Brian was sitting on the couch reading a trade magazine later that evening, anxiously awaiting the unknown retribution he knew would be coming as a result of the little prank he’d pulled on Justin this morning. He knew that his trick had worked from the sight of the wet, pink-stained towels he found on the bathroom floor when he got home. He’d actually expected to suffer instant reprisal immediately upon coming into the apartment. The fact that, outside of a very messy bathroom with pink dye still dripping from the showerhead, there was nothing else waiting for him, made him even more nervous and worried. Justin was NOT the type to let something like getting dyed pink just pass without taking some action. Not knowing what the reaction would be, though, was killing Brian.
When he finally did hear the elevator stopping outside their door and then the sound of a key in the lock, Brian put his magazine down and sat up straighter, taking a deep breath and stoically resigning himself to his fate.
The door opened. An adorable pink-headed twink entered. Strangely enough, Brian couldn’t help thinking that Justin looked rather fetching with bright pink hair, all things considered. But the pink twink didn’t make eye contact with the twitchy nervous brunet at all. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge Brian’s existence in any way. He quietly and calmly came through the door, put his messenger bag on the nearby desk and walked determinedly to the back bedroom without saying a word.
“Shit! This is bad. This is very, VERY bad,” Brian mumbled to himself as soon as Justin had disappeared silently into his room.
Brian could deal with Angry Twink. He could deal with Yelling and Ranting and Raving Twink. He expected to be reamed out royally and was prepared for just that. He was not prepared for quiet, solemn, Brooding Twink. It was like having the proverbial knife blade hanging over his head, ready to drop at any moment, and the anticipation was so incredibly painful that he was sure the actual stroke of the metal would be easier to bear.
Unable to sit still any longer, Brian got up off the couch and started pacing the width of the little living room area. He could hear movement, doors and drawers opening and closing, in Justin’s room, but otherwise the whole apartment was eerily silent. “Yep, this is very, VERY bad,” he repeated again, wringing his hands as he continued to pace.
When the door to Justin’s room opened briefly, Brian spun around, ready to face whatever was coming. Unfortunately, Justin didn’t even bother looking Brian’s way as he serenely turned towards the bathroom. Less than five minutes later, Justin reemerged carrying a small toiletries case and went directly back into his room, pulling the door closed behind him once again.
Brian was now getting a very uneasy feeling about all this. Yes, he was still ticked off and even a little jealous about the whole Connor debacle. And Justin HAD spent the past week and a half deliberately trying to antagonize him with his calculated messiness. But Brian knew that his bringing tricks to the apartment in retaliation was beyond spiteful. Plus, the pink dye in the shower-head joke was probably going a bit too far. Okay, there was no ‘probably’ about it - Brian knew he’d taken it too far. He was acting like a total shit. He knew it. He KNEW it! He was terrible at all this relationship shit and just knew he was doomed to fail. He wished Justin would get it over with and start in with the yelling and screaming so then, maybe, he could apologize and make it all better. . .
Another agonizingly slow five minutes ticked by with no relief. Brian was a fucking nervous wreck - pacing, sweating, mumbling curses at himself for being such an unconscionable prick at the same time he was castigating Justin’s stubbornness. The waiting was agonizing. Why hadn’t Justin started yelling at him yet? Brian knew he deserved to be yelled at and it would be a huge relief if Justin would just put him out of his misery and start fucking yelling already!
Brian was not prepared for Justin coming out of his bedroom with a fully packed suitcase, his portfolio jammed full of what he assumed was art supplies and an overstuffed backpack. There was no yelling at all - which completely threw Brian. Justin silently proceeded into the living room, laying his bags down in front of the door and then going to the small closet nearby without saying one fucking word. He pointedly pulled down the hard-sided cat-carrier from the top shelf of the closet and then, without any further comment, walked into Brian’s room and came back with Winston tucked up under his arm.
Brian had no idea what to say. This was not the response he’d expected. In his experience, as dysfunctional as his own family life had been, there was ALWAYS yelling and arguing and fighting in any relationship. However, once the yelling was over, there would be a chance to make things better, right? Right?
As soon as the cat was stowed - complaining and meowing piteously as he was stuffed into the cage - Justin clicked the metal grate on the carrier closed and then started to gather up his other bags. He hadn’t said even one word the entire time he’d been back at the apartment. Brian was still too stunned to comment either. The only one with anything at all to say about the matter was Winston, who was yowling inside his carrier, completely dissatisfied with this specific chain of events.
Brian watched mutely as Justin fumbled to try and get the front door open without dropping his bags or the cat. The older man was feeling desperate. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t want Justin to leave. Fuck that! Justin was supposed to get angry at him, they’d fight, they’d make up and all would be back to normal! He wasn’t supposed to LEAVE! Brian had to do something . . .
“Justin, wait,” Brian finally found his voice and moved to intercept the younger man before he could leave. “Why . . . What . . . Where are you going.”
Justin didn’t respond other than to huff a little scoffing sigh and shake his head. He juggled his bags just enough so that he could get his left hand free and started to reach for the doorknob. Brian quickly covered the few steps over to the door so that he was standing right behind Justin. He reached out to stall his departing lover by grabbing hold of Justin’s right shoulder.
Without even thinking about it, Justin reacted according to his long-time martial arts training. His right hand, which happened to be holding the handle of the hard plastic cat carrier, jerked backward almost automatically, causing the corner of the cat box to slam with precision and force directly into Brian’s nuts. Brian gasped, groaned in exquisite pain and then crumpled to the floor with his hands groping ineffectually at his mangled gonads.
“Goodbye, Brian,” Justin scoffed as he surveyed the writhing mass on the floor that had once been his lover.
Through the red haze of his remaining vision, Brian watched as Justin determinedly slammed the door shut behind him as he left.
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It was too fucking cold out to be wandering around the city deep in thought. The temperature had dropped to just around freezing and the precipitation couldn’t figure out if it wanted to be rain or snow, so it just kept pelting down in semi-frozen globs of sleet. Brian’s trendy Armani wool jacket didn’t do much to keep the dripping cold from leaking down the back of his neck. The shitty weather wasn’t doing much to improve his shitty mood either. What the fuck did he expect from January in New York, though?
Brian had been walking around in the cold for hours now. It was still mid-day when he’d fled the apartment. He'd waited around, expecting to hear SOMETHING from Justin for two days after his former boyfriend had stormed out. He'd tried calling but the little twat wasn't taking his calls. Brian had even got desperate enough to leave several voice-mail messages on the twink's phone - he tried not to think too hard about how close to begging those messages probably came - and still Justin hadn't responded. So finally, after a completely unproductive morning at work, Brian had just given up, told his secretary he was taking the rest of the day off and rushed back to the apartment, determined to find some clue about where Justin had disappeared to.
After tearing up the entire apartment, Brian realized he still didn't have any idea where to find Justin. He assumed that the boy was most likely staying with Daphne, but Brian had never been to the little fag hag's apartment and didn't even know the address. He did find a phone number for her in Justin's remaining stuff, but the girl didn't answer her phone when he called. Knowing how loyal Daphne was, he figured that calling her to get help finding Justin was a lost cause anyway, so he quickly gave up on that idea.
When he couldn't take it anymore, Brian simply tore out of the apartment and practically ran down the street. Brian had no idea where to find Justin but he HAD to do something and sitting around inside wasn't going to get him anywhere. Maybe he'd try to find Justin at his school or at work. Anything was better than just sitting there worrying.
His original intention when he hit the streets had been to find the little twat and ring his fucking neck for making him so worried. However, since he was still too angry to think rationally, he just kept walking and fuming and mumbling to himself every so often about the ‘Fucking Princess’ and his disgusting ‘Fuzzball Cat’. Brian had covered more than fifteen long New York City blocks before he’d cooled down enough - both physically and emotionally - to move beyond being just raging mad. By that point the big black storm clouds that had been moving in from the northwest had blocked out the majority of the weak winter sunlight and the wind had picked up considerably. Was it the arrival of the grey skies that made him realize that his anger was a bit ill-aimed? Maybe Justin HAD started all this by letting Connor hang around and fawn all over him, but Brian knew that it wasn't all that black and white.
Justin really knew how to get to him, that was for sure, Brian thought. He knew he’d fucked up - fucked up big time - by bringing those tricks back to the apartment. And, even though that first trick had just been a drunken, drugged-out mistake that he couldn't even remember, Brian knew that was no excuse. He knew that there was no way Justin would let something like that slide. Justin had always had too much self-respect for that. He’d called Brian on the tricking every single time. Brian expected his roomie/lover to react to that aspect of his behavior. However, all the prior times, the reaction had been at least overlain with a veneer of humor. This time it WASN’T funny.
The messes in the apartment were bad enough, but his clothes. His CLOTHES! Brian still hadn't gotten over Justin using his favorite suit as a painting tarp. Then there was the cat's disgusting glop in his precious Prada boots and on top of everything, Justin painting in his Armani shirt . . . Justin had simply gone too fucking far this time. Nothing justified doing something like that to Armani - it was ARMANI for fuck’s sake. Not that the little princess would know Armani from Old Navy. . .
How the fuck had things escalated to this point so rapidly? It was only a few weeks ago that he and Justin had come back from Pittsburgh together, so happy and in love. Brian had thoroughly enjoyed doing all those coupley things, even though he'd freaked out a little sometimes. But, really, Brian had never felt happier than for those few weeks that he'd admitted to himself that he wanted to be with Justin.
Granted, this relationship stuff wasn't fucking easy. It involved far too much drama for Brian's taste. It was messy. And aggravating. And painful - as evidenced by his still rather tender balls. This kind of shit was exactly why he'd told himself for years and years that he would be better off NOT bothering with a relationship. He should be glad the twat was gone and out of his life. Right?
When you make being alone and not giving a shit your life’s philosophy what do you do when someone comes along and makes you see you are wasting your life and need to be loved?*** He'd tried, unsuccessfully, to fight it. He had tried to warn himself that it wouldn't work - that HE wasn't the type of guy that did love. But, then Justin had come along, turned his whole world upside down and made Brian doubt his long-held philosophy. And now it felt like it was too late to go back to how he'd been before Justin. He'd had a taste of that sweet, forbidden ambrosia - he'd allowed himself to experience love - and now he was hopelessly addicted.
Unbidden, Brian got a flashback from those precious days right before Christmas when Justin had gone out of his way to show both him and Gus how fun life could be when you shared it with people you loved. Justin had made him feel so cherished - maybe for the first time in his life. Then he recalled the way Justin had stood up to Michael at Deb's wedding, protecting both him and his son physically and emotionally, and how fucking proud he'd been right at that moment. Fuck, even when the damn twink was annoying the shit out of him with his messes, the damn travelling sneakers, or whatever shenanigans he'd come up with, Brian had still revelled in the younger man's humor and joy in simply living.
Was Brian willing to give ANY of that up now that he'd had a chance to experience it? Why the hell would he even for a moment contemplate going back to being that tired, bored, lonely man. Fuck it! Brian did NOT want to be that person any more. He wanted to be loved. He wanted Justin. Yes, he'd screwed up pretty bad, but he would fix it. Brian would find Justin, apologize, fucking beg if he had to, but he would somehow get his Sunshine back.
Brian paused in his aimless wandering, standing on the curb at the edge of another nameless street, and smiled to himself with his new resolve. He was determined. He could do this. He would find Justin and let himself be loved. He was passionately fired up with a brand new sense of spirit.
"JUSTIN!" Brian yelled at the top of his lungs, looking up defiantly into the black sleet-filled sky. "I won't give up! Damn it, Justin, I fucking love you! And I WON'T give up!" Brian announced his determination to the almost deserted New York night, waving his fists at all the unseen enemies who might try to keep him away from his one true love.
Unfortunately, the driver of the black Mercedes sedan who was late for dinner with his in-laws, didn't hear Brian's heartfelt declaration. The driver didn't even notice the defiant figure standing on the curb ready to take on the world in his pursuit of true love. Which is probably why the Mercedes didn't slow down even a little bit as it sped through the puddle of freezing cold sleet which consequently splashed full force into Brian, soaking him to bone.
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***I borrowed this wonderful line from one of my favorite fanfics, Endings And Beginnings, written by the insightful and eloquent Mouse.