The first few weeks he'd been okay. Sad and missing him, but relatively okay. Then one morning as he'd been crossing campus he'd seen him; and it was as if he'd been punched in the gut. He watched him walking. He was completely unaware he was being observed. He moved with a deliberate pace, his head high and his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. He didn't look sad. That had been the worst part.
He struggled with his work after that sighting. His fingers wouldn't work right and he found what little remaining inspiration he'd had was gone.
That was when he started following him. It was creepy, he knew it and he kind of hated himself for it. He rationalized it by keeping his distance; by hiding in shadows and never letting him see him.
The more he watched him, the more he could see that while he wasn't sad, he was distracted. He acted lonely; or maybe that was wishful thinking. He wondered briefly if he missed him, but then decided probably not. He had a feeling he knew who he was lonely for; yet still, he was always alone and he didn't go anywhere other than his classes at the campus, and home.
About a week later things changed. And drastically.
Suddenly he was heading to a new destination in the afternoon.
He didn't know what went on inside the building. It housed many different offices and he could be in any of them. So he waited outside, watching from across the street, waiting for him to emerge.
His work suffered still as he spent more time following him around; and his professors warned him he was slipping… He heard their warnings but was compelled to continue his behavior.
A day later he'd followed him to Liberty Avenue. To Babylon. He didn't follow him inside, not wanting to see if he was meeting someone, or kissing someone or God forbid, fucking someone in the back room. He sat outside, stewing on his own imagined scenarios until finally he'd emerged, alone, a few hours later.
He breathed a sigh of relief, even though he had no right to still feel so possessive over him.
The night he saw and realized the truth was about a week later. He'd followed him, surprised but also not surprised that the destination was once again Babylon. This time he decided to follow so he watched him go in, then waited about ten minutes before he paid his cover fee and entered himself. He tried to hide his face, terrified of being spotted. He needn't have worried…
Unable to see through the mass of half-naked men gyrating on the dance floor, he took the stairs up to the catwalk's that crossed over the dance floor. He had a much better view from the vantage point and it didn't take him but a few minutes to spot them.
When he did – his heart stopped. His breathe hitched. His heart completely broke and he felt a tear slip from his eye.
They were bathed in blue light, it seemed as if the spotlight was fixed right on them. There was a buffer of space around them, too. The rest of the dance floor was a mass of limbs and hands and heads all bounding and bobbing but around them was space. It was almost reverent.
He felt sick, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away because he finally saw it. It. What they had together, which was something they'd never had. Magic.
He watched them for awhile. An hour? He wasn't sure, and he wasn't alone. He noticed heads turning with each new song.
Below him they moved as one. Their bodies pressed together; their hands on each other, everywhere. Resting on the waist, tracing lines up the arms, resting lightly on the shoulders, carding through hair. It hurt, because he wanted that for himself, and he'd had it, and he'd lost it. Though he wondered if he'd ever actually had it in the first place.
The way they moved together, as one, it was so fucking obvious they were completely ambivalent and ignorant of every other person around them.
They kissed gentle, they kissed hard. They kissed lips and they kissed necks. They smiled to each other, and they smiled away from each other. They looked at each other when their eyes were open, and when they were closed their foreheads touched and it was the most intimate thing he'd seen in public ever.
Confetti rained down and they didn't stop; eyes, hands, lips, hips, hands, touching, kissing, looking, loving.
The songs changed and still they danced, holding to each other tightly. Their hands were familiar – seeming to wander without thought and without direction. The way they touched, it was obvious they knew what to do and how to do it.
He saw tenderness and caring in their gestures, in their caresses – things he hadn't thought existed between them. He'd assumed a lot about their relationship, and now he was seeing that what he'd thought was true, wasn't. He saw what he'd been told had been wrong – or misinterpreted because this…he'd stood no chance against this. This was more romantic than anything he could ever imagine or anything he could offer.
He'd loved him. He really had. But he'd fucked everything up. Watching them now, though, he knew it wouldn't have lasted anyway. He was a casualty of war – the war between them. A part of him was glad to have had the few months he'd had with him, but a larger part of him wanted him still; felt he deserved him.
But he didn't.
With a pit of regret settling in the pit of his stomach, Ethan turned and left Justin behind – finally letting him go.
A/N: I tried to be mysterious about revealing too soon who the story POV is coming from - but it's not too hard to guess. I only hope it was slightly mysterious for even a moment. :)
And I wanted Ethan to regret his loss, to feel pain at hurting Justin, and to be jealous of Justin and Brian. I never liked Ethan, but I also truly believe that Justin and Brian would not have made it without Justin having that other relationship.
Thanks for reading.