Another Step

Justin was skimming through the paper to pass the time. Cross-country flights were nothing if not boring and he was bored. He'd brought both the New York Times and the Denver Post with him for the trip and he was almost through both of them when the small article in the business section of the Times caught his eye.

Brenner, Inc had signed three new clients, making it, officially, the most sought after ad agency in the country. Senior partner, Brian Kinney had announced that they had just finalized contracts with Ford Motors, Kraft Foods and Johnson & Johnson, Inc. in addition to their existing client base. The new companies had come on board based on the performance of the Super Bowl spots that had aired last month. The agency would be expanding to handle the added work and were both proud and pleased. They were considering merger offers, but no decisions had been made one way or the other regarding them at this point.

Justin reread the article. Shit. He'd been keeping track of Brian for about five years now, both through the papers and through the `family' in Pittsburgh. They made sure that he knew what was going on, if Brian had forgotten a birthday or remembered one of Gus' school plays or something. They always made a point of bringing him up, especially Debbie and usually prefaced with `That Asshole'.

Almost every single one of them had taken the point of view that Brian was the villain, the jerk, the fucker in their break up and nothing Justin did or said would change anyone's perception or their minds.

Well, sure he'd been hurt and there was a while there when he didn't care if Brian had walked in front of a damn bus...No. That wasn't true.

He had loved Brian. He had loved him as much as he was capable of loving anyone and when Brian had told him that he had met someone, that it was serious and that he thought that he might be falling in love with Steve it had hurt more than Justin thought that anything could hurt.

Those were the words he'd used when he had finally been able to break it to Justin, he'd used those words: "I've met someone." A simple sentence, it really was and it still pained him to remember that day.

It would hurt as long as he lived, he knew that. No matter who he met or what came next, that memory would always hurt. Always.

There was nothing he could do to stop it or so it seemed was there anything anyone could do. There was nothing he could do about it and he had no choice but to accept what had happened and move on.

In fairness, the other two men had tried to stay away from each other. Brian had made it clear that he and Justin had a solid relationship, that they loved one another. Steve had understood—truly he had—and had made it equally clear that he would do nothing to attempt to break them up. The problem lay in the fact that Justin had to delay his own move to New York for a couple of months and in that time the other two became genuine friends, enjoying one another's company. It was only after several months that they had crossed the line to sex and even then Steve had been willing to end what they'd just started. Steve had even moved to London for almost a year to let Brian and Justin try to put themselves back on track. Justin had done everything he could think of to hold on, but in the end the feelings between the other two were simply too strong for either of them to forget about one another.

Steve had asked Justin, the day he'd called Steve to beg the older man to not destroy what he and Brian had built together, whether he could honestly say that Brian would be happier with Justin. If he could, if he truly believed that, if he thought that Brian's life would be better with him than with Steve then he would end it that day.

Justin had insisted that was the case, that he and Brian had a history together; they loved one another and were good for one another. He'd said it and he'd believed it with his whole heart.

Saying simply that it was Brian's choice to make, Steve had stepped back, removed himself and waited for Brian to make up his mind.

Several months went by, Justin was happy with the life they were living in New York. Brian was busy managing the Vanguard office there, the one that had come about when Gardner had bought a majority interest in Steve's agency, he'd been made a full partner and Justin's schooling at Pratt was going well. They were happy. The townhouse Brian had bought in the Village was a showplace and they lived there comfortably.

No one mentioned the elephant sitting in the corner.

Then there was the night they had the Christmas party for Brian's employees and Justin's friends. The party was a good one, everyone seemed to be having a nice time and Justin had gone into the pantry to get another case of wine. Opening the closed door he found Brian and Steve embracing and kissing, locked together.

The simple fact was that much as Brian loved Justin, he simply loved Steve more. He had been unable to forget about the other man any more than Steve had forgotten him and it was obvious to them all that the two older men wanted to be together.

Oh, Brian and Steve had done everything they could to make it as easy as they could for him. Brian had insisted that he continue to pay his tuition and had later forgiven the loan as a graduation present in exchange for a couple of his paintings.

He had opened doors for jobs and had tried to make sure that Justin was well, but the pain and awkwardness between them was there and Brian knew that Justin, despite what he said, still loved him. What made it even harder was that he had come to, well if not actually like Steve; he had come to respect the man.

He was honest and intelligent, accomplished and it was plain that he and Brian were tremendously happy with one another.

When he was being particularly truthful with himself, Justin would privately admit that Brian's happiness did, in fact, matter to him and that he was pleased Brian seemed to have found his soul mate. That it was someone other than himself broke his heart, but that was the way of things sometimes.

No one was to blame; no one was the bad guy. It had simply happened.

A lot of their friends, the family, had been angry with Brian, furious in fact, but there was no point in that. All Brian had done was to fall in love. No one had thought him capable of that and when he took the fall the only thing he seemed to have done wrong was that it hadn't been with `Sunshine'—well, that wasn't completely true. Brian did love him, he just loved Steve more.

Time to move on.

The captain came over the speaker, making the usual announcement that they would be landing shortly and to please fasten their seatbelts and return their trays to their upright positions. This would be his first visit back to New York since he'd left after graduation and that had been five years. It would probably have been longer, but he was included in a show in one of the better galleries on Madison and there was no way that he could possibly turn it down. Jesus, his first real show in the city and he all he could think about was whether or not to call Brian with an invitation.

He wasn't sure whether the pain of seeing him again would be worth it. Brian would, of course, still look good, he would still be tall and handsome and in shape. With the amount of money he was now making he would still dress well. He would still be—Brian.

Justin thought, somewhat defensively, that he wasn't doing all that badly himself, thanks.

He had landed a good job out of school as an illustrator for an in house ad department in a large company and the money and regular hours let him have time for his own work. The pay was decent, it even had benefits and he liked the people. He even liked Colorado. The mountains were beautiful and he didn't mind snow.

He was doing alright. He even had a boyfriend. No, it wasn't true love, but they were pretty happy. Neither of them really thought that they'd retire to the Keys together, but it was good for now. They shared a condo, got along well and had a lot in common. Eric was visiting his sick grandmother this week so couldn't make the trip east, but that was fine. They'd see each other soon enough.

He had stayed in touch with his friends back in Pittsburgh. His mother had remarried and she's found a good man who made her happy. Molly would be graduating high school in a couple of months and was set to go to Stanford for pre med.

Things were good.

Sure, whenever he heard Brian's name his felt his stomach tighten and once in a while—OK, a couple of times a week, something would jog a Brian memory, but he could deal with it. He could.

He had no choice.

The plane was on the ground; he had his bag and had found himself a cab. The paintings had been shipped a few days ago and he knew that they had arrived safely at the gallery. Half an hour later he was checked into his room in an acceptable hotel on Eight Avenue in the theatre district.

It was about three in the afternoon, it was a nice day and after making a call to make sure someone was there, he walked over to the gallery. They were expecting him, showed him his wall space and assured him that there would be people to help with the hanging the next day. Until then he was on his own, it was free time and would he like to have dinner with the owner? Thank you, that would be nice.

Later that night, around ten, he was back in his room, alone and picked up the phone. Brian's number was unlisted but he had it from Lindsay. He could call. He could. It was still fairly early, Brian would still be awake.

He could tell him about his new show and they could talk about how they'd been and how things were going. They could catch up, they could…he took a shower, a long one and went to sleep without making the call.

The next day he had finished the hanging by about one, the opening wasn't until the next night and he had really nothing planned. He could hit some of the museums and there had been a couple of invitations from the other artists in the show but he just wasn't in the mood. As politely as he could—which was pretty polite—he begged off, saying that he'd see them the next day. Walking down the street and turning the corner so they would think he had some place to be, he stopped halfway down the block, took out his cel and dialed the number he had memorized in his room last night.

"Vanguard Advertising. May I help you?"

"Brian Kinney, please."

"I'll transfer you." "Brian Kinney's office, may I help you?"

"My name is Justin Taylor, I'm an old friend of his. Is he available?" His mouth felt like cotton.

"Just a moment, please, I'll see." A few moments went by.

"…Justin?"

"Brian. Hey. I'm in town and was wondering if you were free for lunch." Jeez, that was lame. God, Brian would think he was an idiot or a stalker or something.

"…How about in an hour? Would that be alright?"

Shit he'd probably interrupted something. "That would be perfect, give me a chance to finish what I'm doing." Like he wasn't just standing on a sidewalk.

They set a meeting place, a small Italian restaurant half way between their locations. Justin, knowing he had time to kill, decided to walk, stroll, the twenty-three blocks.

At Vanguard's townhouse Brian wandered over to Steve's office. He was looking over one of the few accounts he still oversaw, a line of glassware made in Kentucky and one which benefited the local workers in a depressed area. The glasses were beautiful, reasonably priced and he did everything he could to keep them going. He looked up as Brian sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"Did you want to get something to eat?"

"I have a last minute appointment—Justin called me. I'm meeting him at The Tavern in a few minutes. Do you mind?"

Steve looked surprised, but not unhappy. "Of course not…are you alright with it?"

"I wouldn't go if I wasn't."

"What's he doing here?"

"I'll find out." He stood, ready to head over to the restaurant. "You sure you're OK with this?"

Smiling. "I'll check you for hickey's later." Brian smiled as he left. Six years ago that would almost be a given; now the odds of that were pretty slight.

Forty minutes later Brian was being seated at the window table the host knew he liked. Cynthia's assistant had made the reservation, he was about ten minutes early and he wondered if it was just bad timing or if he was nervous. Either way, he picked up a section of the NY Times until Justin showed up. Midway through the second article Justin was shown over and took the chair oppisite. Both men spent a long moment sizing each other up, checking for changes and cracks, wanting to see how they had both fared in the last five years.

Both seemed fine.

"You're still wearing Armani. It still suits you." Brian was, if possible, even more handsome, more relaxed and content.

"And you're still wearing cargoes. They never suited anyone." He smiled, though, softening the insult. Justin was still—beautiful. His hair was long but styled, his sweater was obviously good cashmere and it occurred to Brian to wonder if he had dressed up to meet him. The waiter arrived, handed them both menus and took their drink orders. Brian had iced tea, Justin a beer.

"You're having tea?"

"I have two meetings this afternoon."

"I've seen your name in the papers, you're doing well. Which is no surprise." Damnit, he hadn't meant to spill that he was following Brian. Damnit. From the raised eyebrows, Brian had caught the slip. Damnit.

"We're doing alright." Brian always the master of understatement. Their drinks were placed in front of them. "Why are you in New York?" He was also the master of cutting through the bull.

And when are you leaving, was left unspoken and hanging between them. "I have a show, well a group show at the Steinetz Gallery over on Madison. It opens tomorrow and since you're the only person I know in New York, I was wondering if you'd like to come."

Brian just looked at him for a long second. "Is Steve included in the invitation?" It was almost a challenge.

Fine. "Yes. I know that you're still together, that's not what this is about. I just wanted to let you know that I'm doing OK and that I still think of you as a friend."

God, he sounded like a lesbian.

"…I'll see. I'm not sure what I'm doing tomorrow."

"Brian, there's no agenda here. I just wanted to reconnect, that's all." Their food arrived, the momentary break a breather for them both. It was getting awkward, even if they had only exchanged a few words. The waiter left, they looked at one another for a couple of seconds. "I, I thought that—I may be coming back to the East Coast more often and, I thought, maybe we could get together when I do. For dinner or something. That's all." God, he sounded lame. He knew he did. Shit. And Brian saw right through him, just like he always did.

"Nothing's going to happen."

"Shit, I know that. I just wanted to…"

"Be friends?"

"Well, yes."

Brian took a few minutes to eat some of his lunch, long enough that Justin thought that he wasn't going to answer. Finally, though, he did. "I'd like that, to see you now and then, but Steve and I are solid and you have to understand that." He looked straight at Justin, making his meaning clear. There'd be no slips, no fooling around.

"That's fine. I'm with someone, too."

From the look on Brian's face it was obvious that he thought the confession to be convenient at best. "Oh?"

"For a couple of years now, Eric. He's a chef at one of the restaurants in Boulder."

"Is it working out?"

"It's alright. He's alright."

Brian was looking at him, seeing through his bullshit, just like always. He seemed to decide to drop it. "I heard that Daphne got married." Small talk from Brian? Incredible.

"How did you know that?"

"She sent me an invitation."

Damn, Brian wasn't at the wedding. He knew. Justin had been Daph's attendant—Hell, even Emmett would have paled at being a bridesmaid. Well, maybe he would have enjoyed it, come to think of it.

"I like the guy, they seem pretty good together."

Brian finished his tea, his lunch done. The waiter came over, asking if they would like anything else. Shaking his head, Brian asked for the check. "I have to get back." He stood, taking a couple of bills from his wallet. Justin was left sitting, wondering of there would be an answer to his question but knowing Brian, knew there was no point in repeating. Finally, as he was turning to go, Brian said, off handedly, "I'm glad that you called. I'll see if I can stop by tomorrow. Eight? That's the usual time for these things."

"That would be fine." And just that easily, the deal was done. Brian would be at his first New York opening and he might or might not have Steve with him.

Back at the agency, Brian stopped first in Steve's office. His partner looked up, not bothering to voice his question.

"It was fine. I'm going to his show tomorrow and he said to tell you that you're welcome, too if you want to come."

"How is he?"

"Looks about the same." He was still beautiful. It was unsaid, but they both knew it was true.

"…And?"

"He's hoping that we can get back together."

There was a moment of fear for Steve, which he did his best to hide. "And can you?"

Smiling slightly at his foolishness, Brian leaned over the desk and kissed Steve lightly. "You know better than that."

Relieved, "Then you're being cruel to raise his hopes."

"I'm hoping that by seeing us together after five years he'll realize that it's not going to happen."

Steve knew better. Brian had been Justin's first love and the youngster, as he still thought of him, likely still saw him as his soul mate. Brian may not believe it, but Steve had no doubt. The invitation had little to do with art. Still, Brian knew that as well as he did and would deal with it as he saw fit. Steve trusted him because he had no choice. Brian would do whatever he wanted, they both could.

However, in the five years since that Christmas party, as far as Steve knew, neither one of them had strayed.

"I think I'll probably skip it, if that's alright with you. I think, well, we both know he's not here to see me."

"No, but he has to understand that there's an `us'."

The intercom buzzed, he paused before picking it up. "I'll see." Nodding, Brian left the corner office, whatever else was going on, he still had two meetings that afternoon.

The next night he'd worked through a dinner meeting with Steve, going over a new campaign with an established client. The CEO was feeling neglected because of all the publicity about the new accounts and really just needed some stoking. Brian had become good at that, better than he had been. Steve was a master at the art and Brian had watched the best. By the dessert course, things with Cadbury's American subsidiary were back on track. Excusing himself with an apology and a smile, Brian left the man in Steve's capable hands and cabbed his way over to Madison.

It was almost quarter to nine when he got there, the night was a warm one and the art crowd had spilled onto the sidewalk with their free champagne and their smokes. It looked like a good turn out. Making his way through the crowd of impossibly avant gard people, he was struck by the first canvas he came to. It had been placed right inside the door, the first canvas that would catch the patron's eyes as they walked in.

It was a striking work, powerful and moody and insightful.

The painting was large, around four by seven feet and hung vertically. It was a portrait of a youngish man in three quarter profile away from the viewer. Slender but well built, he was wearing jeans, shirtless and looking pensively—or was it intently?—out of a large window in front of him. He casually held a coffee mug in his near hand.

It was Brian.

"I painted it from memory."

Of course he had, Brian had never posed for this. "It's good." It also had a Not For Sale sticker on it in the lower right hand corner.

"Thanks."

Brian was about to say something, ask if Justin's boyfriend knew he was painting pictures of his old flame when Justin was pulled away by the gallery owner to greet some buyers. Nodding, the younger man asked him to wait, he'd be back when he could get away.

Alone, largely ignoring the crowd, Brian moved around the showroom, impressed by the quality of not only Justin's work but also of the other painter's represented. To his reasonably trained eye, Justin's work was by far the standout pieces and he was pleased to see sold stickers discretely attached to a good number of the works. There were two more studies that could have been Brian, but they were indistinct enough to not be absolutely certain—though Brian knew they were of him. They had to be. He recognized pieces of the old loft in them. Listening to talk swirling around him, it was apparent that the crowd was quietly impressed and he heard several comments that the pieces should be bought now before Taylor was really discovered and the prices became impossible. He heard one woman wonder if he was available for commission work since she would love to have him paint her children.

Brian wasn't surprised that Justin was a success; he had always thought it would happen, one way or another. It also didn't surprise him that he and Justin still connected on some level. They always had, right from the night they'd hooked up under that streetlamp on Liberty Avenue almost ten years ago.

They were still, somehow, friends.

The thought startled Brian.

They were. They were still friends. He cared about what happened to Justin and it was obvious that Justin still thought about him almost more than he was comfortable with.

This didn't mean he wanted to pick up with the man again. He didn't want that. He was with Steve and they were happy together. They had a life they both enjoyed and an ease of daily life and conversation and common interests that brought Brian more joy he would have thought possible before he found it.

He found himself in front of the portrait again; studying it, searching for clues about Justin might have been thinking and feeling when he painted the thing.

The painting was done in muted tones, even the flesh tones. It had a melancholy feel to it as though the subject was wondering where to go with his life. Alright, maybe he was just wondering what shirt to wear, but it seemed to say more than that. There was sadness to it and maybe remorse the morning after the night before.

What had happened the night before? You couldn't help but wonder and Brian began thinking back to that time. Judging by the look of the parts of the loft he could make out, this was from about the time Justin was unhappy enough to go looking for what he thought was missing between them and had found the fiddler.

This looked like it might be the morning after Brian had practically raped Justin when he had come home smelling from the sex he and Ethan had just finished.

Brian had been angry and insulted and hurt. He had known that they were breaking up, that the problems they had were tearing them apart and there was nothing he knew to do that could stop it.

It was like a car wreck that you know is going to happen because you're skidding on that icy road toward that tree and there's nothing you can do to stop or change direction or even jump out. There was nothing they could do. It was inevitable and they had both been dying because of it.

It was, the painting was of that morning. It had to be. He remembered. He had been standing there, it was early, maybe seven and he had thought that Justin was still asleep. He had gotten up quietly because he knew that if he stayed in bed watching the boy sleep he would beg him to stay, promise to do whatever he wanted to make him change his mind and he knew that he couldn't do that. He couldn't. So he had gotten up, made some coffee and had found himself looking out the window down at a couple walking along—going God knew where that early—holding hands and seeming happy, laughing and talking. He had envied them. Part of him had wanted that, not that he would have admitted it then. Even now, as happy as he and Steve were together, they rarely displayed affection in public. It simply wasn't something Brian was comfortable with and Steve understood that.

In their home, things were different—much more so than they had been between him and Justin. In the duplex he shared with Steve, they would sit against one another on the couch, casually holding hands while watching a film. They would kiss one another hello and good-bye and they would embrace simply because they were both in the same room. In their home, they were loving towards one another, in the office or on the street or in a restaurant …or at an art gallery, they were decorous. They both understood this.

Justin had wanted picnics and romantic songs. Steve wanted someone to talk with over dinner. Justin had wanted to see every place he had ever heard about, Steve had did, too—but not with a backpack. Justin was, when they had parted, still a child, a young boy with every thing still in front of him. Steve was a grown man with a growing list of accomplishments to his credit.

At the time Brian knew that he'd have to make a choice between the two men, he had weighed the various pros and cons of playing out his life with either of them and had realized that he needed to be with an adult.

Yes, he had loved Justin, but Justin wasn't what he, he wanted then. He had become tired with being the mentor, the teacher, the leader. With Steve the relationship was on an equal footing from the beginning and he savored that. They both did.

Jesus.

That made it sound cut and dried. It made it sound like he had made some kind of sliding scale or something that would measure all the checks and balances, all the ramifications and then had coldly made the choice, just as if he was decided between the porterhouse and the veal.

Shit—it hadn't been like that at all. He'd lain awake more nights than he liked to admit even to himself about that.

He'd felt like some damn knife was twisting in him when he saw the look on Justin's face. He knew the pain he was causing him. He did. He knew it and there was nothing he could do if he wanted to live his life. If he had stayed with Justin they would have had a perfectly fine life together, in all likelihood, anyway.

They would have lived in the townhouse they'd bought—that Brian had bought. They would have had dinner every night and they would have talked about their days and what plans they might have for the weekend and it would have been fine.

And Brian knew that there would have been this big blank spot in the middle of him that wasn't filled with Steve.

And at some point Justin would have known that, too and then it would have all fallen apart.

In the end it would ave had the same result.

It would have taken longer and it would have hurt more and they would have wasted all of that time that Brian and Steve had together and all that time that Justin had used to get his life back on track and with that new boyfriend he seemed to feel pretty much OK about.

No, Brian knew that the new beau wasn't the love of Justin's life—a blind man could see that, but at least he'd moved on.

More or less.

His attention moved back to the portrait that gave the lie to his last thought and some woman next to him, some anorexic New York fashionista in black, looked at him and said—in a voice a shade too nonchalant, "Are you the artist's lover?"

He used his usual glare and was pleased that it hadn't lost any of its power to intimidate. "No. Are You?" The woman walked away.

He felt two hands gently come to rest on his shoulders from the back and squeeze slightly. Steve.

"You know better than to scare the peasants." He squeezed Brian's shoulders a little harder, adding a small caress for effect. "He still loves you."

"I know." He turned his head to look to the side, Steve had moved abreast of him, studying the painting.

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"I told him that nothing will happen. He knows we're together. Besides, he has someone waiting for him when he goes back."

Brian could be oblivious when he chose. "Marking time, waiting for you to take him back." Brian turned, raised an eyebrow at him. "You need to talk to him before he gets his hopes up higher than they already are. I'm going to take a quick look around then head home. Are you going to join me or are you going to stay a while longer yet?"

"No, I'll go with you when you're ready." Steve moved off, greeting a couple he knew from God knows where. Brian went off in search of Justin, finding him getting two glasses of champagne at the small bar.

"I was just going to come looking for you. Here." He handed over one of the glasses. This time Brian caught the look Justin gave him. Steve was right. He led Justin to a quiet corner.

He tried to be kind. "Justin, this isn't going to happen. I'm happy where I am. You have to understand this."

"I know that. I do. I just want to stay in touch, that's all." The answer was too quick. "We were good friends." He tried humor, sort of. "You mean you and Steve are exclusive?" It was said with a half laugh.

"In fact we are. Look, We were good together and I honestly didn't want to hurt you, but I'm with Steve and that's not going to change."

Justin knew it was true. He'd known for five years but he'd still hoped that…no, he knew it wouldn't happen. He had Eric and Eric was a good guy. They got along and they were friends and they even had good sex. He wasn't Brian, but he was a good man. It was OK. It was. Maybe Brian would still agree to let them get together when they were both in the same city. They could still be friends. They could. He knew it wouldn't go beyond that, but he still liked Brian, still wanted to be able to pick up the phone and talk to him now and then.

He nodded at Brian, sipped his champagne. "I wanted you to have that painting I did. It's sort of big for where I'm living now and I thought that you might like to have it. That's why I brought it with me. Shit, a duplex in Trump Tower should have wall space."

Brian hesitated. His five years with Steve had mellowed him, made him less likely to be cruel without reason. "It does. Thank you. It's—beautiful."

`So are you' was unspoken. "Good. This show closes in three weeks; I'll have them deliver it then. Steve won't use it as a dart board, will he?"

"Steve loves it. He knows you're good and he knows what we were. He'll be fine with it."

Brian made a move to turn away. He'd caught Steve's eye, they were ready to leave.

"Brian? We are friends, aren't we?"

Brian put his hand on Justin's shoulder, the same gesture he used to greet Vic, one of friendship and affection. "Always, Justin."

He screwed up his nerve before he lost his chance. "I'll be back in New York in about six months. Would you like to get together?"

"Yes. I would. Call me." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a card and scribbling on it. "My home number is there and that's my private number at the agency." He was ready to go. "This guy you're with. Is he good to you?"

What an odd question coming from Brian. "…Yes. He's good to me." And he was, Eric loved hi. Eric loved him more than he loved Eric and that made him sad sometimes, but yes, Eric was good to him.

Brian nodded, relieved or maybe just glad that there was one less thing for him to have to think about. "I care about you." He had said that all those years ago to Jennifer and it was still true.

"I care about you, too."

Steve had joined them, smiling, Justin took his offered hand. "Your work is impressive, Justin. You've stolen the show."

"Thank you." He saw the look on Brian's face, the way his body relaxed when Steve was beside him, the way they leaned gently together, unconsciously. They were, to anyone's eyes, a couple, happy, committed. "I'll call you in a few months, then."

"Good, I'll look forward to it." Steve looked a question at Brian who shook his head slightly. He would tell him later. "We have to be going, but call me."

Later, with the crowd gone and three quarter of his paintings sold the first night, Justin sat in the gallery as the staff cleaned up and shut down. His chair was placed so that he had a clear view of Brian's portrait.

He was still beautiful. He was still intelligent and accomplished. He was still a success, more so even than he had been five years ago.

They were friends.

And he was out of reach.  

 

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