Set immediately after Michael's brilliantly staged or disastrous (depending on
who you are and how you look at the world) 30th Birthday Party.

*

The loft was a tip. There were glasses everywhere, bits of food trampled into the floor, some of the furniture had had things spilt all over it, the faucet had been broken so badly that the knob for the hot water had come off completely. The fridge had been ransacked, the decorations shredded and the floor had puddles of various beverages all over it. Justin closed the door behind the last guest and took in the mess. With a sigh, he started to pick up some of the fallen grapes and tidy up some of the abandoned bottles, as Brian paid the dancers and Captain Astro for their services before virtually throwing them out of his flat. As soon as they'd gone, he walked purposefully over to the sofa and collapsed on it.

"You okay?" Justin asked tentatively.

"I've just spent a mint on a party that has ruined my home, not to mention my bank balance and my relationship with all my friends and Michael. I'm just dazzling," Brian scorned, pulling a joint from a container in his jeans pocket and lighting it carefully. He took a long drag and held it in his lungs for ages before exhaling. He needed to escape.

Justin chewed his lip nervously before deciding perhaps silence would be the best course of action in this situation. He carried on tidying up bits and pieces until Brian told him to stop.

"It's okay, I don't mind." Justin said.

"The cleaning lady will do it," he insisted, digging the heal of his palm into his eye and rubbing. "Just, go take a shower, it'll sober you up a bit."

"I'm not drunk."

"Justin, you can barely stand up straight and so far, all you've done is cause more of a mess with your tidying." He craned his neck up so he could see the kid properly, his eyes were glassy and not altogether focused, poisoned with glasses and glasses worth of margarita's. He allowed his head to fall back to the sofa and said, "remind me never to let you drink with Melanie. Not that she'll ever speak to me again." And, after a pause, "maybe one good thing did come out of this party." He took another long drag from his joint, "and of course the fact Michael's back with the doc. In fact, it was perfectly executed plan and everyone got what they wanted."

He held the joint high above his head and closed one eye so that he could place the joint perfectly in line with the light on the ceiling for no other reason that 'he wanted to'. Then he added so quietly, his words heavy with hurt, "except me."

"What was the plan?" Justin asked, using the breakfast bar to steady himself as he wobbled dangerously.

"I thought you were in the shower," Brian frowned.

"I'm going now," Justin promised. "I just wanna know the plan."

Brian seemed to consider telling Justin exactly what had happened, starting with Debbie's visit or maybe it started with Michael and David's break up or maybe it really started all those years ago in Michael's bedroom when they were both fifteen. Maybe if he'd never starting to give Michael that hand job, Michael wouldn't have become so infatuated with him for so long. Brian sighed, being Michael's idol had been a lot to bear, he'd taken the blame for things Michael did just because he still was holding onto this deluded fantasy that one day Brian would become the kind of man that settled down and did boyfriends and didn't fuck about but of course that day would never come and Michael was becoming one of those loveless people you hear about who end up in a rundown house with fifty cats. But the worst thing about it was it appeared to be happening all over again with Justin, Michael two. Except that was different somehow, maybe because he'd actually fucked this kid.

"What's the point," he said eventually to no one in particular. "No one else understood it either, they didn't realise I'd given Mikey exactly what they all say he needs but they're wrong. If they actually looked, they'd see that Michael's not really happy with the doc. They'd see that the doc's fucking controlling him turning him into some kind of Stepford fag. But, as always, they just blame me and continue their guilt free existence with fucking blinkers on." He took another drag and blew the smoke out in rings, over fifteen years of smoking had come in handy for little party tricks like that.

"Wait, you don't think Michael's happy?"

Shit. "What are you still doing here?" Brian groaned. He hadn't meant for anyone to hear what he was saying. It was supposed to be a stream of angry rambling from an angry, lonely, but not old, man.

"I was waiting for you to finish so I could ask you what should I do with this."

"I thought I told you to stop tidying."

"Just this one last thing," Justin reassured him, as Brian took another hit.

"What is it?" he asked in a cloud of smoke.

"The comic you bought Michael. Shall I just chuck it?"

"You can't do that, it's not yours."

"But Michael's not gonna want it now."

"I don't care. It's still his. He can decide what he wants to do with it."

"But he decided to leave it here."

"So it can stay here until he decides what to do with it next," Brian insisted. "Why aren't you in the shower?" he snapped again.

"Alright, alright. I'm going."

Justin clearly didn't make it to the shower. Brian heard him collapse face first onto his bed and he sighed. He almost thought about kicking him out but what did it matter really. He knew there was no fucking way he was gonna be getting any sleep tonight anyway. He finished off his joint and then pushed himself to his feet. He poured himself a cocktail of the closest bottles and he began to sip at the strange concoction. It tasted like cat piss but it was strong, really strong so he just kept drinking. Eventually, he passed out on the sofa, a cigarette butt in one hand and a bottle of … something in the other.

He was wide awake and restless less that two hours later but, by that time it was seven o' clock so he dragged himself to his feet, took another swig from the bottle in his hand and went to take a shower. By the time he'd got out of the shower, Debbie had packed up all Michael's stuff. Then she'd said thank you and left, taking Sunshine with her. Didn't she realise a thank you, sincere or not, wasn't going to make up for the fact she'd forced Brian to give up his best friend and then taken his only remaining ally too. Not that the kid had left without promising to come back later but he was always back. Nothing Brian did seemed to get rid of him. For the first time in his life, Brian was experiencing what it was like to be love unconditionally and he found it incredibly strange.

When Justin did return a couple of hours later, Brian ignored the knocking at his door. He was sprawled out on his floor, still wearing just a pair of black joggers, still smoking, still drinking, still miserable. He'd picked up the Captain Astro Issue and opened it, despite his own belief it was still Michael's, it had been obvious from the way Debbie had said goodbye it was clear Michael wouldn't be accepting his gift anytime soon. It seemed Brian and Mikey's excellent adventure really was all over after fifteen years of perpetual reruns about unrequited love and dead-end narratives. It was the fairy tale that hadn't followed tradition. The princess had never got his prince, so he'd settled for a knight. The prince had turned into a beast, locked up in his tower and friendless. The spell had been broken and the friendship had been snapped like an aged twig that had clung on to the friendship tree for much longer than it should have.