new fanfiction
Title: Singular Plural
Author contact: marigoldaline@yahoo.com
Archived: Always & ATP & cross-posted: melancholy_rose & michaelandbrian
Spoilers: season 5, through episode 508 (*pretends 509+ didn't happen*)
Summary: After weeks of no communication following their fight in ep507, Michael shows up at Brian’s to talk. Discussions that include friendship, growing up, and taking chances ensue.
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and its characters are property of CowLip and Showtime. This is just my creative attempt at writing a new scene that will never actually happen in canon. I make no money for my efforts.
Author's note: Thank you so very much to Julie, Em, Jessica, and Danielle for being such wonderful betas full of encouragement, various opinions, and excellent constructive criticism! Even though I've been reading Brian/Michael fanfiction obsessively for the past few years, this is my first Brian-and-Michael-centered story I've finished writing. Any sort of feedback (conflict and praise can both be fun!) is quite welcome, please!
* * *
“I’m sick of this shit. We need to talk.” Michael stomped into the loft, ignoring Brian’s mildly surprised expression.
“By all means, come right in,” Brian muttered as he slid the door shut. When he turned around, Michael had already tossed his coat on the counter, walked into the kitchen and grabbed a half-full bottle of vodka -- the same bottle, Brian noticed, he had begun to share with Justin. However, that was before the young blond had moved out and, so it seemed, moved on.
He shook away these thoughts and grabbed the bottle from Michael. “Come here to get us drunk and yank out some apologies?”
“Maybe.” Once Brian re-opened it, Michael snatched back the bottle for a mouthful of vodka and then passed it back to Brian, who did the same. They continued this way in silence for a minute -- just standing in the kitchen, drinking, not meeting each other’s eyes -- until Brian grew impatient. The last words his supposed best friend had said to him before this night had begun to play on repeat in his mind: He left because of you! Who wouldn’t? It remained glaringly clear to Brian that, with those words, Michael was not only referring to Justin; after all, Michael himself had been gradually separating his life from Brian's for quite a while now. Ever since their argument, Brian had begun to worry: it seemed like neither man would ever return to him.
"So, why the hell are you here, Michael?" Brian passed back the bottle and strode over to the couch where he promptly collapsed.
“Well, believe me, I did not plan to be the one to take the first step in reconstructing our friendship." Michael dropped onto the couch beside him, vodka bottle still in hand. "I always have to be the one to step up when something goes wrong between us, don't I?" Michael sighed out a tired frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "But you’ve apparently been too heartbroken about other things, not to mention pissed off at me, to initiate any apologizing, so," He shrugged, "here I am." Ignoring the look Brian shot him at the word 'heartbroken,' Michael rolled his eyes and exhaled a curt laugh. "Not that I actually expected you to beg forgiveness anyways."
Brian made a face and seized the bottle. “I’m not the only one who said some harsh things that night.”
“True.” Michael nodded. “But you did start it -- waking me up in the middle of the night, making drunken accusations about something I had nothing to do with.”
Brian took another drink without first giving Michael another turn.
“But,” Michael went on when he realized Brian was not going to respond to that, “I decided to come over here tonight not to place blame and, no, not even to force apologies," He glanced at Brian, "out of either of us." Brian tipped the bottle in a silent 'Cheers!' and drank again. "I came here because I thought I’d at least give us a chance to discuss some things.” Michael paused and shrugged again. “If not only for us, then at least so Justin stops blaming himself for ruining our friendship.”
Brian snorted. “Michael and Justin: queer comic extraordinaires and the best of pals.” He lifted the bottle to drink again but Michael grabbed it from him. “Christ, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”
“You did not.” Michael drank, gave back the bottle, and tried to think of how to begin what he'd come here to talk about. They both sat silently with their thoughts for another moment.
"Brian?" Michael tilted his head to see the other man's face. "What -- " He shook his head at an offering of another gulp of vodka. "What ever happened to us?" He stared at Brian with gently demanding eyes, knowing he would catch the message that they weren’t talking about Justin anymore.
Brian's instant grimace slid into a thin-lipped mocking smile. "Aw, come on, Mikey. You know the answer to that one. Why, Theodore used to prattle on about it five thousand times a second. I believe it's called -- " His face twisted in distaste again. " -- growing old." He brought the bottle back to his lips.
Michael rolled his eyes and tried to control his smile. Pinching Brian's cheeks, he pouted his own lips and cooed, with a voice he'd use to entertain Jenny Rebecca or Gus, "Is little Brian Kinney finally admitting his big bad age?"
Brian swatted the hands away from his face with a scowl. It had suddenly felt weird to have Michael touching him; they hadn’t touched each other in weeks. "Who said anything about me getting old?"
At Michael's snorted laughter, Brian insisted, "I said nothing of the sort." With that statement, he'd begun to speak as if he were addressing an entire boardroom of clients, instead of merely Michael, a bottle of alcohol, and the sparsely furnished loft. "You see, I was answering your question about us -- as in, a plural pronoun meaning you -- " He placed one set of spread fingertips on Michael's chest. " -- and me." And his other hand rested against his own chest. "You mentioned nothing about the singular 'me'." He dropped his hands, and his vocal tone changed again, this time to the Brian version of a baby-talk voice. "Little Mikey's got to clean out his itty bitty ears." He wiggled one finger into Michael's ear canal, but Michael squirmed away from the touch.
"That is how it seems, isn't it?" Michael snapped. Suddenly, he didn't look in the mood for teasing anymore. Brian raised an eyebrow for clarification. "You stay basically the same, while we -- the supposedly inseparable best friends -- become plural. Detached. Incapable of communication."
"When did I say anything like that?"
"You didn't have to. You forget: I know you even better than I know anything. Even -- even comics!" Now Brian rolled his eyes, but Michael pressed on. "Just like I know that in the end of every story the hero will always conquer the next villain, I know that you will always top the next trick, take the next hit, and make the next callous remark that damages the people you won't admit that you love. The people that you love more than all the rest of the shit that you claim makes you happier than 'lies' like love and 'death traps' like marriage ever could."
"And what would you rather have me do?" Brian snapped. "Tell Emmett, 'I think it's fabulous that you're the new, sexless Queer Guy! Tell me again: how should I tweeze my nose hairs?' Or, even better, tell Justin, 'Of course I'd love to marry you! Let's grow into fat, wrinkled dykes together and, while we're at it, let's bore the hell out of ourselves but tell each other it's love, love, love!'" It seemed that any sincerity in Brian's voice had been chased away. "How's that, Michael?"
"Great." Michael narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you just add, 'Oh, no, Mikey, where would you ever get the idea that nothing means shit to me anymore?' That is, unless it has to do with how hot random tricks think you are."
Brian's jaw clenched. "Why don't you just spit out what the fuck this is really about, Michael.”
"This is about you refusing to grow the fuck up, Brian! To realize that being with one person is not a fucking death sentence!"
"Right." Brian laughed sarcastically against the rim of the bottle before he took a quick drink. "Being damned to the same person for all eternity," he muttered, then imitated a minister to add, "in sickness and in health!"
"Damn it, Brian! Being with someone forever is not what a relationship is about! Nobody has forever. Not you and Justin. Apparently not Mel and Linds, certainly not me and Ben. And," Michael's voice dropped, "not even you and me." Brian glanced over at him. "And -- and by that I mean, it's not even forever with friendships," Michael said quickly. "Any relationship, sexual or not, it's just about taking advantage of as much time as possible between two people who love each other."
Brian stared silently at a random area of wood-paneled floor without registering in his mind that he was seeing anything.
"Brian." Michael dropped a hand on his forearm. "Brian, are you even listening to me?"
He blinked and his gaze returned to Michael's. "I do give a shit, Michael."
Michael snorted. "About more than just fighting for your position as the hottest fuck in Pittsburgh?"
"And more than just the fact that Theodore seems to be getting more cock than I have lately." Brian scowled and took another drink, before he turned his eyes toward Michael's again. He wondered briefly if Michael had heard about what he’d decided to do with the results of his competition with Brandon. "Yes, Michael, more than that. I -- " His mouth hung open for a second, as he bit his tongue and briefly averted his eyes. Michael waited with worried brow until Brian's attention returned to their conversation. "I give a shit that Justin left me with the ultimatum of, 'Monogamy, or we're through for real this time!'" He breathed a brief, humourless laugh. "I give a shit about the fact that you and I have been moving in different directions for a long time now and it seems like . . . " He turned away, while Michael waited patiently, eyes wider than usual. "Both of us have been acting like we're okay with that."
"Are we?" Michael's question was so quiet Brian wasn't sure if he'd actually said it or if Brian just hoped he’d said it.
He looked back into Michael's eyes. "I don't know."
"Neither do I." Several silent seconds passed between their held gaze, before Michael added, "So, where does that leave us?"
Brian inhaled deeply then verbally released the breath. "Well, like I said before: our friendship's growing old." They stared into each other. "Which means -- "
"Which means," Michael placed his palms on Brian's shoulders, "that we don't share the same life anymore." Michael slowly shrugged his own shoulders. "And maybe it's time for us to decide . . . well . . . " He couldn't figure out how to say this.
Brian figured it out for him. "Do we want to make twenty years of friendship last even longer, or take a shit on it just because we're not competing for the same tricks or partying together every night at Babylon anymore?"
Michael smirked. "Something like that."
Brian looked away and then back again, eyebrows threatening to meet at the bridge of his nose. "Why are we still friends, Michael?"
A year ago, or perhaps even a few months ago, Michael would have responded to that with something to the effect of, What the fuck kind of question is that? But, now? He didn't quite know how to answer it.
"That should be such a simple question, but . . . " Michael let out a frustrated sigh and slid his hands off Brian's shoulders. "When has anything ever been simple with you and me?"
Brian snorted.
They both knew why they had become friends as teenagers and why they'd remained friends for years afterwards. But, in the several months preceding their argument, when their lives scarcely intersected anymore -- why had they remained friends then?
“Is it just out of habit?” Michael suggested.
Brian shook his head. “No, it has to be more than that.”
“What if it’s not?” Michael’s voice had dropped again. He earned a look from Brian that clearly said, Fuck you. “Okay, maybe habit is only part of it,” Michael said quickly. “But mostly . . . mostly we just know that, even if I don't like everything you do, I understand why you do it.”
“And even though I despise what your life’s become, I still understand you,” Brian added, only a hint of a scowl visible this time.
“Exactly.” Michael didn’t look altogether contented either, but he pressed on with what had gradually become clear to him. “And maybe that’s why we’re still friends -- we know each other too well to be anything else. We're honest, and even though we have practically nothing in common, we still love each other."
Brian stared at the final drops of alcohol and then downed them in silence. “So that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?” This was not at all the response Michael had expected, not that he’d quite known what to expect.
Brian turned back to him. “We forget all of that too often lately. We let the immediate impulse to attack our differences get in the way of what keeps us together.” He could see comprehension dawn in Michael’s eyes.
“Yeah, we’re . . . sort of idiots sometimes, aren’t we?”
Brian frowned at the empty bottle and didn’t respond. Apparently, that had not been enough alcohol to thoroughly intoxicate either of them. But, oh well: they were talking, weren't they? With or without the proper inebriation.
“I’ve missed you, you know,” Michael admitted quietly after a bout of silence.
“I’m sure you survived just fine with the Professor.” Brian rolled his eyes toward Michael’s and patted his shoulder in mock politeness.
“Hey! No matter how much you may think so -- hell, I even wondered about it at one point too -- you and Ben are not replacements for each other!” Michael stared at Brian, who’d taken up interest in the empty bottle again. He continued more softly when Brian’s eyes slowly rose to his. “Even though you and I may not be the center of the universe to each other like we once were, and even though I’ve had to deal with losing Hunter and fighting against Proposition 14 . . . I’ve still missed you. And I know that you’ve missed me too, you don’t have to say it.” Brian turned back to the vodka-less bottle. “I know you have, even though you’ve lost Justin . . . ” Michael glanced out of the edge of his vision at Brian’s face. “ . . . and your youth.”
Brian dropped his head back to face the ceiling and barked a derisive laugh. So Michael had heard about his decision not to fuck Brandon. “How could I forget that no gossip travels faster than that of fags?”
Michael just smirked. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
“What?” One eyebrow rose.
“You’re finally growing up. Sort of.”
Brian sneered. “And how have I become a big boy now, mother dearest?”
“Well, you are finally going to tell Justin that you love him, right?" Brian exhaled an abrupt laugh and turned away, but Michael persisted. "You're going to tell him that you want to be with him again and, this time, with him and no one else?”
Brian was silent for a moment before he answered, with his face still tilted away. "You know that I'm not ready for that, Michael."
“Goddamnit, Brian! Fine. Think about it for another four years. But, as we've established over and over, you're not getting any younger. Sooner or later, you need to realize that you might not get another chance! I think that Justin really is your chance at . . . well, at happiness.”
At first, Michael thought Brian wasn’t going to respond to that, but after several seconds of silence, Brian looked back up at him. “And what about you?”
“What about me? I am happy. With Ben.”
“You know that’s not what I meant."
“Well, then what did you mean?” Michael asked, even though he, of course, knew that this conversation was about taking chances. He just hadn’t wanted to admit his answer to what Brian was asking him. But when two eyebrows lifted impatiently, Michael let out a sigh of resignation.
“Bri, I stopped waiting for you a long time ago. We’ve missed our chance to be more than . . . whatever we’ve always been. You know that. I know that. As much as I wish I didn’t have to admit this, it’s true."
Slowly, Brian nodded. He did know but, deep down, he also didn’t want to let go of the notion that he’d have Michael in his old age, with or without other men in their lives.
“Michael, I - I’m sor -- ”
“No, no, no, you don’t have to say anyth -- ”
“Would you just let me say this?” Brian snapped, and Michael bit his lip. “I never meant for our lives to turn out like they have. I -- " Brian realized that he wasn't exactly sure how to tell Michael what he wanted to say, so he let him interrupt again.
“Nobody's to blame, Brian. Not really. For the good or the bad times.” Michael didn't sound quite sure of his own words.
Brian smiled sadly at him. "Some things are my fault. Or yours." He sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Or Ben's or Justin's or Debbie's or Jack's, or maybe the whole fucking population of Pittsburgh is to blame!" He looked back at a nodding Michael, his eyes averted from Brian's. "What I meant to say was: sometimes I wish our lives could’ve been different, you know?" Michael nodded again. "And other times," Brian continued, "I think that I wouldn’t really change a thing."
Michael repeated the old Brian Kinney adage, “No apologies, no regrets.”
"Right." Although a part of Brian still believed in those words, another part of him realized that they were beginning to sound somewhat stale after all these years. "Mikey?” Brian murmured the nickname that, for weeks, he hadn't allowed to cross his mind.
Michael turned to him with exhausted but widened eyes, and Brian reminded himself: he had to say this. It was the truth, and both he and Michael needed this in order to move on with their lives -- together and separately.
“I've told you this before, but it's still true now." He grasped the back of Michael's neck and pulled him closer with a warm hand. "No matter how old we are and no matter who else is a part of our lives -- " Brian's voice had lowered and become fairly raspy, as he pulled Michael's forehead against his own and held their gaze. In that familiar gesture, Michael felt as though they were an us again, instead of a plural you and me. "I will always -- " Brian swallowed. " -- love you." And, with hazel eyes open to brown eyes, he pressed his lips to Michael's for a moment of assurance.
"Me, too." Michael breathed the words onto Brian's lips.
"Even if you continue to be a little domesticated hausfrau," Brian added with a faux-sweet smile.
"And even if you continue to be an unmitigated asshole." Michael returned the imitation of a smile.
But, after a moment, Brian’s fake smile relaxed into his soft smile often reserved exclusively for people like Gus or Justin or the man presently seated in front of him. Michael’s smile widened in kind.
"And, like you said before," Brian reminded him, "nobody has forever, but . . . maybe you and I have something close to it." Brian shrugged, as if trying to make his words seem less significant than they were, but the smile he was trying to suppress gave him away.
Michael stared at him with a half-grin on his lips and mild skepticism in his eyes. "Are you saying -- "
"I'm saying," Brian dropped his forehead against Michael's again, "we've missed past opportunities, Mikey, but who knows what could happen? Maybe we'll get another chance."
"Someday," Michael said softly.
"Well, stranger things have happened," Brian murmured, and Michael felt comfort replace his disbelief.
Their grinning mouths met in a longer kiss and, with affectionate eyes open to each other, they knew: just because they had disagreements and different lives and were currently in love with other people -- from now on, it would take a hell of a lot more than any of that to pull them apart.
*
Author contact: marigoldaline@yahoo.com
Archived: Always & ATP & cross-posted: melancholy_rose & michaelandbrian
Spoilers: season 5, through episode 508 (*pretends 509+ didn't happen*)
Summary: After weeks of no communication following their fight in ep507, Michael shows up at Brian’s to talk. Discussions that include friendship, growing up, and taking chances ensue.
Disclaimer: Queer as Folk and its characters are property of CowLip and Showtime. This is just my creative attempt at writing a new scene that will never actually happen in canon. I make no money for my efforts.
Author's note: Thank you so very much to Julie, Em, Jessica, and Danielle for being such wonderful betas full of encouragement, various opinions, and excellent constructive criticism! Even though I've been reading Brian/Michael fanfiction obsessively for the past few years, this is my first Brian-and-Michael-centered story I've finished writing. Any sort of feedback (conflict and praise can both be fun!) is quite welcome, please!
* * *
“I’m sick of this shit. We need to talk.” Michael stomped into the loft, ignoring Brian’s mildly surprised expression.
“By all means, come right in,” Brian muttered as he slid the door shut. When he turned around, Michael had already tossed his coat on the counter, walked into the kitchen and grabbed a half-full bottle of vodka -- the same bottle, Brian noticed, he had begun to share with Justin. However, that was before the young blond had moved out and, so it seemed, moved on.
He shook away these thoughts and grabbed the bottle from Michael. “Come here to get us drunk and yank out some apologies?”
“Maybe.” Once Brian re-opened it, Michael snatched back the bottle for a mouthful of vodka and then passed it back to Brian, who did the same. They continued this way in silence for a minute -- just standing in the kitchen, drinking, not meeting each other’s eyes -- until Brian grew impatient. The last words his supposed best friend had said to him before this night had begun to play on repeat in his mind: He left because of you! Who wouldn’t? It remained glaringly clear to Brian that, with those words, Michael was not only referring to Justin; after all, Michael himself had been gradually separating his life from Brian's for quite a while now. Ever since their argument, Brian had begun to worry: it seemed like neither man would ever return to him.
"So, why the hell are you here, Michael?" Brian passed back the bottle and strode over to the couch where he promptly collapsed.
“Well, believe me, I did not plan to be the one to take the first step in reconstructing our friendship." Michael dropped onto the couch beside him, vodka bottle still in hand. "I always have to be the one to step up when something goes wrong between us, don't I?" Michael sighed out a tired frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "But you’ve apparently been too heartbroken about other things, not to mention pissed off at me, to initiate any apologizing, so," He shrugged, "here I am." Ignoring the look Brian shot him at the word 'heartbroken,' Michael rolled his eyes and exhaled a curt laugh. "Not that I actually expected you to beg forgiveness anyways."
Brian made a face and seized the bottle. “I’m not the only one who said some harsh things that night.”
“True.” Michael nodded. “But you did start it -- waking me up in the middle of the night, making drunken accusations about something I had nothing to do with.”
Brian took another drink without first giving Michael another turn.
“But,” Michael went on when he realized Brian was not going to respond to that, “I decided to come over here tonight not to place blame and, no, not even to force apologies," He glanced at Brian, "out of either of us." Brian tipped the bottle in a silent 'Cheers!' and drank again. "I came here because I thought I’d at least give us a chance to discuss some things.” Michael paused and shrugged again. “If not only for us, then at least so Justin stops blaming himself for ruining our friendship.”
Brian snorted. “Michael and Justin: queer comic extraordinaires and the best of pals.” He lifted the bottle to drink again but Michael grabbed it from him. “Christ, I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”
“You did not.” Michael drank, gave back the bottle, and tried to think of how to begin what he'd come here to talk about. They both sat silently with their thoughts for another moment.
"Brian?" Michael tilted his head to see the other man's face. "What -- " He shook his head at an offering of another gulp of vodka. "What ever happened to us?" He stared at Brian with gently demanding eyes, knowing he would catch the message that they weren’t talking about Justin anymore.
Brian's instant grimace slid into a thin-lipped mocking smile. "Aw, come on, Mikey. You know the answer to that one. Why, Theodore used to prattle on about it five thousand times a second. I believe it's called -- " His face twisted in distaste again. " -- growing old." He brought the bottle back to his lips.
Michael rolled his eyes and tried to control his smile. Pinching Brian's cheeks, he pouted his own lips and cooed, with a voice he'd use to entertain Jenny Rebecca or Gus, "Is little Brian Kinney finally admitting his big bad age?"
Brian swatted the hands away from his face with a scowl. It had suddenly felt weird to have Michael touching him; they hadn’t touched each other in weeks. "Who said anything about me getting old?"
At Michael's snorted laughter, Brian insisted, "I said nothing of the sort." With that statement, he'd begun to speak as if he were addressing an entire boardroom of clients, instead of merely Michael, a bottle of alcohol, and the sparsely furnished loft. "You see, I was answering your question about us -- as in, a plural pronoun meaning you -- " He placed one set of spread fingertips on Michael's chest. " -- and me." And his other hand rested against his own chest. "You mentioned nothing about the singular 'me'." He dropped his hands, and his vocal tone changed again, this time to the Brian version of a baby-talk voice. "Little Mikey's got to clean out his itty bitty ears." He wiggled one finger into Michael's ear canal, but Michael squirmed away from the touch.
"That is how it seems, isn't it?" Michael snapped. Suddenly, he didn't look in the mood for teasing anymore. Brian raised an eyebrow for clarification. "You stay basically the same, while we -- the supposedly inseparable best friends -- become plural. Detached. Incapable of communication."
"When did I say anything like that?"
"You didn't have to. You forget: I know you even better than I know anything. Even -- even comics!" Now Brian rolled his eyes, but Michael pressed on. "Just like I know that in the end of every story the hero will always conquer the next villain, I know that you will always top the next trick, take the next hit, and make the next callous remark that damages the people you won't admit that you love. The people that you love more than all the rest of the shit that you claim makes you happier than 'lies' like love and 'death traps' like marriage ever could."
"And what would you rather have me do?" Brian snapped. "Tell Emmett, 'I think it's fabulous that you're the new, sexless Queer Guy! Tell me again: how should I tweeze my nose hairs?' Or, even better, tell Justin, 'Of course I'd love to marry you! Let's grow into fat, wrinkled dykes together and, while we're at it, let's bore the hell out of ourselves but tell each other it's love, love, love!'" It seemed that any sincerity in Brian's voice had been chased away. "How's that, Michael?"
"Great." Michael narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you just add, 'Oh, no, Mikey, where would you ever get the idea that nothing means shit to me anymore?' That is, unless it has to do with how hot random tricks think you are."
Brian's jaw clenched. "Why don't you just spit out what the fuck this is really about, Michael.”
"This is about you refusing to grow the fuck up, Brian! To realize that being with one person is not a fucking death sentence!"
"Right." Brian laughed sarcastically against the rim of the bottle before he took a quick drink. "Being damned to the same person for all eternity," he muttered, then imitated a minister to add, "in sickness and in health!"
"Damn it, Brian! Being with someone forever is not what a relationship is about! Nobody has forever. Not you and Justin. Apparently not Mel and Linds, certainly not me and Ben. And," Michael's voice dropped, "not even you and me." Brian glanced over at him. "And -- and by that I mean, it's not even forever with friendships," Michael said quickly. "Any relationship, sexual or not, it's just about taking advantage of as much time as possible between two people who love each other."
Brian stared silently at a random area of wood-paneled floor without registering in his mind that he was seeing anything.
"Brian." Michael dropped a hand on his forearm. "Brian, are you even listening to me?"
He blinked and his gaze returned to Michael's. "I do give a shit, Michael."
Michael snorted. "About more than just fighting for your position as the hottest fuck in Pittsburgh?"
"And more than just the fact that Theodore seems to be getting more cock than I have lately." Brian scowled and took another drink, before he turned his eyes toward Michael's again. He wondered briefly if Michael had heard about what he’d decided to do with the results of his competition with Brandon. "Yes, Michael, more than that. I -- " His mouth hung open for a second, as he bit his tongue and briefly averted his eyes. Michael waited with worried brow until Brian's attention returned to their conversation. "I give a shit that Justin left me with the ultimatum of, 'Monogamy, or we're through for real this time!'" He breathed a brief, humourless laugh. "I give a shit about the fact that you and I have been moving in different directions for a long time now and it seems like . . . " He turned away, while Michael waited patiently, eyes wider than usual. "Both of us have been acting like we're okay with that."
"Are we?" Michael's question was so quiet Brian wasn't sure if he'd actually said it or if Brian just hoped he’d said it.
He looked back into Michael's eyes. "I don't know."
"Neither do I." Several silent seconds passed between their held gaze, before Michael added, "So, where does that leave us?"
Brian inhaled deeply then verbally released the breath. "Well, like I said before: our friendship's growing old." They stared into each other. "Which means -- "
"Which means," Michael placed his palms on Brian's shoulders, "that we don't share the same life anymore." Michael slowly shrugged his own shoulders. "And maybe it's time for us to decide . . . well . . . " He couldn't figure out how to say this.
Brian figured it out for him. "Do we want to make twenty years of friendship last even longer, or take a shit on it just because we're not competing for the same tricks or partying together every night at Babylon anymore?"
Michael smirked. "Something like that."
Brian looked away and then back again, eyebrows threatening to meet at the bridge of his nose. "Why are we still friends, Michael?"
A year ago, or perhaps even a few months ago, Michael would have responded to that with something to the effect of, What the fuck kind of question is that? But, now? He didn't quite know how to answer it.
"That should be such a simple question, but . . . " Michael let out a frustrated sigh and slid his hands off Brian's shoulders. "When has anything ever been simple with you and me?"
Brian snorted.
They both knew why they had become friends as teenagers and why they'd remained friends for years afterwards. But, in the several months preceding their argument, when their lives scarcely intersected anymore -- why had they remained friends then?
“Is it just out of habit?” Michael suggested.
Brian shook his head. “No, it has to be more than that.”
“What if it’s not?” Michael’s voice had dropped again. He earned a look from Brian that clearly said, Fuck you. “Okay, maybe habit is only part of it,” Michael said quickly. “But mostly . . . mostly we just know that, even if I don't like everything you do, I understand why you do it.”
“And even though I despise what your life’s become, I still understand you,” Brian added, only a hint of a scowl visible this time.
“Exactly.” Michael didn’t look altogether contented either, but he pressed on with what had gradually become clear to him. “And maybe that’s why we’re still friends -- we know each other too well to be anything else. We're honest, and even though we have practically nothing in common, we still love each other."
Brian stared at the final drops of alcohol and then downed them in silence. “So that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“Excuse me?” This was not at all the response Michael had expected, not that he’d quite known what to expect.
Brian turned back to him. “We forget all of that too often lately. We let the immediate impulse to attack our differences get in the way of what keeps us together.” He could see comprehension dawn in Michael’s eyes.
“Yeah, we’re . . . sort of idiots sometimes, aren’t we?”
Brian frowned at the empty bottle and didn’t respond. Apparently, that had not been enough alcohol to thoroughly intoxicate either of them. But, oh well: they were talking, weren't they? With or without the proper inebriation.
“I’ve missed you, you know,” Michael admitted quietly after a bout of silence.
“I’m sure you survived just fine with the Professor.” Brian rolled his eyes toward Michael’s and patted his shoulder in mock politeness.
“Hey! No matter how much you may think so -- hell, I even wondered about it at one point too -- you and Ben are not replacements for each other!” Michael stared at Brian, who’d taken up interest in the empty bottle again. He continued more softly when Brian’s eyes slowly rose to his. “Even though you and I may not be the center of the universe to each other like we once were, and even though I’ve had to deal with losing Hunter and fighting against Proposition 14 . . . I’ve still missed you. And I know that you’ve missed me too, you don’t have to say it.” Brian turned back to the vodka-less bottle. “I know you have, even though you’ve lost Justin . . . ” Michael glanced out of the edge of his vision at Brian’s face. “ . . . and your youth.”
Brian dropped his head back to face the ceiling and barked a derisive laugh. So Michael had heard about his decision not to fuck Brandon. “How could I forget that no gossip travels faster than that of fags?”
Michael just smirked. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
“What?” One eyebrow rose.
“You’re finally growing up. Sort of.”
Brian sneered. “And how have I become a big boy now, mother dearest?”
“Well, you are finally going to tell Justin that you love him, right?" Brian exhaled an abrupt laugh and turned away, but Michael persisted. "You're going to tell him that you want to be with him again and, this time, with him and no one else?”
Brian was silent for a moment before he answered, with his face still tilted away. "You know that I'm not ready for that, Michael."
“Goddamnit, Brian! Fine. Think about it for another four years. But, as we've established over and over, you're not getting any younger. Sooner or later, you need to realize that you might not get another chance! I think that Justin really is your chance at . . . well, at happiness.”
At first, Michael thought Brian wasn’t going to respond to that, but after several seconds of silence, Brian looked back up at him. “And what about you?”
“What about me? I am happy. With Ben.”
“You know that’s not what I meant."
“Well, then what did you mean?” Michael asked, even though he, of course, knew that this conversation was about taking chances. He just hadn’t wanted to admit his answer to what Brian was asking him. But when two eyebrows lifted impatiently, Michael let out a sigh of resignation.
“Bri, I stopped waiting for you a long time ago. We’ve missed our chance to be more than . . . whatever we’ve always been. You know that. I know that. As much as I wish I didn’t have to admit this, it’s true."
Slowly, Brian nodded. He did know but, deep down, he also didn’t want to let go of the notion that he’d have Michael in his old age, with or without other men in their lives.
“Michael, I - I’m sor -- ”
“No, no, no, you don’t have to say anyth -- ”
“Would you just let me say this?” Brian snapped, and Michael bit his lip. “I never meant for our lives to turn out like they have. I -- " Brian realized that he wasn't exactly sure how to tell Michael what he wanted to say, so he let him interrupt again.
“Nobody's to blame, Brian. Not really. For the good or the bad times.” Michael didn't sound quite sure of his own words.
Brian smiled sadly at him. "Some things are my fault. Or yours." He sighed and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Or Ben's or Justin's or Debbie's or Jack's, or maybe the whole fucking population of Pittsburgh is to blame!" He looked back at a nodding Michael, his eyes averted from Brian's. "What I meant to say was: sometimes I wish our lives could’ve been different, you know?" Michael nodded again. "And other times," Brian continued, "I think that I wouldn’t really change a thing."
Michael repeated the old Brian Kinney adage, “No apologies, no regrets.”
"Right." Although a part of Brian still believed in those words, another part of him realized that they were beginning to sound somewhat stale after all these years. "Mikey?” Brian murmured the nickname that, for weeks, he hadn't allowed to cross his mind.
Michael turned to him with exhausted but widened eyes, and Brian reminded himself: he had to say this. It was the truth, and both he and Michael needed this in order to move on with their lives -- together and separately.
“I've told you this before, but it's still true now." He grasped the back of Michael's neck and pulled him closer with a warm hand. "No matter how old we are and no matter who else is a part of our lives -- " Brian's voice had lowered and become fairly raspy, as he pulled Michael's forehead against his own and held their gaze. In that familiar gesture, Michael felt as though they were an us again, instead of a plural you and me. "I will always -- " Brian swallowed. " -- love you." And, with hazel eyes open to brown eyes, he pressed his lips to Michael's for a moment of assurance.
"Me, too." Michael breathed the words onto Brian's lips.
"Even if you continue to be a little domesticated hausfrau," Brian added with a faux-sweet smile.
"And even if you continue to be an unmitigated asshole." Michael returned the imitation of a smile.
But, after a moment, Brian’s fake smile relaxed into his soft smile often reserved exclusively for people like Gus or Justin or the man presently seated in front of him. Michael’s smile widened in kind.
"And, like you said before," Brian reminded him, "nobody has forever, but . . . maybe you and I have something close to it." Brian shrugged, as if trying to make his words seem less significant than they were, but the smile he was trying to suppress gave him away.
Michael stared at him with a half-grin on his lips and mild skepticism in his eyes. "Are you saying -- "
"I'm saying," Brian dropped his forehead against Michael's again, "we've missed past opportunities, Mikey, but who knows what could happen? Maybe we'll get another chance."
"Someday," Michael said softly.
"Well, stranger things have happened," Brian murmured, and Michael felt comfort replace his disbelief.
Their grinning mouths met in a longer kiss and, with affectionate eyes open to each other, they knew: just because they had disagreements and different lives and were currently in love with other people -- from now on, it would take a hell of a lot more than any of that to pull them apart.
*