He knew he was doing the right thing. After all, he’d always said that if the kid didn’t get his needs met, he should go elsewhere. There never were any locks on the door. But as he replaced the Rage mask, Brian had never felt more exposed.
No apologies, no regrets was always his motto. But this sinking feeling in the pit of his gut as he searched for the next willing ass into which to bury his sorrows felt like something he shouldn’t be feeling. Surely Justin would realize that romantic love was bullshit and find his way home.
Every lesson with Brian was two steps forward, one step back. Justin was sure he'd either be on the first plane out, or dig in his heels, playing the eternal martyr to Justin's success.
But neither of those things happened. It started with a phone call.
"I was thinking… How badly do you want to live in that house?"
"I want to be with you. Now, later, at Britin, in New York… I want to live with you."
Brian smoked a cigarette slowly, still tasting Justin on his lips even after he'd finished it. He sat for a few minutes more, breathing deeply, and letting it all truly sink in.. It had happened so quickly, broken up to bomb to wedding to goodbye. He felt around the edges of Justin's leaving the way you prod at a bruise, seeing how much it's going to hurt. He stood up, his shoulders straight, his plan still now crystal clear in his mind. He lit another cigarette and nodded to himself absolutely certain that his next move was the right one.
Justin looked over Brian’s shoulder. Brian was staring intently at a spreadsheet. “You know,” Justin said, “I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise.”
“Um,” Brian said.
Justin kept his voice flat and uninflected. “So I traded Tom Watkins two of my paintings for a pair of tickets on his “Cruisin’ the Bahamas” trip.”
“Uh-huh.” Brian entered a number on the spreadsheet.
“I talked to Ted and Cynthia, and they both said that after the EyeConics campaign starts, you’d have a couple of slow weeks, so we leave on the 26th. You’ll love it.”