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The next morning Justin woke up and went about his normal morning routine. He didn't even think to look at his phone assuming Brian still wanted nothing to do with him and he'd be greeted with zero messages from anyone. So he didn't look and just continued to get ready for the day. Which consisted of nothing but downing a bottle of wine while he painted a giant canvas in his little work space in Hell's Kitchen.

He had started learning to sketch again and his work space walls were covered of sketches of Brian. The one time that he brought a man home they stopped at the work space first and he saw all of the sketches of Brian. He didn't last much longer than a really quick fuck. Justin found himself getting drunk and high more than he used to as time went on. He missed Brian and hated that they weren't talking.

Everything he did had something to do with Brian. If he could just hear his voice he thought that maybe he'd be cured and would be able to draw something else and not freak men out when seeing his work space filled with sketches of another man in very compromising positions.

After about three hours working and a half bottle of wine Justin finally looked at his phone and saw he had a missed call from Brian. He quickly fumbled through unlocking his phone and seeing if there was a voicemail left for him. No. Justin wrote it off as a butt dial and put his phone down again.

"Brian Kinney. Leave a message."

"Hello," Justin began, "Why did I call you again? Probably because I'm drunk and covered in paint and you called me last night. If you called me on accident then disregard this message. Not like you actually listen to me babbling on like a lovesick teenager like I used to. If you'd answer your phone once in a while we wouldn't have this problem. Brian, I just want to talk to you. So bad. Please answer me. Please. Please.

Why won't you talk to me? Just to say 'hi,' nothing more than that. I know that you never really forgave me for what I did in the past or suggesting that we just stop. But I was wrong, Brian. And I still love you. I want you. I don't want any of these other New York guys who think they're better than me. It's so hard trying to find a man that wants more than just a quick fuck. I had more than fucking with you and I want it back. You're the only man that I ever really loved, Brian.

Why did you call me? Did you want to talk to me? Why didn't you leave a message when I didn't answer?

You know the last time I tried to have a relationship with a man I brought him back to my work space downtown and right after I shoved my dick in his ass he ran out because I can't stop drawing you. Your face is covering the walls of my work space because I can't stop thinking about you.

I haven't been able to get into a show because apparently drawing your ex-boyfriend fucking you isn't what people want to see. It's just art imitating life. Anyways, before I completely make a fool out of myself by rambling into your voicemail while drinking and painting I'm gonna go. I love you," Justin said and hung up the phone. He went back to his painting of a green corvette and his second bottle of wine.



Brian sat on his couch in his office listening to Justin's voicemail on repeat. Cynthia walked in just as Brian started playing the voicemail on speaker for the tenth time. She quickly turned to leave, but Brian stopped her.

She knew that since Justin left Brian hadn't been himself and he needed to be pulled out of this slump he had gotten in. He was coming to work high, which is something Brian Kinney would never have done before Justin left. So she made some calls and got a company with a corporate office in Manhattan to agree to sit down with him as a potential new account. Thankfully they were adamant about meeting in Manhattan, where Justin lives.

So Brian was off to Manhattan in a few hours. Cynthia was praying that being in the city might make him at least call him and talk to him. She had known Brian Kinney for a long time and knew her plan was more than a long shot, but she couldn't take him like this for much longer.

She arranged for Brian to be staying in a hotel relatively close to where Justin lived in hopes they'd see each other and at least fuck.

Brian got to Manhattan and as soon as he stepped out of the town car he took into the city he saw an all too familiar head of blonde hair. He watched where this kid was walking and followed allowing the bellhop to take his things to his room.

As the kid walked up the stoop into his building Brian saw his face. It was exactly who he thought it was. He stood there not sure if he should follow or call Cynthia and scream at her for trying to manipulate him into seeing Justin again.

He took out his phone ready to dial Cynthia's number as he walked slowly to the building Justin had just entered.

"Justin Taylor. You know what to do."

"Hello," Brian said into the phone, "I don't know why I'm calling you. Considering I'm sober this time. Um, probably because in all those messages you leave me you always tell me to call if I'm ever in New York. Well, Cynthia made sure that I had to come into town for this new account.

I think I just saw you walk into your apartment building. Fuck! I am perfectly fine on my own. Why does everyone feel like I need to talk to you? You weren't the only thing in my life that made me happy.

I loved fucking and doing drugs and drinking and dancing at Babylon and now everyone treats me like some fucking lovesick teenager because you left! You left! You moved to New York! You don't get to call me every fucking day and tell me how much you love me! I'm fine without you. I was perfectly fine before you came into my life and I'll be fine without you in it too.

I flew to Manhattan three times a month to see you. I wanted to marry you and be together for the rest of our lives. You were the one who left. You're the one that said we should stop trying because it wasn't working with us in two difference places. After five years I was finally willing to give you everything you wanted. A home. A husband. You left, which I was fine with. You needed to go off to New York and try to make it as an artist. It's time to move on."

Voicemail box full to...

"Fuck," Brian screamed and threw his phone down on the sidewalk. After a few seconds, he picked up his phone and started back to his hotel.

Upstairs Justin heard a man scream on the street, nothing unusual in New York, but he went to his window and saw a man walking away from his building noticeably upset about something. He looked closer at the way the man moved as he walked away. "Brian?"

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