"broken pieces, break into me,
showing perfectly what you should be"

September 2012
**BRIAN**

The first thing that went through Brian's mind when he saw him, after the unexpected piercing pain in his abdomen subsided and he could form coherent thoughts, was that his blonde hair was a little longer and a tad darker than it used to be. The next thing that went through his mind was how badly he wanted to reach out and touch said hair; how badly he wanted to run his fingers through it. The yearning to feel its silky smoothness in his fingers an almost primal urge. The desire to smell the minty shampoo that he'd always associated with him (so much so that he had to stop buying any kind of bath products that were similarly scented) making him dizzy.

It was Brian's last night in Boston. He was there on Kinnetik business, schmoozing a potential new client and after several days of successful meetings, expensive dinners (on Kinnetik of course), and lavish gifts (also on Kinnetik), Jerome Farraday finally agreed to sign on. Brian was thrilled. Farraday would be his first Boston client, and also the first company on his long and impressive client list that was in the music business…well, sort of the music business. Farraday was a designer and producer of custom guitars and select other string instruments. He was music business-adjacent in that several well-known and respected musicians purchased their instruments only from Farraday's company. His business would give Kinnetik a foothold in Boston, and that was all Brian really wanted. He had conquered Pittsburgh, and Philly, and Baltimore, and DC, and New York. Boston was the last great holdout in the northeast (as far as Brian was concerned) and with Jerome signing Brian could turn his focus on moving Kinnetik west. He already had a stake in Chicago with his long history with Brown Athletics, but he wanted more than that – he wanted to go all the way to the West Coast. As he regularly reminded himself - what was the fucking point of being successful if his name wasn't equated with success and if every new graduate in advertising didn't want to work for, or strive to be, Brian Kinney?

No, he wouldn't settle until he had contracts and clients in every state and country in North America, and after that, the world.

Jerome Farraday, along with being an instrument-maker, was also a season ticket holder to the Boston Symphony. After the contracts were signed (the ink barely dry) he had invited Brian to come out and see the Symphony with him. They were premiering a new show that would be running for a few months, featuring a visiting violinist, and the opening gala was that evening. Brian, not feeling it would be appropriate to tell Jerome how much he despised certain orchestral music – rather, violins – agreed to go. He knew he needed to foster the fledgling business relationship and he didn't figure it'd be too hard to listen to one of the top Orchestra's in the nation (maybe even the world) perform. It was a small price to pay for earning Farraday's business.

In the end it wasn't bad. In fact Brian actually enjoyed himself. He'd forgotten how much power and emotion the brass instruments could convey and he found himself eager to get back home and put on some selections from his varied jazz collection. He was also reminded of how music could speak to him and pretty quickly he forgot about the contract and his dislike of violins and he simply let the music wash over him.

The gala afterwards was full of well dressed people sipping champagne and eating tiny hors d'ouevres and speaking of the music as if they were the first to have ever heard or discover it. It was incredibly pretentious and Brian had to work to control his expression, each passing moment affording him the joy of overhearing comment after comment from these people who thought quite highly of themselves.

He struggled to find someone, anyone, "normal" he could converse with but not only was he surrounded by many of Boston's elite, but he was also surrounded by some of the most talented musicians in the world. He found himself inevitably fumbling over his words as he tried to make small talk about something he knew next to nothing about. Sure he was a fan of jazz, but no expert. And while he'd taken some guitar lessons in High School, having saved up money over the summer to buy the instrument himself, Jack had smashed the thing one night in a drunken-rage and Brian hadn't bothered again. Neither thing qualified him to have much of a conversation with any of these musicians. And so it was, as Brian was chatting with a cellist trying to sound the least bit educated about orchestral music, that Justin suddenly appeared.

Brian knew it was him immediately, even though his back was to him. Brian didn't need to see his face to recognize the narrow waist and bubble butt; he'd spend years worshiping both (and much more).

Though he'd spent four years admiring the younger man's shape, form and function, it had been twice as many yearssince Brian had set eyes on him. Seeing him suddenly again was as unexpected as anything Brian could possibly imagine, and the passage of all that time didn't stop the paralyzing wave of memories mixed with unresolved emotions and intense feelings that he'd long since buried (in a hasty attempt to forget) from growing to tsunami proportions. It took him by surprise and he really had no idea how to control it all – how do you rein in a tidal wave of emotion?

If he'd known to expect him, if he'd know he'd ever see him again, he'd have been prepared. But to have it happen so unexpectedly was making it quite difficult for him to control his visceral reaction; shock and fear mixed with overwhelming attraction and desire – they were things he'd always felt about Justin and things he now thought he'd likely never stop feeling about him. But knowing that didn't make seeing him any easier to handle; it made it worse actually. Because Brian didn't want to feel anything and now that he knew his attempts to put Justin behind him were for naught, he wasn't sure what to do.

Heart rate climbing exponentially, Brian's stomach twisted and knotted painfully. He could feel an uncomfortable heat creep up his neck; he was breathless, his mouth was slightly agape; his eyes felt wide and panicked. To say it was unexpected to see him would be an understatement of epic proportions.

"Uh, are you okay?" the cellist who stood in front of Brian asked, though the words sounded like they were spoken underwater – a kind of thick, slow-motion drawl.

"Yep," Brian nodded once, though he was anything but okay. He ignored the look of disbelief on the cellist's face.

"I'll get you some water," she said slowly, heading towards the bar. Brian ignored her, his eyes still focused on Justin's back.

Get a grip, he told himself and by sheer force of will he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths to calm himself.

Slowly the sounds in the room resumed their normal levels and slowly the tingling sensations in Brian's arms and legs faded. When he'd collected himself enough he found he was quite grateful he had seen Justin first. It allowed him to react and then regain his composure. Brian had never even considered the chance that he'd ever see Justin again. They still shared a few friends, but their lives were as separate and distinct from the other that there really was no danger of a chance meeting ever occurring. Yet there he was.

Justin was right there, just a few feet from Brian. If he took a couple steps forward he could reach out and touch him.

Shit!

As suddenly as he wanted him in his arms, Brian wanted out of there. He needed to disappear before Justin saw him because though it had been eight years he knew how Justin would react and Brian was not prepared to deal with that deep well of emotion. Not prepared at all. No, it was better to get the fuck out of there before he was sighted. It was better that Brian forget the night entirely, and shove all his unresolved feelings and emotions back into the deep, dark corner of his heart where they'd been lying dormant all this time.

Better to get the fuck out of dodge…

Stealing one last look Brian was about to turn and head for the door when he heard Justin's name called from behind him. As if in slow motion Brian watched, frozen in place and powerless to move, as the blonde head swiveled around towards him.

Brian composed himself, best he could, gathering his wits and putting on his best 'mask' even as his heart pounded in his chest and he stared into those blue eyes he used to know so well. Brian didn't know them anymore though, that much was obvious. They were closed off. He tried not to let it get to him when Justin's wide grin, his "sunshine" grin, faltered and faded while recognition slowly dawned on him.

Brian could still hear someone calling Justin's name from behind him even as Justin's expression betrayed his obvious shock at seeing Brian. When Justin's eyes slipped from Brian's and traveled over his shoulder and back again, Brian suddenly knew. And he didn't want to know. God, he didn't want to know, and he definitely didn't want to see – but he had no choice in the matter. The voice was closer still, just feet away now…

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself – telling himself he needed to be the 'bigger man' – Brian turned towards the voice that was still calling Justin's name, and he saw him.

Ethan Gold.

Wait…was it Ethan? It had looked like Ethan at first glance but as Brian took him in he could see it wasn't Ethan. He was slight like Ethan had been, and he had dark, curly hair like Ethan had, but this guy was not that other damned violinist. Brian felt relief flood through him before it was slowly replaced by an unexpected and rather dreaded pit of jealousy.

Though Brian thought of Justin very rarely, when he did he purposefully never thought of him actually being with someone. It was too hard to think about and now, being faced with it he was learning it was even more of an unexpected hurt to see, to be faced with so surprisingly. Suddenly the ache in Brian's gut wasn't just from seeing Justin, but of knowing another man was touching him, caressing him, running fingers through his hair; fucking him.

It was stupid – because what did Brian expect? Of course Justin would find someone.

Brian stood there, dumbly staring as the other man came to a stop and smiled pleasantly at Brian.

"Hello," the guy wore an expression of amused bewilderment as he smiled and examined Brian's face as if he saw something there that Brian didn't intend to show. It made Brian nervous, and he felt his mask slip a little.

Brian didn't answer, catching movement out of the corner of his eye and turning his head just in time to watch as Justin sidled up to the man's side, kissing his cheek and putting an arm around his waist. Brian couldn't be sure the gesture was for his benefit, because the other man accepted it like it was a common occurrence. Apparently they were out and public, Justin and this…this other man.

Shit. Brian thought he might be sick.

"Justin," Brian smiled warmly, trying to recover some control of the situation and pointedly ignoring the curious stare of the dark-haired man who had his hand on Justin's waist, while also fighting the contents of his stomach boiling up, threatening to reappear, "you look good."

The taste of bile in his mouth was overwhelming and the painful thumping of his heart in his chest told Brian what he already knew but had easily ignored until now – after all, out of sight, out of mind. But he still had intense unresolved emotions about him; fuck if he didn't still love the little shit. And it hurt more than anything else in his life hurt because Justin was right there, just a few fucking feet away. But Brian couldn't touch him; or kiss him; or even smile at him the way he'd used to. He'd lost all those rights. And for what? He couldn't reason out why, now, even though it had seemed to make sense at the time…

"Thanks," Justin's tone wasn't angry or brash but Brian would have preferred that to the cold, distant, detached way he spoke. It made Brian want to disappear. Fuck he wanted to disappear. Justin had every right to hate him, to never speak to him again. Brian didn't blame him one fucking bit. In fact he had hoped for some anger because that would indicate he still cared even a little. But there was nothing. Just the look of a man who seemed to be staring upon a stranger and God-damn if it didn't cut him to the quick.

"Brian! I see you've met Aaron, the visiting violinist," Jerome appeared by Brian's side suddenly, and never was he happier to see a straight man in his life. Brian watched Justin visibly transform, shoulders moving back and a smile crossing his features. Not quite a 'sunshine' grin, but one that looked fairly authentic, if you didn't know him well enough to see its falseness. Brian wasn't sure if he should be happy that he could still tell the difference after eight years.

"Yes," Brian answered, moving his eyes quite reluctantly back to the smooth-faced features of the other man, Aaron. It wasn't Ethan, but it was another fucking violinist. What the hell, Justin!

Aaron was attractive guy, there was no question about it. Now that the shock had worn off and he could take him in properly. Very attractive; Brian wasn't sure any man or woman alive wouldn't agree. His eyes, a deep green, had a twinkle in them and two deep dimples appeared in his cheeks as he smiled once again, flashing straight and pearly white teeth.

"Aaron Ashland," he said, removing his right hand from Justin's waist and holding it out. Brian watched his own hand slowly travel out and grasp his. Aaron's hand was warm from being against Justin's body and Brian felt a flush creep up his neck. He let go quickly and avoided Justin's cold look.

"I hope you've been praising his skills. He's quite wonderful, no?" Jerome gushed.

"No," Brian nodded, feeling for one of the rare moments in his life, completely out of sorts and uncertain of himself. "I mean, yes, he was…is quite wonderful. Very talented."

Aaron smiled widely and nodded his thanks. Brian let his eyes flicker briefly to land on Justin where he saw an expression on his face that betrayed his own confusion, and amusement, and discomfort. Brian wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of there.

"I'm trying to convince the Symphony here to steal him from L.A., but I'm told Mr. Ashland won't leave Los Angeles," Jerome laughed but Brian saw Justin's expression cloud slightly.

Los Angeles, Brian thought with a small smile. So Justin was still there. Probably a fucking success by now. Good; maybe it all hadn't been for nothing then.

"No sir," Aaron glanced sidelong at Justin before he turned to face Brian and Jerome again, "not leaving Los Angeles."

"Ah, well," Jerome sighed, "Brian, come, I'd like you to meet some people."

"Sure, just give me one minute?" Brian smiled, the tightness in his chest increasing as he did his best to ignore the stares of Justin and…and Aaron.

Jerome nodded and wandered off to join a large group of people which included the cellist Brian had frightened away moments ago. Fuck. Brian quietly sighed before he turned back to face Aaron and Justin. They were both staring at him with expectant expressions, Justin's a little harsher than Aaron's, and Brian wondered what he could say; what he should say. Was there anything to say? It didn't appear as if Justin wanted or needed anything from him. But fuck if he didn't feel like he needed something from Justin – but what that might be, Brian had no clue. Absolution? Forgiveness?

For a time Brian had known Justin better than anyone, and Brian knew he was likely crawling out of his skin to get some kind of explanation or apology from him. Anything. Justin had always wanted that from the start. He'd desired nothing more than some recognition of his value to Brian and Brian had never given it; or rather, he'd rarely given it and when he had it had always been begrudgingly. Did Justin even care anymore? Looking at him Brian found it hard to believe he did, and Brian knew he had no one to blame but himself.

What was even funnier, ironically, was that Brian wanted to say something; to explain the events of eight years ago. Or at least explain it as best he could – because there really was no excuse for his behavior. But with Aaron there he couldn't. He wouldn't. He'd lost his right, and his chance. And Justin didn't look at all interested in anything Brian had to say anyway.

"So you're still in LA," Brian finally said and Justin just nodded, his face like stone. Unmoving and showing no emotion.

"I'm glad you appear to be doing well," Brian looked between them. His entire chest was in a vice grip and he was finding it hard to breathe it hurt so much. It was his penance, he supposed.

Brian wasn't deluding himself to think that Justin had spent the last eight years in some kind of miserable funk from what Brian had done – but Brian also wasn't so delusional to think Justin had gotten over it right away, either. And like seeing Justin had stirred long buried (and ignored) emotions and feelings inside Brian, he could only assume the same was true for Justin. That Brian's presence was dredging up old shit he'd long buried.

"Well. Take care of yourself," Brian said softly allowing himself one last long look at Justin before he turned from him and Aaron and wandered over to where Jerome was more than happy to introduce him to more musicians.

Brian didn't see Justin or Aaron again that night. He suspected they left soon after their encounter. The following morning Brian flew back to New York with a new client, but he couldn't celebrate, not really.

The damage had been done. The safe door had been cracked wide open and its contents ransacked and laid bare for examination. There was no more avoiding the feelings he'd so effortlessly put away all those years ago.

The house of cards had fallen and Brian wasn't so sure it'd be as easy to pick up the pieces this time.

A/N: Inspiration for this fic courtesy of Adam Lambert. Check out "Broken Open", /F1kycPLCpW0.