Justin couldn't breathe. He was looking at the audience, but all he saw were swaths of moving color like those photographers capture on film when photographing lit up buildings from a moving vehicle. The only figure in sharp relief was Brian. Justin moved toward him awkwardly, robotically, but, oddly, with a desperation in his eyes and on his face one normally sees in the drowning. And Justin was drowning. In a sea of shouts and moving color. He was further unnerved by the tens of people patting him on the back, squeezing his shoulder, and whispering in his ear, "Thanks for sharing!" and "Wow! That was amazing!" With every unsolicited touch, he walked faster.

Brian stood but did not move forward. He knew this was something Justin needed to navigate on his own. He did however reach out an arm, sliding it over Justin's shoulders and pulling him close when he was 'in range.' (Brian rolled his eyes, thinking, "Thank you, Mikey, for introducing me to the wonder of D&D lingo. My life is so enriched by it.") He even swung his other arm around Justin's chest. But then he turned Justin to face the crowd and said softly, "Give your fans a smile."

Justin did, albeit a weak one. From this new vantage (the safety of Brian's arms), Justin's vision cleared. The crowd was no longer a chaotic mass of noise and unpredictable movement. He observed bits and pieces. A bright smile. Kind eyes. Nodding heads. No hostility or hatred. No judgment or rejection. Instead, he thought he saw acceptance, encouragement, and even admiration. A side of humanity he thought lost to him forever (excepting Brian). Justin started breathing normally and smiled again, this time a genuine one.

Still raw from what he had spoken out loud and to strangers, Justin wiggled out of Brian's grip, slid his hand into Brian's, and led him purposefully out of the coffee shop. When they reached the Jeep, Justin said, almost inaudibly, "I need to confront him."

Brian lifted his head (he'd slid the key into the lock and was opening the passenger side door). "What?"

Justin cleared his throat and repeated loudly, clearly, "I need to confront him."

Brian let his head fall. He asked quietly, "Who?" But he really didn't need to. He knew.

"Chris. The asshole who bashed me."

Brian nodded slowly. He didn't look back up. But he did slide his hand up Justin's right arm gently and squeeze his shoulder. He couldn't handle seeing that kind of pain in Justin's eyes. It took all of his willpower to prevent himself from objecting or asking why. Justin had to face his greatest fear to move past it.

Justin nodded. He swallowed hard. Despite that, his voice came out a rasp. "I need to face them all."

At that (the word 'all'), Brian's head shot up. Without thinking, he let out an alarmed, "What?"

Justin turned and lifted his head then, meeting Brian's eyes with his own. "I need to confront Chris, my parents, and Ethan."

Brian didn't say anything. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair.

"They wanted me to be something I wasn't, and they hurt me when they didn't get what they wanted. Chris wanted me to die, my parents wanted me to disappear, and Ethan wanted me to feel humiliated. And for the most part, I did. I acted like I had died because part of me had. I let my parents off the hook, not pushing them for support of any kind or even contact. And I was humiliated. I wasn't really even angry at Ethan for selling the sex tapes. Instead, I was ashamed. I felt like I had done something wrong. I guess it just reinforced what my parents … what everyone I knew had said about gay people, about gay sex … that we are … that it is unnatural, abnormal."

Brian let his hand fall, clenched it, and started pounding his thigh, a nervous tic.

Justin cleared his throat and raised his chin a bit. "I need to tell them that THEY are the ones who fucked up, NOT me. I need them to know that despite their best efforts, I'm NOT broken. That I still have talent and a future, even if it isn't the one I imagined for myself growing up."

Brian knew he needed to support Justin in whatever he felt he needed to do (Justin was a man and an adult – he needed to work through his shit in his own way, no matter whether Brian agreed with the strategy), but he couldn't stop himself from interjecting, a little bitterly, "Who gives A FUCK what they think? Why do you need to prove anything to any of them? Why not just leave them in the dust, in the rearview mirror?"

Justin shocked Brian by smiling then. "I'm not doing it for them. I don't really care what they think, and I don't have anything to prove to THEM. But I have a lot to prove to myself. Telling them that what they did is not okay … that I still have reason to dream and hope … that's for me. Because I want to believe it, but part of me still doesn't. And because I'm still afraid. I think if I confront them, especially Chris, I'll feel stronger. Braver."

Brian cleared his throat, leaned his forehead against Justin's ear and whispered, "You're already the bravest person I know."

Justin huffed a laugh and pushed Brian away. "Whatever."

"Being brave isn't about not being afraid. It's about being afraid and going ahead anyway. You're constantly doing things that terrify you."

"Ha." Justin shook his head and laughed.

Brian reached over to Justin and ruffled his hair. Then he carefully pushed the hair away from Justin's forehead and kissed him gently there. "Can we get the fuck out of here?" Brian looked around disdainfully. "All these unwashed, unshaven hipsters are making my dick soft."

Justin laughed merrily and bumped Brian's shoulder. "You prefer your men hairless and oiled up?"

Brian shrugged, but his eyes were dancing. "Maybe not hairLESS. But definitely with less hair." He walked around to his side.

A couple of minutes later, after Justin had snuck a couple of glances at Brian, Justin said, "It's been a long time since you've gone to Babylon …" The hairless, oiled up remark had gotten him thinking.

Tongue in cheek, Brian quipped, "I've never been to Iraq."

Justin giggled and pushed Brian's shoulder. Then more seriously, he declared, "I want to go."

Brian was uneasy, but he tried to play it off. "To Iraq?"

Justin smiled. "No. To Babylon. The club."

Brian asked, his voice filled with disgust, "Why?" Part of him was happy to have left Babylon and Woody's behind. And he didn't really want Justin to see the seedy world he'd happily, joyfully inhabited for so long. Particularly not if his 'friends' were there. Justin didn't REALLY know Brian-Fucking-Kinney, and Brian didn't want him to.

"You used to go all the time. You haven't been there since we started dating. You barely see your friends anymore. That's not good."

Brian gripped the wheel more tightly. "I get that you want to make progress, face your fears, but …"

Justin snapped, "But what? You don't think I can handle it?"

Brian clenched his jaw. "I didn't say that."

Justin crossed his arms. "What ARE you saying?"

"Just …" Brian sighed deeply. "Nothing. You want to go, let's go. I think it's Studs and Suds tonight."

Justin's eyes widened. He smiled uncertainly. "What's that?"

Brian shook his head. "Exactly what it sounds like. Babylon's not exactly known for subtlety."

"Huhn." Justin grinned and shook his head. "Should I bring my rubber ducky?"

Brian smiled, but he was plotting. There had to be a way to distract Justin. Get him to forget all about Babylon and Liberty Avenue.