The ride to the hospital was excruciating, full of medical conversations and recommendations about what was the best thing to do told in rushed voices, and Brian felt as if his head would explode. When they arrived at the hospital, Brian watched as they quickly opened the doors and prepared to wheel Justin out. The pillow had been stained with the boy's blood and as they took Justin away, Brian loosely gripped the scarf and pulled it to him. As Justin disappeared into the confines of the hospital as Brian followed slowly behind with the bloody scarf dangling in his right hand. Inside the sterile building, Brian trailed behind the medics until he was told he could go no further and he sank into a nearby bench. For the second time that night, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Mindlessly he hit the button that would connect him to his best friend. After a few rings he answered.

"Brian?"

Unable to speak, Brian continued to stare at the wall in front of him.

"Brian," came the voice again. "Brian, what's wrong?"

Finally, he was able to answer.

"Mikey," Brian said in a broken voice. "I need you."

Michael knew instantly that something was terribly wrong.

"What's wrong?" he said in a worried voice. "Brian are you all right?"

Brian swallowed and cleared his throat.

"I need you," he repeated. "I'm at the hospital. . ."

"The hospital?!" Michael said. "Jesus, Brian, are you all right? What happened?"

"Justin was . . . attacked," Brian struggled to say. "He's unconscious, there's blood all over him . . . everywhere . . . he's unconscious."

Sensing that he was unable to continue, Michael reassured him.

"Okay, it's all right," he said. "I'm coming. I'll be right there, okay?"

Without another word, Brian hung up. Leaning his head into the wall, Brian began to think. If he had only stayed home, like he should have, none of this would have happened. What business did he have at a prom anyway? He was a thirty-year-old man for God's sake, not a fucking teenager. He had been asking for something to happen. Showing up and then dancing with Justin in front of that homophobic school. He should have stayed home and drank himself to sleep. Or he should have taken Justin home with him like he'd planned to. Never, ever, should he have let him walk back there alone. How could he have done that? God, if he had just taken him home and fucked his brains, out they'd been lying together right now instead of him sitting in a hospital hallway with Justin in the emergency room covered in blood.

Brian did not see the approaching figure as it sauntered towards him. Michael slowly took in the heartbreaking image of his friend looking shell-shocked. He came and sat down beside Brian on the bench. Michael fought back the tears as he reached for Brian and placed his hand on the nape of his neck, trying to give him some comfort. He noticed that Brian's neck was colored red, as were areas of his suit from where he had been holding his damaged paramour. Spots of blood were even on his lips from were they'd delicately touched the teen's broken head. Brian's eyes were lightly scarlet and filled with tears that had yet to fall and he suddenly recalled the last time that the three of them had all been at the hospital. He remembered them running down the hallway to see his newborn son.

The soothing pressure of Michael's hand on the back of his neck brought him back to his harsh reality. Michael wished that there was something, anything, that he could do to make this easier on Brian but nothing, aside from Justin walking out completely unharmed would alter the mood of the situation. Brian was wondering why he was there. Why was he sitting outside of the emergency room, waiting while his entire body ached? What was Justin to him that he would have this effect on him? Only Michael, Lindsay and Gus evoked this emotion in him.

It was then that he realized the power Justin had over him. As a single tear finally escaped from his body he admitted it to himself. It was love. Justin Taylor had made Brian Kinney love him.

The End