In the small stockroom behind the Comic Book Store counter Ben found Michael so engrossed in a stack of invoices, Michael hadn’t heard him.

“Breakfast is served.”

Michael spun around, smiled at the lover who swooped in for a quick kiss.

“You know we can’t do a protein brunch at the store,” Michael kissed back.

“I was talking about coffee and bagels,” Ben lifted a bag and shook lightly. “Deb said you skipped breakfast.”

“My hero.”

“Me or Deb?”

Their intended kiss was interrupted by the tinkling doorbell.

“Hold that thought,” Michael held up a finger, wormed around Ben and peeked into the store. Sighting Justin, Michael pulled back and shook his head.

“Justin’s out there. And I’m sure it’s not for the latest North Star.”

“Look. You guys are partners in this.”

“It’s just that…after what he did…”

“Like it or not, Brian’s not a saint in this, either,” Ben leaned close to Michael’s ear and kept low. “As your friend, and your lover, and your third disinterested party, I suggest you check your attitude about Brian and go have a tax-deductible meal with your business partner.” Ben held up the bagel bag.

“You make me sick when you’re right,” Michael smiled. “And leave the receipt.” He took the bag and left the room.

Despite good intentions, Justin’s and Michael’s initial eye-contact spewed bad feelings.

“Hey, Michael. I came to talk about the story outline. Is this a good time?” Justin glanced around the empty store.

Michael opened the bag, set out a couple napkins, two coffees, two bagels. “Yeah. Here. Eat.”

“Were you expecting somebody?”

“You know what big eaters Novotny’s are. Jelly or butter?”

Justin stared a moment. It was obvious Michael was gesturing for a truce. “Just a coffee. Thanks.” Justin picked a cup, uncapped it and sipped while Michael buttered a bagel.

“Michael…I thought we were supposed to be in agreement if we add a new character.”

Michael stopped in the midst of buttering.

“I guess I thought you’d agree to a change. I mean, put the focus on…other characters.”

“You should have asked me. I’ve got this major class project due next week, and I thought I could use those drawings I did for the Gay Pride piece. The one we talked about before.”

“Well, we weren’t exactly on talking terms lately.”

“I don’t have time to work up sketches for a new character,” Justin sparked.

“Okay. We’ll go with the Gay Pride story,” Michael flared.

“If you want me out of this, I’m sorry, but it’s my best shot at an income for now and I’m not giving it up.”

“I didn’t ask you to. And I wasn’t adding a character to piss you off. Did you read the whole thing?”

“Not yet,” Justin shook his head.

“Well, if you get a chance…” Michael stopped and looked hard at Justin to go to the heart of the conflict. “We may as well get this the fuck over with. I did what I thought I had to do.”

“So did I,” Justin railed then softened. “It might not have looked all that good, but it’s what I had to go with at the time…and it wasn’t all me.” Justin glanced at his watch. “I’m due at the Diner. I’ll get the drawings back to you this week. Thanks for the coffee,” he added then turned and left.

Ben stole from the back room, cupped his hands on Michael’s shoulders and brushed a cheek against his hair as they watched Justin go out the door.

“You’re both still alive and still partners.”

“Barely. I can’t get past what he did to Brian.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because Brian still loves him.”

“Then Brian should do something about it, not you.”

Michael twisted a wry smile Ben’s direction, and got a serious expression in return.

Debbie’s face lit at the sight of Brian, dressed Saturday casual, swinging his lanky form into a booth. Not wanting to give it away, she put on more of the scowl she thought he deserved, grabbed her check pad and stepped up to his table.

“So you’re not dead. You look like it though.”

“And I didn’t eat anything here yet.”

“Justin comes on in ten minutes. That’s just in case you’re not looking for him.”

“Thank you, Town Crier.”

“You know what your problem is?”

“He grew up and I didn’t. Now let me mull over that in Kinney-time. End of discussion. Just coffee.”

Debbie froze wide-eyed before recovering.

“I oughtta smack you in the head, you little shit. But I’m proud you’re smarter than I was beginning to think.”

“Did I tell you how much I’ve missed your kind words?”

Debbie grabbed a full sugar container off a neighboring table, plopped it in front of Brian and smiled softly. “I know how sweet you like it.”

“My coffee, please?”

“Asshole” she smirked, glad to have him back.

Justin zipped through the front door and was halfway down the counter before he noticed Brian. Like a mouse in a snake cage, Justin stepped lightly, gave a quick glance with his, “Hey,” before darting behind the counter and grabbing his apron.

Debbie side-eyed Brian, who answered her with an I’ll-be-good rise of a brow.

“Black coffee over there,” she told Justin, tilted her head at Brian, then hustled to the pickup station to be scarce and keep a watchful eye at the same time.

Justin took a deep breath, lifted the coffee pot and swiveled around the end of the counter, headed toward Brian. Best to take Brian’s expected sarcastic wrath now and get it over with.

A few days ago, Brian might have spit acid. But he’d thought things out, claimed his share of blame and decided to be a man about it. He knew that Justin’s loudly clearing his throat was always a high-tension give away.

Justin focused on pouring without looking at Brian.

“So how’s it going?”

“Good. You?”

“Alright.”

“We sound like a fucking French lesson.”

Here it goes, Justin rolled his eyes, lifted the pot away. He could see Debbie strutting in fast.

“Is the coffee hot enough?” Debbie glared at Brian, hands on hips.

“It would taste better if I had company. Justin? Join me?” Brian eyed Justin; Justin looked at Debbie who nodded, took the coffee pot, turned and distanced herself.

Justin sat across from Brian. The closeness was unnerving. Too many good and bad feelings were still running hot, making eye contact both exciting and painful.

“I don’t want us to be enemies,” Justin started, hands fidgeting under the table.

“Did somebody suggest that?”

“Don’t joke about it, Brian. You know what I mean.”

“We’re both big boys. Let it go. So you’re only working Saturdays now?” Brian dumped an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee and stirred.

“I got a part time job at the PIFA Copy Shop. I work there between classes and a couple nights a week.”

“Pay decent?”

“I’m still eating,” Justin smiled the first warm one. It got a similar return from Brian.

“Everything else okay?”

With Brian staring right at him, and the pain of past lies still smarting, Justin tipped his head matter-of-factly. “Could be better, but then what couldn’t?”

Brian felt a little tug but wisely kept from digging. “Vanguard’s been keeping me busy.”

“You make yourself too available.”

“It’s keeping me off the streets.”

“I doubt that,” Justin caught himself, sucked a breath and glanced away.

Brian took the jab and bit his tongue. He grinned wide, tapped his teaspoon on the table, one end, the other, repeated the move.

“Brian, I’m-”

Brian stopped him with a raised hand. “It’s okay. You get one shot. But only one.” From his vantage point, Brian noticed patrons drifting in. “Better get back to work before Deb hires somebody else.”

Justin stood up feeling like he’d wounded an unarmed man. “Brian-”

“Justin…good to see you again. I mean that.”

“I know. You never lied to me,” Justin gave a hint of a smile, turned and became a waiter again.

Brian exhaled a breath, left a half cup of coffee, left a buck tip and left the diner relieved that he’d restrained all searing comments. Not that they weren’t boiling just under the surface. But he’d kept in check, and it was worth it just to see Justin smile.

Justin caught Brian’s departure and felt his spirits drop a bit. Any time Brian left, Justin couldn’t help missing him. More important, they were speaking again. For the first time since the Rage party, Justin didn’t feel like an unwelcome stranger in Brian’s world.

Debbie looked on with melancholy satisfaction. Her boys were trying so hard.

On a large desk sat a state-of-the-art flat-screen computer, a pricey stereo system, and a stack of software CD’s. A young man’s fingers played the keyboard and a digital picture of Brian’s loft building appeared onscreen. File window: Print. A hard copy spit from a high-speed color laser printer and into the waiting fingers of the operator.

On a gray fabric bulletin board were other pictures: two of homes, one of Morrel’s Hardware Store. The young man’s hand removed the picture of the store and pinned Brian’s loft in its place.

In his dark silk robe, Brian stood before his full-length mirror and wondered if he saw a confident, good-looking, successful business wizard, or some empty, aging playboy with a loft full of imported Italian versions of Scott’s mechanical bull.

He sat at a desk strewn with computer print-outs, an ashtray he’d filled before he quit smoking, a half-filled wine glass. He studied a computer display, penned a few notes on a blue legal pad, yawned and looked at his bed. This was the worst time of the night for him. Their time.

Brian recalled watching Justin sleep. As much as he wanted to forget the image, he hungered for it strongly tonight. He stared at his blue notepad. How Justin looked in the blue lights. And he started a sketch with just a little hairline against a pillow. A hint of lips. Nose. Eyes. Closed.

Brian’s eyes glazed. He swore it was too much beer, Beam or wine making him weary. Justin used to look at him with such adoration.

No. Open.

Brian detailed Justin’s eyes. Wide open. Something there. Something special.

He used white-out to give them sparkle. A fingertip dipped in cigarette ashes gave shading to cheekbones and jaw line. It was not a work of fine detail, but of only the essence that needed to be there. So it looked unfinished, like a ghost not quite materialized. But the eyes were strong and soft and as real as he could make them.

He didn’t like to draw. It took a sensitivity from too deep inside to risk exposing. But as with many of his rules, there was one exception.

Brian stared at his insides, bled out and imaged across his marketing scrawls. In ashes.

He frowned, stripped the sheet off his pad, pitched it into the wastebasket. Then he downed the last of his wine and concentrated on the computer screen again.

Brian sketches Justin’s picture, realizes how much he misses him but that it’s over. He throws the drawing away.

Song: BT-Dreaming (Evolution Mix) by Deep Dish

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