WAKING UP by JustVisiting The next morning Justin woke up in Brian's bed. Of course that was nothing new. It was more familiar than the bed that was supposedly his, in the apartment he shared with Daphne. Yet something felt new. And wrong. Justin rolled over, although he already knew Brian wasn't there. He propped himself up on an elbow and yawned, looking around. Everything seemed all right - until he looked out into the living room and saw that it was nearly empty of furniture. In a moment it all hit him again. He had been kicked out of school and Brian was broke. No job, no position. No classes, no degree. No anti-Stockwell campaign to concentrate on. No plans. Justin fumbled on the floor to find his briefs, then headed down the bedroom steps to the kitchen. He steered automatically around the bench, although it wasn't there any more. It had been sold off with the Naked Guy painting and so much else. At least the kitchen hadn't been ransacked for sellable items yet. Maybe Brian's microwave or the juicer would be next. He spent a few minutes picking through a bowl of oranges, slicing some in half for the juicer and tossing out the moldy ones. Using the juicer made him think about that other one, the Philippe-Starck, gone in the robbery two years ago. The loft looked almost worse now than it had then. But this time he wouldn't run away. "Guess I've lost everything," Brian had said. "Not everything," Justin had answered, and he meant it. The only clean thing he could find to drink out of was a martini glass. Justin gulped down the juice and poured more, looking over again at Brian, who was ignoring the noise in the kitchen. He was standing bare-chested at the windows, smoking, just as he had the night Michael's hustler had barged in on them. Michael! Justin remembered. Michael was gone, too, along with the Corvette and that pushy kid who kept coming on to Brian. Well, that's one good thing, Justin thought. He grinned, and decided to say it out loud. "That's one good thing," he called over. "What?" Brian didn't turn. "That Hunter kid is gone." Brian blew a long cloud of smoke. "I'd like to know where." "You mean you'd like to know where Michael is." Justin felt repentant. There really wasn't anything good about any of this. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Brian from behind, holding up the juice as an offering. "Have something to drink." "This is drinking?" "This is nutrition. You need it." Brian rolled his eyes but took it. Justin leaned his cheek against Brian's back and said into his shoulder blade, "It's Wednesday." "The day after the historic election." Brian raised the glass to the windows, in a toast. "To the salvation of Gayopolis. " "It's a Wednesday and we don't have anything to do. Any place to go. Not until - " Justin glanced without thinking towards the exquisite little clock that sat on the coffee table, but it wasn't there, because the table wasn't there. "Not until two. What time is it? Seven, eight?" "What's at two? Tea with the Queen?" "My shift at the diner." All of a sudden Justin felt overwhelmed. Until this moment, he had been focused on Stockwell and the election. It had filled the days since his suspension from school. Now what? He was nearly as driven and ambitious as Brian, and the thought of empty aimless hours frightened him. He blurted, "What are we going to do all day?" "I'm sure we can think of something," Brian purred. Justin rubbed his chin against Brian's skin in acknowledgement, but persisted, "Even you have to do something besides fuck all day." "Do I?" Brian pulled away and stubbed out his cigarette. "Why? Nobody's going to pay me to do anything else." "He should have gone to Debbie's." "What? Who?" "Hunter. He should have gone to Debbie's." "So the police could raid her instead?" "Why would they bother her? Michael should have stayed home with Ben. They could have told the police Hunter had run away again. They could have pretended they didn't know where he was, and he could have hidden at Debbie's." "That wouldn't have worked," Brian said angrily. "Why not?" Brian couldn't think why not. It made him angrier. "Why don't you shut the fuck up and make some coffee?" "Make it yourself," Justin retorted, but he went back into the kitchen anyway. He opened a cabinet, stared blankly at soup cans, and tried another. Cereal boxes and margarita salt. He tried two more, slamming the cabinet doors. "Shit, I can't find anything in here any more. Did you move the coffee?" Brian had followed him and was leaning against the support beam. "It's in that one - no, I think - " he paused, shrugged as if he didn't care, and looked away. "You don't know where anything is either." The coffee turned out to be in the refrigerator. Mollified, Justin swung the filter out of the coffeemaker and began measuring in the grinds. "This kitchen used to be organized. If I wanted something, I knew exactly where it was." "Because you put it there." Brian didn't add, "When you moved in after the hospital," but Justin knew what he meant. He remembered how he had felt those first few days, back once again at the loft. Too nervous to go out and too restless to sit still, he had unpacked his clothes and then re-organized everything in the kitchen. It hurt his gimpy hand but he couldn't stop. Now that he thought about it, hadn't he rearranged Brian's drawers and the closet, too? What was I thinking? Justin wondered. And why didn't he kill me? He began, "Why -- " and broke off. Brian raised an eyebrow. Justin changed his question. "So why did you move everything after -- ?" He meant, after I left you. Brian paused, then repeated flatly, "Because you put it there." "But -- " "Listen. Because **you** put it there." "Oh." Justin, startled, fixed his gaze on the water dripping into the carafe. "You were all over everything." Brian stared out at the loft. Justin was even more startled by this second admission. So that was why there had been so much new furniture, so much redecorating. His presence had been erased, by new futons and a Mies Van Der Rohe coffee table - and a computer neatly packed for removal. Brian said, "And now there's nothing here at all." "I'm here." It had seemed enough last night, in the euphoria of the victory celebration. "I mean, I'm here again." "True. But financially, you're only another liability." "Fuck you, I am not. At least **I** have a job." He meant it as a joke, but as soon as he said it he wished he hadn't. He added quickly, "And you don't have to worry about paying my tuition anymore." "Wish I did," Brian said. "You know, maybe now that Stockwell lost, the dean would consider letting you back in." "I don't think so. Here." He handed Brian a coffee mug. They stood looking at each other. "Stockwell's credibility took a pounding, thanks to - " Brian made a mock bow. "The Concerned Citizen." "So the dean might be more willing to listen to your side of it." Brian waited. Justin poured a second cup. "Well?" Justin shook his head. "Why not?" "I was pissed off, when he told me to apologize to Stockwell. It got out of hand." "Meaning you mouthed off? Did you tell him to go fuck himself?" "Similar language." "Great. Nice way to burn your bridges." "I didn't think I'd want to cross them again. And actually, I don't. I don't want to go back there." "All right, there are other art schools in the Pitts. Lindsay says the Mandell school is good." "You asked her? It's not as good as the Institute." "Well, if you can't have the best, you have to settle for second best." "Brian -- " "A degree from a good school is better than no degree from a top school. Go down today and get an application for next semester." "The dean won't give me a reference. I bet my professors won't, either." "So what? You had straight As and have a wunderkind portfolio to show. Lindsay can give you a reference. So can I, for that matter." He grinned. "Shall I include your rating on the fuck-o-meter?" "Brian -- " "'To Whom It May Concern, I highly recommend the undersigned applicant as a sex fiend. He sucks cock like a pro and his ass -- '" "Brian!" "What?" "There's no point. I won't be able to pay that tuition either." The grin vanished from Brian's face. He stared down at his coffee. "We'll think of something. Get the application in anyway. " Everything I'm saying is hurting him, Justin thought. And I thought I was going to be a comfort to him, show him he could lean on me for once instead of the other way around. Brian glanced up from under his long lashes. "Will you do that?" But maybe it will make him feel better, if he thinks he's helping me. "Sure," Justin said. It sounded weak, so he added with more strength, "That's a good idea." Brian nodded, satisfied. Justin put down his coffee and went to him, stretching up to kiss him in the crook of the neck. Brian nuzzled him a little in response. Justin said in a throaty voice, "Shall I work on my recommendation now?" "Not now." Brian straightened and Justin dropped his hands in surprise. "We have things to do." "We do? Like what?" "You have to get to Mandell -- " "I can do that later." " -- and I have to get to the store." "The store?" Justin was dumbfounded. "Did you take a job at the Big Q or something?" "Will you get your head out of your ass? Michael's store. Somebody's got to look after it." Shit, I have to stop forgetting about Michael, Justin thought. Because Brian never will. "I'm sure Ben will take care of it." "Ben has a job," Brian said dryly. "You just said we were going to fuck all day." "See?" Brian said to the air. "Sex fiend." "Look who's talking." "So young and so horny." Justin wiggled his hips at him and stuck out his ass, which Brian promptly swatted. "Do that again," Justin taunted. ...
Mojaunicorn