Chapter One: Letters to No One: In which Brian tries to cope with losing Justin by writing letters that he never intends to send.

Three days after Justin's departure:

J.

This fucking sucks. I feel so stupid writing this to you when I know that there is no way in hell I would EVER let you read it. Apparently, the nutty professor has decided to take up couples counseling in his spare time. He told me that it would make me feel better to get some of this off my chest. What a load of shit.

Christ, this hurts. I want to say that if I had known that this is what it feels like to have your heart broken, I would never have picked you up under that street lamp. I want to say that, but I can't because I would still do it. I swear, I've turned into a dyke, but the time I've spent with you has been worth even this hell that I am going through now.

Oh, I know you think you will come back some day, and if the past truly does repeat itself, you probably will. But this will be the longest time you have ever spent away from me. You will be successful. And you will see that you don't really need me at all even though I know you sometimes think you do. I know you want to be independent and I respect that. I want you to be able to be independent, too, but I still want to take care of you. Do you understand what I mean?

Fuck, now I am expecting you to answer me. I think I am finally going crazy. This is just a stupid sheet of paper, and I am just doing this because it hurts so bad, and I can't stop it.

I know you will meet someone in New York. Face it Sunshine, you were made for a relationship and we have never been very good at the long distance thing. We weren't even that good at the short distance thing. I don't blame you for going, or even for moving on without me. I know we talked about my coming to New York with you, but we both know that will never happen. In spite of everything, the Pitts is my home and I am established here, even happy here. Just not happy without you.

I think Ben is screwed up in the head because this is not making me feel better at all.

Fuck it.

B.

One week after Justin's departure:

J.

Mikey came over tonight to try to take my mind off of things. I think I really must be getting old. I was sitting at my laptop in the loft, alone, before midnight. I remember the days when I didn't even come home before three, but that is over now. I think my life is over now.

You showed me that I didn't need to live that lifestyle anymore, that I do not have to be that person, that there is more to life than getting my dick sucked. But now you're not even here to help me find out what else there is. And to top it all off, even Gus is gone. It feels like my "family" has completely deserted me. He will forget about me and so will you. You are not coming back, and I need to face that. He is not coming back and I need to face that, too. I keep seeing you everywhere I look and hearing your voice in my head. It is like you are with me even though I know you aren't, and so while Mikey tried to help me think about something else, it didn't work.

He took me to the ruin that is Babylon and tried to convince me that we should reopen it. The building reminds me of you, just like pretty much everything else. I could see us dancing together under the lights and the falling confetti. I could see us fucking in the backroom. And I didn't want to ever be there again. There are too many memories. But then Mikey asked me to dance with him, which was so fucking pathetic, but we did it anyway. And for a few moments I could see a future there. I could see it rebuilt, and it would still be the same, but it would be totally different. Maybe I wouldn't see you everywhere then. In my head I could see the lights and hear the music, but as our friends danced around me with their fucking partners, I was there alone, without my partner.

I think I will rebuild it, after all. Maybe then, I could stop thinking about you all of the time. Except I don't want to stop thinking about you. I don't know. I wish you were here to tell me what to do.

B.

Three weeks after Justin's departure:

J.

I miss you.

I talked to you on the phone today. It was the second time since you left me.

You left me.

When I say that to you in my head it sounds like I am accusing you of doing something deliberately to harm me. I'm sorry. I know that I am the one who sent you away. I was trying to do what is best for you. I am always trying to take care of you and the truth is that I think I suck at it. If you look back, most of the mistakes I have made in our non-relationship have been when I tried to take care of you. I always seem to be trying to get rid of you. I know that you think it is because I am too attached to my stupid lifestyle, but I really have just always felt that you would be so much better off without me.

Even this time, I want to encourage you in your work. You are unbelievably talented, after all, but I also want to cling to you, hold you, and never, ever, let you go. God, that just sounds so trite. But here again, I've gone and pushed you away and let you move to fucking New York. Again, I know you will be better off without me, but maybe I am wrong.

I am always pushing you away. I didn't visit you in L.A. because I thought you could establish a life without me. I wanted that for you even if you didn't really want it for yourself. Now I am torn between visiting you and not visiting you and I honestly don't know what to do. I want to see you and just be with you as much as I want to fuck you (which is a lot, I assure you), but I don't want to see you because I am afraid that it will be like that last night we were together in the loft. That was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do, making love to you for what could be the last time. Christ, I am such a dyke. Feeling that way over and over again every time I come to visit you would be torture, and, even with all of my kinks, Sunshine, I am just not a masochist.

You called me tonight, just to talk, and I wanted to tell you that I miss you, but I didn't. I just let you talk and talk about all of the things that are going on in the big city. You didn't sound as happy as you did when you were in L.A. and I feel really bad because I was happy about that. It gave me a little bit of hope where I had none before. But then you jokingly asked if I would come to your first show whenever you make it big, and I didn't know what to say. That is just not something I am prepared to joke about when you are so far away and I am here. I feel like there is a fucking hole in my chest, it hurts that bad, and I just don't want to talk about it. Not out loud, and not to the real you, anyway. I don't know if I can come to see you, even if your first show will not be for several months. I don't think that the hole will be gone by then. I am not sure that it will ever be gone, and I am not even sure that I really want it to go away. It is my proof that you were ever really mine.

You got angry then, when I didn't respond. I am sorry. You asked me if I would ever want to see you again, and I wanted to say that I don't want to see you again. I wanted to push you even further away because maybe then I wouldn't have to feel this pain. But I couldn't say that to you. I've never lied to you, and I am not about to start now. So I told you the truth, I don't know. You were really quiet then, and I could almost believe that maybe you felt a fucking hole in your chest, too. Is it wrong that I want you to feel it, too. I think that must be more of my selfishness, but if you did feel that way, then you might come back someday. I don't know if it is worse for me to want you to come back someday or to want you to stay there forever.

I think I am going insane.

B.

One month, two days after Justin's departure:

J.

I know I am going insane. You have been gone for over a month now, and I am still writing these stupid letters. If you were here, you would be worried about me. The fucking hole is still here to keep me company, though. I think it might have gotten even bigger.

Why do I think I am going crazy? Well, Sunshine, let me tell you about the crazy things I have been doing lately. I have conversations with the painting you did that hangs in the living area of the loft. I sit on the couch and talk to it as if it were you. How fucked up is that? But that's not all. I also spend at least an hour most days just sitting in the backroom of Babylon with my head in my hands. Oddly enough, I don't think about fucking you then, well, maybe I do sometimes, but it is not all that I think about. Sometimes I think about how nice it was to dance with you and how I liked holding you in my arms. It won't be open for at least three more weeks, by the way, but the construction is coming along nicely.

Do you want to know what I did with your castle? You asked me to sell it, but I didn't. I spend two to three nights a week there now. I wander through all of the rooms imagining what it would have looked like if we had gone through with everything. I imagine fucking you in each room, and even making love to you sometimes, like we did in front of the fire on the day that you agreed to marry me. But all of that is not what makes me crazy. Sometimes I see you there and we sit and talk for long periods of time. I talk to you then like I do in these letters, but when I think about it, I know you couldn't have really been there because I could never say these things to the real you.

I picked up the phone today, to call you, but I couldn't press the send button. It was like there was a block between my brain and my index finger. I want you to know that I want to talk to you, but I think that in addition to being fucking nuts, I am also a fucking coward. I don't want to know about the good time you are having on the New York club scene. I don't want to know about the man that you have found to replace me. Maybe you haven't found one yet, but you will, and I just don't want to know about it. I ask all of our friends about you and they tell me you are doing just fine. They are angry about the way I've been treating you. They say I've broken your heart and that it could all be fixed if I would just go see you, but I know it wouldn't. It wouldn't bring you back and I could never stay. You are too good for me, Sunshine. Always have been and always will be.

I haven't talked to you in almost two weeks now, and I have to admit that I miss your voice. I know you won't be calling me anytime soon, so I am going to have to break down and do it. Pride sucks. So does insanity.

B.

Six weeks, two days after Justin's departure:

J.

I called Mel and Lindz today. I was completely serious when I said that I wanted a second chance to be Gus' father. You were right. I am not my father and I never will be like him. It is time that I moved past all of that and was actually there for my son. It was amazing to hear his voice on the phone. He hadn't forgotten me and Lindz assures me that they talk to him about his family everyday. You probably know this already because I am sure you talk to all of them more often than I do. They don't let stupid things like pride and a lack of self-esteem get in their way.

I talked to you again the other night, and I was so glad to hear your voice. I know you are proud because I actually called you this time. And I admitted that I miss you. I didn't say I love you though, and I regret that, but if it took me five years to be able to say it to you, there is no fucking way that I am going to say something like that to a cell phone. You've been gone for six weeks and two days now and we've only spoken to each other three times. You seem to be settling in nicely, and I really am glad, Justin, but I think the fucking hole in my chest has become a little bit bigger.

I really want to see you, if just to know that that last night we spent together wasn't the end of us completely. Even if I can't be with you anymore, I would still like to be a part of your life. Even if it hurts like a motherfucker.

I am planning a trip, though not to New York. Please don't be disappointed, Sunshine, but I am just not up to it yet. Of course, by the time I finally get around to it, you will have proved me right by finally realizing that I am a sad sack of shit and moving on with someone much more worthy, and, I am sure, much younger than I am. But you haven't moved on yet. I am sure that that sort of news would have already reached me by now if that were the case. But that is completely beside the point. I was trying to tell you that I have decided to spend a long weekend in Toronto with Gus. I can't let both of my boys forget about me.

I know, I know. That wasn't fair. I know that you are not going to forget about me. I know it in the logical part of my brain, but for the most part I am just not logical lately. I think I might even be able to beat Emmett at this year's Drama Queen awards.

I wonder if there are any good asylums in New York.

B.