Rating: This part R, overall NC-17 (Sexual situations, swearing-- the good stuff)
Characters/Pairings: Ensemble; Brian/Justin, other canon couples.
Spoiler/Timeline: Set four to five years post 5x13.
Disclaimer: CowLip/ Russell T. Davies own the rights and premise of Queer as Folk (US), this is a piece of non-profit fiction that does not claim to be otherwise.
Prompt: Changes. For the Fall Contest at qaf_scavenger.
Summary: I hold my breath, each one of his words cuts a little deeper into the gash I created; because he’s right. Even now I can’t find the strength to fight. Not because I don’t want to. But because I’ve made my bed and I know I have to lie in it.
Author notes: Oodles of thanks going out on this fic. Firstly to ET etextraordinary for super beta skills in the face of wacky coding and to J sexy_pumpkin whose enthusiam just makes me want to write buckets and buckets of fic forever and ever. Or until I pass out from exhaustion.
This fic is in two parts so that I could accommodate writing for this and for qaf_challenges, the second part will be finished and posted as soon as humanly possible. Which will teach me to start writing fic less than two weeks before the deadline.
Word Count: (this part) ~5,339
Will you love me when I'm gone?
part one.
Over the years Justin and I met up, fucked, talked about nothing in particular but still, I felt it. I felt that Justin wasn’t mine anymore. His heart, while it would always partly belong to me, held different dreams, wants that overtook his love and pushed it, pushed me to the side.
“I thought we were meeting at the restaurant,” Justin said quietly as he slipped beside me in the bar.
I shrugged, part of me annoyed that Justin could read me so easily as to find me in the first place he looked.
“If I asked you not to do this, would you listen to me?”
I try to tune out the little crack in Justin’s voice as he said the words. He knows it’s been coming for a while. My visits less frequent and then my attention would find itself occupied ‘elsewhere’. I was slowly self-destructing and for once, or at least until this moment, Justin was letting me. But what he thought was probably a selfless act on my part, to free him of my influence, but in truth a very selfish act. I was doing it for me. I was tired of the wounds, the deep invisible claw marks that inevitably showed up on my heart every time I leave.
I had to do this. I was tired of loving him so much.
“It’s time Justin. You need to move on. New York isn’t a dream anymore. It’s here and it’s waiting for you to grab it by the balls,” I tell him earnestly. He takes on only little projects, that way should he want to come home or visit, it doesn’t take much pissing around to get him out of it.
Justin rolled his eyes, and bites at his lip. “It’s not its balls I’m interested in.”
I could feel the hints of the smile I would normally give. My lips tucked over my teeth as even then I try to keep back any emotion from my face.
“Fuck this Brian. Fuck you.” Justin threw at me when he realized I was serious, that it wasn’t going to one of those games we played. “After everything we said, we promised.”
“People lie, people change.” Wasn’t that the truth. My body rolled with the shrug I gave, and turned my look only a little more than disinterest.
Justin shook his head. “Not you. Brian Kinney is as honest as they come. No apologies, no regrets.”
His hand grasped mine, his skin shockingly pale as if his body itself was allergic the sun. Which in his case could be entirely possible.
“You told me you loved me.”
Was I really going to do this? To banish Justin from my life completely. Deb said I never did things quietly. Shoved people off cliffs rather than buildings.
“I wanted you back. I said what I had to, to get what I wanted.”
Another truth is that my heart feels torn, another deep groove cut straight across it as the light, the sunshine, in Justin's eyes dims a little.
“I don’t believe you.” His voice falters.
His hand withdrawn withdraws and I just want to grab it back. The old Justin, the Justin I took home and fucked so many years ago would have said exactly the same thing. Then he'd have told me to go fuck myself. To come back when I realized how much I wanted and needed him.
I pull my wallet out to pay for my tab, the three Beams I had before Justin even got here and the one sitting in front of me. I add another $20 in case Justin feels like one.
“I don’t need you to believe me. I just need this to be over.”
And there it was. That final shove off the cliff.
It's the first time I'd done that. Even when we weren’t together, in that time referred to only as ‘Justin’s time away’ I was still there for him, he could still come to me. In those simple words I had cut him off, him from me and me from him.
Justin picked up my Beam and took in downed it in one. His eyes suddenly void, in complete understanding of my point.
“You’re a coward, Brian.” Justin told me as he picked up his coat, “You think that being Brian Kinney gives you some sort of armor but, if anything, it makes you weaker. It tells you what to do, who to be. Honestly, you have done me a favor because even now, if you can’t fight for me. If I don’t mean enough to you for you to even goddamn try...”
I hold my breath, each one of his words cuts a little deeper into the gash I created; because he’s right. Even now I can’t find the strength to fight. Not because I don’t want to. But because I’ve made my bed and I know I have to lie in it.
Whatever Justin was going to say, died on his lips. He pulled in another breath and started again, “I’m done with this, Brian. I can’t keep fighting for you, for what might be-- because clearly, this is all there is.”
/*/
I managed to haul myself up the next morning for my flight home. I don’t even know how those fuckers thought to let me on their big expensive plane. My eyes were rimmed red from my smoke inhalation, my face unshaven and a general look about me that said, Do not approach, serious drinking in progress. But I was silently grateful. Even when a nice young steward offered me a glass of fruity stuff. I didn’t really pay attention to it, just let it slide down my throat just as well as any shake I could make for myself.
But for the first time in a damn long time, the thought of joining the mile high club didn’t appeal to me. I drained the glass, motioned for another and settled in my chair/bed, enjoying the wonders of first class. My eyes drift shut and I tried to will the weekend from my mind.
When I reached the loft, I was hitting the wall. The sleep on the plane did little for the state I had gotten into last night but a shower would help. Keys dropped in the bowl on the coffee table, I shrugged off my jacket and shirt as I checked the answering machine.
I had 5 messages. The first three were the usual, one from Michael making sure I was actually gone, one from Ted reminding me about an account I had told him about, after that was Deb telling me to take care of myself and Sunshine. That felt like a gut punch right there. Take care of him? Break his fucking heart because I could? I rubbed my closed eyelids and groaned.
The fourth was Justin himself. He sounded how I felt, drowning in the effects of alcohol consumption. He sighed into the phone, I can tell, his breath just crossing the mouthpiece.
“This is really it, isn’t it?”
I hear the crumple of a cigarette pack and a match being lit.
“I just-- I want to say it’s okay. I guess I’ve been waiting for it since I was 17. Now that it’s here...”
I heard Justin take a drag, his breath changed as he exhaled.
“I know for sure that I’m not waiting around for you to finish jerking me off.”
The phone clicked off at his end and I stared at mine. A thousand thoughts cross my mind, a hundred images flash across my eyes. None of the scenarios had ended like this. Not so final. I expected a fight from Justin, a sure as hell dropped out, dragged out, ‘you are not doing this to me Brian fucking Kinney.’ Not goodbye.
I don’t care that it’s fucking 10am. I shove the phone of its stand – ignoring the crash as it falls – and haul my ass into the shower and head to the newest addition to the Liberty Avenue family.
/*/
I have no idea what the place is actually called but I call it the Fuckhouse. With the Liberty baths closed and renovated into my office space, we needed a new place to get our public jollies off in. Actually it was run by a pretty decent guy, in my terms of decent. I fucked him and he didn’t care when I didn’t want to fuck him again.
There is a main ‘room’ which is pretty much one huge bed in the center of the room with chairs, chaise lounges and whatever the fuck strewn about so that we can all have a big merry fuck and be happy about it. But for other times there were other rooms, some with just chairs, some with just beds where you could fuck anyone you wanted and give a show to the passing masses.
That’s what I want tonight. I want to fuck the first hot guy I find and I want all of gay Pittsburgh to see it. I’m still Brian Kinney, I am still the best fuck that this cordoned off block has ever seen.
A guy walks up to me, hot enough for my standards so I give him an approving smile. His hair is dark, that gets him closer to a fuck with me straight off. No more fucking blondes. Ever. His eyes are hazel like mine, I sure as hell don’t need to catch his eye, even by accident, and be reminded of Justin. The downside is his lips are full, like Justin’s but I don’t worry too much about that. Like it or not, it looks good around my cock.
I grabbed the guy by the back of the neck, he leans in as if he’s going to kiss me but I turned my face and instead of pulling him closer I pushed downward, forcing him to his knees. He pulled my towel and smiles at my hardening length. He’s heard of me, they all have and nothing ever said about me is an exaggeration.
“You’re going to enjoy this,” he tells me.
He was wrong.
I don’t enjoy him when I’m fucking him on his knees, over the back of the chair or up against the wall. I mean, sure, he gets my dick hard and I come just the same but it feels empty. I don’t want to admit that without Justin, whether I’m doing it to piss him off or to show him what’s to come, tricking doesn’t offer the same rush. It doesn’t sit well under my skin after I’m done for the fourth time.
I pulled out, trash the condom and reach for the towel. The guy stops me with a hand on my shoulder blade. I turned, and the guy was pressing his lips against mine. Something in my stomach recoils, sending messages to my brain to get this guy off me. But by some freakish by product of what I guess is the shit I took before I came, I kissed him back. He tried to get me to open my mouth, to let him in but I took his face into my hand, held his jaw firm as I walked him back to the wall, thrusting my tongue into his mouth which opens at the first tentative flick of my tongue. I licked the roof of his mouth, the back of his teeth before I pulled away. My stomach finally gives up on doing psycho flip flops and a queasy feeling settles low in my belly.
My tone is lethal and my face matching, “Don’t ever do that again.”
Everyone knows the moment I walk out of that door, he’s history, I’ve had him. I’m telling myself--fuck, I’m telling myself I still believe in some bullshit made up years ago between two emotional twats.
I’m reminding myself that I love Justin.
/*/
Three weeks passed before the questions began.
It all started when Justin was supposed to be at one of Debbie’s dinners and didn’t arrive. They asked me if I had spoken to him, did I know what was up? Like I was his fucking keeper. I suppose, to them I still was.
Michael handed me a bottle, and kept the other for himself, “I just thought you would have talked to him that’s all.”
I rolled my eyes. “What, you think Justin and I get together and talk about our feelings?”
“No, I thought maybe between fucks he might have mentioned not coming down for dinner.”
“Well, I haven’t been to New York, so what? Justin‘s a big boy. I‘m sure he can fend for himself.” I become very interested in my beer. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest, the ache of it all growing as I shifted in my seat. I will myself to be as obnoxious as possible.
Michael shook his head, “It’s more than that. He blew Ma off when she called him.”
Emmett looked horrified and I throw them all a look. “Of all the problems in the world, this is what you care about?”
Michael glared at me. I can tell word for word what is about to come out of his mouth.
“We all know what you care about, Brian--”
I stopped him with a raised hand, and, I have no doubt, a pinched look of annoyance. “The kid is enjoying the wonders of New York: art museums, gallery openings, fuckable men.”
I take a drag of the cigarette I’ve just lit and blow it out in a plume of grey smoke, trying to ignore the look Emmett is giving me. Always that much more perceptive than Michael and never as loud-- despite his flaming dress sense.
/*/
The dinner was rescheduled and Justin was another no show. At least that's what Ted told me as he handed me a bear claw. I look at it, then him with disgust, “What is this, Theodore?”
“It’s a sweet pastry, Brian. Tasty and delicious.” Ted smiled and took a bite out of his to somehow encourage me to eat the sugar laden heart attack.
I put the thing down on my desk and take a file from my desk and hit Ted over the head with it. Ted looks reasonably shocked. “Brian!”
“I want to know who told you and when.” My voice is full of menace as I advance on Ted.
“Em might have mentioned it, but he wasn’t sure.” Ted sags a little in relief when I stop moving. “So Justin left again, it’s not--”
“Justin didn’t leave. I did.” The words slid out before I could hold them in. Ted seated himself in the chair in front of my desk.
“Wow.”
That gets my back up. I can hear the pity, the unsaid, ‘poor Brian and his lost love.’ “Get the fuck out. Now.”
“Brian.” Ted looks at me sadly, makes it suddenly worse, much worse. His look sends a fresh gouge down my barely healing heart. The poorly made stitches of endless fucking by rotation and consolation just seem to rip apart.
“You will get of my office before my dick completely shrivels up or I will fire your ass!” I yell, too loud for the situation, even to my own ears. I don’t even stay to see Ted leave, I just take the claw, stalk to the bathroom and shove the door closed and shove the pastry into my mouth.
/*/
I regretted the sugar when I got home. It churned heavily in my stomach and no amount of coffee could wash it away. I guess it was that weakness that got me ambushed. Or at least it sounds like a good excuse.
“Brian! Brian, I know you’re home. I can hear that fucking television. Goddamnit, you’re gonna go deaf!” Debbie shouted over one of my old Westerns.
I yanked the loft door open, my face impassive, “Deb, after all these years with you, if I’m not deaf, I’m not gonna to be.”
Debbie thrust a container into my hands, still warm to the touch. So she’s really pissed. Freshly baked whatever-the-fuck meant I was in big trouble.
“You and Justin broke up.” She announced, like I was a onlooker in the whole thing. “You left Sunshine.”
I ran my hand through the new crop of my hair. The cut one more new thing since last seeing Justin. “I know that as one of your lost boys...”
“Shut up.” Debbie took back the container and put it on the kitchen counter, turning to look for plates.
“Top shelf.” I offered.
Debbie nodded and grabbed two. She grabbed a spoon and started scooping out penne pasta onto each plate. I was about to say it was seven thirty when Debbie glared at me so hard, I just took the fork she offered me.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend to know what’s going on with you and Sunshine now that he’s in New York, but damn it, Brian, why?” Deb shoveled a good helping of pasta into her mouth.
“With all due respect,” I drawled, “it's none of your business.”
That earned me another glare and a slap on the back of my head.
“I went to see him, you know.” Deb sighed, another forkful eaten, “He’s-- he’s different.”
I tried to shrug it off, but Deb has always had my number, loud and clear. “He dyed his hair. Black. Can you imagine?! Our Sunshine with black hair. It was all wrong.”
She chose that moment to look at me, to really look into me. I knew she saw beyond all my faults, my gracelessness and jackass attitude.
“Bring him home, Brian. Bring him home.”
/*/
The flight was terrible, my back felt bent out of shape even though I usually slept perfectly well in first class. If I’m as honest as I am always purported to be, it’s because I’m worried about Justin, it’s sending me into knots and making my gut feel like the time, when I was fifteen, I ate so much cake I puked for three days.
But I’m only honest with everyone else. I can lie to myself every fucking which way and so fucking what.
“Welcome to New York, Mr Kinney.” My driver told me as I lifted my case into the trunk. He clearly thought it was his job but not one fucker is getting their hands on my Armani. My dark look sends the driver back to his seat and I’m left alone in silence for the length of the journey.
My thoughts drift back to the conversation that had started this impromptu trip to the Big Apple.
“Bring him home, Brian. Bring him home.”
“Look, Deb, we broke up. We’re not fucking anymore, that’s it. I don’t run up to New York to hold his hand or whatever the fuck you’re expecting me to do.” My voice is hard, I’m glad. If I don’t fight this, her, I’ll be on the first plane to New York bringing Justin home.
What was wrong with the idea? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. The idea began to work like a soothing balm on my heart, slowly dissolving the stitches I would no longer need if Justin was here. With me.
“I told you, hand on heart, nine fucking years ago that you loved that kid. And guess what Brian, you haven’t changed. Not really. Still fucking shit scared to let his heart touch yours.”
The tirade was far from over but Deb needed refreshment, or just a fucking break. She went to my fridge and, making herself at home, popped a cap on one of my beers.
“So tell me Brian, why the hell have you let him go now? What sort of penance do you think you’re doing this time?” Deb raised the bottle to her lips, drank a couple of swallows of beer before she reset her gaze on me.
Lay it out there. Cards on the table.
My mouth felt dry so I snatched the beer from Deb and took a pull. It did nothing for me, my throat constricted in time with the pulsing of my heart.
“Honey...” Deb whispered quietly in my ear, and pressed my head against her chest, rubbed the back of my hair softly.
Her other arm went around my shoulders, hugging me in that way she would way back when I’d arrive half cocked in the middle of the night looking for Mikey and someone to brawl with. Anything to get the blood pumping, to shove back the helpless feeling.
The retorts weigh heavy on my tongue, I want to ream her out for assuming so much about me. But she’s right, she does know me, whether she wants to ignore it most of the time or not.
My face is dry but I let my right arm go around Deb, hugging myself to her. She ran her fingers through my hair, quietly expecting my confession.
“I wanted more.” There is no quiver in my voice, no shame in my need. I wanted more than a few fucks every few months with Justin. I loved him. I love him. “But I sure as fucking hell wasn’t going to take New York from him.”
“You know, Brian, this is the side of you I don’t get. You say you take what you want but the first sign of wanting it, you’re letting it go to be something else.”
Deb’s body shook with what I assumed was laughter, I couldn’t tell, still pressed up against her.
She finally let me go, pulled my face level with hers, “Brian, listen to me, are you listening?”
I nodded dutifully.
“Tell Sunshine the truth. Tell him you want to try again and that you’re going to make it work. Tell him that Brian fucking Kinney loves him.”
/*/
The concierge was solicitous when I arrived at the Four Seasons, even though it‘s approaching 11pm which for me is the time I start firing assholes., “Welcome, sir. How are you this evening?”
It fucking drives me nuts. I let him take my bags from me, eyeing them carefully as he loads them on to a trolley.
“Yeah, I’m looking for this place,” I hand him a piece of paper with the name of Justin’s new gallery on.
He nodded and smiled. I hated that too., “It’s only a couple of blocks over from here.” Note: Tense issue.
From the Four Seasons? Justin has moved up in the world. I gave him a twenty even though he only escorted my luggage to the elevator before I shooed him away.
I pulled my keycard out from the folded card and slipped it into the electronic lock. The door opens with a click and I push the carrier in as far as it needs to be before I flop on the bed. It’s soft and inviting with cream sheets and a warm comforter. For a moment I considered the scheme for the loft. I shook my head and pulled my suit coat off, heading for the shower.
The shower is acceptable, which to anyone else would be fucking marvelous. I personally oversaw the installation and design of my shower, so I know it’s spectacular. It has good overhead flow, I’m sure would feel great on my tender, plane beaten muscles. But there’s a jacuzzi. I’m not one to indulge the fantasy, not without some sort of pay off. I saw it as wasteful, in time and patience. I remember telling Justin the same fact when we spent our one night together not in the loft or his place.
“Why the fuck would I want a jacuzzi? To sit in the fucking thing for an hour when I can just as clean and dirty in a shower.”
Justin had pulled his eyebrows up, kicked the sheet down, and exposed his naked body. “Who would want to get all slick and wet, sloshing water everywhere. I mean doesn’t water have its own resistance?”
I had to prove him wrong, didn’t I? I had to prove my ability to withhold my breath for a decent amount of time, enough time to suck him hard. To drag him over the expanse of the tub and make him ride me, resistance and all.
I’m half impressed with my semi-hard on and half annoyed., Justin fucking Taylor, getting a rise outta me even when he isn’t even in my bed. I mentally tell my cock that all its getting is some icy water and a few lacklustre tugs if it persists.
I have now reached pathetic. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred fucking bucks. I pull the door on the mini-bar-- I can afford it-- and pick out a mini-vodka. I wrinkled my nose, but still threw it back in one.
The maid knocks, offering me towels, I wave her in, and throw back another vodka. Mixed with my low blood sugar from less than a piece of toast this morning, I’m pleasantly buzzed. The girl smiled as she laid down 3 large towels and two smaller hand ones. I hand her some money and I’m alone again.
Alone and still hard.
I assure myself, Justin will still be here... tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to find someone to fix my problem. Preferably with someone so fucking hot that my dick rises when I tell it to, not when Justin Taylor is mentioned.
/*/
Crush was the club on the circuit this month, or so I’m told by my waiter as he eyes me over my late dinner. His eyes glitter as he takes me in, my arms bare in my sleeveless shirt. I’m not a pumped princess by any stretch but I have some of the best arms I’ve ever seen. I make an obscene gesture with my tongue, pay my check... and leave. He’s not what I’m here for.
I grab a cab and arrive a little after one. By the looks of things, it seemed that’s when it gets interesting. The line was long, but I’ve been around long enough to know that it’s all about attitude. I ignored the lines,walked up to the door and keep going. The bouncer put a hand on my chest until he turned around. His attention preoccupied by a ready-to-go twink who thinks he's got enough balls to walk past a 6'4" body builder like it was nothing.
Still, he takes in my appearance, my lips rolled over my teeth before I release them. His eyes track the movement, I’m sure my lips are now glistening with spit.
“Go ahead, Mr...”
“Kinney.” My mouth quirked into a smile. The bouncer jumped a bit, I realized he’s probably heard of -- if he hasn’t been to -- Babylon. Or he damn well should, the ad time and shit I spent on it.
“Mr Kinney, we're happy to have you.” He offers me a smile but again, he’s just... not it.
“Yes, you are.” I look back at the line, spot a blonde, cutish features, looking frozen in his tiny tee. “And so is he.”
I motion for him to come forward, he looks a little stunned but he follows me anyway, they all do. He has a cute smile and he has a cute this and cute that, it’s all very fucking cute. I’m bored already.
“Thanks--”
I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “I did you a favor, proved a point and that’s it. Now fuck off.”
I move a bit further into the club and it’s more or less exactly like mine, without the personal modifications. But it has a dance floor, a backroom and an overhead level. It’ll do.
Some guy buys me a Beam. I took the glass but walked away after it’s in my hand. I don’t even really look at his face. I guess I really should have because it'll be biting me in the ass later.
I walked up the stairs to the upper platform, the thumpa thumpa beating in the background under the god awful music they’re playing. It’s so last year I wouldn’t let any of this shit near Babylon.
“And what do we own this momentous honor.”
A thick New York accent filters through to my ears. I turn, my face unchanged as I meet Crush’s owner.
“Brian Kinney, out of Pittsburgh. I feel I should get my camera.”
I think this guy’s name is Grand but I never cared to look it up. He makes my skin crawl, just like the Sap, former Babylon owner.
“Not staying long, just here to see what you’re selling.” I let my boredom color my tone.
“Anything you like?”
I looked down into the crowd but no one in particular catches my eye, though I do spot the twink I got in the door and the guy that bought the Beam in my hand. He’s standing facing me talking to a dark haired guy almost a head shorter than him. They seem to be talking animatedly until the guy looks up at me with a scowl. A smirk played out on my features until his friend, fuck, whatever the hell turns around and I’m staring down at Justin fucking Taylor. He turned away like he didn’t even see me.
Something must have crossed my face because Grand is patting me on the shoulder, “Young Mr Taylor doesn’t fuck here.”
That piques my interest. “Like fuck he doesn’t.”
Grand gives a waving gesture like a good old queen to her subjects, “He’s been seen in the backrooms but never more or less than a blowjob. And he sure as hell doesn’t take them home.”
I knew that was a lie. Justin can’t live without fucking. He loves cock, I told him so myself. He loves it so fucking much, now I know he’s fucking the guy who tried to fuck me.
“He’s famous then?” To Grand my interest is to divide and conquer, to have what no one else can. Reality is, I need to know more. Like is he giving or receiving his blowjobs.
“He popped up about a month, maybe two ago.” Grand takes two glasses of Beam off a tray that’s been brought and offers me one. I turned it down, I still have the first and I wouldn’t put it pass him to put shit in there. “As a no named twink no one really paid attention to him, I guess that was how he liked it until he comes in one night, new look, new attitude and they can’t want to get on their knees for him.”
“Why is that?” My tone is indifferent now. I’m putting him down in front of Grand just so that fucker will keep talking but all I really want to do is go down there and shake the little shit. I know he saw me.
“Don’t worry, Kinney, he’s not like you. He doesn’t demand they do whatever he wants. He doesn’t do anything and they just come to him.” Grand cleared his throat.
I’m sure he’d love to come all over Justin. I barely keep down the bile that builds up, reaching for my throat.
I drained my glass and walked off without a word. I didn’t give a fuck about Grand., I let the music pulse through my body. I didn’t need to know how to dance to get what I wanted. I could say everything I needed to with my body. A guy tried to stop me on my way to the bar but I gave him my standard fuck off and then I’m right across from Justin and his trick.
The trick brightened when he saw me, still thinking he had a shot. But Justin turned around and looked at me. His hair was still long but black like Deb had said it had been. It was wrong, Justin was a blonde through and through, his skin was too pale to carry off such a harsh color.
'And this is where I hand my balls over to the lesbians, right?' I say to myself as I tried to shake off the intense need to run my fingers through his hair just to see if it’s real. That suddenly his hair will turn pale yellow like it had always been.
The trick took steps towards me but Justin stuck out his arm, blocking the trick’s path. He looked down at Justin, still as short as he had ever been.
“Fuck off.”
The guy looked hurt before he looked back at me, he muttered something but left just the same.