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“Bri, you coming?”
Brian glances up from fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. He lifts one to his lips and shakes his head. “You go. I’ll catch up.”
Michael frowns and looks like he wants to argue. But Ben wraps an arm around him and tugs him down the sidewalk.
Brian watches until they disappear around the corner. He pulls the cigarette from his lips and drops it on the ground, no longer interested. He shoves the pack in his pocket and shakes his head as he turns. He heads the opposite way, walking past the line of people waiting to get into Babylon. He has no intention of going back inside. He has even less intention of going to Woodys. He doesn’t want to drink. He didn’t even want to come out but Michael dragged him.
He pulls out his phone and there’s no missed messages. There’s nothing. He puts it away and pulls out his wallet. He flips it open and pulls out a weathered, aged photo. Him and Justin, smiling and laughing at the kid’s prom. It had equally been one of the best and worst nights of his life. He stares at the picture and he sighs.
Maybe he feels hollow inside. He doesn’t know. He’s not good at relationships. He’s downright awful at it and the space between them has made everything hard. He can count on one hand all the times he’s seen Justin since the younger man left for New York. And maybe he’s a coward for not making more of an effort. Or not just leaving and following him.
But he didn’t follow Justin. And Justin didn’t come back.
Brian shoves the photo back in his wallet as he heads down the sidewalk alone.
Justin smiles and waves as the show dies down. There’s a few people lingering, wandering through the paintings lining the walls. He’s made a few sales. Nothing major but it’s more exposure. It’s his work going home with someone new and it makes him smile. He waits until the straggles are gone and he locks the gallery. He packs up quickly and heads out. He doesn’t live far, just a few blocks away, and he walks. He’s in no hurry to get home. He doesn’t have anyone to come home to.
He pulls out his phone and checks. But there’s no new messages. He doesn’t really expect any. He knows Brian will be busy with the club. And his agency. He hardly hears from the older man anymore. He understands. Mostly. They never really talked about plans. Justin goes back a few times a year and it’s nice. But lately, over the last year, he has less time. He can’t remember how long it’s been since he got to touch the man he loves.
He unlocks his door and steps inside. His place smells highly of drying paint but he doesn’t notice it anymore. Everything around him is paint and it used to bring him joy. But lately, everything is just hollow and empty. He paints because he has to now. It’s not such a joy anymore, it’s a job.
His eyes settle on the paintings lining the hall. And he sucks in a sharp breath. Brian stares at him in each one. He hardly remembers painting them. One after another, over the last two weeks when he can’t sleep at night. He climbs out of bed and moves on autopilot as he gets out a canvas and starts.
He reaches out and touches his finger tips to the brush strokes. He traces the lines of painted hair and he sighs, remembering.