“Est-ce parfait?”

The petite wisp of a brunette gazed down expectantly at Justin from her precarious position atop a stepladder. The intent in her eyes was clear though, and Justin nodded, speaking it into reality.

“I think it looks fucking amazing!” He took a step back, carefully loosening the cotton handling gloves from around his fingers and pulling them off before assisting his friend down from her perch. Both of them took a moment to survey the fruits of their labor, then looked at each other, grinning.

Two weeks of painstaking work had left the pristine white walls of New York’s prestigious Marguerite Mercier Gallery adorned with paintings by artists whose work Justin had once only dreamed of seeing in person. Now, he was assisting with a holiday exhibition beyond his wildest imagination, and it meant the world to him that Margie herself had trusted him enough to deliberately ask for his participation. The first time his (meticulously gloved) hand had grazed the ornate frame of an actual Renoir, he’d almost burst into tears. Seeing the paintings in the MoMA or the Met was one thing; this was otherworldly.

“What’s left for today?” Justin asked, watching as Margie pulled a list out of her back pocket, her eyes scanning down its contents, lips moving silently as she checked and double checked their tasks.

“Well,” she began, looking up as she finished. “Adrian’s team will finish the remaining set-up once I’ve let him know the artwork is set, and Paul mentioned that the musicians wanted to stop by for a preliminary soundcheck, if time permitted.”

Justin nodded. “Is it the same quartet you got for the show in October?”

Margie shook her head. “No, unfortunately they’ve been booked out for the month of December since last Christmas. The group came highly recommended though--”

A loud clatter from the back of the gallery interrupted their conversation, followed by Paul, Margie’s husband calling out, “Marguerite!” with more urgency than was comfortable, considering the circumstances.

“Mon dieu,” Margie muttered, then cast Justin an apologetic look before rushing toward the noise, leaving him alone in front of a Monet that he still couldn’t believe was mere feet away from him. It was different than seeing one hanging in the MoMA or the Met, because sure, he could do that anytime too -- and those were magnificent in their own rights, but this experience, and his resulting proximity to something so significant, was a totally different animal.

“I know how you feel,” a voice broke in, interrupting Justin’s trance, and causing him to snap around to see who had spoken.

Over the course of his decade and a half in New York, Justin had had a few unexpected surprises, running into people he knew from his various schools, who lived in the city now, or who were visiting from Pittsburgh. Before Brian had moved to Manhattan himself, he had surprised Justin on more than a few occasions too. But turning around to the face of Ethan Gold was the last surprise encounter Justin had expected.

Apparently the experience was equally as jarring on the other end, as Ethan nearly dropped his violin case and whispered, “Holy shit,” his brown eyes wide.

“W-what are you doing here?” Justin asked, though he was more shocked than disturbed by the sight of the much older version of the only other man he’d dated besides Brian. Regardless how off-guard he felt, however, he hadn’t intended to be rude. “Sorry. I mean, hi. Ethan.”

“Justin. Hi,” Ethan echoed, finding his own voice. “Wow.”

“I know. It’s been a long time,” Justin said, trying to unobtrusively study Ethan’s features. He was still handsome, with strong dark features, now more angular and lined with time. A quick glance downward revealed a bare left ring finger.

“You… you look amazing,” Ethan said, a bit sheepishly, revealing that he’d been conducting the same assessment of his ex-boyfriend. His ring check, however, resulted in a slightly different finding. “And married.”

Justin couldn’t fight back a small smile as his left thumb instinctively moved toward his platinum wedding band, turning it slightly. “Thanks. Yeah, I am.” Before Ethan could ask anything further, though, Justin returned to his original line of questioning. “Why are you here? Do you know Margie?”

Ethan’s brow furrowed “Mar-- Oh! Marguerite. No, actually. My friend Wyatt knows Paul, whose wife is the gallery owner -- Margie, I guess -- and Paul asked if our quartet could play for the opening.” He paused, glancing down and chuckling a little nervously. “Actually, it’s not my quartet at all, but Wy’s wife Mary plays The Nutcracker every year, so I fill in for holiday gigs, usually.”

Justin nodded. “Wow. What a small world.”

“It really is,” Ethan agreed, nodding somewhat wistfully. “So, what are you doing here?” he asked, reversing the question. “Do you work in this gallery?”

“No,” Justin replied, shaking his head. “I freelance, mostly. Margie’s a good friend of mine, and occasionally gives me opportunities to assist when she has an important show. I was introduced to her when I first moved to New York, and she kinda just helped to show me the ropes, make some connections -- things like that.”

Ethan smiled genuinely. “That’s very impressive. Freelancing and hanging Monets. It looks like you’ve done extremely well for yourself, Justin. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Justin said, turning his head to look as another, fortunately less robust, clatter came from the back of the gallery. He waited a beat for any subsequent exclamations, then continued when it remained quiet. “How about you?”

Ethan shifted his violin case to the other hand, and then shrugged. “A little of this and that, really. My semi-permanent role is with the Brooklyn Phil, but I teach lessons and take gigs when I can.”

“That’s great,” Justin said, not sure of how else to respond. He knew Ethan’s ultimate dream -- at least back when they were twenty or so -- had been to play with the New York Philharmonic, which, as he now knew, was an incredibly lucrative opportunity. Brooklyn had a smaller but dedicated following, though not nearly close to the same prestige. Still, making a living exclusively as a musician was difficult in New York City -- much like being an artist, so any level of success was commendable.

As expected, though, Ethan just huffed a small laugh. “It’s not where I hoped I’d be the last time we saw each other, but it pays the bills better than playing on a street corner.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I learned the hard way that humility goes a long way, especially once you aren’t a young prodigy and have left the comfortable niche of Pittsburgh.”

Justin opened his mouth to respond, genuinely interested in the direction their conversation had taken, but before he could make any further inquiries, three others -- a man and two women -- walked into the gallery, all toting instruments of their own.

“I’d really like to catch up some more,” Ethan said apologetically, watching his friends approach.

“Well, the opening lasts all weekend, so I’m sure we could grab coffee or something sometime…” Justin trailed off, not sure if he was over-assuming -- or even if he wanted that much one-on-one time himself. Talking to Ethan was easier than he expected, especially considering that it had been over a decade and a half since their fateful demise, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. And besides that, Brian didn’t know yet.

Brian.

Ethan Gold was a name that hadn’t come up in their conversations since shortly after their relationship had resumed following their first “official'' break-up. As they’d sat across from each other at Brian’s Vangard desk, discussing the terms of their reconciliation, Brian’s ultimate request, thinly disguised as disdain for violin music, had been clear: We pretend this didn’t happen. And Justin had done everything he could to adhere to his promise, though the truth was that it didn’t require much -- once the two of them were back together, and Justin could see how much he meant to Brian, Ethan’s existence didn’t require any part of his mental energy. Whether or not Brian ever dwelled on it after that had, unsurprisingly, never been revealed, but it was becoming increasingly more clear that that was likely to change in the next day or so.

Or the next fifteen minutes.

Ethan had been incredibly agreeable to Justin’s coffee suggestion, so after a quick round of introductions to the other musicians, they decided that they’d choose a time before the end of the weekend to follow through. Shortly after, Ethan had joined the others to set up and soundcheck, so Justin did a quick circle around the gallery, taking a final survey of the artwork placement.

Margie rejoined him as he headed back toward the front, seeming much calmer as she teased Justin for the childlike wonder he displayed as his eyes lingered on a Caillebotte they were passing.

“Earth to Justin,” she finally sing-songed, her French accent more pronounced than usual.

“What?” Justin laughed, finally turning to his friend.

“Un bel homme est ici… Tu le connaissez?” Margie whispered conspiratorially, giving him a wink.

Justin’s head snapped toward the gallery’s main entrance, and his face immediately broke into a grin at the sight of his husband, standing long, lean, and unspeakably handsome in his suit and favorite black Armani cashmere coat. Twenty years later, Brian still had the ability to take Justin’s breath away, even from across a room, and he doubted he’d ever tire of it -- or the fact that not only did Brian’s entrance catch Justin’s eye on a regular basis, but often everyone else in the room as well.

It only took a second after that realization for Justin to remember who else was in the gallery, with a commanding view of the entryway where Brian was standing. Fortunately, the musicians were focused on warming up, each of them lost in their own routine, creating a somewhat dissonant, though not entirely unpleasant auditory experience -- until one particular piece stood out above the rest. Whether it was due to familiarity or Post-Traumatic Stress of sorts, Justin wasn’t sure, but both he and Brian looked up at the exact same moment, finally making eye contact.

Scherzo Tarantelle, Op. 16. Presto. Justin hadn’t heard it since a cold day in Harrisburg many years before, and he imagined it had been even longer for Brian, but the unmistakable, fiery intervals were burned into both their brains, and connected back to only one person. Immediately, Justin saw Brian’s eyes dart toward the musicians, scanning them carefully, before moving his eyes back to his husband, his gaze softening noticeably as Justin approached.

They met with a lingering kiss, but Brian spoke before Justin could offer any further explanation.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Brian’s tone was so quiet that even Margie, just a few steps away, couldn’t hear his question, but Justin heard it loud and clear.

“Later,” Justin murmured, not wanting to risk causing a scene, then raised his voice, adding, “What are you doing here? This is a nice surprise.”

Brian gave Justin a mildly annoyed glance, but played along. “Belle Marguerite,” he said, offering Margie one of his most charming smiles. “I thought I’d stop by and offer a final stamp of approval before the big opening -- not that the two of you need it. This looks phenomenal.”

“Merci beaucoup,” Margie replied, blushing and smiling back. “I’ve been incredibly lucky to have Justin’s expertise. It wouldn’t look nearly as good without him!”

“She’s lying,” Justin cut in, smirking, “but I’m grateful for the opportunity just the same.”

Brian wrapped an arm across his husband’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “Don’t discount yourself,” he said, directing it at Justin, before looking back to Margie. “He has no idea how brilliant he is.”

Justin scoffed, but both Brian and Margie ignored him. “He really doesn’t,” Margie agreed, glancing around again. The musicians appeared to be done with their warm-ups -- the dreaded Wieniawski piece had stopped, at the very least, so Margie wished Brian and Justin a good evening and then excused herself to go speak with the quartet, leaving Brian and Justin standing alone again.

“I didn’t know he was going to be here,” Justin said quietly, still tucked under Brian’s arm. “I haven’t seen him in over seventeen years. I didn’t even know he was in New York.”

Brian’s arm tightened reassuringly. “You don’t have to explain anything,” he said, seeming satisfied with Justin’s minimal account.

Justin nodded, not really wanting to expound on anything further, while still standing in the gallery, just a few yards away from the current topic. He watched Margie talk with the musicians, faintly hearing his name leave her lips, which caused them all to look over, and there was no mistaking the exact second that Ethan placed the identity of Justin’s new companion, or the second later when he noticed Brian’s left arm slung around Justin, an identical band adorning the fourth finger of his hand.

They were too far away for any type of conversation, but Ethan’s realization seemed to satisfy Brian, who looked down at Justin and simply said, “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Ethan Encounter, as Justin had begun referring to it in his head, didn’t come up for a while after they left the gallery, and he couldn’t decide if he was surprised by that or not. Though he had a feeling Brian was dying to know if more had transpired, the older man also had a tendency to carefully regulate his emotions when certain people and topics came up -- likely including break-up-inducing ex-boyfriends.

Instead, Brian had surprised Justin yet again by suggesting that they walk home along the High Line, so they did, strolling hand-in-hand and taking in the colorfully lit seasonal displays, as well as the massive city surrounding them. They picked up dinner from one of their favorite West Village bistros and headed back to the house to eat.

After Justin plated their dinners and Brian changed out of his work suit, they sat at the kitchen island and began their meals, Brian not-so-discreetly plucking fries from Justin’s Steak Frites at random intervals.

“You should just order it sometime,” Justin finally teased. “You eat most of mine by the time I’m done anyway.”

“That’s total bullshit,” Brian retorted, stabbing at one of his seared sea scallops more aggressively than intended, and then continuing to avoid Justin’s amused gaze by draining the remainder of his glass of wine.

It wasn’t until they’d finished eating and Justin was emptying the remainder of the wine bottle into their glasses that Brian finally decided to revisit what had happened at the gallery.

“So, it would seem that the fiddler didn’t fall off the roof,” he said casually, moving into the living room and settling onto the chaise-end of their sofa.

“I guess not.” Justin shrugged and sat down next to him, moving to lie perpendicular to his husband, head in Brian’s lap. Instinctively, Brian’s free hand came down and began threading through Justin’s hair. Justin sighed, partly out of relief that the topic had finally been opened, and partly due to the soothing ministrations.

“Did you talk to him?” Brian was trying to keep his tone fairly neutral, but Justin could hear the faint hint of curiosity -- and perhaps even fear behind it. If nothing else, it confirmed his suspicion that there was a lot more emotion behind Brian’s feelings toward the whole Ethan situation, both past and present, than he’d ever expressed to Justin.

Justin tilted his head so he could look up at Brian, immediately seeing the unease in his hazel eyes. When Brian realized what Justin was doing, he looked away and blinked; when he looked back, a mask of impassivity was in place. Not looking for a fight, Justin let it go and simply answered the question. “A little. It honestly surprised the shit out of me to see him -- I think he was surprised too, though.”

Brian snorted. “What’s he doing in New York?”

“Performing, I guess. He said he plays with the Brooklyn Philharmonic, teaches, and picks up any other gigs he can… It didn’t sound like he’s wildly successful, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Brian shrugged noncommittally, but then grinned, his fingernails grazing Justin’s scalp in a way that made the younger man utter a soft moan of appreciation. “And did you tell him how wildly successful YOU are?”

Justin smiled back. “Kind of. I mean… he understood well enough based on what I told him I’m doing. He’s an artist in his own right -- he knows what it means if you can make it independently. I think he initially thought I worked in Margie’s gallery.”

Brian nodded, tongue tucked thoughtfully in his cheek. “Tell him anything else?”

“I told him that I’m married.”

An eyebrow perked up on Brian’s forehead. “Oh, did you?”

“Uh huh,” Justin nodded, dragging out the syllables.

“Anyone I know?”

Justin nodded again, grinning coquettishly. “I suspect you’re familiar with him. He’s hot, brilliantly successful, incredibly smart, an amazing lover, and he has a huge and beautiful--”

“Cock?” Brian supplied hopefully, his corresponding appendage beginning to show interest beneath Justin’s head.

“Well,” Justin snorted, “I was going to say heart, but that’d be a very close second.”

Brian sighed, feigning disappointment. “If you ask me, that’s up for debate.”

“If it’s any consolation, I love him for both,” Justin replied. Brian looked down at him for a few seconds before leaning down for a kiss, supporting Justin’s back as he leaned up to meet him.

Justin could feel Brian trying to deepen the kiss, hoping to move them to the next phase of their evening, but he didn’t want to waste the opportunity to continue the conversation. Ethan was going to be around for the rest of the weekend, at least, and he wanted to make sure Brian was genuinely feeling comfortable with everything. To avoid any further distractions, he gently pulled back from the kiss and sat up, sitting at Brian’s side instead. Brian cast a defeated look in his direction, but didn’t say anything further.

“I actually didn’t tell him who I married,” Justin admitted a second later. “But I’m pretty sure he figured it out by the time we left.”

“I had a feeling that he wasn’t expecting to see me,” Brian said, snorting lightly. “Did he mention if he’s with anyone?”

Justin shook his head. “He wasn’t wearing a ring, but he also didn’t mention a boyfriend or anything. We really didn’t talk for very long, he had to set up once the rest of the quartet arrived.”

Brian hummed, nodding. “So he’ll be around for awhile?”

“Just for the opening this weekend. The gallery is only open in the evenings through Sunday for invited guests and VIP patrons. It’ll go back to normal operation on Monday.”

“I see.”

Justin hesitated before continuing. “We might grab a drink or coffee or something if there’s an opportunity,” he hedged, watching Brian’s reaction. “As long as you don’t mind, of course.”

Brian turned his head sharply, giving Justin a quizzical look. “Why the fuck would I mind?”

“Just,” Justin began carefully, “after everything that happened--”

“--seventeen years ago,” Brian cut in firmly. “Justin, you’re an adult. You don’t need my permission to see anyone. You’re not dating him, you’re barely even friends--”

“--We’re not,” Justin affirmed.

Brian nodded once before continuing. “So what if you had a few months of sub-par sex with him nearly two decades ago. Go catch up with Paganini Jr and enjoy yourself. I trust you.”

Justin hadn’t realized it, but the final three words were what he’d needed to hear most -- not because there was any question that he’d violate his commitment to Brian in any way shape or form, but because he needed Brian to explicitly understand that any interaction with Ethan was strictly and completely platonic.

“You’re sure you’re OK with it?” Justin asked, just for good measure.

Brian gave him a sidelong glance, then sensing that Justin needed complete assurance, turned to face him directly. “I’m sure.”

***

When Justin arrived at the gallery before the event, Ethan and the other quartet members were already in their spot, warming up. As soon as he noticed Justin’s arrival, Ethan jumped up, excused himself from the group and walked over to him.

“Hey,” he said casually, tucking his violin under his right arm.

“Hi,” Justin replied, looking up as he unwound the cashmere scarf around his neck and shrugged off his peacoat. “How’s it going?”

“Coming along,” Ethan replied, shifting his bow from his left hand to dangle from his right index finger. “You look great,” he added, admiring Justin’s blue roll-neck sweater and tailored black pinstriped suit pants. The Hugo Boss ensemble had been a gift from Brian for the occasion, perfectly complementing Justin’s blue eyes and trim figure.

“Thanks, so do you,” Justin said, gesturing toward Ethan’s concert blacks, then scanning the room to look for Margie.

“Hey,” Ethan said again, now seeming nervous. “I know you probably have a million things to do, so I just wanted to check in really quick about grabbing that drink sometime?”

Justin spotted Margie toward the rear of the gallery just as she made eye contact with him and gestured for him to join her, so he looked back at Ethan apologetically and said, “Yeah, we definitely can, I’m just not sure when--”

“--It’s just that,” Ethan continued hurriedly, realizing that Justin was trying to leave their conversation, “was that Brian Kinney here last night? Is- is he your husband?”

Hearing Brian’s name, Justin smiled reflexively and nodded. “It was. We’ve been married ten years, together twenty, give or take.”

“Holy shit,” Ethan murmured, genuinely sounding impressed, but then smirked. “I assume I was the ‘take?’”

Justin smirked back, grateful that the reveal wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could have been. “One of them.”

Ethan laughed, looking incredibly intrigued. “Alright then! Sounds like we really need to catch up.”

“We will,” Justin promised again. “I need to make sure Margie doesn’t need to be talked off a ledge, and see how else I can help before we open the doors, but I’ll catch you later.”

“It’s a deal,” Ethan nodded, pulling his violin back out from rest position. He gave Justin a final smile and they exchanged mutual wishes of luck before heading in opposite directions.

Margie, to Justin’s relief, seemed relatively calm by the time Justin reached her. “You look sensational,” he told her, admiring her vintage black-and-gold Lanvin cocktail dress.

“So do you, mon chéri,” she said, squeezing Justin’s arm affectionately. “Now tell me,” she continued, somewhat conspiratorially. “How do you know this musician?”

Justin chuckled. “Do you remember how I told you that Brian and I have only technically broken up two times in our relationship?”

Margie gasped, her eyes widened. “No! He was the violinist?”

“Guilty,” Justin admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh Justin, I’m so sorry. We had no idea--” she began, looking scandalized, but Justin was quick to jump in.

“It’s totally fine. We haven’t seen each other since then, and it’s actually been… weirdly nice catching up. You couldn’t have known. I didn’t even know he lived in the city!” he assured her.

Margie nodded, looking relieved and glancing over toward the quartet as they were rehearsing a lively rendition of “Deck the Halls” that sounded amazing, and appropriately festive. “I take it Brian knows he’s here?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Justin replied. “He saw him last night. I’m still not sure how he actually feels about it, but he’s acting like everything is fine.”

“Good,” Margie said, looking relieved. “Brian’s a catch. He has nothing to worry about.”

Justin followed Margie as they walked toward the storage room temporarily being occupied by the caterers. “Trust me,” he said, smiling ruefully. “I know that now, and I’ll never forget it.”

***

Justin was engrossed in one of the exhibition’s paintings yet again when someone came up behind him and he felt a familiar pair of lips delicately press against his neck.

“Hey,” Justin said happily, turning to wrap his arms around his husband, giving him a proper hello kiss. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Brian gave him a playful smirk when they separated. “You know how I feel about a fashionably late entrance,” he teased. “And besides that, I’ve been here for a few minutes. I almost felt guilty for interrupting the love affair between you and Meneer Van Gogh.”

“I just love this one so much,” Justin admitted, sighing dreamily and turning back to face the painting. “The vivid contrasts, the composition… It’s particularly unique for Van Gogh because of the perspective, as if he’s walking behind the subject, with a focus on the foreground, and the horizon--” he paused, looking back to see if Brian was remotely interested in his commentary.

“It’s exquisite,” Brian offered softly, though his eyes were focused on Justin, not the painting. “I love watching you lust over your work,” he continued, wrapping his arms around Justin from behind. “It’s even hotter when you look as fucking amazing as you do tonight.”

Pressed against Brian’s front, Justin could feel just how hot Brian thought he was, and between the painter’s wet dream of artwork in front of him, and the hottest man in New York behind him, it was all Justin could do to maintain his own control, but he reminded himself that he was working, and that he and Brian could resolve their pent-up sexual urges later, in the privacy of their home, rather than in an unplanned public display of erotic performance art.

“Not here,” Justin murmured, gently extricating himself from his husband’s embrace, and turning back to face him again. Brian made a discreet adjustment to his clothing and then gave Justin an affirmative look, smoothing down the front of his black Tom Ford sport jacket.

“How’s everything going so far?” he asked, his tone much more conversational. He glanced around the gallery, nodding approvingly at the sizable crowd.

Justin grinned. “Incredibly well. Margie has made a point to introduce me to as many of her top-tier patrons as possible. I’ve given out more business cards tonight than in the last six months.”

Brian reached out and squeezed Justin’s hand in an unexpectedly tender gesture. “That’s fucking fantastic. They should all be so lucky as to own a Justin Taylor original,” he said, beaming with pride. “I’ve no doubt that this weekend will be the kickoff to a spectacularly successful year.”

“Let’s hope!” Justin agreed, looking excited at the prospect.

A server in a tuxedo stepped in next to them, balancing a tray of Moet-filled flutes. “Gentlemen?” he offered.

“Impeccable timing.” Brian smiled amusedly, accepting two glasses and passing one to Justin. “To your continued prosperity, in every respect.”

“Cheers,” Justin replied, toasting his husband, and then giving him a chaste kiss before they sipped their champagne. “Thank you for everything. And thank you for being here tonight, supporting me. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Brian gave Justin a disapproving look. “You could, and you would.”

“Maybe,” Justin conceded. He moved closer to Brian, slipping an arm beneath his designer jacket to wrap it around his waist. “But I’d much rather have you to share it.”

As they continued to stroll around the gallery , Justin providing personal narration of his favorite pieces, they paused to chat with Margie and Paul so that Brian could offer congratulations on an impressive opening.

“You have the most qualified tour guide I could offer,” Margie said proudly, winking at Justin after Brian told them what they’d been doing. “His knowledge of Impressionism is one of the most complete and conversational conceptualizations that I’ve experienced in all my years. It’s one of the reasons I was so eager for him to be part of presenting this collection”

“I learned a lot from our friend Lindsay when I was first starting out,” Justin admitted. “The Impressionist period and the artists have just always been fascinating to me.”

Paul smiled, nodding. “It’s particularly curious, given its vast difference from your typical style, but it truly speaks to how well-rounded you are as an artist.”

“Well, I’m very impressed,” Brian said, then smirked, adding, “No pun intended.” Justin hid his own smile by taking a sip from his champagne glass.

Shortly after they wandered away from the Merciers, a guest approached Justin with questions about a Monet just as Brian recognized a client from across the gallery, so Brian excused himself, leaving Justin to work.

They reconvened about twenty minutes later near the charcuterie spread, and surprisingly, up to that point, Justin had all but forgotten about Ethan’s presence. Everything was going better than he had even dared to hope -- the caliber of the contacts he’d made so far was outstanding and Brian’s outward enthusiasm toward his professional world meant everything to him. Perhaps best of all was the fact that every time he looked at his husband, in his unassuming yet still incredibly sexy Tom Ford ensemble, he felt a thrill knowing that he’d get to leave with the most attractive and amazing man in the room -- a little victory he privately celebrated nearly anytime he and Brian attended an event together.

“Having fun?” Justin asked, joining Brian as he surveyed the food selection.

Brian gave him a crooked grin. “I’m faaaaabulous,” he drawled, pulling Justin in for a kiss.

“I see someone found the open bar,” Justin teased, tasting the remnants of scotch on Brian’s lips, and vaguely wondered why he’d opted for whiskey over his standard, less-potent work event preferences. Before he could say anything further, he felt Brian press something gently to his mouth and accepted it, tasting caviar and creme fraiche.

Brian was about to speak when a third voice cut in. “How is it?”

Ethan was standing to their side, offering a tentative smile that was clearly intended as a peace offering, and Justin immediately realized what had prompted Brian’s abrupt shift to hard alcohol. He forced himself to chew the rest of the toast point in his mouth before swallowing and saying, “Ethan, hey!”

“Hey,” Ethan echoed, then turned to Brian and offered his hand. “Brian. It’s been a long time. It’s good to see you.”

Brian initially eyed Ethan skeptically, but after a second, shook his hand and plastered a fake smile on his face. “Ian. It’s a pleasure.”

The side-eye Ethan darted toward Justin indicated that he’d caught the intentional slight, but chose to ignore it, attempting to return to his original conversation starter. “How’s the caviar?” he asked. “I saw the caterers setting it out, and wondered if it was worth trying.” It was clear that he was specifically seeking Justin’s response, but before Justin could oblige, Brian jumped in.

“Trust me, only the absolute best goes into Justin’s mouth… these days.”

“Brian,” Justin said shortly before turning his attention back to Ethan. “Margie would die before serving bad caviar at one of her events. I think it’s the French in her,” he continued, trying to laugh off Brian’s insinuation.

“I’m not surprised,” Ethan said, seeming relieved by Justin’s interception. “Everything about this event is incredible. I’m so grateful that I get to be a part of it.”

“I take it this isn’t your regular milieu?” Brian asked, his tone innocent, though the look in his eyes was anything but kind. Justin let out a slow breath, forcing himself to refrain from reprimanding his husband in public. Clearly Brian had managed to get a few drinks into him in a short time, and attempting to deter him would only cause more problems.

Fortunately, Ethan seemed to recognize the obstacle he was facing and remained unphased. “I guess you could say that.”

Brian gave a contemptuous laugh. “I suppose not much has changed, then. Except, somehow, here you are in the Big Apple!”

Justin could feel his cheeks burning as he cringed internally at the derision in his husband’s voice. Now, there was no question that Brian had clear issues surrounding Ethan’s return to their present existence, but it still didn’t excuse him from making a small scene in the middle of Margie’s gallery, and technically, it didn’t even give him the right to take his feelings out on Ethan. Justin had been the one to make bad decisions 18 years before. Justin had cheated on Brian, violated his trust, and left him. Justin had been cheated on in return, by Ethan. If anything, Ethan’s behavior had been the reason Justin had gone back to Brian. Certainly, Justin didn’t expect Brian to acknowledge any level of appreciation for the man Justin had chosen over him, albeit briefly, many years before, but he did expect his husband to behave like an adult at what was turning out to be the most important work event of Justin’s year.

“Brian, I’m sure Ethan just wants to get some food before his break is over,” Justin tried to intercede once again. Ethan gave him a sympathetic glance, clearly understanding that his presence was at the root of their discord, but he seemed convinced that he could still win Brian over.

“It’s okay, Justin,” Ethan said, humoring Brian. “Yes, I’ve been here for five years,” he continued.

“Alphabet City, I presume?” Brian guessed, pretension oozing from each word.

“Not quite,” Ethan chuckled, though not rudely. “I have an apartment in Ridgewood.”

“Oh, a Brooklyn man. Big spender!”

Ethan shook his head, stepping between Brian and Justin so that he could actually get to the food table. “I live with a few other musicians,” he admitted, though there was no shame in his voice.

“Well, the important thing is that you’re happy, right?” Justin said pointedly.

Ethan turned to him and smiled genuinely. “That’s what I’ve learned. And I am.”

“Well how nice to know there’s… nobility to be found after all,” Brian simpered, pasting the insincere smile back onto his face and carefully avoiding Justin’s eyes. Finally, it seemed he was realizing that he’d taken things too far, but he also refused to retract in front of Ethan, who had finished snagging a few items from the food table and had stepped back again.

The three men stood awkwardly for a few seconds, Justin casting an apologetic look in Ethan’s direction, until Ethan broke the pause first. “I should get back. We have one more set tonight, and I just wanted to say hi and grab a bite. I’ll catch you later, Justin.”

“Yeah, I should get back to Margie,” Justin replied, sounding relieved. He finally looked at Brian in the eyes and said, “Meet me at home.” It was an obvious dismissal, and Brian knew it, but he was clearly going to have the last word while Ethan was in earshot.

“Of course, Honey,” he drawled and pulled Justin in for an unnecessarily long kiss. Justin pulled back and glared at him, but when he looked, Ethan was gone. Brian opened his mouth to say something, but Justin held up a hand to stop him and then, with a shake of his head, walked away.

There was about another hour in the event, and Justin managed to find his bearing again, chatting with several more patrons who had no idea about the shitstorm that had overtaken his evening in the form of an insecure husband. He focused on the art and let it guide him for the remainder of the evening. It wasn’t until the final guests left the gallery that the heavy reality of having to deal with Brian returned to his brain. He wondered if he should seek out Ethan and apologize in earnest, but before he could make it over, he saw the musicians packing up and heading out together, absolving him of one less task that night.

The caterers and custodial staff were beginning clean-up when Margie came over to Justin and gave him a big hug. “You look exhausted, mon chér. Go home and get some rest with that beautiful man of yours!”

Justin forced a smile, and nodded. Though Margie had become a close friend, he was not in the mood to unpack the evening and reveal his actual frustrations with his husband, only to rehash them with said man shortly thereafter.

Unfortunately, it was going to be a long, long night.

***

The bedroom was quiet when Justin finally made it back home, shortly after one o’clock. He’d purposely taken a much longer route home, and had stayed at the gallery later than necessary. He wasn’t surprised to find Brian under the covers on his side of the bed, but Justin was fairly certain that he wasn’t asleep. He needed some time to think before he addressed the evening, though, so he allowed Brian to continue feigning slumber and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

It was abundantly clear that The Ethan Encounter had rocked Brian much more than he’d originally conveyed the night before, and while Justin suspected that Ethan would be understanding of the situation, he was still owed an apology for the way Brian had behaved. From whom the apology would come still remained to be seen. On one hand, Justin realized he couldn’t be too surprised that Brian’s insecurities had surfaced. Hell, Brian held onto familial insecurities for several decades, and it was possible that this one ran even more deeply, considering Justin was the person he held most dear. But still, despite the time that had passed, they’d never really discussed what had happened when Justin left Brian for Ethan. Brian had played it relatively cool every time they had seen each other during the time they were apart, though Michael’s initial condemnation had indicated that Brian was struggling; Justin had just never heard or seen it for himself -- at least not in a way that Brian was willing to reveal. Nearly twenty years later, it seemed like immaterial in every other circumstance, but now, Ethan was back in their lives, no matter how temporarily, and Brian had most certainly reacted. Justin just wanted to know why.

About a half hour had passed when Justin came back into the bedroom, dressed for bed in a pair of his least-sexy boxer-briefs. Despite his original intentions earlier that evening, after everything subsequent at the gallery, sex was the absolute last thing Justin wanted, and Brian was still trying to appear asleep, so it didn’t seem to matter anyway. However, just as Justin was about to crawl onto his side of the bed, the lamp from Brian’s nightstand flicked on, and Justin had to squint against the unexpected onslaught of brightness.

“Everything finished alright?” Brian asked neutrally, his eyes seeming to search his husband for outward signs of his mood.

“It was fine.” Justin kept his tone clipped. Though he hadn’t reacted much to Brian’s foolish display at the gallery, he wasn’t about to play ignorant now.

Fortunately, Brian seemed to be aware of this and sighed. “Justin, I--”

“No, Brian,” Justin cut him off sharply. “What the actual fuck was that tonight?”

“It was inappropriate,” Brian said quietly. “Uncouth. Ill-mannered. Unbecoming of m--”

“I didn’t ask to consult a fucking thesaurus,” Justin snapped, interrupting him. “I want to know why, after assuring and reassuring me over and over in the past twenty-four hours that you were absolutely fine with Ethan being at the opening, you’d practically humiliate yourself -- and me -- over something so completely absurd, I don’t even know…”

“I thought I was. Before.”

“And then what? You decided that you didn’t trust me after all? Or that you were so bored in the twenty minutes we were apart that you had to get wasted? That you wanted to make a scene at my work event? That despite--”

“Can you please stop?” Brian cut in, his voice tired. He gave Justin a plaintive look. “I mean, fine, bitch me out if you want to -- I deserve it, but… I’m willing to talk. I owe you that much. Can we do that instead?”

As much as Justin wanted to allow the frustration bubbling within him to continue to erupt, he also knew that Brian outright offering to talk was a rarity, and one he needed to give credence. “Fine.”

Brian nodded, then sighed heavily, dragging his hand across his forehead and up into his hair, leaving it disheveled. The look was actually incredibly sexy, but Justin quickly shook himself out of focusing on it, especially because, based on the look on Brian’s face, it hadn’t been intentional.

“Should we go downstairs?” Brian asked.

Though Justin’s first thought was that Brian also wanted to avoid falling back on sex, a closer study of Brian’s features suggested that he was probably feeling the after-effects of his brief foray with Johnnie Walker and needed something to help him endure whatever the next few hours would bring, so he agreed easily, walking to their walk-in closet to retrieve their robes. Justin was surprised to see, when Brian climbed out of bed to accept his, that he was actually dressed in full pajama pants -- a clear indication that he was fully aware of how badly he’d fucked up.

Brian needed to use the restroom, so Justin headed down to the second floor ahead of him, and by the time they reconvened in the living room, there were two cups of coffee waiting on the table.

“Thanks,” Brian said gratefully, accepting his after he sank down onto the sofa, opposite his husband.

“It’s black,” Justin warned. “Figured you don’t need the extra sugar right now.”

Brian shook his head and took a small sip, letting out a slow breath as the warmth infused his body. After another sip, he looked up at Justin. “Look,” he began quietly, “before you say anything else, I owe you an apology. I don’t know what I was thinking tonight, but I was completely and inexcusably out of line.”

Justin nodded once in acknowledgement and sipped his own coffee before continuing. “Thank you. I do appreciate that. But what I don’t understand is why you told me -- more than once, might I add -- that you were OK with this when you obviously weren’t.”

Brian sighed. “I told you. I thought I was.” He paused, looking down, then back up to meet Justin’s eyes. “But seriously, Justin, what the fuck other options did I have? You hadn’t orchestrated the situation, so what choice did I have other than to accept it?”

He had a point. It wasn’t as though Justin would have resigned from the event -- nor would Brian have endorsed that as a viable option. It also wasn’t like he could have told Margie to hire different musicians at the last minute. Aside from the logistics of finding another reputable quartet overnight, it would have been completely unprofessional, not to mention inexcusably petty.

“I get that,” Justin said. “It was a Catch-22 situation. But I wish you could have told me yesterday if that’s how you felt, rather than me finding out as I was literally standing in the middle of the gallery opening with both of you.”

Brian winced, though whether it was from Justin’s words or the percussion in his head, Justin wasn’t sure.

“You said you trusted me yesterday,” Justin decided to continue, hoping that by offering Brian additional exposition, he’d be more willing to reciprocate. “But what happened tonight didn’t feel that way. I thought you understood that there was no reason to feel threatened by Ethan being there -- that I would never jeopardize what we have to go chasing something meaningless from the past...”

The room was silent for several seconds as Brian seemed to be contemplating what he wanted to say next. “The past has a way of sneaking up on me sometimes,” he began finally, not meeting Justin’s eyes as he spoke. “The second I heard that fucking song yesterday -- the one you played nonstop to the point that it seared in my brain -- I just… something inside me just snapped, and I tried to bury it, because, Justin… I fucking know that I can trust you, but -- you don’t… you don’t know…”

“Know what?” Justin asked, watching Brian carefully.

“What it was like,” Brian said, words barely audible.

“Tonight at the gallery? Last night when you heard the song?” Justin guessed. “Help me here.”

Brian gave him a sidelong glance, and then shifted himself left, further away from Justin. While it stung Justin to see, he also realized that Brian was going to need space to get through the conversation, so it was probably a good thing. When Brian spoke again, there was a bitter edge to his voice. “All of it. Eighteen years ago, and all the months that followed. Last night. Tonight. Anytime I hear that fucking song -- which I hadn’t in nearly two decades, until yesterday.”

“He did play that song a lot,” Justin murmured. Ethan had placed second in the Heifetz Competition with the technically impressive Wieniawski composition that year, and had regularly used it as his show-off piece while Justin had been around, and it had been the song that, for all intents and purposes, had launched his professional violin career, so it made sense to Justin that it would become a good luck charm of sorts. He just hadn’t realized, for one, how closely Brian had ever paid attention when Justin had played Ethan’s CD in the loft, or how the music impacted him, still.

“The soundtrack of you leaving me,” Brian whispered. “I just didn’t know that’s what it was at the time.”

It wasn’t a reveal Justin expected, but it was one that stabbed him in the heart. “Brian…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Brian continued, shaking his head. “You asked me to explain. That’s just… what I think of. When I hear it. Seeing him only made it worse. Made me worse. Neither of you deserved it.”

Justin sighed, wanting to move closer to his husband, but thinking better of it; their conversation was nowhere near over. “Is that why you got drunk?” he asked, trying to keep the accusatory note out of his voice.

“No,” Brian said immediately. “I just… it honestly skipped my mind at first, just watching how amazing you were, and feeling so… just… fucking ecstatic for you and the event you and Margie had created. But then, when you were off working your magic with another captivated patron, I saw him, and even though… even though I knew he was there, in theory, it was like seeing the Ghost of Christmas Past or something. I mean, it sounds ridiculous, but I literally had thought to myself, ‘Did I miss the first visit from fucking Gardner Vance?’”

Justin chuckled at Brian’s reference to A Christmas Carol and his former business partner, but quickly sobered by the haunted look in his husband’s eyes. “Brian, you’re hardly an Ebeneezer Scrooge-type,” he said gently.

“Maybe not now,” Brian said wearily. “But tonight wasn’t the only thing I’ve ever wished I’d done differently.”

“What don’t I know?” Justin asked curiously, shifting positions so that he could face where Brian was sitting on his end of the couch.

The look on Brian’s face indicated that he regretted saying anything, because he realized that it was something he’d have to explain -- at least to some extent. That part would require a lot more time and energy than discussing that evening’s event, though, so he opted to stay focused on the present, for now.

“I wasn’t drunk tonight,” Brian admitted, hoping Justin would give him some time. “I’m sure you know that it takes a hell of a lot more than I was able to consume in the time we were apart. But, I still shouldn’t have had what I did -- or as much. Drinking to make myself feel better was impulsive and cowardly -- but I was in full control of my faculties while I was at the gallery, perhaps just feeling a bit more… emboldened.”

“And mean,” Justin said, though not unkindly.

“I was a dick,” Brian confirmed. “The fid-- Ethan didn’t deserve that. At least, not from me. I just had this inexplicable need to make sure he knew you were mine now -- or not mine, but… with me. By choice. That whatever he thought he had to offer now wouldn’t be good enough.”

“Ethan and I dated a long time ago,” Justin reminded him gently, after a moment’s thought. “A lifetime ago, really. The last time I saw him in person was the day I broke up with him. Daph went with me to help me get my things when I knew he wouldn’t be home. I’d actually almost forgotten about him until I saw him in Margie’s gallery yesterday. I expected to feel something, I don’t know, angry or repulsed, but honestly, other than shock, I didn’t really feel anything notable. Most of what I feel and remember about that time is related more to you, not Ethan.”

“I felt a lot back then too,” Brian admitted quietly, though he looked slightly relieved by Justin’s own revelation. “I just didn’t tell you -- or anyone -- most of it.”

“You still haven’t,” Justin pointed out.

Brian groaned. “You said yourself that it was a long time ago.”

I know,” Justin said. ‘But obviously you haven’t let go of whatever you felt back then. You just said you wished you’d done other things differently… What things?”

Brian sniffed, and looked down at his lap, trying to gather his thoughts. “I know I’ve always said, ‘No apologies, no regrets,’” he began after a moment, then forced a laugh. “I used to believe it back then too -- most of the time, anyway. I’ve come around on apologies, as you know,” he added, giving Justin a rueful smile, “and I don’t necessarily denounce my stance on regrets, but… just the same, it’s hard not to wonder how different decisions might have impacted certain trajectories.”

Justin nodded, looking a bit bemused as he waited to see where Brian was going with his train of thought.

“I almost bought you roses for your birthday that year.” Brian’s confession seemingly rang out of nowhere. “I didn’t… and almost every day that you were gone, I wondered what could have changed if I had.”

Justin’s eyes widened as he processed the new information, and though he was pretty sure he knew the answer, he had to ask. “Why didn’t you?”

Brian sighed. “Pride. Fear. Mostly fear. Shit getting too real. Worrying about what it would mean about me… for us. I don’t know. None of it was rational at the time. I knew it would make you happy, and that should have been enough. But it wasn’t, so I put them back.”

“You’ve given me thousands of roses since then,” Justin said, smiling sadly. “‘I’ve loved them all, but they’re not what keeps me in our relationship.”

“Yeah, well,” Brian said, sighing again. “That’s now, so who’s to say back then?”

“Brian.” There was a note of disappointment in Justin’s voice. “You know that I wasn’t with you for small tokens of affection back then -- or big ones -- and I’m still not. I never have been. Flowers would not have made or broken anything. I promise you that.”

“But maybe you would have believed that I cared about you. Not exactly in the way you wanted, but… in a way that I could.”

“I was nineteen, Brian. You were the first person I’d ever dated seriously, and I didn’t know shit about real life back then. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to want. You were probably more right than you realized when you went on about unrealistic visions of hearts and flowers.”

Brian let out a heavy breath, sounding frustrated. “But you don’t know the ways I could have given you more of what you wanted… that I wanted to give to you, even.”

Now Justin looked confused. “Like what?”

“Like the trip to Vermont, for one.”

Recognition dawned on Justin’s face. “Well, technically you did give me the trip... You just didn’t go, and yeah, I was kind of pissed about that at the time, I guess, but--”

“I couldn’t go,” Brian clarified. “And I felt bad, because I knew how badly you wanted it, but I guess I thought we’d reschedule. I was in over my head with the situation at work, and if I’d gone with you, I would’ve not only lost my job, but everything I’d busted my ass to accomplish. I had no choice. And then I made the biggest deal of my career up to that point, and not only that, fucking made partner as a result, and the only person I wanted to tell was you. I didn’t realize you’d go on the trip without me, or what it would mean when you got back.”

A sobering look came across Justin’s face. “I remember.”

“What do you remember?” Brian asked quietly, wondering if they were still talking about the same thing.

“I knew you were busy at work, but until later, I didn’t understand why. And again, Brian, I was a teenager. I was self-absorbed and needy. I was too busy feeling bad for myself for not getting what I wanted, like being annoyed that you didn’t want to eat cheese and crackers on the floor. I wasn’t thinking about the stress you must’ve been under, or the type of support you needed.”

“You weren’t obligated to,” Brian reasoned, shrugging.

“Ben was sick too,” Justin realized. “I didn’t know that either, back then, or how worried you were about Michael. He told me later.”

Brian snorted. “Of course he did.”

“After the trip was when I started to give up,” Justin admitted softly, giving Brian a sorrowful look. “And Ethan had been so attentive and interested… in only me -- or so I thought at the time. And I guess I hoped you would stop me, but you said yourself that you wouldn’t, so I didn’t know what else to do.”

“He was able to give you what you wanted.”

Justin shook his head. “He wasn’t, though. I think we both know that now, but I needed to learn it the hard way. I’m just sorry that it hurt you so badly. I wish I’d known.”

Brian looked down for a long time, appearing to be engaging in a mental debate with himself. When he looked up, he looked more vulnerable than Justin had seen him in a long time. “Do you want to know the most fucked up, pathetic thing I did while you were gone?”

Now Justin wondered if he needed to be concerned. It couldn’t have been too bad, he reasoned, considering he’d never heard anything about it from Michael or Debbie, but it was enough to leave Brian looking disgusted with himself.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you. How much the pain would invade every fucking cell of… fuck.” Brian’s voice broke as he revisited the memory, clearly still very affected. “So I hired a hustler who looked like you. I just needed to… to feel like you were still there somehow, if I could just close my eyes and pretend…”

“I’m sorry, Brian,” Justin whispered, his eyes wet as he watched his husband struggle through his years of pent-up pain. He’d known that Brian considered himself “damaged goods,” but the last thing he’d ever wanted was to contribute to the notion.

Brian shrugged. “It’s done. I’m not sure why I’m even telling you now. I didn’t do it again after that, I just tried to get back to normal, but then every time I saw you, I just thought to myself, ‘Why couldn’t you have just done what he wanted?’” Brian looked away, taking a deep breath. When he turned back, Justin could see tears shining in his eyes too. “My whole life, I’d convinced myself that I could never get close to anyone, because loving someone only meant that it would eventually hurt you.” He huffed out a laugh that sounded more like a dry sob. “It turns out, I learned that you don’t actually get to choose who you love, and instead, sometimes, trying not to love that person hurts even more.”

“After Ethan cheated on me with the random guy from Harrisburg, I realized a lot of things that I’d missed seeing before,” Justin said, taking a chance and moving close to his husband. Brian didn’t recoil, so he moved in even closer. “I realized that you didn’t have to say you loved me for it to be true, and that we didn’t have to have the same love languages to experience the real thing. With Ethan, it had been lust, if that. It definitely wasn’t love. I still didn’t know what that meant, and neither did he. Ethan was a good learning experience for me, but he wasn’t ever meant to be more than that.”

“I never thought he was good enough for you,” Brian admitted. “But neither was I, so, who was I to make that judgment call?”

“Brian,” Justin whispered, moving in even closer. He lifted his index finger to gently brush a tear from the corner of his husband’s eye. “You’re right. Ethan was never right for me. Do you know why?”

Brian shook his head, but didn’t say anything, waiting for Justin to continue.

Justin reached up to take Brian’s face in his hands, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting the salt on both of their lips before he responded. “Because he wasn’t you.”

A choked sob escaped Brian’s throat before he pulled Justin closer and captured his lips again, kissing him desperately, grateful that, by some miracle, he’d managed to recover everything with the only person he’d ever truly loved -- his lover, his soulmate, his best friend -- and he’d done it by conquering his worst enemy -- not Ethan, but himself.

“I just… I didn’t fight for you back then the way I should have,” Brian murmured, holding Justin close to him. “I was too chicken shit to stand up for us, for you, and for what we could be. I’d fight for you now, though. I’ll fight for you always.”

“Do you know what the best part of that is?” Justin asked, his eyes searching Brian’s, willing for him to believe him.

“What?” Brian looked at Justin, feeling grateful and amazed to see the love on his face.

“You’ll never have to.”

***

Justin woke up late the next morning, and smiled when he realized that he was still tangled in Brian’s arms, his husband’s warm body pressed against him from behind as he continued the deep, peaceful breaths of slumber.

After their talk, they’d barely made it up the two flights to their master bedroom before they were tearing at each other’s robes, eager to demonstrate physically what they’d expressed verbally. By the time they fell asleep, exhausted and happy, the sun had started to rise.

Once Brian was awake, they showered together, and then spent the next few hours relaxing around the house, enjoying their time together before Justin had to head back to the gallery. Brian genuinely seemed at peace with everything, and had kissed him goodbye, asking him to convey his regrets to Ethan.

Unfortunately, things were not quite as calm when Justin got to the gallery, as a member of the catering staff had dropped a bottle of red wine in the middle of the floor. The clean-up itself was not a huge ordeal, but the bigger problem was that Margie had been in the immediate vicinity of the accident, and her ornate silver Jimmy Choos were now stained with Cabernet Sauvignon.

“We can fix this!” Justin insisted, knowing that her panic wasn’t over the state of her shoes, but the fact that she wouldn’t be able to finish preparations for the evening and have time to run home for a replacement before guests began arriving. “I can run to your apartment and get another pair of shoes,” he told her. “You do what you need to do here, and I’ll be back in less than an hour.

“You are a Godsend,” Margie said gratefully, handing over her keys and instructing him on where to find the shoes she wanted, as well as to use their driver to save some time.

When he returned to the gallery, the scene was noticeably calmer, and both the servers and musicians had arrived. Margie smiled when she saw Justin approaching, accepting the unscathed pumps, and thanking him, then gestured across the room. “It looks like you have a guest already.”

“What?” His eyes grew even wider when he realized that his surprise visitor looked uncannily like his husband -- except for the fact that this person was talking to a slightly shorter man who definitely looked like Ethan.

Justin started to make his way across the room, but before he reached his destination, he saw Brian and Ethan shake hands, and Brian smile politely and nod before heading back toward the front of the gallery, where he finally caught sight of Justin.

“Surprise,” Brian said as he approached, pulling Justin into a hug and chaste kiss.

“Hi,” Justin said, unable to contain his own smile. He had no idea what was going on, but it was certainly far preferable to the night before. “What are you doing here?”

Brian shrugged. “There is nothing noble in being superior,” he said, and Justin could see the humility in his demeanor

“Did that come from you?” Justin asked, surprised by the sentiment, especially coming from his husband.

“Ernest Hemingway, actually,” Brian admitted. “But I owed Ethan an apology, and he deserved to hear it from me.”

Justin reached up and hugged his husband again, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Thank you for doing that,” he murmured, before dropping back down to his normal height. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Brian replied, reaching out to squeeze Justin’s hand. “I was going to warn you, but you weren’t here when I arrived. It was kind of a… last minute realization.”

“I had to--” Justin started to explain, but Brian cut him off.

“Ms. Marguerite filled me in. You’re quite the knight in shining armor.”

Justin laughed. “She just knows Paul would’ve grabbed the wrong shoes.”

Brian smirked. “Fucking straight men. What purpose do they actually serve in life?”

They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Brian decided that he was going to run some errands, while stores in the vicinity were still open, and said he’d come back later to check in. Justin kissed him goodbye, and then turned to see if he could find Ethan.

“Hey,” he said a moment later, approaching the musician’s area. Ethan was the only one of the four seated, so Justin gestured to the empty chair next to him. “Can we talk for a second?”

“Hey,” Ethan greeted him with a smile. “Of course, take a seat. The others went to grab coffee, but I’ve learned that I can only have decaf after noon, so…”

“It sucks getting old,” Justin joked, and Ethan laughed in agreement. “I didn’t know Brian was coming by,” he said, cutting to the chase. “I was going to talk to you once you got here.”

“He told me,” Ethan replied. “On both counts. It was… surprisingly pleasant,” he continued. “No offense.”

Justin laughed. “None taken. Trust me. We had a long talk last night.”

“I appreciate that he came down here to talk to me,” Ethan said. “It’s clear that he’s grown up a lot. We all have,” he added, giving Justin a meaningful look. “But it’s even more obvious that he loves you, Justin. He always has.”

“It took me a little while to figure that out, but… I know it now,” Justin admitted. “I’m sorry if you got pulled into it all those years ago. I really did believe what we had was real, but I think in hindsight…”

Ethan chuckled. “You know, at first, I tried to tell myself that you were the one that got away. I was so mad at myself for cheating on you, because that’s not who I am. It’s not who I’ve ever been, and it was a huge lapse in judgment.” Ethan paused, looking thoughtful. “But, then, a couple months after we broke up, I had just finished playing in the park, and I saw you and Brian walking through, holding hands. I wanted to be surprised that you’d gone back to him, especially after everything you had said, but seeing you together… It was just like, Ethan, you are so fucking stupid, because anyone with eyes could see how in love you both were. In my own hindsight, I think I knew it all along too. I never really had you, I just hoped that, somehow, just maybe, I could be the one to sway you.”

Justin smiled sadly. “I didn’t mean for it to be that way. I’m honestly not sorry for how it turned out in the end, but… I really did care about you.”

“I did too,” Ethan said. “But don’t feel bad. We were barely adults, Justin. We learned from each other. And I’m glad that it worked out for you and Brian. It’s sweet how much he cares about you.”

“I’m kinda crazy about him too,” Justin said, grinning. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

***

Night two of the Mercier gallery opening went as spectacularly as the first, and Brian returned about a half hour before the event wrapped up. Surprisingly, he suggested that they accept the musicians’ invitation to join them for drinks, so after Justin helped Margie and Paul finish up, a group of nine piled around the table of a tavern bar down the street.

“Brian, Justin,” Ethan greeted them when they came in, a few minutes behind the others, “You’ve met Lindsay and LiMei from the group,” he pointed to each of them in turn, then continued around the table. “This is Mike, LiMei’s husband, Wyatt, who you also know, Mary, his wife, of course you know me, and,” he gestured to the handsome brunet sitting next to him, “Patrick, my boyfriend.”

Brian and Justin exchanged discreet smiles, and Justin swore he saw a faint blush in Brian’s cheeks, but didn’t dare to acknowledge it. At least he knew that the score was settled where that was concerned.

“First round’s on me,” Brian announced as someone came over to take their order. Ethan opened his mouth first to object, but Brian held up a hand to silence him. “You all deserve it. It’s my pleasure. Congratulations on a fantastic performance,” he directed at the musicians, “And a spectacular show,” he added, kissing his husband.

“So, Ethan, Justin mentioned you’re playing with the Brooklyn Phil,” Brian said, somewhere between rounds two and three.

“Yeah,” Ethan nodded. “It’s not the New York Phil, but it’s been a great experience, and has kept my options open for variety through other opportunities.

Justin snickered, a bit out of turn, causing everyone to turn their attention toward him. “At least it’s better than playing Phil Farnsworth,” he said, directing it toward Ethan, who burst into laughter, leaving the rest of the table bewildered.

“Yeah, we won’t play that Phil,” Ethan replied, his shoulders still shaking. “Poor guy’s been through enough.”

Justin cast a careful look at Brian, trying to gauge how he’d handled an inadvertent inside joke between the two men, but he simply smiled down at Justin and tightened his arm around his husband’s waist.

It was nearly midnight when they parted ways, with hugs all around. “We should do this again sometime,” Stay in touch,” Ethan told Justin and Brian, as he stood hand-in-hand with Patrick, who had surprisingly hit it off with Brian, due to his own career in Marketing.

“Definitely,” Justin agreed, and the former partners exchanged one final hug before they headed in opposite directions with their significant others.

“Do you really think there will be subsequent get-togethers?” Brian asked, glancing down at his husband as they walked.

Justin shrugged. “Doubt it. It was nice to see him, but his crowd hasn’t changed much. Not really my scene.”

Brian huffed a laugh, but then stopped, prompting Justin to turn to face him. “You know it’d be OK if you wanted to.”

“I know,” Justin affirmed, moving up to his tiptoes to kiss his husband.

They took the subway to Christopher Street, and looked up in surprise as they reached street level. A busking violinist was positioned in Christopher Park, playing something that sounded like a lullaby of sorts, and Justin couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.

When he looked up at his husband, Brian was already looking down at him. Without a word, they smiled, Brian tightened his grip on Justin’s hand, and the two of them walked home, the sound of Brahms fading away in their wake.