A House in Virginia

LaVieEnRose

So here we were In January, and New York was a gray frozen wasteland, but we continued to clip along. My little avenger got one police officer fired and another one suspended and sold his seizure painting for four thousand dollars, his largest sale yet, and I let him take me out to a fancy dinner and buy me some pretty things. Emily was pregnant as shit and doing well. Isabel was nominated for a major ad award and leveraging it to pull in tons of new business, and yet still insisted that she had no interest in starting and managing her own agency, so thank God for small favors. Molly was dating a new guy who seemed like he didn't want to punch her in the face. Michael bought a second storefront for his business. I found Prada shoes on sale. Justin's health was decent. All in all, not bad, for entering categorically the worst month of the calendar.

I came home from the gym midday one Saturday and Justin was home—he'd been out to check out an exhibit at Marie's new gallery when I left—and curled up on the couch with a mug and his socked feet up on the table. He looked cozy, and I lingered for a minute after I kissed him, just taking him in.

“Guess what?” he said.

No. I sat down next to him on the couch and pulled his feet into my lap.

I met a cute guy at the gallery and I have a date.

You just ran into a Deaf guy?

I just ran into a Deaf guy. It's not that big of a coincidence. Marie tries to hire Deaf people.

Is he the new you?

No, she does have a new Deaf me, but she's a girl. Evan's on the construction team for the new space, but he's an artist too.

Evan.

Justin nodded and showed me his sign name. He's young, he's like twenty-six. It's weird. I've never dated anyone younger than me. I don't think I've even slept with anyone younger than me.

Yeah, that was once me too. Doesn't last. He was a month and change away from thirty, at that point.

Might end now. We're going out tomorrow. He shifted himself around so he was underneath my arm, and I kissed the side of his neck and smiled when he hummed.

**

Before this, Justin had been dating Calvin, who was nice enough and hotter than any person has a right to be but wasn't much in the conversation department, Justin said, and he's not just in this for the sex, he wants the friendship, the camaraderie, the debates...you know, the whole relationship caboodle. I don't know if they had some official break up or if they just gradually fell out of each other's lives. They'd still sleep together sometimes if they ran into each other at parties—Calvin was a casual friend of Gwen's—but for the most part their little tryst was finished, and Justin had never been serious with him to begin with. He was the Gabriel rebound, and now that that was out of his system I think he was looking for something more steady, husband notwithstanding.

And if you can't tell from that whole explanation up there, I was in a fucking good place about all of this, not that I ever really hadn't been, and I continued to believe that having someone who would take Justin off my hands a night or two a week, teach him some new tricks to bring home to me, and just generally be an extra set of eyes and hands on him if something went wrong was about the best deal a guy could ask for. So it would be reasonable of you to expect that I would continue to be nice and well-adjusted about whoever Justin chose to date.

Enter Evan, and before you jump down my throat the second we reach our first little punchline about him...wait it out, all right? There's more to me and Justin's little tale than meets the eye. There always is with us.

**

I was in the home office working on a press release when Justin came home from his first date with Evan. He called in “Hey,” but that was it, and I could hear him puttering around out in the kitchen for a long time. Doing dishes, which means there's something on his mind, since usually I have to fucking move heaven and earth to get him to remember to at least fucking let something soak, Jesus.

So I lumbered into the kitchen so we could get the little heart-to-heart underway. How'd it go? I said.

Justin leaned against the counter and thought for a minute. Good. He's really like...earnest? He's so interested in everything I say.

What a nice change for you that must be, I said.

He laughed. It's definitely a different vibe. But he still looked kind of nervous, and I stood there faux-patiently while he chewed on his thumbnail for a little before he finally said, He's positive.

Jesus. And he's how old?

Twenty-six, yeah. Same age as Hunter.

Fuck. How's he doing?

It's pretty new to him, he was only diagnosed two years ago, but he thinks he's had it since he was a teenager. He was in denial for a while at first...he's still getting back on track from that. He seems like he has a good attitude about it now. He says he's healthy right now, but he's not undetectable.

I cleared my throat. So you're both bottoms. How the fuck's that going to work?

“Brian.”

I sighed.

You and I have never had a conversation about this, he said. About whether this is a dealbreaker.

I would have given anything in that moment for a trap door out of our kitchen. We've both slept with positive guys.

Sure, as a one-off. This could potentially be a regular thing. It's...we should have a conversation.

Okay, you want a conversation? I don't like it. There's my conversation.

He chewed the inside of his mouth.

Did you sleep with him tonight?

He shook his head.

Okay, so...be friends. Have a friend you don't sleep with. Think you can do that?

He clicked his tongue. “Wow, we're just jumping right to pissy, huh?”

Because I know what this is! You say you want to have a conversation, but what you're really going to do is stand there and pout until I give in and let you put yourself at risk.

“I'm not going to do anything that we don't agree to,” Justin said, dripping that condescending patience of his. “I told him I needed to talk to you, so I was hoping, I don't know, maybe to talk to you.”

Okay, well I've told you I don't like it.

What about PrEP? he fingerspelled.

What about PrEP?

“It's approved now, Michael's on it...”

Yeah, I know about PrEP, Justin, we did the fucking campaign.

“That was a good campaign.”

Yeah, thanks.

“So putting me on it is like...vertical integration, or something.” He got a bottle of water out of the fridge.

Sorry, vertical...

Integration, he signed.

Integration. Yeah. Because you did so well last time you took an antiviral?

“It's not the same drug.”

You're fucking allergic to everything. What the fuck is even the plan if you do get infected, Sunshine? How many of the drugs do you think you'll be able to take? The fact that we've found an anticonvulsant that doesn't cover you in hives is a goddamn miracle. You want to add HIV to the mix?

The chances of me getting infected are so small. He's working on getting it under control, he'll be undetectable, I'll top him, whatever, we'll be safe.

Then do it! I said. You're already made up your fucking mind, so why are we going through this big fucking fake conversation?

I've made up my mind for me, he said. But this isn't just about me. This puts you at risk too. You get a say.

I told you my say.

You told me your say about me, he said. I want your say about you.

And what the fuck was I supposed to tell him? Yeah, I was a little nervous about Justin having regular sex with someone positive, but fuck, it's not like I was asking the status of everyone I slept with, and if Evan got himself to undetectable he'd be a statistically safer fuck than some random trick from Nova.

So I was supposed to stand here and pretend the reason I was worried was because of some minuscule risk that Justin would get infected and then infect me? Especially when...Christ, at that point I hadn't even started to unravel the real reason this was filling me up with dread, and even if I had I wouldn't have said it because I was feeling pathetic enough as it was.

Instead I went with something else, something still true, something that at the time felt like it was my biggest reason. Sunshine, I'm more worried he's going to give you something else, okay? If he gets sick...fuck, your immune system's probably worse than his is. Between the drugs he takes to keep his allergies at bay, the toll the seizures take on his body, and just generally the joke of a constitution he's always had, Justin gets sick if you look at him funny.

Justin didn't say anything.

He winds up in the hospital for pneumonia or an infection or something..and I mean, this is assuming he hasn't already given it to you, or even that you didn't give it to him, you can't be within fifty yards of the place. And I know you. You're going to want to be there. I don't think you should be with a sick person. You're just going to hand stuff back and forth.

He considered this, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can't just not date people because they might get sick. Where would we be then?”

It's different for me. I'm not at the same kind of risk—

But I'm asking you to make the decision for you, he said. Not for me.

Who the fuck's going to be taking care of you all these times you get sick?

No one has a gun to your head.

Jesus, don't.

Then don't leverage taking care of me like it's something I have to fucking earn. You do it or you don't. You don't want me to feel guilty? Don't fucking hang it over my head.

Okay. Okay. He was right, that was the wrong fucking move, and I could feel him slipping away from me and I couldn't piece together why yet but maybe I was panicking a little. I trust you, okay? I know you'll be safe.

“I don't...want to push you. But I can't...I can't discriminate against a sick person, Brian, please don't...”

Fuck. Okay. I didn't put that together. And wouldn't that just be the fucking theme of this fucking tale, me not fucking getting all the sick little nuances, but there'll be plenty of time for that. Jesus, of course you can't.

He was breathing kind of fast.

I said, But who you choose to fuck is not...political. It's not making a statement.

Sex is so political, he said. It's the most fucking political thing there is.

I don't want you to date this guy because you think you need to prove that you're a good person, I said plainly.

He shook his head. That's not it, he's...you'd like him, he's funny and he's smart and...you'd like him.

Next you're going to ask me if we can get a puppy, I groused.

He kept watching me.

You are going to be safe, I told him. I mean fucking condoms for blow jobs safe. You are going to get tested every three months. You are going to keep your fucking distance if he gets sick.

Justin nodded.

I sighed. Okay, Rob Thomas, come here.

Rob Thomas?

He wrote a song about having a partner with chronic illness. It's not bad. Come here.

He did, and I put my hands on his face and brought him up for a kiss.

You know you scare the shit out of me, right? I said to him, small.

Yeah.

I pressed my lips to his forehead. Okay then.

**

So Justin and Evan started dating.

I assume you'd like to know a little more about him than his status, so here we go. Fit, cheerful, not half the artist Justin was but still very talented, not the most ambitious but open-minded and perceptive. He was into the club scene so between the two of us we dragged Justin out more often, and we'd dance together when Justin got tired, and he was energetic and happy and cute as hell, with blue eyes and dark curly hair. Justin said his apartment was a complete shithole, and he wasn't making much nailing up shelves at the gallery, so we'd have him over sometimes just to give him a good meal or a place to sleep when his heat went out, and I know Justin insisted on lending him money so he could get his meds on a few occasions, which Evan always paid back. He was a sweet kid.

And he absolutely adored Justin. He liked me fine, but God, did he love Justin. He watched him with this reverence, hung onto his every word, got his advice on every decision he made. If Justin was in the room, Evan was watching Justin, and it's never been a problem for me when Justin gets the appreciation he deserves, so why should it have been a problem now?

Why indeed.

I never relaxed, and I was starting to figure out why, ever-so-gradually.

Meanwhile Justin did like the commercials said and talked to his doctor about PrEP, and then he did like he does and had a horrific allergic reaction as soon as he'd taken his second dose, so that was off the table. Evan made noise about them breaking up after that, and Justin asked me again if I needed them to, but Christ, I was still fucking catching my breath from that reaction and reveling in him being fucking alive, I would have bought him that fucking puppy if he'd asked. Of course I told him to do whatever he wanted.

So they didn't break up.

**

I came home from work one night the first week of February and Justin and Evan were in the kitchen, laughing and chopping up herbs and dancing around to some really loud music; Evan's very hard of hearing, lost his hearing when he was two, but he's not completely Deaf, so there's a lot of really loud music with him. I flicked the lights on and off as fast as I could—just a dumb thing I do, I don't know, you take amusement where you can find it—to announce my presence and gave Justin a quick kiss while I clapped my hands on Evan's shoulders.

Let me see the hearing aid mock-ups, Justin said. Evan kissed my cheek.

I don't have them, I said.

Are you shitting me?

Do not get me started. Have I mentioned I hate my art department?

A million times.

Yeah, well, make it a million and one. You're going to have to come in tomorrow and work on this, I just...I'm losing my mind.

I can't tomorrow, I have the neurologist. He never used to talk about this shit in front of Gabriel, or Calvin, not if he could possibly help it.

Yeah. Friday?

Okay.

I surveyed the kitchen here. What are we making here?

Pasta primavera, Evan said.

Justin said, Can he stay for dinner?

He's fucking cooking the dinner, of course he can stay.

There's this documentary we wanted to watch on Basquiat, and he doesn't get the channel. Thought you'd like it too.

Sure.

So we ate on the floor cushions in front of the TV and watched the documentary, and it was nice. Justin's art history knowledge is pretty fucking unparalleled, but somehow I always forget, so it's fun to see him spout off facts and dates he learned before his brain stopped being able to retain that kind of shit. Evan hadn't had much in the way of education, was tossed into mainstream school without an interpreter and fucked over by the system and dropped out when he was sixteen, so he was fucking enthralled, watching Justin like he hung the damn moon. Justin was basking.

At one point, though, Justin's eyes went blank and he zoned out for a few seconds, and I pounced on it immediately, and so, to my surprise, did Evan. Seizure, seizure! we signed at him.

Justin, back among the living, said, What the fuck are you talking about?

Absence seizure, Evan said. I told you you get them! That was totally one right there.

How the fuck did he know this shit?

I've been trying to tell him that for a fucking year, I said.

Nothing happened! Justin said.

I said, Yeah, not noticing or remembering them is a fucking characteristic of absence seizures. Tell your fucking neurologist.

She's just going to want to change my meds around again, Justin said. And I can't, I'm so sick of the adjustments.

More sick of them than of seizures? I said.

Justin said, I don't know, maybe. The side effects are worse than the fucking symptoms sometimes.

Evan stole a bite of bread from Justin's plate. Yeah, I know that game.

Justin stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth. Evan, shit, how did the interview go?

Oh my God, I didn't tell you?

Justin shook his head.

What interview? I said.

He got a job interview for this graphic design thing, Justin said.

Entry-level, Evan said. Very, very entry-level.

Justin said, That's still—

No, it is not still anything, Evan said. I am so not getting this job.

Justin sighed and sat back on the pillows. What happened?

So everything was going well. I was following everything, passing fine.

I said, Wait, passing for what, straight?

Evan laughed. No, I don't pass for straight. For hearing.

I said, Hang on, you did this whole fucking thing in English?

I was raised oral, Evan said. I read lips really well. I didn't even learn to sign until my teens.

And you speak?

“I speak all the time,” he said, out loud. Totally clear.

I laughed, startled, and pointed at Justin. He speaks better than you do.

Yeah, shut it.

Evan said, So everything was going great. And then at one point, it's kind of hot in the room where the interview is, and I'm wearing that blazer you stole from Brian, so it's kind of long on me, goes over my wrists.

I looked at Justin. You gave him my blazer?

You never wear it.

Give him your clothes!

I'm too little, Justin said, squishing himself under my arm and making puppy eyes at me. I growled and kissed his forehead.

So I take the blazer off, Evan said. And my sleeve rides up and I realize... He held out out his wrist with his medical alert bracelet, a lot like Justin's.

What? I said.

Justin winced. You forgot to take it off.

I forgot to take it off. And I look at it, and she looks at it, and the whole energy of the interview just changes. All of a sudden the mood is just...it's totally different. And it ended really quickly after that.

Justin sighed and squeezed Evan's hand. I'm sorry.

Okay, hang on a second. You really think, what, because they saw a medical alert bracelet they're not going to hire you? That's...

That's what? Justin said.

I just think that's a little far-fetched, I said.

Evan exchanged looks with Justin, like they thought I couldn't see it, and I can't say I liked that one fucking bit.

You learn to recognize discrimination, Evan said.

You also get used to healthy people telling you it isn't there, Justin said.

Nice, I said.

Justin shrugged. This is what always happens. I mean, how many times have straight people told you 'no, that isn't homophobic, you're imagining it, it's just a coincidence?' It looks like a coincidence from the outside.

People get a look on their face when they find out you're sick, Evan said. You can tell in a split second how they're going to handle it.

Justin nodded. Instantly.

Okay, well that's illegal, I said.

So? Evan said.

So they can't do it. You could sue their asses.

It's only illegal if you can prove they did it, Evan said. They can say it's just because I messed up in my interview, or I didn't have the qualifications, or there was a stronger candidate.

Maybe there was, I said, and they threw up their hands.

We can tell, Justin said. We can tell.

Evan said, Anyway, it just sucks. There's this new drug I wanted to get on but my insurance right now doesn't cover it. I need to get something better.

Ben's on it, Justin said to me. He said his T-cell count, like, skyrocketed.

Would have been nice, Evan said with a sigh.

**

Michael called me the next day while I was swamped trying to pull together the fucking comps for the new hearing aid campaign, plus Cynthia needed my opinion on a meeting she had later that day, and Emily was having trouble getting the building management people to listen to her, and basically the point is that Michael didn't have my full attention. He had some question to ask me about investment options—our little boy's all grown up—and after I regaled him with my brilliant advice I ended up asking him about Ben's new drug.

“Yeah, he's been doing really well on it,” Michael said. “He started, uh, two months ago, I think? It's pretty experimental so I wasn't sure about it, but two of his friends were on it and doing well so he wanted to give it a shot. And it's been good!”

I stapled...something. “Does he talk to you about stuff like that, or just his HIV friends?”

“He talks to me.”

“Do you feel like you...I don't know, that you understand it as well as the friends do, or not?”

“I mean, I know Ben. And it's just a thing he deals with, it's not like it's his identity or whatever.”

Right, how could I have forgotten Michael's whole crusade about that. Emily waved from my doorway and held up a contract and I'd been waiting for, and I waved her over while I hunted around for a pen.

“Brian, why are you asking this stuff?” Michael said. “You're not...you're okay, right?”

I kept searching for a pen. “Yeah, it's just this guy Justin's seeing.”

Like I said.

I was distracted.

I winced, found a pen, signed the contract, and signed, I just told Michael that Justin has a boyfriend, to Emily.

Her eyes went wide. Justin's going to murder you.

Yeah, if Michael doesn't murder him first. Give me a minute here.

She nodded, signed, Good luck, and got the hell out of there as quickly as as the fetus would allow.

Michael had been quiet this whole time. Finally he said, “I'm sorry, did you say Justin's seeing someone?”

I tried to sound as bored as possible. “He doesn't sleep with hearing guys anymore. Except for me. Aren't as many options to choose from, means he has to do some repeats.” I'd spare Michael the part about Justin having, you know, romantic and emotional connections with these guys, because he couldn't fucking handle it and I actually do prefer Justin un-murdered.

“And you're...you're what, fine with that?”

“I am fine with that. It's been going on for years.”

“Years?”

“And you've seen firsthand that Justin and I are just fine.”

“I just don't—”

I said, “Look, this really isn't any of your business.”

“Uh, yeah, if Justin's sleeping with a guy with HIV, that puts you at risk, and that is my business.”

“Wow, pot, kettle...”

“You were concerned about me with Ben, don't give me that shit. And Ben's my fucking...he's my soulmate. There's no other guy for me. I mean, clearly there are other guys for Justin.”

“Michael.”

“I'm just saying, who the fuck is this guy? I get that there's a smaller pool or whatever, but aren't there any healthy Deaf guys to choose from?”

“Yeah, he's dated healthy Deaf guys before.”

“All right, so...point him towards one of them, Jesus.”

“He likes that he's sick,” I said.

“That's...what?”

“He wants to date a sick person,” I said.

“Well that's fucked up.”

I leaned back in my chair. “How's that fucked up? Justin's sick. He wants someone who understands him.”

“You understand him, and you're healthy,” Michael said.

I didn't say anything.

**

Justin, responsible little fucker that he is, told his doctor that we said he'd been having absence seizures, and as predicted, she nudged up his meds, and as predicted he got sick. He had two fairly large seizures in one evening, because paradoxically his anticonvulsant being too high will make him have seizures sometimes, because the world will apparently come to a fucking end if it ever considers cutting Justin some slack on anything at all, and we spent the whole night camped out on the bathroom floor while he vomited and shivered harder than I'd ever seen. I rubbed his back and couldn't shake the feeling that he was being poisoned, and I remembered how goddamn awful I'd felt during radiation, how I couldn't believe the cancer itself could actually be nastier than the shit they were pumping into me.

I put a pillow under his head and he lay on his back on the tile floor, making these fucking heartbreaking pained noises when he breathed, and after a while I lay down next to him, and we didn't talk, barely even touched, but he took my hand and brought it up to his cheek, our fingers laced together, and we just stayed there for a long time.

I finally convinced him to get in bed around four, and he steadfastly refused to get out in the morning and Christ, it's not like I'd gotten any fucking sleep either, so whatever, I called Emily and told her I needed a sick day. Justin wasn't having seizures anymore, but he was feeling awful, just sore and dizzy and miserable, and there was nothing to do but just give him time to adjust to the new dose. At around ten he said he'd eat, but only this specific milkshake from this place a few blocks away that doesn't deliver, so I made the voyage, and when I got home I could hear him signing from the bedroom. We'd bent our no-talking rule that day—we do that sometimes when he's really sick—because his bad hand was bothering him so much.

But, you know, apparently not that much. He was still curled up small in bed, but he was signing animatedly to his phone. Laughing.

I stood in the doorway and waved until I got his attention and held up his milkshake. Am I interrupting?

I've got to go, he said to his phone, and he giggled and hung up. Sorry, he said to me.

I helped him sit up. Supposed to be resting that hand.

“Yeah, I know. Slow, slow—”

I got you. I propped him up on some pillows. Who was that? I put a straw in his milkshake and kept a hand on it while he worked out his grip. You got it?

“Yeah.” He sipped. Evan.

Everything okay?

“Yeah, he just wanted to see how I'm feeling.” He took a slow breath in between sips of his milkshake. “This is hard.”

Yeah, just take it slow.

Justin worked through half the milkshake before he shook his head and handed it back to me, and I kissed him and helped him lie back down. How'd I do? he asked me.

I weighed how much of the milkshake was left. Not bad. C+.

He shivered and gave me a weak smile and said, “Cs get degrees,” and I was just, I don't know, maybe a little mesmerized by him joking around right now. I kissed the bridge of his nose and ran my hands down his arms, massaging out some of the tension until he fell back asleep.

I called his neurologist's office and left a message with the receptionist for her to call me back, went for a quick jog since I imagined I wouldn't be able to get out and hit the gym tonight, took a shower, mindlessly ate leftovers of something Justin had made a few nights before, and had just settled in to answer a few emails when the doorbell rang. It was Evan, with two paper shopping bags, one of which he handed to me. “Blazer,” he said. “I couldn't afford to get it dry cleaned, but...thanks for letting me borrow it.”

It's...fine. Uh, Justin's asleep.

He shifted the other bag to the side. I know. I thought I could make you guys dinner? He bought all the stuff for the pasta primavera the other night so I thought I'd make it up to him.

That's sweet and everything, but he's really sick.

Evan said, He's not contagious, right? He said it was from his meds.

No, he's not, I just...I don't think he's really feeling up to visitors right now.

He gave me a weird look. I'm not a visitor.

I sighed and stepped to the side to let him in. I don't know when he's going to be up.

That's okay. He put the bag down on the counter and looked up at me. You don't have to entertain me or anything. I'll just make something and get out of here and he can have it when he wakes up.

Okay, well...what kind of an asshole would I have to be to object to that? But I still felt weird about leaving him alone in my kitchen. I sat down on one of the stools at the counter and watched him unload supplies. If someone was going to cook for Justin I should probably make sure it wasn't something he was fucking allergic to, I reasoned. But it was just chicken soup, nothing fancy.

He shrugged kind of sheepishly. I'm not really much of a cook, but...it's what I know how to do, and when I'm sick it makes me feel better to know someone cares enough to cook for me.

I swallowed. You know I'm feeding him, right? He's not fucking starving.

He gave me a strange look. Of course I know that.

He fucking knows someone cares enough to cook for him. I know I'm not fucking Padma Lakshmi but I can get him what he needs.

Evan carefully put down the knife and said, Brian, Justin told me you were fine with this whole arrangement. That he'd dated guys before and it wasn't an issue for you.

It's not.

Okay, so...do you just not like me? Is this something we can work through?

No, I like you, I just...

He kept watching me.

You've known him for a month, I said. I get that you like him, and look, I'm happy for you, but you don't know what he needs. You think you come in here with some kind of perspective, but you're just...he doesn't like having people hanging around when he's not feeling well.

He called me earlier.

Because he didn't want you to worry!

Evan said, You don't understand—

No, you don't understand. You are not an exception to the rules. He is still him, and I am still me. So fucking spare the sympathetic looks about how I couldn't possibly empathize with what he's going through as well as you could. I've known him for twelve fucking years. He has epilepsy. His meds make him sick sometimes. He's fine. We're not making it into some kind of... I gestured at him, and, yeah, I did it carelessly.

Evan stood his fucking ground.

“Some kind of what, Brian?” he said, his arms crossed. “A death sentence?”

I caught my breath, but before I could say anything, Christ, before I'd even thought of what to say to dig myself out of this mess, Evan's eyes flicked over my shoulder.

Baby, go back to bed, he said. Great.

Justin said, “Brian, what's going on?”

I turned around. Justin was leaning against the doorway, still looking shaky. And also suspicious as hell.

Nothing, I said. You look fucking awful, will you go lie down, please?

I want to know what's going on here.

I brought over some stuff so Brian can make you soup, Evan said. He crossed the living room and gave Justin a quick kiss. And now I'm going to go.

Justin clung to his shirt a little, and I forced myself not to look away.

I'll check on you tomorrow, okay? Evan said, and when Justin nodded he left without even a glance in my direction. That kid was fucking ice cold.

And damn it, I liked him. It all would have been so much fucking easier if I didn't.

Justin started talking before the door was even shut behind him. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck that was or not?” I said.

Not.

“Brian.”

Will you fucking go back to bed before you pass out?

“I asked you if you had a problem with me dating him,” he said. He sounded so fucking tired. “I gave you plenty of opportunities to object. I've checked in with you, given you the chance to change your mind.”

And I told you it's fine.

“So at some point are you going to start acting like it's fine, or...”

I breathed out and paced around a little.

“You can't just tell me it's fine and then act like a fucking...I don't even know what you were acting like. I don't know what the fuck I just walked in on except you both looked like you were going to choke each other.”

If you don't know what's going on, maybe you should fucking stay out of it.

“Right, because this has nothing to do with me.”

I didn't say that.

“You need to make an actual fucking decision over whether or not you have a problem with him being sick.”

I don't have a problem with him being sick! I burst. I have a problem with him being sick and you being sick, okay? Christ!

His brow furrowed. “Is this about us passing stuff back and forth? Because I'm pretty sure I didn't catch a medication side effect from him.”

No, I said, and I watched him, slowly, get it.

“Brian,” he said softly.

Look. I'm not trying to be dramatic here, I'm not trying to wax fucking poetic about the situation, I'm just giving you the truth as naked and plain as I can, which is that, even though I have experienced time after fucking time, I still don't think it's possible for me to really explain to you how it feels to have Justin slowly pulled away from you. How it feels to stand there with your feet stuck in the fucking ground while he is being gradually and ruthlessly taken by illness, injury, someone else, himself. The kind of fucking panic that causes, it makes you fucking crazy. It's a feeling that defies all possible rationality. I'm not trying to be cute, here. I'm just trying to make you understand why I was being a fucking asshole.

You can't watch this boy get closer and closer to the door and not lose your fucking mind a little bit.

You're jealous? he said.

So, of course, I sneered. No, I'm not jealous. I'm just...

When I didn't ever finish that sentence, he tried, “Jealous?” in English this time, and I rolled my eyes. “Brian, Jesus,” he said, exasperated. “What do you think is going to happen here? You don't trust me?”

Of course I trust you.

“Then what?”

It's just...you're both sick. You're both Deaf. You're both artists. You're young. I don't really see where...I mean what the fuck is it that you're not getting from him? What am I doing here? Buying you shit? Picking up the pieces when you need help? Insurance? What are you getting from this?

You know that's not true.

I know, but what if it...becomes true? I don't know.

And Justin just watched me, so calmly, while I was having a fucking queen out, and said, “This is good, actually.”

What the fuck are you talking about?

He pushed himself off the door and came over to me, and God, he was such a fucking mess, I didn't have any fucking choice but to put my hands on him.

You used to think all you were was what you did for me, he said, looking up at me. Now you know you want to be more. That's good. That's really good.

Not if I'm not, I said, small.

Justin shrugged a little, his eyes still on me. “He understands me,” he said. “I don't want to be understood all the time. Sometimes I want someone who thinks i'm kind of magical and mysterious and interesting."

I think you're magical, I felt myself sign, and God, I don't even know. I told you all fucking rationality had left the building at that point. I can't even tell you how fucking desperate I was for him not to goddamn move.

And I want someone I think is magical and mysterious and interesting too, he said. I can't...I can't be bogged down in this all the time. I need you. I get so fucking wrapped up in my head and in all of this and then you come home and you fucking remind me that there's a world outside of my body, and you sit down and you fucking tell me what you did today and I just...I want that. I need that.

I swallowed and raked my fingers through his hair. You want to hear about my day?

“I love hearing about your day.”

I closed my eyes, just for a second. Can I make you some soup while you do it, because you look like you're going to die.

I don't know, Justin said. You can try.

**

A few days later, I was pacing the apartment when Justin got home from his studio. He gave me a funny look. “Everything okay there, uh, Leo DiCaprio in the Aviator?”

I stopped pacing. You mean Howard Hughes?

He winced. Yeah.

And the best you could come up with is 'Leo DiCaprio in the Aviator.' Christ, you are such a '90s fag.

“And whose fault is that?”

Don't look at me, that was before I got there. He's been gay the whole time.

He took off his scarf. Are you going to tell me why you're wearing a hole in our overpriced rug?

Yeah. I have an idea and I need your approval.

“Well, lay it on me.”

I clapped my hands. I want to give Evan a job.

“You...at Kinnetik?”

My art department is shit. You know this. A million and one complaints, remember?

I remember.

And he's...I mean, he's no you, but he's good, and he's hard working. And we have an interpreter so he wouldn't have to pretend to be a fucking hearing person.

And you have really good health insurance, Justin said.

We have such fucking good health insurance.

Justin bounced a little on his feet. “Brian.”

But if it makes you uncomfortable or if you think it's not a good idea—

He ran across the room and kissed the hell out of me, and with his face crushed the fuck against mine I finally, finally felt like I could breathe again.