Brian Kinney was still trying to get the hang of Toronto. He had been here for four days, and still hadn't found a place to stay.
When Vanguard decided to expand, Brian had expected to be setting up office in New York, or Chicago, at the very least. However, Vance had bought over a smaller agency in Toronto instead, and merged it with Vanguard. He had sent Brian to oversee things, and ensure that the shift to Vanguard management would be smooth. Plus, there were the usual client meetings, and assuring everyone that all change would be for the better. Brian was surprised to find that he was actually enjoying his new role.
He expected to be there for a month, and probably have frequent trips back and forth thereafter. He had the green light to lease out a condo, ostensibly under the company name. In all likelihood though, Brian would be the only one using it. The choice to make a permanent move to Toronto was a decision left entirely up to him.
Brian had spent the whole day with the agent, one James McMillan, who had increasingly got on Brian's nerves as the day progressed. He was pompous and stupid and Brian could barely concentrate on the places he was looking at. If he hadn't been the son of the marketing director of one of the Toronto office's biggest clients, Brian would have ditched him hours ago.
As it was, Brian had insisted on coffee while they were driving, forced James to stop, and had managed to 'lose' James inside a coffee shop. Brian had switched his phone off, and quickly snuck into a random shop nearby, hoping that James would look for him in vain and then disappear.
"We're uh…just closing…"
Brian ignored the guy, and walked around the store. Anything to avoid James, who Brian knew was walking down the street this very moment.
The curly haired brunette was watching him curiously. He had a purple shirt that was simply too loud for Brian's taste, and could have easily passed for a younger, shorter, toothier Emmett. He didn't look too old; Brian pegged him at twenty two or maybe twenty three at best. Though Brian's gaydar was pinging, the guy definitely wasn't Brian's type. The initial, cursory glance was enough to tell Brian that he was too effeminate.
"Watch the coffee, ok?"
Brian nodded absently as he walked about. The shop was small. There were two racks of silk shirts and scarves and another with t-shirts. The silk shirts and scarves were hand painted, while the t-shirts were probably printed via silk screen. There was a sign saying that special orders were undertaken. The whole shop was a strange mix of handmade artsy knickknacks. There were papier-mâché ornaments, sculptures, handmade tea sets and dinner sets (again, a sign saying that more designs were available) and a folder containing photographs of several more designs. There were wooden toys for kids in a small alcove, containing other child-friendly items.
Further inside the store (more like a hall), Brian paused. One wall had several photographs mounted, all in black and white. They were stills of (presumably) Toronto life, and Brian would have spent more time looking at them, had he not been distracted by the paintings on the other wall.
There were three small paintings, and Brian found them all to be beautiful. But what took his breath away was the much larger canvas that dominated the wall, done exclusively in hues of blue and black. There was a silhouette of a man, cigarette in hand, standing behind a glass, looking at the view outside. Brian would have recognized that view anywhere. It was the view from the loft. His loft.
There was no doubt about it; that was a painting of the view from the loft back in Pittsburgh. In all likelihood, it was a painting of him looking at the view. Brian's eyes moved to the artist's initials. JT.
Justin Taylor.
5 years ago
"Look, I didn't mean to do it. I'm so sorry."
"I told you when I said you can stay here there are rules. Now you've got five minutes to pack your shit, none of which, of course was stolen, and get the fuck out of here!"
Brian hadn't seen Justin since that day. As far as he knew, nobody had. Brian had assumed that Justin went running to Debbie's, but he hadn't. Debbie thought that Justin had gone home to Jennifer's. But Justin hadn't, because Jennifer had come round to Vanguard wanting to know why Justin was avoiding her.
For almost three days, every one of them had been on pins. Daphne didn't know – or wouldn't say – where Justin was, and neither did anyone else. A week later, Justin left a message on Brian's answering machine. A short message saying that he was alive, safe, in New York, and that the five hundred dollars he had taken from Brian's wallet would be replaced soon. Brian had expected the blonde to turn up on his doorstep in a day or two, having gotten tired of the melodrama.
But Justin had never turned up.
Jennifer had presumably got a similar phone call, and she called Brian to inform him curtly that Justin was alive and to please not call her again. From that day onwards, Debbie had never brought up the topic of Justin either.
Three months later, Brian had received a money order for five hundred dollars drawn out from a bank in Pittsburgh, and a small note from Justin, apologizing for all the trouble, and thanking him for all his help. On a hunch, he had called Jennifer's house, but Jennifer tightly informed him that Justin wasn't in Pittsburgh. He had never heard from her again.
Or from Justin.
He turned to the curly haired brunette, who anticipated his question, because he promptly replied "That one's not for sale."
Brian turned back at the painting. "The artist; do you know who the artist is?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, if you'd like to see some of his other work…oh, here he is, Justin, this gentleman was just asking about the loft painting…"
Brian swivelled around too quickly, without realizing the narrowness of the store or how close he was to the person who had just walked in behind him. Hot coffee splattered all over the blonde.
Justin.
Brian couldn't believe his eyes. Justin Taylor was standing in front of him, cursing, coffee all over him. But it was Justin.
It had been 5 years, and Justin had changed. But not by much. His hair was longer, reaching his shoulders, cut in a shaggy, bohemian style. He still didn't look a day over eighteen, and looked as attractive as Brian had remembered him.
The curly-haired brunette was glaring at Brian. So was his purple shirt. Justin, on the other hand, hadn't yet looked at Brian, and was busy queening out over his ruined clothes.
"Fuck! Jerome, what am I going to do! My blazer's ruined. So is my shirt! Jesus fucking Christ! I have no time to dry clean, no blazers here and I'm going to be late for my own show! Fuck!"
"Justin?" Brian spoke, but Justin didn't even look at him. The way Justin was freaking out, Brian was certain that he hadn't even heard Brian. Jerome, however, looked at Brian curiously before speaking to Justin.
"I think this would be a good opportunity to call Sugar Daddy and make up with him."
"Jerome! This is not the time!" Justin had taken off his blazer and was examining the damage.
"On the contrary, this is the perfect time. You have no time, and no clothes, and little money. He has lots of time and even more money. Call him. He can pick something up for you and be here in forty-five minutes. You'd be late by, what…fifteen minutes maximum. He's got to be downtown by now, in any event."
"I'm not running after anyone, especially for their credit cards. Ugh. I'm going to miss my own show. My only decent blazer – fucking ruined." Suddenly Justin turned to Brian. "This is all your…"
His words died on his lips and his eyes grew wider as he saw Brian for the first time. Recognition was instant. "Brian."
"You know Coffee Guy?" Jerome was looking from Brian to Justin.
"Brian. Kinney."
"Oh." Jerome looked from Justin to Brian, understanding suddenly dawning. He looked at Brian. "So. You're the guy who fucked Justin before kicking him out. Hm. And now because of you, he's going to miss his show. Nice."
"What show? What the fuck are you doing here Justin? You disappear for 5 years and turn up in Toronto of all places? Do you know how worried we were? Not one fucking call, nothing to say that you were alive!"
"What? You kicked me out. Why the fuck would you worry? Besides, I sent you a note. And a cheque. I think I told you that I was alive. Exactly that, if I'm not mistaken."
Brian opened his mouth, but Jerome beat him to it.
"Ok Justin, focus. The show. Clothes. Now. Will you please call –"
"No. I'm not calling anyone."
"What show?" These two were beginning to exasperate Brian. He had three dozen questions to ask Justin, but clearly he wasn't going to get any answers.
Justin continued to glare at him, so Jerome answered.
"Justin – and three other artists – are having their work shown at a gallery today. About five blocks from here. In precisely half an hour. Which we're going to miss, because he has nothing to wear. All your fault."
Justin was having a show? Brian was impressed.
"Why don't you just buy a –"
Justin didn't even let Brian finish. "Because not all of us mint money, Brian, and besides which, there's no time." He looked at Jerome. "Gimme your shirt. Maybe if I roll up the sleeves, no one will notice."
Jerome stared at Justin, horrified. He looked as if Justin had just asked him for a kidney. "What am I going to wear?"
Justin walked over and picked up one of the silk shirts off the display rack. "Here, you wear this, and be a walking advertisement for us. Come on Jerome, we don't have time for this!"
Jerome was pouting worse than Justin was. "Ugh. Ok, fine. You better sell something there. You," he said, turning to Brian, "don't touch anything, and try to clean up the mess you made. Make yourself useful."
The two of them disappeared through the back, and Brian noticed that Jerome had already placed paper towels on the spilt coffee.
What the fuck was Justin doing here? He was obviously doing ok…better than ok, if he was having a show, and clearly he was running this shop with the other guy, Jerome. What the hell had happened since that day when Brian had so unceremoniously kicked him out?
Jerome suddenly appeared, dressed in the silk shirt Justin had given him.
"Coffee Guy, you have to leave now, because I need to close the shop." Jerome handed him a leaflet. "Half an hour. Five blocks west of here. The Glassman Gallery. If you're interested. Now. Go."
Chapter End Notes:
SO MUCH to say here.
This story is an abandoned story from 2011 that I found parts of, and decided to complete for my own perverse reasons. As such, the story meets no standards, and will definitely feel disjointed in places. I've tried to fix it the best I could, but the end result is still not great. Also, you just might not like the story. If you've come looking for quality, you're not going to find it here.
Nevertheless, here it is.
All the good parts are thanks to my beta, Xrifree.