The first time I saw him, it was at that recital—he looked like an angel, all blond hair and blue eyes and he had this air about him of, well, I guess the best word for it was innocence. I don’t mean virginal or anything like that, I mean like he looked at the world without that cynicism that most people have.

 

He seemed so—pure, untouched by all the shit that’s around.

 

I’d noticed him during the first piece, sitting there with these two women. I guess I thought that the blonde was his sister or something—and I was struck by the look on his face. It was like he’d never heard anything like the sounds I was making and couldn’t get over them.

 

I played the second piece, the Ravel, right to him and he looked—God he just looked like he didn’t want it to stop. Afterwards he came up to me to tell me how much he’d liked it and I gave him some bullshit about how he’d distracted me and I almost forgot the third movement. He smiled, embarrassed, but the thing was that I wasn’t really lying. He had distracted me and I’d almost screwed up because of it and I knew that I’d hear about it later, but at that moment I didn’t care.

 

OK, I’ve done enough of these things to be used to the usual fans and the usual stuttered compliments and all of that—it’s sort of weird, really when you think about it, but it happens and I usually make a game out of it, depending on my mood at the time. I’ll either leave them hanging there or I’ll decide to stroke them back and play nice.

 

With Justin it was different, though. I didn’t want to play a game with him. I felt a connection—oh screw that, listen to me.

 

I felt—something as soon as he walked over and I knew I would like to see him again sometime.

 

I figured that he was probably a student, an art student of some kind because I saw the paint under his nails, but I wasn’t sure if he was at PIFA or not. He could have been from Pitt of C-MU or someplace. The music wing isn’t all that close to the rest of the studios. I guess they’re afraid that all the practicing will bother everyone so I don’t know that many of the fine art students—oh, I see them in the cafeteria once in a while, but they seem to have their areas and the musicians have their own sections. It’s not like it’s school policy or any shit like that, it just seems to work out that the music students eat down by the big windows and the art students eat up on the balcony.

 

Well, anyway, he told me that he was in the graphics and fine art department, that he was a freshman and I got definite vibes that he was gay. Really definite vibes, especially when the women came over to collect him and he made a show of saying something about how “Brian would be waiting”, so he needed to get back.

 

I’d given him a copy of the new CD I’d burned last month, signed it and he seemed happy about that. He even turned and smiled at me as they left.

 

God, I’d never seen a smile like that. I think I just stared at him like a simp.

 

I started wondering who ‘Brian’ might be and came up with a mental picture of another student ay PIFA. No, not any one in particular, just the general type. You know what I mean—cargoes, too big long-sleeved tee shirt, probably a painter and young looking for his age like Justin. I could picture them working together in some studio with adjacent easels, forming a mutual admiration society about each other’s work and then going home for some cheap wine and probably Chinese food if they decide to splurge and making love.

 

I thought that he was probably sort of a geek, the kind who couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it.

 

I could just see that and then I started imagining that was what Justin was going home to do right then—make love to his boyfriend in their cramped, crappy apartment—like the kind everyone at the school lives in—and I could hear my CD playing in the background while they did it.

 

I had to go into the bathroom to hide my hard on.

 

But there was something about the look on his face when he left with the women, the way he looked back at me like he didn’t really want to leave that made me think there were problems at home and that made me smile.

 

I might have a chance.

 

I knew that he wouldn’t forget me anytime too soon and I knew that I’d be looking for him in the halls and the cafeteria and around the campus. We’d see each other again. I knew that we would.

 

And he was just so fucking beautiful.

 

God, he was.

 

Two days later he walked in while I was practicing in that fucking deep freeze up on the third floor. I swear that the Goddamned heat hasn’t worked there since the days Andrew Carnegie was around. Well, Justin sort of hung in the doorway and I didn’t really look at him, just made some snarky comment about how it was about time he got there. Honest to shit, I thought that he was the maintainance guy. I really did.

 

He made some comment about how he’d thought that it might have been me in here and we sort of flirted back and forth. He told me that it was his birthday and that his boyfriend wasn’t into them, that they had no plans.

 

So I told him that, shit, if he were my boyfriend I’d have played him music by moonlight and we’d have drunk wine and taken turns feeding one another cheeses and grapes and good chocolates and then I would have made love to him over and over and fallen asleep holding him and we would have woken up to sunshine and warmth and started all over again.

 

The look on his face was like that was what he’d wanted all of his life and I couldn’t understand why someone who actually had this amazing man already in love with him couldn’t know what he wanted, wouldn’t give it to him.

 

I think that was when I started disliking Brian Kinney and I didn’t even know his name yet. At that point I still thought that he was some poor college kid whose definition of fine wine involved it having a cork. I was still a couple of weeks away from knowing who Kinney really was.

 

I even spent time looking not just for Justin around the campus, but watching and checking to see who he was with, trying to see who was this Kinney guy.

 

I still thought that he was just another student.

 

Justin and I saw one another, though. We’d walk down the same hallway or maybe show up at the same exhibit or be getting a cup of coffee at the same time. We’d smile and maybe talk for a few minutes before one of us or both would have to leave for class or work or he’d maybe have to get home to meet Brian.

 

The connection was there, we both felt it. I know that we did. It was like it was so real that you could have reached out and touched it if you’d wanted to. I knew that Justin wasn’t happy, that there was something he needed that he wasn’t getting but that he still loved this Brian and wanted it to work—but I knew that he thought that maybe it wouldn’t happen and he was starting to look around to see where he might be able to find what he needed.

 

God, I thought, I really thought that he’d finally make up his mind and decide that Brian wasn’t going to cut it and that he’d think hat I might be able to fill up that hole he had—the one that made him look sad when he was walking between classes.

 

And he has the most beautiful smile when he’s happy.

 

God, I really love that smile.

 

So this one evening we were both in the cafeteria at the same time and ended up sharing a table. It was about seven thirty and I had to finish doing some modifications to that Bernstein or my ass would be grass and he said he had to finish some design project or he was pretty much screwed, too. Neither of us moved, though. We both ended up with second cups of coffee and talking about ourselves. He’s just so damn easy to talk to, you know? He’s funny and quick and smart and he just so understands what I’m trying to say and then he gives it right back to me.

 

I just so love that, that give and take where you’re sure that the person you’re talking to really just gets it. I love that.

 

Anyway, after about an hour and a half and more coffee and telling about ourselves and our families and all of that, we both sort of decided ‘screw it’ and headed out. We were talking as we walked and he said that to get home he needed to catch the Fifth Ave bus, but when he saw it coming down the hill, he just looked like he didn’t want to get on it, like he didn’t really want to go home. He said something about how Brian was working late, that he wouldn’t be there—that he always worked late—so without either of us really saying anything about what we were doing we both turned around and headed across the street and around the corner to the dump I live in.

 

I saw this old end table on the sidewalk and picked it up. It wasn’t in that bad shape, just a couple of scratches. Justin took one side and I took the other and we carried it up the four flights of stairs to the hovel in the sky I called home.

 

We went in, I flicked on the lights, and found a place to put the table, right by the old chair I’d adopted a week ago.

 

I thought that it would turn into—you know, that we’d make love, but when I leaned in to kiss him he let me for a few seconds then pulled away.

 

He kind of ducked his head, embarrassed, and he said that he should go home. I started to apologize, but he stopped me and said that he’d wanted me to do that, to kiss him and he hadn’t meant to lead me on he but lived with someone.

 

No shit.

 

I asked him how long they had been together and he told me about a year and a half, that they’d met when he was still in high school. When I asked him if Brian was his first live-in he told me that Brian was his first everything—the first man he’d kissed, the first man he’d slept with, the first man he’s lived with. That was when he mentioned that Brian is older than we are, that he’s in his thirties and has some hot shit job that pays him a butt load of money.

 

Shit, I didn’t see that one coming. Remember what I said about assuming that Brian was just another student? Talk about never assuming. Instead he’s this rich executive type who wears a suit and tie.

 

That was when I started understanding what the problem was. I mean, at least I think that I did. Here’s this kid, this little gay kid who knows dick about anything and this older man comes along and shows him the ropes.

 

I guess that they flatter each other.

 

Justin has his rich sugar daddy to look after him and take care of things and ‘Brian’ has a pretty boy to suck him off.

 

I could understand that. What I wondered was how much longer he’d stay with his first love if he was following me home.

 

You know what? If I had Justin, I mean if he was with me I swear to God that I’d do anything I could think of to make him happy. I’d do whatever it took to get that smile on his face.

 

Can you imagine waking up to that every morning?

 

Damn.

 

This Brian asshole doesn’t know what he’s got as far as I can tell.

 

So Justin went home that night, but the next day in the hallways he came up to me and started to apologize. I stopped him, told him that I’d like to see him again, on whatever terms he wanted. He could set the rules. That’s what I told him and he got this strange look on his face and said something about not being all that into rules because they didn’t work.

 

Well, OK, fine with me. I just wanted to see him again, anyway he wanted.

 

Well, I’m not a complete asshole, despite what some people seem to think. I really did just want to be with Justin, to talk and hang out. Now, I’m not going to pretend that was all that I wanted—it’s not, but I knew that he was still trying to sort out his relationship with daddy and I knew that until he made some kind of decision, that the best I could hope for was sloppy seconds and that wasn’t what I wanted—at least not for long, anyway.

 

So this one night I was in my place practicing and I heard knocking on the door. I just figured that it was the neighbors complaining again, like they do practically on a fucking daily basis. I open the door, ready to hear someone swearing at me and there’s Justin, looking kind of shy and hesitant and wondering of he should turn around and leave.

 

He didn’t and I played him the most romantic thing I could think of and, damn, I played it well.

 

About half way through the piece he stepped up on the bed where I was standing, pretending that it was a stage, just stood there so close to me that I could feel him breathing and then we were kissing and I was easing the zipper of his shirt down and he was leaning his head to one side so I could get to his throat and his neck and—Jesus—we were making love.

 

He was so, God, I don’t know—needy. I think that was what surprised me the most.

 

I mean, here he was, living with some guy who (OK, I did some discrete asking around) is supposed to be the hottest stud since time began and Justin was like he hadn’t had anyone hold him or touch him or kiss him like they’d meant it since forever.

 

What the Hell was it that had gone so fucking wrong to make him need someone just being nice to him so Goddamned badly? That’s what I wanted to know and it was just another log for me to throw on the bonfire I was ready to light under that asshole.

 

Making love with Justin—do you want to know what that was like? It was—amazing. He’s tender and gentle and giving and hot and passionate and innocent and just so Goddamned good at what we were doing. And he was so…gentle. Even when we were cumming or I was sucking on his skin so hard that I knew I was leaving a mark, he was so careful not to do anything that would cause me the slightest bit of pain or hurt or fear. He treated me like I was made out of something precious and rare. The way he would glide the tips of his fingers over my skin or nuzzle my shoulder with his lips were just so…shit, I don’t know—he made me feel cherished.

 

No one had ever done that to me before. No one, not even Adrian, the man I thought was my true love. Even he never made me feel like Justin did when he touched me.

 

I started wondering if that was how it was for him and Brian, if their love making was like what we had or if it was just fucking, rutting and Justin told me that Brian always called it ‘fucking’.

 

That was what he always called it—he never ‘made love’ he always ‘fucked’.

 

How messed up is that?

 

Later, after we’d made love a couple of hundred times and we were both just wanting to spoon together and go to sleep, Justin kissed me, hugged me like he couldn’t get enough of me and told me that he had to leave. In minutes he was gone. When I got up to turn out the last light we’d left burning, I saw him down on the street, his neck hunched into his collar against the cold, hurrying to the bus stop.

 

Shit, if he was mine, if I was The Asshole and had his money, I’d make sure that the man I loved would at least have a fucking car to use so he wasn’t standing on some corner at two in the morning.

 

Of course, if Justin were mine, he’d be home at two in the morning, not out getting it with someone else.

 

The bed was too big and half of it was cold when I got back under the covers. I got Wolfram in with me, pretended that he was Justin (and he made a really crummy Justin, believe me) and finally went to sleep. When I woke up, too late for my nine o’clock class in music theory, all I could think of was making love with Justin—being inside of him, feeling his legs around my waist, his arms around my back, his hands moving up and down along my spine. I could hear him gasping and breathing in that rough ragged way you get when you’re cumming again for like the tenth time and I could still hear him when he came saying that bastard’s name in my ear.

 

That was when I knew that he really loves the son of a bitch. When he said his name instead of mine with my cock inside of him and my body on top of his and my tongue in his mouth.

 

The one thing I couldn’t figure out, though, was whether he was pretending that I was Brian or if he wished that Brian were more like me.

 

I mean, was it simple day dreaming that he was with someone else—hardly what I’d call an ego builder—or was he wishing that Brian made love to him like I did?

 

You know something? I never did find out the answer to that.

 

Later that day I saw him drawing a nude in class. I had been on my way to class and decided to walk through Painting and Sculpture—take the long way around—hoping that I would see him. OK, I knew that he’d be there. He’d mentioned his schedule to me. I just stood in the doorway in the back of the room, not saying anything, not wanting to disturb them, just watching. God, the look on his face as he was drawing is the same look I get when I’m playing and it’s working, when it’s all coming together. It was about ten thirty and after about five minutes the class broke for fifteen. I walked over to his easel and he looked at me, asking what I thought without saying a word.

 

He’s fucking good.

 

I mean his drawing—it’s fucking good.

 

I have talent myself and I know when I see it in others, and Justin has it. This didn’t surprise me.

 

So yesterday I was playing on Liberty Avenue with my case out in front of me for spare change. I’ve been averaging about fifty dollars a day from the street, which isn’t bad when you consider that it’s tax-free.

 

Anyway, this tall business type—suit, briefcase stopped to listen for a few minutes. I noticed this one. Usually I don’t pay all that much attention to the people listening except to thank them when they give me money. I usually just block them out, but this guy was so beautiful that I couldn’t help but notice him. His eyes—incredible.

 

So he started to walk away and dropped a bill in the case. I glanced down and it was a fucking hundred dollars.

 

Shit.

 

So I called after him, assuming that he’d meant to leave a dollar or maybe five or something, but he said that I could have it. Then he got me to go inside to talk about how he thought I could make some money. At first I thought that he was talking about something like hustling, but he said that he was an Ad Man and he was looking for a violinist for some commercial his agency was about to make.

 

We were talking back and forth and Justin came in and—fuck—one look and I knew who this guy was.

 

The asshole had set us up.

 

This was the boyfriend, The Asshole, and he was handsome and rich and smart, educated, well dressed and in complete fucking control.

 

Shit, no wonder Justin felt helpless around him. This man would make anyone feel like a five year old.

 

I also saw the look he and Justin exchanged before Justin walked out. Brian had thrown it in his face that he knew what was going on and Justin could just fucking deal with it.

 

He’d made it clear that he thought that he could just pull the Goddamned strings whenever he wanted to and we’d do whatever the fuck he wanted.

 

Motherfucker and screw him.

 

That was when I decided that not only did I know that I wanted Justin, but I knew that Justin shouldn’t be with this manipulative prick.

 

And Justin knew it, too.

 

A couple of days later I got the invitation care of the music department—the invitation to the Rage opening night party. I assumed that Justin had sent it to me or dropped it off or something and I thought that was sort of nice of him, but that really wasn’t my kind of thing. I wasn’t going to go—I figured that I’d spend the night practicing and then either Justin would show up at my place or the Asshole would be screwing his brains out back at wherever the fuck they lived.

 

There were still a few days before the party. I think the invitation reached me on Thursday and the big ‘do’ was Saturday. Justin came over to my place every single night for the rest of the week.

 

We’d make love for hours, gently and carefully, we’d talk, we drink wine and I’d play for him while he sketched me. We’d make love again, maybe have some cheese and crackers, make love once more then, just as I was ready to fall asleep, he’d get up, get dressed and go.

 

I fucking hated that. So did he, but he did it every single fucking time.

 

I asked him why he did. Why wouldn’t he just press against me and go to sleep like we both wanted and he could never give me an answer that made sense. Oh, he told me all kinds of things—that he and Brian had rules and he had to be back by three, that he didn’t want Brian to worry, that Brian had been good to him and he owed him something.

 

What he never said was the real reason—he loved the bastard.

 

I mean, c’mon—it’s not like I didn’t know.

 

Well, so he’d always go home and I knew he was in love with The Asshole and that it was starting to seriously fall apart.

 

But you know what? I couldn’t take it. I honest to shit couldn’t just be his little vacation away from his problems or his three-hour breathing space or whatever the fuck he wanted me to be. I wanted us to be together. I wanted us to make love and fall asleep and wake up and go to classes and eat our meals and all of that shit. I wanted to be his partner, his boyfriend, and not just some piece on the side.

 

Finally I told him this and I saw the look on his face when he left that particular night. He knew that he’d have to make a decision, one or the other and I’m willing to bet that Brian knew it, too.

 

I’ve never thought the prick was stupid—except where it came to Justin.

 

So that night at the Rage party when I walked in late and Justin and Brian had obviously just had some kind of blowup and he left with me? Remember that? I thought that was it, that he’d made his choice.

 

I really did, I thought tat he’d finally ended it and now we could start being together and open and it would all be so Goddamned good.

 

When we got back to my place I was so fucking happy even though I knew Justin was about to break into little pieces. I honest-to-shit thought that in a few days or a few weeks he’d realize how much I loved him and we’d ride off into the sunset together.

 

I so fucking wanted that.

 

I was stupid enough to think that Brian was out of the picture.

 

I was so fucking stupid.

 

I didn’t understand how much The Asshole loved Justin and I sure as shit didn’t understand how much he wanted him back and how much he would bide his time.

 

OK, at first I knew he was pretty totaled by Justin’s leaving. I almost laughed out loud picturing the look on the bastard’s face when he walked into his fancy place and found out that his little blondie had taken all his stuff and left Dodge.

 

God, I loved picturing that.

 

And, OK, I knew that Justin was sad but I thought, I mean I really thought that I could make him happy.

 

Then there was that party at the lesbian’s house and Brian punched out that elf friend of his. God, I almost laughed at that, too. He may play the cool ‘I don’t give a shit’ act to the hilt, but damn if he wasn’t losing it—and about fucking time.

 

That night, back at the garret, Justin was quiet and it was obvious that the thing, the fight at the party had gotten to him but then I started wondering if The Asshole had said something to him when they were both in the house. I think he did, though Justin didn’t tell me what. It had to have been good to have gotten him upset enough to take a shot at his supposed best friend.

 

I asked Justin about it and all he said was that Brian was justified in doing what he had.

 

Fuck if I know what he meant by that.

 

Two weeks later I came home to find Justin working on this fancy ass graphics computer with all the bells and whistles. I mean, we’re talking about a five thousand dollar package with all the shit that was loaded onto that thing.

 

Of course. Brian had bought it for him and had let him take it.

 

Of course.

 

And that meant that either Justin had one over to Brian’s place or Brian would have had to come over to mine. They were still seeing each other.

 

Fuck.

 

Justin hardly said ten words that entire weekend.

 

Then there was the day Justin was busting his butt over some poster he’d gotten a commission for—sugar daddy strikes again.

 

OK, so it was obvious what the game was. Brian was going to make sure that he was still on the radar so if there were any problems with Justin and me he’d be there to pick up the pieces.

 

I told him point blank that was Brian’s game and he didn’t even bother to argue with me, he just nodded and said that he knew, that it was a pretty typical Brian move and he wasn’t all that surprised.

 

Right, so I asked him why he was going along with it and his answer—I couldn’t fucking believe it—was to reach into his school bag and pull out an envelope. I looked at the check inside; it was for six hundred dollars from the Vanguard Advertising Agency.

 

 “Services rendered?”

 

He didn’t say anything, just gave me a look that he had probably learned from Kinney, got up and slammed the front door behind him. I don’t know where he went, but he was gone til the next afternoon, walking in all contrite and ‘Ethan, I’m sorry’ and ‘I know I hurt you, you have to understand that it was just business’ and swearing that The Asshole didn’t lay a finger on him, that the money was for the poster and nothing else.

 

You know what? I knew that. I knew they hadn’t fucked or anything like that.

 

The thing Justin didn’t seem to get—or maybe he did—was that Brian got his face time in and he gave Justin exactly what he needed that day. He needed money and Brian was the one who came through. Oh, it wasn’t a gift, Justin had to work for it, but you don’t seriously expect me to believe that Kinney doesn’t have an entire art department to jump when and where he tells them.

 

Justin knew it, too. He’s not that stupid.

 

About a week after that I found the rings at a stand at the art fair over at Duquesne. I had to guess at his size, but I turned out to be a pretty good guesser. When I put his on his finger while we were taking that long bath I thought that he’d start crying, he was so happy.

 

I was so happy.

 

So I had the Heifitz competition in a couple of days and I knew that I’d prepared pretty damn well. The other musicians playing were, well, they ranged from not bad to what the fuck did they think they were doing there? I was confident and when Justin told me that he’d cut a couple of classes so that he could be there with me I knew I had the thing aced.

 

And you know what they say about assuming anything.

 

This fucking second rate girl from Pitt takes the damn prize—twenty-five thousand dollars and a European tour.

 

I mean—Goddamnit.

 

So I was pretty frigging down, Justin was trying to do what he could to cheer me up. We were sitting out in the house of the concert hall and this man comes up to me, tells me he’s an agent and he likes my look.

 

He asks and I agree to meet with him so he took me and Justin out for lunch and then, while Justin is off taking a leak the agent says that he can send me to Harrisburg to fill in for some violinist who’s gotten sick—if I pretend I’m straight.

 

Justin either can’t exist or he’s my roommate, my cousin, an old high school friend—anything except what he really is—my lover.

 

That’s the deal.

 

My first reaction was to tell him to fuck off but instead I take a breath and tell him that I’ll think about it and let him know in a couple of days. That was on Friday, on Saturday I was playing in the park, hoping for the dinner crowd, when Kinney walks up to me and tells me that he’s heard—shit knows how—and he tells me that there’s no nobility in being poor. Besides, Justin and I both know the truth.

 

At first I thought he was full of shit, pulling some more of his crap and that this was just another one of his fucking games, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought that I could pull it off.

 

I knew Justin wouldn’t like it, but shit—it was five separate dates spread out over about a month at a thousand dollars each and at some point, when I was established I could say whatever I wanted and fuck ‘em all.

 

I told Justin about it and he accepted it, but that bitch friend of his, Daphne, was plenty pissed, but who gives a shit what she thinks? She still believes that The Asshole is Justin’s true love.

 

He saw me off in the cab and I knew he felt as crappy about the whole thing as I did. Honest to shit, I didn’t want to hurt him, I just had to take the gig and those were the rules.

 

I glanced back as he was standing there and he just looked so damn sad, like somehow he knew that something would happen, like maybe he’d been around the same block with Kinney and had it figured out.

 

Been there, done that.

 

Damnit, he knew. I didn’t know then, but he did.

 

He knew that he couldn’t come with me and then he borrowed Daphne’s car and showed up anyway to surprise me. If I’d thought that he’d be there, I swear to God that I wouldn’t have done it.

 

The guy was nothing, a fan, a one-night stand—he was just a fuck.  That’s all.

 

When I got back to the garret the next day I knew Justin knew. I didn’t let on, but I knew. I could tell by the set of his jaw and the way he held his shoulders, the look on his face and way he held back when I tried to hug him hello. He knew. I knew and both of us pretended that nothing was going on and that it was all fine.

 

We almost kept it going, too—until the Goddamned fan showed up at the door with those fucking roses.

 

Justin flipped out, practically threw his ring at me and stormed out.

 

I knew where he’d end up. I knew. It might take a couple of weeks, but I knew.

 

You know what pissed me off, though? He never gave us a second chance. I swear that if he had I would have done whatever the fuck he wanted. I never—I swear—I never would have looked at another man.

 

I mean, shit—I slipped once, just once and he’s gone.

 

Kinney screws guys in front of him and he’s OK with that. What the fuck is that? I can’t make one mistake? I’m supposed to be perfect?

 

Kinney never lied to him. That’s what he said to me, that’s what made the difference.

 

Bullshit.

 

Kinney never told him he loved him and if that isn’t a lie I don’t know what the hell is.

 

Kinney loves him, or wants him as a trophy or for his ego.

 

Either way, same difference.

 

And Justin? Justin is still just so Goddamned beautiful that he takes my breath away when I see him. He usually pretends that he hasn’t noticed that I’m there, but he sees me.

Sometimes I see him with Kinney. I’ll see them at the diner or just walking down the street. Once I saw Kinney parked outside of PIFA waiting for Justin to meet him and he was scanning the students walking by, looking for the blond hair, I guess. I stood watching and when he saw Justin he smiled.

 

I think it was the first—maybe the only real smile I ever saw on his face and as soon as Justin saw him he had that look he used to get when he saw me walking towards him—that happy, amazing smile that just lights up the Goddamned world.  He got into the car, that fancy fucking ‘vette and they kissed for about five minutes straight and didn’t give a fuck who was watching or what the hell they might have thought.

 

When the car pulled away I think I caught a glimpse of Justin looking at me in the side view mirror before they were lost in traffic and he looked so, well, he looked like he used to look with me—he looked so fucking happy and loved.

 

And I think it won’t last.

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