"i know the battles of chasing the shadows of who you wanna be
it doesn't matter, go on and shatter, i'm all you need"

**Brian**
October 2012

Before Boston, Brian rarely thought of Justin. After Boston, Justin was all he could think about. And that was how he qualified it, too. His life had become "Before Boston", and "After Boston".

New York City was meant to be distracting. That was one of the reasons he'd moved after everything with Rage happened. And that was how Brian had used the city in the years he'd been living there. It was one big distraction, keeping him from thinking about all the fuck-ups he'd never made right, or apologized for. It kept him from thinking about the people in his life that he'd disappointed, or hurt. It kept him blissfully ignorant of the way he'd used, and abused, many of his closest friends. It kept him from imagining the hurt Justin had likely felt when he'd realized Brian had not only kicked him out of the loft, but had kicked him out of Pennsylvania, and out of his life. He could ignore what he imagined was the deep pain Justin felt at being abandoned in Los Angeles with no explanation.

But after coming back from Boston there was nothing in the city that could provide enough of a distraction to remove Justin from Brian's thoughts. He couldn't go out because he was constantly seeing Justin in the face and form of every blonde man, and he couldn't sleep because his dreams were nothing but scenes and memories of his past life with Justin, lived out in vivid detail – exaggerated for maximum emotional effect. He was miserable, and alone with his own thoughts, which was never good.

He worked long days, than wandered about his penthouse apartment by night. He couldn't get comfortable and he couldn't focus on anything. He tried reading, he tried movies. He even tried to make small talk with Lindsay when he called to check up on her and Gus. Nothing worked – he was in a constant state of turmoil because while he could forget for a moment or two, when he remembered again it felt as fresh as the moment he'd decided he would break Justin's heart as a means to let him go.

But at least he had his privacy, and no one harping on him to call Justin, or try and make it up to him, or telling him he didn't know what he was giving up. The funny thing was, Brian did know what he'd lost, what he'd given up. He had regretted his actions almost immediately way back when he'd decided not to board that plane to LA, and once relocated to New York he'd easily been able to deflect those regrets, to bury them for all the intervening years. But After Boston those regrets returned a hundredfold and that was the hardest thing of all to deal with.

Brian didn't do regrets. There were precious few things in his life he felt real regret for, but the crushing weight of seeing Justin's face again after so many years had caused the most recent of those regrets to burn bright and hot once more, as if it were just yesterday that he'd decided not to go to LA, not to support Justin, not to be the man he sometimes thought he wanted to be…

So he sulked. And drank. And chain-smoked even though he'd promised Gus he'd try to quit. Damn schools and their health classes and cancer scare tactics.

Brian spent night after night, for weeks, standing in front of one of the many, many windows in his penthouse apartment. He stared out at the city before him, and he thought. He recalled every possible moment with Justin, starting with that first night, and ending with the last night they'd spent together before he'd left for Los Angeles. He remembered quite a lot; and mostly the small moments. The touch of his hand on his face, the heat of his palm against the back of his neck when he'd pull Brian's face closer, the feel of his lips - soft and full yet hard and powerful, the weight of his body when he'd lean up against him at Woody's, or Babylon, or the loft. His hair…

He wouldn't let his mind go much further. He wouldn't let himself recall anything more than that because just that little bit was painful enough.

After two weeks of dodging calls from the few people he knew in the city, Cynthia for one, and Sean for another, Brian finally relented and decided the only way he would get over the resurgence of emotion was to what he'd always done, drink, and drug and fuck it away. The techniques were tried and true for Brian – he'd done it once, he could do it again, even if it would be a slighter tamer attempt this time.

He conveniently forgot that it had taken years that first time around.

Brian called Sean, and when the other man arrived Brian barely let him close the door behind him before he was on him, pulling off his clothes and grabbing at his body, desperate for anything to make him forget. Sean willingly let him take complete control – it was how their "relationship" worked – for better or worse.

After, the two men lying on the hardwood floors of the living room with their clothes strewn about them, Sean leaned up on one elbow and eyed Brian curiously.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to call again," he said calmly.

Brian stared back at him, his eyes slightly narrowing as he examined Sean's face. Sean knew the score; he knew Brian was not interested in love or a boyfriend, and they'd had several arguments in the past on both topics before Sean had finally acquiesced to Brian's "rules". So, staring at Sean now Brian tried to see if there was some hidden meaning behind Sean's words – but the other man's pale blue eyes were simply curious.

Brian shrugged, rolling from his back onto his stomach before rising to his knees and rolling his neck out, sighing with relief as audible pops released the building pressure.

"Been busy," he said before rising and moving to the kitchen. He could feel Sean's eyes on him as he pulled two tumblers down from the shelf above the sink. Unscrewing the top of the bottle of Beam that was sitting on the counter, he poured them each a few fingers of the liquid.

Sean rose then, accepting the offered drink. The two men were quiet as they sipped. Brian liked that about Sean. There was no constant need to fill the silence with talking – with words that were only noise and rarely said anything of import.

"How was Boston?" Sean finally asked and Brian shrugged again.

"Great," he rinsed the two now empty glasses of any traces of Beam, feeling his restlessness stirring. He had to get out of his place.

"Want to go to Royals?"

Sean nodded curtly and after the two showered they dressed and headed down to the pool hall that Brian considered his second home.

Sean McMahan was a friend and a fuck buddy. He was red-haired, freckled, tall – only an inch shorter than Brian, and very was not Brian's type. Nothing about him physically would ever give Brian cause or reason to look twice.

But Brian had looked twice, more by necessity than desire, but he'd found the other man to be a kindred spirit of sorts, even if he was Brian's total polar opposite. Sean was affable, but strong-willed (in a non-condescending way). He stood up for himself and had an integrity that Brian greatly admired. He was a high school teacher – math – and he told terrible jokes, but he also listened and observed things in a way that no one in Brian's life had before, at least not that he was aware of.

Brian and Sean had met at a time when both men were in desperate need of acceptance and understanding, and they just so happened to be able to give each other those very things. Early on though, Sean tried to make it more than it was meant to be and Brian non-to-gently told him to fuck off. That if he was looking for love or partnership he could leave and never come back. Sean had disappeared for almost a week after that but when he did show up at Brian's penthouse again there was no more talk of those things, at least not for awhile. That had been almost three years ago. Occasionally over the years Sean would make a veiled statement, or insinuate that he wanted there to be more between them but each time that happened, Brian would shut down and close off. Sean quickly learned that if he wanted to be in Brian's life in any way it was his way, or no way. So for the last six months there had been no mention of love, or relationships, or feelings at all; there was nothing other than sex. Brian preferred it that way, though he knew Sean still fantasized.

Brian wouldn't say he was in a relationship with Sean because he didn't think he was - even though he rarely fucked anyone else, and sometimes between rounds they would spend their time talking about anything and everything under the sun, from kindergarten crushes to monster truck rallies. But Brian felt nothing for him other than friendship. He was attractive enough Brian supposed, and he was nice (nicer than Brian deserved, he knew that for sure), but he was nothing more; not to Brian. Sometimes he wondered if Sean could be something more; sometimes he wondered if he wanted Sean to be something more…but then he'd shrug the thoughts away and let the status quo stand. Why rock the boat when it worked so well for him?

For Sean though...well, Brian wasn't convinced the guy wasn't in love with him. Because while Brian wouldn't kiss him on the lips or the face or the neck - he kept his lip action almost entirely below the waist - Sean loved to nibble on Brian's ears, or bite at his neck. At first Brian had responded violently to that type of familiar touch, shrinking away, but Sean persisted and eventually Brian let him. He liked it; it felt nice. But there was no kissing on the lips. The one and only time Sean had tried to kiss him had led to Brian throwing him out into the hallway naked, his cock rock hard and leaking while Brian tossed all his clothes after him. When Sean had come back a few days later Brian had said only five words, though they were laced with venom and warning, "No kissing on the mouth".

That was the end of that.

Ironically though, Brian desperately missed kissing. The feel of another man's strong lips on his, their tongues battling for entry into the other's mouth.

Kissing had been one of Brian's favorite methods of foreplay. But after kissing Justin and only Justin for almost five years, Brian couldn't bring himself to kiss anyone else. He had tried, when he'd first arrived in New York, and he'd found the experience wanting. He and Justin had had each other's mouths memorized, they had had a rhythm and a technique and it was oh so good...Brian ached for that again but he simply couldn't find it anywhere so finally, after months of kissing tricks as well as fucking them, Brian stopped the kissing. He saw it as a sort of penance, one that he'd earned, and one that he deserved.

Royals was a hole in the wall pool hall and gay bar, but also the most popular pool hall and gay bar – at least in Brian's neighborhood. It was conveniently only one block away from the penthouse, so Brian and Sean walked there in short time only to find all the pool tables occupied. Deciding to wait it out in the hopes that a table would open up, Brian got them each a beer and they staked out a spot at a high top in the back of the room.

"So I take it you got that account in Boston you were after," Sean said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence that had been sitting between them since they'd left Brian's penthouse.

"Mmmmhmmmm," Brian hummed as he sipped his beer.

He stared at the two men playing pool at the table nearest them. They were both, big, beefy blondes and in another day, in another lifetime, Brian would have ditched Sean in an instant and taken them both out to the alley for some fun. But he wasn't that guy anymore, and the two didn't seem to be all that interested in anyone else, anyway.

Brian kept his eyes on the two blondes, seeing Justin in their every movement and expression, though neither man looked at all like the slighter blonde Brian couldn't seem to get out of his head.

"Did something happen? You're acting even moodier than usual," Sean said and Brain shot him an accusing glare.

"Fuck you," he grumbled.

Sean sighed tiredly and Brian felt an odd, vicious thrill at hurting the other man. He wasn't sure why, Sean had done nothing wrong and didn't deserve Brian's wrath. Really, Brian wished Sean would turn on him – but though he was strong-willed and stood up for himself, he wasn't angry, or violent, and Brian honestly couldn't recall if he'd ever even heard the man say a bad word, other than when he was begging Brian to fuck him harder and faster.

The silence descended again – more uncomfortable than before and Brian was about to break it when the door to the bar opened and a ray of fucking sunshine walked in.

"Holy shit," Brian's eyes widened, his grip tightening around the beer at the same time.

"What?" Sean looked at him curiously before popping a pretzel into his mouth.

"At the door," Brian said softly, transfixed.

There, at the entry, was Justin. Fucking Justin was standing inside Brian's regular bar, in New York City, across the fucking country from Los Angeles. A small part of him secretly hoped the younger man had actually sought him out, but when an older, grey-haired man at the bar stood and waved Justin over, Brian knew it hadn't been him that had drawn Justin to the Big Apple. He watched as the two men hugged and Brain narrowed his eyes, observing the scene with piqued interest.

"Who is that?" Sean asked and Brian glanced briefly at the other man. He hadn't spoken of Justin to Sean, at least not in any great detail. Sean knew there had been someone, and they had been together (off and on) for several years. But he didn't know the circumstances of the "break-up", and he certainly didn't know the circumstances of the other man; of Justin.

Justin.

Right there. In his path once again.

Brian raised his beer and took several long swallows, draining the bottle.

"Be right back," he said absently as he stood and walked quickly towards where Justin now sat with the older gentleman, tumblers of amber brown liquor in front of them.

Collecting his wits and gathering up every bit of courage as well as fixing his "Brian Kinney" façade, Brian slowly approached the two men from behind. The bar itself wasn't full, but it was crowded enough that there was no space on either side of Justin or the other man. Brian cast a furtive glance towards where Sean sat.

Sean, for his part, was simply watching. His expression was unreadable, but Brian got the sense he was a little miffed and Brian knew he'd likely have to come clean about Justin if he wanted to keep Sean in his life. And hell if he didn't think he'd miss the other man if he suddenly wasn't around. Years of fucking and friendship had made him dependant and a small part of him was angry at himself for letting that happen. But, circumstances had made it necessary…

Just then the two burly bears that had been ordering several pitchers of beer departed the bar and the space next to the man Justin was sitting with opened up. Brian took a deep breath, shoved all thoughts of Sean and their "arrangement" from his mind and approached.

"Hey," Brian sidled up to the bar just to the right of the older man, leaning on his forearms so he was directly in Justin's line of sight. Justin had been in the middle of talking to the older man, who just turned his head and looked at Brian curiously. Brian barely acknowledged him; he only had eyes for Justin and he watched as Justin's words slowly died on his lips and a look of surprise and incredulity washed over his slowly reddening face.

Brian couldn't help a small smirk from forming on his lips.

"Uh, hey," Justin slowly answered, cocking his head slightly as if that might change the fact that Brian was standing right there in front of him.

The older gentleman who sat between Brian and Justin looked between them a few times before he excused himself. Brian couldn't help but notice the bemused smile on his face. He probably thought Brian just wanted to pick Justin up. If only it were that easy.

"What the fuck are you doing in New York?" Brian cut to the chase. Their first encounter in Boston had been random coincidence, but this one…this had to mean something more and Brian intended to figure out what.

"Work," Justin replied, his expression clearing as he appeared to gather his wits and pull himself together.

There was a hard edge to his voice that surprised Brian, though if he really thought about it, he wasn't all that surprised. He had thought the greeting he'd gotten from Justin in Boston had been a little too polite (he was a proper WASP, though); a little too much "for show". It was now apparent there was a lot of anger and hostility and in all honesty, Brian wanted Justin to express it. He wanted Justin to yell at him, to scream at him, to pound his fists against his chest and demand an explanation. It would be a million times better than the cold, dead eyes he had gotten from him in Boston.

"Uh, what are you doing here?" Justin asked and it was Brian's turn to be surprised.

"I live here. Have for years," he stated, wondering how it was that no one, in the last eight years, had let that nugget slip.

"Oh," Justin nodded and spun his tumbler on the bar. Brian saw a glint of light play off a ring on his left hand and he felt slightly sick. Was he married? He wanted to ask…he desperately wanted to ask. But he didn't.

"Of all the bars in all the cities…," Brian nodded, hoping to lighten the mood but it was apparent Justin was not in the mood for it. His brow furrowed, his lips pursed and he shook his head.

"Just stop," Justin said before offering a sharp bark of bitter laughter, "It's not going to happen, by the way."

"I didn't…I don't…that's not…," Brian stammered, knocked off his game by the sudden shift in Justin's attitude.

"I just thought I'd say hello…," Brian's voice trailed off as the bartender suddenly set two beers before him.

Justin eyed the bottles, "Two at once?"

"Uh, no," Brian shook his head as he felt his confidence waning. He wondered how to play out this next bit. He could either pretend nothing had changed and let Justin think he was still a promiscuous man-whore, or he could expose Sean…and neither option was very appealing.

"Well don't offer it to me," Justin crossed his arms and stared at Brian defiantly, "I don't accept drinks from assholes. Or strangers."

Ouch. Asshole he accepted. But stranger?

After eight years they might not know each other like they used too…but a fucking stranger? Brian's chest was on fire and he wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear. Justin was only one of a few select people who could make him feel like that, and Brian had to wonder if the younger man even knew he still held such power; hell, he wondered if Justin had ever known he'd held that power.

Brian smiled softly and nodded, lowering his eyes to the bar and feeling any little last bit of his mask start to crumble. He hadn't played the part for so long; it was harder to do now.

Fine, he thought making his decision, exposing Sean it is.

"The other beer is for him," Brian tilted his head towards where Sean sat, but he didn't turn to look. Instead he kept his eyes on Justin trying to gauge what was going through the other man's head as he looked to where Brian had indicated, over where Sean sat probably still watching them.

"Who the fuck is that?" Justin asked and Brian wasn't sure if he imagined the slight jealous tinge to his tone, or if was really there.

Brian glanced over his shoulder then and gazed upon Sean for a moment before looked back at Justin.

"He's no one."

Justin just stared at Brian, a look of bitter amusement on his face.

"Nothing with you ever changes, does it," he leveled his blue eyes at Brian and for a brief moment Brian didn't recognize him at all. But the moment passed quickly and then Brian could see the injury Justin was trying to hide. The wound Brian inflicted all those years ago that had never healed. He was starting to fully realize the number he'd likely done on Justin. The awful, horrible way he'd likely made the younger man feel, and the way he'd likely made him doubt himself.

"Are you sure he's not the guy you fuck more than once? Though I have to say he's not really your type. But then again, guys who aren't your type seem to be the only ones you do fuck more than once."

Brian cocked his eyebrow slightly but didn't answer. He wouldn't admit it, but he also wouldn't lie. It was true, Sean was the guy Brian fucked more than once, even if the words didn't mean the same thing now as they had when Brian had said them about Justin. Brian had wanted to fuck Justin more than once because…well, he'd loved him and simply wanted to be with him. Brian wanted to fuck Sean more than once because it was easier that way. They both knew what to expect, what they were getting, and there were no questions and no complications. No painful explanations of things required. It was an arrangement. That was all. But he couldn't say that.

He wasn't sure Justin would believe him anyway.

"What do you want, Brian?" Justin sighed and Brian heard the emotional exhaustion in his voice. It would seem maybe Justin had been thinking about Brian as much as Brian had been thinking about him.

"I -," Brian started but looking at Justin he felt the last bit of his mask slip and a grimace cross his features.

"Fuck," he whispered, dropping his head to his hand and taking a deep breath.

When he raised his head Justin was looking at him strangely, his anger seeming to have dissipated just a little. Now there was just hurt, and uncertainty, and maybe a little hope? In any case Brian recognized the expression. It was the way Justin used to look at him in those first few months they had known each other. Whenever he thought Brian was starting to thaw to his advances; when he thought Brian might be offering the slightest little bit of emotion or acceptance. When he had hope that Brian would love him back the way he so desperately wanted... Brian wondered if Justin even knew he was doing it.

The older gentleman who had excused himself came out of the bathroom then, and Brian sighed inwardly. He had precious little time left, but so much he still wanted and needed to say. Yet nothing would come out. Every sentence Brian formed in his head sounded as silly and insignificant and immature as Brian knew his behavior those years ago had been. He needed more time – but he would not get it.

"Enjoy the city, Justin. It was really good to see you again," Brian smiled widely, and genuinely, as the older man returned and reclaimed the vacant stool between him and Justin.

Justin's eyes widened ever so slightly at Brian's words, and Brian could clearly see there was more he wanted to say, too. With one last nod, Brian picked up the two beers and made his way back over to where Sean still sat at the high top.

Brian silently set the beers down and stared at Sean for several seconds, daring the other man to ask or say anything. Brian suddenly wanted to fight, he wanted Sean to storm out angry, he wanted someone to make him feel like shit. But Sean didn't say anything about the scene he'd witnessed.

"They'll be done with the table in a few minutes."

Brian nodded.

Ten minutes later as Brian was chalking his cue he saw Justin and the older guy stand and head towards the exit. Justin turned at the door and for just one moment Brian met his eyes before he was gone again.

When he'd moved to the city it had taken him exactly three days to find the perfect place. He'd given his realtor a non-negotiable list of requirements - skyline views, unobstructed sunlight, vaulted ceilings, a private roof patio, secured-but-not-guarded entry, and above all else, views of one of the rivers that surrounded the island of Manhattan. There was precious little available that met all those requirements and Gerard, Brian's realtor, had been showing him the fourth place on a very short list of five places when it happened. Brian knew it was the right place the moment he walked in, and it took only ten minutes for him to declare so to Gerard. Three weeks later he was moving in, and he couldn't have been happier for it.

The large (3,400 sq ft), open floor-plan, penthouse apartment was in Chelsea. Just off 10th Avenue and W 25th Street in a slowly reviving, artsy neighborhood. Before Boston, it was a safe haven far from the world of advertising and far from the type of people who always wanted something from him. After Boston, he began to question his decision to live around so many artists – wondering if he hadn't been subconsciously wanting to punish himself somehow. After Boston, living in Chelsea became much harder – because all it did was remind Brian of Justin.

Still, he loved his place. He had clear views of the Hudson River, as well as a direct sightline of the Empire State Building, and from one particular spot, the top of the Chrysler Building was just visible.

Brian loved his penthouse in New York more than he'd ever loved his loft in Pittsburgh – and he'd really fucking loved that loft. But being in New York, in Chelsea, was like a breath of fresh air; or had been, Before Boston.

Sean loved the penthouse too, and when they got together it was always at Brian's. Brian didn't mind because Sean's place, while likely nice enough for him, was a shithole by Brian's high standards.

Sean followed him home that night, and Brian wasn't sure why. Their game of pool had been aggressive and miserable and they hadn't said one word to each other for almost half an hour. Yet still, when Brain grabbed his jacket and started for the door Sean fell in right behind him.

They were silent on the elevator, and Sean just stood quietly by while Brian unlocked the penthouse door, following Brian in when Brian didn't shut the door in his face.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?" Sean asked.

Brian scowled at him before he entered the kitchen and poured more than several fingers of scotch into a glass, downing it all before pouring another. He was so angry – with Justin, with himself, with Sean…

After weeks of trying to resolve the feelings that had resurfaced after seeing Justin in Boston, the fucking little twat shows up again, this time in Brian's safe haven! How could he go back there again, to Royals, and not think of Justin? It was ruined for him, and he was enraged that his city, the place he'd used for years to safely hide from his ghosts, was no longer safe at all. It was infected, and the festering of his unresolved feelings for Justin would be his undoing. He was certain of it.

"Nothing," Brian stomped over to the sofa and threw himself down, taking a long swig of the brown liquid and savoring the burn as it traveled down his throat and into his stomach. Some of the pain faded along with it, and Brian took another swig, but noticed the effects were muted.

"Nothing."

Brian looked up at Sean. The other man was standing in front of him, staring at him with a look of incredulity.

"You're about to explode from your skin so don't tell me nothing is wrong," Sean crossed his arms. "Was it that guy you saw?"

Brian huffed his annoyance at the question before he downed the rest of the scotch in one gulp. His face felt warm and his tongue felt loose in his mouth…

"Justin," Brian groused, staring at the empty, cut glass tumbler in his hands and marveling at the reflection and refraction of light as he turned it round and round.

"Justin," Sean repeated, "he's an ex?"

Brian barked a sharp laugh, "you could say that."

Sean sighed and Brian looked up at him. He looked exasperated and Brian suppressed a smile.

"So what's the story?" Sean finally asked and Brian shook his head with a sad smile.

"It's too long and too fucked up," he leaned his head against the back cushions, closing his eyes. When he felt the sofa shift slightly beneath him he raised his head to find Sean sitting next to him.

"You know about my past," Sean said softly and Brian saw his hand come up and out before it paused and fell back to Sean's lap.

Brian sat up and scooted away from Sean, turning his body as he did. He could see it in Sean's eyes, and he didn't want to see it. But there it was staring back at him. The fucker was in love with him, and all these dramatics about Justin were only fueling him, making him more desperate to lay some kind of claim on Brian. That was the moment Brian knew he had to stop; he had to send Sean away and for good. Damn if the thought didn't make him a little bit sad.

"I don't come out of the story very well," Brian said and Sean shrugged.

Maybe it would be a good thing, Brian thought. Tell Sean everything, make him realize what a piece of shit he was and that he wasn't worth the effort of loving – maybe that would make him stop, maybe that would make him go away, because he had to go away. Brian knew he couldn't keep doing what he was doing, not when he knew Sean's feelings… Brian ignored his conscious telling him he'd known Sean's feelings for years and never cared before. Because it was true, he had known, and he hadn't cared. But he cared now.

"He was seventeen when I took his virginity," Brian blurted, keeping his eyes on Sean so he could see his reaction, "and I was twenty-nine."

Brian wasn't disappointed. Sean's eyebrows shot straight up and his jaw dropped slack as he stared at Brian.

"I was a fucking asshole to that kid, yet for days he dogged me, following me desperate for any attention. Finally I gave in," Brian paused, recalling the sight of seeing Justin on the dance floor of Babylon, an innocent (at least as far as guys at Babylon) sandwiched between two much older and much more experienced men.

"He was fucking amazing in bed. Teenagers, they have the stamina to go all night long," Brian breathed, leaning closer to Sean and willing the other man to shove him away and call him disgusting, and perverted.

But he just sat there and stared at Brian with wide eyes.

"I taught him everything I knew," Brian laughed, "which was, or is, a lot. And he was a very willing student."

Brian's smirk faded as his memories took over. Justin's parents kicking him out, his running away to New York, moving in with Deb, the nights in the loft, the way he'd level Brian with random words of wisdom that were far beyond his years, the fucking Prom. He told Sean about most of it, keeping many of the details to himself while trying to paint himself as awful as possible.

"He was bashed in the head because of me. Because I showed up at that dance," Brian said. "He almost died."

Those images, as fresh in his memory as anything, would never fade. He shivered against the unpleasantness.

"Things were on again, off again for years after that. Mostly on again, and good. Some of the time anyway. But then Hollywood came calling, and I let him go," Brian shrugged.

"I saw him for the first time in something like eight years, when I was in Boston," Brian rolled his lips into his mouth and nodded, "and then again tonight."

"I mean, what are the chances? Boston, and then here? In my bar?"

"That's pretty damn coincidental," Sean said.

"But I have a question for you," Sean shifted slightly, "why in the hell did you, a man nearing thirty, continue to see him when you knew he was only seventeen years old?"

"Is that all you took from everything I just said?" Brian arched an eyebrow, curious that Sean hadn't latched on to one of the many, many awful things Brian had done to Justin.

"No," Sean replied, "but as a high school teacher…I don't know Brian. That's pretty disturbing."

"Fuck off," Brian sighed – but he knew a part of Sean was right. "He seemed older than that. Sometimes, anyway," he added softly, fearing Sean was not scared away, but rather more attached than ever. Brian had revealed his wounds and he feared the other man was now intent to try and heal them.

"So what are you going to do," Sean said, so quiet Brian almost didn't hear him.

"Don't know," he replied. And it was true. He didn't know.

Seeing Justin again put Brian right back in the same place he'd been After Boston. He was in constant battle with himself, angry at Justin for getting to him, angry at himself for being the reason behind Justin's anger and hurt, and frustrated that there seemed to be nothing he could do to make himself feel better.

The week following his second run-in with Justin, Brian spent his nights alone in his place yet again staring out his windows trying to figure out what, if anything, he could do to resolve his emotions. Would it be fair of him to try and contact Justin? Probably not…but how else could he move past this? How else could he forgive himself if he didn't at least try to get forgiveness from the one he'd hurt most?

And it wasn't only Justin that Brian suddenly felt he needed to make up with, either. He felt like he owed everyone, Emmett, Deb, Ted, and especially Michael some sort of apology for that time in his life, and for the way he had simply run off instead of facing the music. Lindsay had hinted more than once that Deb especially was hurt Brian simply disappeared into New York, never to be heard from again. But what could he do? And was it too late? Eight years was a long time; maybe no one cared anymore.

Then, the Friday afternoon of that week as Brian was walking home from his subway stop he passed by a comic book store. It was the same comic book store he'd been walking past for the last eight years yet for some reason on this day he turned and glanced at the various books hanging in the window. He supposed it was because he had Michael on his mind, but whatever the reason on that day, when he looked, he saw something that froze him in his tracks.

There in the window was a near-mint condition Volume 1, Issue 1 of Rage: The Gay Crusader.

With only a moment's hesitation, Brian went inside and purchased the bagged book, practically sprinting home eager with anticipation. He'd long ago tossed his copy of the issue and just holding the book in his hand he felt a strange nostalgia wash over him.

An hour later, after having slowly and methodically paged through the book, taking in every image and every word, remembering what it had been like seeing the light and excitement in both Justin and Michael's eyes as they had worked on it, he set it aside with a small smile. He was so damn proud of them, even still.

Flipping open his laptop, Brian did something he had never done before; he Googled 'Rage gay crusader'. He read about the movie, the failed sequel, and found several listings for collections of the comics on eBay. But his excitement faded when he came across an old blog post from2009 that pretty much ripped apart the comic. The blog author was cruel, noting that the love and care that had been present in the first few volumes of the book had vanished from the comic, the last volume nothing but darkness and dreariness. The love the creators had felt for Rage had gone, and the stories in that last volume of comic books showed that. The art was no longer inspired, and the words were harsh, sometimes cruel. Rage the crusader was a shell of man, and even JT and Zephyr were unrecognizable in their characterizations.

Brian felt a small part of his heart die when he learned Rage ceased to exist just three weeks after the blog post was published. Rage was no more, and it was his fault.

Brian slammed the lid of his laptop shut and paced his apartment, rolling and unrolling the first issue in his hands. He had not only ruined Justin and Michael's happiness with his actions, he'd not only spit in the face of their accomplishment, but he had been the very cause and reason behind the demise of the only openly gay superhero out there. He'd ruined it for every gay boy who desperately wanted to see themselves between the pages of a comic book.

"Fuck!" Brian yelled, throwing the comic across the room and watching as it fanned out and drifted slowly to the ground.

Brian stalked to his bedroom then, absently tossing a few things into a travel bag before locking his place. Walking the few blocks to the car park he first texted Sean to let him know he was headed out of town and not to come by, before he claimed his Lexus (having sold the Corvette when he'd moved) and headed straight out of the city and towards Vermont.

Gus was twelve years old, and almost as tall as Lindsay. He was a spitting image of Brian in every way, except he had Lindsay's large, dark brown eyes, and Lindsay's kind, pleasant demeanor. He was athletic, and smart, and popular. Brian was proud of him, and he treasured the relationship they'd formed over the years. It was the one good thing to have come from the mess Brian's life had been over the years.

And for being twelve, and entering the turbulent waters of middle school and puberty and hormones, Gus was still as excited as ever when Brian would show up, especially when he'd show up unannounced, which he did occasionally but which he realized, as Gus got older, that he wouldn't be able to do for much longer. Once his son started to have a life of his own, outside of his parents, it would be harder to show up unannounced and expect Gus not to have tons of weekend plans. But, until that time came Brian would relish his surprise visits and the wide grin and the uninhibited hug they elicited from his son.

Lindsay was happy to see him, too, but surprised. He had a planned visit for the following weekend, and Brian just shook his head, assuring Gus when he asked with concern of Brian would still come up the next weekend, that yes, he planned to come back again.

Later, after Gus had gone to bed and Brian and Lindsay had had a few beers, she finally asked him what was going on. He knew she could see it in his face, his struggling emotions. He'd never been good at hiding things after…after what had happened and Lindsay had grown much more observant of his moods since then, too.

"I ran into Justin," Brain blurted, somewhat amused at the shocked expression that crossed Lindsay's face before she regained her composure.

"Where? When?" she stared at him wide-eyed.

"The first time -," he started but she cut him off.

"The first time? There was more than one time?"

He leveled his eyes at her and she raised her hands, "Sorry. Go on."

"The first time -," he repeated, focusing on peeling the label off his beer bottle and avoiding Lindsay's look, "- was when I was in Boston last month."

It had been easier with Sean, because Sean didn't know the nitty gritty details….but Lindsay knew it all and Brian knew she wouldn't play nice if he did ask her for her opinion on the subject of what he should do. He supposed that was why he was telling her, because he needed someone to tell him it was okay to try and make amends. He needed to know it was not too late.

"The new client I'd just signed invited me out to the symphony and Justin was there. With his new guy," Brian paused; was he a 'new guy'? Justin had a ring, and they were awfully familiar with each other. No, he likely wasn't a new guy.

"What happened," Lindsay pressed, softly.

Brian scowled, glancing up at her before he focused again on the bottle's label.

"Nothing really. I said hello. Told him he looked good. Then he was gone. Then, last week I go out with Sean to play some pool and who the fuck else but Justin walks in," Brian shoved the bottle away from him, suddenly angry.

"And how was that?" Lindsay asked and Brian threw back his head and sighed.

"It was fucked up," he said quietly.

"I just…I never thought I'd see him again," Brian ran his hands through his hair and looked at Lindsay again.

"But you did. And now…?"

Brian laughed. Lindsay knew exactly how to lead him on, how to drag things out of him; typically things he wanted to say anyway, but was afraid too. It was something he loved about her – that she knew him well enough to know where to go so he could say what he needed to say, sometimes without actually saying it.

"He's in my head again. Haunting me. And I'm wondering…," he trailed off, chewing his lip for a moment, "I'm thinking maybe I should do something. Or…I don't know."

"You want to call him."

"Maybe. And Michael. Maybe."

Lindsay stared at him for a long while before she spoke, and when she did, her words were not what Brian was expecting to hear.

"I think you should call Michael. I think it's long past time you two made up. But Brian," she shook her head, "I'm not sure you should call Justin."

"Why's that?" Brian said, feeling defensive. Lindsay was supposed to be on his side, she was supposed to tell him yes, call Justin and make amends and get back together because you belong together forever! Though why he thought she'd say that he wasn't entirely sure.

"Because he was a fucking fall down mess after you didn't show up for Rage. A mess," her look hardened.

"It took him a long time to get over what you did, and I don't think it would be to his benefit if you were to suddenly try and reinsert yourself in his life. He's found someone who loves him, and who he loves, and they plan to get married whenever Prop 8 is overturned in California."

Brian nodded, but his resolve was growing. Suddenly the challenge of making Justin forgive him, of making him listen to and understand his reasons for not going to LA all those years ago, was becoming more and more enticing. He let Lindsay have her say, but Brian had already made his decision. As hard and as painful as it might be, he was going to make things right between he and Justin, and he and Michael, and he and everyone.

For the first time in a very long time, Brian felt a sense of calm wash over him.