nothing_rhymes_with_ianto | Boys Keep Swinging Chapter 8

After three and a half years, Justin comes home from New York for good.
Chapter Summary/Teaser: Brian refuses Michael's apology. Justin, Carl and Emmett talk about the way Brian was after Justin left for NY. Brian misses Justin, and Debbie gives him advice in the way only she can.

Go back to Chapter 7

It had been just over a week since Justin had walked out of Brian's loft and knocked on Daphne's door. She had taken him in, just like last time, and was perfectly okay with him living there. "It's not like I have your sort of sex life," she'd said.

So Justin was spending his days painting out his frustration in his studio and working in the diner. It was easier than he thought it would be not to think about Brian, because whenever he did, a tangle of emotions rose in his throat, and he didn't want to deal with them, not now.

Justin stared at his canvas, scratching at a scab above his left eye. He was tired of this, tired of Brian pushing him away, of having to constantly battle his stubborn will and his fucked up brain. He was tired of having to reassure Brian and regain his trust. He slashed a line of green across the canvas, stared at the painting hard, and decided to trash it.

The phone rang. Brian glanced at the caller ID, scoffed, and picked it up.

"What?" he was already annoyed. He didn't think this conversation was bound to make his mood any better.

"Brian?"

"Who else?"

He heard Michael pause, frightened, uncertain. "I want to apologize for what I said about you and Justin. I was pissed and it was stupid. And you were right. I'm sorry."

"Come on, Michael, you know it, I've told you a million times, sorry's bullshit. And I don't need your sympathy. As you said years ago, the Brian and Mikey show is over. Now, I need to work." He hung up and went back to his computer.

Michael called him four more times and he didn't answer. Finally he turned his cell phone off and unplugged his landline.

Michael unlocked the door to his house. He was glad to be back. His mother had pestered him nonstop while he was there. She'd even convinced him to try to apologize to Brian, which, of course, hadn't gone over too well when he'd tried.

Living with his mother and Carl and Emmett was hectic and insane, and he was glad to be back in the peaceful sanctuary of his home. Well, sort of peaceful, he thought. Hunter looked up at him from the couch and grunted a hello. Michael gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder as he walked past.

He headed upstairs to unpack his backpack, wincing a little when he passed the bathroom where all this had begun. He opened the door to the bedroom to find Ben lying on the bed, reading a book. He looked at him for a moment before turning his back and opening the dresser, shoving his clothes back inside.

"Michael…" Ben started, but Michael ignored him and continued hanging clothes in the closet. "Michael…I'm sorry. I'm so…fucking sorry."

Michael turned and leaned against the doorjamb. "You stopped." It wasn't a question. Ben nodded. "I don't know if I can trust you any more, Ben. We have a child- children. Think about what this might do to them first. Then think about yourself. I'm not Brian. I give a shit about what happens to the people I love. Even you. Especially you. But if you're gonna keep fucking up…"

"Michael, I don't know what you want me to do." Ben reached for his lover, but Michael pulled away.

"I want you to quit using that shit. I want you to stop thinking like you're gonna die and live in the moment like you're always telling me. I want you to stop being a stupid bastard and start caring about your health. I want you to not freak out every time someone you know dies. I want you to know that I love you, but this, this will hurt us. I want you to fucking understand."

"I've stopped, Michael. And….I'll try hard to do what you ask. I love you. I don't want to hurt us. Please, stay here. Stay home."

Michael sat down on the bed. Ben slid his arms around him and Michael tensed momentarily before relaxing and allowing Ben to kiss him.

Brian sighed, his exhalation pushing out his lungful of smoke as he stared up at the dimly lit ceiling. He wondered vaguely if maybe it would be fun to go up and jump off the roof, but then he realized he was drunk and stoned and getting extremely maudlin and told himself to snap out of it, Kinney.

He got up and snagged another joint on the way to stand at the window, staring out at the city. Three AM had come and gone, and the world outside the loft's window was silent. The loft was silent. Brian's company was the slow, soft ticking of the clock on his dresser. He wasn't used to the loft being this quiet any more. Seven months, and he'd already forgotten the silence he'd endured the three years Justin had been in New York, craving the feeling of the golden hair, his laugh. And now it was back. But Brian could cover it up, because the anger was still simmering in his stomach and he could use that to conceal how lost he felt. But still….

A knock on the door shook him out of his thoughts and he stubbed out the blunt, plodding over to the door and sliding it open. He blinked and let the blonde in.

"Good enough?"

"Sure. Whatever." He pulled the bills out of his pocket and shoved them into the trick's hand. "Bedroom's through there. Make yourself comfortable, or whatever."

The trick paused for a moment at the step up to the bedroom, taking look around the loft. Most tricks took one look at the apartment and practically came, instead saying "Nice place" and really meaning it. But this trick just shrugged and headed up to the bed, sitting on the side and untying his shoes.

He grabbed a bottle of Beam and took a quick swallow, replacing the burning in his gut with another sort of burn. He glanced at the clock. Five thirty AM. Christ. He regained his composure and stepped into the bedroom, watched appreciatively as the trick tugged off his jeans and slid back on the bed.

"Roll over," he told the guy, who silently did as he was told. He positioned himself over the trick, who put his head in his arms. Brian stared down at the pale back, took in the hair that was blonde enough, but not long enough. He shook his head and slid the condom on, slicking himself up and then prepare the trick. He pushed in, and the heat was unfamiliar, but he ignored it, imagined, pretended. He blanked out his mind and just focused on the pleasure, because there was nothing else to do.

He came, pulled out of the trick roughly, tying the condom off and tossing it in the general direction of the bathroom. He stood up and wandered back over to the window where he had been standing when the trick had knocked.

"Get lost," he barked over his shoulder, barely turning around as he lit another cigarette. He heard the shuffling of the trick putting on his clothes, the slide of the door opening, closing. He sighed.

Justin sat at Debbie's kitchen table, his head in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms into his tired eyes.

"He's pushing me away again, Emmett. I don't know what's going on and this time, I don't know what to do."

"I know." He gave Justin an empathetic pat on the shoulder. "He's pushing everyone away, Baby. If any of us try to talk to him, he just ignores us. He just orders Ted around at work. He won't even talk to Cynthia."

The front door opened and Carl walked in. He nodded to the pair as he passed them to open the refrigerator and get out sandwich fixings.

"What the hell is up with him? What's he so freaked out about?"

"He thinks you're leaving him again, Justin. You told me you saw Ethan the night you were mugged. You told me that he was the one who called your mother. He probably found out. You know that Ethan gave you things that Brian never will. He's afraid you'll go back to that. He was a complete mess after you left for New York."

"Whenever I talked to him, he seemed fine."

"Justin, everyone knows that Brian's words never mean much."

Justin nodded. "What was he like, then? We barely got to see each other the first year, and after that, we didn't even bother."

"He was different after." Carl joined their conversation. "I don't really know Kinney well, but he seemed….altered. You know, not his usual self."

"Honey, he was a basket case! I swear we didn't see him outside his loft, other than Kinnetic of course, for nearly a month. He was pissier than usual and no one could talk to him without him queening out. He was drinking himself half to death. No one wanted to call you because, well, no one knew if you guys had ended on good terms or not. All we knew was that he as completely fucked up and he missed you like crazy. He never said it in so many words, but you could tell."

"And Deb was always over at his loft," Carl told him, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich. "She'd come back here looking really worried and sad. She said he would barely talk."

"And he never tricked with blondes. Ever. At least, not in Babylon or Woody's. He barely talked to any of us. He always said he had something to do if we invited him somewhere, but Michael would call his landline and he'd pick up. We never really mentioned it to him, though. And, well, he wouldn't talk about you. If he heard your name, he'd flinch and look the other way and stuff or get really pissed off and leave or queen out. Ted said he fired more people in the half a year after you left than he had since Kinnetic had opened.

"And, God, he was cranky! And then he was just plain sad, I think. I drove him home one night when Michael was out with Ben. And he was flying really high, and I think he'd had more than his fair share of drinks, because when I started the car he just started talking. He started telling me about how the wedding was a mistake and maybe you didn't love him any more. And he was worrying about you having nightmares in New York. And he kept saying stuff about not wanting to lose you again, but you were already gone, that he had no idea what he was going to do now. And that he knew that loving someone and letting someone in was a bad idea and he should have expected it. He wouldn't shut up so I turned the radio on and some old song came on and he freaked. He punched the radio of my car so hard it broke. So I turned it off and then he just sat there with this blank look in his eyes. And I'm sure he didn't remember a word of what he said to me, but still….

"Baby, he was falling apart. I don't know what he was like in private, when he was all by himself in the loft or Kinnetic or wherever, but judging from that car ride, I'm sure it wasn't good. Michael suggested therapy multiple times but Brian always brushed him, off."

"Christ." Justin buried his head in his arms on the table. Emmett stroked his hair. "Em, I cant keep losing his trust and then having to work to gain it again and again. And I'm just so angry at him for assuming, for not trusting me. For pushing me away. I don't fucking know what to do."

"Think about it. Just think about whatever he said to you. Think about how this sort of thing has resolved it self over the other years. Just give it some thought." Justin nodded bleakly. "Now go to sleep. It's almost nine at night and I know you didn't sleep last night, even if I wasn't there. It shows on your face, Baby. Go upstairs. Get some rest."

Justin nodded and trudged upstairs to do as he was told. He lay in Michael's old bed and remembered the time's he and Brian had fucked in there that first year, when he was still living with Debbie. He fell asleep to the memory of Brian outside his window.

Debbie walked into Woody's, looked around, noted the all too familiar back hunched over the bar. She plopped down into the seat beside Brian.

"Hello, Little Boy Blue." He didn't even glance up.

"Fuck off, Deb."

She gave him a look. "When have I ever fucked off when you told me to?"

Brian considered this and looked up at her. "Good point. So can we get this over with?"

She just looked at him for a minute, took in his rumpled hair and haggard face, clashing awkwardly with his pristine clothes.

"You should accept Michael's apology. He's been trying to say he's sorry for a while now, but you won't talk to him or accept it."

"Michael fucked up, Deb. I was right and he acted like an asshole. He said some stuff that pissed me off." He looked back to his glass and his voice lowered in resignation. "Although I guess it really doesn't matter anymore. He's an ass, and Justin isn't coming back. I should've…."

Debbie laid a hand on his arm, and he turned to her. She knew what he had been about to say.

She gazed at him, laid a gentle palm on his cheek. "Brian, did you ever think that maybe that Ethan kid just dropped by, that maybe Justin wasn't seeing him at all. Justin loves you. Did you ever think that he wasn't going to leave you?"

She knew that there had always been a scared, lonely, insecure little boy hidden beneath Brian's cocky exterior, and she knew that he expected everyone he loved to leave him because of that and because of his childhood, but the sad eyes that turned drunkenly toward her surprised even her.

"It doesn't work that way, Deb. Life doesn't work that way."

"He loves you, Brian. He came back from New York for you. Don't give up on him now."

"He left. That's all there is to it. He's left before, and he'd leave again if he was still around. But he's not coming back."

"He's not coming back because you're not letting him come back."

"Did I not say that?"

"No, you didn't. And he loves you, Brian. Why do you think he came back from New York? Why do you think he asked to stay with you after he came back? Why do you think he stayed all these years and through all your bull shit. Because he loves you. And much as you like to deny it, you love him too. But you can't fool him and you can't fool me. You're doing this because you love him and you think he's going to hurt you. But you're wrong. What will it take to make you understand that?"

Brian looked at her again. His eyes were blank and tired. He suddenly seemed very small to her. "I don't know, Deb. I don't know if I can. I don't know."

Chapter 9