Gift #14 - Part 2
Jan. 7th, 2018 10:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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becca_hope AO3 and LJ
FROM:sapphire_3
TITLE: Storm-Stayed
GIFT REQUEST: FIC. crack, angst, AU, canon-compliant, hurt/comfort. I love fic where Brian shows how much he truly cares for and loves Justin, also if Justin is depressed, anxious or hurt in someway and this is what brings Brian’s care/love for him out that would be wonderful! Happy endings necessary!
NOTE: Post-513, Hurt/Comfort, Romance. When Justin’s travel plans take an unexpected turn due to weather, Brian is there to help. Word Count 2500 (Part 2)
**
Storm-Stayed: Part 2
**
He wakes a few hours later, blurry-eyed and disorientated, with a raging headache. The light outside had changed from bright morning intensity to the soft apricot hue of an early winter afternoon. His room doesn’t face the highway, but he can just about make out the roar of a semi-truck’s engine, and knows that some of the roads must have been re-opened. Thank God.
He stumbles from the bed, kicking off his shoes (which he’d slept in), and pads over to the bathroom, where he relieves himself and splashes cold water on his face. The pain in his head is so piercing it makes him feel nauseous. He decides to take a few more Advil tablets, if he can remember where he put the bottle.
Emerging from the bathroom, he notices that someone had brought his luggage into his room while he was asleep. He quickly verifies that all of his canvases made it safely and thinks he should remember to leave a tip. If he survives that night, that is.
The Advil bottle is balanced precariously on the edge of the sink in the small kitchenette. He rests his throbbing left temple against the cool surface of the overhead cabinetry and his fingers fumble with the childproof seal.
He swallows the tablets with a glass of water, which he has to sip slowly against the pain in his throat. He thinks back to a time in his childhood when he had contracted Strep throat, and remembers how he had felt like this – weak and fevered, with aching throat and pounding head.
He wishes suddenly that his mother was there to soothe and reassure him, as she had been when he was eight. She’d built him a pillow fort in his bedroom, brought him ginger ale and chicken soup, and read to him from her special book of Grimm’s fairy tales.
Absurdly, this thought makes tears well in his eyes, and he blinks them away angrily. He was being a baby. He was nearly twenty-four for Christ’s sake, an independent adult with a home and a job. Sort of.
Stumbling back to the bed, he has the presence of mind to remove his outer layer of clothing before crawling back onto it, this time under the sheets and heavy comforter.
He thinks vaguely about calling Brian again, but decides against it. He knows it will just make him feel guilty and besides, nothing has changed about his situation. He’s still stuck here and still feels like death warmed over.
He closes his eyes and watches dark spots fade in and out of his vision behind his closed lids, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. For a while, his fevered mind drifts in and out of half-lucid dreams intertwined with fairy tales, before he finally slips back into oblivion.
**
Later
He thinks at first that the knocking sound is in his dream. A bizarre image of a bird, half-peacock and half-woodpecker, floats up into his subconscious. It lands on the trunk of a dead tree, which also mysterious materializes, and begins pecking at the wood.
Justin is not sure how long it takes him to realize that what he is hearing is real. It is not until he hears a voice softly calling his name that he is jerked into wakefulness.
He sits up and stares blearily around the room, expecting to see someone standing close by the bed. But there’s no one. The light coming in from the windows has changed again, and is now the soft pink-blue of winter dusk.
The knock at the door and the voice come again, and this time it is unquestionable; someone is outside it, calling him.
He throws back the covers and stands. Immediately he regrets the sudden movement. He has to stop and brace himself against the bedside table as the room swims in and out of focus.
“I’m coming!” he calls hoarsely to whoever is outside. His voice is little more than a croaky whisper.
He takes a few steadying breathes and, when they room stops spinning, he makes his way unsteadily towards the door. As he’s about to open it, he remembers the precaution of never opening a hotel room door to a stranger. He stands on his toes and peers through the fisheye peephole.
He blinks.
He draws back and shakes his head, thinking he might be hallucinating. Then he looks again.
Brian is standing outside the door. He has his dark head turned and is looking down the hallway at something, distracted. But it is unmistakably him. He’s wearing his well-cut lamb’s wool winter coat, his sunglasses tucked into the collar of the grey cashmere sweater beneath it.
“But how?” Justin tries to get his confused mind to reason. “How could it be Brian?
Brian was in Pittsburgh, and all the roads to and from Jefferson County had been closed most of the day. He tries to remember if Watertown has an airport, but he can’t bully his sluggish mind into computation mode.
He unlocks the door and pulls it open, saying the first thing that comes to his lips.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Brian gives him one of his characteristic grins, but Justin can see the relief in his hazel eyes. He hears it in Brian’s voice when he answers, behind the trademark sarcasm.
“Nice to see you too, Sunshine.”
He snakes his arm along the door, pushing with his shoulder to open it wide enough to slide into the room. Justin catches a whiff of floral scent – Brian’s Crabtree and Evelyn hand lotion maybe – which is smells like camomile.
“Would you like to come in?” Justin asks the empty hallway, with a roll of his eyes. He closes the door gently with a click.
“Why not?” Brian asks, turning to face him. “Since I’m paying for it.”
For a brief instant, Justin thinks the comment is meant to imply something hurtful, and he feels the stab of the shock in his chest. Then he sees the expression on Brian’s face, and the subtle question in his eyes: Do you remember, Sunshine?
And Justin does remember. “Why not, since I’m paying for it?” had been what Brian had said to him many, many years ago. Justin had run away to New York City and used Brian’s credit cards, and Brian had come after him.
God, he had been such a fucking little twat. Even now, seven years later, he can feel his cheeks burn with shame at the memory of his idiocy.
“That was a long time ago,” Justin murmurs, not quite able to meet Brian eyes. “Back when I was young and stupid.”
He moves to where Brian is standing, and gently takes hold of the lapels of the soft lambs’ wool coat. The material is thick and warm, and Justin can feel the quality of the material. He has never begrudged Brian is money, knowing how hard he works for it. But he had often thought how nice it would be to afford nice things, especially now. Food that didn’t come from the WalMart Supercentre, and clothes that didn’t come from Target.
He feels Brian put his own arms around him and pulls him close. It feels so natural and familiar that Justin leans into the embrace, unthinking.
“We were both young and stupid,” Brian murmurs, pressing his nose into Justin’s hair.
Justin can feel his warm breath against his neck. He imagines Brian drawing in the scent of the cheap hostel he’d stayed in while in Montreal, and of the past two days of frustration and anxiety. Brian had a way of being able to smell his emotions.
“You’re hot,” Brian murmurs, brushing his cheek against the side of Justin’s face. He can feel the scratchiness of Brian’s five o’clock shadow against his ear.
“Thanks,” Justin says on a huff of air that is half-sigh and half-laugh.
“No, I mean…” Brian sounds uncharacteristically flustered, but he doesn’t pull away. “You’re hot, temperature-wise. Your skin is hot, like you have a fever.”
“Well, I hope you’re not planning on fucking my brains out this time,” Justin replies, trying to keep the conversation as light. He couldn’t deal with angst at that moment. “I would very likely puke all over you.”
Brian makes a ‘humph’ sound through his nose, which Justin would have taken for amusement if he didn’t feel the tension in Brian’s body.
“I missed your transparent wit,” he says after a moment. He seems to make a conscience effort to relax, then leans down as if he’s going to kiss Justin. Justin quickly snakes a hand up between them and places his fingers gently against Brain’s lips.
“Don’t. I don’t know if I’m contagious, and trust me, you don’t want this.”
“The Plague? I thought you said you get it from fluffy-tailed tree demons. (Known to the unsuspecting public as ‘squirrels’).”
Justin would have laughed under normal circumstances, but all he can manage now is a lop-sided smile.
“I might have lucked out and missed the Black Death,” Justin admits, adds with a note of regret, “I think I might have Strep Throat.”
Brian makes a move to pull away, but Justin is suddenly desperate to keep Brian close. He holds on to the lapel of the lambs’ wool coat as Brian leans back and gently cups Justin’s face in his hand. Brian’s thumb swipes across Justin’s cheekbone as his concerned eyes search his face.
“I thought you said it was viral,” he says, slowly. “Strep is bacterial, isn’t it. Streptococcus? Why didn’t you go to a clinic, like I suggested? They could have given you an antibiotic.”
He brings the other hand up so that he’s framing Justin’s face between his palms. His skin feels soft against Justin’s fevered cheeks, although he can feel the calluses on Brian’s palms that Justin knows come from weight training.
“I…” Justin replies haltingly. He’ll be damned if he’s going to tell Brian now about his lapsed medical insurance. “I… didn’t feel well enough to go out. I wanted to sleep.”
He knows Brian can see the lie in his eyes, and he hates himself for it. But he’s tired and weak and sick to fight any of these battles now.
“How did you get here?” he asks instead. “All of the roads are closed. The Interstate, too. They said on the news this morning.”
It’s a blatant attempt to divert the conversation, and Brian will definitely know it. He’s still looking very hard into Justin’s face with a concerned, pained expression that makes Justin feel uncomfortable. He reaches up and gently takes Brian’s hands from his face, then moves away slightly.
Brian watches Justin for a moment, then shrugs slightly. He turns and pulls of his coat, hanging it up in the recess behind the door the serves as a closet. Underneath, he’s wearing a grey cashmere sweater that Justin doesn’t think he’s seen before. He recognizes the designer jeans and the patent leather shoes though, and that brings him some comfort.
“I flew here,” Brian replies, in a delayed answer to Justin’s question. “It was a fucking nightmare trying to get a flight out here after the storm. But there’s always someone willing to fly, if you’re willing to pay.”
Justin is not sure why he’s surprised – this is Brian after all – but he is.
“You came out here just for me?” he asked.
Brian actually laughs, instantly easing some of the tension. Justin realizes how much he’s missed that laugh.
“No, I came out here for the climate,” Brian retorts, tongue-in-cheek. “Of course I came out here for you, twat. What else?”
“But…” Justin asks, befuddled. His fevered mind doesn’t seem able to process information at a normal rate. “But why?”
“Why?”
Now it is Brian’s turn to sound confused. He comes back over to where Justin is standing and puts his arms around him again. He sweater is soft and warm and comforting, and Justin finds that he wants to bury himself in it.
“Because I was worried about you,” Brian replies, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You were alone here, stranded, and sounded like Death warmed over when I called. I knew that you’d have called last night if everything had been all right, but you didn’t. So, I knew it wasn’t. So… I came.”
To his horror, Justin feels tears suddenly spring to his eyes. The dam he’d mentally constructed to keep everything in check – his frustration at the travel delays, his concern about his finances, his illness – suddenly burst in the knowledge that he was not alone. He didn’t have to do this alone.
Justin as he orders himself savagely not to cry. He feels Brian’s arms pulling him a little closer, and his fingers weave themselves gently into his hair. He doesn’t ask if Justin is okay, or what’s wrong, or if he can do anything. He just holds him, knowing that is all Justin needs or wants.
After a minute or two, Brian cups the back of Justin’s head, gently grasping a handful of Justin’s hair.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asks gently.
Justin shakes his head against Brian’s shoulder. The very last thing he wants to do is think about food, but he bullies his mind into remembering when he’d last consumed anything. It had been a long time ago. No wonder he felt so weak.
“Yesterday morning,” he murmurs finally. “I had a bagel at the Tim Horton’s just before we crossed the border. I didn’t feel well after that.”
Brian sighs, and Justin feels him shake his own head.
“Poor little shit,” he says, in his coarsely affectionate way. “No wonder you can barely stand. Look – I’m going to go down and talk to the front desk, and ask if Room Service can make something you can stomach. You need to eat something. I’ll get something too, then we can eat it up here. Maybe watch some TV, then go to bed. We have to be up early tomorrow. Would that be okay?”
Justin is surprised that Brian is asking him his opinion. He’s using his ‘this is how it is going to be’ tone of voice, which Justin has learnt it was futile to question. But he appreciates Brian’s effort to let him know he still has some control.
“Yeah,” Justin agrees easily, knowing his doesn’t have the mental capacity to do anything else.
“Good.” Brian gives him a tight little squeeze, then pulls back and kisses his forehead. “We have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m taking you home,” Brian tells him firmly. “I booked a flight back to Pittsburgh for eight in the morning. You need a week or more to rest, and you need to see a doctor. And I’m going to take care of you, until you’re feeling better.”
A small part of Justin wants to protest. He wants to protest that he can’t afford the airfare back to Pittsburgh or the doctor, and doesn’t want Brian to pay for it. He wants to protest that he has art students to teach in two days time. He wants to protest that he doesn’t have time to be sick.
But he is so fucking tired of protesting. He is so fucking tired of trying to make his way in the world with a battering ram. He’s so tired of regretting past mistakes, and tired of trying to push away the knowledge that going to New York might have been a mistake.
He is so fucking sick of missing Brian.
“Okay,” he replies softly. “Take me home.”
**
The End… Or is it?
**
becca_hope AO3 and LJFROM:
sapphire_3TITLE: Storm-Stayed
GIFT REQUEST: FIC. crack, angst, AU, canon-compliant, hurt/comfort. I love fic where Brian shows how much he truly cares for and loves Justin, also if Justin is depressed, anxious or hurt in someway and this is what brings Brian’s care/love for him out that would be wonderful! Happy endings necessary!
NOTE: Post-513, Hurt/Comfort, Romance. When Justin’s travel plans take an unexpected turn due to weather, Brian is there to help. Word Count 2500 (Part 2)
**
Storm-Stayed: Part 2
**
He wakes a few hours later, blurry-eyed and disorientated, with a raging headache. The light outside had changed from bright morning intensity to the soft apricot hue of an early winter afternoon. His room doesn’t face the highway, but he can just about make out the roar of a semi-truck’s engine, and knows that some of the roads must have been re-opened. Thank God.
He stumbles from the bed, kicking off his shoes (which he’d slept in), and pads over to the bathroom, where he relieves himself and splashes cold water on his face. The pain in his head is so piercing it makes him feel nauseous. He decides to take a few more Advil tablets, if he can remember where he put the bottle.
Emerging from the bathroom, he notices that someone had brought his luggage into his room while he was asleep. He quickly verifies that all of his canvases made it safely and thinks he should remember to leave a tip. If he survives that night, that is.
The Advil bottle is balanced precariously on the edge of the sink in the small kitchenette. He rests his throbbing left temple against the cool surface of the overhead cabinetry and his fingers fumble with the childproof seal.
He swallows the tablets with a glass of water, which he has to sip slowly against the pain in his throat. He thinks back to a time in his childhood when he had contracted Strep throat, and remembers how he had felt like this – weak and fevered, with aching throat and pounding head.
He wishes suddenly that his mother was there to soothe and reassure him, as she had been when he was eight. She’d built him a pillow fort in his bedroom, brought him ginger ale and chicken soup, and read to him from her special book of Grimm’s fairy tales.
Absurdly, this thought makes tears well in his eyes, and he blinks them away angrily. He was being a baby. He was nearly twenty-four for Christ’s sake, an independent adult with a home and a job. Sort of.
Stumbling back to the bed, he has the presence of mind to remove his outer layer of clothing before crawling back onto it, this time under the sheets and heavy comforter.
He thinks vaguely about calling Brian again, but decides against it. He knows it will just make him feel guilty and besides, nothing has changed about his situation. He’s still stuck here and still feels like death warmed over.
He closes his eyes and watches dark spots fade in and out of his vision behind his closed lids, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. For a while, his fevered mind drifts in and out of half-lucid dreams intertwined with fairy tales, before he finally slips back into oblivion.
**
Later
He thinks at first that the knocking sound is in his dream. A bizarre image of a bird, half-peacock and half-woodpecker, floats up into his subconscious. It lands on the trunk of a dead tree, which also mysterious materializes, and begins pecking at the wood.
Justin is not sure how long it takes him to realize that what he is hearing is real. It is not until he hears a voice softly calling his name that he is jerked into wakefulness.
He sits up and stares blearily around the room, expecting to see someone standing close by the bed. But there’s no one. The light coming in from the windows has changed again, and is now the soft pink-blue of winter dusk.
The knock at the door and the voice come again, and this time it is unquestionable; someone is outside it, calling him.
He throws back the covers and stands. Immediately he regrets the sudden movement. He has to stop and brace himself against the bedside table as the room swims in and out of focus.
“I’m coming!” he calls hoarsely to whoever is outside. His voice is little more than a croaky whisper.
He takes a few steadying breathes and, when they room stops spinning, he makes his way unsteadily towards the door. As he’s about to open it, he remembers the precaution of never opening a hotel room door to a stranger. He stands on his toes and peers through the fisheye peephole.
He blinks.
He draws back and shakes his head, thinking he might be hallucinating. Then he looks again.
Brian is standing outside the door. He has his dark head turned and is looking down the hallway at something, distracted. But it is unmistakably him. He’s wearing his well-cut lamb’s wool winter coat, his sunglasses tucked into the collar of the grey cashmere sweater beneath it.
“But how?” Justin tries to get his confused mind to reason. “How could it be Brian?
Brian was in Pittsburgh, and all the roads to and from Jefferson County had been closed most of the day. He tries to remember if Watertown has an airport, but he can’t bully his sluggish mind into computation mode.
He unlocks the door and pulls it open, saying the first thing that comes to his lips.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Brian gives him one of his characteristic grins, but Justin can see the relief in his hazel eyes. He hears it in Brian’s voice when he answers, behind the trademark sarcasm.
“Nice to see you too, Sunshine.”
He snakes his arm along the door, pushing with his shoulder to open it wide enough to slide into the room. Justin catches a whiff of floral scent – Brian’s Crabtree and Evelyn hand lotion maybe – which is smells like camomile.
“Would you like to come in?” Justin asks the empty hallway, with a roll of his eyes. He closes the door gently with a click.
“Why not?” Brian asks, turning to face him. “Since I’m paying for it.”
For a brief instant, Justin thinks the comment is meant to imply something hurtful, and he feels the stab of the shock in his chest. Then he sees the expression on Brian’s face, and the subtle question in his eyes: Do you remember, Sunshine?
And Justin does remember. “Why not, since I’m paying for it?” had been what Brian had said to him many, many years ago. Justin had run away to New York City and used Brian’s credit cards, and Brian had come after him.
God, he had been such a fucking little twat. Even now, seven years later, he can feel his cheeks burn with shame at the memory of his idiocy.
“That was a long time ago,” Justin murmurs, not quite able to meet Brian eyes. “Back when I was young and stupid.”
He moves to where Brian is standing, and gently takes hold of the lapels of the soft lambs’ wool coat. The material is thick and warm, and Justin can feel the quality of the material. He has never begrudged Brian is money, knowing how hard he works for it. But he had often thought how nice it would be to afford nice things, especially now. Food that didn’t come from the WalMart Supercentre, and clothes that didn’t come from Target.
He feels Brian put his own arms around him and pulls him close. It feels so natural and familiar that Justin leans into the embrace, unthinking.
“We were both young and stupid,” Brian murmurs, pressing his nose into Justin’s hair.
Justin can feel his warm breath against his neck. He imagines Brian drawing in the scent of the cheap hostel he’d stayed in while in Montreal, and of the past two days of frustration and anxiety. Brian had a way of being able to smell his emotions.
“You’re hot,” Brian murmurs, brushing his cheek against the side of Justin’s face. He can feel the scratchiness of Brian’s five o’clock shadow against his ear.
“Thanks,” Justin says on a huff of air that is half-sigh and half-laugh.
“No, I mean…” Brian sounds uncharacteristically flustered, but he doesn’t pull away. “You’re hot, temperature-wise. Your skin is hot, like you have a fever.”
“Well, I hope you’re not planning on fucking my brains out this time,” Justin replies, trying to keep the conversation as light. He couldn’t deal with angst at that moment. “I would very likely puke all over you.”
Brian makes a ‘humph’ sound through his nose, which Justin would have taken for amusement if he didn’t feel the tension in Brian’s body.
“I missed your transparent wit,” he says after a moment. He seems to make a conscience effort to relax, then leans down as if he’s going to kiss Justin. Justin quickly snakes a hand up between them and places his fingers gently against Brain’s lips.
“Don’t. I don’t know if I’m contagious, and trust me, you don’t want this.”
“The Plague? I thought you said you get it from fluffy-tailed tree demons. (Known to the unsuspecting public as ‘squirrels’).”
Justin would have laughed under normal circumstances, but all he can manage now is a lop-sided smile.
“I might have lucked out and missed the Black Death,” Justin admits, adds with a note of regret, “I think I might have Strep Throat.”
Brian makes a move to pull away, but Justin is suddenly desperate to keep Brian close. He holds on to the lapel of the lambs’ wool coat as Brian leans back and gently cups Justin’s face in his hand. Brian’s thumb swipes across Justin’s cheekbone as his concerned eyes search his face.
“I thought you said it was viral,” he says, slowly. “Strep is bacterial, isn’t it. Streptococcus? Why didn’t you go to a clinic, like I suggested? They could have given you an antibiotic.”
He brings the other hand up so that he’s framing Justin’s face between his palms. His skin feels soft against Justin’s fevered cheeks, although he can feel the calluses on Brian’s palms that Justin knows come from weight training.
“I…” Justin replies haltingly. He’ll be damned if he’s going to tell Brian now about his lapsed medical insurance. “I… didn’t feel well enough to go out. I wanted to sleep.”
He knows Brian can see the lie in his eyes, and he hates himself for it. But he’s tired and weak and sick to fight any of these battles now.
“How did you get here?” he asks instead. “All of the roads are closed. The Interstate, too. They said on the news this morning.”
It’s a blatant attempt to divert the conversation, and Brian will definitely know it. He’s still looking very hard into Justin’s face with a concerned, pained expression that makes Justin feel uncomfortable. He reaches up and gently takes Brian’s hands from his face, then moves away slightly.
Brian watches Justin for a moment, then shrugs slightly. He turns and pulls of his coat, hanging it up in the recess behind the door the serves as a closet. Underneath, he’s wearing a grey cashmere sweater that Justin doesn’t think he’s seen before. He recognizes the designer jeans and the patent leather shoes though, and that brings him some comfort.
“I flew here,” Brian replies, in a delayed answer to Justin’s question. “It was a fucking nightmare trying to get a flight out here after the storm. But there’s always someone willing to fly, if you’re willing to pay.”
Justin is not sure why he’s surprised – this is Brian after all – but he is.
“You came out here just for me?” he asked.
Brian actually laughs, instantly easing some of the tension. Justin realizes how much he’s missed that laugh.
“No, I came out here for the climate,” Brian retorts, tongue-in-cheek. “Of course I came out here for you, twat. What else?”
“But…” Justin asks, befuddled. His fevered mind doesn’t seem able to process information at a normal rate. “But why?”
“Why?”
Now it is Brian’s turn to sound confused. He comes back over to where Justin is standing and puts his arms around him again. He sweater is soft and warm and comforting, and Justin finds that he wants to bury himself in it.
“Because I was worried about you,” Brian replies, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You were alone here, stranded, and sounded like Death warmed over when I called. I knew that you’d have called last night if everything had been all right, but you didn’t. So, I knew it wasn’t. So… I came.”
To his horror, Justin feels tears suddenly spring to his eyes. The dam he’d mentally constructed to keep everything in check – his frustration at the travel delays, his concern about his finances, his illness – suddenly burst in the knowledge that he was not alone. He didn’t have to do this alone.
Justin as he orders himself savagely not to cry. He feels Brian’s arms pulling him a little closer, and his fingers weave themselves gently into his hair. He doesn’t ask if Justin is okay, or what’s wrong, or if he can do anything. He just holds him, knowing that is all Justin needs or wants.
After a minute or two, Brian cups the back of Justin’s head, gently grasping a handful of Justin’s hair.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asks gently.
Justin shakes his head against Brian’s shoulder. The very last thing he wants to do is think about food, but he bullies his mind into remembering when he’d last consumed anything. It had been a long time ago. No wonder he felt so weak.
“Yesterday morning,” he murmurs finally. “I had a bagel at the Tim Horton’s just before we crossed the border. I didn’t feel well after that.”
Brian sighs, and Justin feels him shake his own head.
“Poor little shit,” he says, in his coarsely affectionate way. “No wonder you can barely stand. Look – I’m going to go down and talk to the front desk, and ask if Room Service can make something you can stomach. You need to eat something. I’ll get something too, then we can eat it up here. Maybe watch some TV, then go to bed. We have to be up early tomorrow. Would that be okay?”
Justin is surprised that Brian is asking him his opinion. He’s using his ‘this is how it is going to be’ tone of voice, which Justin has learnt it was futile to question. But he appreciates Brian’s effort to let him know he still has some control.
“Yeah,” Justin agrees easily, knowing his doesn’t have the mental capacity to do anything else.
“Good.” Brian gives him a tight little squeeze, then pulls back and kisses his forehead. “We have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m taking you home,” Brian tells him firmly. “I booked a flight back to Pittsburgh for eight in the morning. You need a week or more to rest, and you need to see a doctor. And I’m going to take care of you, until you’re feeling better.”
A small part of Justin wants to protest. He wants to protest that he can’t afford the airfare back to Pittsburgh or the doctor, and doesn’t want Brian to pay for it. He wants to protest that he has art students to teach in two days time. He wants to protest that he doesn’t have time to be sick.
But he is so fucking tired of protesting. He is so fucking tired of trying to make his way in the world with a battering ram. He’s so tired of regretting past mistakes, and tired of trying to push away the knowledge that going to New York might have been a mistake.
He is so fucking sick of missing Brian.
“Okay,” he replies softly. “Take me home.”
**
The End… Or is it?
**
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2018-01-08 06:21 am (UTC)Love Brian trying to curb his not-so-inner control freak to let Justin feel like he has some say in his own life and care (but kind of failing all the same).
Felt so bad for Justin. I've been sick when I was away from home, isolated in a hotel room in a city where I didn't know anyone. It is NOT fun.
Glad he's tired of missing Brian. It's time.
no subject
Date: 2018-01-10 05:34 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for reading and for your lovely comment!
no subject
Date: 2018-01-08 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-10 05:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-08 09:26 pm (UTC)This couldn't have ended any better.
Take what is given to you Justin, cherish it as he cherishes you.
no subject
Date: 2018-01-10 05:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-09 03:50 pm (UTC)The End… Or is it?
*g*
Thank you so much for chapter two and for this entire story my dear Em <3
no subject
Date: 2018-01-10 05:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-11 10:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-01-15 01:25 am (UTC)Thanks again for reading and for your lovely comment. It means a lot *hugs*
no subject
Date: 2018-01-20 12:11 am (UTC)Dee Dee
no subject
Date: 2018-01-22 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-08 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-08 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-08 10:46 pm (UTC)