For the rest of the afternoon and evening, keeping what Rob, Adam, and I had done at Justin’s studio a secret felt like torture. Seeing Justin drawing again was like watching a huge piece of him fall back into place, filling in the gaping hole that the turmoil and doubt and uncertainty of the last few months had left behind. And honestly, I had to keep reminding myself not to take it too far -- to remember that Justin was still recovering, that there were still (and would still be) plenty of bad days, and I couldn’t expect him to drop right back into his old life just because he’d seen something he wanted to sketch.

Justin, of course, wasn’t making it easy to remember that, because he wanted to go out dancing that night too -- yet another thing we hadn’t done in a long time. But we did it, throwing it back to the old days of the two of us being all over each other on the dance floor of a gay club, complete with flashing lights and the thumpa thumpa and me having a little too much to drink, not giving a shit what anyone around us thought of what we were doing. We had fun, though, and that was all that mattered -- not to mention the fact that watching Justin smile and lose himself in the music, his hands draped over my shoulders as we moved together, was like a balm for my soul. God, I loved that smile. I always had, even before I would admit it. We fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, sleepy, sated, and happy, after I’d finally made good on my promise to Justin from earlier that afternoon.

The next morning, I woke up with a slight headache -- likely the result of the several shots of whiskey I’d had at the club, mixed with the fact that I wasn’t 21 anymore -- but my excitement over what was about to happen that day made it easy to ignore any discomfort I felt. I had a big day planned for Justin; I just had to hope it would go off without a hitch and that his reaction would be as positive as I expected it to be.

Not only had Rob, Adam, and I cleaned out the studio, but I’d also spent a couple hours of my Thursday afternoon meeting with someone from the cat rescue Cynthia had gotten Louis from, trying to find the right cat for Justin. We thought we’d found the perfect match -- a white Persian cat, which sounded high-class, and thus appealed to me immediately based on that alone. The cat was currently living in a foster home and had shown herself to be very loving, calm, and affectionate, which sounded like exactly what Justin needed. I’d set up a meet and greet at Justin’s studio, with the intent of combining that particular surprise with the fact that Justin’s studio was cleaned up and ready for him to go back whenever he was ready.

Now, I just had to get him there.

I knew Justin was going to be nervous about going back to the studio, based solely on what he’d told Adam about why he hadn’t been yet, so I figured it was probably best to ply him with food first, and a brunch place Rob had pointed out as we left the studio turned out to be the perfect ruse. Rob said their brioche french toast was killer, and french toast was Justin’s favorite breakfast in the history of ever, so it seemed like a surefire way to get Justin to SoHo.

Justin padded sleepily into the living room after I’d already been up for an hour, gotten dressed, and finished my first cup of coffee. At first glance, I wondered if we’d overdone it the night before, but when he sat down on the couch next to me, kissed me, then put his head on my shoulder with a contented sigh, it confirmed for me that he’d had as great a night as I had.

“Sleep well?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer, because Justin had been in the exact same position when I woke up as he had been when I’d finally fallen asleep, and if he had a headache or a nightmare, it always woke me up.

Justin nodded. “It feels weird to not be a little hung over after spending a night at the club.”

I snorted. “Speak for yourself. I think I just figured out how much Jim Beam is too much for me now.” I stopped short of saying I was getting old, but I thought it.

“Should I make you more coffee?” He lifted his head and kissed me again, then looked at me expectantly.

“Nah, I’ll be alright. I thought we’d go out for brunch this morning, if you’re feeling up to it.” I sure as hell hoped he was feeling up to it -- otherwise I was going to have to come up with a back-up plan, and quickly. But I still felt like I needed to give him the option.

“Sounds good.” He laid his head back down on my shoulder and sighed again. “Anywhere in particular?”

“This place in SoHo Rob told me about. He was practically drooling when he told me about their french toast, and I heard the blueberry ricotta pancakes are to die for.”

“So that means you’ll order eggs and dry toast and then steal half of whatever I get?” I could see Justin grinning out of the corner of my eye.

“Actually, I was thinking I’d order the pancakes.”

Justin lifted his head again, this time to look at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted a third eye. Then he started laughing. “So Rob is the one who can get you to eat carbs without a fight, huh? I’ll have to ask him what his secret is.”

“There’s no secret. What’s that Zen Ben is always saying? ‘Savor each moment?’ Thought I’d give it a try.” I brought up Ben in an attempt to make a joke of it -- because too much honesty still made me a little uncomfortable -- but I that didn’t change the fact that my words were true. This was the first time I’d mentioned anything to Justin about my new philosophy on life and how too-fucking-short it seemed, so I wasn’t surprised when he gave me another confused look, but I didn’t give him a chance to do much else or say anything before I gave him another kiss, then a gentle push, saying, “Go get dressed. I’ll make us a reservation.”

An hour later, we were brunching in SoHo. We’d held hands on the subway on our way over and for most of the walk between the station and the restaurant. I’d realized just how much I loved doing that, and I was thankful that we lived in a place where most people wouldn’t give us a second look for doing it -- not that I gave a fuck if they did. It made Justin nervous sometimes though -- and who could blame him -- so I tried not to do it if we were in a less-than-gay-friendly place. But in the city, we usually didn’t have to hesitate, which was a good thing since I was pretty sure I was going to be holding Justin’s hand a lot more often.

I was nervous about pulling off the rest of my plan, mostly because I had no idea how Justin was going to react when I suggested going to the studio. I did know it was probably going to involve some anxiety, though, so I waited as late as I possibly could before broaching anything remotely related to art -- putting it off until we’d finished our meal and I was working on my triple-shot nonfat latte.

“How are things going with that fruit bowl you were making for your mom?”

That question seemed innocuous enough, and it worked -- Justin answered me by telling me he’d finished painting it on Friday and it was supposed to be fired in the kiln over the weekend. I kept talking about his pottery for a little bit longer, purely in the interest of trying to make a smoother segue, before I took a deep breath and dropped what felt like a bomb, at least in my mind.

“Maybe we could stop by the studio to see what might need to be done to make it so you could work on your pottery projects there. So you won’t have to go all the way to Brooklyn.”

I held my breath as I waited what felt like forever for his reaction, trying to read his face and suddenly having an appreciation for how much Justin had probably struggled over the years to read my well-practiced poker face. Then I saw him start chewing his lower lip as he looked down at his empty plate, slowly rotating his glass through the ring of water left behind by the condensation. I knew he’d picked that behavior up from me, and I knew exactly why I did it -- usually because I was feeling unsure about something and really didn’t want to engage with whatever had been said. And that told me a lot about why he was doing it.

It took Justin several seconds to speak, and when he did, he still didn’t look up.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, continuing to rotate the glass. “I mean, it’d be great to be able to work on things there, but…” He didn’t finish the sentence, letting his voice trail off instead, the unsaid portion something I already knew, that he wasn’t aware I knew.

“We don’t have to stay long,” I said, hoping I would be able to stave off at least some of Justin’s apprehension. “But if we’re going to be adding a bunch of new stuff, that’ll take time, and I just want to make sure it’s ready when you are.”

Justin was quiet again, letting go of the glass and moving his left hand up to scratch behind his ear, still looking down. He opened his mouth and took a breath like he was going to speak, then closed it again without saying anything. I wondered what he wanted to say -- if he was trying to figure out how to tell me what he’d told Adam. If he felt embarrassed or ashamed, and that was why he hadn’t told me in the first place. I’d meant what I said when I told him I wanted him to always feel like he could tell me anything, and I hated that he’d apparently felt he couldn’t tell me he was feeling overwhelmed. I was a little hurt too, although I was trying not to be, because this wasn’t about me and I knew that.

“I’ll be with you,” I said, as I reached across the table and laid my left hand over his right, which was resting on the table, muscles tense and fingers curled just slightly. “Everything will be fine.” I knew there was no way I could promise that, but I wanted it to be true. So I said it anyway.

I didn’t want to tell Justin what Adam had told me -- not yet. Not in the restaurant. Mostly because I wasn’t sure how he would react, and I didn’t want to put him in a potentially emotional position in a public place, or embarrass him, or do anything to cause any more anxiety than I was already causing.

He continued looking down at the table for a few more seconds, then I saw him close his eyes and take a deep breath, shaking his head a little as he exhaled. Finally he looked up at me, the uncertainty in his eyes belying the composed confidence he tried to display in his facial expression as he nodded his head and said, “Okay.”

I paid our bill and tried not to think too much about the obvious restlessness Justin was exhibiting, even as he tried to act calm, cool, and collected. He held my hand more tightly than usual as we made our way down the sidewalk -- two blocks down and one block over -- to his studio. I also tried not to think about how much anxiety Justin was probably really feeling, since it was also obvious that he was making a concerted effort to hide it, but a lot was still coming through loud and clear. I wondered what he was thinking about -- if his brain was reminding him about how dark things had been the last time he’d locked his studio door and left behind the artwork that had left him feeling empty and unfulfilled. I figured it probably was, so I tightened my fingers around his, hoping the simple action would help Justin stay grounded and present, and not get too caught up in his head.

When we entered the lobby, I felt like I could see Justin’s internal fight taking place as he struggled between wanting to run away and wanting to go upstairs and face his fears once and for all. I hated that I was making Justin feel anxious at all, because it made me feel like I was making things worse after I’d vowed to never do that again. But I hoped that once Justin saw the studio, he’d feel better, and all of his apprehension would melt away, just like had happened at Rob and Adam’s dinner party.

The ride up in the elevator was a hell of a lot like the dinner party, but that was where the similarities ended.

I unlocked the door, feeling just as edgy as I had the day before when Rob, Adam, and I had gone, although for an entirely different reason. This time, I was excited and nervous, wondering how Justin would react, rather than dreading whatever I was about to see behind the door. Justin, however, did seem to be dreading what he was about to see. His nervous energy was palpable, leading me to grab his hand and squeeze it -- just as a reminder that I was there and he wasn’t alone.

When I pushed the door open, Justin closed his eyes briefly, as if he was trying to delay laying eyes on whatever was inside for as long as he possibly could, then took a deep breath as he blinked them open. I saw him look around, and I saw his facial expression flit through a mixture of emotions -- surprise, confusion, and overwhelm -- before he stumbled over to the couch and sank down onto it, burying his face in his hands.

Immediately, the sense of self-doubt I’d always felt when it came to relationships crept in, and I wondered if I’d fucked up. Should I have waited until Justin happened to go to the studio on his own, and not brought him down there to show it to him? Or should I have not agreed to let Rob and Adam do this at all? Should I have just minded my own goddamn business?

Already kicking myself, wishing I could turn back the clock and do this differently even though I wasn’t sure how I should have done it, I slowly pushed myself toward Justin and slid my body over to the couch, so I could sit next to him. I hesitantly placed my hand on his back, hoping I wasn’t going to feel the telltale shudder of a quiet sob, because I would really be kicking myself if I’d made him cry. But he seemed to be breathing normally, albeit deeply, like he was trying to keep himself calm.

We sat there together in silence for at least a minute or two, Justin breathing and trying to collect himself while I kept my hand on his back for reassurance, to let him know I was there, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Talk to me,” I said, keeping my voice low. “If you hate it… If you’re mad at me… It’s okay, you can tell me.”

Justin shook his head and lowered his hands from his face, leaving his elbows still resting on his knees, and his gaze fixed downward. “I don’t hate it,” he said softly. “And I’m not mad. I just need a minute.”

I let silence take over for several seconds, waiting for Justin to continue. Fighting my impulse to fill that silence and try to alleviate whatever Justin was feeling with words. Words that probably wouldn’t have been effective anyhow. But sometimes I couldn’t help myself. I still can’t.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Justin lifted his head and turned to look at me, asking, “How? How did you know?” His brow was furrowed in confusion, but there weren’t tears in his eyes, so I took that as a good sign.

“Rob and Adam told me. Well, Rob did. Adam had mentioned something to him -- that you thought you wanted to go back but you felt overwhelmed -- and they’d decided they wanted to clear the studio out for you. Rob came to me to ask for my blessing and to borrow my key. I helped them, though. I wasn’t going to let them do it alone, because I wanted to do it for you too. I wanted you to feel like you could come here again. Whenever you’re ready. And if that’s not now, that’s okay. I just wanted you to see it. So you’d know it’s here.”

Justin nodded, seemingly trying to process everything I’d just said and what exactly it meant. I wondered what was going through his mind, but I didn’t ask.

“I wish you would have told me sooner, though,” I said, looking into Justin’s eyes and still trying to read everything he was feeling that he might not have been outwardly displaying. “I would have helped you.”

Justin looked away, chewing his lip a little before he spoke. “I wasn’t sure I wanted that. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Justin’s words gave me pause, and left me feeling a little hurt, honestly, in spite of my best efforts to not make any of this about me. And he seemed nervous about having said them. I put my hand on his knee and squeezed it, still trying to offer reassurance, even in the midst of my confusion. Maybe trying to prove that I wasn’t making it about me.

Taking another breath, Justin turned to look at me again, his eyes pleading this time. Pleading with me to understand.

“When I tell you things, you always try to fix them,” he said, his voice soft, as if he knew that what he was about to tell me wasn’t something I wanted to hear. “I feel like your wheels are already turning before I’ve even finished my sentence. I told Adam because I just needed someone to listen, and not be immediately trying to fix it. Sometimes I just need someone to listen.”

Those words stung, because I knew he wasn’t wrong. I’d always been a fixer. If someone I cared about told me they had a problem, the first thing I wanted was to find some way to make it better. And Justin was the person I wanted that for the most, because I loved him more deeply than I’d ever loved anyone in my life. I wanted him to have everything. I wanted him to be happy. I wanted his life to be perfect. Only perfect doesn’t exist -- not really. I know that now, and I knew it then, but I still wanted it for him. And I wanted to be able to give it to him if I could.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--” Justin looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers around one another.

“No,” I cut him off, taking his hands in mine and pulling them into my lap. He looked up at me, his anxiety plain to see in his eyes. I wondered if seeing that would ever get easier -- if someday it wouldn’t make me hurt, and make me want to fix whatever was causing it. But that was exactly what I needed to stop doing all the time. “You’re right. Sometimes I need to just listen. I’m sorry that I haven’t been the best at that.”

“It’s okay.” Justin looked down again, breaking eye contact with me. Gently, I pulled one of my hands free, using it to tilt his chin back upward.

“No, it’s not.” I studied his eyes, which were now glistening just a little with the sheen of unshed tears that would sometimes come over them when Justin was really worried about something. And I hated that the reason he was worried was because he was afraid of what I would do or say. “You need me to listen, and I need to do that.”

“I don’t mean to say that I don’t like it when you do things for me… and this…” He let his voice trail off, exhaling as he looked around the room at the empty easels and the well-organized supplies on every shelf. “This is amazing. I really do love it, and I can’t believe you guys did this for me. But sometimes I’m just venting, you know? I need to say it, but I don’t need you to fix it.”

I nodded, because I did know, and I’d done more than my fair share of venting over the years. Sometimes Justin would try to fix it (Yak shit tea, anyone?) and sometimes he wouldn’t, but I knew how frustrating it could be when you just wanted to get something out of your head without having to worry about what it might make someone else do. I’d learned at a young age to keep things to myself, but that strategy didn’t exactly serve me well most of the time -- a lesson I’d learned the hard way. We both needed to be able to talk to each other -- and we both needed to be heard.

“I might need you to help me sometimes,” I said, tightening my fingers around Justin’s. “Help me tell the difference. Tell me when you just want me to listen. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’ll try to be better at it.”

“Okay,” Justin said softly, his lips turning up into the slightest hint of a smile before he pulled his lower lip into his mouth, this time in a shy way, instead of a nervous one.

“I love you.” I leaned forward and pressed my lips against Justin’s in a kiss that started off sweet and gentle but ended hard and passionate, wishing it could turn into more, but I knew we were expecting another visitor soon -- one who would definitely be none-too-impressed by finding the two of us naked on the couch in Justin’s studio. Still, I let it go on as long as I could -- savoring the feeling of Justin’s fingers on my back, holding me close and not letting me go as our lips and tongues moved against one another, until I heard a knock on the door.

I pulled away -- still not really wanting to, but knowing I had to -- sucking gently at Justin’s lower lip as we separated. He looked at me, his brow furrowed in confusion once again.

“Is someone outside?” He turned his head slightly and looked toward the door. “You're the only one who comes without calling first. Unless you're sending me food, but we just ate…” Justin’s voice faded out as he looked back at me again. “Who's out there?”

“Why don't you go see?” I tried to suppress my grin as I untangled my body from Justin’s, watching as he pushed himself up from the couch and started toward the door, glancing back at me over his shoulder once or twice, still confused. I kept watching him while I got myself back into my chair, not wanting to miss the moment when he realized what was happening.

When Justin opened the door, there stood Suzanne -- the woman I’d met on Thursday from the cat rescue. She was clutching the handle of a plastic crate in her right hand, and inside the crate, I could see a fluffy, white cat, presumably the one we’d talked about as we sat together in my office.

“Uh, hi,” Justin stammered as he looked back and forth from her face to the crate. “I think you must have the wrong--”

“You’re Justin, right?” She said, smiling as she peered around Justin and made eye contact with me. “Ah, Brian, so nice to see you again. And it’s nice to finally meet you, Justin.”

Justin turned around and looked at me, confusion still clear in his eyes and in the wrinkle of his brow as he stepped back out of the doorway, giving Suzanne room to come in. “What’s going on?” he asked, shifting his gaze at first between me and Suzanne, then the crate that she had just set down on the floor by one of Justin’s workbenches.

“I’ll let Brian answer that question,” Suzanne said. She crossed behind Justin, who still seemed rooted to the spot where he stood, and pushed the door to the studio closed.

Since Justin clearly wasn’t moving, I went to him, taking both of his hands in mine. He looked down at me, his blue eyes full of uncertainty and bewilderment. His cheeks were flushed, either from our makeout session or from the embarrassment of not knowing what was going on.

“Remember how you came home one day and told me that John said having a pet might help you?” I asked, my voice rougher than I would have liked.

Justin nodded, holding my gaze, though he still looked like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening.

“Well, I wanted to make that happen for you. So I asked Cynthia where she got Louis, and she told me… after she asked me whether or not I’d fallen in the shower again and hit my head this time.”

Justin’s face broke out into a smile and he chuckled softly, exactly as I’d hoped he would when I threw in Cynthia’s comment. Hell, I’d laughed too when she said it. And I probably would have thought the same thing if I were in her shoes.

“So I called, and here we are. This is Suzanne, and she’s got a cat with her that we both really think you’ll like. And if you do… she’s yours.”

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, and it was Suzanne, bending down to open the door to the crate, clearing the way for the small-ish white cat inside to hesitantly step out, lured by the promise of the treat Suzanne held in her hand. Justin looked over at both of them, and Suzanne held out one of the treats for Justin to take. He let go of my hands and took it, kneeling down in front of the cat and extending his hand, palm up, holding the treat.

“Her name’s Minnie,” Suzanne said. “But you can probably change it if you want.”

Slowly, Minnie approached Justin, at first sniffing the treat in his hand before flicking her tongue out to take it. Then, she ducked down under Justin’s arm, rubbing her head across the underside of his forearm as she walked past him, her regal air clear in her movements, before turning around and doing the same as she walked back the other way.

“I think she likes you,” Suzanne said. She was smiling, and Justin was too. He reached out to pet Minnie, who paused in front of him, letting him run his hand over her head and back.

Justin turned his head toward me, smiling the megawatt smile that was the entire reason why Debbie Novotny had nicknamed him sunshine all those years ago. “You did this for me?” he asked. His voice was soft, and I saw him blink back the sheen of wetness in his eyes, but I knew that they were happy tears this time.

I had to clear my own throat before I spoke, because if I was being honest, watching this scene was warming my supposedly cold, dead heart in a way that nothing had in a long time. “Yeah,” I said, my voice still breaking in spite of my best efforts not to show any emotion. “I did. So what do you say? Want to take her home?”

Justin nodded, seemingly unable to speak at that moment, instead turning to look at the cat -- his cat -- as he swallowed hard and blinked a few times. I rolled toward him and laid my hand between his shoulder blades, and he stood up, bending over to give me a hug, whispering, “Thank you,” in my ear.