I was quite nervous about this one because it's my first QAF fic so thanks for all your comments. They mean a lot!

I'm aware this chapters quite long but I suddenly had an idea for this story i needed to scribble down... =D I hope this isn't too British - i've tried to put the American words where i can but i'm sure i'll have missed some!


Justin decided categorically that he would not stay in and wait for Brian to call back. So he stayed in and worked on an art project he'd started instead. Kelly stayed in with him and insisted on asking him about his phone call with Brian over and over until he decided to make some feeble excuse about having a headache and went to bed early. He tucked his cell phone under his pillow and placed the flat's phone on the floor beside him and closed his eyes, not waiting for the phone to ring, which was lucky because Brian never called back.

--

"What's the point of going all the way up there? You can't do anything about it."

"I can be there, for my son. Besides you wouldn't think twice if it was Jenny Rebecca, who'd broken her arm. Out of my way," Brian pushed past Michael and grabbed some socks and pants from his draw dropping them into his duffel bag.

"I'd have to consider the store first. And I'd be thinking about my best friend's birthday!"

"That's the beauty of being your own boss and … what birthday?"

"My birthday you asshole!"

"Oh that birthday," Brian said as though this was all new information to him as he threw a pair of jeans into the bag too. He frowned for a second before asking, "when is that again?"

"Saturday!"

"Not long now. Thirty-five Mikey, a whole year closer to amnesia, arthritis and perverted nurses in stinking care homes," Brian held up a shirt against himself and looked in the mirror before throwing it in to his bag and adding; "remind me again why you're celebrating."

"Because some of us happen to like the idea of growing old with the man we love."

"Well not me. I don't believe in growing old and I don't believe in love."

"You're so full of shit," Michael chuckled, half because it was funny and half because it was unbelievable. "There was a time when you were gonna give up everything for the man you love."

"That's before I remembered what a fickle and pathetic lie love was. I'm just one of the lucky few who came to their senses in time. Pass me those sunglasses."

Michael picked up the glasses of the bedside table and handed them to his friend, "that's not the point. This'll my first birthday you've ever missed since we've met."

"Look," Brian stopped his somewhat frantic packing and grabbed Michael's shoulders, "I'll only be gone a couple of days. We'll celebrate," he said the word as though it had carried a particularly horrible taste on his tongue, "your birthday when I'm back. Okay?" He kissed Michael gently on the lips.

"But…"

Brian let out a loud sigh of frustration and went back to his packing. "Michael! Will you give it a rest? I'm going to see my son."

Michael frowned. "Fine," he sulked, "but you better get me something good."

"Don't I always?" Brian smirked.

"No! One year you gave me a watch you'd found on the street."

"Are you still bringing that up? I was seventeen and I was broke. You should let that go."

"Mmm."

"Right, I'm all packed."

"Okay, have a good trip."

Brian nodded. Flung his bag over his shoulder and pushed Michael out of the loft ahead of him. As they parted on the streets he said, "Happy Birthday, Mikey!"

--

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE!" Debbie cried, putting the biggest birthday cake anyone had ever seen down in front of her son.

"Mom!" He moaned as the whole diner burst into song.

"What?" she croaked happily. "Can't I be proud of my gorgeous son?"

"I certainly am," Ben smiled, leaning in to kiss Michael.

"Oh give it a rest, I want cake," laughed Hunter, diving through the middle of his dad's 'moment' to get the first slice. Ben and Michael just laughed.

"It's a shame JR couldn't be here," Michael sighed, "and Brian."

"Well, that couldn't be helped, could it?" Debbie sighed. "If Gus hadn't broken his arm we could have all been here, the family reunited. Except Sunshine of course."

"What's this about me?"

Everyone turned to look and there, in the doorway to the diner, stood Justin. A big grin on his face.

"Sunshine!" Debbie cried, running over to him and smothering him with a highly perfumed hug. "What a nice surprise!"

"Thanks Deb," he grinned. "And Happy Birthday Michael," he said, handing over a present. "It's not much. It's about all I can afford."

Michael unrolled the paper and found himself looking at the most beautiful drawing of himself, Ben, Hunter and Jenny Rebecca.

"It's excellent. Thank you Justin."

Justin just smiled again.

"Well sit down Sunshine," Debbie said, practically forcing him onto the seat. "I'll get you a drink and you can tell us about your trip."

"Yeah, er. Where's Brian?"

"He didn't tell you?" Debbie asked.

"Tell me what?"

"Gus has broken his arm. He's gone to stay with them for a few days."

"Oh." Justin's whole face fell. Then forcing a smile he continue, "well, I've hardly spoken to him since I left so…." Debbie just gave him a sympathetic smile and touched his face lovingly.

"I'm sorry honey," she whispered, before returning to her serving.

The diner was buzzing. Emmet and Ted were taking the piss out of Michael for being another year closer to that first grey hair and everyone was asking Justin about New York. Everyone seemed so happy, this was after all a celebration but Justin didn't feel much like celebrating. It wasn't long before he was making an excuse to leave.

--

Justin walked away from the diner, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He heard his name being called but he kept walking because, by now, there were a few tears running down his face and he didn't want people to see him as a pathetic faggot. He walked until a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He span him round and found himself face to face with Michael. He quickly dried his eyes with his sleeve.

"What?" he snapped.

"I'm sorry," Michael whispered, because now, faced with his crying kid, he didn't know what else to say.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Justin sighed. "It's just a series of unfortunate circumstances."

Michael nodded.

"You know," Justin spoke slowly, "when I first met Brian, I felt like everything in the world was pushing us together. Just one unlikely event after another meaning we ended up living together and staying together."

Michael smiled, he remember it all only too well.

"But now," Justin continued, "it's like everything is pulling us apart. Like Thursday, my friend Kelly managed to trick me in to ringing him but he was in the middle of some meeting and never called back."

"Thursday? Well, that was the day he went to Canada for Gus."

Justin nodded sorrowfully. "Of course it was, like I said. Everything's trying to keep us apart." He looked at the ground, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. There was a silence that became more and more awkward as the time stretched on until Justin said, "So, Happy Birthday Michael." And left.

Michael watched him go, just like he'd watched Brian go uttering the same parting phrase before walking away with exactly the same dejected slump to their shoulders. Michael knew that they were perfect for each other, if he believed in fate, he'd probably say that they were destined to be together. But he didn't believe and as time went on, it was seeming less and less likely they'd be together again. Just as Justin disappeared from sight, Michael found his vision obscured by two large, leather-gloved hands and in his ear, Brian's voice whispered; "Guess who?"


"He's here?" Brian asked again when Michael explained.

"Yes."Brian paused for a second before declaring, "well, this isn't about him. This is about your birthday and the fact I've haven't missed a single one since I've known you."

"Brian, don't be an asshole. Go and see him."

"HOW!? Michael!" Brian exploded. "How? Did you ask him where he was staying? There are a million and one hotels in Pittsburgh. I'd never find him." Brian finished calmly running his hand through his hair. "And anyway," he added, "what's the point in clinging on to something that's already over? It's like Justin said, everything's against us."

"When's that ever stopped you before?" Michael demanded.

"Stop trying to fix things Michael!" Brian snapped, making his friend jump and his eyes grow wider with fear. Brian looked at his friend and blinked once very slowly before continuing calmly, "you're always trying to make things better, but you can't fix this Michael. It's not a grazed knee you can stick a Band-Aid over and it's not a grey hair you can dye away. It's life. And life isn't always a fucking fairytale."

"Okay. I'm sorry. Just come join the party."

Brian looked up at he diner with it's hideously decorated interior and it's happy party goers and it's noise and happiness. He shook his head.

"I'm not really in the mood for celebrating. But you go. Have fun growing old with the man you … love."

--

Justin lay on the lumpy mattress, staring up at the leaky ceiling. He wished Brian would knock on the door and burst in telling him to pack up his shit and get moving. It would be just like the time he ran away to New York, except of course this time he's running away from New York. There was a knock at the door and for a split second, Justin dared to dream but as he opened the door his dream was crushed by a waiter presenting him with room service.

"Thanks," Justin said, tipping the man before shutting the door and returning to his bed. He'd ordered a burger and chips because it had been the cheapest thing on the over priced menu. He was surprised this tacky motel even had room service. If this slum he was holed up in could be called a room. It was more of a breezeblock cell with some threadbare carpet thrown haphazardly across the floor and an old rusty bed and shoved in the corner. It was all he could afford now he was a starving artist. Starving being the optimum word. He wolfed down the burger and the five fries he'd been given and looked glumly at his empty plate. He'd give anything to be in the diner being overfed by Debbie, or in the loft gorging himself on Chinese takeaways with Brian. He missed Pittsburgh. He missed his old life.

Just then, there was a knock at his door. He got to his feet slowly. Maybe it was the waiter again with free dessert. Well, he could dream. He unlocked the door, opened it slowly and gasped.

"Hey Sunshine. Nice room."

--

They'd hardly exchanged any more words than; "What are you doing here?" and "I came to see you." It had just been wild, passionate kissing and lots and lots of fucking until both were too worn out to do anything other than light a cigarette and fill the room with smoke.

"That was … amazing," Justin said eventually, shifting himself so he had his head half resting on Brian's chest, his fingers walking up and down the older man's torso.

"Mmm," Brian hummed and Justin knew he agreed.

"I've missed you."

"Come on, there must be lots of hot guys in New York."

"Oh, there are. Just none I really like and most of them are straight."

"If most of them are straight then, you're not looking hard enough."

"I don't want to look harder."

"There's nothing wrong with looking hard," Brian grinned, grabbing Justin crotch. The younger man laughed and batted Brian's hands away.

"That's not what I want though."

"You don't want to be hard?" Brian raised an eyebrow straining his neck so he could look at his former lover.

"What I mean is," Justin sighed lifting his head a little to hold Brian's gaze. "I want you."

Brian closed his eyes, allowed his head to fall back to the virtually non-existent pillow and sighed. But he didn't say anything. As far as he was concerned there was nothing to say. He felt Justin's head fall back on to his chest and he felt his lips kissing the skin there.

"I'm thinking of coming back here," Justin announced after a while, splaying his hand across Brian's chest almost possessively.

"To the Pitts? Why, when you've got the bright lights of New York calling to your artistic talent?"

"But no one's paying any attention to my artistic talent."

"Well that is the burden of being an artist. No one recognises you until you're dead."

"That's not true."

"It is," Brian groaned pushing himself up so he was leaning against the broken headrest. "Look at Van Gogh. He works his ass off all his life, dies poor and then, after he's dead someone realises the man's an undiscovered genius, much like … you, and he becomes a worldwide success. All the money that should be going to him goes to his estate, who are also known as the lucky fuckers who live off his talent and hard work."

Justin looked at Brian for a moment or two, as though trying to digest exactly what was being said.

"Are you saying," he asked eventually, "that the best way to help my art is to kill myself?"

"It's an option," Brian shrugged.

Justin gave a breathy laugh and let his fingers run through Brian's sweaty hair, kissing the soft skin of his neck moving upwards slowly until his lips found Brian's ear. He whispered hot and breathy,

"There is another option."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"I could not go back."

Brian's expression flickered with doubt for just a second before questioning,

"And what would you do instead?"

"Stay here, with you. We could go back to how it was … It could last forever."

"All that New York air is warping your young, impressionable mind. Nothing lasts forever. And I already told you, I don't want to be with someone who sacrifices their life and calls it love."

"Well what about someone who sacrifices their love and calls it life?" Justin cried, gettin up suddenly. His voice had fallen into that high-pitched whiney tone it did when he was trying not to cry. Brian just looked at him. He didn't know what to say to that. It was strange. He always had the answers. He knew he had to do what was best for Justin, the problem was, he didn't know what was best for him anymore. He reached out and grabbed the younger man's wrist, pulling him gently back onto the mattress before moving behind him and wrapping his arms around him. He rested his head on his shoulder and kissed the bare skin of his neck. He hoped that would be answer enough for now.


"Someone looks like they were up all night fucking," Michael noted as Brian slumped into the chair next to him in the diner.

"Someone was up all night," Brian confirmed, "but I only spent two thirds of it fucking."

Emmet and Ted just rolled their eyes. Same old Brian. It seemed like he was never going to change.

"So what were you doing for the remaining third?" Ted asked.

"Thinking."

"Always a dangero-" Ted stopped mid-word when he saw the death glare Brian shot him. He coughed and said, "I mean, thinking about what?"

Brian's eyes flicked from Michael to Ted and to Emmet. He saw identical expressions on their three faces, they were expecting him to tell some crazy story involving something insane like an orgy or an arrest but the truth was he'd been up all night worrying, like some pathetic house whore.

"Nothing," he answered; and, "hey Deb! Can I get some goddamn coffee?"

"On it's way … asshole!"

Brian rolled his eyes muttering, "you can always count on Debbie for service with a smile," before picking up his mug and fiddling with it absentmindedly in a failing attempt to ignore the concerned glances his friends were exchanging around him.

--

The atmosphere was awkward between the four of them. Brian's state of mind, his heartbreak and his life weren't just an elephant in the room, they were a rainbow elephant in a pink tutu and matching hat. No one knew what to say and then, the door to the diner opened and things got ten times more awkward, as though the elephant had donned some dancing shoes and had started doing the foxtrot around the diner.

"Justin," Debbie smiled, "I thought you were going back to New York today."

"Oh, I decided to extend my trip. There's still a few things I haven't done, people I haven't seen," he looked over at Brian, "things I haven't decided on yet."

Debbie followed his gaze and frowned a little when she met with the brown eyes of Pittsburgh's biggest whore. Well, ex-biggest that particular title had passed over to Brandon along with the deeds to Babylon, it turned out the boy had some money tucked away. Seemed like the thumpa-thumpa of Babylon really would never die. There was always another Brian Kinney waiting in the wings, ready to step into Babylon's leading role.

"I was thinking," Justin continued, loudly so that Brian couldn't help but overhear despite the fact Justin was following Debbie to the bar, "I may not go back to New York. There's nothing there for me."

"Jesus, lower your voice to a bellow. Who are you telling? Me or the people of china."

"Sorry," Justin hung his head a little.

"Or Brian?" Debbie said, softly enough so that only Justin could hear it.

"What?"

"You want him to ask you to stay? To tell you not to leave again?"

Justin shrugged and looked down at the bar. "I don't know," he mumbled. "Maybe, yeah."

"Well, you know he won't do that. He won't try to influence your decision in anyway. He'd never stop you from following your dream however much it hurts him. Hurts both of you," she clarified. "You gotta remember Sunshine, no one here's gonna make any decisions for you. You gotta do it for yourself. But honey, don't be blinded by love. Try to … I can't believe I'm gonna say this but, try to be like Brian, switch off your emotions. Or at least don't let them fool you into making the wrong decision."

"I'm an artist Deb. I can't turn off my emotions." He turned to look at Brian, just as the older man stood up and left, leaving the tip on the table. He thought about going after him but he could see Michael already pulling on his jacket and sighed. Maybe that wasn't his place anymore, maybe Pittsburgh wasn't his place anymore.

--

"You're not even gonna talk to him?" Michael asked, jogging to catch up with Brian's long strides.

"About what? The weather? The day? The shit food they serve in the diner?"

"What about his art and New York?"

"I don't know shit about art. And I have no interest in New York. Now," he smiled a little, putting his hand on the back of Michael's neck and pulling him closer until their foreheads met, "get out of my face." He turned and started to walk off but Michael wasn't finished yet.

"What's wrong with you!? You haven't even spoken to him since he got back."

Brian laughed, that cruel laugh that made Michael feel about five years old. "You don't know anything, Michael. And how many times do I have to tell you? Stay out of it!"

"But it's obvious you need someone to talk to."

"I don't need anyone; not you and certainly not Justin. Now. Leave. Me. Alone. And tell Ted, if he's not in work by," he checked his watch, "nine thirty, he's fired."

"But that's in ten minutes. He'll never make it."

"Tell him to run," Brian smirked cruelly, "fast."

Michael just watched his friend as he stormed off down the street.


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