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Everybody - sometimes even Justin himself - thinks they know all there is to know about Brian. They're wrong.    

They were all gathered at Deb's when Brian rose (slightly less gracefully than usual) from his favorite armchair and cleared his throat to get the assembled crowd's attention.

"Okay," he said. "As you all know, I'm not thrilled with all the baby-crap buying you've started to do, but apparently some of you *cough Deb cough* can't be deterred. So I'm revoking my ban, BUT there are still rules that must be obeyed. Here is the list of Things That Will Not Be Allowed In My Place Of Dwelling. To make things easier - and to insure you guys don't have an ‘opps, I forgot' moment, Justin has created a handout for you to keep in your purses and wallets so that it can be removed at the cash register and consulted. Justin has even provided you with some pretty hilarious little drawings to assist memorization. Non-compliance with this list WILL result in me shoving whatever unapproved shit you bought me up your ass and sending you back to the store where hopefully they'll give you a refund. If not, tough shit. Don't claim you weren't warned. So without further delay, here is the list:

Do not purchase - or even think about purchasing - any of the following items. I don't give a shit if it's ‘adorable,' you will waste your money and test my resolve not to slap you guys upside your heads.

Number One: Anything pink. Period. Deal with it. I don't care if the twins are girls and are born looking like Barbie. No pink.
Number Two: Anything in any shade of pastel . . ."

"Christ, Brian," Mel said. "Is your masculinity so fragile that you can't handle mint green?"

"Or lavender?" Emmett gasped. "You are a color fascist."

"Yup," Brian replied, "and proud of it. Okay, no more interruptions. This is a long list."

Everyone groaned. Fortunately, they'd eaten already, and Brian's list didn't stand between them and their baked ziti.

"Number Three: Anything involving puppies, kittens, lambs or anything with big, pleading eyes. I hate that. They make me feel guilty. I refuse to feel guilty in my own home for some unknown sin against all things cute and needy.
Number Four: Anything involving Disney or Pixar.
Number Five: Anything one might refer to as ‘cute,' ‘adorable' or ‘precious.'"

"Brian!" Deb screeched. "There's no such thing as baby stuff that isn't cute or adorable! Just being small makes everything cute and adorable! You're being fucking unreasonable!"

Brian merely shrugged. "Well, if it's going to be so hard to avoid ‘cute' and ‘adorable,' then I suggest you start shopping now."

"Oh for heaven's sake," Lindsay said. "Bri, Deb's right. All baby things, by their nature, are ‘cute' and ‘adorable.' What do you plan to do? Dress the twins in burlap sacks?"

Brian looked at Justin for back-up. Justin winced and shrugged. He'd thought the ‘cute and adorable' ban was Stalin-esque.

"I think you're going to have let that one go," he said.

Brian mumbled and groused, but in the end, he relented.

"Okay, okay," he said grumpily. "Just don't call anything ‘cute' or ‘adorable' in my presence. I suggest getting together ahead of time to get all the ‘ahhhhh, isn't that precious's out of your systems. Sunshine will probably join you. He's been dying to say the word ‘adorable' but risks losing access to my ass if he does . . ."

"You're bottoming?" Michael squeaked. "But, but, but . . ."

"Yes, ‘but, but, but' indeed," Emmett said. "What have you got against bottoming, especially considering the fact that you are one?"

"But it's Brian," Michael said. "Brian Kinney doesn't bottom."

"You're right," Ted said. "Clearly, Brian came in Justin's ass, and the resulting fertilized egg entered his dick and rolled into wherever it is right now."

"Ted!" Mel and Lindsay shrieked.

"I don't think fertilized eggs ‘roll,'" Emmett said. "I think they probably just float in the direction they're headed."

Michael looked like a wilting sunflower in September. His world was crumbling around him, and he clearly was at sea, floating further and further away from shore in the grasp of a merciless rip tide.

"Oh my God, Mikey," Brian said. "Will you put it in a pile so I can get on with the list?

Number Six: Anything with frills or bows or sparkles.
Number Seven: Anything with polka dots . . ."

"What's wrong with polka dots?" Deb asked.

"I just don't like them. They make me think of clowns. Clowns give me the creeps. End of story.

Number Eight: Anything crocheted. I mean it. No afghans.
Number Nine: Anything that makes a noise that's going to set my teeth on edge. Rattles and bells are okay, but I will strangle the person who buys anything that involves a human voice, sirens, giggles or the sound of ‘boing.' This includes CDs of inane kids' songs. The twins will be raised on club music."

Justin's mom sighed and left the room. Brian completely ignored her.

"What about show tunes?" Emmett asked despairingly.

"No show tunes or crooners."

"Number Ten: Anything featuring a straight couple."

"Duh, that's a no-brainer," Deb said.

"Number Eleven: Anything nylon, but leather is okay . . ."

"Oh, good lord," Mel said rolling her eyes. "Justin, what the hell? Where's your voice in all of this?"

Justin blushed and winced again. "He's the one carrying them. I was reminded of that many, many, many times."

"Alright, last one: Anything plastic. The twins are going to be raised without plastic shit. Wood, fine. Metal, fine . . ."

"Metal?" Deb screeched. "You're suggesting we buy something metal for a newborn?"

Brian shrugged. "I mean it about plastic. The only plastic shit I currently own are a couple of small appliances, my toothbrush and some sex toys. I prefer glass, especially when it comes to anal beads and sounding rods. You can buy the babies glass shit too. Just as long as it's not pink."

Justin watched as one-by-one, everyone rose from their chairs and headed for the door. Even Deb and Vic. It was a solemn, somber procession.

"I forgot to mention dolls!" Brian yelled after them. "No dolls! I hate them; they watch you and it makes my skin crawl! Or shit with peace signs on it! I'm not raising my kids to be fucking hippies!"

"You do realize," Justin said, "that they're headed for the diner where they will proceed to bitch about you on a level never before seen."

Brian shrugged. It was his new favorite gesture - well, that and his patented arched eyebrow.

"Like I told them" he said. "They better start shopping now."

"You do realize that we can't avoid plastic entirely. The car seats will be plastic. And probably their highchairs, changing table and stroller."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Brian said. "Now go make yourself useful and see if there's any ziti left. Bonnie and Clyde are still hungry."

 

Brian had announced his draconian edicts on a Sunday, but everyone was still outraged on Thursday night when Justin walked into the diner for his red-eye shift.

"Honestly, Sunshine," Deb said. "Can't you talk to him? Plead our case? He's being even more unreasonable than usual. I've already bought onesies with the Powerpuff Girls on them - I remember you like them so much - but they violate at least two of Brian's rules."

"Let's see," Ted said, consulting the handout. "That would be Rule 2 which prohibits pastel colors and Rule 3 which prohibits things with big eyes."

"And comes close to violating the No Dolls rule," Daphne interjected. Justin looked at her. What the hell was she doing there?

"Daph. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Commiserating," she replied.

"Making subversive plans," Ted added.

"Looking for loopholes," Mel contributed in her legalese.

"Placing bets as to whether or not Brian'll stop being a fucking prick after he meets the babies," Deb said angrily, snapping her gum.

"Discussing what exactly Brian meant when he banned ‘pastels,'" Emmett chimed in. "In my - and Mel's - professional opinions, it's a very loose term subject to numerous, and sometimes contradictory, interpretations."

"Trying to find anything I'd want to give the babies without provoking Brian in his vulnerable state," Lindsay said. "Don't forget, everyone: Brian's under a lot of stress."

"Debating whether Captain Astro onesies are suitable for girls if that's what the twins end up being," Michael said with a shudder. "What if Brian has girls growing inside him as we speak?"

Deb smacked his head.

"MA! What was that for!?"

"For being a male chauvinist pig!" she screeched. "Why are gay men so fucking sexist?"

"We're not sexist," Ted said. "We just think that girls are gross, weak and generally inferior. I don't know about you guys, but all I really needed to know, I learned in kindergarten."

"Oh, I love that book!" Deb said. "And it's so true."

Ted looked around. "Damn it," he said. "Where is Bri when I need him? My jokes are going unsmirked at."

"Don't worry," Justin said. "I caught them. They just weren't that funny."

"Mawr!" Emmett said making his fingers into claws. "A bit testy these days? I don't suppose it's because you're trapped in an enclosed space with a pregnant man who happens to be Brian Kinney."

"Nah," said Ted shaking his head. "Couldn't possibly be that."

"Alright, enough jawing," Deb said. "Let's get back to brass tacks."

"I think it's ‘down to brass tacks,'" Michael said, only to receive another smack on the head.

"Don't correct your mother," Deb replied to his shrieked "MA!" "Anyone want some lemon bars?"

"You guys," Justin said, his voice grave and serious. "Brian is particularly adamant about the cute baby animals with big eyes. He breaks out in hives if we're watching T.V. and there's an ad for My Little Pony." He grabbed a picture that Daphne had brought and went behind the counter to get a red marker. "Here's a visual," he said and drew a circle around the offending cuteness and bisected it with a diagonal line.

"He must've brought home a trick who turned out to be a Furry," Emmett said with a solemn nod. "That could scar even the toppiest top."

"What the hell is a ‘Furry," Deb asked. "A guy who needs laser hair removal for his ass?" She cackled.

"No," Ted said with a shudder "It's much much worse than that. Furries are people who like to dress up in animal costumes to have sex . . ."

"Kinky," Deb said.

"Oh, it gets even worse than that," Emmett said. "Some are even ‘Baby Furries,' which means they dress up as baby animals and wear diapers."

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Deb screeched. "No wonder Brian was scarred! Poor kid! Alright, we got it, Sunshine. No baby animals with big eyes wearing diapers."

"You don't even have to add the ‘diapers' part," he said. "If it's an animal and it has big, innocent-looking eyes, put it back on the shelf and walk away."

"But what about this ‘no plastic' business?" Emmett said with a pout. "There goes every single Barbie product including ‘Barbie's Glamor Camper,' and I was so looking forward to getting one.'"

"What the fuck is a ‘glamor camper'?" Mel asked.

Ted shuddered. "I'm sure we don't want to know. Moving on . . . What about a baby blanket made out of unbleached, organic cotton featuring orange giraffes with normal sized eyes?"

Justin quickly went over The Rules in his head.

"Actually," he said. "I think that might pass muster."

"Good job, Teddie," Emmett said, high-fiving him.

"What about monkeys?" Lindsay asked.

Justin froze. He hated monkeys, but he felt bad about adding yet another banned item to the list.

"Yeah, I guess monkeys would be okay," he said reluctantly. "But just so long as they aren't pastel colored and/or have big eyes. You guys, I really can't emphasize the big-eye thing enough."

"God, this is ridiculous," Mel said. "Brian is such a fucking princess . . ."

"Oh that's right!" Justin interrupted. "You just reminded me. I'm supposed to tell you all that princesses and fairies have been added to the list of prohibited images, although, surprisingly, unicorns are okay as are gnomes. NO Smurfs."

"Gnomes!" Emmett shrieked. "Gnomes are scary and lack sartorial imagination - it's always red hats and blue tunics and Renaissance Faire belts with big buckles! I cannot believe Brian is okay with gnomes! Also they garden, which means they have dirt under their fingernails. My bet is Brian has never had dirt under his fingernails in his entire life! The man is ready to fist a trick at the drop of his hat . . . or his pants, I should say. Are you sure he even knows what gnomes are? You should find out. Google them and show him a picture. They're much much worse than Barbie's Dream House!"

Everyone cracked up except Emmett who announced that he didn't see why people were laughing; he was being "dead serious" about the gnomes.

"On that note," Deb said. "Let's adjourn this meeting for the time being; Sunshine and I have orders to take and cash registers to run."

Everyone said good-bye to Justin on their way out, and all of them except Mel patted him on the shoulder in consolation. Mel just rolled her eyes.

"I hope he has girls," she said. "And I hope one is a lesbian and the other's a bimbo who wants breast implants at the age of ten." She smiled and winked at him.

"Why, thank you," Justin said with an answering smile. "I'll make sure I pass along your sentiments."

"Oh, please do," Mel said. "‘Night, sweetie."

 

When Justin returned to the loft just before midnight, he caught Brian sitting at his desk, scribbling away on one of Justin's smaller sketch pads. He was so intent on his task that he didn't notice Justin's presence, and when Justin said hello, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"DON'T DO THAT!" he yelled and scrambled to hide whatever it was he'd been writing. "Jesus fucking Christ! Are you trying to give me a heart attack or do you just not care either way?"

Justin winced and gave him a guilty smile. "I'm sorry," he said, "but, c'mon, that door is loud enough to wake the dead. It's virtually impossible to sneak up on someone here."

Brian brooded and grumbled, but brightened when he saw that Justin had brought him a lemon bar. He stuffed almost all of it in his mouth and started chewing in a very uncouth manner.

"Jesus," he said, spewing crumbs everywhere. "I hate these fucking things, but apparently Huckleberry Hound and Yogi Bear like them, so what can I do?" He swallowed and licked his fingers clean. Justin would've found it disgusting if it didn't make him so horny. "Now where's some pickle juice to wash it down with?"

Justin stared at him. "You're kidding, right?" he said.

Brian grinned at him. "You'll never know. How was the diner? Were the usual suspects there?"

"Yes, and then some. Daphne and Ben and the girls were there too."

Brian chuckled an evil-overlord chuckle. "So, they think that through numbers they can break my will? Tell ‘em to bring it on."

"Em's pretty freaked about the whole gnome thing," Justin said. "He said they have dirt under their fingernails."

Brian froze, and the smile slipped off his face. "Dirt?" he said. "Under their fingernails? Cross them off the list immediately. Jesus, if I'd known that, they would've been banned from the start. Ugh! Thank God for Honeycutt." He shivered. "Did you know that there is more nasty-ass shit hanging out under your fingernails than anywhere else on the human body? That's why I always keep mine as short as possible, and I'm always trying to get people to wash their fucking hands at Woody's and Babylon - usually to no avail. Fucking Neanderthals. Forget anal sex; straight men should wonder what's hiding out under their girlfriends' two-inch fake nails." He shuddered again. "They're sick, sick sick people, who engage in deviant, unhygienic practices. I don't want them to ever come near the twins."

Justin laughed. "You do realize that it's more than likely that the twins will be straight themselves."

Brian waved him away as if he'd just spoken utter, unfounded gibberish. "I don't want to discuss it. Go take a shower so you don't smell like French fries and maybe I'll let you blow me before I topple over from exhaustion."

Justin grinned at him and bent down to kiss him nice and sloppily. Brian moaned into it, but when Justin pulled away, he scrunched up his face and feigned disgust.

"You taste like a deep fryer, and not in a good way," he said, waving his hand in a shooing manner.

Justin laughed light-heartedly as he bounded up the stairs, pulling off his t-shirt and shucking off his pants on the way. He was just about to get in the shower when he realized they were out of soap. Brian had bought some, but it was still in the bag on the kitchen island. Justin was just about to run down and grab it, when he noticed Brian . . .

. . . he was writing intently on the pad again, and while Justin watched, he pulled the page free, folded it and stuffed it in the desk drawer. When he stood up and stretched, Justin tip-toed back to the bathroom.

"Hey," he yelled. "Bring the soap up!"

He checked the water temperature and got in the shower. What was Brian writing? Generally speaking, Brian didn't write stuff. He even typed grocery and to-do lists. It was weird that he was writing, and it was even weirder that he was obviously trying to hide whatever it was he'd written. Justin wanted to ask him about it, but something told him Brian would not welcome the conversation.

Suddenly he felt Brian wrap his arms around him and pull him back against his chest. The baby bump was currently large enough that it stuck out exactly as far as Brian's erect cock. They hadn't discussed the situation or any ramifications it might have, but they both knew Brian wasn't going to be doing any more topping for the foreseeable future. Justin wondered whether that freaked Brian out, but he, himself, didn't need to talk about it. If Brian did, then he'd let Brian bring it up. So far Brian hadn't, and he didn't seem to be particularly distressed about it. It was just one of the many ways that Brian was taking his pregnancy in-stride. It was really quite amazing when Justin stopped to consider all the ways Brian was surrendering his pride for the sake of the babies. God, what had he been thinking when he'd thought Brian was going to be a shitty father?! The babies hadn't even been in the world for six months, but Brian had already done more for them than both his and Brian's fathers had done for the two of them during their entire childhoods!

Which wasn't to say that things were smooth sailing. They'd had a real scare earlier in the week when Brian fainted after cutting himself chopping vegetables. The cut was shallow, but it bled a lot. One moment Brian was swearing loudly and washing his finger in the sink, and the next, he slumped to the floor unconscious. Justin had called Dr. Bernstein, and rather than having Justin call 911, he came to the loft himself. By then Brian was awake and sitting on a barstool. He was not happy to see the good doctor and later reamed Justin out for calling him. Justin didn't give a shit. There was no way that Brian was going to faint, and he, Justin, was going to sit around twiddling his thumbs. He'd never seen Brian faint before, and Brian claimed that he never had, so obviously it was related to the pregnancy in some way or another.

Dr. Bernstein did as much of an evaluation as he could with the instruments he'd brought. The babies' heartbeats were fine, and they'd started their normal nightly tango, but Brian's own heartbeat was irregular, a problem Brian claimed he'd never experienced before (which Dr. Bernstein said he highly doubted given how intoxicated Brian used to get - he said that Brian just hadn't noticed it). Dr. Bernstein didn't seem too alarmed; he said that heart palpitations are not uncommon during pregnancy, but then Brian reminded him that this wasn't just a normal, run-of-the-mill pregnancy. Dr. Bernstein told Brian to go to bed and then come to the clinic in the morning. But then later that same night, when Brian got up to use the bathroom, he fainted again. This time Justin did call 911. Fortunately the ER doctor was among the doctors who'd treated Brian before, so there was no need to explain the pregnancy business. Dr. Bernstein showed up looking contrite and admitted to Justin that perhaps he'd made the wrong call. He was obviously upset, but Justin had not felt in a forgiving mood and walked away.

In the end, nobody could figure out what'd happened and why, which did not make Brian and Justin happy. The only thing they were told was to come to the hospital if Brian fainted again. Nobody was saying the words "cardiac arrest," but Justin thought he could hear them behind every bit of advice as though someone was whispering them in his ear. On the way home in the cab, neither of them said anything, but when Justin took Brian's hand, Brian squeezed it so hard it felt like he might break Justin's fingers. He was terrified, and it hurt so much not to be able to comfort him without resorting to platitudes, which Brian hated. If all you can say is platitudes, he always said, then shut the fuck up. All Justin could do that night was hold Brian until he fell into an exhausted sleep.

The thing they did discuss - and at length - was whether to tell anyone. In the end they both agreed that they wouldn't. More fussing and hovering was not going to help.

Brian hadn't had heart palpitations since, but it had scared the shit out of them.

"Stop thinking," Brian whispered in his ear as he shampooed Justin's hair. "Thinking is not conducive to giving me the best orgasm you possibly can." Justin smiled and turned so he could kiss Brain's mouth, suds be damned.

Justin put everything he had into sucking Brian's cock, starting slowly and lovingly, worshipping every perfect inch, and then gradually increasing speed and pressure until Brian tangled his fingers in Justin's hair, arched his back, and came with a deep, satisfied grunt. Five minutes later, he was dead to the world, wheezing and snoring, both hands resting on his belly.

But Justin didn't feel tired, and the longer he lay there, the more he worried until he felt like he was going to scream. Finally, he accepted he was not going to fall asleep and went down to the kitchen to eat their left-over curry. He was staring ahead and chewing morosely when suddenly he remembered catching Brian writing and the way Brian had blushed and hid whatever it'd been in the desk drawer.

Justin knew he shouldn't do it, and he even knew he might not want to, but he was curious and a little afraid. He had to know what Brian had been writing. Was it a will? A letter to his mother? He went to the desk, eased open the drawer and looked around for a folded piece of paper, but he didn't find just one - he found three. His hands were shaking as he unfolded one and started to read. They were letters. The first was dated the day after Brian had fainted:

Hi its simple greeting read. I'd say ‘dear so-and-so and so-and-so' but you don't have names yet. I've come up with some, but I'll have to run them by daddy first. Also, I don't even know if you're boys or girls or a boy and a girl. I suppose I could come up with ‘genderless names' but screw that. If you're boys, you're going to have boys' names, and if you're girls, you're going to have girls' names. I don't see the point of being all wishy-washy about it. Anyway, for now I shall christen thee Blobs One and Two because that's what you look like right now. Don't take it the wrong way - you may be blobs on a screen right now, but you're my babies and you always will be. Always. Even though, I'm not there with you, I'm still hanging out in your world. Heck, someone has to make sure you're not doing anything worse than I did at your age, and your daddy's probably got a lot on his plate with his Big Awesome Career as a Big Awesome Animator or whatever he eventually set his mind on. It's hard for me to predict right now because your daddy's a kid himself. He's only nineteen. When you guys are nineteen, you'll realize just how young that is.

I'm writing this letter today because something scary happened to me last night, and it made me realize that I might not be around to see you when you make your grand debut in the world. I thought it'd be pretty lame if you didn't have something from me, hence these letters, which I promise won't be sappy. I don't do sappy, and I have a feeling you guys don't either . . . well, maybe you are a little bit sappy, after all your daddy is. But his being sappy isn't a problem; it's my inability to be sappy that is. So, if you're sappy than I'm happy. How's that for a rhyme. I bet you didn't know your dad was a poet as well as a brilliant ad exec. Anyway, this letter has no point. I'm just kind of thinking in ink. I wouldn't expect these letters to make much sense, so don't go looking for any Golden Nuggets Of Wisdom, ‘coz you're not going to find any. Alright kiddos, I have to get back to work, so I'm signing off until tomorrow.

Your pathetic but adoring Dad

Justin was walking around as he read the letter; when he'd finished, he sat down on the couch. He felt strange - like an older version of himself - maybe even as old as Brian was currently - thinking back on the long ago time when his sons or daughters were nothing but beautiful blobs. Blobs One and Two doing the tango in Brian's belly. Justin closed his eyes and listened to Brian wheezing and snoring in the bedroom. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard or would again. He held the letter against his chest as it slowly sank in - the knowledge that Brian was aware he might die . . . or even believed he probably would. Justin wanted to cry, but how do you cry over something that hasn't happened yet and never might. And how do you cry when you're standing in the presence of something as awesome as unconditional love?

He swallowed and opened the second letter with shaking hands.

Hi there, my dearest blobs. Today I'm going to tell you about Annoying Things and how to deal with them. I've chosen this topic because many things have annoyed the poo out of me over the course of the day. It started first thing this morning when I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet. Yes, I know you're laughing - yucking it up at your old man's expense. I don't blame you; I would be too. After the toothbrush incident, I realized that the plates and silverware on and with which I'd eaten my breakfast were dirty because your daddy forgot to turn on the dishwasher. As your daddy will surely tell you, I'm (perhaps ironically) a bit of a germaphobe. I'm sure I get it from your "grandmother" Joan. (I don't need to explain the quotation marks; I'm certain daddy has told you why your real grannie is Deb even though she didn't give birth to me. In fact, I hope you've never even had the displeasure of meeting my birth mother. She's a real piece of work). Anyway, back to the Annoying Things That Happened To Your Loving Father Today: My drive to work is relatively short and painless, but not this morning. This morning two a-holes had crashed into each other at a busy intersection causing me to sit in my car for almost an hour, and to make matters worse, one or both of you were sitting on my bladder, and I had to pee like a stallion. Thank God I had an empty Gatorade bottle lying around. Don't tell your daddy that wasn't Lemon-Lime Thirst Quencher. Ha ha! Just joking. See what you missed? Someone who'd appreciate (and maybe even one-up) your potty mouths. So, let's see . . . what happened next? Oh, yes, the office network was down. Now you probably live in a world where people attach wires to each other's giant foreheads with suction-cups and read each other's minds, but back in the ol' days, we had computers, which would periodically break down requiring socially-inept people known as "I.T. Personnel" to emerge squinting from their super-secret lair in the basement and putter around at your personal desk for hours, playing with your do-hicky-thingies like the stress-squeezy thing that looks like a man in a business suit, but when you squeeze it, his eyes bug out in a highly comical fashion. (That one's my favorite; I like to pretend it's my boss.) Finally, our network got up and running again, but then I realized the I.T. guy had erased some critical files, so I had to call him back. By the time everything got sorted out, it was time for me to go home where I found that the elevator was broken, and I had to haul my pregnant bum up four flights of stairs. Then I walk in the door to find your daddy listening to one of his God-forsakingly-awful CDs while cooking CHICKEN! I'm pretty sure I told him loud and clear last week that chicken makes me want to BARF! Did he listen? No, my dear blobs, he did not. The good news though is that we went to the diner, which serves breakfast 24-7, and I got to eat THREE waffles. So, that sums up my day. Lots of annoying things. Annoying things will happen - and probably already have - in your life. Here's how to deal with them. Work out, eat ice cream, make really bad puns, and use your middle finger frequently and with flair. Now don't claim your ol' man never taught you anything useful.

Sleep tight, my little blobs.

Only when he finished the second letter did Justin realize tears were running down his cheeks - not sad tears, but grateful tears. He was so grateful he'd found the letters and read them. What if he hadn't? He'd never know the things about Brian that he did now. He wouldn't give up that knowledge for anything. It was his now, just as it would be their children's - even if Brian wasn't around to make it all more than just ink and paper. When he woke up that morning, Justin had known one Brian. When he'd go to sleep, it would be beside a new Brian. A Brian he was just now learning about, and who he almost didn't know . . .

He almost didn't read the third letter, the one he'd interrupted when he came in and startled Brian. It just seemed so now and real. He was actually worried he'd learn too much about Brian and realize that he couldn't live without Brian if he and the "blobs" lost him. It scared the fucking shit out of him because he'd have no choice: he would have to live without Brian because their children needed him to stay with them, to stay in a world without Brian in it. Would he be strong enough? Did it even matter? You can't ask if you're strong enough to do something that you have to do. You have to just do it and hope for the best. That's all you can do. Nothing more, nothing less.

Justin wiped away his tears and unfolded the final, the most recent, letter.

 

Bonjour, my darling blobs. Today is Thursday, and I am sitting here waiting for your daddy to come back from his job at the diner. It's very quiet. I look around my home and wonder where you guys are now. I'm sure you're not here - I can't imagine a worse place for a family. Are you still in Pittsburgh? Are you even in Pennsylvania? The United States? Maybe you're in Paris (hence my greeting). I wish I could know right now, but a lot's going to happen between now and when you read these letters, and most of it will happen because of your daddy. Do you have a stepdad? Do you have stepbrothers and/or sisters? How about a pet? Your daddy will say I didn't like pets. He's mostly right, but I'll tell you guys a secret: I've always wanted a tarantula. It's true. Ever since I was a kid like you guys. I'd name him "Harry" because he's hairy, get it? Haha! I thought so; you're smart little blobs. Sure a tarantula can't play fetch, but it can crawl up your arm and into your hair. Neat, huh? But back to you guys. Do you play sports? Do you like school? Do you talk to each other in weird twin-talk? I hope so, ‘coz that sounds really cool. I wonder what it would've been like to have a twin. It's funny, you're my blobs, but you're also each other's. No one will ever be as important to you guys as you are to each other. You'll never be alone. Wow! I can't even imagine what that would be like! I was alone as a kid. It was hard sometimes, and sometimes I wished I had a twin. When I got a little older, I wasn't so alone anymore because I met your Grannie Deb and Uncle Mikey, who was kind of like a twin in a way. Then everything got even better. I met your Aunt Lindsay and we made your half-brother Gus. I met your Uncle Theodore and your Auntie Em . . . and then I met daddy, and that's how you guys came to be. Have people told you yet that you're miracles? It's true. I still sometimes can't believe you're here with me right now doing the tango on my gallbladder. Daddy will tell you it was a little scary, but I was more excited than scared. I couldn't wait to meet you! I hope I got to see you and hold you. Of course, I can't know right now, but I'm going to just pretend that I do. I wish so much that I knew right now that there are two of you. If there isn't, if there's only one of you, well, I want you to know that you have both a dad and a sibling watching over you and loving you every minute of every day. You're not alone - you never were, and you never will be. We're right here with you . . . . .

Brian hadn't been able to finish. Would he in the morning? Or would he decide that maybe this particular letter should remain unfinished - and maybe even unopened . . .

Justin stood up and tiptoed to the desk. He opened the drawer and carefully, as though they were made of fragile parchment, put the letters back inside. Then he closed the drawer and stood listening to the father of his children sleeping. Fuck it. Brian might be pissed, but Justin had to wake him up. He had to hold Brian and kiss him, every fucking inch of him, over and over. He had to run his fingers through Brian's hair and look in his eyes and taste his mouth. He had to hold Brian's hands and whisper "I love you" against his open palms.

As Justin had predicted, Brian grumbled, but as Justin kissed him and touched him, he slowly unfurled like a warm, sleepy flower. "God, I love you, Brian," Justin said. "I fucking love you." Brian smiled lazily.

"I love you, too," he said, softly cupping Justin's cheek and looking deep into Justin's eyes. "But don't you dare read one more fucking letter. They're not for you."

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