I turn up the sound and follow along with the dialogue. I’m beginning to realize that this particular film was a bad choice. It’s not enough to drown out either wishes or memories.  When it comes, the knock on the door seems to echo through the loft. My body tenses involuntarily.  I know I should answer, or at the very least call out a response.  But I’m rooted to the chair, paralysed and struck mute by the tap of knuckles on metal. 

Only Justin has the buzzer code for the lobby door. 

The door slides open behind me.  I wait for the nearly soundless tread of his sneakers on the polished floor.  Nearly soundless, because I could always fucking hear him.  He’d drag his feet when he’d had a long and tiring day.  He’d practically skip when he had good news.  And when he ran to my arms, I don’t think his feet even touched the floor. 

Now there’s only silence. 

The moment has given me a chance to regain my equilibrium.  I do my best to school my face into a mask of indifference before I glance over my shoulder at Justin standing indecisively in the open doorway. 

“You planning on coming in?” I ask. 

And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen.  Two years -- two fucking years of supposed “growth” for Justin and I -- and where has it taken us?  Right back to where we fucking started.  Me, ensconced in a home filled with beautiful things, and Justin, the most beautiful thing, standing on the threshold, uncertain of what he’ll find inside. 

Now, as then, he takes the plunge and crosses into my domain. 

I turn my attention back to the television, where Maria is still trying to convince Rio not to do what must be done.  I’ve never had any problem understanding Rio’s motivation.  Now for the first time, I find myself wishing he’d listen to her.  Sometimes things just aren’t as cut and dried as people like to think. 

Justin soft footsteps announce his approach.  I want to look at him… let my eyes linger over his pale skin. 

I don’t want to look at him. 

Why the fuck is he here?  Why now?  I made a resolution, damnit.  My day has been for shit. My nights, one long trek into oblivion.  Tonight was going to be the night that I took a step back and refocused.  Tonight I was going to relax with Rio.  Shit. 

“If you’re looking for someone, there’s no one else here.” 

“For a change,” he snips back. 

My jaw clenches.  When we were… together… when was the last time I brought a trick to the loft?  After fucking Vermont, that’s when.  And that… that was… different.  That was… well shit, Justin fucking left me.  He left me.  I wasn’t going to sit around for a week and moon over him.  He knows me better than that. 

Maybe he realizes the same thing, because he changes direction suddenly. 

“Is that a new coffee table?” 

I smile.  Can‘t help it.  It‘s a fucking awesome purchase.  Unsurpassed craftsmanship.  Superior design.  “Mies van der Rowe” I answer. 

I’m a little surprised he noticed the table.  Still, why the fuck shouldn’t he?  This was his home for a year.  Since he left, I’ve been overcome by an almost maddening desire to change it.  New furniture, new wall hangings, new artwork.  Replacements for something that can’t be replaced. 

I steal a glance towards him.  One look won’t hurt. 

Justin raises an eyebrow.  “Mmm… must‘ve cost a fortune,” he notes. 

“Yup.“ I rest my feet on the table unconcernedly.  Like I give a shit about how much it cost.  I’ve got the money for beautiful things. And Justin knows better than that.  The price tag wouldn’t fucking matter anyway.  If I find it aesthetically pleasing and I want it, I’ll fucking get it. 

I relax back into the chair, sensing Justin’s eyes on me. 

“I went by the burser’s office today,“ he says after a moment.  “I can’t accept it.” 

Well, that didn’t take long. 

“What?” I answer.  Not going to make this easy on him.  If you’ve got a problem, Justin, then spit it out. 

“Tuition.” 

“Oh, that.“ I nod, pressing my lips together to halt the flow of words that want to erupt.  The desire to give advice, when mine is no longer desired.   I look up at him, his serious gaze tearing into me.  Brief glimpses only, I must remind myself.  Fleeting looks, or none at all. “Why, is someone else covering it?” 

“No,“ he answers softly.  Of course, I know the answer before Justin confirms that there‘s no one else. And that’s just it, isn’t it?  There no one fucking else.  No one else that cares. 

“Well, then you can’t afford not to,” I tell him. 

“But we’re not together anymore.” 

Fuck.  I was expecting that protest and I thought I’d prepared for it.  But shit, I didn’t expect… didn’t expect… the constriction in my chest.  The ache.  It always fucking sneaks up on me. 

Concentrate on the movie.  Keep my voice steady and bland.  “We signed an agreement.  I’ll pay for your school.  You pay me back, with interest.” 

“You don’t have to honour it.” 

I let myself look at him.  Let myself meet his earnest gaze.  Force myself not to blink or look away.  “A deal’s a deal,” I remind him. 

My eyes hold his for a moment longer before my vision starts to blur.  Yeah, a deal’s a fucking deal.  Even when somebody changes the rules in the middle of the fucking game.  I look away, back to the television. 

This movie was a good choice after all.  Justin’s never seen it.  He and I spent a lot of lazy Sunday afternoons in front of the tube. I’ve watched entirely too many musicals because of that kid.  If I ever see a sailor dancing with a cartoon mouse again, it’ll be too fucking soon.  But Justin indulged me, too.  He would curl at my side, mostly watching me as I became absorbed in the classics. Dean, McQueen, Eastwood.  Brando, of course. But Justin never developed an appreciation for Brando.  I can’t say I blame him.  If my first view of the guy was clad in a muu-muu and surrounded by mutants, I’d be traumatized for life, too. 

“I could be poor for a long time,” Justin says. 

I hold back the sigh of relief.  He can say whatever he wants now, but I know he’ll accept the money.  He’ll let me help him.  I won’t need my backup plan after all. 

I match his light-hearted tone.  “Yeah well, knowing your tastes, you’d better not be.” 

Now that the stressful shit is over with, Justin relaxes.  And so do I, a little.  He’s smiling, laughing just a bit.  Fuck, I’ve missed that smile.  I’ve missed the sound of his voice.  I’ve missed the barely discernable squeak his sneakers make on the floor when he shifts.  I’ve missed the way his body moves under his clothing, sleek and smooth.  I’ve missed the unique scent of him.  Fuck. 

“It’s not like I have a shitload of great money making opportunities,” he points out. 

I love getting the appropriate opening, in more ways than one. 

I turn my gaze to his again.  Fuck, he‘s beautiful.  A dozen, a hundred, a thousand memories of him come crashing back, each one more poignant and intense and astonishing than the last.  He was mine.  I was his.  Shit, my chest hurts. 

“You have one,” I remind him. 

Our gazes hold for a long moment before he looks away.  But I know he’s got the message, loud and clear.  That’s the big difference between Justin and Mikey.  With Mikey, you’ve got to spell it out for him. “Make up with Justin.” “Start Issue Two of Rage.” I wouldn’t change my friendship with Mikey for the fucking world, but dealing with him can be like dealing with Gus.  Justin understands subtlety.  Justin understands me. 

At least, he always fucking used to. 

The mention of Rage, discreet as it was, has destroyed the casual mood.  Justin begins to take his leave of me.   Shit, I don’t want him to go.  I can admit that, if only to myself.  This is the first time the loft has seen any light in weeks. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I call out. 

He stops, looking back at me.  His voice is sincere as he says, “Thank you.” 

“Not that,” I answer.  Fuck, when did I ever want his gratitude?  “That,” I continue, leaning forward in the chair and pointing, directing his gaze.  “Your computer.  I packed it up for you.” 

It’s been sitting there for over a week.  I kept telling myself that I’d call Justin and schedule a time for him to drop by and pick it up.  I figured that if he felt uncomfortable, I could arrange to be away from the loft when he arrived.  I even found myself dialling the first few numbers of his cell phone on more than one occasion.  Then I planned to mention it to Lindsay.  I could watch Gus while she delivered the computer.  Never managed to get around to it, somehow. 

“It‘s yours.” His voice sounds shocked.  Shocked.  Fuck. 

“Bullshit.” I should be angry at his reaction, but all I can manage is dazed confusion mixed with grief.   Mine? When the fuck was it ever about “his” and “mine“?  I shared everything with him.  My loft, my money, my time, my body, my attention.  My affection. 

We shared everything. 

I thought we shared everything. 

“You need it. Take it,” I tell him.  There’s no response, so I steal a sidelong glance in his direction.  He’s moving… moving towards the boxes… preparing to take them out of the loft… out of my life… into his new life. 

There’s so much more I want to say.  But I can’t speak. Can’t even bring myself to look at him again, though I want to.  Need to.  This could be the last time he’s here.  I feel like I should hold onto the moment.  Memorize the clothes he’s wearing, the way his hair falls over his forehead, the way his shoulders move under his light jacket, the way his eyes shine. 

But I can’t.  I can’t look and I can’t speak, anymore than I could two weeks ago. 

So I turn my attention back to the television.  Turn up the volume to drown out the noises of heavy cardboard containers being shifted towards the door.  Watch as Rio takes Maria in his arms in a passionate kiss.  And hope that this time, Rio makes a different choice.