nothing_rhymes_with_ianto | Boys Keep Swinging Chapter 6

After three and a half years, Justin comes home from New York for good.
Chapter Summary/Teaser: Justin has a conversation. Ted comforts Michael. Brian gets an early-morning phone call.

Go back to Chapter 5

Ethan made his way slowly down the stairs, stopping nervously every time he took a step. He made a small noise in his throat, reached out as if he was approaching a frightened animal. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he just stopped, hands at his sides. He cleared his throat, glancing at Justin through his lashes.

"I heard you were living in New York. And you'd had shows. I thought- I thought that since you were living here, you and Brian had….and….we could give it another try?" His voice lifted hopefully at the end. Justin just stared at him, surprised and wide-eyed.

Ethan took another step forward, swallowed audibly. The movement seemed to shake Justin out of his stupor, and he straightened up, his face suddenly hard, eyes angry.

"I already told you, I love Brian. I don't want to be with you again. Brian and I are still together. I'm living in Pittsburgh again. I'm only here because I have interviews. Now, I need to go and eat something and sleep so I can get up in time for my interview tomorrow. It's already almost midnight, I need to go."

"But, cant we get something to eat together, talk?"

"No. I don't want to talk to you. Being with you made me realize how much I loved Brian. It made me realize that romance is bullshit, just like Brian said. Anyway, you have your music, don't you?"

"I-"

"No, Ethan," Ethan flinched when Justin spat his name. "I don't want anything to do with you. Now I'm going back to my hotel. You go back from wherever you came from." Justin picked up a tarp from the floor forcefully and flung it over his canvases, then he grabbed his bag from beside the chair and brushed past a stunned-looking Ethan without a glance.

Michael rolled over, blinking and groaning, then jerked back onto the sofa before he could fall onto the floor. He scrubbed his hands over his face, stretching the kinks out of his back. "Shit," he muttered to himself. What was it with him and the strange gravitational pull to Ted's couch? He heard clattering in the kitchen behind him, and glanced over the back of the couch to see Blake, blinking awake and making a pot of coffee. He glanced towards the living room, and, seeing Michael, gave him a small smile.

"Hey. Want some coffee? How did you sleep?"

"Sure. And as well as I can on someone else's couch at my age." Blake gave him a little chuckle and walked over, handing him a mug of coffee. Michael blew on the black liquid and took a sip. "Thanks for letting me crash here, by the way."

"Any time, Michael." Ted's voice came from the doorway, where he stood in pajama pants and an old t-shirt. He pecked Blake on the cheek and took the mug from him, before joining Michael on the couch. Blake looked at them, and seemed to decide that it was a good idea to start folding the laundry in the bedroom about now.

"So, do you want to talk about it, now?" Ted's voice was soft, but probing. Michael looked at him reluctantly. Ted counted to ten in his head. Michael sighed and dropped his head toward his chest, picking at a loose thread on the throw pillow.

"Brian was right."

"Not the first time. Anyway, that's bad, how? He's right about a lot of things. I didn't know it could make you sleep on my couch, especially since you two haven't spoken to each other in a few weeks."

"He was right about Ben." Ted raised his eyebrows for clarification. It was such a Brian-like move that Michael almost wanted to laugh. The things that rubbed off on you. "He told me that Ben was using again. I said he wasn't. He acted like an asshole, so I acted like an asshole back. But he was right."

"As if that stopped you two before. Don't you two always fight and make up over and over again? Talk to him. Call him, go see him, whatever. Apologize."

Michael nodded. "Okay. I guess."

Ted gave Michael a one-armed squeeze. "There you go. Didn't I tell you before, coming to Momma's will always make it better." Mike gave him a small grin, shoving him lightly.

Brian lay sprawled across his sofa, his legs over the back, his head dangling upside down. He took in a last lungful of smoke from his joint, then let it out in a long, slow stream. His cell phone rang. He kicked at it and it fell off the arm of the couch and clattered under the sofa. The ringing stopped. Brian reached over and stubbed out his joint, grabbed a Beam and took a swig directly from the bottle. His house phone started to ring. He stood up too fast, and paused for a moment, holding his head while the dizzy head rush passed. He made his way to the phone.

"Yeah?"

"Brian, it's Lindsay. Debbie told me about your mother. I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

Brian suddenly realized that he really shouldn't have answered the phone. "I'm fabulous. Just peachy, thanks. Now can I get back to what I was doing before you called?"

"Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"Lindsay, I'm fine. Joan was a cunt, and Jack was a bastard. They're both gone and in hell where they should be, and I'm fine. I don't need anything. Can I go now?"

She sighed. "Okay, but call if you need anything."

"Uh huh. Bye." He dropped the phone back into its cradle and tripped back to the couch, letting himself fall on the welcoming white pillows. His cell phone rang again, and he stretched himself into a contortionist position and retrieved it from the floor. He looked at the caller ID. It was Michael. He let it go to voicemail. Then he turned it to silent and stuck it back under the sofa.

He lit his fifth joint of the day and grabbed the bottle as he wandered over to stand in front of the big windows of his loft. He stared distantly out at the street below. When he realized it had gotten dark without his noticing, he went into the bedroom and pulled off his clothes. He got in bed, and fell asleep, even though the clock said it was only six thirty.

Justin kicked angrily at the snow on the sidewalk as he headed down the street. What the fuck was Ethan doing here? He didn't want anything to do with the kid. He didn't want to go back to anyone who cheated, and he didn't love him anyway. His one little indiscretion from years ago had only helped to reinforce his love for Brian. And now this happens. Fuck. He dropped his head back towards the sky and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Justin heard the thud to the side of his head before he felt it. His first thought was "What the fuck it Hobbes doing in New York?" Then he felt a blow to his ribs, and his brain snapped from the past. A boot kicked at his shin. Before he could run or fight back, his foot slipped on a patch of ice and he landed hard on his tailbone on the cold cement. Rough hands hit his body, shoving him and grabbed at his clothes. He felt hands searching him, finding his wallet, which had about a hundred dollars and his old PIFA ID in it. He knew better than to carry a card while in the part of New York he was. Hands snatched the cash and dropped the wallet onto the snow beside him. One person moved away from him, stepping on his left hand. He heard them going through his bag, and opened his mouth to tell them not to ruin his sketchbooks and pens, but a kick to his stomach turned the plea on his lips into a groan of pain. Justin felt blood trickling down his face, wondered idly if it was from his head or his nose. He felt something brush past him and flinched, heard rough voices talking, but he couldn't understand. His face hurt. His hand hurt. Everything hurt. Someone had the decency to kick him in the head and he sank a little too willingly into darkness as footsteps pounded away.

Ethan hung his head for a moment. He hadn't realized until now just how much he had hurt Justin. He hadn't known Brian Kinney when he and Justin had been together, but afterwards he had put bits and pieces together from his friends in the gay community and at PIFA. He knew that Kinney rarely lied, that he was a cynical bastard, that he'd had a "love 'em and leave 'em" philosophy before Justin had come along. Everyone seemed to think that they were inseparable, that though they would break up and get back together countless times, they wouldn't never really stay apart. So when he'd heard that Justin was living in New York, he'd finally felt hope. Unfortunately, he was touring Europe at the time. But he made plans to get to New York as soon as possible. But now, his plans had backfired in the worst way possible.

He hadn't known Brian Kinney when he and Justin were together, but after, he put bits and pieces together from his friends in the gay community and at PIFA. He knew that Kinney never lied, and that he was a cynical asshole, and that he'd had a "love 'em and leave 'em" philosophy before Justin came along. Everyone said that Justin had changed everything. They were all convinced that Justin and Brian were inseparable, that even if they broke up and got back together countless times, they would never stop loving each other. Ethan knew now that his hopes were dashed.

He realized suddenly that he was still standing alone in the middle of Justin's studio. He glanced over at the canvases Justin had covered with a tarp, and looked around to make sure no one was nearby. Tentatively, he stepped over to the canvases and lifted the tarp gently off them. He stared. Justin was a better artist than he had ever realized. He really did deserve to be in New York. He inspected the canvases carefully. There was only one he recognized, an abstract of a street that he was not very familiar with, but he knew that Justin had it memorized. Liberty Avenue was a hard place to forget.

Ethan gazed once more at Justin's work, then covered it again with the tarp and left. He walked slowly, his head down, lost in thought. An unfamiliar noise pulled him into awareness. It sounded like someone was moaning. He rounded the corner and his heart caught in his throat.

"Justin! Justin? Shit." He scrambled for his phone, dialed 911, told the dispatch lady where he was, pocketed the phone again. Justin was curled in a ball in the snow, both arms over his stomach, nose bloody, moaning. Ethan couldn't tell if he was conscious or not, his eyes were closed and he wouldn't respond to his voice. He felt pathetic, uncertain of what to do, so he just sat there stroking Justin's hair and making concerned noises in his throat. The paramedics seemed to take forever. Justin was shivering.

When the paramedics finally got there, they worked efficiently, loading Justin onto a stretcher and covering him with warm blankets. Ethan told them to wait, and dug Justin's cell phone out of his pocket. He turned it on and switched over to Justin's contacts. He paused for a moment when he passed 'Brian,' but went on until he found 'Mom.' He pressed sent and lifted the phone to his ear.

Three different noises were blaring into Brian's mind. Through the haze of sleep, he couldn't figure out what object in his loft could possibly make that much racket. His eyes opened and he recognized one sound as the alarm clock, which confused him greatly since it also told him that it was three in the morning. The second sound, he identified as his cell phone, which was vibrated against the hardwood floor. The third was his house phone, which was ringing and ringing. He groaned and stuffed his head under a pillow, let his message machine pick up. A voice cut through his fluffy barrier, and he frowned, moving the pillow off to hear what the voice had to say.

"Brian?" Jennifer sounded frantic. "Brian, please pick up. I tried your cell but your not answering. Please pick up. It's Justin."

Brian shot straight up in bed. He marched over to the phone and picked it up.

"Jennifer?"

"Brian! Thank god. It's Justin. He got mugged."

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know."

"Wait, I'm his emergency contact. Why didn't the hospital call me?"

"The hospital didn't call me, his ex Ethan did."

"Oh." Brian's voice was flat. "Well, you have his information. You can call the hospital and give it to them."

"Brian?" But Brian had already hung up. His ears were filled with white noise. He felt emotions and sensations prickle under his skin. His brain felt numb. He swiped his cell off the floor and turned it all the way off, tossing it onto the sofa. Then he unplugged the phone. He made his way back to the bedroom, turned off the alarm clock, and got back into bed.

Chapter 7