Justin cried out, "Brian, don't…don't answer that!"

Brian looked at Justin strangely and quirked an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Justin took a shuddering breath and looked into Brian's eyes, his own teary and red rimmed. "I don't deserve your love."

Brian snapped, "What the fuck are you talking about?" Brian might not always have given Justin the assurances he needed about their 'relationship' or whatever-the-fuck it was, or his feelings, but he never said Justin wasn't worthy of his love, that his reticence was something Justin deserved. If anything, he thought words were empty. He'd never said he didn't love Justin; he simply thought Justin should know how he felt. Okay, maybe he was afraid to pin himself down. To make his feelings crystal clear. The ambiguity, the maybe not, protected him, or so he had thought. But Justin's illness made it abundantly clear that whether or not Justin knew how Brian felt, Brian did. Maybe he could pretend to the world that Justin's being gone wouldn't faze him, maybe he could save face, but that's all it would be, face, a mask, a delusion. He would experience very real pain if Justin…he couldn't even think it. Then his reputation would be the last thing on his mind.

Justin tried to hold back his tears, to breathe normally, but he couldn't. His illness and the constant strain he'd been under for the last month made that impossible. The floodgate had finally burst. He whispered, "Nothing I do can ever make it right…I'm sorry, so sorry."

Brian clenched a fist and took a deep breath, but his response still came out sharp. "Justin, what the fuck are you talking about? Why are you sorry? Why didn't you want me to answer the phone?"

Justin covered his face with his hands and replied, in a tiny, wavering voice, "I broke the rules. For two months."

Brian's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and he suddenly felt hollow inside. Finally, he managed, "What?"

Justin took another shuddering breath and climbed out of bed, though he was unsteady on his feet.

"Justin, where are you going?"

Justin shook his head as though in answer to a question only he could hear, took out a suitcase, and started packing.

Brian just stared. Justin had gone mad with fever. That was the only explanation. He moved to stop Justin, but Justin pushed his hands away. Then he stood up straight (though he wobbled a little) and said, in a soft but clear voice, "I had a romantic relationship with someone else for two months. I kissed him, and I fucked him much more than once."

Brian suddenly felt nauseous. Justin, his Justin, could never do that. Once maybe, but for two months? Brian shut his eyes tight and let his head fall. This, this, was why he didn't believe in sentimental proclamations. They led you into a false sense of security. Everything Justin had said, over and over, had led Brian to trust that Justin loved and wanted only him. That he would always love and want only him. He couldn't do this. He needed to get the facts and then make decisions. Act. Feelings wouldn't get them anywhere.

Brian, to his dismay, croaked, "Is it over?"

Justin couldn't bring himself to utter bullshit explanations or justifications or to give his affair with Ethan more importance than it deserved by speaking of it in detail aloud, so he simply nodded. Then he continued packing.

Brian sighed. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving. No matter how many times I tell you I love you, no matter how many tricks I turn away, no matter how many times I try to show you with my body just how much you mean to me, how beautiful I think you are, none of that (his voice broke)…none of that could ever erase what I did."

Brian rolled his lips into his mouth. After a moment's hesitation, he crawled across the bed to where Justin was packing and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him. Then he said softly, "You're too sick to go anywhere. You should be in bed."

Justin jumped out of Brian's arms with a force Brian would never have anticipated, not even when Justin was healthy.

"No! No more fucking pity. I'm not a God-damned waif, Brian. I never want you to feel stuck with me." He started throwing his clothes into the suitcase more quickly, like he couldn't get out fast enough. He periodically brushed away tears, which continued to stream down his face, and leaned on the bed and held onto the wardrobe for support as he moved from one to the other.

Brian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he looked up at Justin helplessly. He cursed. "Fuck, fine. You win!"

Justin stopped packing then. He just stared at Brian.

Brian actually stammered, and Justin could hear unshed tears in his voice, "I…I fucking want you to stay. But not just because you have a fever, and I don't care that you broke the rules. I mean, fuck, I do, but that doesn't mean I want you to leave." He sighed heavily and then snapped, "Okay? So fucking stop packing!" With that Brian sent the suitcase flying across the loft.

Justin was stunned into paralysis. For about three seconds. Then he threw himself into Brian's lap, straddling him, and, tears still streaming down his face, he attacked Brian's lips, thrusting his tongue into his mouth and kissing him with a desperation he'd never yet felt. He loved Brian so much in this moment that it was physically painful. Only being close to him, touching him, kissing him, being fucked by him, and enveloped in his scent, his warmth, could make the pain disappear.

Brian wanted to push Justin away, wanted to reject him, hurt him, to make Justin beg, but…he just couldn't. He couldn't deny himself this. After spending the day afraid that Justin might…fuck, he was still afraid…he needed this…this connection as much as Justin did. Today he was an honorary lesbian, for he needed to experience, to relish in, Justin's hunger for him. He needed to be reminded that there was at least one thing Justin couldn't get anywhere else.