First chapter in a new fic. Hope you enjoy!

6:00 pm

Curt's apartment.

Arthur pushed open the door and brushed the snow off his coat. As he unwound his scarf, he noticed Curt sitting lightly on the edge of the couch. He was tapping his heel on the hardwood floor excitedly, and Arthur could see in an instant that his better half was upset. Not upset, bloody pissed as hell. Arthur tentatively placed his scarf on the nearby hook and moved inside.

"Hey." Arthur offered cautiously.

"Hey." Curt said blankly. Yeah, he was steamed about something big time.

"Everything alright?"

Curt broke his stare and stopped tapping. His eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. He looked like he was ready to pull a knife on someone, anyone, even Arthur. Arthur could hear himself swallow.

"Brian called me today."

Arthur felt his heart plummet into his stomach and his throat closed. Masking his own reaction as best he could, Arthur eased over to the chair and sat down.

"And?"

"And I don't know! He fucking called me! What do you want me to fucking say!"

Curt sprang off the couch and began pacing, instantly sorry for snapping at Arthur. Arthur steeled himself with a well-practiced resolve. Curt was upset, fine. He was venting, fine. But if he talks to me like that again, I will pick him up bodily and toss him in the shower fully clothed. Arthur let Curt pace.

"FUCK!" Curt screamed. In one movement he raked the magazines off the coffee table and swept up phone, receiver, base and all. He hurled them at the wall, and seeing that the damage was minimal, set to ripping the chords out of their sockets. Arthur's resolve warmed into sympathy. Better let him have it out. Curt seized a half-empty wine bottle off the bar and launched it at the door. Black glass shattered and a very fine merlot dripped like blood over the paint. It looked like someone just had their head bashed in.

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

Curt cursed and spat violently. Arthur wondered how long he would thrash around the apartment like this before crumpling into sobs. Maybe no tears were forthcoming, maybe he just wanted to destroy something.

Arthur couldn't imagine what might have taken place over the phone. A casual hello? A plea for reconciliation? A bitter accusation? Arthur's head swam. Did he call as Tommy or as Brian? Was Curt angry at the intrusion of Brian back into his life or stirred up by the prospect of a reunion? It seemed to Arthur that Curt's outbursts sounded very much like the kind lovers have. Had Curt been reminded of something?

"I'm going out."

Curt grabbed his keys and stormed out, leaving Arthur staring at the broken bottle. Curt had brought it home last night to honor their one year anniversary as a couple. Arthur seriously doubted the dates Curt might have been thinking of, but he poured them both glasses just the same. They never finished the bottle.

Arthur bent down and began to carefully pick up the pieces.