I ate lunch by myself that day, in Justin’s studio, with Justin sitting mere feet away, but both of us still somehow very alone. It was yet another small thing that should have added up to something much bigger in my mind. Slowly, those little things started happening more and more, but instead of allowing them to pile up and form something that might have caught my attention, I kept sweeping them away. Making excuses on Justin’s behalf, for reasons unknown.

He started sleeping a lot -- at first, remaining in bed all the way until the time when I left for work, then ultimately, still being in bed when I got home some days. Sometimes still in his pajamas. Never making a meal. Hardly ever leaving our apartment, really. He’d always been one of those bizarre people who loved grocery shopping, but even that fell by the wayside, along with our dinners out and the walks we used to take on the High Line in the evenings when the weather was nice. We tried to have Gus over for dinner at least once a week -- although his busy schedule made it a challenge sometimes -- and while Justin would put on his best “I’m okay” face on those evenings, when I look back now, it should have been easy to tell that it was all an act.

On occasion, Justin would still go to his studio, but he always came home frustrated, and he never wanted to talk about what was bothering him. But I still didn’t know what to make of it all. My husband was gradually turning into some other person, yet somehow I was content to ignore it all. That was, until Michael said something that made me sit up and pay attention. Not enough attention, mind you, but at least more than I had been paying.

I had to go to Pittsburgh for a business trip, so I started making plans for both Justin and myself, since he’d accompanied me on just about all of my recent trips to the Pitts, and it had become something I really looked forward to, since it gave us some time alone with each other, away from the city. Away from at least some of the responsibilities of our lives. However, when I told Justin about the trip, his reaction was the exact opposite of his usual one. I knew it was at the same time as a mother-daughter trip that Jennifer and Molly had planned, but I didn’t think that would cause him to not want to go. After all, I’d still be there, and we’d still have our house, with the outdoor hot tub and the indoor jacuzzi and the big screen TV and our comfortable, king-sized bed. But he didn’t want to go.

I tried not to look hurt or confused when he told me that -- because those are emotions that I’m not fond of showing, to be honest -- and I accepted his reasoning that he had a lot of things he needed to get done at his studio. Two more commission projects and a show to prepare for. I understood that, because art is Justin’s job and business is business, and sometimes it has to take precedence over pleasure.

In the back of my mind, though, there was still a hesitation there -- a tiny voice nagging at me, that made me reluctant to leave Justin alone in New York and very nearly pushed me to try to reschedule the meeting that was bringing me to the Pitts in the first place. On the other hand, though, I didn’t want to hover or make Justin feel like I didn’t trust him, so I went, and I tried to keep my text messages to a minimum so as to not look like a worried wife -- because Brian Kinney doesn’t fucking do “worried wife.”

Our house felt lonely though. It was the first time I’d ever been there by myself, and even though I spent more than a decade and a half living alone, through that trip, I came to find out that I didn’t much care for it anymore. I kept finding myself turning to say something to Justin before I remembered that he wasn’t there, causing me to question whether or not I was losing my mind or becoming senile in my old age. And every time I thought of Justin, I wondered if he was in his studio, working, or if he was spending all of his time in bed. I hoped the former was true. But, again, I had to try not to hover. I had to tell myself that everything was fine. He’d been okay in the days leading up to my trip, and he was responding to my text messages in a mostly-timely manner, so I had evidence to support that theory, and I tried to carry on with my trip as normal. I missed him, though.

Michael and I met at the diner for lunch on my last full day in the city, both for the sake of nostalgia and also just to catch up with each other -- as had become customary when I returned to the Pitts.

I didn’t get to see Michael as much as I once did, but we were still brothers, and we would always have a special place in each other’s lives -- something I’d especially come to realize over the previous several years. While we were no longer each other’s first call when there was news to share, we would always be bonded for life by our past history and everything we shared as kids. We were just babies back then -- immature kids trying to find our way in the world. Now, we were both grown men with businesses and families, but we would always love each other, no matter how long we were apart or how different our lives became. So I always looked forward to getting to spend some time with him when I was in town, and I also looked forward to the opportunity it presented to push his buttons a little, since I no longer got to do it on a daily basis. At the same time, he somehow always managed to push my buttons a little too, by making me think about things I’d rather not think about but probably should. This visit was no different.

When I arrived -- late as usual because the staff meetings at the Pittsburgh office always ran long as fuck -- Michael was already sitting in the very last booth, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“What’s got you so happy?” I asked, as I transferred to the bench across from Michael, then lifted myself up to put my wheelchair cushion under me, because as much as I liked sitting other places, after a few scares and some very, very boring week-long stints in bed to heal hot spots, I was no longer inclined to take chances where my skin -- or my ass -- was concerned. “Is Captain Astro poised to come back from the dead?”

“I’ll choose to ignore that remark,” Michael said, reaching forward to grab my chair and pull it back against the wall next to him, without my having to ask. It was simply part of the routine that neither of us even thought about. “Anyway, Ben and I just got some good news last night--”

“You’ve been elected co-presidents of the Stepford Fags’ Neighborhood Association?”

“No, asshole.” Michael’s grin belied his insult as he rolled his eyes at me. “We’re going to be grandparents.”

“Don’t you think Jenny Rebecca is a little bit young to be having a baby?” I smirked at Michael and waited for the eye roll that I knew was coming, and I wasn’t disappointed.

“Hunter and Kate are the ones having the baby.” Michael shook his head at me, laughing. “I didn’t think I needed to specify.”

“Well, congratulations, Gramps. I guess that makes you officially an old man.”

“Need I remind you that you’re not far behind?”

“Hey, Gus is only eighteen. He’d better not be making me a grandpa anytime soon.”

“Ma was seventeen when she had me.”

“And look at how you turned out.”

Michael narrowed his eyes and glared at me, but he only managed it for a few seconds before he was shaking his head again and chuckling softly. “You never change, do you?”

“You wouldn’t know what to do if I did. Besides, you know you love me. And if Gus impregnates anybody in the next four years, you can rest assured that I will kick his ass, right after Lindsay kills him.”

“Still, you can’t deny it’s probably going to happen someday, right?”

“Not everyone has big breeder dreams, Michael.”

“You didn’t, and you’ve got a kid.”

“Lindsay’s idea, not mine.”

“And you love him more than life itself. Come on, admit it. You can’t imagine your life without him. I’m sure you’ll feel the same way about your grandchildren.”

“Can we not age me prematurely, please?” Desperate for distraction, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked to see if I had any new messages. While Michael wasn’t wrong -- I’ve loved Gus since the first moment I laid eyes on him -- that didn’t mean I wanted to wax eloquent or get all mushy or teary-eyed about it.

“Pardon me, I forgot, the Great Kinney never ages. Except for these gray hairs right here.” He reached across the table and stroked the small swath of gray on my chin in the beard that Justin said was sexy and made me look sophisticated, that I actually kind of liked because it was a hell of a lot less maintenance than shaving every day. And when your morning routine is already much longer than you’d like it to be, shaving off a few minutes -- no pun intended -- can be a big help.

“Hey, you said it yourself, Mikey -- I’ll always be young and I’ll always be beautiful,” I said, swatting his hand away. “Just because you inherited some Italian gene that has somehow kept you from sprouting any gray yet doesn’t mean you’re not still older than me.”

“You never let me forget it.”

Before I could fire back another smartassed remark, our waitress -- a trans woman with purple hair and a better rack than most cis women -- was standing beside our table, ready to take our order.

Michael, whose eating habits while away from home were clearly unchanged even after a decade and a half of marriage to a health food nut, ordered a cheeseburger and fries, while I opted to take the gamble with the pink plate special -- meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans, which felt a little nostalgic as well.

Once we’d handed our menus back to our waitress, I picked up my phone again, just to double check that I hadn’t missed any notifications.

“Everything okay?” Michael asked. “You’re not usually one to be glued to your phone unless there’s a reason to be.”

“Just waiting for Justin to text me back to let me know whether or not I should pick him up some of those Eat’n Park cookies he loves so much. I’ll never understand why everyone else from this town has such a soft spot for them. They’re not even that good.”

“What’s Justin been up to, anyway?” The look on Michael’s face was that of innocent curiosity, but there was a small note of worry there too, though I wondered if that might just be a figment of my imagination, born of the worry I’d been trying to push out of my mind with little success.

“He’s staying busy,” I said, shrugging, though I knew that statement wasn’t entirely true. “Just working on his art. He’s got a show coming up.” I didn’t particularly want to talk about this, but at the time I didn’t understand where my own involuntary resistance was coming from. Normally, I love talking about Justin and his art -- because I’m proud of him and everything he’s accomplished -- but at the time, it felt like a sore subject.

“I’m sure that is keeping him busy,” Michael said. “Em was telling me he hadn’t heard from him in a while, and he was getting kind of worried. So I just wondered.”

I shrugged again, toying with my silverware just to have something to do and somewhere to look other than my childhood best friend’s big, brown puppy-dog eyes, which I was sure were expressing some of the same concern that I was feeling and trying to ignore. “Like I said, he’s been focused on his art. Spending a lot of time in the studio.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between us, though I could feel Michael’s eyes on me. He reached across the table and laid his hand over mine, stilling it. “Brian,” he said, his tone serious but gentle, “is everything okay with you and Justin?”

I sighed, then raised my gaze to meet Michael’s, which, as predicted, was full of worry. I really, really didn’t want to talk about this, but I also knew that Michael wasn’t going to give up easily. “I just wish I knew how to read him lately,” I said. “He’s just been so… distant. Sometimes I feel like he’s pushing me away. He’s spending almost all of his time either in bed or at his studio, and he doesn’t want to do anything with me anymore. Sometimes he doesn’t even want to talk to me.” I paused for a moment, already having said more than I intended, evaluating whether or not I wanted to give voice to my next thought, because I hated to make this about me, and even more, I hated to admit that I actually felt hurt by the way Justin had been distancing himself from me -- and that was something I’d come to realize through my solo trip to Pittsburgh and all of the time I’d had to think. But if I couldn’t be vulnerable with Michael -- the person who knew all of my history, even the ugly parts I liked to pretend didn’t happen -- who could I be vulnerable with? So I kept talking. “It just makes me wonder if everything has gotten to be too much for him. If I’m too much.”

“What are you talking about? He’s chased after you since the day you met. Sometimes relentlessly. Over and over again. Why would you suddenly be too much?”

“Fuck if I know. But actions speak louder than words.” My tone was bitter and I knew it, but I also knew it was serving as a bit of a shield, guarding my true feelings. All of my old insecurities were rearing their ugly heads, and there was no way Michael wouldn’t see it. Of course, he’d always know exactly how to deal with it.

“It doesn’t sound like he’s just distancing himself from you though,” Michael said, completely ignoring my resentful tone and offering a reassuring, balanced one of his own that seemed to be a mixture of the way he’d always known how to respond to me when I got like that, combined with having been married to Zen Ben for so many years. “It sounds like he’s distancing himself from everyone. He loves you. You know that. I think you’re right that something is off, but I don’t think it’s because of you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I know I’m right. A world in which Justin Taylor doesn’t love Brian Kinney is one that’s so far off its axis there’s no coming back.” Michael squeezed my hand and gave me a soft, sincere smile. “But there is something this reminds me of.”

“What’s that?”

“You. Right after your accident. You went to work and you went home, and that was it, and if I got you to go out with us, I had to promise that it would be halfway across town in some place where no one would know you. I’d call you at 8 p.m., and you’d be in bed. You didn’t want to see anybody. Half the time you didn’t even want to see me. Sometimes the only way I could get you to talk to me was to just show up at your office, unannounced.”

“I tried that with him. Still didn’t work.”

“Most of the time it didn’t with you, either.”

“This isn’t the same situation though. I was trying to work through some shit.”

“How do you know he isn’t? Maybe he just needs someone to talk to.”

“He can always talk to me. He knows that.”

“Maybe he’s afraid to. I thought the same thing about you all those years ago, and I told you, over and over, that you could talk to me about anything, but you never would.”

“I didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“Maybe Justin feels the same way. Talk to him. Ask him what’s wrong. Don’t give up when he tells you it’s nothing. It’s something. And if you need someone to talk to, I’m just a phone call away.”

Blessedly, our waitress chose that moment to show up with our food, giving me a perfect opportunity to shift the topic away from the uncomfortable truth Michael had just voiced. Michael seemed to sense how much I needed that too, as he released my hand and smiled at me -- his final, nonverbal reminder that he was there for me, just like he always had been -- then changed the subject.

We spent the rest of the meal discussing much lighter topics, and Michael didn’t bring up Justin again, but I did notice that his farewell hug was just a little bit tighter and a little bit longer, and I saw the unspoken message of support in his eyes after he kissed me and told me he loved me. Still, for the rest of my afternoon at the office, and the evening I spent alone at the house, Michael’s words kept running through my head, on an endless loop.

Don’t give up when he tells you it’s nothing. It’s something.

As I sat by myself in the jacuzzi tub, trying not to think about how lonely I felt and how much I wished Justin was sitting beside me, I kept turning my phone over and over in my hand, willing it to ring. I’d tried to call Justin twice already, but he hadn’t answered. I kept telling myself he was probably working on something at his studio and didn’t hear the phone. Again, pushing away the thoughts that coincided with the situation I didn’t want to see. But I couldn’t deny that Michael was right. Something was off with Justin, and I needed to pay more attention to that, so I could help him.

My phone remained silent until I was lying in bed, well after midnight, arguing with myself about whether or not I should try to call Justin one more time before I fell asleep, but it wasn’t the call I’d been hoping for. It was a text message instead.

Sorry I missed you. Was at the studio. I’m sure you’re probably asleep by now. Safe travels in the morning. I love you.

I wanted so badly to hear his voice say those three little words -- to have his reassurance in vocal form -- but I didn’t call him back. The last thing I wanted to do was sound as desperate and alone as I felt, because Brian Kinney doesn’t do desperate, and I knew he’d see right through any casual, nonchalant facade I tried to put on. I didn’t want to worry him. Didn’t want to burden him with my old insecurities and feelings of not being good enough -- especially not if he was going through something himself. Instead, I set the phone aside on the nightstand, rolled over, and closed my eyes, vowing to myself that when I got home, I’d try to get Justin to talk to me.