imprints

The sudden burst of laughter pouring through the cracks of his closed door tells him that it must be around 4 AM. Caroline never comes back earlier than that when she has the day off and she rarely comes back later when bringing a trick back. He can't help but wonder exactly how loud they'll be and whether her one night stand will stay the night. Trying to concentrate he sips the contents of the cup by his keyboard. Five hours ago it could barely pass for a shitty cup of coffee, now it's just a means for him to stay awake.

He rubs his eyes and the fumes from the paint he applied to his poor man’s canvas less than a day ago are still dense in the air. That's what he gets from not opening the door or the windows. But despite his desire for fresh air and a shower the only thing he really needs right now is to finish this poster before 6 AM.

...

Justin can hear a second round of moaning starting through the walls when he's finished with the poster. If Caroline kept the guy for one more round he was sure to be here come actual morning. He scrambles for the shower after emailing the copy to himself and uploading it onto his work server. There's no point in going to bed now since he has to be at work in less than two hours.

After staying there for two months and a fair dose of scolded skin Justin's learned never to stand directly under the shower head. The rusty pipes rustle as the water pours over him in bursts flushing his light skin. It doesn't take long for the water temperature to drop and soon Justin finds himself drying up the cold water that trickles down his body. However unpleasant being covered in goose bumps may be at least meant that he would stay awake long enough to caffeinate himself.

“Daphne said you were a creature of the night but I didn't realize that meant you never slept.” Caroline was leaning over the kitchen counter nursing a diet coke. She'd already put on a pot of hot water and pulled out the can of instant coffee. Her pink nails were grazing over the counter top; she'd never tap her fingers for fear of breaking one and being forced to cut them all but he often found her doing just this, sweeping them back and forth, never pressing hard enough to cause a grating sound.

“Look who's talking.” Justin ruffles through a pile of dry clothes, looking for a sweater. His goose bumps are gone, but it still feels as if the hair on his arms is standing on its ends.

“Oh I sleep, I plan on doing much, much sleeping once I'm done with...” her words trail off as she gestures to her room with her coke “...him.”

Justin finds a pressed shirt and puts it on, pulling one of his over sized jumpers over it. Caroline is shaking her head, pressing her can of coke to her chest to cool herself. Her robe hangs loosely on her relaxed frame but she makes no attempt to cover herself. Justin's gotten used to it. He finds a ripe banana and starts slicing in, putting the pieces in one of the bowls they use for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“And why aren't you in there abusing he-who-has-no-name to the fullest?” She snickers, handing him the box cheerios and leaving him leeway to scavenge in the fridge for whatever leftovers can pass as a decent breakfast.

“The poor thing needed a rest. And I figured I could use the caffeine, more energy y'know. And I don't remember you ever mentioning any of your little tricks’ names.” She gestures at him with the now empty can and reaches into the small freezer grabbing another coke. She must've put them in before she went out.

“I never let them stay the night. Are you sure you need more energy if he's already decked out?”

“Who said this one was for me?” He can see the corner of her mouth tugging upward as she backs away, leaving him to his morning routine.

...

Brian finds himself stranded in the lobby when the only available elevator disappears. It's beyond his understanding why anyone would be here at this hour voluntarily. It's also beyond his understanding how an agency that can afford to pay its employees so well can have two out of order elevators. The blond who disappeared into the elevator must've missed the day in class when manners were taught since he'd obviously never heard of a little something called “the hold button”.

A glance at his watch reveals that it's dangerously close to 7:30 and since there's no way he's losing the international account because he missed a phone call – because of some rude kid of all things – he starts for the stairs. It's a good thing he doesn't have any meetings until after lunch.

...

“So the only thing they liked was the font?” Brian folds his tie absentmindedly and places it on his desk . It had grown tighter and tighter around his neck during the entire phone conference He presses his palms on the desk and stares at the printout that lies before him. Although it's true that the font is the best thing in the picture it's not something he'd be caught dead using in one of his campaigns.

“Yeah. I can't believe they even wanted me to pitch this shit. I can't very well sell what makes me want to poke my own eyes out with a blunt object now can I?”

“So we want it remade?”

“No.” He delivers his answer flatly, as if the question is unnecessary, “I'll have to remake the entire thing. I'm not risking my reputation – my job – over some beginner's ineptitude.”

Anna can do nothing but nod and slip out of his office as Brian heads for the shredder. He doesn't need to tell her to reschedule his appointments for the day; she already knows he's going to work on this as independently as possible – no matter how many hours he has to put in – and that he's not going to let himself get distracted with other campaigns.

That night Justin finds himself overlooking a mass of dancing people. Beer in hand under the glaring neon lights he scanned the location. His eyes surveyed the bodies slick with sweat, pressed against one another, moving and grinding. He wasn't in the mood for the tweaked out twinkies that occupied the dance floor.

He'd finished his project ahead of time and handed his glossy piece of A2 in soon as the boss had set foot in the office. It had taken him immense amounts of energy to muster up enough inspiration to make toothpaste seem remotely interesting. He didn't receive any response other than a nod and another assignment: the same reaction he would always get. This time he was graced with the responsibility of designing an appealing color scheme for a brand that was soon to be on everyone's lips and counters. Another uninspiring project, but since there was little to no room for error he'd decided to take the night off.

Justin turns his attention to the bar area where he's standing. The prospects seem bleak until a queen donned out in glitter gets pulled into the mass of bodies and a guy in his mid twenties is revealed. His eyes are darting over the crowd, never focusing on one face – or body – for long. His beer is swigged repeatedly and the stranger brings a fist in front of his mouth while swallowing, shifting his weight slightly and moving his head, watching the men passing him by. Justin keeps his eyes fixed on the brunet and orders two more beers. The stranger leans back on the bar keeping his arms tense and close to his body. A small bite to his upper lip before emptying his bottle and glancing in Justin's direction. Justin keeps his gaze steady and grabs another beer from the bar before heading in his direction tongue in cheek and a smile plastered on his face.

...

“I feel like I'm gonna suffocate” The brunet is splayed across Justin's bed, pillow tucked under his chin and sweat still drying on his tan skin. Justin stands with his back at him, knotted eyebrows and furious movements as he blends the oils on his canvas.

“No one said you had to stay.”

He doesn't so much as glance at the trick and continues. His lips are pressed together and he ignores the sound of the guy getting up.

“Fucking artists. Always such asses.”

The guy seems to make as much noise as he can, stomping as he pulls on his boots. Justin focuses on the low humming of his alarm clock as the layers of color grow thick and his door is slammed.

...

By the time people have started to roll into the office building Brian is done pacing in his office and has created an outline for the campaign that seemed stillborn less than a day ago. Once again Brian-fucking-Kinney comes to the rescue. Pulling up the blinds allows a small stream of light to invade the office before it's eclipsed by thick curtains of clouds. The gray masses stare at him and if he couldn't see his computer screen reflecting on the glass he would've almost believed that the clouds were trying to push into the room.

He places a hand on the back of his neck as he rubs a sore spot just beneath his hairline. It's the first moment of stillness he's had all night and he can feel a pang of hunger. Anna brought him a triple espresso and two small cartons of Thai food before Brian insisted that she leave; he would need her more in the morning when he actually had a plan. He returns to his desk, one hand still massaging his neck, and finishes off a still glowing cigarette before butting it out in his more than full ashtray. He normally never smokes in his office but he'd been alternating cigarettes with gulps of coffee and chunks of noodles and chicken to keep his mind alert. Now the nicotine tastes bitter, the once white cartons are empty and brownish in color from absorbing the abundant sauce and the caffeine has long gone from his system.

He relaxes his body as he lets himself fall into his chair leaning back and closing his eyes. He tells himself that it's just for one second. He just needs to collect his thoughts for one moment.

...

When Brian does open his eyes he realizes immediately that they've been closed for longer than he originally planned. The room that was dark when he dozed off is now brightly lit. The clouds still threaten to push into the atmosphere of his office but the ceiling lights provide the illusion that the sun is shining. The piles of paper that accumulated on his desk throughout the night are gone and in their place lies a paper bag and a note from Anna neatly placed on a thin beige folder.

Breakfast is in the bag. I've scheduled a meeting with Taylor from the 14th floor, have forwarded your graphic outline to him (that's his portfolio on your desk), for 10:30. There's a pressed suit waiting for you in your washroom. Don't forget to eat.

Brian glances at his clock even though he knows he doesn't have to – Anna would probably have woken him up if it was dangerously close to 10:30. The bag is revealed to contain a cream cheese bagel and a large cup of organic orange juice.

He isn't sure if it's the food that's making everything seem better but the few sheets in the folder are impressive and Brian can't help but wonder why he hasn't heard anything about this guy before now. The taste of oranges settles on his palate as he bites the inside of his cheek. He remembers pitching one of the ads no more than a month ago. He doesn't keep track of the graphic artists who don't work directly with him but he would've made an attempt to find out who this guy was had he been handed more of his work. He presses the intercom button and waits for Anna's affirmative response before he begins to speak.

“I'd like some coffee once I'm done cleaning up. And could you talk to Taylor's supervisors and let them know that he's been assigned to a top priority campaign, he's going to need a clear schedule.”

...

Justin doesn't know what to think when he's handed the assignment. The nights spent drinking excessive amounts of cold coffee and staring at a computer screen with red eyes were meant to get him ahead. He wanted this to happen. He wants this to happen. The increase in campaign size means an increase in income, and the larger that gets the less he needs to worry about becoming a starving artist. More money means more canvases, more indulgence in paint and colors. The luxury of not depending on one single gallery show for the source of his next meal. But he didn't think he was going to get a project of this magnitude this soon, this easily. After all, why would they want to put all their eggs in the Taylor basket when he was just a small part of a big agency?

But it's not just that it's so soon: it's also very sudden. He's handed a proposal and told to be in the graphics management office at 10:30. He doesn't recognize the woman who delegates all this to him - not that that's a surprise considering he doesn't really fraternize with the staff and those he does spend time with all work in the graphics department. He makes sure to finish the color scheme before casting an eye on the new project. As soon as the color scheme is handed in he's told to focus on this new campaign that he has yet to actually know anything about.

He finds himself in the office with sheets of paper spread out on the large work table and the proposal pinned to the wall above it long before the meeting is to take place. He doesn't doubt that the project leader will have a prominent role in determining the look and feel of the project but getting a head start with the brainstorming has never harmed. So the sheets are slowly filled with sketches and rough drafts as he sits hunched over them.

...

Brian walked with the portfolio open glancing at it as he headed towards the office until he reached it. He didn't have any intention to linger outside looking in until he reached the office space and the glass windows that provide insight. He doesn't know what to make of the figure sitting there, hunched over the table working on his campaign. The hair is longer and the posture is different; steadier. But the movements are the same. The way he's half standing whilst filling the papers with ink, his hand pressing down giving shape to whatever he sees with ease. It all seems far too familiar. The figure stands and stares at Brian's spreadsheets all pinned on a wall and as soon as Taylor's thumbnail touches his lower lip and lingers there it seems to trigger something.

Taylor. Justin. Brian clenches his eyes shut for a few seconds. It could be a trick of the mind. A blond artist named Taylor. It could be his imagination. He can't help but wonder whether the lack of sleep and excess of nicotine and caffeine has finally gone over his head. Because that would be more likely than the thought that Justin, the little boy wonder from the Pitts had somehow ended up in that room preparing to work with him. Preparing to actually work on his ad campaign with him. There was no way the teenage stalker that had once found a way to root himself into Brian's life had somehow also rooted himself into his office. But his eyes open to the same figure moving about in the room and there's no doubt about who's standing there waiting for him.

He doesn't stay long enough to enter the office and for any sort of awkward meeting to take place. He'll tell Anna to find someone else – there has to be someone else that can handle this campaign. He'll deal with Justin once he's wrapped his head around this. He'll deal with it when he's found out what exactly he's doing here and why he has to do it here. For all he knows it could be some sort of grand scheme to get back into his life, so there's no way he's walking into this unprepared.

He leaves the door to his office open after he storms in, indicating that Anna should follow and she does without question; she's worked for him long enough to understand his little – and not so little – gestures and what they mean.

He doesn't know what to make of what he saw. That Justin is here. He rubs his chin despite the three o'clock shadow he's nursing, the stubble rough against his skin. It doesn't make any sense. Someone should have told him that Justin was coming to New York, that he was coming to Brian's side of the pasture.

“Find someone else.” The door has barely shut before he speaks.

“To do what exactly?” Anna's trying to figure why he's back so soon – he can't have been gone more than ten minutes.

“Find. Someone. Else.” He shoots her a glare as he forces out the words, emphasizing each one.

“Brian. There's no one else. The only other guy we have is the one who screwed it up to begin with.”

“You cannot seriously be telling me that there's not one other competent graphic artist in this building that can work with me?”

“I thought you wanted to land this account.”

“I do.”

“You're the one saying there's no such thing as competent, just excellent, mediocre and bad. You need excellent for this account, and Taylor is the only excellent we've got.” Brian sighs, his hand now on his forehead, his fingers pressing as if he's preventing a headache from striking him. “What did this kid do anyway?”

“It's...” Brian doesn't know how to answer her. What does he say? He used to follow me around and we fucked like bunnies, it was all good and well until I moved here.

“You guys fucked.”

“No. I fucked him.”

“So? That hasn't stopped you before has it? Or what, you're afraid he's gonna sue you for sexual harassment?”

“No. I seriously doubt that he would.” Brian can feel a slight tugging at the corner of his mouth and a small chuckle escapes his lips. His hand is trembling as Anna hurries to speak.

“Then I would say that settles it. You can't afford the stress over working with someone who isn't excellent. This way you've got someone who can take care of things if....”

“Anna.” His face is stern again and he settles behind his desk. She knows she crossed the line. “We're not talking about that.” She nods slightly, fingers nervously tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I need you to find out why he's here, what he's doing here before I talk to him. Before we start...” his eyes are shut and she can tell that he doesn't want to say the word. Saying it is almost the same as admitting defeat, “...working.”

...

Justin didn't think that anything could surprise him anymore. He'd gotten used to being steered into odd directions by one event or another. So the fact that he, Justin never thought that he'd find himself in New York in Brian's – the same Brian that he'd followed around for a year, dreaming of sweet 'I love you's’ that'd never come – office because they had somehow ended up working for the same firm shouldn't surprise him. And yet he is surprised. As soon as he sees the letter combination on the door he knows why the original meeting was canceled. There's far too much of a coincidence of all this happening with another Brian Kinney. He doesn't expect Brian to welcome him with open arms, in fact he's pretty certain that Brian must've found out who he was meant to work with and was now trying to find a way to get rid of the Taylor-nuisance. How Brian Kinney of him.

Justin had stopped dreaming of sugary reunions and surprise appearances years ago. He'd gone to his prom with Daphne on his arm and danced with her but never keeping less than one eye on the entrance. He'd stood clutching his diploma searching for the Brian grin in the crowd at graduation. He thought he'd at least get a congratulatory card when he received a scholarship on the merit of his portraits of him. He would have been happy with anything Brian would give. Even a sarcastic “Looks like I'm providing for you even in my absence.” would've made him happy. Any sign that he hadn't forgotten him.

He'd known by the gnawing feeling in his gut that Brian wasn't going to show up and swoop him off his feet after he left. When he left he left for good. But he was still hoping for something; some sort of acknowledgment or a sign of recognition. Some sort of affirmation that he had actually been part of Brian's life for a year.

Freshman year Daphne had suggested that they go skiing for spring break. Unfortunately this suggestion had come no more than a month before their window of opportunity and Justin had already spent his scholarship on tuition and spent the money from the diner on beers and art supplies. Deb colorfully refused to let him take any extra shifts or give him his paycheck ahead of time, but she did tell him to check whether Gus needed a sitter.

He'd called the Peterson-Marcus residence five different times of the day until Melanie picked up one evening around 10 PM claiming she'd just gotten back from work. She was surprised that he called, because she could have sworn that they'd told everyone that Lindsay and Gus were visiting Brian. Justin doesn't remember speaking after hearing her say that. He realizes he must've said something because they were on the phone for half an hour but he can't even imagine what coherent words could've possibly left his mouth at that time. He remembers Mel saying something about the house being so quiet and working long hours without coming home to any complaints. He didn't react to the rare compliment she gave Brian, saying that it was so kind of him to Gus and Lindsay visit.

What he does remember is hanging up, his throat thick and his vision blurry. Brian still spoke to those he cared about. He didn't have to come to Pittsburgh to see Gus or Michael or Lindsay or any of the people that actually mattered to him. They could always visit him. They were still part of his life. And when Justin crawled under his covers that night he knew what 'no looking back' felt like.

So Justin wasn't surprised that he didn't get a congratulations when he renewed his scholarship. He wasn't surprised when he got no phone call or appearance on his graduation from PIFA. It didn't even shake him in the least when Brian didn't visit him those three weeks he'd spent in the hospital. He knew that he'd gotten all he ever would from him in that one year.

Brian's sitting behind his desk with the phone glued to his ear he waves Justin to the chair sitting dead center in front of him. Of course he must emphasize that he doesn't care. As if I haven't gotten the many hints. Justin can tell that his chair is lower than Brian's as he sinks into it. Another smart Kinney strategy. Make yourself look larger than life and make them feel small. Justin knows that he's far from having the upper hand but at least he's aware that he's being manipulated, and that counts for something. He leans back, making himself as comfortable as he can on the uneasy angles of the chair. You're not gonna scare me away Brian.

“So, what are you doing here?”

“Well, Mr. Kinney,” Justin lets the words roll of his tongue innocently. Two can play this game. “I was told to report to your office, so I did.” He can tell that Brian doesn't like his response. His mouth opens slightly and it looks as if he's biting the inside of his cheeks. He really needs to improve his poker face.

“That's not what I meant. Why are you working at Spectral of all places? I never knew you wanted to be an art director.”

“Honestly Mr. Kinney, I don't really think that's any of your business and I really don't see how it's relevant to the quality of my work.” Justin can tell that he it a nerve as Brian realigns the pens on his desk without looking at them. “I was told to prepare storyboards for a campaign – yours I'm assuming – and I did. I don't see how my role in this company has anything to do with that.”

“That doesn't mean I can't ask.”

“It doesn't mean I have to answer.” Justin's confidence grows with every word. If Brian had wanted him out, he'd be out already, and he knows that Brian does not technically have any authority over him. “Listen Mr. Kinney, I would really like to know if we're going to work on this or not, because if not, I'm certain that I'm needed elsewhere.”

Brian remains quiet and Justin knows that he's won this round. He bends down; digging into the bag that he brought grasping the thick paper of the tentative storyboards he's created.

“Justin.” He looks up before placing the storyboards on Brian's desk. “Would you fucking stop calling me Mr. Kinney?” Justin smiles and nods, the first official hump in his career and he passed it.

...

Brian can't complain about Justin's work or his professional behavior and it bothers him. They've been working on the ad for almost a week together since Pearson's approved the drafts they presented and no matter how well things seem to be going Brian can't help but feel that it's too easy. It's not that the stuff Justin worked on for two days was received with applause. It's not that his ideas and sketches seem to surpass any that Brian has worked with since he came to New York. Rather, it's that Justin doesn't seem to show anything other than professional interest towards him. Justin never implies anything and never discusses the family back home. He doesn't ask about what Brian is going to do that night or who he's fucked – because it's never a question of if with Brian – and he doesn't say what he's been doing or who he's been fucking. He comes to work in the morning and leaves in the afternoon.

Sometimes Brian just looks at him when they're working together. Watches for longing glances from Justin's side. Observes to see if he moves a suggestive way, listens for a tone of seduction in his voice, but there's never anything there. He just sits with feet propped up on the edge of the desk and head buried in storyboards, occasionally repeating a joke he heard during lunch.

He wonders if maybe Justin's found someone to play happy homo family with. Anna told him that he'd gotten the job because of internships and praise from PIFA. Apparently – and Brian can honestly say that it doesn't surprise him at this point – more than one of the ad agencies in the Pitts wanted him but for some reason he'd ended up in New York. So Brian figures that must be why he's here. And although he's well aware that his memory is not the best part of him he can't remember Justin talking about New York with glitter in his eyes; he can't remember Justin ever wanting to work here. So Brian assumes that he must be living with some nice fag and that when he goes home to a nice dinner and a nice evening of cuddling in front of the TV.

...

Brian finds himself on the fourteenth floor looking for Justin on Friday. He navigates through to what he considers to be a cubicle labyrinth only to find Justin's chair empty. Justin's bag is still there so he will inevitably be back at his work desk sooner or later, but that doesn't mean that he should wait for him. He could just leave him a note telling him that they need to meet on Sunday to revise the presentation that'll take place on Monday. He can see the yellow post-its with the mug of pencils strategically placed on top from where he's standing. It takes him a few minutes before he scribbles down the time for the meeting and he turns to leave.

When he heads for the elevators he sees Justin's blond hair bobbing in the distance and he considers heading over there to tell him the news personally but he reasons against it. The note is enough. Justin's standing close to a guy that Brian recognizes only as last week's fuck. The trick-of-yesterday playfully pushes Justin and he shoves him in return then hands him a cup of something before they start for different directions both grinning and gesturing wildly. Brian is caught off guard when Justin turns in his direction and smiles and nods, acknowledging that he's seen him.

He can't light the cigarette fast enough once he's outside of the building. He's hit with a wind after taking his first drag, causing the smoke to blow straight into his eyes. He blinks rapidly and tries to avoid rubbing the toxins in. He doesn't get it. If Justin has someone what is he doing with one of the easiest guys in the building? What the fuck does Justin think he's doing? He must be fucking him. Or at the very least planning on fucking him. He doesn't know what's more upsetting; that Justin had showed no interest in him or that he, himself, had made no attempt fuck him. And why not? Out of respect to some relationship he just assumed Justin was in? And so what if he was? It was Justin's job to make sure he was faithful, not his. And with another drag from his cigarette he heads towards the Italian café to pick up his lunch order.

...

Justin stays late in the office that Friday, wanting to have everything prepared for Sunday. By the time he's packed away the last pieces of stray paper and turned off his computer – also making sure he packed the CDRW he's saved his work on – the floor is dark and the few spread light sources are faint.

The elevator arrives almost the moment he presses the button; there aren't that many people around working late on a Friday which is why he's startled by Brian's presence in the elevator.

“Brian? How come you're still here this late?”

“Actually I was just coming to see if you were still here.”

And before Justin has the time to say anything or even think about what to say Brian's kissing him. His hands are on his shoulders and he pushes him against the wall, his head banging against the wooden paneling. Justin can feel Brian's teeth against his lips and then his teeth against his and his tongue pressing into his mouth.

Justin assumes that Brian pressed the stop button somehow because the lift isn't moving. His back is already flat against the wall but Brian presses his weight against him and Justin can feel his ribs being crushed by the pressure. Brian's lips have moved on from assaulting his mouth and are pressing against Justin's neck, teeth brushing against skin just hard enough to leave a purplish mark. His hands are ridding Justin of his pants and he soon finds his weight leaning on the weak railing and his legs wrapped around Brian's waist.

One of his hands wanders into Brian's hair, his palm flat against the back of his head and fingers knotted in his hair. His other hand has wandered down to Brian's khakis. Brian's hands are already there and he fishes up a condom from his pocket before letting the layers fall. Brian is working his way down Justin's chest biting through the fabric of his shirt, bending down as far as he can without compromising the grip Justin's legs have around his hips.

Justin slips the condom on Brian's dick and Brian rests his head on Justin's shoulder. Brian bends his knees slightly as Justin shifts position as much as he can, giving Brian better access. Justin can feel Brian's hands under his ass as he lifts him slightly before slowly pushing into him. Brian moves slowly and he can tell that Justin hasn't bottomed in a while by the way he's biting his lip and letting his nails dig into Brian's back. The lack of lube isn't making it any better. He builds up a pace as their bodies’ rock against each other and he can feel the skin on his back breaking. Brian doesn't need much encouragement before he starts to thrust violently, urged on by Justin's crossed legs against his back. It doesn't take them long to come as they're both nothing but need and skin and friction.

As soon as their bodies are separated Brian hits the lounge button and the lift starts to move again. Brian doesn't look at him and when the doors slide open he bursts out, still adjusting his clothing, leaving Justin with hair a mess and pants a crumpled pile at his feet.

“Fuck.”

Brian's gloved hand jerks the door handle for the fourth time still not gleaning the result he hopes for. The door remains shut. His hand digs into his pocket fishing for his cell phone. He finds himself with the cell to his ear listening impatiently to the ringing on the other end when he sees Justin walking up to him. He doesn't attempt to open the door or ask Brian why he is standing outside the building fuming. Nor does he ogle him or awkwardly place himself near him; he stops and brings his bare hands to his mouth, flushing the red fingers with warm air, patiently waiting for Brian to finish what he's started.

After pacing to and fro and delivering many a bitter line into his phone Brian stops and brings a hand to his head, ruffling through his hair.

“The building's closed.” He waits for Justin to accuse him of dragging him here on his day off for nothing, to say something about how unprepared he is and how could he not make sure the building was open, because although Brian doesn't blame himself he wouldn't be surprised if Justin did. But the words don't come.

“I see.” Justin crosses his arms, burying his hands under his biceps, the thick olive colored fabric of his jacket covering them. “So, should we go to my place?”

Brian stops moving entirely and he can feel the blood pulsing through his ears. For a split second he is certain that he misheard. But then he remembers that his hearing is perfect, Justin didn't mumble and that of course Justin wants them to go back to his place after what happened on Friday. He probably thinks they need to find a nice ‘lezzie’ way to express themselves about what happened and where this is going. Shit, why the fuck did he not see this coming?

“I really don't think that...”

“I've got copies of all the storyboards and the proposal. We can just upload everything online once we're done.” Justin's explanation is met by furrowed brows and an almost stunned expression from Brian's side, something Justin thinks he would've missed if he'd blinked. “Unless you want us to go to the meeting unprepared tomorrow.” he trails off hoping to shake Brian into an answer.

Brian nods absently wondering how the fuck Justin got this organized. He notices a speckle of paint on Justin's cheek and when Justin gestures in which direction they should go he's standing so close that he can see that the speckles of paint on his hands as well. He offers Justin a cigarette which he declines as they walk down the street, Brian feeding on tobacco and Justin tightening the scarf around his neck.

...

Brian is uncertain about Justin's intentions in bringing him to his apartment until he sets a foot over the threshold. Sure the building and the neighborhood didn't indicate that it was anything of a palace but Brian would've expected something at least a bit better. No one in his right mind would bring someone they were interested in to this dump. No one would bring him if they wanted him.

“How long have you been working for Spectral?” Justin shrugs off his jacket but keeps on his scarf as he steps over to the kitchen nook and fills a pot with water.

“Well I started in August so I think that makes it three months.” He disappears briefly leaving Brian to get rid of his coat, folding it and placing it on the back of chair since there is no coat rack to be found, and he understands why Justin left his scarf on; it's freezing.

“Can't you turn up the heat?” He takes the few steps necessary to reach the worn couch and takes one look at it before grabbing a chair instead and uneasily settling onto it. Justin enters the room carrying a thick pile of storyboards and dumps them on the coffee table.

“This is as warm as it gets.” Brian inches towards the squares of cardboard and Justin smirks at him as he settles on the worn down couch. “It's not dirty, it's just old.”

“I think you know how much I despise anything old.”

“I had no idea you hated yourself Brian” Justin's tone is mocking and his grin reveals that he's not serious. And Brian can tell that although Justin's eyes are bloodshot, it looks more like he's pulled an all-nighter working than pining away for him.

”Don't worry; I know you're forever young.” Brian thinks that he should be disturbed by that line and the implication that Justin would know him so well as to joke about it but as the blond proceeds to line up the storyboards and talk about potential approaches to each there's not much time to think about anything other than the campaign.

...

Caroline announces her arrival by slamming the door but she doesn't receive so much as a glance from the pair that have moved to the floor with papers spread over the wooden surface.

“So what's for lunch?” She doesn't rid herself of any of her clothes before scanning the fridge. “How about we order in. There's zilch in here.” Looking back into the small living room there's no reaction. “Do I have to be plastered on those papers to get your attention?”

“She's quite colorful.”

“Caroline this is Brian, Brian this is Caroline. Order what you want, just make sure there's enough for dinner too.”

“So this one has a name huh.” Caroline smirks as she grabs the cordless from Justin's side and starts dialing as she walks away before he has the time to respond.

...

Caroline only makes another appearance, answering the door when the delivery guy shows up carrying a bag full of fusion combos. She doesn't linger any longer than it takes her to fish up one of the boxes and leave the bag by the couch before winking exaggeratedly at Justin and grinning, leaving them to finish their work.

The bag is stranded until the last storyboard is piled up and the frowns of concentration are replaced by grumbling stomachs.

“We don't have a microwave.” Justin exclaims when he catches Brian's questioning stare as he pours the contents of two cartons into a frying pan and starts to roam the cupboard for spices.

“Mind if I have a smoke?” The cigarette already securely fastened between Brian's lips before Justin has the time to give him the ok. Brian tosses him the pack and Justin places it back on the counter top stirring the saffron colored rice.

“Since when do you not smoke?”

“Since it's bad for you.”

“Never stopped you before.”

Justin shrugs in reply. It doesn't suffice as an answer but he knows that Brian won't push further. He wouldn't want to let on that he cared or anything. He wishes that his answer was as simple as that, that it was bad for you. That he'd suddenly gone all health freak and wanted to spare his poor lungs the nicotine in addition to the polluted air he was now surrounded with. The truth was he didn't really have a reason to smoke when Brian left, and when he did alone it did nothing but remind him of him. Two addictions that walked hand in hand. Thank god he'd gotten rid of them both.

“Do you want the sweet and sour sauce or the soy?”

“Well is there rice involved?” Brian is leaning against the counter next to the stove, the cigarette still attached to his lips. “You know that soy goes with rice without saying. Or at least you should.”

“So how'd you end up living in this dump?” Brian follows Justin to the living room as he places the two food filled bowls on the coffee table. “They can't be paying you that little. If they are you should demand a raise, they couldn't deny it to you, especially after we land this account.”

“No 'if' here is there?”

“Who do you think I am?” Brian's still refusing to sit on the couch and slumped on the chair.

“Caroline's a friend of Daphne's, I think you've met her a few times, so she offered me to stay here. And I do have other expenses.”

“In that case a raise is definitely in order.”

“Money isn't everything you know.”

“Well we must be living in two different worlds, because I was under the impression that money was one of the pillars of this society.” Justin can't help but start laughing at Brian's attempt to sound remotely political. Had his tone been flatter or his look intense Justin would've known that Brian had been serious, not only hadn't they been but Brian's face is also twisted in a smile.

“I'm glad we got this far.” The smile that was on Brian's face stiffens and he sighs as if he knew this was coming. Justin finds himself laughing even harder at Brian's expression. “I'm not expecting anything from you Brian. Don't be ridiculous.” He glances over at Brian's abandoned bowl of rice, “Are you gonna finish that?”

The account was landed without problem the following day. As soon as the clients had walked into the room Justin could tell from the look in their eyes that they liked what they saw. Brian was brilliant – was he ever anything but? - And his graphics seemed appreciated enough, something that made him sigh in relief. There were broad smiles and pats on backs later but he remained dazed over the success and didn't really pay attention to the words flowing from all the smiling mouths. When he ends up in a cramped office with his folders tucked into a bookshelf and his pens on a desk and his papers in its drawers he wasn't sure exactly how it all happened.

He looks out the small rectangular window as he bites into his lunch. Although his field of vision consists of nothing but blocks of cement and glass Justin isn't thinking about the less than stellar view as he tries to figure out which oil color he needs the most now that he can afford to stock up.

There's a slight tap on the door and it swings open, Justin turns his head and finds Brian standing inside his office. My office. Wow, that sounds really weird.

“Well look at who got promoted.”

“I did not get promoted.” He tosses the sandwich wrap into the small metallic can next to his desk and goes back to the window this time however facing the door and Brian.

“I don't know, your own office and everything.” Brian half sits on the desk and starts aligning the few pens on the surface before noticing how Justin's arms are awkwardly crossed across his chest. “You really should be sitting behind your desk, not admiring the view.”

“I'm on my lunch break. I've been sitting all day.” One of Brian's eyebrows is arched in disbelief.

“Uh huh.” He gets up and thrusts his hands inside his pockets. “Just wanted to know if you wanted to go out and celebrate tonight. Lots of booze and lots hot men; ours for the taking.”

“I have things that need to be done.”

“Suit yourself. It was nice working with you”

...

Justin celebrates the account win and the promotion by breaking out a new canvas and a new set of oils. He stands fixed by his painting and does not move other than to fetch another brush or another tube or paint from the moment he comes back home.

He has moved the easel into the living room at Caroline's request. She claimed that not only did it have better light, but this way she could see a masterpiece grow but Justin knows that she's just worried about him being locked up in his room with the fumes – at least the living room has a window.

It's only him, the colors and the image in his head as he applies the paint and swivels the bristles of the brushes against the surface. He's aware of Caroline moving in the background; cooking, talking on the phone but it doesn't stir him. When he hears the door opening he assumes that she's going out until her voice echoes into the room.

“I think this one's for you.” Casting his head back he sees Brian standing just inside the apartment with a bag in hand. Her voice reaches a higher note as she sing-songs; all to tease him. “I think I'll leave you two alone. And – Brian was it? - feel free to grab some leftovers, Justin's on a diet and I wouldn't want the food to go to waste.” She grabs an abandoned jacket before slipping out.

Justin returns his attention to the painting as he hears the rustling of Brian's bag accompanied with his steps.

“A diet Justin? Really? What is it? Atkins? South Beach? ‘Cause I'm not gonna finish off this bottle of vodka alone.”

“It's not a diet. I'm busy, and I'm just not hungry.” The sound of the creaky cupboards is familiar to him by now and he knows which Brian's opening by just listening. When he finds what he's looking for the clinging of glasses being slammed onto the counter isn't a surprise. His eyes stay fixed on the paint as he adds layer upon layer. “What happened to the grand celebration, the one with booze and men?”

“It was fabulous.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“Well it was fabulous, besides it's not like I could let you ignore your first big account win.”

“It's not my account.” Red over blue; almost purple but not quite.

“Of course not, it's mine.” Brian's walked up to him and empties his glass in one gulp. “But they were your graphics.”

“I'm working.”

“Which is exactly what you shouldn't be doing right after a day like today. Tomorrow yes, work your little blond ass off to keep on track. But tonight....” His hand reaches out offering him the other glass, the one filled with what looks like water but surely isn't “...vodka on the rocks, without the rocks.”

...

Brian wakes up from an unfamiliar prickling on his eyelids; the sun. At first he wonders why he didn't pull the curtains last night. He's lying on his side on a lumpy surface, he tries to turn onto his back but he meets resistance; this too of the lumpy kind. Then he remembers that his bedroom window faces south and that his bed is not lumpy and does not require for him to bend his leg to not have them hanging off the edge.

His mind is suddenly wide awake as he sits up and blinks trying to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. Justin's standing a few feet away painting and he glances over.

“Well good morning sleeping beauty.”

He tries to familiarize himself with the space. The coffee table is in front of him and is occupied with empty bottles and glasses. He rubs his eyes and looks around and realizes that he sitting on the couch. “I cannot believe you let me sleep on that thing!” He darts up and tries to dust off imaginary germs. “I need to take a fucking shower.”

“Down the hall, first door to your right. If you leave the door unlocked I'll just drop in a towel when I'm done here.”

“Any excuse to sneak a peek.” Brian doesn't wait to take of his shirt. It's ruined anyway

“I had you unconscious the entire night; I could've had my way with you if I wanted.”

...

When Brian reappears he does so with wet hair and the jeans he wore yesterday plastered to his legs. Justin is no longer standing by his easel and the most prominent smell is no longer that of the oils but that of scrambled eggs.

“Why the fuck did you let me fall asleep on that...thing?”

“I couldn't very well carry you to my bed.” Justin pulls out a box of cereal from the cupboard in front of him and places it next to the can of instant coffee. “Besides I have a suspicion you'd be even more afraid of the bed than you are of the couch.”

“It's beyond me how anyone would live here voluntarily.” He watches as Justin fills two bowls with eggs and two other ones with cereal. “I am not eating that.”

“You need the protein and carbs to dampen the hangover. And coffee to wake you up.” Justin ignores Brian's stare and lays everything out on the cleaned up coffee table. “Seriously Brian, I can't believe you've lived in New York for four years now and you're afraid of germs. You could catch more from walking down the street than sleeping on the couch.”

Brian reluctantly sits next to Justin, more to prove that he is indeed not afraid than anything else and although he made a big fuss about the contents of the breakfast he eats his eggs and drinks the coffee.

“So?” Brian brings a cigarette to his mouth and tries to find a lighter in his pocket.

“So....what?” Justin asks back, his concentration focused on his bowl of cheerios.

“So, what the fuck happened? I did not drink enough to pass out and not remember anything.”

“Are you sure of that considering you don't seem to remember anything?” Brian snickers at this and lights his cigarette with the newfound lighter. “You wouldn't let me work so I had to drink you under the table in order to get anything done.”

“You drank me under the table?”

“Well it did help that you were already intoxicated – in all senses of the word – when you got here.” Justin gulps down his coffee, trying to avoid the taste and only get the effect. “Quite frankly I'm surprised you remembered where I lived.”

“Well you'd be surprised how well one remembers the way when you're on the lookout for potential murderers.” Justin laughs at his remark and places the dishes in the sink.

“Well the homicide rate has actually dropped in this part of town.”

“The fact that you know that should be telling you that this is not the ideal place to be living.” His remark is met by more laughter.

“I'll just go get my stuff and we can get going to work. You start at eight too right?” Justin doesn't wait for a reply as his voice trails off and he disappears into his room. Brian takes a drag of his cigarette as he walks over to the easel that's been out of his view. The canvas doesn't contain the reds and blacks that were there when he came by last night. Instead there are whites, light blues, gray and peach with a worn out couch and a sleeping Brian.

The first few weeks are the hardest for Justin. He sits in his office for most of the day with the occasional visit from a supervisor handing him more assignments and picking up those he finished. He finds more time to paint when he's home considering the isolation at work allows him to get a maximum amount of work done. The small space he's supposed to call his own doesn't do him much good. He's intimidated by the fact that he's supposed to be worthy of this; as if he'd been thrown into the line and was supposed to fight for the top dog position. Something he doesn't feel like doing at all.

He doesn't get to work with Brian and he doesn't know if he's still working on the account they landed together. It's not that they don't see each other; they seem to be having lunch together at least once a week and Brian dropping by the apartment before clubbing and after clubbing isn't so unusual. But they never talk about work. The first time they'd had lunch Justin had been worried that Brian would ask him about his new position and all the responsibilities they'd entail. He thought there'd be a few jokes about more ass being available when you've got your own office but there wasn't any of that.

It was mostly empty talk about the best clubs and bartenders in town – both to fuck and mix drinks – and some comments about Justin's bright future as an artist. Brian was certain that his impromptu portrait would drag more people to the galleries and fill Justin's pockets with more money than all of his other globs of paint combined. His exact words had been “Who the fuck wouldn't want me around 24/7.”

“Especially when they don't have to put up with your talking.” Was Justin's instant reply that was met only by an extra order of coffee and a declaration that Justin deserved an extra long lunch.

So the weeks dragged along highlighted only with the phone calls with Daphne and the all-nighters pulled painting and the visits from Brian. He'd never thought that Brian could ever be much company, but whenever he was around he felt more like he was at home. Brian makes the colors blend nicer and the inspiration flow. On one of his visits to the apartment he'd come bearing not only Chinese food and joints but a cashmere blanket. He'd dramatically draped it over the decrepit couch and declared that the chairs were far too uncomfortable for him to sit in – and far too visually unpleasant if the mood struck Justin to paint himself another pot of gold.

Although Justin isn't sure his portraits of Brian can be considered pots of gold he still makes them from time to time. It's not as if Brian poses for him in any way, most of the time Justin's finished of one painting and simply feels like he should continue and Brian is draped over a chair; cigarette in one hand and newspaper in the other. He never stays still very long so none of the paintings are complete portraits. In a short amount of time the sketchpad that was previously filled with drawings of strangers and Caroline are filled with more half finished depictions of Brian.

Brian goes clubbing every night he stops by the apartment, and Justin wouldn't be surprised if he actually went out every single night. Most of the time he just stands by his easel of the stove when Brian asks if he'll come along and simply replies with a 'have fun'. He doesn't need to add a 'tell me all about it' because he knows Brian will anyway.

When Justin comes back from Christmas in the Pitts Brian assumes that the Babylon holiday cheer has gotten him in a festive mood. He doesn't go out on every occasion but Justin does join Brian a few times and although he's not nearly as anxious to find willing asses and flaunt his conquests they do end up in a few back rooms with a trick each and he never leaves alone. Brian doesn't know if it's because New York is nothing like Pittsburgh and Brian's fame hasn't reached most ears but when the two of them appear together they seem to be equally desirable – something he would never admit to anyone out loud – the only difference being their attitudes and procedures.

And although they do talk about their tricks there's no competition in their words. Brian does brag, as he always does, but Justin never seems to care. Or if he does he hides it well.

Justin would've never guessed that he would one day consider himself to be friends – actually friends – with Brian because he never thought Brian was capable of treating anyone decently, even less treating his friends decently. And once the cold starts to crawl further into the backbone of the city Justin thinks that they've established a firm pattern and that the dynamics of their relationship is set. But then again Justin was never much of a fortune teller.

Brian waltzes into the apartment after Caroline lets him in and he brings weed and the trademark alcohol. He keeps his umbrella unfolded and places it to dry from the early spring rain. Without any hesitation he heads straight for the kitchen where he sets a pot of water to boil and dramatically disposes the cupboard of can of instant coffee.

“This does not even deserve to be called coffee.” For once Justin isn't painting and his easel is occupied by a blank canvas. He's half lying on the couch circling addresses in a magazine as he watches Brian throw the entire can into the trash and unpacks something that looks neither like booze or pot. He wonders whether he physically can participate in the shows of all the galleries that have expressed interest in his work and work simultaneously. “I come bearing organic Colombian coffee. The best of the best.”

“Are you growing generous in your old age?”

“Consider it a belated Christmas gift.” Justin pauses his and looks up from his magazine, eyebrows arched in disbelief. “To myself of course. I seem to be drinking this crap more than you do, and I think it's really affecting my health.” Justin snorts and leaves Brian to the coffee brewing.

“As long as Caroline approves it's fine by me. Caffeine is caffeine.”

“Oh she'll love it.” He picks out two of the gigantic tea mugs that they always use for coffee and waits patiently for the hot water. “And all caffeine is definitely not created equal. That's one of the most ridiculous things I've heard.”

“If you say so.” Justin goes back to intently staring at his magazines as Brian saunters over to him with a mug in each hand and two unlit joints in his mouth. He drops onto the couch – making sure that he's actually on the blanket and not the couch first – and hands Justin his mug and one of the joints before propping his legs up on coffee table.

Justin doesn't think there's much unusual about Brian's presence until his notices that the clock is quickly approaching 10pm and Brian has only moved from his spot to go to the bathroom or refill his mug with coffee or JB – or both. It's not that he expects Brian to go out clubbing as soon as darkness falls, but Brian doesn't seem remotely concerned about the fact that the clock is ticking and he's downing alcohol in a pair of worn jeans.

Justin tries to brush it off but when Caroline leaves around eleven he starts to wonder if Brian really isn't going anywhere.

“Y'know she does not seem like your average breeder that girl.” Brian leans back with a newly refilled glass and sips the contents.

“I know that. I'm the one living with her.” Justin's graphite pencil scrapes against the sketchpad as he presses it down harder, trying to fill the white space with black, he tries to keep his tone light and casual as he asks “So where are you going out tonight?”

“Well if I was on vacation I would be on my way to Mardi Gras.”

“I don't mean hypothetically.” Justin's hand stops moving and his eyes are fixed on Brian's face as he sweeps the rest of his drink and brings a cigarette to his lips, taking a deep drag and exhaling slowly.

“I'm taking the night off.” Justin's eyes narrow at this statement.

“Why? And since when does a night off mean slacking off?”

“Since I'm fine.” Brian takes another deep drag and Justin is prepared to shake a non cryptic answer out of him, his sketchpad completely forgotten.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I had...” Brian hesitates and looks Justin in the eyes. “I was sick. And now I'm not.”

“What was it?”

“Cancer.” Brian doesn't look at him and leans back in the couch, his eyes staring at his glass on the coffee table. It's obvious that's all he's willing to say.

Justin who thought that Brian was just trying to throw him off balance by staying in can feel a shiver running down his spine. Brian would never joke about something like this. And the fact alone that he admitted it must mean it was serious. His eyes are fixed on him and all he can see are slight bags under his eyes and the way his joints seem tired. He wonders why he didn't notice, or maybe he couldn't notice – maybe Brian had just been up all night a few nights too many; maybe it's just the years taking their toll. He tries to find something fragile about Brian's appearance but there's nothing there. He fills his glass and drinks ignoring Justin's searching looks.

He doesn't know whether he should be pissed at him or be grateful that he's alright. How could he not have known? Why hadn't Lindsay or Debbie told him when he was there over the holidays? He looks at the man sitting across from him and takes five seconds to wonder what his life would be like if Brian wasn't sitting there right now. If something had happened to him when – and he realizes that he doesn't even know when Brian was sick. And the rational thoughts start to come back and he knows there's no way that Debbie wouldn't have told him if she knew; there's no way Michael and Lindsay hadn't gone up to New York and worried to such a degree that it was obvious that something was wrong.

“You didn't tell anyone did you? You asshole.” And Justin goes from feeling sorry for what he might have missed out to thinking about Gus without a father and Michael losing a best friend and Debbie losing a son and all of a sudden his fists are pounding against Brian chest. Brian seems unconcerned and little time passes from the moment Brian's hands are on his shoulders trying to calm him down to the moment when their mouths attack each other and fingers are knotted in hair and clothes start to fall.

...

When Brian wakes up with a massive hangover the next morning he's glad to see that he did – at least – not spend the night on the couch. Justin's bed is as uncomfortable as all the furniture the apartment contains and fits perfectly with the run down atmosphere. But sub par surroundings don't seem to bother him as much as they did at first. Justin's hand is stranded on his chest and he tries to get out of the bed without waking him and aggravating his headache further.

Caroline has already made coffee and is leaning over the counter flipping through the Sunday paper. She takes no notice of him not wearing anything and pours him a glass of water.

“Thank you for the coffee Brian.” She cocks her head towards the disheveled living room as she takes a small bite from her apple. “You know I'm not cleaning that blanket. And it's not staying until it has a visit to the Laundromat.”

“Nothing happened...”

“I can see that.”

“..on the blanket.” She brings her mug to her lips and takes a gulp.

“Whatever you say. I really don't get why it took you guys so long.”

“I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.”

“Oh please. Don't be coy, it doesn't suit people like us. And I'm guessing you realize he's not going to stop tricking for you.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Newspaper and apple in one hand and coffee cup in the other she leaves Brian in the kitchen. “And I don't want to see that cashmere rug until it's been sterilized.”

...

Brian flops onto Justin's now empty bed, his head still pounding, and the thumps only slightly less violent because of the much needed hydration the glass of water provided him with.

When Justin appears hair still dripping and a towel wrapped around his hips he drops a bottle of aspirin and the cordless phone next to Brian. He pops the bottle open and dry swallows two of the pills.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asks holding the cordless phone.

“That's not for you. I just called the office and left a message giving my two weeks notice.” Justin's scouring the floor of his room looking for clean socks and underwear. Brian's head grows tenser and his fingers start rubbing his forehead “And it's not because of you. I mean, yes, the big reveal sorta shook me into doing it but I've been thinking about it for a while.” Justin doesn't seem to find anything so he plops onto the bed next to him and nestles his fingers into Brian's hair. “I've gotten quite a few gallery show offers and there's no way I can do those and work full time. And I know which one I want more. But I do expect you to call the gang in the Pitts and let them know you're ok – and why you're telling them that”

He leans down to kiss Brian's forehead and Brian grabs his arms pulling him closer and Justin ends up lying next to him, his face close to Brian's chest.

“You mean call home?” Justin starts to trail kisses down Brian's chest and he can feel the tension in his head releasing slightly.

“No, this is home.” And Justin delivers such a broad smile that for a moment Brian can see the sunshine from his face.