“I’m actually in the middle of something right now.” The answer startled him, the tone made him frown. He shifted the phone to the other ear and looked up at the ceiling. “Hello?” “Yeah, I heard. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I know how you are when you get into your work,” he answered. “It’s fine. It’s just … you know. I wasn’t expecting your call.” “How are you?” he blurted out. “Fine. Look, I’m busy.” “You’re back with him,” he said, he couldn’t keep the words in, couldn’t stop his accusations. His stomach burned at this new realization. He clenched his fist. “Ethan.” “He doesn’t deserve you!” “I’m not talking about this with you.” The dial tone sounded final in his ears, but Ethan kept listening, kept waiting. ………………… “The concert was brilliant!” Glenn said, he grinned broadly and clapped a hand on Ethan’s back. “As usual.” “The second run was barely in tune,” Ethan said. “I was all over the place in the Mozart, and the fucking Dvorak was barely a tempo.” Glenn laughed, because at this point they had reached Ethan’s fans and since image was everything it was better that Ethan’s dark look be interpreted as the result of his high demands on himself. “Come mingle,” Glenn invited, gesturing to the many faces in the sea of black formal attire. Ethan gave a pained smile and stepped down the stairs slowly, his eyes scanning until he saw the blond in the corner. His smile turned genuine. “I wish I’d known you were coming,” he said, pressing his face into the blond hair. The man turned, a questioning frown on his face but it turned to a wide smile when he saw Ethan. “Come on,” Ethan said, grabbing the man’s arm. “Don’t you have to play the budding artist with your adoring public?” the blond asked. “Tonight I’m celebrating,” Ethan said, kissing the full lips. “What?” the man asked, slightly breathless. “You.” “This is the warmest welcome I’ve ever received,” the blond said, laughing as Ethan tugged him to the elevator. The reception was being held in a grand hotel and Ethan had a room at the top. “Usually it’s a quick suck or fuck after rehearsal.” The doors closed and they were alone. Ethan’s mouth was on the blond’s neck, his fingers working the buttons free on the man’s shirt. “Fuck, Ethan,” the man gasped. “Don’t talk,” Ethan said before lowering his lips to the other man’s chest. They left the lights off once they reached the room; too eager to continue their enjoyable pursuits to separate and find the switch. Clothes made a path to the sofa and Ethan was quick to prepare the other man and slip firmly into his body. It was hot, and frantic and they were both gasping as they came. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” Ethan whispered against the other man’s neck. “It’s okay, I’m okay,” the blond said, panting still. “I never meant to hurt you. I love you.” “Ethan?” the blond asked, his brows creasing as he turned his head, tried to see the other man, but Ethan’s head was resting between his shoulder blades. “I’m so sorry, Justin.” “Justin?” the man asked, his body jerking. “Who the fuck is Justin?” ………………… Ethan awoke with sunlight in his face and smiled at the memories, then winced as his rise to wakefulness made him aware of his splitting headache. He leaned up on his arms and glanced around. Somehow he had made it to bed, his clothes he could see making a line to the couch but there was no sign of whoever he had been with. A vague memory prickled and he groaned. He’d taken some E and snorted a bit of coke after the concert and had thought that Peter was Justin. He scoffed. There was no way that Peter -- desperate little viola in the orchestra, who gave head about as good as he played his instrument – which wasn’t well – could be anything like Justin. Idly, Ethan stretched a hand across the sheets and pressed his palm into the pillow that lay beside him. Justin’s side of the bed. His hand drifted beneath the pillow and withdrew the sheet of paper he had placed there. It was rumpled and the shading had faded, but it was still there. A sketch of he and Justin, together and happy. It made him ache. He traced his fingers of the curve of the familiar cheek. “I’m not antisocial. I just … don’t like people.” The memory drifted across his mind as if he was there again, in that time again, and he laughed, pressing his face into the other pillow. But it was just a pillow; it didn’t even hold Justin’s smell. It had been a long time since he had breathed that familiar scent, but even just the memory of it could still make him hard. ………………… “I want you to stop calling, okay?” “I don’t mean to freak you out. I just want to talk to you.” “I have nothing else to say to you. I’ve moved on and I have no inclination to repeat the same mistakes. I don’t plan to look back.” “We weren’t a mistake,” he said, his voice hard the anger choking him. Had Justin forgotten already? A year apart and already their time together had been cast out from memory? “Ethan. I’m done. That’s it. I’m happy now; I’m where I’m supposed to be. I want you to stop calling.” “Are you worried he’ll find out about me?” “He already knows,” came the wry response. “You fucking told him?” Ethan said. For some reason his skin was crawling at the idea. “I have nothing to hide. No reason to hide. Now I’m going to hang-up, and I want you to not call.” “Can I see you?” Ethan asked. “What?” “Please, just one time.” “You’re not making any sense.” The tone was frustrated, confused. “We ended so badly,” Ethan tried. “Can I just make it right? I just want to make it right. Just meet me, I just want to say that I’m sorry.” “Sorry’s bullshit.” ……………………… Wolfram was an old cat. Ethan should have been expecting it, but he hadn’t and there was nothing to ease his surprise when he found his cat dead on the floor of the hotel room. Wolfram had been everywhere with him, and in the end, he had been the only thing beyond Ethan’s violin that had never strayed from him. Ethan was off for the entire practice; he couldn’t get anything right, couldn’t play anything worthwhile. He left rehearsal and walked, not knowing where his feet would take him. More and more the violin case he carried felt like a burden, a lead weight on his back. It was all he had left besides his fame, besides the money. That didn’t matter though, it didn’t mean anything, and in the end neither did the music. He dropped onto a park bench and let his head sink into his hands. The sky was grey and low hanging; he’d learned to take special note of these things in his time before … Justin was always pointing out things like that. Justin. Ethan rose from his seat and stuffed his hand in his pocket, feeling the leather of his wallet there. Suddenly there was no longer any question as to where he had to be. ………………… Brian Kinney strolled with slow confidence towards the green vette, his hand in his pocket, undoubtedly reaching for his keys. He pulled his door open and paused for a moment as if waiting for something. “Hey! Give me a lift?” Justin asked, stepping out of the building and adjusting the messenger bag he always carried. “Hop in,” Brian said. Justin grinned and jogged to the passenger door. ………………………. Justin attended PIFA and left early each day for classes. He took the bus, or sometimes Brian drove him. He stayed late sometimes, painting in his studio, working on a large canvas. When he did, his gaze was always focussed, the small frown that was ever-present as he created was in place, though what he was creating was in its early stages and it was too difficult to determine what it was. He visited a comic book shop, Red Cape Comics, and worked there sometimes as well. A familiar comic book -- Rage. Of course he still worked on it, and it was doing well. There was a large cardboard cut of Rage himself in the shop, his stance bold and defiant. His gaze mocking, and Justin sat at its feet and sketched. …………………………. “I want to dance,” Justin said, laughing as he pulled out of Brian’s embrace. Brian smirked and watched Justin as he strode to the car. Justin, noticing the gaze, stopped and shimmied his ass. Brian laughed and shook his head, he slapped Justin’s jean-clad ass and kept moving. “You make it seem like going to Babylon is a chore,” Justin teased. “Never a chore, Sunshine.” “Exactly,” Justin said with a grin. He kissed Brian’s lips briefly and turned dramatically to cross to the passenger door. ………………………… Justin danced as he always had done, the practice itself appearing to be a celebration of life, sex and sexuality. His entire aspect one of surrender. The innocent tempter. He drank shots at the bar, accepted a hit of E and raised his arms to the glitter that fell from the ceiling. He took a trick to the backroom and fucked him slowly against the wall. The trick didn’t ask to hook-up again, but he watched Justin leave with a look of longing clear on his face. Justin left the backroom and immediately sought out Brian, pressing his body against the taller man, falling into an easy dance. Again Justin went to the backroom, this time with Brian. He took Brian into his mouth and groaned so sweetly when the other man came down his throat. They left Babylon right after. Apparently a blowjob wasn’t enough. ………………………….. Justin walked like he owned the city. He carried the same messenger bag with him everywhere and it always held art supplies. Justin got sidetracked sometimes and ended-up sketching when he’d originally set out on a quick errand. He lived at the loft; he worked at the Diner and on the comic book. He wore the same black-and-powder blue scarf and P-coat, but sometimes he forgot his gloves. As he worked his shift at the diner, flirting and smiling at his customers, he stopped and stared out the front window for a good three minutes, a worried frown on his face as his eyes flicked back and forth scanning the street like he thought he had caught a glimpse of something he hoped hadn’t actually been there. ………………………………. On Tuesday Justin and Brian stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of their building together. “Just look out for yourself, okay?” Brian said. He cupped the back of Justin’s head, his fingers in the shorter man’s hair. “It’s nothing. I’m probably just being neurotic, anyway,” Justin dismissed with faked confidence. Brian stroked the blond hair and then kissed Justin. “You know I will,” Justin said, as if the kiss had been a question, a plea. “Later,” Justin said with a grin and turned to head to the bus stop. Brian watched him go, before he crossed the vette. He waited until Justin was on the bus before he started the car. …………………………. Sometimes Justin went to Kinnetic. Brian’s place of business. Sometimes he just dropped by; sometimes he stayed for a long time. Sometimes he brought lunch with him, and sometimes he left without his scarf. Almost always, he looked more dishevelled when he left than when he went in, no matter how windy the day was. …………………………. Justin took out the garbage at the Diner. He stretched his fingers like the weight of the bags had pained them and then shook his hand out before flipping the lid of the bin open and chucking the bags inside. As he tossed the last one in, a cat mewed and went racing out of the alley, chased by another cat. Justin jumped almost a foot and looked prepared to bolt. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and he leaned heavily against the side of the garbage bin. “It’s all in you head,” he muttered to himself, his fingers in his hair. …………………………… The stairs were bare concrete and the walls the same, but the people in the building were friendly. The man, at least, had been more than happy to hold open the door for him when he called-out. He climbed to the top and knocked on the heavy door he found there. “Emmett?” he heard from inside the loft. There was the sound of movement, and then the door was unlocked and pulled aside. “You’re early I wasn’t expecting …” And those old familiar eyes met his. “Ethan?” he sounded stunned, looked more than surprised. “Justin,” Ethan said. Justin frowned and Ethan pushed his way inside. “I missed you.” “I want you to leave,” Justin said, his voice unsteady. “You don’t mean that.” “I do,” Justin said, he was quickly getting his bearings. “I told you to leave me alone.” “What is it you’ve been working on?” Ethan asked when he noticed the image on the computer screen. “Ethan,” Justin said. “Leave right now or I’m phoning the police.” “You don’t need to be afraid.” Justin’s eyes flickered to his work out on the table; he’d always been protective of his art. With one hand he snatched the phone and he crossed the floor to turn off his computer and put away his work while he dialled. The phone was ringing and he leaned forward to turn-off the screen when Ethan wrapped his arms around him. “Shhh,” he crooned in Justin’s ear. Justin’s thrashing was weak and his body quickly stilled. “Shhh, I love you. Don’t worry, there’s no reason to worry. I won’t ever hurt you. I love you.” He held the rag over Justin’s mouth and nose with one hand and grasped Justin’s body to his until they were sitting on the floor in the loft. “Hello?” a voice said. “Detective Horvath speaking. Hello?” “Shh,” Ethan whispered to Justin, removing the rag and dropping it on the floor before gently tugging the phone out of Justin’s hand and turning it off. End Part One