Chapter Text
When Justin wakes, there’s sunlight filtering through the curtains, and a quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand tells him it’s 7:30 in the morning. Brian is fast asleep beside him, which is odd; in all the years Justin’s known him, he’s always been up at 5:30 on the dot so he can be in the office at 7:00 and work his ridiculous twelve-hour days. Is it possible that Brian’s changed in the five years since they were last together? That idea gives Justin a weird lurch in his stomach.
Brian looks gorgeous when he’s asleep - he’s always stunning, of course, and somehow at forty he’s even more beautiful than he was the last time Justin saw him - but when he’s sleeping, he looks so peaceful, so unbothered, the way he never appears when he’s awake. Justin’s hands are itching for a pencil, the urge to capture Brian on paper undeniable. He grabs his boxers off the floor and steps into them, then walks out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen in search of a piece of scrap paper.
He doesn’t make it to the kitchen, however, because halfway there he finds something familiar.
Right there on the living room wall is one of his paintings, Torn Asunder. It’s something he painted shortly after finding out that Brian had moved to New York without telling him, and managed to finish within a couple of weeks after working on basically nothing else. It’s an abstract piece, a swirl of angry colors and shapes that he’d transcribed directly from his heart onto the page. He almost hadn’t wanted to sell it, but his agent had managed to convince him, and then the piece had sold almost immediately after the gallery showing. He should have known that Brian was the buyer, especially since he had paid more than the asking price.
“Who’s the buyer?” Justin had asked his agent when he’d gotten the check for an amount that would pay for the security deposit and two month’s rent on a studio apartment of his very own, without roommates.
“They wanted to remain anonymous,” his agent had replied.
Justin should’ve known.
He stares at the painting, imagining Brian buying it, imagining Brian looking at it every time he walks by. What must Brian have thought, looking at it? Did he understand what it meant? Did he recognize the emotions Justin had poured into the piece? And if he did, why had he wanted a constant reminder of that?
He’s still ruminating on this when he hears footsteps approaching. He glances over his shoulder and sees Brian walking toward him, unfortunately not naked, but wearing the sweatpants from last night. His hair is adorably mussed, though, which makes Justin grin.
“You’re very cheerful,” Brian remarks.
“Just admiring your bedhead.”
Brian rolls his eyes. “Not all of us look effortlessly perfect first thing in the morning.”
Justin’s smile widens. “You think I look effortlessly perfect?”
Brian gives him a very unimpressed look. “Quit it. I’m not playing this game with you.”
“All right, all right.” Justin looks back over his shoulder at the painting. “So should we talk about this instead?”
Brian rolls his lips in. “What about it, Sunshine?”
“Let’s start with why you bought it. Instead of, you know, finding me and telling me you lived here now?”
Jesus, it’s too early for this. Brian scrubs a hand through his hair, and when he does, Justin frowns at him. “Aren’t you late for work, by the way?”
“I called Cynthia after you fell asleep last night and told her I was taking the day off.”
“Ah. So you thought we’d need a whole day to talk about this?”
“Christ.” Brian takes a step back. “Do we have to do this now? How about a blowjob first, to ease the tension?”
“Brian.”
Brian looks away for a moment, then back at the painting. “You know what painting I really wanted?” he asks after a beat. “The First Night. But it wasn’t -”
“It wasn’t for sale,” Justin finishes for him.
“I actually begged the gallery owner for it. Told her I would pay anything, cost wasn’t an issue. She refused though; told me the artist was really adamant about not selling.”
Justin studies him silently for several seconds, then asks, “Why did you want it so badly?”
Brian gives him a Look. “Because it reminded me of you. Of…us.”
“And you would rather beg for a painting than talk to me?”
“Jesus,” Brian mutters, “I can’t do this sober.” He turns to head for his drinks cart, but Justin catches his wrist before he can get very far.
“Brian, c’mon. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, it’s just - we need to have this conversation, or we can never move forward. And you want to move forward, don’t you? I mean…” A bit of hesitancy creeps into Justin’s tone, and that, more than anything, convinces Brian to stop. Justin deserves the truth.
“I do,” he confirms. “But…Sunshine, you were the one who left. You’ve always been the one who’s left.” He tries to say it matter-of-factly, without any accusation, but Justin still winces a little.
“I know.” He drops Brian’s arm, and Brian instantly misses the contact. “But you know I never wanted to leave, right? Not - any of the times. I only did it because I felt like I had no other choice.”
“And that was your right, which is why I never stopped you.”
“Except I wanted you to stop me.”
Brian frowns, not having expected that. “Why would I have done that? If you wanted to leave, then I had no right to stop you.”
Justin frowns back. “No right…? Brian, since the first night I met you, I’ve only ever wanted one thing: you.”
“And you’ve had me.”
“No I haven’t. Not really. I’ve had pieces of you, but you were never fully committed. It always felt like you had one foot out the door. That’s why I left, and that’s why I wanted you to stop me.”
“So what, me stopping you from leaving would have been the same as me taking my foot out of the door?”
“Essentially.” Justin looks so earnest, and that’s what stops Brian from laughing or scoffing, which is his first instinct. Because what he’s saying is so ridiculous, is such an oversimplification of their many problems.
He raises one hand and cups it around Justin’s face, brushing his thumb across Justin’s cheekbone. Justin immediately nuzzles into the touch, his eyes slipping shut, and that’s what seals it for Brian. He’ll do whatever Justin asks, no matter what it is, as long as it keeps him here; he never wants to let go of Justin ever again.
“Brian,” Justin murmurs, looking up at him with those big blue eyes that he loves so much.
“I’m asking you to stay. For more than just a night.”
“I want to stay.” Justin goes up on his tiptoes, his lips brushing against Brian’s. “I love you.”
One of Brian’s hands clenches into a fist at his side, a reflex he can’t control. He wants to say it back, because he feels it, of course he does, he’s never stopped, but this is all happening so fast. Last night he hadn’t even seen Justin in five years, and now -
“Hey.” Justin quickly grabs Brian’s face in both hands and forces Brian to look at him. “Hey, hey. It’s fine, ok? You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”
Brian picks up one of Justin’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles, then another. He looks up at Justin as he does, and realizes that Justin is giving him a very familiar look. “Brian.”
“Yeah, Sunshine, I’m right here.”
“Fuck me,” Justin begs, and how can Brian deny him that? He fucks the kid right there against the couch.
Twice.
Six weeks later, at Justin’s next show, the painting everyone raves about the most is called A New Beginning.
At Brian's request, it’s not for sale.