Justin's POV
Lying alone in the dark, I remembered the last time I was exiled to the couch. My father had just attacked Brian face to face. I am not sure why Brian needed space after that. Perhaps it was the domestic (my family issues) intruding on our sexual bliss. The emotional certainly didn't help…
"You're not crying are you?"
"I'm not some little faggot!"
"No you're not. You're pretty brave actually. Standing up to your father like that."
"He was hurting you."
"Get some sleep."
Why was it so hard for Brian to accept that I would have done anything to protect or help the man I loved? As it turns out, he always did the same for me. I guess Brian had always known how love should work. So why the double standard? Is it that he just didn't believe he deserves it? Is it that he didn't want to expect it? Didn't want to need others' love because he believed it can't last?
In any case, I didn't allow him to push me away then…why was I allowing it now? Screw that. I got up off the couch and quietly approached the bed. I wondered if Brian was already asleep. He was lying on his right side facing the bathroom. When I pulled back the duvet and climbed in, Brian rolled over and looked at me, much like he had done almost two years ago. He didn't say a word or move to stop me. He just gave me his patented blank stare and rolled back to his former position.
Much later, I felt Brian move. I had been lying in bed, wide awake, listening to Brian breathe, wishing he would hold me. I could feel him inching closer, so I shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep. Brian ran his fingers lightly through my hair. He moved his hand away for a few moments, just lying next to me, watching me. He must have been debating whether to roll back over or hold me because a few moments later, he pulled me close, and, a few minutes after that, he fell asleep. I guess fortune really does favor the bold.