Work Text:
"Now, why don't you get you ass back in bed, you son of a bitch, and eat some fucking chicken soup!"
Brian was truly speechless. That had never happened to him before. Well, almost never. Usually, Brian was the one who shocked people with his words and behavior, and it was rarely the other way around. Yet there he was, standing in the middle of his loft, completely at a loss for words. When he left for work that morning, he didn’t expect to come home to all of this. Now, he wondered how come, after all these years, he had somehow managed to underestimate Justin. Yes, there was no doubt in Brian’s mind that the younger man was courageous, able to stand up for himself and confront others when needed. Sometimes, though, Brian seemed to forget this and needed a little reminder. Brian knew that he should have been angry at Justin fr the spectacle, and at first he was, but now he could only stand in bewilderment in the middle of his loft, not a single sound escaping his mouth.
Just then he noticed Justin moving back toward the kitchen island. Justin's voice was still pounding in Brian's head like a hammer, sending sharp pain through his temples. He couldn't think straight and felt sick after yet another radiation treatment he had had that morning.
Brian forced himself to move. He needed a moment to climb the few steps of the stairs, which he usually didn’t notice at all. Each step sent a dull ache through his body, reminding him of just how drained he really was. Brian could hear Justin pouring the chicken soup in the bowl. The mere thought of having to eat anything in his state made Brian's stomach turn. He wasn’t sure he would be able to keep the food down. He had already vomited at work earlier that day and was feeling even worse after their little screaming match with Justin. But deep down, Brian knew that now he must eat the goddamn chicken soup that Sunshine made just for him.
Finally, Brian managed to crawl into his bed, not bothering to take off his shoes or to change into something more comfortable. He was feeling like shit, so he was entitled to do whatever he wanted in his own house. Brian's train of thought was interrupted by Justin, who entered the bedroom with the bowl full of steaming soup. The blond sat on the side of the bed right next to him and carefully placed the bowl on the nightstand.
An hour ago, Justin had been contemplating whether his plan would work, if he would still be in the loft after Brian’s return. Thankfully, it seemed like his plan had worked, and, at least for now, the worst was behind them. Of course, cancer was the worst part of the equation, the thing that threatened to take Brian away. But Justin refused to let it win. Whatever came next, they would face it together. Obviously, Justin had already read everything he could find on cancer – testicular one in particular – including its risks, treatments, and prognosis. Justin wanted to learn all the specific details of Brian's case from the man himself, but he knew that today was not the day this would happen. Fortunately, it looked like Brian had finally come to his senses. It was simple as that: Justin wouldn’t leave him for. Never. And Brian had to deal with it.
One glance at his visibly sick boyfriend was enough for Justin to take pity on the older man. As soon as Brian settled on the bed, Justin handed him a spoon. Shame was evident on the older man’s face, as if it had suddenly hit him how unnecessarily cruel he had been and how absurd the whole situation was. So Justin opted for simply holding the bowl of the steaming soup in his hands to accommodate the sick man. Brian glanced over at the blond, whose expression said: "I dare you to say anything. Just eat. Please".
Justin knew that Brian probably wouldn't be able to finish the whole thing, but he had to eat at least some of it, as his body needed to stay hydrated and to receive some vitamins from the nourishment. Brian had to help his body fight the disease, and Justin would do whatever was necessary to help his partner recover. Justin wasn't stupid and, contrary to some people's belief, knew Brian better than anyone else, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out that during their brief separation, Brian hadn’t been taking proper care of himself. Justin would bet that as soon as his secret was out of the bag, Brian just locked himself in the loft and tried to sleep his pain off. If Brian had been feeling a little better, Justin would've assumed that Brian was drinking or taking drugs to ease his pain. But Justin could see Brian getting sicker just by looking at the soup in front of him, so all the other substances were definitely out of the picture for now.
Brian stared at the soup for a moment too long. His already unsettled stomach churned at the thought of eating, but Justin’s expectant gaze left no room for argument. The warmth of the bowl in his hands radiated up toward his face, the steam carrying a scent that should have been comforting but only made his nausea worse. With a slow breath, he lifted the spoon, blew on the hot liquid to let it cool slightly, and finally took a sip.
"That's…", Brian started, his voice raspier than he intended.
Justin raised his eyebrows slightly, trying to suppress the smile forming on his lips. Instead, he simply waited, his blue eyes locked onto Brian with a mix of amusement and something softer – something unspoken.
"The soup…" Brian hesitated, as if admitting it would somehow cost him his dignity. "It's not bad. It’s… it’s good actually…"
Now it was impossible for Justin not to grin. Brian would have killed him on the spot if he knew that the younger man found the whole thing adorable. Brian Kinney didn’t do adorable. Period. Except that in Justin’s eyes, he certainly did.
"Well, eat it up then", Justin nudged him playfully. "You know I will force-feed you if I have to."
Brian sighed heavily, but surprisingly, he didn’t protest. He simply picked up the spoon again and took another sip, then another. He was too tired, too drained to fight anymore. Besides, the soup was warm, and despite his nausea, it settled in his stomach in a way that nothing else had in days.
Justin watched him closely. When two-thirds of the bowl were empty, he could see Brian struggling to finish his meal. He was pushing himself too far. But Brian was stubborn. What else was new? Justin sighed and decided to take pity on him before he made himself sick for real.
"You know you don't actually have to eat the whole thing," Justin murmured, reaching out and gently taking the spoon from Brian and setting it down in the almost-empty bowl.
Yes, he had been terribly mad at Brian for the last couple of days, furious that Brian had tried to push him away, but sitting there, watching Brian eat up close, allowed him to observe the man. Now, knowing where to look, he could see that the bags under Brian’s eyes had deepened, and the bruises had become darker since the last time he saw him. His skin was just a little too pale under the dim light. His cheekbones had gotten more prominent and it was evident that Brian had lost some weight. He looked exhausted. And yet, Brian was still the most beautiful man Justin had ever seen. From the moment they met, Justin knew that would never change.
Brian put his arms around his torso, shifting slightly, trying to suppress the uncomfortable feeling growing inside him. His body ached, and nausea still lingered, but something else clawed at his insides—something heavier. Still, when he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"Thank you, Sunshine."
He avoided looking Justin in the eyes, as if meeting his gaze would make the shame even more unbearable.
The awkwardness was still present between the two of them, but Justin didn’t mind. He would take this over their usual fights any day. Because at least now, Justin was here, in the loft, taking care of the man he loved, instead of sitting in the apartment he shared with Daphne, going crazy from anger and rejection.
Brian looked liked he was about to pass out, so Justin decided to be assertive once again today to stop Brian from falling asleep in his work attire. That was definitely a bad idea because not only would Brian feel even more stiff and miserable in the morning, but because Justin knew that his boyfriend would bitch and moan for the rest of the week if his expensive designer clothes got wrinkled or ruined. So, carefully, Justin placed his hand over Brin's left knee.
"Hey," he said gently. "How about changing into something more comfortable?"
At first, it seemed like Brian didn't hear what Justin said as there was no reaction from the man. Justin was about to repeat himself, thinking Brian might have already dozed off, but then he saw it – a slight, almost imperceptible nod. It was barely there, but it was enough.
Justin took it as a yes and moved so he could help Brian remove his shoes. He took Brian's left leg in his hand and unzipped the brown leather boot, and slid it off as gently as possible, not wanting to disturb or make his sick partner any more uncomfortable than he already was. He set the shoe down near the bed before repeating the action with the other foot.
Brian let out a soft exhale. It wasn’t quite a sigh, but Justin could tell he was already more at ease. Justin berated himself for not thinking about doing this sooner.
Moving closer, Justin watched as Brian sluggishly attempted to unbutton his shirt. Gently, he stilled Brian’s hands, brushing them away before taking over. He finished quickly what his boyfriend was doing and then, shifting to the head of the bed, he carefully guided the shirt off Brian’s shoulders and slid it down his arms, mindful of his fragile state. Next came the pants. Brian helped him by lifting up his hips, allowing Justin to finish the job.
Now, Brian was laying there in nothing but a pair of brief shorts similar to the ones Justin had first seen him wearing after his supposed trip to Ibiza. Since Justin found out about the cancer, he couldn’t stop from blaming himself for mentioning Brian’s unusual choice of underwear. Of course, he hadn’t known the truth at the time – hadn’t known about the cancer, about the surgery, about the battle Brian had been fighting alone. And now, every time he thought about it, a deep, aching guilt settled in his chest. He should have noticed sooner.
Justin didn’t realize that he was lost in his thoughts until a movement caught his eye, Brian had somehow managed to crawl under the duvet on his own. His body curled slightly into the mattress, his breathing slow and steady, his exhaustion finally winning. Brian was already falling asleep.
Justin exhaled, relief mixing with lingering worry. Carefully, he tucked the older man in, making sure the blanket covered him properly, then leaned in for just a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of Brian’s chest. He’d never stop watching over him.
After a beat, Justin straightened, picked up the dirty dishes, and made his way to the kitchen to clean up the mess he’d made while cooking Debbie’s chicken soup for Brian.
***
The rest of the day passed quietly. Brian slept on and off, his body still drained from both the illness and the emotional toll of the past few days. Justin, meanwhile, doodled random things in his sketchpad, letting the soft scratch of his pencil fill the silence in the loft.
Brian finally woke up around 5 p.m., and, after a brief trip to the bathroom, relocated to the living room. He laid on the cushions still scattered on the floor, and tried to focus on some random TV show playing in the background. It wasn’t working. His mind refused to cooperate, and his body wasn’t much better. The fatigue still clung to him, making his limbs feel heavy, his head foggy. But even more distracting than his physical exhaustion were the thoughts circling in his mind, replaying every moment from the past week in sharp, painful detail. Brian couldn’t stop thinking about how poorly he had treated Justin who was currently stretched out beside him. Justin didn’t deserve it and Brian knew it. Justin tried not to pester Brian, but the older man could see how Justin was glancing at him discreetly from time to time. Brian pretended not to notice it, as he was unsure of how to act. He was beyond embarrassed by his selfish behaviour – today and earlier that week. Justin wasn’t some naïve kid anymore. He had proven time and time again that he could handle the hard parts, that he was willing to fight, to stay, no matter how ugly things got. And Brian? He had been a coward. Only now was Brian begining to realize that he might have overreacted and hurt his partner for real. Yes, his partner. He remembered telling Justin before leaving for his surgery that they weren't married, and that he, Brian, could do whatever the fuck he wanted – no obligations, no commitments, nothing tying them together. But even as the words had left his mouth, even as he had shoved Justin away, Brian had known, deep down, that it wasn’t true. It hadn’t been true for a long time now. While Brian still saw himself as an independent person, he could actually admit, at least to himself, and occasionally to others, that he cared about Justin, who had been an important part of his life for years now. Thus, Brian’s previous behaviour was nasty, to say the least. You didn’t treat your partner, your family, like that. The guilt churned in his stomach, making him feel even worse than before. Brian knew he owed the younger man both an apology and an explanation. But Brian’s head was pounding, his body ached, and he could barely string a coherent thought together, let alone have the conversation Justin deserved. So instead, he just lay there, staring at the TV without actually watching it, feeling Justin’s quiet presence beside him. And wondering how much longer he could postpone the inevitable conversation.
"Hey, Bri", Justin’s soft voice pulled Brian out of his thoughts. Brian blinked, shifting his gaze toward the blond, who was watching him with quiet concern. "I’m gonna grab something to eat. Do you want me to make you something too? Maybe a toast or some juice?"
The mere thought of food made Brian’s stomach twist uncomfortably. His appetite had been nonexistent since the surgery, and right now, the idea of eating felt more like a chore than anything else.
"No," he said after a moment, shaking his head. "I think I’ll go take a shower." After a pause, he added: "But thanks. For offering."
Justin’s expression softened slightly, but there was something hesitant about it, like he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure if he should. Brian caught the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and raised an eyebrow, silently prompting him to just spit it out.
Justin exhaled and finally asked: "Do you want me to help you in the shower?"
Brian tensed, his body going rigid before he could stop himself.
Justin must have noticed because he quickly clarified, "I mean, you’re still dizzy..." His voice trailed off toward the end. It was obvious that he still wasn’t sure what terms they were on, where they stood after everything.
The question caught Brian off guard. To be honest, the thought of Justin massaging his shoulders in the shower, helping him wash his body and hair, was tempting. Comforting, even. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet. The scar was still too fresh, too visible, a permanent reminder of his vulnerability. Of the fact that he was no longer invincible. The idea of standing naked in front of his partnert, of having him see the full extent of the damage, made something inside Brian recoil. Although it was bound to happen sooner than later, he felt too self-conscious to do so today. So instead of letting his partner take care of him, Brian tentatively reached out, resting his hand on Justin’s thigh. It was a small gesture, but it was all he could manage.
"I… I appreciate you wanting to help me, Justin, but I… not today, okay?"
Justin studied him for a few seconds, his blue eyes searching Brian’s face like he was trying to read between the lines. Brian held his breath, waiting for a reaction. Then, just like that, Justin nodded. No arguments, no pushing. Just quiet understanding.
"Okay," he said simply.
He stood up, then reached out, offering his hands to help Brian up from the cushions. Brian hesitated for only a second before accepting, gripping Justin’s hands as the younger man pulled him to his feet. Justin’s grip was steady. Solid. And for the first time in days, Brian allowed himself to lean on it.
Brian retreated to the bathroom, and soon after, Justin heard the sound of running water. It would be a lie if Justin said that he wasn’t listening to what was going on in the other room, just in case Brian suddenly felt worse and needed his assistance. Not that Brian would ever admit it. Justin knew that much. The man would probably bite his own tongue before asking for help. That’s why the blond let out a quiet breath of relief when, half an hour later, he saw his lover emerge from the bathroom.
That night, neither of them had the energy to pretend they wanted to stay awake any longer. They went to bed early, their bodies exhausted in more ways than one.
By the time Justin had finished his own shower and walked out of the bathroom, Brian was already lying in bed, the dim light from the bedside lights casting soft shadows across his face. Justin climbed into bed beside him, but he didn’t move closer.
Brian couldn’t help himself but feel kind of disappointed by that turn of events. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the absence of Justin’s usual warmth beside him felt strange. Brian was a very tactile person, and despite never admitting it to anyone, touching Justin always helped him to ground himself. He knew the same was true for Justin as well. Especially after the bashing. Simply touching each other, feeling each other’s skin, was their unspoken language, a habit of sorts. And now, for the first time in a long time, Justin wasn’t reaching for him.
Justin turned off the remaining lights and finally settled into bed without a word, his back facing Brian. Brian wasn’t sure if the blond was doing so on purpose, but the fact that he didn’t roll toward him, didn’t reach for him like he usually did, bothered Brian more than he wanted to admit. Brian stared at Justin’s back for what felt like an eternity, contemplating his next move. The distance between them, both physically and emotionally, was suffocating. “Fuck it!” he thought, and before he could second-guess himself, Brian moved closer to his boyfriend. There was no reaction from the younger man, so Brian decided to just go ahead and gently slid his hand beneath Justin’s arm, wrapping it securely around his waist. It seemed like the blond was sound asleep, so Brian moved even closer, trying to touch as much of Justin’s body as was physically possible. He breathed in Justin’s scent, and Brian would swear that he immediately felt much better than a split second ago. Brian dipped his head slightly, lips brushing against the soft skin of Justin’s shoulder.
"I am sorry, Sunshine," Brian finally murmured into Justin’s ear.
Suddenly, Brian felt Justin’s body tensing and then relaxing. So the blond wasn’t sleeping after all. Brian held his breath, expecting Justin to say something, but the younger man just snuggled closer to him, squeezing just tight enough to let him know he had been heard.
Once again, Brian silently thanked God he didn’t believe in for sending him the most passionate and understanding man to be his partner. Deep down, Brian knew that no one else would ever be able to replace his blond boy.
Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to. The soft rhythm of their breathing gradually fell in sync, the steady rise and fall of Justin’s chest against Brian’s own lulling them both toward sleep. The faint scent of shampoo still clung to Justin’s damp hair, mixing with the remnants of Brian’s cologne – a scent so familiar, so comforting, that it made Brian’s eyelids grow heavier. With Justin safely in his arms, Brian closed his eyes and finally fell asleep.
***
The next morning, Brian woke up alone in his bed. The other side of the mattress was cool to the touch, telling him that Justin had been gone for a while. Blinking away the last remains of sleep, Brian exhaled heavily and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. His body still felt sluggish, but compared to yesterday, he was doing better.
As his senses sharpened, Brian caught the familiar, rich scent of freshly brewed coffee hovering through the loft. He instinctively turned his head toward the kitchen, where he noticed a steaming pot sitting on the counter. A fresh pot. Made just for him.
Dragging himself out of bed, Brian made his way toward the kitchen, his bare feet padding lightly against the hardwood floor. His movements were slow, deliberate, but he was determined not to let his body betray him.
When he reached the counter, his eyes landed on a small sticky note attached to the coffee pot. The handwriting was unmistakably Justin’s.
"Had a morning shift at the diner, so had to go. See you tonight. P.S Please eat a toast or something."
For a moment, Brian just stood there, staring at the note as an undeniably foolish smile pulled at his lips. He traced a thumb over Justin’s scrawled handwriting, feeling something settle inside of him. Justin hadn’t left for good. He hadn’t woken up to an empty loft because Justin had given up on him, on them. The chaos of the past few days, the screaming, the avoidance, the pain – it had all been real. But so was this. So was Justin’s unwavering presence in his life.
Brian took a slow sip of the coffee Justin had made for him and let the warmth seep through his body.
Finally, everything was back to normal.