Only If
Disclaimer: The characters of "Queer as Folk" are the properties of their respective owners, and have merely been borrowed for the purpose of this story.
WARNING: Spoilers for the series finale. Do not read beyond this point if you don't want to know what happens.
Author's Notes: My first QAF fic. I must say, I'm surprised that I've seen very few fanfics dealing with the finale. I hated the way it ended, so I'm writing this to satisfy myself and hopefully anyone else who hated the ending, too. This is my take on what would've happened afterwards.
Only If
He figured that if he danced fast enough, time and reality would never catch up.
If he danced fast enough, he could be young and beautiful forever. If he danced fast enough, the distance between Pittsburgh and New York would be so much shorter. If he danced fast enough, he could catch up with love.
Brian closed his eyes as the lights and music washed over him, reliving those last moments over and over again. He told Justin that he'd become the best homosexual he could possibly be, and he always thought that he himself had reached that plateau ages ago. But then… why did it hurt? Had he become less as Justin had become more? It wasn't like him to pine after someone, to be lovesick and stupid. It's only time, he had said, and at that moment, he had convinced himself that he'd meant it. It's only time. Time that invariably made him older, time that invariably wore down their relationship, time that would make everything change.
Only if he'd made himself clearer to Justin, and told him that although he couldn't live with the blond while he wasn't out chasing his dream, he couldn't live without him either… perhaps he'd feel better. Perhaps he wouldn't feel like he'd thrown it all away.
So he kept on dancing as quickly as he could, not knowing or caring about anything but the beat. When he was led to the back room, he willingly went. When he was asked to do something, he willingly did it. Nothing outside his own mind penetrated. Working irritated him, people frustrated him, and the luxury of the loft was mocking him with its spaciousness and its cascade of memories.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. One night the phone rang while he lay listlessly on his bed, but knowing that it was Justin made him insanely queasy. He listened to the loud ring four times before his answering machine kicked in, and he was able to listen to one sharply inhaled breath before the click of the phone announced the call was over. For the whole week, he waited for that blissfully painful ring again, but it was not to be. There were no more phone calls, no emails, no letters. That was all, and he had let it slip away.
Lindsay periodically called to tell everyone how they were in Canada, and she would update him on Justin's progress. He had made it after all. And everything after that was a string of gallery openings, parties, and the futile search for permanent inspiration. Brian was happy for him, he supposed. Happy for his happiness. Happy that Babylon was doing well. Happy that life didn't give a damn and went on anyway.
And so the "thumpa thumpa" continued, although with much less vivacity. His heart wasn't in it, but he couldn't let it stop. He was Brian Kinney, after all. He smiled, but with the shadow of sadness forever behind his eyes. He danced, but his eyes were always closed and his step was becoming slow and desperate. And he fucked, as often and as hard as before… but only if someone was watching.
ENDAN: Feedback would be greatly appreciated.
