"You're too young."
"People have been telling you that for years and it's never bothered you before."
"Jesus fucking Christ don't joke about this."
"Just calm the hell down then Brian, and stop stomping around in there, you're not helping this headache."
That seemed to get through to him and an instant later Brian was on the couch beside him, hand going, as it so often did, to the place above his left ear where bone and metal plate had healed just slightly uneven. He'd been bluffing, trying to get Brian to quit pacing, but the familiar stroke of fingers over the scars was lovely, and Justin couldn't help but lean into it. They sat like that for a time, while Brian's erratic breathing evened out, and the muscles of his body visibly loosened. Eventually he sagged, drained into the cushions, hand gripping Justin's hair once, not too roughly, before sliding away. Out of the corner of his eye Justin could see him tip his head back and rub both palms over his face.
"They said that they'll do everything they can Brian, Dr Richards is the best in the state, if not all of the east coast. If anyone can do this, he can."
"I know, I heard them, I was there."
"Then getting yourself worked up like this isn't going to help, you need to stop worrying."
"Stop worrying?" Brian jumped back to his feet and resumed his previous circuit from sofa to bookcase to window, "How can you ask me to stop worrying? They said-"
"They said that nothing is certain. And it isn't. So would you please sit still for more than thirty seconds so that we may have a rational discussion?"
Brian halted directly in front of him, glaring over the coffee table. "What the hell is there to discuss? Do you know what that fucking pamphlet said? The one that wonder Doc gave me?" Brian sneered and jerked his arms up, fingers crooking in midair quotations, "Coping with Grief and Loss" he cooed mockingly, "understanding the grieving process. Step one: throw away this fucking waste of paper."
"Brian."
"It was so full of bullshit! Facing the loss of a loved one can be very painful. Understatement of the goddamn freaking century!"
"Brian."
"It was full of shit about therapy and support groups, talking about turning to faith!"
"Brian."
"There was this fucked up analogy about a roller coaster, ups and downs and freaking rainbow cotton-candy puke. I don't even fucking know."
"Will you shut the hell up for a minute!" yelling really did send a jolt of pain through Justin's skull, and he gritted his teeth against the flood of nausea that accompanied it. Without fully intending to he'd risen, the patchwork quilt the Debbie had made for them sliding to pile over his socked feet. "Don't you think I'm terrified enough without your bullshit? Can't you just let me pretend for a second that this isn't happening?"
Brian's brows angled dramatically over his eyes, lips thinning furiously, "You should be!" he spat, "You should be scared out of your fucking mind! This isn't something that we can just ignore and hope it goes away! Pretending won't help."
"It'll help me." he replied softly, almost too softly to hear over the murmur of the TV across the room. He'd flicked it on almost immediately after walking through the door, while Brian was still taking off his shoes, in a desperate attempt to normalize the situation. Unfortunately it had landed on some sort of hospital drama, lines of uniform beds full of unrealistically good-looking patients glowed at them from the flat-screen.
Brian's face crumpled inward and he looked so defeated that Justin felt his own features soften and he stepped around the table to take his face between his hands. Though he kept his eyes determinedly downcast, Justin could still see the glimmer of tears nestled in the corners. "Oh sweetheart." he sighed, stroking the soft skin below Brian's eyes.
"Don't fuckin' call me that." Brian muttered automatically, such an instinctive response that Justin would have been concerned if he hadn't said it. But he contradicted the words by leaning forward to press their forheads together, exhaling a warm gust into the narrow space between them. "This wasn't the plan."
"What plan?"
Brian shifted uncomfortably but didn't move away. "Just...the plan. The way things were supposed to go."
Justin pulled away back just so much that he could look at Brian without crossing his eyes, and let his hands fall to rest on his shoulders, rubbing small circles into his chest. "It's gone okay so far," Brian rambled on, "With Vic and then Carl and Debbie and Ben. But this fucks everything up. It's not your turn, it's Blake's. Or Hunter's, or even mine. It's so typical of you, just cutting in like this."
Justin could feel his eyes widen in horror. "Brian!" he yelped, trying to jerk fully away, but hands closed around his wrists, holding him fast. "You can't seriously be telling me that you've mapped out what order we're going to die in! That's...that's...!" he shook his head, utterly lost for words.
"No listen to me. It wasn't supposed to be you. You were supposed to outlive all of us, forever our youthful little Justin. When I meet my inevitable demise in the predictably spectacular bang, you'd keep on shining, get yourself a hot, young piece of ass to last you until your expiration at the ripe old age of one-hundred and twenty." Brian delivered the little speech laughingly, but his voice broke more than once, and the muscle in his jaw was twitching spastically. The hands clutching at Justin's were shaking. His disgust dissipated instantly.
Once again he dragged Brian down onto the sofa, this time curling up around him. He scratched lightly through the silver hair at his temple. Because of course Brian Kinney did not go grey he silvered. The rest of those famously roguish locks had dulled slightly with the years, but so far he'd retained an impressive darkness with just a little attractive gradient of silver along his cheekbones. There were days that Justin envied him, his own head had been streaked thickly with snowy white since he turned forty-five, although it was barely discernible amung the blond. Most of the time, however, he just found it ridiculously sexy.
"You know what," he said slowly, trying to at once sooth and get his point across, "I think that this is exactly right."
"Fucking hell-"
"Because," Justin slid his arm smoothly around Brian's waist, holding him securely against him. "Because you know what? I couldn't. I couldn't do that, move on, be with someone else."
"Bull-"
"Don't be a dick. It's true. If...when you die, what the hell would I do with myself? I'd be a complete mess!"
"Bullshit. Your ass may not be as perky as it once was but there is a whole plethora of baby fags out there looking for a sugar daddy to set them up nice. Trust me, I speak from experience."
"Yes so I've heard." he rolled his eyes against Brian's neck, pressing a tiny kiss against the straining tendon, "But I couldn't. Without you I wouldn't know what to do."
"Oh for fuck's sake."
"I know. I sound like a princess. But I'm just stating a fact. Since the night I met you, my life has revolved around you. Getting you to fuck me, getting you to keep fucking me, convincing you to let me move in, keep you from kicking me out. Even when we weren't together it was you. When is Brian going to visit, when will I save up enough sick days to come back to Pittsburgh. Since I was seventeen Brian, that's thirty-eight fucking years, you've been the centre of my universe."
For once Brian stayed silent, apparently willing to stifle the complaints that always popped up whenever Justin got too 'sappy' for his taste. He sat as still as a statue while Justin twisted his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. "No," he murmured sadly, closing his eyes and willing the cushions to swallow them up, "It's better to just avoid the issue entirely."
Neither of them spoke for a long while. Justin allowed himself to relax against the firm chest, lids growing heavy as Brian absently massaged the ache out of his skull...for a little while at least. "Fifty percent," Justin started to say, but his face was mushed against against Brian's collar bone and the words came out garbled. He groaned and shifted, tried again. "Fifty percent isn't bad odds Brian."
"Not bad for a coin toss. I think this is a little more important than that Sunshine." Brian whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair off of his brow, "You're too important."
"We don't have a choice. It's something Brian, it's more than most get."
"We should have been more careful. Smoked less, drank less, done fewer drugs, not partied all night."
"You're trying to blame my cancer on staying up passed my bedtime. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"
"Still. You didn't take care of yourself. If only-"
"The doctor said, there's no way to prevent it. It wouldn't have mattered what we did, it's just bad luck."
"Fuck I know." Brian croaked hoarsely, "I hate that part. The helplessness."
"Tell me about it."
"This is payback for all those times that I broke your heart isn't it."
"Bad luck," Justin repeated adamantly "Means that you can't blame yourself." he grunted and untangled himself, tried to stand but the task was made difficult by the dull aching of his entire body. Brian rose smoothly and grabbed his arm to help. "Gus and the girls will be here any minute." Justin said as they walked to the kitchen, hand-in-hand. "Can you...stay relaxed when I tell them? I don't want them more upset than they have to be."
"Of course." Brian grumbled, reaching out to hook a dollop of dip from the tray on the counter. He stuck the finger into his mouth and sucked it clean, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, and popped it out with an obscene noise. "I'll be on my very bestest behaviour...when we tell them."