A/N: This story was previously posted on another account, but it's lost since been deleted, as I'm putting anything actually worth posting on this account. So if you have a sudden sense of déjà-vu, that's probably why. But, with that said, enjoy!
Brian Kinney had lied. It wasn't as if it were the first time, and undoubtedly it wouldn't be the last, but it was the first time it had actually mattered. The lie was a kindness on his part, an altruism of sorts. Many people would have been surprised by his capacity for such acts, and he honestly surprised himself at times. Many would have also been surprised that Brian Kinney in fact had a heart, much less that a skinny blond kid had managed to break it. But yet it was; irreversibly, irreparably so. He had lied to him that night, the night he'd told him it was okay to leave. It wasn't okay, nor would it ever be okay. Even still, he understands why he had to leave. It was the sort of thing he himself might have done, back when he still was Brian-fuck the world-I don't give a flying fuck what you think of me-Kinney. Back before bombs nearly killed his best friend, back before a little boy with trusting eyes called him Daddy.
The thumpa-thumpa continues, yet now it eludes him. A few years have passed, and he is older, if not wiser. He sees himself as others must see him now, and has just enough of his old mentality intact to not care. Much. For awhile he would go to the clubs, leaving with whatever blond he could find. With enough drinks, he would even have his face. Michael still tells him that he's beautiful, and he is, but yet something less than his former self. He feels old.
Justin sends him Christmas cards. He was incredulous at first, staring at the cheap, too-cute card in amazement. Surely he'd taught him better than that. The message inside the card was simple, "Hope you're doing well. Have a great Christmas. Love, Justin." Brian had chuckled to himself, imagining him sitting at a table in some dingy apartment, scribbling generic messages on dozens of cards with perfunctory, thoughtless greetings. He probably had a list to go by. Lindsay and Melanie, check. Michael and Ben, check. Deb and Carl, check. Ted and Emmett, check. Oh yeah, Brian. Check, check.
It's snowing outside, but it doesn't stop him from having a smoke outside the Liberty Diner. He blows a smoke ring in the air, watching with satisfaction as it mingles with his breath and the snow.
"I thought you were quitting." Michael stands beside him, taking a puff off Brian's cigarette. Brian notices for the first time the gray in his hair, and considers telling him. But he probably already knows.
"And I thought you would be at home performing your marital duties. You know, cleaning house, minding the children, tending to your husband's, 'manly needs.' Must I go over the proper wifely etiquette again?"
Michael just shoots him a look, then drops the cigarette into the snow.
"Hey, you little fucker. I wasn't finished with that."
"You're starting to sound like my mom."
Brian shrugs nonchalantly, lighting another cigarette. "What do you want?"
Michael appears hurt. "That's a hell of a way to greet your best friend."
Brian smiles. Michael would never change, he would always need Brian's constant assurance and approval. There was a strange comfort in knowing that.
"I'm just kidding, Mikey." He pulls Michael toward him for a one armed embrace.
"I heard from Justin the other day," Michael announces, glancing at Brian to gauge his reaction.
"Oh?" Brian says indifferently.
"Yeah. He says he might come down here for Christmas or something. Maybe." He glances at Brian again. "He's in Paris right now."
"Good for him."
"Well? Won't you be happy to see him?"
"I haven't really thought about him. To be honest, I was having trouble remembering his name." Across the street, he sees a couple with a little boy walking between them, reminding him that it had been a good two years since he had last seen Gus. He probably doesn't even remember him now.
"And you know what? He's not coming. People leave, and they don't come back."
Michael looks at him sympathetically, provoking a sudden spark of irrational anger, which quickly dies when Michael touches his arm softly.
"I've got to go, Bri. Ben and I promised Hunter we'd meet him for dinner tonight." Michael smiles. "We think he's bringing a girl for us to meet."
"Well, try not to scare her away. Don't start sucking Ben off during dessert or anything."
Michael laughs, just like Brian knew he would. "I'll see you later. I love you."
"I love you too, Mikey." He leans down to Michael's level, brushing his lips lightly against his.
He stands there for a few minutes, finally feeling the chill from the cold. It always takes a while to seep in. The moon reflects off the snow, giving off an eerie, iridescent blue light. Somewhere, a child cries, and somewhere else, a techno beat plays nonstop. Somewhere still, a young artist looks to the future, remembering the past fondly, but not dwelling on it. And finally, Brian Kinney will continue to dance and dance and be beautiful. He'll let the lights shine on him, loudly proclaiming his glory. He'll tell himself that he doesn't care, and he'll almost, almost believe it. He may never see Justin again. But does it really matter? It is, after all, only time.
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