Michael had only meant to come and throw Brian out of bed, cuss him out for leaving everything behind like he didn't care.

When he slid the door of the loft open, quietly, he halted.

Like a careless brushstroke of ink, Brian's silhouette arched black over Justin's sleeping face on the bed. His hand ran gently through blond hair, knuckles brushing over cheekbones almost reverently. Clearly he didn't want him to wake up. To know of him doing this.

Brian looked up.

His shadowed expression didn't change but Michael backed out anyway, knowing he wouldn't say anything the next day.