Justin really did mean to go home and talk to Brian. But instead, he found himself entering the diner and sliding into an empty booth. He had been on his way to the loft when he realized he was enjoying the sun on his face a little too much, just feeling the way the early spring breeze lifted his hair to caress his cheek. And he wasn’t thinking much of anything, just feeling a winding tension in the pit of his stomach. Must be hunger, he told himself. Or dread. Shit. He couldn’t figure it out. He just ate a ton of crap at Daphne’s. And he wasn’t exactly dreading the conversation with Brian. It was just his future life. He had two good choices in front of him. Really. All good. Wasn’t that it? What exactly, how exactly should he approach this? What was his objective? He had to be prepared… but with this buzz on, he really couldn’t think clearly. Damn, a cup of coffee would help. And then he found himself in front of the diner. He wasn’t procrastinating. Really.

“What can I get you, honey?” Kiki was there, her pen poised over the pad.

“Just coffee, Kiki.” Across the diner, Deb waved at him. The place was mostly empty. He glanced at the clock. The crowds would descend soon enough for the dinner rush. Brian would be home, working. Waiting. Pretending he wasn’t.

Damn it.

“Here you go, sweetie.” Kiki had returned to slide the cup of coffee in front of him.

“Thanks,” he breathed, picking up the cup and drinking it black, gulping at it, almost scalding his tongue. But the caffeine began its work by the time he had finished, and he felt that he could almost think. One more cup while he did not procrastinate. His gaze traveled around the diner floor, looking for Kiki, or Debbie, or someone, anyone walking around with the pot of coffee. Wasn’t someone always walking around with a pot of coffee? Shit, he had to get rid of this floating, disconnected feeling. Finding Kiki chatting up a customer at the counter, he caught her eye and held up his cup. She nodded at him. He turned his sightline back into the booth.

And his gaze collided with a pair of brown, almost black eyes. Oh, fuck, he really didn’t need this: Michael, sliding into the booth across from him. Michael had a dark scowl on his face as he shook his head. Justin tensed.

“So,” Michael drawled. “I just talked to Brett…”

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!

Justin felt it then, part of Brian’s legacy to him, what he personally called the “Kinney calm” settle over him. Before, when he had watched that carefully blank look settle onto Brian’s face, he assumed it was because Brian knew exactly what he was doing and did not have time or patience for whatever idiot was standing in front of him and wasting his time. The look conveyed sheer contempt for the other’s preposterous presumption, who dared to question Brian Fucking Kinney. Justin hated when Brian turned that look on him; it made him feel insignificant, as if he had no right to his own point of view whatsoever. It made him feel like an insect, scurrying about beneath the devastating gaze, Brian’s proverbial boot raised above him, ready to descend, crushing.

Then, one night not too long ago, they had been at the bar in Woody’s, when he had been approached by a former classmate from PIFA who had spent the last term in Italy.

“Hey, Justin! How’s it hanging? You and Ethan still together?”

Justin had frozen, feeling a sudden tightness in his gut, a wave of confusion and uncertainty crashing over him. He liked the guy who had been standing in front of him, this kid just waiting for a reply, his smile of greeting fading as he watched Justin’s face and began to realize he’d said the wrong thing. At that moment, Justin had no idea how to answer him; his body just stopped as the factors needed to calculate the consequences of possible responses ran through his head. The potential outcomes were just too varied to allow for a split second decision. Any casual reply had been out of the question. He and Brian had been sitting on the bar stools, their lower legs casually entwined. It hadn’t helped that Brian’s calf had jumped and then gone still, pressing Justin’s shin bone, hard, into the leg of his stool. He had had no idea how to respond. Ethan was a taboo subject. He and Brian never talked about it. Never never never. And here was this kid standing in front of him, waiting for Justin’s reply. He had felt the blush wanting to come and had forced it back. Letting Brian see how agitated he had been would be a huge mistake; he sure as shit couldn’t let this kid see his upset. And suddenly, like a flash, an understanding that he didn’t have to react came to him. He could just not react. Justin Fucking Taylor could redefine the moment of uncertainty by turning it back on the inquirer. Carpe Diem. Or, whatever “moment” was in Latin. So Justin had willed his first response down into a tiny little place in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he had leaned into Brian’s side, and felt an icy calm come over him. “No,” he’d answered the kid, nothing more. And then he had waited. Fuck off, Justin thought, I can’t handle this. He had felt a wild screaming laugh echoing deep in his gut but way down inside. Not a ripple on the surface. Just a stare.

“Oh,” the kid had answered, as Brian’s arm snaked around Justin’s waist and pulled him in closer. “Oh!” He had stared at Brian for a second. “Well, then, uh… see you ‘round.” And with that, the kid had fled.

Justin had then turned to face front. Brian’s hand had immediately dropped into his lap, fingers curling over his junk. Comfort? Ownership? Fuck if Justin knew. As he’d raised his beer, Justin had caught a glimpse of his own pale face in the mirror behind the bar. His and Brian’s, both with identical casts of That Look, the classic Kinney calm. Brian's eye caught Justin’s in the reflection. And then Justin knew. That look that had always infuriated him so, that he thought was a way of annihilating the person on the receiving end, annihilating him, that wasn’t it at all. Well, that wasn’t all of it. Instead of a sign of utter control, it was a cover for the complete opposite; the Look covered a vulnerable uncertainty as to exactly how to proceed, a knowledge that his own immediate emotional reaction was probably out of proportion to what he was faced with. The Look had much more to do with throwing up a big wall around his own fucked up shit than it had to do with the person on the receiving end.

You’d think Justin would have figured all this out before that moment. But wasn’t that typical Sunshine, he had to figure out everything by experience. No wonder his life was so fucked up.

That particular blank stare sure as hell proved useful, though. Right now, for instance, staring down Michael as Debbie took over their table since Michael had shown up and Lord knows Deb had ownership of her son’s space at all times. Poor Michael.

“More coffee, Deb? Please,” Justin asked, wondering if he was going to get to drink it.

“Usual, Ma,” Michael said, absently wiping away the lipstick she left behind on his cheek. He stared at Justin, to be faced only with that Look, the blank stare that made Justin appear to be channeling his lover. That look that never failed to infuriate Michael. That look made clear that its owner felt Michael had no clue. Bad enough when it came from Brian. Showing up on Justin’s face, though…

Not that it made any difference. This time, Michael had a more concrete reason to be infuriated, besides the fact that his best friend and Justin seemed to be turning into another entity altogether, not Brian and Justin, but a singular Them. Michael didn't have enough perspective to say that his antipathy was irrational, but he did understand that it was like an insect biting under his skin in an area he couldn’t reach. He only knew They could irritate the fuck out of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had gotten used to the constant sting. But that did not mean it had gone away.

However, he could actually address this latest situation.

“Does he know yet?” Michael asked.

Justin did not need to ask who “he” was. “Michael…”

“I guess that means no. Were you planning to tell him before you left? or were you going to let him figure it out on his own? Again?”

“Tell who what?” Ben asked, sliding into the seat next to Michael.

“Justin has accepted Brett’s offer to be assistant art director on the movie.”

“Wow! Great opportunity, Justin, Congratulations!”

“No shit?” Deb asked, filling up Justin’s coffee cup, and patting him on the cheek with her free hand.

“No, no!” Justin exclaimed, pulling away. Damn it, the Look only worked on one person at a time. And apparently he, Justin possibly-not-so-Fucking Taylor, was fooling himself if he thought he could appropriate the Great God Kinney’s arsenal of tricks.

And now three people knew about the L.A. job before Brian did? Debbie, for god’s sake? Shit! “It’s actually… well, I did tell Brett I wanted to do it, but… it’s complicated.” He was not going to tell them Brian’s offer to move into the loft made things a lot more confusing. But at least his head had started to clear. He took another long gulp of coffee. Why, oh why hadn’t he told Brett not to tell Michael? Oh, yeah, he didn’t want Brett to think he was having second thoughts, that he wasn’t thrilled about the job. And, damn it, why shouldn’t he be thrilled?

Brian, that’s why. Always Brian. Whether that was good or bad made no difference. It was simple fact.

“So you didn’t accept the offer?” Ben asked.

They all stared at him. Justin sipped on his coffee. “I haven’t talked to Brian yet.”

“Ah,” Debbie said, her voice filled with an understanding she thought she had.

“You might want to do that,” Michael stated, staring at him.

Ben turned his level gaze from Justin to Michael.

Justin responded, “I didn’t think Brett would say anything to you. I was planning to talk to Brian before making any announcement to anyone…” Justin didn’t want to explain this much, but he needed them to understand why it was important they leave him alone to handle this, and not interfere.

“So you’ve already decided. Gonna run off then?”

Ben interrupted the beginning of a patented Michael rant. “What’s the story, Justin?”

He liked Ben, he really did, but he wasn’t prepared to go into it at the moment. “It’s a movie, so the job offer is for only a limited period of time. I’m not running anywhere.” And then he sent a glare, a real glare, Michael’s way.

“If you don’t just stay, bright lights, big city,” Michael grumbled, attempting a joke to hide the real thrust of his words.

“How long?” Debbie asked.

“Just a few months,” Justin answered.

“More like eight,” Michael ground out, tossing in a glare of his own for good measure.

Damn it, damn it! What exactly had Brett told Mikey anyway? “Look, I was actually on my way to talk to Brian about this, so I would appreciate it if you all would just let me work this out, okay?”

Debbie and Ben nodded. Michael’s eyes narrowed. “You got 24 hours to tell him, JT,” Michael said. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Whatever, Michael.” Justin tossed the last over his shoulder as he slid out of the booth seat and made his way out with his coffee left behind, undrunk.

Michael turned back to the table, and found his mother and husband staring at him. “What?”

Debbie just sighed and turned away to refill the coffee pot. Ben tried harder. “Maybe you should follow Justin’s advice, and just leave it alone.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, that’ll work. I’ve seen the way they’ve worked it out. The last time Justin was left alone to work it out on his own, Brian almost drank himself to death.”

So, okay, Michael had a point. Still, Ben thought, that didn’t mean it was Michael’s job to fix Kinney’s issues. “Yeah, I know, I was there, remember? Brian can take care of himself. I don’t want you to disappear into Kinney Land again.”

“I just…”

“Want to protect Brian from the forces of evil? I think he’s got it handled.”

“Yeah, well, Brian acts all tough, but…”

“He is tough.”

“Jesus, Ben, is this how it’s going to be?”

“How what’s going to be?”

Debbie came back with a hamburger platter, which she placed in front of Michael, and a bowl of Wheaties for Ben, even though they hadn’t placed an order. Ben turned his automatic grimace into a smile, and thanked her. It was pretty clear where Michael’s impulse toward co-dependency came from. But he had to humor the mom-in-law. She had officially adopted him so he was being fed, her idea of his diet, not his, but what a difference in her attitude from the first few months he was dating her son. So baby steps and careful management would have to do if he wanted to stay with Michael. And he did. “Can I get a side salad, too, Deb?” He had been looking forward to a salad, not cereal. Deb nodded, but she waited for Michael to unload. Old habits were hard to break, not that Ben wasn’t working on it.

Michael did not disappoint his mother’s need to be involved in her son’s affairs. “This whole marriage thing, you going to interrupt me and start telling me what to do all the time?”

Ben stared back, considering how to respond. This was not the time or place for this discussion, though he knew Debbie would back him up. He had more tact than to remind Michael that a marriage was between two men, not three, not in front of his mother. And Michael, while he had gone through with marrying him, had immediately started to question the validity of the entire ceremony. Ben knew that second guessing himself, wondering if they should have had a long engagement first, did no good now. He glanced over at Debbie, and threw her a smile. “Of course not,” Ben soothed, shelving the conversation for later. Debbie just shook her head, and refilled Michael’s coffee cup.

***

Justin pulled open the loft door, and headed toward the kitchen, placing the Starbucks bag on the counter and opening it to take out the two cups of latte, fully loaded for him, skim milk decaf for Brian. Soften him up, Daphne had said. That hadn’t been the reason he’d picked up two cups instead of just one for himself. But bringing Brian his favorite drink (well, after any number of alcoholic beverages, guava juice, and water), such consideration sure couldn’t hurt. He glanced over at the computer desk. Brian was watching him. Justin headed over with the coffee in his hand. “Hey,” Brian said as he approached.

“Working?” Dumb question. It may be Saturday afternoon, but Brian worked all the time. At least he got to wear his comfortable clothes, the black tank and jeans, when he worked Saturday afternoons at home. As Justin walked toward him, he shoved back from the desk and lifted his arms to stretch his back. Wow, Justin thought, his gaze traveling the line of Brian’s jaw as his head leaned back to flex and crack his cervical spine. The tension in Justin’s stomach turned to something much more familiar. He waited for Brian to drop his arms, and leaned down to kiss him, capturing Brian’s lips in his, allowing the kiss to convey that strong feeling behind it. He pulled back, and they smiled at each other.

“I got you a latte,” Justin said, handing him the coffee. Brian nodded his thanks, brought the drink to his lips. Justin added, “Decaf, skim milk.”

Brian took a long swallow, sighing in appreciation. “Of course it is.” Justin knew him, and Brian knew anything Justin handed him would be just right. “I took down the light over the bed,” Brian added, his voice casual. Brian took another sip of the coffee. He looked back at the computer. Then he glanced up at Justin’s face, and back at the computer again.

Brian’s tone held… what? Justin decided to investigate this before starting the talk they needed to have. He wasn’t procrastinating, not really. But clearly, Brian wanted his opinion, even if he would never ask for it. That last glance, no smirk, no seductive softening of the mouth, that last look had been… uncertain. That was the word Justin had been looking for to describe Brian’s odd glances about. Justin didn’t get to see that look very often.

Justin mounted the steps to the bedroom, and stopped on the threshold. His art, one of his final projects before he had been kicked out of school, now hung over the bed in place of the neon lighting. This particular artwork had been computer-generated, the apotheosis of his attempt to represent harmonious balance on a discordant visual field. The assignment had asked for a landscape, and Justin had drawn inspiration from Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis,” so a dark, mechanical urban landscape formed the background of this piece. Blues, greys, blacks – and then a thin beam of white light with a bare suggestion of brilliant yellow exploding upward into that dark sky as in the distance, from far off in the heart of the city and of the painting, a bare bit of brightness that brought the entire landscape into harmony around that central beacon, small and receded into the distance as it was. Justin loved this project, not only because he had gotten an A for it – the formal element of the dark buildings unsettled the composition even as that single shot of light restored the visual field into balance. The professor had said it was disturbing and soothing at once. Justin was proud of the fact that the other students had felt compelled to try and tell the “story” of the light that strained toward the sky. The story, to Justin, was completely beside the point. The fact that people felt a personal connection to it was far more relevant.

And this piece looked perfect in its place over their bed. Justin looked at it again, reabsorbing its impact, unable to believe that it had come out of him. He always felt that way about his art. It seemed bigger than he was, and that strangeness continually struck him, the oddness that he had produced something so amazing. He was about to turn back to the main part of the loft to let Brian know his approval, when his gaze skimmed the wall over the dresser. And the sketch hanging on the wall there. He froze, stunned. He hadn’t seen that sketch in over two years. Brian, asleep, naked in bed. His first show, his first sale. Brian had had it, all along. Holy shit. Maybe that’s what Brian’s uncertainty had been focused on.

He felt Brian’s arm move around his chest, and he leaned back into the warm body behind him. Soft lips press on his neck. “You like?” Hands, moving onto his stomach, tugging up his shirt.

Justin turned around. Brian rested his forearms on his shoulders. His eyes were closed.

Justin sat on the bed, so abruptly he practically fell out of Brian’s embrace. Brian’s eyes popped open, surprised, then he followed Justin’s gaze, which still fixed on the sketch. He sat down on the bed, next to Justin’s hip. He rested his chin on Justin’s shoulder, and waited.

Justin tried to pull his thoughts together. He could have said any number of things. He finally settled on, “Why… why did you buy it? I mean, back then?”

Brian shrugged. He kept his lips busy, licked at the pulse at the base of Justin’s neck. Justin shuddered; that never failed to send signals screaming straight to his dick.

“Brian…”

“I wanted it.”

Justin almost smiled. Duh, he thought. Such a predictable response. He could pursue that later. For now… “Brian.”

“Hm?”

“We need to talk.” Brian’s hand moving up his thigh, making him want to put off this conversation. No, no, no, he’d procrastinated enough. He slipped his palm against Brian’s, entwined their fingers, and lifted the hand off his leg.

Brian lifted his head. “You don’t like the color scheme? Let me guess – you prefer orange?”

Justin’s reply came with a small huff of amused breath. “No, it’s not that. This, this…” he gestured at the walls, “It’s great. Surprising…” Brian turned his head to look at the painting over the bed; Justin knew he really was avoiding looking at him. So he grasped Brian’s chin, turned his face back toward his. “I love it, I love you.” He kissed him, took a deep breath. “But, I have to talk to you about something else.”