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After the End	By : Bloodyrose82 Category: M through R > Queer As Folk Views: 2114 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Queer As Folk, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-After the End
- 2-515
- 3-516
- 4-517
- 5-518
- 6-519
- 7-520
- 8-521
- 9-522
- 10-523
- 11-524
- 12-525
- 13-526
- 8
- 9
- 10
Prologue.

Some people say that they believe in an afterlife, that upon their passing they will stand at Heaven�s gate and answer for all their sins, their behavior in life determining whether they will spend an eternity in Paradise or the fiery pits of Hell.

But isn�t it a little premature to spend your mortal hours pondering over the Great Beyond, living your life as if it has yet to begin?

Death occurs to the best of us, paying our wishes no heed, and whatever happens afterwards, whether it is fire and brimstone or milk and honey, surely it�s pretty much out of our hands?

Is it a sin to spend night after night high on drugs, slipping your hands into the hair of another invisible trick in the blurry blue of the backroom, worshipping his mouth as if it is its own kind of sacred temple? Or is it a sin refusing to live at all, abstaining from pleasure for the sake of a faceless God, and hoping that through the application of rule and ritual you can somehow secure a place in a happy-ever-after that doesn�t sound particularly appealing in the first place?

What good is an afterlife when the supposed real deal is used like a bartering tool, a flashy pay check cashed in for the unsecured promises of a place at God�s feet? In the end, doesn�t it all come down to a leap of blind faith, a hop-skip-jump before a flying leap into the atmosphere, keeping spiritual fingers crossed that if you trained hard enough, prayed hard enough, consumed enough dogma through a nutritious, well-balanced theological diet, that both feet will land firmly inside the finishing line?

Salvation can be found in the most unlikely of places, with the most unlikely of people, and as you order another shot, knocking it back down your throat, moving to pull a ray of Sunshine against your side, you think that your way has far more going for it.

At least you know where you will end up if you follow this unsanitized, blasphemous religion.

-*-

I. Brian

Your mother is dead.

You woke up with the words reverberating through your head from a fucked up dream where you stood before an altar at the feet of your mother, looming down at you like a faux-maternal god, her trembling drink-destroyed hand pointing down at you like those on propaganda posters: 'We Want You!�

You glanced at Justin, his hair spilling around his head like a halo on your ink-colored sheets. It was early still, the muted dusky light streaking across your floorboards as you walked into the living room, and stood at the window, a glass of Beam in your hand, feeling a little sanctimonious that here you were, outlasting her despite her predictions, while she resided in a pine wood box.

You remembered everything from the night before as if it was captured in black and white, the bare-bones negatives exposed behind your eyelids. Justin had looked up at you like the harbinger of death, and you pictured him with a scythe, moving between the thrumming crowd, tapping people on the shoulders as he commanded them to step behind him, a screwed up conga line passing between the flimsy borders of mortality and whatever truth lay beyond.

You had blinked, bringing him back into focus, and stalked off towards the bar, staring into space as you downed shot after shot, paying your own special kind of homage to the mother she never was.

It was entertaining seeing the numerous reactions from the rest of the gang, who had rushed immediately to your side after seeing the look on Justin�s face. Ted appeared apologetic, although for god knows what; Emmett dampened down and quiet, Ben stony faced. Mikey just stood there, his lips parted in shock, before moving to your side, standing like a miniature personal bodyguard, glaring at any tricks who dared to approach.

You stumbled home after a couple of hours, the silent presence of your friends more annoying than anything else, and finally managed to convince them that they had to leave so you could sleep.

That was when Justin told you the rest: how your mother knew that she had been dying for the last couple of weeks. Towards the end they carted her off into hospital where your pathetic, snivelling sister smuggled in vodka, hidden in water bottles, a last dying request.

A will had been made, he informed you, and you were to attend the reading at noon the next day before going on to the funeral, already arranged in exquisite Catholic detail by order of your mother. She wanted it to be quick, apparently, as if relegating her body to the ground as fast as possible would mean that she would gain a safer passage through the pearly gates.

You imagined the entrance of Heaven a little like an airport terminal, line after line of passengers standing around, baggage hung about their necks, clinging to their religions as if they were passports able to grant them a trouble-free departure. One or two would push forward, tossing about their names and achievements as they demanded an upgrade to first class. You thought of your mother being such a person, wringing her shaking hands as she offered up a lifetime of prayer as her ticket.

You jumped a little as Justin touched your arm, his fingers hot against your skin, and pulled your eyes away from the dawn crowning in the window to look at him.

"I didn�t hear you get up," you told him, and he smiled slightly, pulling you gently over to the couch.

"I know," he said. "Your mind was off somewhere else."

-*-

II. Justin

You hated her so completely that you wondered if you would ever feel anything else again. You hated her for the person you knew she was, the person she could never allow herself to be. You hated her for dying, for knowing about it in advance, for deliberately keeping it from Brian so she could offer up this last surprise.

And you hated her because you were the one who had to tell him.

When his father had died, you hadn�t known him for all that long, and you had stepped aside to let Mikey take over, knowing what Brian needed far better than you felt you ever could. But you felt responsible now, almost as if you had been the one to deliver her death, and you stuck to him like glue, impatiently allowing the others to give their condolences, knowing they had no idea what to really say.

It was quiet in the loft after they all left, and you lead him to his bed, thinking that maybe he could sleep. You lay down next to him, almost wary as to how he would react, but he just propped himself up against the headboard, complaining that he would have to rearrange two meetings at work the next day so he could put in an appearance at the funeral.

When you awoke to a cold bed you were worried, wondering if you would find him a drunken collapsed mess on the bathroom floor, but when you went to look you found him standing in the living room, an inch of Beam in a glass, and you thought perhaps he was still in shock.

"Brian�" you began, as you sat next to him on the couch, and then trailed off. You had no idea what to say.

"Save it, Sunshine," he replied, glancing up at you, a pillow crease carved into his cheek like a scar. "I�m okay."

"Are you sure?" You bit your lip, never having been given a protocol for situations like this. "Do you want to talk?"

He snorted and sat back a bit, leaning against your shoulder. "What for?"

"It�s supposed to help." You felt superfluous to requirements, as if he already had it all under control.

"Help what exactly?" he asked, and you considered it rather na�ve.

"The grieving process."

You watched as he raised his glass to his lips, draining the amber liquid, and then put it down on the floor. "I would assume," he said, "that in that case grief would have to be found so you could help it along."

You couldn�t work out whether he was joking or not.

However illusionary it may have been, you wished he would do something normal like cry. You could cope with that, offering your shoulder as he soaked the fabric of your shirt with his saline.

But this, his seemingly calm acceptance, almost as if this was an everyday occurrence for him, it was quite frankly unnerving, and it left you picking at the hem of your shirt, tossing tiny glances at him as if you expected to see a hairline crack appearing at any moment, like a split across an ice-covered lake, running out like little frosty fingers before the whole sheet broke and crashed with a splash into the murky, unvisited waters below.

He took your hand and grazed the knuckles with his lips. "I appreciate the efforts, Sunshine," he said. "But I�m fine, really." He stretched a little and stood up. "I�m going to take a shower, and then I�m going to get some work done here before we have to go out. Business waits for no-one, not even a dead mother."

He tried on a smile and you gave him one back, just as ill-fitting, replacing it quickly with a worried frown as he vanished into the bathroom.

You imagined that if there had been a door with a lock, he would have used it for the first time in his life.

-*-

III. Brian

Noon found you waiting outside a lawyer�s office, dressed in one of your more subdued suits, Justin sitting by your side.

You glanced up as you sister arrived, her grief palpable on her face as she clutched a snotty tissue in her hand. She looked at you for a second, staring a little too long, and for just a moment you thought she was going to say something. Then she gave you a fierce look, accusation burning behind her red-rimmed eyes, and turned away, taking a seat across the hall.

Justin squeezed your hand and you averted your gaze to his face, feeling mildly surprised, but not quite bringing yourself to care, when you saw his lips pursed, his anger throbbing in Claire�s direction like lava stream intent on destroying all in its path.

The lawyer arrived and offered his less-than-sincere apologies for your loss, herding you into his office like the cattle-clientele he knew you were.

You took a seat across from his desk, slightly amused when Claire grabbed her chair and scraped it across the floor, positioning it as far away from you as possible.

The lawyer pulled some papers from his briefcase and shuffled them around on his desk. "I�ll make this brief," he said. "It�s a cut and dry case. Joan Kinney, the deceased, amended her will two days before she died. The changes were witnessed by her priest and her next door neighbor."

You wondered idly which neighbour it was, whether it was the silly old bat with the purple rinse who had smacked you once as a child for taking the Lord�s name in vain.

She was there the last time you had seen your mother, almost a year after she had burst into Kinnetik, feigning upset that you hadn�t informed her of your cancer.

You had been in the more expensive shopping district of Pittsburgh, meeting a client for lunch, when you passed her on the street. The neighbor had glanced at you and then touched your mother�s arm, gesturing with her head.

"Isn�t that Brian?" she had said.

Your mother had looked up, her gaze taking in your sharp suit, and then she sniffed, shaking her head.

"I don�t have a son," she had told her, and walked away stiffly, disappearing down the street.

"Mr. Kinney?"

You blinked and looked up into the slightly concerned face of the lawyer. "Sorry. Yes?"

He looked relieved, as if he had dealt with far too many grieving clients in his time and didn�t need another one sobbing messily over his leather upholstery.

"As I was saying," he looked down at his papers again, "there have been some last minute amendments to her will. The purpose of this was to include her grandchildren."

You looked up sharply. Gus? Your mother had never paid much attention to him, and you wondered what had forced her to change her mind. Then again, you had heard somewhere that lying on your death bed made you re-evaluate a lot of things, and that some people took it as their chance to put things right.

The lawyer smiled at Claire as if she had won the lottery. "Joan has left her house and her savings account to your children."

You blinked, Justin beside you sucking in a breath. You can�t say you had been expecting your mother to leave you a share of her house, and it wasn�t like you needed it either. From the day you left college and became an intern at an advertising company, you had made sure that you worked to become financially independent. But leaving some of her money to the little shit who accused you of molesting him, and forgetting all about Gus? That was a kick in the teeth.

Claire smiled like a Cheshire cat, and you stared at her for a second before looking away.

"What about Brian?" Justin asked, and the lawyer pushed a package across the desk towards you.

"She left you this," he said, and stood up, offering you his hand.

You shook it blindly, vaguely aware that he left the room, Claire hot on his heels, and carefully removed the brown paper from the parcel, wondering what was inside.

You stared in disbelief as the worn leather cover of her Bible was revealed.

There really was no God.

-*-

IV. Justin

You were flabbergasted; there was no other word for it. You had met a lot of viscious, manipulative people in your life, but you had never before encountered such an obviously vindictive act.

You had heard snippets about Brian�s family from Debb and Michael, and had managed to piece together a patchwork picture of what his life must have been like living with people such as Joan and Jack, but staring at the Bible, the silver letters on the cover winking up at you as if they were in on the conspiracy, you realized your assessment had been way off base.

You had always considered his father to be the most likely of the two to have been the instigator of the majority of the abuse, but you knew that his physical punishments were only one method of the cruelty Brian had endured.

You considered this much worse in many ways, the message of complete disregard for her own son hitting harder than any punch possibly could. You glanced at Brian, mentally preparing yourself for the look on his face, but he just stood there, staring down at the book, his expression blank.

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers, noting how cold his had become, and he looked back down at you, shrugging.

"What more can I expect?" he asked. "Perhaps I should feel honoured. It was her most precious possession."

You nodded, not bothering to contradict him. You could tell by the tone of his voice that he didn�t believe his lies either.

It was his mother�s way of telling him, even from beyond the grave, that he needed to save himself, that his soul would be damned forever more if he continued to lead the type of lifestyle he did.

You thought of your father, how he had hit Brian, how he had forced you out of the house, how he refused to pay your tuition fees, and even went as far as getting you arrested. It had been bad at the time, you would never deny that, but it was nothing compared to this. Your father was a run-of-the-mill homophobic parent, scared because he didn�t understand. He was of the mindset that men should be men and that somehow you were less of one because you would never take a wife.

Brian�s mother was a whole new level entirely, her prejudice mixed up with her resentment of her son, his success, how he had escaped from the house, finally, leaving her to deal with the rest. In a way you could understand how she must have felt, being left alone with someone who was likely to beat her black and blue. She must have been scared and lonely, feeling completely helpless in her situation.

She was weak: you knew how that felt, but that didn�t give her the right to try and destroy someone else�s strength.

Brian had escaped, going off to college, and he had made sure that he would be nothing less than the best, sticking his middle finger up at the parents who had spent years telling him he would amount to nothing.

He didn�t need this. He didn�t deserve it, and you almost felt like grabbing the Bible and tearing it up into tiny little pieces, hoping that somewhere out there Joan could see what you thought of her parting gift.

But then Brian picked it up and shoved it inside the pocket of his jacket, and tilted his head, smiling sadly.

"Ready for the funeral, Sunshine?" he asked.

You wanted to say no. You wanted to shake your head and run in the opposite direction as fast as you could. You wanted to point blank refuse to go any place where there would be people mourning the end of that woman�s life.

But you couldn�t. Not when you knew that Brian would be attending. For him it would be a million times worse.

You didn�t know what to say to him, struggled to find the right words. You were unsure how to act, whether to wrap your arms around him and pull him close, or to take him to the nearest bar and get him drunk.

All you knew was that you had to be there with him, just as he had been with you all the times you had needed him. Just like how he turned up at your prom despite his utter distaste for the whole affair, how he visited your house and told your father what he thought of him, how he had been there every single time something had gone wrong, when you needed a place to stay, money for this or for that.

And now it was your turn to give something back.

-*-

V. Brian

You had never liked churches, finding the very air as you walked in both eerie and oppressive. This particular church, the one your mother had attended multiple times a week, was particularly bad, its high ceilings doing nothing to lighten the atmosphere.

You looked around at the people she had known, some vaguely familiar faces you had been introduced to before, others you imagined being the members of her congregation who had arrived to say their last goodbyes.

You made your way to the front, Justin on your arm, ignoring the disapproving looks from the people around you, and sat down on one of the front pews.

Claire sat opposite, one of your distant relatives by her side, already weeping silently into her hand, and you wondered exactly what she had to cry about.

You looked towards the front, blanching slightly as you saw the casket up on a plinth. The priest took his position and began a long-winded speech about the purpose of God�s design, and you tuned him out, briefly wishing he had been the priest you had fucked at the baths.

At least you could have enjoyed the irony of that.

"As we commit Joan Kinney to eternal peace�"

You snorted at that. She would have loved this had she been here, a whole service dedicated to her life and unwavering devotion to her Lord.

The priest gave a brief run-down of her life, declaring her as a kind woman who was passionate about her faith. He droned on, using well-versed words you imagined that he probably repeated at every funeral, and glanced around at some of the figures sitting behind you, huddled together as they wept quietly, clutching their own Bibles in their hands.

You felt the beginning stirrings of anger bubbling in your stomach as you watched them, cursing them under your breath for even daring to mourn her life.

They didn�t know a single thing about the real Joan Kinney, their impressions gathered from church meetings where she would trudge along like a good little sheep. You wondered how many of them held their own dark secrets, which ones were secretly gay, which raped their wives.

It had always been one of the things you couldn�t stand about the church, and you remembered one particular priest from your childhood who was later convicted of touching the choir boys after Mass. You didn�t want to be a part of something like that, the dank corners of human nature where the prescribed medication for the disease of sin was a few 'Hail Marys', spoken quickly, the wood of the rosary beads rolled under hands that had born witness to so many secret sins. And then they would be off again, back to hit their children, to continue with their affairs. It was a never-ending cycle of sinning and repenting, and as far as you could tell there was very little to respect.

You looked back to the front when you heard the priest address your sister, and you watched with curiosity as she stood up and moved to the front, smoothing her skirt down and pulling a piece of paper from her shirt.

"My mother was a good woman," she began, her voice wavering slightly on the word �mother�, and you had to wonder how she could do it, standing in front of these people, spouting her bullshit.

"I loved her very much, as did my children. They adored their Grandmother and she cared for them just as much."

You licked your lips, feeling the anger surge up again, a steady stream lapping at the back of your throat, and clenched your fingers in on your palms, digging your nails into the skin.

"I can�t believe�believe she�s gone�" Claire broke on that, her tears flowing freely now, and she looked desperately over at the priest.

He smiled at her and walked over, taking her arm. "It�s okay, you don�t have to continue."

He lead her back to her seat where she collapsed against the woman next to her, and then he turned back to face everyone.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you were on your feet, taking her Bible out of your suit jacket. "I�ll say a few words," you said.

"And you are?" the priest asked, raising one eyebrow, and glancin at Justin who was pulling on your sleeve, trying to get you to sit down."

"I�m Brian Kinney," you replied, and stalked to the front. "I�m her son."

-*-

VI. Justin

You knew there would be trouble when his sister stood up to say something, but you couldn�t have predicted what had come next.

You thought that if he was going to do anything, Brian would be likely to shout something obscene and then walk out, heading for the nearest bar. When he stood up and declared that he would continue where Claire had left off, your first thoughts were that it was going to be a big mistake.

You had been to a couple of funerals before, and in your experience when it came to friends or family making speeches, even the people who had appeared to be unaffected were likely to break down.

You remembered Vic�s service at the graveside, a semi-informal affair where you all had the chance to say something about him. You even remembered what you had said, that he was gay even before it had become fashionable.

Back then, Brian was one of the few who hadn�t said anything, and until he opened his mouth at Debb�s house, telling her the truths she didn�t want to hear and earning a slap for his trouble, you thought that he simply didn�t have anything to say. You knew he had never been the type to attend any sort of gathering, opting to go and fuck rather than attend Mel and Linds� wedding. But he had shown up to Vic�s funeral anyway, regardless of his own feelings about the occasion.

You wondered why he had bothered to go to his mother�s, whether it was because he wanted to make sure she really was dead, or perhaps simply because he felt some sort of obligation, despite everything.

You knew that there was far more to the strange relationship he had shared with his mother than met the eye, but you couldn�t work out what.

When you had been planning your wedding, you had asked him which members of his family he wanted to invite. He had turned to look at you like you were crazy and simply shrugged.

"None of them," he had said, as if you should have known the answer.

Perhaps you should have, but there was a part of you that clung to your own feeling that maybe if you had sent an invitation to your father he might show up, proving that despite everything he still wanted you to be happy.

But you realized now that you had possessed something that Brian hadn�t: hope. He knew that he could wish for his parents� approval as much as he wanted, but he was never going to get it.

You didn�t know how he could live with something like that.

You thought back to when you had met Mrs. Kinney. You had gone to Claire�s house with Carl Horvath after you had seen Brian�s nephew, John , wearing the cowry shell bracelet he had stolen, and all you remembered was a sour faced woman who stunk of sherry, pretending that absolutely nothing was wrong.

You remembered the look on her face when it was revealed that her grandson had made up his accusations about Brian. It was almost as if, even with the unquestionable proof, she still thought that he had been guilty. You had felt dirty standing there, sharing the same oxygen with a woman who not only automatically felt that �queer� was synonymous with �pervert�, but that it could be applied to her own son.

You had realized then that family didn�t always mean family, and that while you loved both your mother and Molly, you had a whole other bunch of people you could call family too, in spite of their blood.

The Kinneys� idea of family didn�t deserve any respect.

-*-

VII. Brian

You looked out over the congregation and they eyed you back expectantly, waiting for you talk about your memories of your mother. You smiled and glanced at Justin in the front pew, looking nervously about himself as if you were both going to be thrown out just for being there.

"Most of you here would say that my mother was a good woman," you began, and you caught sight of your sister�s sigh of relief, "and perhaps she was, to you at least. I�m told that she was a devoted member of this church, that she attended Mass a couple of times each week."

You paused, looking around at the people who nodded in agreement.

"But what you don�t know is that the reason she never attended early Mass was because she needed to be drunk to leave the house."

The congregation sucked in a collective breath.

"My mother left me her Bible," you continued, and held it up for them all to see. "You might say that it was a nice gesture, that it meant something, that I meant something, all because her faith was the world to her."

You looked back at Justin whose mouth was gaping open.

"Close your mouth, Sunshine, it looks like you are trying to catch flies."

He shut it with a click.

"It meant something all right." You looked around the church, taking in the shocked faces as they wondered what you were going to say next.

"I want to quote from her dear Bible," you said, and flipped through the pages until you found the passage you were looking for.

"Proverbs. Chapter ten, verse twelve. �Hatred stirreth up strifes: but love covererth all sins.�" You paused, checking you still had everyone�s attention. You did.

"I don�t know how many of you are aware of this," you said, "but I�m gay. A homosexual. Queer. Fag." Your sister winced and you drank in the surprised faces of the people who thought they had known your mother.

"I imagine that not many of you knew that, and that would be because my mother�s hatred towards me for being gay was so overwhelming that she couldn�t bring herself to admit that a person like me, a filthy fag who likes to suck cock, is her own flesh and blood. Her own son."

Out of the corner of your eye you saw the priest wince, and again you wished the man you had fucked was holding the service instead.

"My mother prayed for me to become straight, but it was no use. People who know me say that I�m the biggest and best homosexual in Pittsburgh. I can�t keep track of the amount of men I have fucked up the ass."

You laughed, enjoying the shock and disgust on everyone�s faces. A man at the back stood up and left, and for a moment you thought that everyone else would follow suit. Then you realized, glancing around at their faces, that just like people the world over, gossip was something they relished, and they would stay, simply because they wanted to hear the rest, even if it was only so they could go home and tell their friends the story of the fag at the funeral.

You imagined that it would be party fodder for years yet.

"My mother didn�t care who I was, whether I was happy or not, as long as I followed the teachings of her precious book." You held up the Bible again.

"But what she failed to see, or perhaps she simply chose not to, was that even though I know how to fuck men with the best of them, I also know how to love."

You looked at Justin then, who was staring at you enraptured, a small smile on his face.

"I know how to love," you repeated, "despite Joan Kinney and her asshole husband. Because of them I thought that love was something people made up because their lives were empty. I thought it was just make-believe."

You continued watching Justin, and gave him a smile back.

"But I was shown what it means to love, and I learned to love back, and however proud I was that I was queer before, I felt a million times prouder then. I don�t think my mother knew what it meant to love, and I�m sorry because of that, but if you think I am going to stand here and cry for a woman who said that I got cancer as a punishment for my sexuality, then you are all very much mistaken."

You closed her Bible and turned, striding over to her casket, and stopped, looking down at the closed surface. "I don't need your Bible, mother," you said, and laid it on top of the coffin next to the spray of flowers. "See you in hell."

You turned and marched down the aisle between the pews, the biggest smile you could ever remember, adorning your face.

-*-

VIII. Justin

You had never been more proud of him than you were in that moment, watching him standing up there, putting his demons to rest in front of all those people.

It wasn�t so much that he�d had the courage to stand up and talk, he�d always had the balls to speak his mind, but it was the intensity of it that had changed. He hadn�t been talking about moral viewpoints or beliefs, but his own personal emotions, the one thing he had always refused to acknowledge.

When he had told you that he had loved you right after the bombing, you knew that something had changed, but you had never stopped to think about exactly how much. It was similar to what he had told you about marriage that second time he had proposed at Brighton; that once he had come around to a new way of thinking, he put his all behind it, becoming as passionate as he had about his previous opposing views.

It was like finally, with the death of his mother, he managed to release himself from the shackles that had been forced upon him, and he was now able to stand up and admit that he had been wrong, that he could change too.

�I was shown what it means to love, and I learned to love back.�

You couldn�t decide how you felt about him saying it like that, declaring that you had pushed aside all of his preconceived notions and taught him that even he wasn�t immune to love.

It was almost religious in itself, the way he had insisted that love was just a construction, without any realistic truth, and now he believed that you had come along and shown him the light.

He�d reached a place within himself that you knew had existed from the start, despite his protests and those of everyone else who knew him. You found it strange that while the seventeen-year-old-you would have been jumping for joy for himself, determined to make the most of it, this new, older, supposedly wiser you just stood back and watched him, a smile on your face as he found the depths in himself he had never known before. You knew that he would be okay when you went back, however hard it would be. If he could accept that he could feel, and hurt, then he would be able to survive.

It was a comfort in some ways, to know you were leaving it all behind, that instead of worrying about how he would cope, you could relax, knowing that he already had.

That was the strange thing about love, you decided, knowing that you truly felt it because it was time to really let go.

As you followed him out of the church and got into his car, you made a promise to yourself, and to him, that you would follow Michael�s wishes and stay away.

It was foolish to think you could make a clean break when there were so many lines connecting back to Pittsburgh like a child�s dot-to-dot. You planned to sever them, to give both of you a chance. You would be able to paint a canvas without seeing his face, and Brian, he would be able to start again, whatever his choices may be. He could trick, or he could date, maybe he could even find someone that could make him truly happy.

But either way, there was one thing you had to do, the single most selfless act you could ever perform. You would finally find out what it felt like to set him free.

-*-

IX. Brian

You hadn�t eaten since the night before; you hadn�t felt particularly hungry, but as you drove away from the church, sunshine high in the sky and one in your car, you suddenly felt famished.

You parked the car across from the diner and went inside, offering a little wave to Debb as you slipped into a booth. She came over a couple of minutes later to take your�s and Justin�s orders, her face grim.

"Honey, I�m not going to say I�m sorry because I know that isn�t what you want to hear," she said, and bent down and kissed your forehead, "but I�m here if you need me."

You smiled up at her and nodded your head. "Thanks, Debb."

"No problem, kiddo." She patted your cheek and went off to fill your orders.

You turned to Justin, but paused when you saw the look on his face. He was staring at you so intently that you felt stripped, as if he had x-ray vision and could see through to your bones.

"Sunshine?"

He blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie. "Sorry, I was just thinking>"

"About?" You picked up a napkin and started fiddling with it.

He shrugged. "Us."

Jesus Christ, you really didn�t need to be having this conversation on today of all days.

"What about us?" you asked tentatively, not sure you wanted to wait around for an answer.

"I was thinking maybe we should go to the dance after all."

"Oh. What made you change your mind?" You swallowed and looked down. You didn�t want to be talking about this either.

"You did," he said, glancing up when Debb brought the coffee over.

You waited until she had moved on before continuing. "How the fuck did I do that? I told you I had no intention of going."

"I know you did, but that was before today." He sighed, pouring cream into his cup, stirring it before looking back up. "Watching you up there, saying how you really felt, it made me realize that I can�t hold onto old fears. I got over what happened with Chris Hobbes, so it seems silly just to avoid a dance because of old superstitions."

"I could have told you that." You waited for what you knew was coming next.

"So yeah, I�m going to go."

You smiled at him and took a sip from your cup. "That�s nice, Sunshine."

You watched as he worked up the courage, straightening his shoulders. "Will you come with me then?" he asked.

You sighed and shook your head. This was about him, not you. You felt you had already done your bit. While Justin may have minded that he was reluctant to do anything similar to that night, you sure as hell didn�t. You were quite comfortable with never setting foot in another dance hall again.

It was alright for him. He may have been the one who had been bashed, but he didn�t have to live with knowing what it sounded like, that sickening crunch of the bat as it met his skull.

He didn�t know what it felt like to stand there, watching the only person who had come close to making him feel, as his blood poured out of him onto the concrete floor. He didn�t know what it felt like to sit around in the corridor of a hospital on a hard, plastic chair, wringing his hands for hour after hour, losing faith as yet another doctor walked by, tossing �no change� about casually, as if it meant nothing.

It was his life that had been hanging in the balance but now you could admit that yours had been there right along beside his, hanging too.

You frowned, chewing the inside of your cheek. "Sorry, Justin," you said. "It�s not going to happen."

-*-

X. Justin

Fine, so he refused to go. It really wasn�t that big of a deal. You would just ask Emmett instead, since he didn�t have a partner to go with.

Only it was a big deal. Brian had been the one you had chosen the night of your prom, and he was the one you wanted there this time as well.

You weren�t stupid enough to think that you could recapture the magic of that night, but you thought that with him by your side, perhaps you could make some more.

And besides closure, you felt you needed something significant to end it all on. Truth be told, it had all started with the prom, the months beforehand barely registering on the scale, as you spent your time obsessing over him, and he spent his turning you down.

It felt fitting somehow, to end it the way it had started, completing the circle. But you had spent long enough around Brian to realize that you could never rely on anything turning out quite the way you planned.

You looked up as Michael approached the booth, and forced yourself not to groan.

"How was it?" he asked, slipping in beside Brian.

"It was a funeral, Mikey," he replied. "How do you expect those sorts of things to go?"

"You know what I mean!"

You rolled your eyes and concentrated on your coffee cup. For Brian�s best friend, sometimes Michael sure was an idiot.

"I could have come if you�d wanted me to," he said. "You only had to have asked."

Brian shrugged and inclined his head towards you. "Justin came, it�s fine."

Michael glared at you and you smiled sweetly back. You were so fucking tired of his games.

You excused yourself and disappeared into the bathroom at the back of the diner, splashing cold water on your face.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror and turned around, ready to go back out and join them, when Michael pushed open the door and walked in.

"Bet you really liked that," he said, and walked over to the urinals.

You turned around and looked at him, folding your arms across your chest. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

"You know what I mean," he said, looking over his shoulder at you for a second. "You got to play the sympathetic, supportive lover. I bet that really fit with your plans."

You sighed, glancing up at the ceiling. "And what plans would those be, Michael?"

"The ones where you play him like a fool while you are here, because it�s easy and convenient and you know that he will always, always want to fuck you. Then you will go back to New York, where you probably have a boyfriend--"

You spun around as the bathroom door closed with a bang, and shot Michael a quick look before pushing it open and rushing out.

It was obvious. Brian had heard everything Michael had just said.

-*-

XI. Brian

You felt so fucking foolish as you stalked from the diner, pulling your car keys from your pocket.

It explained everything if he had a boyfriend, and even if you hadn�t stuck around long enough to hear whether Justin would confirm or deny it, you felt it made perfect sense.

Why hadn�t you thought of it before?

All the pushing and pulling, the mixed signals, the sex and the kisses, the way he looked at you wistfully as if he wanted you but knew he couldn�t have you.

The fucking insistence that he was still going back despite it being perfectly obvious that he still felt something - anything- for you.

You picked up your pace as you heard him behind you, calling out your name, and raced across the street. You reached the Corvette and threw yourself into the driver�s sear, shoving the key into the engine and pulling away.

You glanced in your mirror, seeing him kicking the curb, cursing under his breath.

Game�s up, Sunshine.

You drove carelessly, barely paying attention to the other cars on the road, your thoughts racing at a million miles an hour. You needed to get to the loft, down a bottle of Beam, and sleep for the rest of the week, only allowing yourself to wake when you knew he had gone home.

The worst of it all was you felt you should have seen it coming. Someone like Justin could never stay unattached for long. He had too much to give, too much to share, and craved affection like it was going out of style.

All the while he was in New York, you never thought about whether he would find someone else. It was inconceivable that he would do anything other than trick, and as you turned into the street where you lived, spotting the familiar sight of the building that housed your loft, you realized that it hadn�t been inconceivable after all. If anything it was perfectly plausible, almost a given in fact, that he would find someone else.

The reason you hadn�t thought about it was because you knew you never would; there was only one sunshine in the sky.

You pulled into the parking lot too quickly, taking the corner too soon, and slammed the front end of the car into the far wall.

You jerked forward, feeling the seatbelt pulling tight across your chest, and put your foot down hard on the brake.

You killed the engine and sat there in the sudden silence, and suddenly it all came crashing down around you.

You undid your seatbelt as if you were moving in slow motion, and put your head down against the steering wheel.

You had lost everything, you knew, and there was nothing else to do but squeeze your eyes shut and allow yourself to cry.

-*-

XII. Justin

It was a good thing that Michael hadn�t followed you out of the diner, because you thought you would have punched him if he did.

You stood there on the side of the road, breathing heavily, watching desperately as Brian drove away. Everything had been going so well up until then, at least in terms of how you had been acting around each other the last few days. And one stupid comment, spoken out of anger, resentment, and yes, even concern for his friend, had pulled everything apart.

You hailed a cab and got into the back seat, resting your head against the window as the driver chattered on endlessly about politics and the latest soap on TV.

You knew you had the option of leaving it how it was, of just driving away and hiding out at your mother�s house, refusing to see anyone for the remainder of your stay. There were only four days left and you thought it wouldn�t be too hard to cope.

But you couldn�t leave it like that, not with him thinking that you had been lying to him the entire time, using him to have some fun, remembering the good old days until you had to fly back.

You cursed Michael for being so careless, for saying something so idiotic when there was every chance Brian could overhear. And today of all days, his mother barely cold in the ground.

You looked up when the cab came to a stop, and quickly paid your fare, running into the building and taking the stairs two at a time, not bothering to wait for the elevator.

You paused for a second outside the loft, then pulled open the door. You knew you would never receive an answer if you had knocked, and by the time you had stopped and decided to try the door after all, he would have locked it from the inside.

"Brian?" You called out as you moved inside, scanning the kitchen and the living room.

You expected him to be angry, unpredictable, and you looked around, imagining he would jump out at any moment, his eyes blazing, ready to shove you back out the door.

But the loft was silent and you tried calling again, once more failing to receive an answer.

You crossed the floor and went up the steps to the bedroom, pausing with his name on your lips.

He was there, lying on the bed, curled up on his side, his hands tucked between his knees. He didn�t look angry, he was barely moving, his eyes fixed on a bare spit on the wall.

"Brian?" you said, a little softer.

He blinked and you moved further into the room, stepping around to the side of the bed.

He looked up then, his eyes clear, and you swore you could see the remnants of tear tracks on his cheeks.

It broke your heart.

-*-

XIII. Brian

You knew he would come, even before he showed up, calling out your name.

You supposed that despite everything, some part of you had wanted him to, because you hadn�t locked the door.

He came around the bed and stood there, looking down at you, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I don�t�" he started, and you held up one hand.

"Save it," you said, your voice sounding strangely hollow. "I heard everything."

You rolled over, showing him your back.

"No you didn�t," he replied, a little desperately. "If you had then you would know it isn�t true."

"There�s no point in denying it, Sunshine," you said. "It was bound to happen at some point. You should have just fucking told me. That�s all."

"You really think I wouldn�t have if it was true?!" he said, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down. "I don�t have a boyfriend. It�s just something Michael came up with all by himself. He doesn�t want me to be here, at least not with you. You know that."

You did. Mikey had made himself perfectly clear. But if Justin was telling the truth, if he wasn�t seeing someone, then why did it feel like it was so damn real?

You closed your eyes for a second, letting out your breath.

It felt like the truth because then it would be easier to see why he was going back. You would have something external to cling onto, something to blame other than the icy spear that penetrated your chest, making you feel that perhaps it was all down to you. Maybe he had finally realized what you had suspected all along; that he was just too good for you.

It wasn�t like you were full of self pity, in a �woe-is-me� kind of way, as Theodore was likely to be. You knew you were a good catch. You were attractive and sexy, great in bed, and rich to boot.

But you were also getting older, feeling your own mortality more sharply than ever now your parents were dead. You only had one testicle and you had an insatiable appetite for picking up tricks.

The truth of it was that no matter how much you thought of yourself, you saw Justin as so much more. He was young, beautiful, still full of idealistic wonder that the world was opening up like an oyster shell, and that he was sure he could find his pearl.

You felt you had nothing to offer him that he couldn�t get anywhere else, and his continual insistence that he was going away just confirmed for you that he was finally catching on to it.

If he had found himself a boyfriend then at least you could go on pretending that it had nothing to do with you. You could sit around with Mikey and allow him to help you believe that Justin was selfish, just as he had said when he had left you for Ethan, that it was all about what he wanted, and had nothing to do with what you couldn�t provide.

"I don�t have a boyfriend," Justin repeated, and he touched your side.

You rolled back over to face him and opened your eyes, staring into his, barely an inch away from your face.

He stared back and reached up to touch your cheek. "There�s never been anyone else but you," he said.

You allowed him to move closer, timidly wrapping one arm around your waist. You closed your eyes and turned your face into his neck.

"Then stay," you whispered.

You were answered with silence, and the rapid beating of his heart pressed up against your chest:

I can�t, I can�t, I can�t, I can�t, I can�t, I can�t, I can�t�

-*-

Epilogue.

Some people say that grieving is a process with precise steps that have to be taken until you can come through the other side, but Justin can�t bring himself to agree.

He doesn�t think there is a set criteria or that ultimately time will be the one thing that will lessen the ache.

If anything, he thinks that time makes it worse, a rapidly widening gap that tallies up the days, weeks, months, highlighting how long it has been since the loss.

He thinks that grieving is ongoing, that sometimes it never stops, and that sometimes the only way forward is to give in to it, accepting that absolutely nothing in his life will ever be the same again.

He thinks that there are plenty of other things to mourn the loss of other than the dead.
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