I was all smiles. I was always smiling when my Justin was in the picture.
Walking up to my loft, I remembered the night I had asked Justin to move in with me. It was the night Michael and I had completed the Liberty Avenue Bike Ride.
I had been lying on the floor in a makeshift bed, cradling my sprained wrist, listening to Bon Jovi in my earphones, when I finally decided it was time. Time for us to make it official.
Or as official as it could be.
As I had slid into a sitting position, looking over to Justin, who was cleaning up in the kitchen, I ran the words over and over through my head.
"I had time to think." was how I began.
Justin had come to lie down beside me, resting his chin on his left palm, staring at me intently, nodding at me to go on.
"About what I'd do differently if I surived cancer." I had gone on, seeing him visibly flinch at the word 'cancer'. I, Brian Kinney, had developed, and handled, testicular cancer.
I had gone on to joke about redoing the bedroom, ridding, as Justin had so calmly put it, that 'so 90's' thing above my bed.
"And then I'd like to spend more time with my son. He's at an age now when he needs a strong masculine influence. Especially being raised by a couple of dykes. He's got to know about Armani, Gucci, Prada, not just football and engine tuning. " I had continued, picking on Melanie and Lindsay's parental style, looking back to Justin, who had asked, 'What else?'.
I had walked over to him, set my bottle of water on the counter, and told him what I wanted.
"I want you to move back in."
I remember the look on his face. Dumbfounded describes it best.
He had gone on to ask if I were proposing, which was utterly ridiculous.
"Of course not. With the sudden and unexpected plethora of gay marriages, I'd hate to add to the glut. All this running back and forth between here and Daphne's is time-consuming. And inconvenient. I mean, just last week, you forgot your socks and had to borrow a pair of mine. And as for the times when you're not around, I wouldn't particularly mind it if you were. " I had shot back in reply, smiling slightly.
He blushed, leaning forward and whispered, "I've been waiting for you to ask me that since the first night you brought me here.".
I had then gone to rest my hand on his left shoulder, asking if it were time for me to make room in my drawers for his drawers.
He had looked quite indecisive, scaring me, before telling me of his job on Rage, how he was going to be leaving, then, for a few months.
A few months turned out to be six. I wasn't a happy camper. But the minute he came home, he moved in, and he was finally mine.
As I slid my loft's door open, I found myself suddenly remorse, suddenly quite upset that Justin had taken the job in New York.
I had done all I could to insist he go, and now all I wanted was for him to be in my arms.