Briefly Yours: "Love": a Lie
Story Info
Title: Briefly Yours
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: Queer as Folk
Era: 2000-2005
Genre: Drama, angst
Rating: M / FRM
Summary: Snippets reflecting the events of the show, during the five seasons. Short glimpses of love and life on Liberty Avenue.
Warnings: Slash, language, references to violence, death, drug abuse, underage sex, drunkenness, and attempted rape.
Disclaimer: The characters, original story, and the places belong to Showtime and the makers of the series. No harm intended; no profit made. I’m just borrowing.
Beta: Mythra (MYTHRAS-FIRE)
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Author’s Notes: Justin’s POV. Takes place during episode 510.
“I love you.”
No one knows how long and desperately I have waited to hear that. Three simple words… I have waited for what seems like an eternity. In fact, it’s been about five years, but still… I have yearned for them with such passion that none should suffer the same.
Waited. Hoped. Ached.
Perhaps I’ve been lucky: people say those words very easily these days. Their meaning is almost hollow. Worn out. It doesn’t mean as much as it’s supposed to. With Brian, I knew that when - if - he should ever say it, he would mean it. Like he means it with Michael…
But right now, right here, under flashing lights and the echo of cries in my head that refuses to leave … I know he doesn’t mean that. And it hurts almost worse than what just happened.
He is in shock, I can see that much. I don’t blame him for being like this, I really don’t. The wild, almost feverish look in his eyes… Of course he is like this. Michael was taken away to the hospital, and for all I know, he might die. Like some others have tonight. All of Brian’s friends, no matter how vehemently he claims not to care about them, might have died tonight. I could have.
“I love you.”
He says it again. I refuse to answer, to show a reaction. He doesn’t mean it. Not like he is supposed to. He doesn’t say it for the right reasons. He will realize that sooner or later, and I don’t want to crush my heart with a false dream. I’m no longer that naïve kid who thought he loved me just because he fucked me more than once, held me afterwards, and told me some of his perfectly kept secrets. Even that he let me - asked me - to live with him should’ve made my once foolish heart flutter with the ‘knowledge’ that he loved me.
I know better now.
I know better than to believe him.
Still it doesn’t mean I don’t hear the words, or don’t want to say the same in return. I just can’t. Not when I know it won’t last.
The End
Story Info...