever seen him like that before? Maybe that was how he’d been after the bashing. Justin wouldn’t know. Maybe Brian had lost his mind then, too. He knew Brian had hit Hobbs so hard with the bat that he’d fractured his kneecaps and ruined Hobbs’ football career with one bone-crushing blow. He knew Brian had called for help and cradled his seemingly lifeless body, smearing himself with blood. He knew Brian sat in the hospital for days, waiting for news. He knew Brian wore a blood-encrusted scarf under his clothes for weeks like a monk wears a hair shirt. He knew that sometimes Brian woke from nightmares, sweating and crying out Justin's name . . . he knew these things, but most of them he hadn’t actually experienced.



That night was different. The night of the bombing . . . that night Justin had been there – awake and aware.



Brian had been wild-eyed, his voice cracking with emotion. He’d not been the same man who makes masterful sales pitches to exacting clients, his delivery smooth and precise. He’d not been the same man who scanned Babylon’s dance floor like a haughty king surveying his realm. He’d not been the same man who fucks with complete control, complete confidence. He’d not been the same man who can flawlessly deliver a deadpan joke. Instead, he’d been a man so fierce and desperate that he’d been almost scary. He’d been a man ready to fight and die. If only he’d been able to find the enemy – be they gods or men – he would’ve torn them to shreds with his teeth . . .



It had been that Brian who’d grabbed Justin and pulled him close, his body shaking with surges of adrenaline. Yes, Justin had been scared. Shit, he’d almost died for a second time! There’d been wounded people everywhere screaming, maybe even dying. Of course, he’d been scared! But not like Brian. Brian had looked like a grim fate had finally caught up with him – like something that’d been haunting his nightmares for years was galloping toward him, jaws frothing, claws gleaming.



“You’re hurt,” he’d said in a voice Justin had barely recognized . . . and it’d been in that moment that he’d realized how much Brian loved him. How unthinkingly Brian would throw himself at danger just to protect him. Brian hadn’t been there when the bomb went off. Hell, he’d been on his way to the airport. He hadn’t had to turn around, to come back. And he sure as hell hadn’t had to run into a burning building on the verge of collapse.



There remained no doubt in his mind that Brian loved him, that Brian would do anything for him. Brian hadn’t needed to say the words; Justin already knew that Brian would brave hell to save him and hold him close.



So why is he standing here, coldly turning down Brian’s marriage proposal? Why is he pulling away from Brian’s embrace? Now – now when he knows how much Brian loves him – why is he turning his back and walking away?



Why???



Why? . . . . because this isn’t what he wants, that’s why. He doesn’t want to marry Brian. He’s not even sure he wants to get back together with Brian. He needs to think about it. He needs time to fucking think about how he feels and what he wants . . .



. . . and, most importantly, he wants Brian to think about what he wants. Here’s a man who could not loathe the idea of marriage more. Here’s a man who had endangered his longest, closest friendship for no other reason than to brutally mock his friend’s life choices. Here’s a man who let the supposed love of his life walk out the fucking door on the flimsy fear that he might want to get married someday. Might! Jesus Christ! There’s no way in hell that he’ll marry Brian. No. Way. In. Hell!



Brian will fail. If they get married, Brian will fail. Maybe not tomorrow or next week or even months from now, but eventually. Brian is queer. Brian’s whole idea about being “the best homosexual you can possibly be” entails rejecting everything that even smacks of heterosexuality. Marriage is hands-down the single most straight institution there is. Brian will fail at it. He may want it right now, but he doesn’t really want it. Why would Justin risk the inevitable pain? Why? It would be hands down the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his whole entire life!



“You don’t mean it.”



He sees Brian swallow and wonders how close he is to tears. If he is, would that be a surprise? Brian had probably slept at most a couple of hours and apparently what little sleep he’d had, had been marred by a nightmare. A vision of his own death. These are not circumstances under which one makes a proposal of marriage – of a lifelong commitment. Brian will get something to eat. Get some proper rest. Maybe even have a glass or two of Beam, and presto! All thoughts of marriage will vanish like the smoke from the bomb. And then they could talk. Really talk. Justin needs to know whether things will be different; whether Brian will shut the hell up about not wanting to be “a couple”; whether he’ll stay home once in awhile; whether he’ll act like a fucking boyfriend and not some glorified fuck buddy.



No no no no no . . . hell, no! he wants to say, but then he remembers . . .



I love you.



Maybe . . . just maybe they can talk about trying to live together again. Maybe. But Justin is sure as fuck not getting married. No fucking way.