Brian walks into the loft and immediately starts emptying his jacket pockets. His keys, then gum, a plastic lizard, Spiderman chapstick, a big pile of crap accumulates on the table as Justin watches silently. They stare at each other for a moment until finally Justin sighs and says, "This has got to stop."
"They'll never take me alive," Brian says, making his way into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.
"You know, one of these days you're going to get caught," Justin warns him.
"You know, nobody likes a killjoy," Brian advises, lifting his glass before throwing back a shot. "Get dressed. Mikey and the Professor are deigning to grace us with their presence at Babylon tonight. Wouldn't want to miss it."
"Actually, they called. Mel's letting them keep J.R. for an extra night, so they're going to have to take a raincheck," Justin says.
"Again?" Brian lifts an eyebrow. "With all the rainchecks they're bouncing lately, it's a wonder they got the loan for their new faux-hetero funhouse."
Justin rolls his eyes. "I know it's a foreign concept to you, but some people, even queers, prefer to spend their time surrounded by their loved ones at home instead of lubed-up losers in the backroom."
Brian glares at him, then picks up his keys and says, "I'm going to the store."
* * *
When Brian comes home two hours later, flying high on E, pulling toys out of his pockets and tossing them around the living room, Justin picks up a slinky and says, "Aren't you a few decades late for teenage rebellion?"
"It's never too late to have a second childhood," Brian grins, showing surprising skill at yo-yo tricks.
"We'll see how funny it is when you're doing community service to atone for your sins," Justin says, stretching the slinky wide. "I'm picturing you picking up trash on the side of the highway in one of those hideous orange vests. Think about it: all day in the hot, sweltering sun. You'll get a farmer's tan. And wrinkles."
Brian scowls and aims the yo-yo to hit the slinky. "Always the little blond voice of reason."
"Some one has to be," Justin says, throwing the slinky at him. "I'm serious, Brian. It will be fucking humiliating when you get caught--"
"If I get caught," Brian cuts in. "Think positive." Justin frowns at him, and Brian plops down on the couch and reaches out a hand. When Justin comes to him, Brian pulls him down onto his lap and says quietly, "Nobody tells me what to do."
Justin takes Brian's face in his hand and looks him in the eye. He knows this one. "What are you rebelling against, Johnny?"
Brian looks right back at him and says, "What've you got?"
* * *
Justin goes the the comic store the next morning and slams his messenger bag onto the counter. "Michael, you've got to do something."
"Do something about what?" Michael is restocking the latest issue of Rage.
"About Brian!" Justin yells, then lowers his voice when customers peer at him curiously. "He's out of control."
"For a change," Michael snorts, still busy with the display. "What is it this time? Drugs? Booze? Genital warts?"
"Worse."
"Worse than genital warts?" Michael stops, intrigued.
"He's stealing," Justin hisses, eyes darting around to make sure no one overhears.
"Stealing...what?"
"Just...stealing!" Justin throws his hands up in exasperation. "Useless crap! From stores! Every time he leaves the house he comes back with a new bounty of ill-gotten gains."
"Well, what the hell is he stealing for? He's got more money than he knows what to do with!"
"Who knows why Brian does anything? I just want him to stop before he gets himself in trouble. You've got to talk to him," Justin says.
Michael turns back to the display and pointlessly readjusts it. "Why would he listen to me? We hardly talk anymore."
"What, two times a day instead of ten?" Justin guesses. "Look, I've tried to get through to him, it isn't working. I asked Lindsay to talk to him, but she went with the bad-example-for-Gus angle and he told her to fuck off. You've got to at least try."
"Why don't you get my mom to talk to him?" Michael suggests. They let that sink in, then he says, "I'll come by tonight."
* * *
Brian strides through the door with a large boombox balanced on one shoulder with rap music blaring out. "Yo, homie, check out my new blaster." He flashes Justin a big, stoned smile. "That's what they call it on the streets."
"Fucking shit!" Justin yells, helping him put down the boombox and turn it off. "How the fuck did you get away with something that huge?"
Brian just laughs and slaps Justin's ass, but pauses when he notices Michael sitting on the couch. "Brian," Michael says, patting the cushion beside him. "Come sit down."
"Mikey," Brian sprawls out next to him. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" His eyes cut viciously toward Justin, who has retreated into the bedroom. "Did Jiminy Cricket snitch on me?"
"He's just worried about you, and so am I," Michael says, his voice growing more stern as Brian scoffs. "Why are you doing it?"
"The idea is to have a ball," Brian shrugs, toys and candy falling out of his pockets as he searches for his cigarettes. He takes one out and inspects it before lighting it. "I have a lot of free time these days."
"Between running two businesses?" Michael asks, then stiffens under the look Brian gives him. "Oh, so this is my fault? I'm too busy to go trolling the streets with you at night, so you turn to a life of crime?"
"So dramatic," Brian groans. "Not everything is about you, Mikey."
"You're just mad because I've got a life now that doesn't revolve around you," Michael accuses him.
"You're right, you do," Brian agrees, standing up. "So why don't you get back to it and leave me the fuck alone?"
"I'm not going to feel guilty for growing up," Michael says.
"Who's asking you to?" Brian says. "Just go home, Mikey. You've outgrown me; that's great. Go play house with your hubby and kids and your cockless queer neighbors and forget all about me. I'll be fine."
Michael stands up, too. "I know you'll be fine. You've got Justin." Brian raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything, and Michael says, "And you've still got me. No matter what you think, or what either of us do. I outgrew the clubs and the drugs and the tricks, but I'll never outgrow you. You're not just my best friend, Brian, you're family. Even when I want to kill you. Maybe, especially then." Michael hugs him, and after a moment Brian hugs back. "Always have, always will, remember?"
Brian doesn't respond for a long time, but then he says, "Yeah."
* * *
A week later, Brian comes home from taking Gus and J.R. to the park with Michael and pounces on Justin, who's sitting at his computer. Brian releases him and heads for the kitchen, then stops and takes a bottle of sunscreen out of his pocket and sets it on top of the monitor. "You're almost out?" Brian asks, confirming what Justin had mentioned that morning.
Justin's smile instantly fades. "Brian. Fuck."
Brian's eyebrows lift sardonically as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the receipt. He lets it flutter to the ground as he goes to pour himself a drink.
Fin
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A/N: For The Charm, I wish you were never born.
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