He was looking into the mirror.
“I do the fucking!”
He repeated, as he was standing in front of an audience, instead of himself.
The line was one of the more abused of his repertory.
But still, he was hot.
Well, at least, that was what they all were thinking. And in moments like those it seems to be the only thing that matters.
Kind of.
What did Mickey say, that time?
‘You’re Brian Kinney, for fuck sake! You’ll always be young. You’ll always be beautiful!’
And now, at forty-two he was start believing maybe, just maybe, that could not be entirely true. ‘Cause, fuck, sure he will always be beautiful, but honestly… young? Who would be the crazy fucker to believe that?
At forty-two you’re not young.
Yes of course he wasn’t saying he had one foot in a grave, but still how could he manage to hide to himself, or in the end to them all, that he was sort of tired of old games? That now he hadn’t all that desire to go clubbing, take drugs, living at the edge...
And when he went right down through it, well it was fucking scary only think of that, but he had to admit that screw random people wasn’t that satisfying anymore. How came?
On one thing Mickey was right: he was Brian Kinney. He has a reputation.
But being Brian Kinney, being always the top (literally and metaphorically) was suppose to mean being always the one in the best position, wasn’t it?
Right.
And now, with all his friends living a normal, satisfying, even middle-class life, was he, still rich, classy, hot, successful and miserably alone, in the best position?
Good question!
So, probably that was time to change something.
But what?
Stop smoking an drinking?
He would have preferred to be caught dead!
Stop with drugs?
Well, does life is worth-living without taking some small, calculated risks?
Maybe stop going out all night long?
Com’on! The world wants him outside, preferably naked, and ready to ride.
Ready to go.
So who was him to oppose? His charming mix of perfect shape and cockiness was a gift to human-queer-being.
And he wasn’t speak generally.
Plus, the fact he has moments of discomfort, doesn’t mean he was going to became a dyke!
So, what was he going to do?
Well in the very next future, he thought taking a gulp of tequila, go very, very drunk.


When he reopened his eyes, and the walls of his loft weren’t moving anymore, he also took notice of the fact that was morning.
And that a very blond, very young, very beautiful face was looking at him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“You said I could come”
“Did I?”
“Yes you did. Even if now you probably don’t remember my name.”
“It happens that I remember your name and another couple of things about you mister Taylor, very well.”
“Glad to hear that.”

After a shower, a change of clothes and an appropriate breakfast (cooked up by Justin) he was going to feel like a human being again.
And the familiarity of seeing him in his kitchen, cooking for him as good old days, hit him like a bullet.
But if in the past, the fear of the l-word would have product in him some badass behaviour, just to piss off Justin and made him leave, right now he went straight to the point.
“I don’t want you here Justin. I think you should go.”
Of course that wasn’t exactly what he wanted. But damn sure he wasn’t going to ask him to stay. And not because of pride or bullshit like that (he had learned years ago that pride had nothing to do with the l-word) but because Justin deserved the success he was recalling leaving in New York. The happiness of a normal life. The stability of a normal boyfriend.
No commitment. No promises. No betrayed.
Just l-word.
And he never on earth was going to be able to give him that.
He thought he couldn’t.
So why made him, or (not less important) himself, suffer?
“Why?”
Justin simply asked him.
And the worst part? He didn’t know how to explain it without seeming a fucking martyr!
“I… I’ve got plans for the day.”
“Is not a problem. I can wait.”
“No. You can’t. You’ve already waited for me very long. I don’t think you should do it anymore.”
“Maybe. But what if I want it?”
“You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t want it.”
“It is not something I can chose to do or not to do. And it happen, you believe it or not, that you are the great love of my life Brian. So cut it out.”
He waited, without get too close. Without touch. Trying to think something to say.
“Why you’re here Justin? Why now?”
That was the best he could manage.
Pathetic mr Kinney. He heard the voice in his head.
“It’s your birthday. I wanted to be here today.”
“Yeah. Forty-fucking-two. Infuckingcredible. Trust me: getting, and I’m not saying old, but mature, sucks!”
The boy, who was not a boy anymore, smiled to him.
“You’re still amazing to me. You’re still that gorgeous man who came to me under a streetlamp. You’re still… I love you. I still love you.”
“I know.”
And he was right. He knew.
Because he still loved him, in his brianesque way, too.
And Justin seemed to understand.
“But you still think I have to go.”
“Still. Alwais.”
“Always?”
And now Justin was asking him a different question.
“Yes.”
He had the balls to answer.
“Yes always Justin.”
“You do love me, than. And you do want me to go. Must be the most twisted man of the entire universe!”
“Must be.”
He was breathing heavier by minutes passing.
“Bri. There is not really need to do this.”
“I can’t give you what you want. After all this years I can’t even say that I l…”
He shut up himself immediately.
“Leave it at that. Just go. Go Justin go.”
“I can’t force you Brian. But I know what you really want is me to stay. This is not over yet.”
“It will never be over, you know.”
The boy went to him. And kissed him. And then turned his back.
“So, if it is not here and now, when?”
The boy asked to him, before leaving.
“I’ll let you know.” He answered.
The boy strangely smiled. “Oh Bri… happy birthday.”
He said closing the door.