Author’s note: This is another in a growing list of stories I’ve written in Ethan’s POV. This is his version of the events of episode 220. My friend, Vanessa, explained the reason I identify with Ethan so much: he and I are both in love with Justin.J Many thanks to the members of the Justin/Ethan list for their insights to the J/E relationship. Also, thanks to Colleen, Cheryl and Phyllis for their encouragement.

Together

It’s another beautiful day in Pittsburgh. We have an unexpected two-hour midday break and we decide to spend it *not* eating lunch in my apartment. Who needs food? We’re here and we’re together; that’s all I care about. The lovemaking was amazing - it always is - but that’s not what I remember after he’s gone. I remember us lying together in each other’s arms. We kiss and cuddle and hold each other tenderly… and I don’t think I’ve ever felt as close to anyone in my life.

So, why did I have to ruin it by talking? By suggesting that he go to the country with me instead of going clubbing? I should know better than to ask him to give up spending time with his boyfriend. Who loves him, he says, in his way. But not the way he wants, or the way he needs…

He gets up and starts dressing, knowing that I won’t try to stop him. I counter with the only weapon I have: my new CD. When he sees it, he melts, just like I knew he would. The clincher is the dedication. For Justin. Simple, yet beautiful, and very effective. He kisses me, I kiss him back and one thing leads to another…

Yes, we make love again, but it doesn’t stop him from leaving. Nothing ever stops him, once he makes up his mind. And I let him go. Like I always do.

*&*&*&*&*

I can’t stay here by myself. When Justin leaves, he takes all the air out of the room. I can’t breathe. I dress quickly and go out, taking my violin with me.

I choose a different street corner today, right in the middle of Liberty Avenue. There are lots of people hurrying by, on their way to lunch or to run errands. Several of them pause to listen, dropping money into my case before they walk on.

I watch one particular man walk toward me. He’s well-dressed and very attractive. A gloved hand drops a bill as he passes by. Glancing down, I stop playing. I call out to him and he pauses. He gave me a hundred dollars. He acts as if that was what he meant to do. He says I’m good and I agree with him. I’m trying to remain casual but I can’t help staring at him. He says he’s going to the diner for coffee. As he turns away, the unspoken invitation hangs in the air. I hurry over to pick up my case, and I follow him.

I sit in the booth opposite, still watching him intently. I don’t really like coffee, but I pretend to drink it. He’s telling me about a commercial that he’s about to make, that takes place in a restaurant. I ask what it has to do with me and he tells me I could be the strolling violinist. He mentions Paganini’s Cantable in D Major, Opus 17, the same song that’s on my CD. He says it’s one of his favorites. He gives me his card and introduces himself - his name is Brian Kinney. He looks past me; out of the corner of my eye, I see someone walking toward us. I glance up as the other guy speaks to him.

It’s Justin. I look up at him. He looks down at me. We both look at Brian, who’s acting like this kind of thing happens every day of the week. He’s introducing us - Justin and me - with this smug look on his face.

I mumble something about going to class and then I get the hell out of there.

On the walk back to my apartment, I re-play that tawdry little scene over and over in my mind. He knew who I was when he approached me on the street, of that I have no doubt. Justin obviously wasn’t aware of what was happening until it was too late; I can’t imagine that he would have anything to do with arranging our ‘accidental’ meeting.

And that rich asshole sat there, gloating. He’d caught his boyfriend and ‘the other man’ and he was enjoying it.

I just can’t figure out how he knew about us. Is he that perceptive? Is he naturally suspicious? Is Justin that transparent? I certainly can’t get Justin to talk about anything that he doesn’t want to talk about…

I’m not Brian Kinney, though.

I can’t help wondering why Justin would waste his time with me when he has that beautiful man waiting for him at home. He’s admitted that Brian loves him, but it’s not the way he wants to be loved, I guess.

Well, if that whole sad incident only had one good result, it was to make me realize that my pursuit of Justin is ludicrous. I always suspected that he was extremely devoted to his older lover, but I don’t think I understood the intensity of their connection before. After seeing the two of them together, if only for a few seconds, I’m convinced that there is no place in their lives for anyone else. I will never be anything more than Justin’s dirty little secret. As much as I hate thinking about it, the best thing for me to do, under the circumstances, is to give Justin up. For his good, and for mine.

*&*&*&*&*

I ditched my last class of the day, something I rarely do. I thought it best that I not be around anyone, especially some of those clueless children who think they understand music. I’m not in the mood to play either; I retrieve a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and curl up on the couch, to think. Whenever I need to regain my perspective on things, I go over my long list of short-term goals and my short list of long-term goals. That strategy didn’t work this time, though. I was unable to make myself concentrate on anything, except Justin. He was the only thing I did *not* want to think about.

My ruminations are interrupted by a knock on the door. I don’t have many visitors and I know who it is. I don’t want to see him but, against my better judgment, I let him in.

He kisses me and sits down on the couch. I don’t trust myself to be within arm’s reach of him and I don’t want to sit on the bed. I stand across the room and watch him for a sign of what his mood is.

He doesn’t say much, but I’m usually the one who does most of the talking. Something is different, though; I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not alone, and I know why. His boyfriend is here, between us, just as surely as if he was really standing in front of us. I wait for Justin to mention our encounter at the diner, but he says nothing.

‘Your boyfriend’s an asshole.’ Did I really say, out loud, what I’d been thinking all afternoon?

‘He’s not an asshole. He-he’s honest. If anyone’s an asshole, I am, for lying.’ Why am I not surprised that he would defend him?

‘How did he find out?’ I have to know if Justin ‘confessed’.

"I don’t know.’ I’m standing behind him and I can’t see his face, but I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about this.

‘You didn’t ask him?’ I’m not ready to give up yet.

‘He’d never tell me.’ He sounds slightly exasperated.

For some reason, this makes me angry. I throw the hundred-dollar bill at him as I walk across the room. ‘Well, you can tell him, from me, that he can keep his fucking donation to the arts.’

‘He can afford to give it away. You can’t.’ Now, he sounds patronizing. He holds the bill out to me.

Suddenly, I want him to hurt, as much as I’m hurting. ‘At least, I know why you’re with him. God, he’s beautiful.’ I pause for several seconds, thinking back on how amazing it was to sit across from the table from the older man and know that I’m the object of his complete attention. ‘He must be great in bed.’

‘He is,’ Justin says, matter-of-factly. He’s still holding the money. I grab it out of his hand. ‘It’s when we’re not in bed that’s a problem.’

‘Guess what? I’m not the answer. I have myself to think about. The Heifetz Competition is coming up. Twenty-five thousand dollar first prize. Touring dates. A possible recording contract.’ I’m on a roll now and I have to finish this, so Justin will go back where he belongs. ‘I can’t be wasting my time, thinking about you. Wishing you were here. Hoping that tonight is going to be the night you finally stay.’

‘I wanna stay.’ There it is. The simple statement that I’ve been waiting for - hoping for - since the first night we made love.

‘Well, you can’t.’ I watch the disappointment creep across his face but I can’t back down now. It’s time to unleash the finishing blow. ‘So, just go back to your boyfriend and I’ll go back to my violin.’ Picking up the instrument, I turn my back on him and begin playing something - anything, as long as it’s loud.

‘Ethan.’ He’s calling my name. ‘Ethan. Ethan!’ He’s almost shouting, but I refuse to turn around. If I look at his beautiful face, I know I’ll give in and do anything he asks me to do. I continue playing, as if I don’t hear him. A minute later, I hear the door slam.

Only when I’m sure he’s safely down the stairs do I stop playing and sit down. My hands are trembling and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I locate the open bottle of wine and take a large drink. Sitting back, I close my eyes and force myself to take deep breaths.

I know I’ve done the right thing. He’s mad at me now, but he’ll get over it. He’s better off staying with the boyfriend, who can give him all the material things that I can’t. Plus, they’re in love.

At the thought of love, I feel the nausea returning. I can’t think about that right now - can’t think about him. He’s where he belongs.

*&*&*&*&*

After a restless night, I open my eyes to face the morning. How dreary everything looks today, without the anticipation of seeing… him. Barring a strange coincidence, there’s very little chance of that happening.

*&*&*&*&*

Stumbling up the stairs slowly, I don’t remember ever feeling this tired. I don’t even have the energy to go out and play this afternoon. Classes are over for the day and all I want to do is lie down and not think about anything.

I open the door and walk into the apartment. There’s something on the floor - a piece of paper or a card of some sort. It’s an invitation to a party at Babylon tonight - the premiere party for Justin’s comic book, Rage. It looks like quite the gala, being financed totally by Brian Kinney.

I look at the back of the card again. No stamp or address. Someone brought this by and slipped it under my door while I was in class. Was it Justin? Why would he invite me to his party, after the way I treated him yesterday? If not Justin, who? The boyfriend? Does he want me to see the two of them together again, so everyone will know that I lost and he won?

Sorry, Mr. Kinney, but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction.

*&*&*&*&*

It’s getting late.

I’m not sure what the exact time is, but I know I’ve been practicing for hours. I also know it’s been a total waste of time. Nothing sounds right, not even the pieces I’ve been playing for years. I’ve tried Mozart, Bach, Mendelssohn, Paganini, Brahms. I go back to the first song I played at my first recital: a Beethoven so simple I can play it in my sleep. It sounds like I’d never even held a violin before. I don’t know what’s the matter with me.

Yes, I do.

I’m suffering from a rare malady. It’s so rare that I’m the only person I’ve ever known who’s contracted it. I call it ‘Justin-itis’. The symptoms include an inability to concentrate on anything but him for more than three minutes, smiling idiotically at the memory of quiet moments we spent together during the past few weeks and wondering where he is and what he’s doing now. Whenever I close my eyes, I can see his smiling face and I can hear his laugh. I realize that I’d do anything it takes to be with him again.

Without being aware of what I’m doing, I put on my shoes and my coat. I pick up the party invitation on the way out the door.

It’s been over a year since I’ve been on Liberty Avenue at this time of night, but it doesn’t look that different. Some things don’t change, I guess.

There’s already a huge crowd in Babylon and the music is blaring. The faces and bodies could belong to the same people that I saw the last time I was here, but I’m not really paying any attention to any of them. As I squeeze through the multitude, I look for the slight body and the blond head. I don’t have any idea what I’d say to him and I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk to me. I just want to get a glimpse of him, without being seen, and I’ll go away quietly.

I’m standing here, looking around, when I see him. He’s standing across the room, looking at me. It’s too late to run away and pretend I wasn’t here. I take the black mask they gave me at the door, and cover part of my face with it. Justin walks over, a huge smile on his face. Is he really glad to see me? He pulls the mask away and retains his hold on my hand. He’s standing close.

I should wait for him to say something first, but I always talk too much when I’m nervous. ‘I was practicing the Beethoven.’ I know I sound very serious but I can’t help it - this is very serious to me. ‘It sounded like shit and I realized it’s all your fault.’

‘My fault?’ He’s still smiling.

‘I tried to forget about you but I can’t. You’re all I think about.’ I chose to tell him the truth. I don’t remember what he said in reply; the only thing I remember is that he didn’t run away. He takes a step forward and I put my hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer still. I kiss him hard and he kisses me back. For a minute, everything else in the room faded away.

When I pull back, I see the boyfriend, standing at about the same place Justin was when I first saw him. I can’t help staring at him. Justin senses that something is wrong and looks around. The thought occurs to me that I should go, but I don’t move. Justin is still holding my hand. The boyfriend pulls his mask off; he has this half-smile on his face, as if he knows the most amazing secret. I pull my gaze from the older man to Justin, trying to decipher what he’s thinking.

Without a word, he turns his back on his rich boyfriend and starts walking toward the door. Even if we weren’t still holding hands, I would be right behind him.

As we made our way through the crowd, a thousand questions ran through my brain. Why me? Why now? What just happened? What happens next? How can I help Justin get through this?

I don’t have a clue, but I’ll think of something. And we’ll make it.

Together.