Brian woke up and rolled over inhaling the scent from the other pillow deeply. He was surprised to find the bed empty, then surprised to be surprised. He smoked slowly and convinced himself that he wasn't actually missing anyone specifically he'd merely become accustomed to things and that really he was pretty fucking relieved to have his loft back to himself. He showered and when he ended up jerking off thinking about blue eyes, blond hair and unblemished smooth pale skin gliding like silk under his hands, he knew with absolute certainty that his next move was the right one.
He sleeps, warm and soft in my arms… until his screams split the night.
We walk down Liberty Avenue, laughing hand-in-hand… until someone's bag bumps him as they pass. Suddenly he's pressed against my side, I'm tripping over his feet, and my fingers are crushed in his.
He paints, with complete focus and determination… until his hand spasms, and the piece is ruined. He hurls his brush across the room so hard he almost loses his balance. Paint splatters everywhere when it hits the wall. His entire body shakes while he cries.