A/N: I'm very nervous.
After securing Brian (helping him into and out of the cab, up to the loft, and then onto the couch), Justin stood in front of him for a very long minute. Brian had not answered his question ("What did you do?") and when Justin asked Brian what he had wanted to tell him, Brian had replied, "Not here."
Justin stood there looking at Brian expectantly. For sixty seconds, he did not even breathe. Every cell in his body throbbed. Ached. Then, on the sixty-first second, thinking that an answer was no more forthcoming now that they were at the loft, Justin walked into the bedroom. He stifled a sob and somehow forced his arms to move, to pull his suitcase down from its perch on top of the wardrobe, to open the wardrobe, start pulling out clothes, and folding and packing them inside.
Brian knew he needed to tell Justin about Mikey's deception. That part would be easy. But he had no idea what to say after that, so he was hesitating.
Every second Brian waited brought Justin closer to that moment outside of Babylon where he, tears streaming down his face, had begged Brian to listen, to stay, to believe in him. Closer to that terrible moment where Brian had chosen instead to leave him, to walk away. And in front of Michael and who knows who else. The grief hollowed Justin out, all the while the humiliation burned every inch of his skin. How many times had Brian mocked him, tortured him beyond all endurance? Fucked tricks right in front of him? Pretended not to love him or even like him? Told him to get lost? How many times had Justin gotten down on his knees, literally and figuratively, so desperate was he to be with Brian? Not to be Brian's. No. Hell no. Because up until recently that had been a bullshit pipe dream. And even now, even now it still was. After promising to stop tricking, after saying the words, Brian was still capable of discarding him like he was trash. Like he meant nothing. Again, Brian had walked away, leaving Justin begging and crying. Even in this, this, moment, Brian would not give him what he needed. He had not spoken a word and probably would not. He had certainly made no move to stop Justin. Fuck THAT SHIT, Justin thought. He wasn't a God-damned puppy eager even for a kick because that was acknowledgement of some kind. The only attention he could get. The only attention he deserved. Brian had decimated him for the last time.
So deep in thought was Justin that when Brian did act and speak, Justin jumped. Brian had approached Justin and placed a hand on Justin's shoulder. The moment his hand had made contact, he had also said softly, "Hey."
Justin's shock quickly turned to anger. He shoved Brian away and yelled, "What? What the fuck do you want?"
Brian's eyes flashed, but he didn't react. He took a deep breath instead. Then he said, still in that quiet voice, in that scary quiet voice, "We need to talk."
Justin started trembling. Not so much that Brian noticed. But he could feel it everywhere. His entire body was trembling. He was angry and hurt and determined not to prove what he assumed Brian thought (that he was nothing and deserved nothing), but still … he dreaded what he expected would come next. The inevitable final brush off. Justin moved so he could continue packing while facing Brian. Though he wasn't looking at him. He swallowed hard and blinked back tears. Justin thought, Just say it. Just say it. Rip the Band-Aid off. Please.
"I …" Brian clenched and unclenched a fist. He felt SO FUCKING sober. TOO FUCKING sober. An image of Justin outside appeared in his mind. He heard the tears in Justin's voice. The tears Brian had caused what twenty, thirty times? Brian wondered if he should just let Justin go. Everyone had said Justin was better off without him. Brian couldn't really dispute that. He'd hurt and disappointed Justin so many, many times before. And he would again, just as surely as the sun would rise in the morning. But he was selfish. He didn't want to do without Justin. A small voice, one Brian tried to strangle into silence, claimed Brian COULDN'T do without Justin. Not anymore.
With every additional second that ticked by Justin struggled harder and harder to keep the tears from welling and falling.
Brian spent a moment imagining life post-Brian and Justin. Justin gone. Justin with someone else. Holding hands everywhere. Exchanging rings. Maybe even vows. He imagined himself then. Nothing in the fridge but juice and E. Spending the next ten or twenty years on the dance floor and in the backroom while Justin built a life with new guy. A house. A dog. Maybe a kid. Vacations. Holidays. Nights in bed holding each other. Brian still in the loft. Kicking out trick after trick. Sleeping alone. No fuzzy blond head nestled in the crook of his neck. No soft snores. No wake-up blow jobs given or received. No more showergasms. Brian going to Linds and Mel's and Deb's alone, while Justin attended the same parties, but with new guy and maybe a dog or a kid in tow. Shaking his head, pitying Brian.
Brian closed his eyes tightly. Pressed his hands over them. Trying to impose his will on his body. When the unbearable loss had passed and the threat of tears with it, he opened his eyes. He looked at Justin. Justin … Sunshine.
If Brian were a good man, he'd let all that happen. Justin deserved ALL that. More. And … and new guy could offer something Brian could never EVER offer, even if Brian somehow managed the rest (which … was iffy at best). New guy could offer Justin a life NOT haunted by pain and bad memories. Fears. Betrayals. Dashed hopes. If Brian were a good man, he'd let Justin, who was now zipping up his suitcase, go. Walk out the door and into a sunnier tomorrow.
Brian clenched his jaw as Justin hefted the suitcase. As he started walking. Toward Brian. Past Brian.
Suddenly, Brian erupted, "FUCK THIS! I AM NOT A GOOD MAN!"
Justin was again shocked. Again angry. He muttered, "No shit, Sherlock."
Brian shook his head desperately. "No. You don't get it. I'm NOT a good man. So you can't leave. NOT I'm not a good man so you'd better leave."
Justin set his suitcase down. "What?"
"If I were a good man, I'd tell you to leave and never look back. But I'm not, Justin." Brian was almost pleading now. "I'm not. I want you here with me. Even though I know I hurt you. I hurt you tonight, and every day we're together is another day I might hurt you again. But … I … want you here. I want you to want to be here."
Justin just stared. What he did not express in facial expression or body posture was the profound sense of relief he was currently experiencing. He wouldn't let Brian have that. Not yet.
Brian sighed. "All right." He walked over to Justin and picked up Justin's suitcase. Then he carried it back to the bedroom. When he returned, he said uncertainly, "I guess I'm doing this."
Justin just stood there. Silent. Expressionless.
Brian sighed deeply. "Mikey … Mikey gave Ethan your new number."
" … "
"If you still want to leave …" Brian waved a hand helplessly toward the door and shrugged.
" … "
Brian felt desperation AND panic. He didn't even try to pretend otherwise. Not to himself. He wasn't even really trying to hide from Justin, either. Both emotions were too strong, too overwhelming for him to dissemble. "Trust …" Brian took a deep breath. "It doesn't come easy for me. Usually I don't even try." He took another. "I … make it so I don't have to try."
" … "
"But … I" Brian's voice broke. "But I fucking trusted you. YOU. I trusted YOU." Brian couldn't prevent the tears this time. They welled up and threatened to fall. "And you … you broke the rules. Your rules. I didn't. I may not have been good for fuck-all else. But I NEVER broke the rules."
Justin swallowed hard. The ache of that morning Emmett had admitted he'd seen Justin with Ethan was back. The grief and the shame, the desolation, Justin had experienced when he admitted to the affair … all back. All threatening to rip him apart. He said nothing. He wouldn't have been capable had he even wanted to. And his eyes. They told all.
"I said I forgave you."
Justin nodded and finished for Brian, bitterly, "But you didn't." A statement. A fact.
"I thought I had. I wanted to."
"When will you stop punishing me?" A desperate plea. The tears were everywhere. In his voice, in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.
Brian grabbed Justin's suitcase from the bed and threw it against a wall. He was angry now. And so very hurt. "I TRUSTED YOU. Do you get that? Out of everyone on this FUCKING planet, I trusted you. Only you. Only you had the … only you could …" Brian's voice was suddenly very small. "Only you could … hurt me."
Justin countered helplessly, "I can't change what I've done. I can't … I wish I could. I SO wish I could." He was openly sobbing now.
Brian roared, "DON'T YOU THINK I FUCKING KNOW THAT?" Then softly, he added, "But that's what I want."
"You're a fucking hypocrite! What happened to sorry is BULLSHIT? What happened to I don't DO regret?"
Brian laughed maniacally. "Don't you get the fucking joke? Of course sorry is bullshit. Of course regret is non-existent. If you're not fucking sorry … if you regret nothing." More maniacal laughter. Brian ran his fingers through his hair. Hard. Even pulling it. "TALK … TALK is so fucking easy when you risk NOTHING. I risked NOTHING." Then more softly, in almost a whisper, he got to the big reveal. "Until you, I risked nothing." Pause. "And I can't …"
Justin couldn't bear to hear any more. To let Brian finish that thought. He spun around. Turned away. He shut his eyes so tightly that the effort actually caused pain. He barely felt it. His chest ACHED so fucking much, he pulled his hands to it, pressed them against it. "Then … that's … it … " He could barely speak. His breath came in gasps. "It's … over." He slid his hands up to his face, covering his eyes. Tried to physically hold back the tears, the wracking sobs. He had to walk out of here. Somehow remain standing.
A simple "no" was Brian's only reply.
Justin wheeled around. "What?" He stopped breathing.
"Wanting to forgive isn't nothing. I've never wanted to forgive … I mean … not in a long time."
Justin still wasn't breathing.
"Can … can that be enough for now?"
Justin's answer was to fly into Brian's arms.
Brian shuddered. "Watch the snot …" but his voice was soft. And he relaxed.
