Chapter Text
Author's notes: The first couple of chapters will be PG rated (for language), but later chapters will get steamier.
Justin’s POV
Laying on the futon in Jessica’s living room, the endless echo ricochets around my head giving the impression that my skull is empty and cavernous. With each reverberation, my heart sinks lower. They were meant to be comforting in some abstract way, those two little words. But instead something died in me the moment they were uttered. They’re out there now, floating in the universe, giving them credence, the potential for truth. I can’t…no, I won’t accept that.
I look at the clock. 4:18. He should be home. It’s past 3:00 after all. Of course, the rules don’t really apply anymore. Or do they? No, I guess not. Why would they? Still, I pick up my cell and press 1 on my speed dial.
"Hello?" In that one word he tells me everything. He sounds like his very soul has been sucked out of him, and not in a fun way. His voice is flat and lifeless, without any indication he's in the least bit drunk or stoned. So he didn't even go out. Imagining him sitting alone in the loft, his only companion the void I left, I instantly know there are worse things than his customary pain management mode. Guilt stabs at my heart.
“You said, ‘Never again.’”
“What?”
“You said it didn’t matter if we saw each other next weekend, next month, or never again. It won’t be never again. You know that, right?”
“I was just trying to say…”
“I don’t care what the fuck you were trying to say. We may not have gotten married, and we might not even be together…officially, as a couple or whatever. But we still love each other just as much, if not more. You’re not getting rid of me so easily, Mr. Kinney. Are we clear? I need you in my life.”
“You don’t need me. You don’t need…”
“Anyone. All I have is myself.”
“Don’t…”
“Finish your sentences. I know.”
I can almost hear him smile.
*************************
Brian’s POV
In some ways he’s so much older than I’ll ever be. But in others he’s still that naïve 17 year old I took home that night. That night that in so many ways irreversibly changed both of our lives. I hang up, amused and saddened at the same time by his confidence that we’ll always be in each others lives. I, on the other hand, have no illusions. We’ll talk on the phone, probably often at first. Even visit back and forth. Then he’ll gradually get busy with his career, friends, life, and the calls will become less frequent. Eventually he’ll meet some guy… some guy he won’t have to drag kicking and screaming into love and who, Christ, won’t take five years to tell him. It’s inevitable. He’s bright, he’s talented, he’s hot. Most of all he’s so unflinchingly willing to keep his heart wide open. Not to mention he’s pretty fucking amazing in bed. I feel the corners of my mouth turn up a little at that thought, since I deserve a lot of credit for his considerable skill. Except for blow jobs. He was a complete natural when it came to them. Some weird kind of prodigy. I concede, if only to myself, that he blows me away in that area (pun intended). Slowly he’ll move on with his life, and I’ll ultimately just be a memory. His first love. A story he’ll tell new boyfriends and probably someday his kids.
Of course, he’s mine too. First love, that is. The difference is that I won’t go there again. Never again. I knew what I was talking about when I stuck to fucking. A maximum of pleasure with the minimum of bullshit. Amen, brother.
I mean, shit, I knew I’d veered badly off track those first few nights in the hospital, when all I could think was that if he died I might as well too. I tried to tell myself it was just that I felt responsible. After all, Hobbs wouldn’t have taken a bat to his head if I hadn’t shown up at the prom, right? Still, I couldn’t bring myself to regret those ridiculously romantic moments on the dance floor. I consoled myself with the notion that it was my no regrets policy. But when he couldn’t remember our dance, the force of the pain took my breath away. He gazed at me that night with all the adoration of a teenager in love and declared it was the best night of his life. What rocked me to my core was that my brain, though not my lips, shot back, “Mine too.” I was the kind of happy I didn’t even recognize. For about 30 seconds. And then… Stop it, Kinney. Don’t think about that.
But it didn’t really hit home until Debbie, point blank, cornered me. “Admit the truth. You love him, don’t you?” My reflex, the one that should have barked back “I don’t believe in love,” just wouldn’t kick in. And I knew she was right. He’d gotten under my skin without my even noticing.
How did I get here? I liked my life. No, I fucking loved my life. Then I had to see that little shit under a lamppost and bring him home. Nothing’s been the same since.