The Loft was dark and quiet when Justin entered.  “Brian?”  He flicked on Brian’s desk lamp, carefully scanned.  Brian sometimes hung back in shadows.  Like it helped hide any unplanned show of emotion when he was in a mood and had a few.  “Bri-an,” Justin toured to be sure.  No lights.  No sounds.  Not here.

Justin shuffled to the front window, parted the sheers and stared across the sparse-lit windows in the damp night city. “I’m not chasing you through the Baths and back rooms.” From the way Brian left, the probability seemed like a sure shot.  “I’ve got my OWN shit to deal with right now.”  As if saying it out loud committed him to do it. 

Justin turned on his own desk lamp, sat in his chair and leaned back, rocking on the spring-loaded seat.  He cleared his throat, pulled his cell phone, hit a button.  Watched Daphne’s name fill the readout.  Quickly disconnected.  No.  This is MY decision to make.  He picked a magazine off his desk, viewed it and slapped it face down.

A neutral area seemed like the best choice, so Justin climbed the steps to the bedroom, stretched on the bed with arms folded behind his head.  Is PIFA so important I’d do anything to go back?  Or because where I’m at right now, I’m not hearing what I want.

At Woody’s, Brian didn’t expect Vic and Emmett at the bar.  Seated sideways, Vic saw him and smiled a lackluster, “Brian.”  Too late to slip back out.  Brian’s plan for a couple quiet drinks to bolster his spirits had to be modified.  Not much.  A listless nod from Emmett cued the mood.

“Did I miss the eulogy?” Brian sat beside Emmett, ordered, “Double Beam” from the waiting Bartender.

“No, we’re just getting started.  What’re you doing here?”

“Celebrating the end of Hitler’s Last Days,” Brian grinned wide, grabbed his drink and downed half.  Cryptic dazzle, even laced with truth, discouraged follow-up.

“Talk about your challenging theme,” Emmett looked off and back to his daiquiri.  “But it’s not like my checkbook couldn’t use another party.”

Vic leaned glumly past Emmett for Brian’s attention.  “We’re celebrating our OVEN’S last days.”

“Just one little wedding lined up. Enough to get the old oven fixed one last time…again.” 

“You have to give it credit, though,” Vic cut in, “With all the mileage…all its problems…it still manages to keep on going.”  He raised his glass to toast, brief smile of self-awareness.  He had to wait until the others responded to the Mary Sunshine effort.  A weak toast, but hey.  “That’s MY contribution.  Any other GOOD news?”

“It’s Light-Out Night at the Liberty Baths,” Brian raised a brow.  “All the pleasures you can stand without the nausea of seeing that half the fucks are trolls.”

“Meathook’s doing the same,” Emmett blandly volunteered.  “All the pain you can stand half-price.”

Brian smiled off, “Capitalist competition finally benefits the gay community,” leaned on an arm and faced Em, “Which one are YOU gracing?  So I know which one to avoid.”

“Uh…you can go play Peter Pan of the Underworld anywhere you like?”

Vic leaned forward, “We’re going over to Michael’s to hear his new Rage idea.”

“Not BEN and Mikey’s?” Brian lowered his arm.  Mikey by itself was like half a word these days.

“You didn’t hear?” Vic’s brow furrowed.  “Thought EVERYBODY did.  Michael asked the question and Ben said no.  So they’re splitting up for a few days to rethink things.”

Emmett eyed Brian. “Frankly?  I’m not a bit surprised you didn’t know.  It has to do with commitment?  Nothing YOU’D be interested in.”

Brian froze a grin.  You know fucking shit about me.  But that’s MY fucking business and I don’t owe anybody an explanation.

Vic read a little deeper into the freeze, quickly downed his drink and tapped Emmett’s arm.  “We’d better get going. Michael’s not the night owl he used to be.  Neither am I,” got Emmett’s nod then turned to Brian as he and Em stood up. “Make sure you say hi to Justin for me.”  You don’t broadcast it, but I know something deeper is there, kid.

Brian’s stare thawed.  “Tell Mikey I’ll call him.”

Emmett stood and exhaled an apology.  “It might cheer him up if you came with us.”

“And crowd the issue?  I’ll catch up with him later,” Brian smiled acceptance.  Piss-poor moods had turned the lightest digs to burning cuts.  Realizing and forgiving that was an advantage of real friendship.  But what happened when raw truth flared out.

Brian watched Vic and Emmett leave then stared at his half-empty drink.  Mikey told the world about his feelings for Ben.  And I didn’t even tell Mikey…about Justin and me.  But I don’t fucking HAVE to. Because it’s nobody’s fucking business.  Because what we have is practical.  Not meant to be warped into social obligation.

Driving along a Downtown back street, Emmett glimpsed the Off-Center Theatre marquis’ half burned-out lights around Les Miserables and toughened eyes ahead.   “We would’ve HAD a new one if I hadn’t used the money on Ted.”

“You tried to help, and saved Gus’s trust fund,” Vic stared.  “Stop beating yourself up AND him.”  He watched Em’s sullen face.  “If you don’t want my advice, at least humor me.”  Emmett finally smiled.  To humor him.

Standing in his best suit inside Pittsburgh’s Off Center Theatre, Ted gazed around the lobby at waiting patrons.  Not the Benedum or Heinz – but the right price.  Had it been that long since he’d taken in an opera.  Then he felt Blake touch his arm.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

Ted smiled at his recovery counselor, at the tall Former Addict boyfriend holding Blake’s shoulder.  “I’ll be fine,” he nodded, quirked, “I heard the Thursday B-cast of Les Miz outshines the local high school version by a reasonable margin.”

“You’re too funny,” Blake shined.  “We’ll be out late, just so you don’t wonder.”

“I really appreciate this,” Ted looked down, “I mean, giving me a place to stay.”

“You did it for ME once,” Blake bent low to catch Ted’s eyes, “And you WILL get back on your feet again.  When you’re ready.”

Ted nodded with honest conviction, a brighter smile.  “Well I’d better get going.  Wouldn’t want to insult the esteemed theatre group by being unfashionably late.”

“Have fun,” Blake finished, turned away with Former’s arm never leaving him.

Ted watched with a pinch of regret, a surge of resolve.  To move forward.  Then he blended into the couples and singles trickling through the main theatre entrance.

Inside the low-lit auditorium, Ted located his seat, sat and opened his program, casually glanced at another single two seats down.  “Hey, Todd.  How’s it goin’?”

“Fine,” Todd nodded shyly before recognition hit.  “Ted?  I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“I’ve been…away,” he looked off,  “But I’m back now.  I didn’t know you liked opera.”

Todd twitched a look around, moved beside Ted, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Ted’s brows knit.  “Why not?”

“Because it’s not hot.  I mean…” Todd fidgeted, “…it is for someone cultured and sophisticated like YOU.”

“You think I’m cultured and sophisticated,” Ted dead-panned.  What a joke.

“Well…yeah,” Todd grinned.  “I always thought that.  But if I SAID it, you’d think I was just some dumb guy hitting on you.  Besides, I don’t really know much about opera, or how to talk about it like I hear a lot of people in the lobby.”

“Then why do you come?”

Todd answered with distant sincerity, “It sounds nice.  And when I hear the singing, and see the story happening, I don’t feel like I’m alone.”  Then he quickly added, “But most guys I’ve met wouldn’t think it’s hot.  And it’s hard ENOUGH finding somebody.”

“Let me tell you, Todd.  Hot isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.  And I think what you just said about opera is the most intelligent and in-depth observation I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re just saying that,” Todd blushed aside, “Because you’re a nice guy.”

“No, I mean it.  And I’ve seen a LOT of major productions.  Plan to again.”  Then he sank into his reality, “If I ever find…the right job.”  ANY job.

“I know what you mean. I tried working as a manager at my brother’s store.  But it wasn’t fun, and I didn’t do very good.  So I’m a clerk at Music Market again.  It’s the last place I really liked what I did.  Didn’t you ever do something you really liked?”

Ted leaned back in serious thought.  “Yeah.”

The lights did a slow dim over Todd’s “They’re starting” whisper.

Ted slid a look at a face common and overlooked by only the least serious studs.  He and Todd weren’t even friends.  Hardly acquaintances.  But watching the curtain rise, listening to the overture, Ted saw Todd’s excitement. Understood.  And that changed all but one thing.  Image.  Ted discreetly side-eyed again.  He wasn’t cute.  Probably boring.  The other guys might laugh and rib till he dragged himself away in self-imposed disgrace.  Not to mention Todd.

Ted tapped his program on his thigh, debated what to do about the so-called New and Improved Ted that Blake had worked so hard to help him find.

Justin got his rain-wish in the Loft shower where he stood with his face raised to the spray until a sudden chill tensed his muscles, drew goose bumps and made him grip his own arms to shield himself.  Out of hot water.  Justin quickly shut the valves, stepped out shivering and grabbed a towel.

During his brisk dry-off, he glanced at the digital clock.  After 10 PM.  And still no decision on what to tell Craig.  Justin hung his towel, paced into the bedroom and stared at the bed.  He saw himself press against Brian to steal some heat, laugh at the bonus lurch and fuck-tirade when his cold skin made contact.  Then reel in the aftermath of tight arms because Brian could never resist playing hero.  Even as insignificant as making sure he was warm enough.  But the vision faded.  Brian wasn’t there.

Justin snatched the cordless, punched a number and saw BK CELL in the readout.  No.  He slammed the phone in its cradle.  What you do is your business, and I won’t police that.  Part of the promise I made…when I asked you for this chance.  But I never promised I wouldn’t care or worry that you’re okay.  I guess that’s MY problem.

Justin circled to his own side, crawled under the covers and pulled them tight under his chin.  Face in chill blue-gray streetlight from the window, he replayed Craig’s offer, Brian’s flare-up over a drawing.

Michael, sweat pants and Astro tee, gathered notes off his coffee table into one hand, two used glasses in his other.  Stopped motion at three raps on the door.  He shook his head, set the items down and yawned, “Who forgot what?” on his way to answer.  Unbolted the door and cracked it open.

“Brian?  Brian!”  A little excitement, a little confusion.

“Get dressed.  We’re going out.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Michael stepped aside to let Brian enter, looked back at wide hazel eyes – the irresistible Kinney implore.  “Okay,” he nodded.  “But don’t hold me responsible for how bad I dance tonight.”

Brian smiled at the characteristic why-am-I-doing-this headshake as Michael disappeared into the bedroom.  Mikey, you’re such a pushover.  But I know why.

Michael tossed jeans and a sweatshirt onto the bed, heard Brian shout, “Bring a heavier coat.  It’s cold out” and yelled back, “Thanks for the warning.  Maybe it’ll help me stay awake!”  Grumbled to himself, “People have been known to freeze to death, falling asleep in the cold.”  He opened a drawer for socks and paused to view himself in the mirror.  It’s not the first time you refereed a fight between him and Justin.  At least he’s HERE, not fucked-up high in a bathhouse room with three guys who could give a SHIT about him.  Truth is, I’m glad you’re the one – when he needs somebody.  I know he’d do it for YOU.

Michael whisked out of his casuals, into street wear.  I suppose this is good enough for Babylon…

…or the Sixth Street Bridge.

“So that’s the whole story for Issue Three,” Michael paced with Brian, looked around, “And why the fuck are we in the middle of a bridge?”

Brian stopped, jumped up and straddled the concrete divider between the walkway and highway, gazed up the river.  “Remember when we used to come out here just to hang?”

“Yeah,” Michael struggled to a seat beside him, glanced up in thought.  “Whenever things seemed like they were closing in, and we needed some open space.”  He twisted to an opposite straddle so their backs met in warm support.

“I heard about you and Ben,” Brian said to the river.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Michael stared at his hands, shrugged, felt Brian shrug right back.  “I don’t know.  I guess I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Why’d you think THAT?” Brian stared unfocused straight ahead at the city.  Half the population thinks I have no capacity to commit.  Et tu, Brute?

“Okay,” Michael fidgeted.  “I always thought…it’d be you and me…taking that step.”

“I never did.”

“Thanks a LOT,” Michael rammed backward, felt Brian coil and spring back.  “The LEAST you could’ve said was you might’ve thought about it a few seconds.”

“What if I DID say it?  Would that make you feel better?”

Michael let out a long breath.  “No.  Because it’s not true -”

“There you have it.”

“- and then I met Ben…and…for awhile, I felt…I don’t know…guilty that I was using HIM to play out all the dreams I had for us…you and me.”

Brian swallowed, leaned his head against Michael’s.  Don’t do this because of ME.  Don’t. “Even commitment?”

“Nothing like that,” Michael felt his headshake ruffle Brian’s hair, couldn’t see the close-eyed relief on Brian’s face.  “I’m no Einstein, but I figured out pretty quick…that Ben and I were something more.  A lot more.  Fuck, we had to fight the masses who swore a pos and neg couldn’t mix.  But I’m sure you know what it’s like.  And I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not fucking proud of how I treated Justin.”

Brian bowed his head, watched his hand rub a thigh.  “Justin takes care of himself.”

“Must be nice to know you have no obligations,” Michael felt Brian stiffen and twist.  Shit.  That just slipped out.  Get ready.

“We don’t owe each other anything,” Brian snapped over his shoulder.  “Do you think a formal commitment is the only way to keep BEN?”

“Fuck you, Brian, NO!  I don’t need it.”

“Then WHY?”

“Because he DOES.”

Brian hunched forward, gasped out a held breath and shook his head.  “Time out.  YOU asked…because HE wanted it…but he said no.”

Michael jumped off the median, came around and leaned on an elbow between Brian’s knees, looked up.  “He’s worried that if he gets sick, I’LL be stuck with the bills and headaches.”

“He’s doing you a favor,” Brian swung a leg, “By telling you no.”

“But he’s MORE worried…about being alone,” Michael rolled his back against the cement, crossed his arms.  “I know it from his looks…little comments here and there…just the times he’s silent, when he doesn’t think I’m looking.  I know Ben.”

“Better than he knows himself?”

“You’re saying it’s HIS call,” Michael saw Brian side-nod, “And I should respect that.”

“Your decision,” Brian jumped down from the median and brushed off his jeans.

“Be careful, Brian.”

“Always am,” Brian dug a condom from his pocket, displayed it with a big grin.

“I’m not bullshitting,” Michael snatched it away, lowered his tone.  “Be careful not to make responsibility so cut and dry,” he handed the packet back. “If I see Ben hurting but he DOESN’T, I’ll step in.  That’s what partners do.”

A stopping squad car interrupted, and Brian and Michael squinted at a brief flashlight beam in their eyes.

“Any problem here?” an Officer gruffed out his open passenger window.

“No, Sir,” Michael answered.

“Then let’s move it along, folks.”

Michael started walking back toward the city, Brian beside him with a sharp, “I’m surprised he didn’t tell us to jump and help keep the city clean.”

“He didn’t recognize you,” Michael grinned, got hip-budged aside.  “Now that I’m wide awake, where do you want to finish this?”

“Finish WHAT?”

“I thought you had a fight with Justin.”

“No,” Brian shook his head.  What an imagination.  “I wanted to be sure you weren’t making a mistake.”

“And the verdict is?”

Brian smiled softly, “No.  You’re not.”

“Anything else?”

“Why did you think I wouldn’t understand?”

“Be interested,” Michael corrected.  “I think you understand,” he stopped and waited until Brian turned to face him.  “But I’ll guess…if it ever happens for you…it’ll be something private…and personal…and only two people will ever know.”  I know how Rage handles his secret identity.

Brian held his gaze and almost said four – including Mel and maybe you.  But Michael started moving and talking again.

“I would have kept it quiet myself, but Ben got the bright idea to sic my Mom on me by telling HER.  And asking HER to be quiet is like putting screen doors on a submarine.  So VIC found out and he told Rodney who let it slip at one of Emmett’s dinners, then…”

Brian swung his arm around Michael’s shoulders and listened to the Seven Levels of Michael Novotny all the way to the car.

In the Loft bedroom, on his side and facing Brian’s empty spot, Justin awoke from his light doze.  The door.  And footsteps.  He quietly turned his head to view his clock - 1:30 AM – then stole back into position with eyes slit open.

Brian shrugged off his coat in slow motion and draped it on the couch.  Using only street light and the floor plan in his head, he maneuvered up to the bedroom, paused to look at Justin then stepped into the bathroom and slowly shut the door.

Justin heard the sink running too brief for a major cleanup.  Then Brian was there – a naked shadow stealing under the covers, stretching on his side facing him, head propped on his hand.  So close Justin could smell the tint of mint breath touched with alcohol.  But not the stale cigarette smoke that Woody’s left on hair.  Or strange cologne or cum that clung from other men.  He could feel Brian’s stare. Opened his eyes and stared back.

“I was at Mikey’s,” Brian whispered, dim light and shadows moving with his pecs.

“I didn’t ask.”

Brian’s free arm eased forward and set his open cell phone under Justin’s chin.

Justin read the lighted record of his call attempt at 10:25, exhaled a soft breath and rolled his eyes to Brian’s.  “I wasn’t checking up on you.  Not that way.”

“I know.”

Brian closed the phone and set it by the headboard, reached under the covers, around Justin’s hips and coaxed him over.

With Brian’s arm tenting the cover, Justin rolled onto his other side and felt Brian’s warm skin mold against his back, semi-rigid cock pressed to his ass, heavy arm closing over his shoulder, hand covering his in a loose grip.

Brian kissed Justin’s neck, nested his forehead in Justin’s hair and closed his eyes.  I don’t know what to tell you.  When I try…the words get too fucked up.  Not sure why.  I can only touch you…and hope you’ll hear.

Justin felt the heated breaths down his back.  You don’t want to talk about it or you would have said something by now.  And you don’t want to fuck me, or you’d have done THAT by now, too.  If you mean you’re sorry, you don’t have to say it – this is just fine.

Justin raised Brian’s hand to his lips and kissed it, felt it tighten and relax.  If only time would stop here.  

But that’s a twink-brain dream.

In faint light through windows, Brian and Justin close eyes in troubled sleep; Michael stands alone at his bedroom window; Ben stands alone at his hotel room window.

Song: “Touch You (Ralphie B Remix)” by Katoi

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