The usual Disclaimers:

Don't own any of the Character's... just doing this for fun. Not earning any money.

He never knew what justin had done to it after they used it to bring back those awful memories.
Now he does. He just found it.
Underneath the mattress.

He had just wanted to change the sheets after last
nights trick left. And he fucking found it.
Two miserable years after Justin left.
After he had rejected his proposal.

He had gone back to being the most desirable fag in pittsbourgh, but it didn't mean shit to him
anymore. And nobody, except maybe michael,
could guess that he was so miserable.
But he was. He longed for Justin.

And what sucked most was not the fact that he would once again spend hours dreaming of his sunshine, but that the found the most disturbing piece of evidence to the most disturbing thing he ever had to witness. Justins bashing. Even now, years after it, he can't get over it. He simply can't deal with the helplessness he felt.

And now he was, once again, an inch away from taking his mobile and calling the new yorker number he knew by heart. even if he only called it once. But he knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't make him and Justin deal with all this again. With their past, with the longing for each other. Because it simply didn't make any fucking sence to do so. They had wanted and expected different things, and this would never change. Their relationship couldn't last. Never would.

And somehow, he blamed himself for this.
But thankfully he had michael, who would remind him, every now and again, that the way he was is not a crime. that it's simply him. brian kinney.
and that he was fabulous and right the way he was.
Most of the time Brian found this hard to believe.
Specially in the times when he missed Justin too fucking much.

He still held the bloody scarf in front of him,
staring at it without really seeing it. And then he woke himself up from the daydreams. He brought the scarf to his nose, took in its smell for a few seconds and then put it back where it belonged.

Yes, he thought, the scarf had its specific place in his flat. Like everything else Justin has
left behind in here. Or in him.

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