The One Where Daphne Comes to Visit
by: LaVieEnRose

I saw Brian first, standing at baggage claim, that smarmy half-smile on his face, holding a sign over his head like that guy in Say Anything: “The Inimitable Daphne Chanders.” He winked at me, and the crowd thinned out a lot when I got closer and then there he was, my best friend who I hadn't seen in ten months. He grabbed me around the waist and lifted me a few inches off the ground, and Brian rolled his eyes and kissed me on the cheek.

“I'm so psyched you're here,” Justin said to me. It was the first time I'd heard his voice in ten months, too. Mostly we'd just IMed and sent emails, and when we Skyped we used it as an excuse to practice my signing, which is “coming along” to quote Justin, or “she's going to talk to you how exactly?” to quote Brian.

As if me and Justin ever needed words.

Brian took my suitcase from me despite my protests and Justin chattered away on our way to the car about everything we were going to do on our trip. This was only phase one; I was visiting Pittsburgh for a few days, to see Brian and my parents and some friends, and then I was bringing Justin back up to New York with me to introduce him to my friends there and so he could see the art show opening of someone he knew from his school. “And blow, like, as many New Yorkers as possible,” he'd said in his last email. “Brian wants a book report.”

We invited Brian to New York with us, of course, but he'd told us he had this enormous thing coming up at work. I kind of thought he was just making an excuse, but he explained it on the way to their place from the airport. “Pittsburgh is hosting this major ad conference for the first time in fifteen years,” he said. “So there are going to be accounts here that otherwise would never even look twice at an agency that's not in New York, or LA...this is our only shot with them. I've been preparing all these presentations...if you were anyone else I'd apologize for the state of the loft, but I've seen that shithole you and Justin used to live in.”

“Also you never apologize to anyone,” Justin said. He reached for the radio knob and Brian knocked his hand away. “You're such a dick! I can't hear it.”

“Yeah, if it were loud enough for you to hear, Daphne and I would both lose our hearing, and spare me that offshoot of our adventure.” They were in the front seat, and I watched, fascinated, at how they signed at each other even though Brian was driving and they couldn't fully look at each other. Justin had told me over the past few months how much Brian's signing had improved, how he'd finally started coming to hang out with Justin and his Deaf friends, and God, it was so cool to watch. Last time I saw Justin was right after he'd lost his hearing fully, and they were both so unsure and unsteady then and I cried on the way back to New York because I was so scared they were going to break up and Justin was going to be all alone and silent and...stuck. It was hard to believe I'd ever thought any of that now.

“Please,” Justin said. “You know you're jealous that I don't have to hear Emmett sing karaoke, or that weird whimper Michael does when Ben kisses him, or that super annoying sound your juicer makes...”

“Eh,” Brian said.

Justin snapped his fingers and pointed at Brian. “The garbage trucks outside the loft at 5 AM. Beep...beep...beep...”

Brian thought about it, then reached for the volume knob and cranked it as loud as it would go, and even over the music I could hear Justin laughing.

The loft was totally a mess, as predicted. Poster board and photos and files spread out all over the table, and the counter, and Brian's desk. “The one week it's my shit everywhere and not Justin's...” he grouched, clearing everything off the couch.

“I didn't know this was such a bad time,” I said. “I can always stay at my parents'.”

He held up his hand. “You are welcome here any time, you know that.” He paused. “I do think we should probably kick out Justin, though. It's time.”

“I can read lips, you know,” Justin said as he set up the pillows, as if Brian totally wasn't signing it all anyway.

“Oh, you can? Then how come I had to interpret Michael's ENTIRE unbelievably boring story about restocking fucking Wonder Woman or whatever the hell that was?”

“To piss you off. I didn't even watch what you were signing.”

“Seriously,” Brian said to me. “We're kicking him out.”

“I didn't think you would object to the free practice,” Justin said. “All the better to impress Gregory, right?”

Brian grinned.

I looked back and forth between the two of them. “Gregory?” I said. “Like, Justin's friend Gregory?”

Justin looked at Brian.

“Face Justin,” Brian said to me. “I can hear you.”

“Right, sorry.” I turned to Justin, who smiled gratefully when I signed Your friend?

“The very same,” Justin said. “Brian has somehow decided—”

“I'm going to fuck Gregory!” Brian announced, arms spread wide while he signed.

“I don't know why he thinks this is going to happen,” Justin said. “He got it into his head one day and there's been no talking him out of it.”

“Yeah, well, I stood next to him at the urinal one day, that's what happened,” Brian said.

Justin rolled his eyes at me. “Gregory will not fuck you.”

“Famous last words,” Brian said. “Daph, can I make you a drink?”

“Oh, sure, anything with whiskey.” I sat with Justin on the couch. “Why won't it happen? Who wouldn't sleep with Brian?”

“I've missed you,” Brian said, from over by his little liquor cart. A liquor cart! In New York I'm lucky to have a beer left in the fridge after my roommates are done picking through it.

“Gregory has a boyfriend,” Justin said.

“So do I,” Brian said, in this voice like it was a great tragedy.

“They're not open,” Justin said.

Brian scoffed. “We're queers. They're open.”

Justin squawked—this totally natural, unfiltered noise, and I swear I've never seen Brian smile like that. He got it under control quickly, but you could tell he was just so fucking charmed—and said, “You know if you don't want people to call you old, maybe you shouldn't spout gay cliches from 1983.”

Brian came over with two glasses and handed one to me and one to Justin, then settled on the couch between us. “Regardless,” he said, pointedly talking to me and not Justin, though he still signed. “They're on the rocks. The boyfriend's a hearie. It'll never work.”

“You are unbelievable,” Justin said.

Brian leaned over and kissed him. “I've heard that.”

I went out to lunch with my mom and dinner with some girlfriends and got back to the loft around nine. Justin was wearing a black tank top with buckles on the shoulders, and he shoved me towards my suitcase. “Get dressed!” he said. “We're going out.”

“Where's Brian?”

“Doing shit at the office. He was supposed to be back by now, though.”

He got back while I was halfway through my makeup. He loosened his tie and looked exhaustedly at Justin while Justin jumped all over him like a puppy. He signed something and Justin said, “Talk too, Daphne's back,” which was so fucking sweet of him. What happened to that asshole high schooler who used to be my best friend?

Brian said, “I asked him if he got into my speed again. I swear, I have to lock up the drugs like there's a fucking five year old in the house...”

“What are you doing now?” Justin asked.

“I have to work on the Bramson presentation.”

Justin whined. “What have you been doing all day?”

“Working on the Abrams presentation, and the Giglio Stemware, and the—”

“I'm taking Daphne to Babylon,” Justin said.

Brian groaned. “Fuuuuck, without me?”

“No. You're coming.”

“Justin, I can't. Goddamn it! The one fucking night I can't...” He stomped off into the bedroom.

“Okay!” Justin called after him. “If you can't, you can't! We totally understand!” He winked at me and signed He's totally coming.

He said he can't!

Wait.

I finished my eyeliner and listened to Brian banging stuff around in the bedroom and have some weird muttered argument with nobody. Justin waited serenely.

Finally, Brian stuck his head out. He pointed at Justin and said, “One hour. I'm serious.”

Justin shrugged.

Two hours later, Brian and Justin were still dancing, and I was taking a brief rest at the bar with their friend Emmett, who totally needed to move to New York, like, yesterday. “You have gotten so city chic since I last saw you!” he told me. “So remind me what you're doing up there in that big ol' apple?”

“Med school,” I said.

“Well no shit.”

“But I'm on break right now.”

“What are you gonna do once you're a doctor?” Emmett says. “Cure Justin?”

“Justin's not broken,” I said.

Emmett smiled out at the dance floor. “No, I guess he's not.”

He and Brian came over at the end of the next song, and Brian ordered a bottle of water and handed it to Justin before he kissed me on the cheek. “I really fucking have to go,” he said. “This fucking presentation...”

“It's fine!” I hugged him. “I'm glad you got to come out for a while.”

“You three have fun,” he said, and he pulled Justin in for a kiss. They signed to each other quickly, way too fast for me to follow, and then kinda slapped at each other for a little before Brian left, pressing some sign into Justin's palm right before he left. What was that? I asked Justin, but he just shook his head and smiled and pulled me and Emmett back out to the dance floor.

A while later, this big guy, as tall as Emmett but way more muscley, came over and started dancing really close to us. I'm so used to straight clubs that I felt totally threatened at first, but no, he was, much to Emmett's dismay, entirely there for Justin. I didn't think he really looked much like Justin's type, since Justin's type is usually...Brian, but Justin danced with him for a little while and eventually gave me a little wave and let this guy lead him to the back room, where Justin told me years ago my tourist visa did not extend to.

Emmett rolled his eyes on my behalf. “He's just getting his dick sucked,” he yelled over the music. “He'll be back soon.”

“How do you know that's all he's doing?”

“It's all he ever does, unless he's fucking them,” Emmett said. “And that big fella is not gonna let Justin fuck him, trust me.”

So Emmett and I just kept dancing. But a couple minutes later, some guy came weaving through the crowd and straight over to us. Emmett started to greet him with an enthusiastic “Hey, Todd!” but the guy grabbed him and said something in his ear, and right there Emmett just...stopped, like he became this totally different person. Serious. Scary.

“Stay here,” he said to me, and he and Todd were gone, charging back towards the back room. A minute later, he was back, his fingers tightly around Justin's shoulder, and he grabbed me without letting go of Justin and pulled us both outside.

“What's wrong?” I said. “What happened?”

We barely made it outside the club before Justin threw up, and I realized his nose was bleeding.

“Holy shit, Justin,” I said, even though he wasn't looking at me. “What the fuck happened?”

And then I saw that Emmett's knuckles were bleeding, too.

And Justin's neck was covered in angry red marks. Shaped like fingers.

**

Emmett offered to come up to the loft with us, but I turned him down, as nervous as I was about bringing Justin home like this on my own. I figured the less of an audience Brian had when he found out what happened, the better it would ultimately be for everyone. I know that when anyone catches Brian worrying about Justin he tends to freak out and overcompensate, which pretty much means the treats Justin like shit for a while, and...well. I wasn't really in the mood for that.

He looked up from his desk when we got back into the loft, and whatever he was about to say died on his lips when he saw Justin's face. “What the fuck,” he said. “You're bleeding.”

“I'm okay,” Justin said. “Don't freak out, okay?”

“I'm not freaking out,” Brian said, and it was true, he wasn't, not yet. “What happened, did someone run into you?” He got him a paper towel for his nose and studied his face. “Jesus, you're going to have a black eye.”

“Yeah.”

“Sunshine, what the fuck happened? Did you get in a fight or something?” He looked concerned but still not remotely panicked, and then he saw the marks around Justin's neck and everything in his face changed.

Justin looked away.

“What the fuck,” Brian started saying. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck is that?” He was picking up Justin's arms, pulling down the neck of his shirt, looking at every inch of him.

“I'm okay,” Justin said.

Brian let him go so he could sign. “Tell me what happened.”

“Can we do this tomorrow?”

“Now.”

“I just want to take a shower—”

“JUSTIN,” he yelled, and from the way Justin flinched I knew he must have heard that. Tell me, he said. Now.

Justin ran his hand down his face, and when he spoke it was a little too quiet. “This guy took me to the back. I guess he...he must have said something, he must have thought I agreed to...but it's not like even if I had agreed I wouldn't have gotten to change my mind if I wanted to, there's not some binding contract—”

Brian was totally coming apart now, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“He thought he was going to fuck me, I...informed him he was mistaken.” Justin does this thing when he's really scared, where he talks about it like it's almost boring, like it's nothing. “He didn't like that.”

“Who was this?” Brian kept pacing, signing without looking at us. “Who did this?”

“I don't know, c'mon. You think I looked at his driver's license?”

“You said no, and then...” Brian forced himself to a stop, his eyes closed, and then turned to Justin and signed something.

No, Justin signed back.

“You promise me,” Brian said.

“I promise.”

“You would tell me,” Brian said, almost like he was reassuring himself.

“Brian, of course.”

Brian cupped Justin's jaw, too roughly. “And then, what, he hit you?”

Justin nodded, winced.

Brian touched his neck. “And he fucking—”

“I just want to take a shower,” Justin said. “Please.”

“Your voice is hoarse.”

“I'm okay.”

“No, we should go to the hospital, we—”

“Brian.”

“Fuck.” Brian looked at me, his eyes begging for help. “I don't...” I don't know what to do.

“Go with him,” I said. “Go take a shower.”

Brian took a deep breath and nodded, and he kept his hand hovered behind Justin's back on the way to the bathroom, not touching him, like he was scared to.

They went, and I changed into pajamas and tried to calm down. Justin went straight to bed after, but Brian came back into the living room and started up the pacing again. Every once in a while he would start towards the front door, like he was about to charge over to Babylon, and then he'd glance at me, or back towards the bedroom, and just start pacing again, his knuckle in his mouth.

“He's okay,” I said, gently.

“The guy fucking choked him,” Brian said, his voice stretched to nothing.

“I know.”

“He could have...”

“I know.”

“This goddamn shit, he takes risks, he shouldn't...he never should have fucking gone to the back room by himself! Would that have been so fucking hard, to just do the smart thing for once in his fucking...thinks he's fucking invincible, thinks he can just talk his way out of anything, well he can't—” He stopped abruptly and turned to me. “Did you see it happen?”

“No, no. Some guy came out and told Emmett and he charged back there.”

Brian laughed, once. “Emmett.”

“I think he punched him. His hand was bleeding.”

“Remind me to get him a fruit basket.” He breathed out. “No pun intended.”

“Come sit down,” I said, but Brian shook his head and kept circling the loft. After a while Justin started coughing up in their bedroom, and Brian went up the stairs and never came back down.

Hours later, as I finally drifted off to sleep, I remembered all that work he was supposed to do.

**

Brian was gone by the time I woke up the next morning. Justin sat at the kitchen table, now miraculously clear of Brian's supplies, eating oatmeal and drinking the biggest mug of coffee I'd ever seen. He got up and poured me my own when I got to the table.

He looked fucking awful. Brian was right about that black eye, and the marks around his neck, where they showed above the collar of his t-shirt, had darkened to a deep purple. When he handed me my mug, I grabbed him impulsively and hugged him, and he hugged me back, shaking a little.

“Brian is so freaked out,” he said.

I pulled back so he could see my lips. “I don't blame him. How are you?”

He shrugged. “I don't think it's really hit me yet. I'm just trying to manage Brian.”

“He's at work now?”

“Yeah.” Justin sat back down. “Bet those presentations are gonna go just great.”

He came home earlier than expected, just a little after five, while Justin and I were crashed on the couch deep into our brainless movie marathon. Justin paused it when Brian stormed in. “I thought you were having dinner with Bramson.”

“Canceled,” Brian said, without signing, marching past us to the bedroom.

Justin reached over the couch and caught him by the arm. “Brian.”

Brian stopped and turned to him, signing this time. “It was canceled, Sunshine!”

“Why?”

“Because I blew the presentation so fucking badly that we all agreed there was no point in acting like they were going to sign with us! I blew every single fucking one, why do you think that was? And Bramson's off having dinner with some fucking agency from New York, just like goddamn everyone else, because I'm an agency from goddamn Pittsburgh so I need to be twice as good as everyone else, I needed to be dazzling and I wasn't dazzling, and you know why that is?”

Justin sighed, turned off the TV, and got up. Brian took one look at him and kind of stumbled back on his feet.

“Christ,” Brian said. “Look at you. Jesus fucking Christ. Can you fucking breathe with your neck like that?”

“I can breathe.”

Brian put his hands on either side of Justin's head and lowered his forehead to his and they just stayed there for a second, their eyes closed, and stupid me, I thought maybe they were done fighting.

“I'm sorry about your presentations,” Justin said.

Brian let go of him. “I was a fucking joke today. I'd fire myself if I could.”

“I'm sure it wasn't that bad,” Justin said.

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Brian said.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing.” Brian broke away from him and went over to the fridge, got out a beer. “You want to be sorry for something, fucking cover your neck up.”

Justin put his arms around himself and looked down, and neither of them said anything for a minute. Brian took two swallows from his beer, quiet, controlled, but the bottle was shaking in his hand, and suddenly he slammed it down on the counter.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he said to Justin, but Justin was still looking down, so Brian stomped his foot on the ground until Justin looked up. “What were you thinking?” he said again.

“Doing what? Going to the back room, like I have a thousand times?”

“By yourself. With nobody you know back there.”

“You do it all the time!”

“You are not me!”

“Everyone does it all the time!” Justin said. “You think Emmett gets a chaperone before he heads back there?”

“I don't give a shit if everyone does it! I don't give a shit if you used to do it!” He was back in front of Justin now, leaning in close. “I am proud of you for everything you have gained from this shit and you know that, you know that you fucking know that, but that doesn't mean you can walk around like you're not fucking missing one of your senses.”

“So because I'm Deaf, I don't get to—”

“Because you are Deaf, you have to be twice as smart as everybody else. You want to know what that's like?” He pointed to the couch, to me. “You fucking ask Daphne.”

Justin looked away and chewed on his lip, and Brian shook his head slowly.

“And if you fucking think you're going to New York tomorrow—”

“What?” Justin said.

“I said—”

“I know what you said, Brian, and I am fucking going to New York.”

“Like hell you are,” Brian said, stalking back to his beer.

“You don't get to decide where I go!” Justin said. “I'm twenty-five years old and you're not my fucking parent!”

“No, I'm your goddamn husband who you're treating like a fucking villain for worrying when you come home looking like a fucking corpse—”

“I'm not treating you like a villain for worrying, I'm treating you like a villain for being a fucking asshole. It is possible to do one without the other, did you know that? Why would you.”

Brian glared at him for a a moment, then stalked out of the loft, slamming the door behind him.

After a minute, Justin came and sat down next to me on the couch.

You okay? I asked him.

Justin rubbed his neck. “Fine. Let's play the movie.”

He was antsy while we watched, though, and after about ten minutes he got up without saying anything and set his easel up by the window. He got out a new canvas and started something new, and I pretended to watch the movie, but really I watched him.

He used to paint more when we were younger, but eventually he switched mostly to drawing just because it was so much more convenient, and then he got really into animation and graphics and stuff, which was obviously useful after his hand was fucked up. But I always missed his paintings, and I'm so happy he's started up again, because...fuck, there is nothing like Justin Taylor in color. He does these combinations that shouldn't make any sense, and somehow it's like...I don't know, I'm not an artist, but it seems like each color is more itself than it was before, when it's next to this one that shouldn't work.

I thought about that again when Brian came back pretty soon after. Justin had his back to the door and was lost in a painting trance anyway, so Brian stood in the open door of the loft for a little, his head against the wall, and watched him with this look that was half-pained, half...something else.

Eventually he came into the loft, slowly, gently, and wrapped his arms around Justin from behind. Justin kept painting, but I saw him relax into Brian's arms.

These two people who shouldn't work, brighter together.

I'm sorry, Brian said, his fist rubbing circles on Justin's chest.

Justin turned around, and Brian carefully removed the brush from his hand, ran his finger over a smear of paint on Justin's shoulder.

“Come on,” he said.

He pulled Justin to the couch, then left him there for a second while he messed around in the kitchen. He came back with two mugs of tea, one for me, one for Justin, and an ice pack, which he held around Justin's neck while he drank. And we just sat there for a while, watching the movie, not really talking, while Justin slowly settled back into Brian.

“Nothing can happen to you,” Brian said softly, eventually, and I don't even know why he said it out loud, since it wasn't for me to hear. “You promised me, remember?”

Justin rested his forehead against Brian's neck, and Brian so, so hesitantly touched one of the marks on his neck.

I promise, Justin signed.

Justin fell asleep there, tucked into Brian, and when the movie was over he and I shrugged at each other and I put another one in. I sat back on the couch, legs crossed. “So I guess he's coming to New York tomorrow?”

Brian nodded. “We had a plan, didn't we?”

“We did.”

“You think that's going out the window because someone nearly kills him?” He snorted. “Please.”

I smiled.

**

Brian brought us to the airport and kissed us both goodbye. Justin was wearing a turtleneck.

“All right.” Brian straightened the straps on Justin's backpack. “You have everything you need?”

“Condoms, sketchpad, clothes,” Justin said.

“All the essentials,” Brian said, and then he pulled Justin in and hugged him, and it was so...tender. I don't think I've ever seen Brian and Justin touch without there being some kind of risk they were about to start doing it on the spot, but this was just sweet. I had to look away, and I've practically seen those two fucking!

“It's two days,” Justin said.

Brian pulled away to sign to him. “I know. Will be nice to not trip over your fucking shoes every time I come and go.”

Justin smiled at him and hitched his backpack up.

“It's our first time apart since I got sick,” he explained to me on the way to security.

Don't worry, I signed. I'll take care of you. I held onto his arm and batted my eyelashes up at him so he'd know I wasn't serious.

Still he rolled his eyes. “I'm not worried about me. Who's gonna take care of him?”

“Judging by the other night I'd have to say Emmett, probably,” I said.

Justin laughed. “Sure seems that way.”

We didn't get to New York until early afternoon, so we had a low-key rest of the day, walking around my neighborhood in Queens, climbing up to the elevated train where you could see the Empire State Building, getting food from this hole-in-the-wall pasta place in Midtown. I introduced him to my roommates and we stretched out on my bed and ate our weight in gummi candy. His friend's art opening was tomorrow, and we were going to check out a few other art galleries too. We talked about that for a little, and then med school. The way Justin watched my lips made me feel like everything I was saying was so important.

“Brian was right, wasn't he?” Justin said. “About working twice as hard.”

I shrugged a little.

“I always thought you had it so easy,” he said. “Because you were straight. I guess I'm a moron, huh?”

“Little bit!” I said, and he laughed and pulled me under his arm.

We Skyped with Brian before bed, just letting him know we got in okay and filling him in on our plans for tomorrow, and I guess showing him that no one new had tried to strangle Justin. We signed I love you to him before we hung up, and Brian covered his face with one hand and signed it with the other, and Justin and I cheered like kids.

He had a nightmare that night, but we managed it. Not my first time at the rodeo. He asked me not to tell Brian, so I didn't.

The next day, we took the 7 to the 1 and rode that down to Chelsea, where his friend was showing. Justin was pretty quiet on the walk there, looking around at all the galleries, and I nudged my shoulder against his and we smiled at each other.

Justin's friend didn't know any more sign language than hi, which is just saluting you, but, in a big surprise for Justin, the gallery owner did, and she got all excited when she came by and his friend introduced him. I walked around looking at the paintings—fine, I guess, but nothing compared to my guy's—while she and Justin chattered away, and the next time I glanced over Justin had his sketchpad out and was showing her a few of his drawings, a nervous pink flush underneath the black eye he made me help cover with my roommate's concealer this morning.

I covertly took a picture on my phone and texted it to Brian.

Justin didn't really say anything about it for a while; whenever something big happens to him, he always needs some time to decompress, so we just talked about his friend's art and about the Chelsea art scene in general, which basically meant I nodded along while he talked. We went out to lunch, and after we'd ordered appetizers he said, abruptly, “She said she'd love to see some of my stuff. That I should email her photos.”

“Justin, that's amazing.”

“And I mean...fuck, if Brady can get a show?”

“I know. You blow him out of the water.”

Justin shrugged like what can I say?

“And there's a thousand other galleries just like this one,” I said. “Ones looking for up and coming talent. Pittsburgh has like...”

“One,” Justin said.

I sipped my drink.

“Fuck,” Justin said. “I've got to get up here.” He rubbed his forehead. “God, Brian's going to kill me. When I told him I was coming to New York, the first thing he said was 'Don't you fucking fall in love with it.'”

“To be fair, when has Brian telling you not to fall in love with something ever, ever worked,” I said.

Justin looked at me apologetically. “I'm not sure I got all that, sorry.”

I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Brian would do anything for you,” I said.

“I know.”

“That's all I said.”

Justin groaned and banged his head against the table a few times, and I smiled to myself.

We walked around a little more and then he groaned and said, “Okay, okay, let's do it,” and we went back to my place to Skype with Brian. He was still at the office, and damn, he looked good all put together in that Armani.

He leaned back in his chair and said, “So how was the show?”

“I've got to be here,” Justin said, so so much for easing into it!

Brian raised an eyebrow.

“There's a gallery owner here, she fucking knows sign language, and she likes my shit and she wants to see more and...and even if that doesn't pan out, there are so many fucking opportunities here, and...and I have no idea how we would make it work but maybe, I mean, I know you love New York, maybe there's some way you can...I don't know, and I know you're probably so pissed at me right now and I know I'm going to come back to Pittsburgh and this is all going to seem like some stupid fantasy I had but like...but it's not, it's real, and I could have it. And there's a Deaf community here like fucking nothing they have in Pittsburgh, the gallery owner was telling me about it, and...and I fucking thought my life was over when I was diagnosed but it's here. It's right here. And I just...I'm sorry. I have to be here. I have to be in New York.”

Brian didn't say anything for a minute, and Justin twisted his hands together, waiting. Finally, Brian leaned forwards and looked at me. “Hey, Daph?” he said, signing.

“Yeah?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek and grinned. “I fucking told you it would work.”