In the beginning they would call each other. Now that Brian had admitted he loved Justin he didn't seem so hesitant to confirm suspicions that he missed the blond. Brian would call and they would talk. He'd come to visit in New York for the weekend.

They both knew it wouldn't last long.

They loved each other, but it was too painful. They stopped calling - Brian stopped visiting.

Justin made his own way in the world... without anyone's help for once. He had a career, his own apartment, a life.

He was alone.

One night, months and months after he moved in, he went out on a date.

The guy was sexy and sweet and wonderful and evidently not afraid to express his emotions.

He drove Justin home and kissed him good night. Justin wanted to fuck him then and there.

He had a great night.

When he got home he turned off the lights, sat on his bed, and cried.


It was a few years - maybe two, maybe five, maybe ten - when Justin saw Brian again.

He had money, fame, art shows - everything but what he really needed.

There were a few. Danny, Cooper, Jack. They all loved him. He loved them back, too, but never completely.

Danny found the sketch of Brian in the nightstand. Cooper left when it was not his name Justin shouted when he came. Jack was more perceptive than the other two - he left earlier on plain instinct.

He knocked on the door, and while he knew he should be scared that wasn't what he was feeling. "Brian!" He wasn't scared but his voice cracked anyway.

It was probably about three in the morning but the door opened quickly, and the look on Brian's face matched the one on Justin's.

The loft was silent; there was nobody else inside.

Brian stepped to the side. "Come in, Taylor."