***

Justin really wants a cigarette. He's trying to use the smoke break as an inspiration to get something done, but he's been holding the same brush for at least 40 minutes, shuffling through his notes and sketches, indecisive. The Missy Elliott CD that's been on repeat all day, another attempt at inspiration, sounds tinny. The fluorescent light is awful. He has no idea how to finish his canvas. It's almost 2:00 AM.

He takes a few steps back, and looks at the three canvases of his senior painting project. The two finished panels are propped up against the wall, and the third one - the middle panel, of course - is balanced on two chairs, because there's no place else that it will fit. Justin's studio-mate has gone home for the semester already, leaving a giant unfired ceramic sculpture practically in the middle of the room. Justin just knows that if he tries to move it, something will fall off, or get squashed.

He gives in, and heads for the stairwell to smoke. It looks like nobody else is around, but it's hard to tell with all the lights on. A little bit creepy, but he's used to it after four years (off and on) at PIFA. He sits on the steps halfway up to the next floor and leans against the wall.

It's not that Justin doesn't want to be finished, it's just so hard to make the decision about what "finished" means. He's tempted to blame his bad studio space, but really, it shouldn't matter - it's just a stupid school project, and he should just fucking finish it.

He takes one last drag off his cigarette and grinds it out on his shoe. He remembers this girl at St. James who used to save all her ground-out cigarettes, back in ninth grade, when smoking was still exciting. She'd had a little metal box for them, in her backpack, like they were really something special. Of course, Justin can remember times when he'd kept even stupider things like they were treasures.

He drops the cigarette butt down the stairwell, and watches it fall a few flights in the glow of the safety light.

Walking inside, Justin feels the tiredness prickling behind his eyes, but the Missy CD is still on, back in his studio cube, and the light seems a little less fluorescent after his nicotine break. He cocks his head and looks at the canvas again. It's actually kind of nice being the only person left in the building, working late, finishing up. Suddenly, Justin knows how he has to finish the canvas. He tears another page out of his notebook and starts making notes.

"Hello?" The voice comes from right behind him, and Justin spins around. A guy is standing in the doorway of his studio, wearing a CMU sweatshirt and jeans. He's in one of Justin's classes, but Justin can't remember his name, or which class.

"Oh my god," Justin says. "I had no idea anyone else was here."

"I've been here since like four," says the guy. He has a weirdly business-like voice.

"Oh," says Justin.

"You're Justin," says the says. "I'm Tom."

"Hi," says Justin.

"Hi," says the guy. Tom. "So, I could tell you were here because of your music."

"Oh," says Justin. He isn't used to having conversations with people from school. Since he's taken a few semesters off, the few friends he'd grudgingly made at first have graduated by now, and he's never really tried to make any others. But now, this guy is trying to bond with him, or whatever, and he doesn't want to be rude. The guy looks a little bit uncomfortable. Justin points at the bag of carrots on his drafting table. "Do you want some carrots?"

"No thanks," he says. "I just came over to ask you to stop playing that CD."

"Huh?"

"Can you play a different CD or something? I'm going to kill myself if I have to hear Missy Elliott one more time."

"Oh, okay," says Justin. He switches off the CD player. This is really weird.

"Sorry," says Tom. "Sorry, I'm kind of stressed out."

"That's okay," says Justin. He wonders if he is really trying to make friends after all.

The guy, Tom, holds up a CD. "I brought you this. In case you don't have anything else to listen to." He puts it down on one of the chairs that isn't holding the canvas. "It's a mix."

"That's really nice of you," said Justin. What is he supposed to say? "You don't have to give me this, though." He starts walking toward the doorway, hoping Tom will take the hint and vacate.

"No, my ex-girlfriend gave it to me. You can keep it," he says. Tom smiles tightly, and leaves without another word.

Justin listens to his footsteps fade away and decides that he will never try to be nice to anyone, ever again. He grabs the CD, though, when he packs up his things a few minutes later and heads out.

***

At the loft, Brian is in bed, reading the biography of Vladimir Mayakovsky that Justin gave him last month.

"So," says Brian, when Justin slips under the covers beside him.

"So. . . what?"

"Did you finish the painting?" Brian seems a little excited.

Justin rolls over to face Brian. "I'll finish it tomorrow," he says.

"Hm," says Brian, and turns off the light. He gives Justin a quick kiss before he lies back down. "Good luck with that."

Justin tries to visualize himself finishing the painting. It doesn't work, so he tries to visualize himself falling asleep, instead. It's so late. Brian is already asleep. He'd been waiting up, Justin realizes, expecting Justin to be finished.

***

On Friday, Justin gets back to the loft around seven in the evening. It was a great day, eight hours of peace and quiet in his studio - no weird aggro Tom, which was good, because he'd left the mix CD at the loft in the morning. He runs up the stairs, a little wired on the coffee and donuts he'd been nursing all afternoon. Maybe that's why he can't stop smiling.

In the loft, Brian is sitting on the floor, on a futon, with Gus. Gus is busy with some drawing paper and crayons on the coffee table. Both of them look up at Justin as he comes in.

"Hey," says Brian.

"Hi," says Gus. "We're working."

"Hi guys," says Justin. He's still smiling as he pulls off his outer layers: bag, coat, scarf, shoes.

"I'm done working now," says Gus. "Can I get up?"

"Sure," says Brian. He palms Gus's head as Gus rushes over to Justin. Gus watches Justin closely as he hangs his coat and scarf, but he doesn't say anything.

"Hi, Gus," Justin says.

"Hi," says Gus, looking at the floor, and then back at Justin.

"Gus, do you want to open my mail?"

"Yes," says Gus, bouncing a little bit.

Justin opens the drawer where he keeps junk mail for Gus to open, and pulls out a few pieces. "Here you go," he says.

Gus grabs the pile. "Thank you," he remembers to say, and sits down on the floor with his pile.

Justin looks at Brian, and they smile at each other.

"If he goes into mass-mailing, I'm suing you," says Brian. Gus is oblivious, opening a perfume sample. Justin kneels down next to Brian on the futon.

"So," says Justin.

"So?"

"I finished!"

Brian raises his eyebrows. "So you're what, a junior now?"

Justin hits him in the chest, and Brian catches his hand. "Shut up! I finished my senior project."

Brian grabs his other hand, throwing Justin off-balance and against Brian's chest. Brian tips him forward a little, and kisses him. "Are you finally adjusting to campus life?"

"I only have three more credits left to graduate," says Justin. He tries to move into a better position for Brian to kiss him again.

"Oh, so you're one of these child prodigies. How old did you say you were?" Brian rubs his nose along the edge of Justin's jaw. "Seventeen?"

"You wish," says Justin. He makes himself go limp. Brian brings a hand up to the back of his head, and then leans in for another kiss. Justin can hear Brian breathing him in, all that caffeine and nicotine and sugar. With his eyes closed, the day flashes by in his mind. He's hardly been outside during daylight, which is always kind of strange. Brian's mouth is hot. It's a little overwhelming to be kissing so breathlessly in Justin's already-buzzed state, which Brian might realize, because he pulls back.

Justin opens his eyes to see Brian watching him. Gus is still occupied with the mail, the heater is starting up, and, Justin realizes, soft music is playing on the stereo. It's really good music - not exactly familiar, but he's definitely heard it somewhere before. Something instrumental. Justin narrows his eyes.

"What?"

"I'm trying to figure out what this music is," says Justin.

Brian raises his eyebrows. "It's this CD called 'Merry Christmas Tom, Love, Jackie'. Ever heard of it?"

"Oh yes, a classic," says Justin.

Brian stands up, pulling Justin with him. He brushes his mouth against Justin's throat, over his chin, to his lips. Justin hangs on to Brian's shoulders and stretches up into the kiss.

The song changes, and Justin recognizes it. It has words. "What a weird CD," he says.

"This is a good song," says Brian. He twirls Justin away from the futon, which is how Justin realizes they're dancing.

"Is it . . . Bette Midler?"

Brian rolls his eyes. "It's Nina Simone."

"This is my CD, by the way," says Justin. He slides one of his hands down Brian's arm until his fingers are laced with Brian's.

Brian tightens his other arm around Justin's waist, and dips him until Justin has to tip his head back. Upside-down, Justin sees Gus watching them, and he smiles. Gus smiles back, and then runs away toward the other side of the loft. Quickly, Brian pulls Justin back up, and before the blood stops rushing in Justin's head, he's spinning around again, pulled tight against Brian.

Justin feels like he's on one of those carnival rides that induces giddy laughter. "You must really like this song," he says.

Justin does a spin of his own, and Brian follows him perfectly. He tries a fancy sideways step, and Brian matches it. Gus is watching them, bouncing up and down on a futon.

"You guys are both being weird," says Gus.

Brian tries to swallow a laugh. "Sonny boy, do you want to dance?"

"No," says Gus. He takes off across the loft again. "I'm going to pee."

"Gus, say 'bathroom,'" says Brian, but he's already gone.

"Kids," says Justin. The song is ending. He pulls Brian up the stairs to the bedroom, and then down to the bed.

Brian grudgingly flops back against the pillows, and closes his eyes with a sigh. Justin hovers above him and smiles. He's not sure if Brian knows his "put-upon" routine is totally transparent, but it doesn't really matter - it's still effectively endearing.

"Hey, is this Frank Sinatra?"

Brian's lips twitch. "It's Lou Reed, genius."

He takes in Brian's relaxed posture, his tee shirt and jeans, the sliver of skin showing above his left hip, his bare feet, his fluttering eyelids, his exposed neck. He presses a kiss against his tee shirt-covered shoulder, his cheek, his chin. Brian moves his head slightly, trying to catch Justin's mouth. Justin smiles, and slips a hand under Brian's shirt, against his stomach and down the front of his pants. Brian draws in a breath.

"Hey you guys," calls Gus, from the bathroom. Justin grabs his hand back. Brian raises an eyebrow at him. "Can someone help me zip my pants, please?"

***

Lindsay arrives to pick up Gus minutes later, full of congratulations for Justin. "I'm sure you two have something special planned for this weekend," she says.

"I'm taking Justin on a balloon ride," says Brian.

"I'm taking Brian to my studio tomorrow," Justin says, simultaneously.

They stare at each other.

"Can I come," says Gus. He tries unsuccessfully to break away from Lindsay as she secures him in his jacket and hat.

"We're making Christmas cookies," she tells him, and then looks at Brian. "But I'm sure daddy and Justin will take you to Justin's school another time. And for a balloon ride."

Brian sticks his tongue out at her.

***

After Lindsay finally hustles Gus out into the night, Justin sits in the kitchen and watches Brian tidy up for a few minutes. Once Brian sits at his desk and starts rearranging folders, Justin clears his throat.

"Do you want to see photos of my project?"

"Sure," says Brian.

"Okay." Justin stands up. "Just give me a second."

***

Justin is a little nervous, so he goes to change out of his painting clothes while Brian looks at his photos of the three canvases. When he comes back, Brian is still bent over his laptop, looking.

"What do you think?" Justin walks up behind Brian so he can see the three tiny photos Brian is looking at - his three skyscapes.

Brian looks at Justin, and points to the one on the left. "Is that from your studio?"

"Uh huh." Justin suddenly feels a little nervous, under Brian's scrutiny.

"And that's the alley outside Kinnetic?"

Justin lets out a relieved breath. "I figured there was a lot of, you know, significance to that alley."

Brian blinks slowly. "I see."

"Not that my art is autobiographical or anything."

"No, of course not," says Brian.

"It's just. . . personal." Justin is blushing now, even as he jokes with Brian.

Brian looks at Justin with serious eyes. "You already know how good it is."

Justin smiles, trying for cocky. "I had my suspicions."

Brian smirks, and turns back to the computer screen, like he really wants to keep looking.

"So, if you want, you can come to my studio tomorrow and see the real thing. They're each like eight feet wide." Justin rubs up against Brian's back as he says it.

"Okay." Brian looks back at Justin, and stands up.

"Okay, great." Justin shuts the laptop, and pulls Brian toward the bedroom. "It's settled."

Brian pulls back, and Justin turns to face him. "You know I'm not really taking you on a balloon ride though, right?"

"Mmm. I think I can live with it." Justin lets Brian catch his hands against his chest.

"I can make it up to you," says Brian. He fumbles his way up the bedroom stairs backwards, holding Justin's hands.

***

A few hours later, Justin is lying on the futon, in a pair of track pants, staring at the ceiling and waiting for Brian to pick a DVD to watch. Obviously he would never say this out loud to anyone, but it hasn't escaped his notice that Brian has the most romantic, melodramatic taste in movies ever. If nobody dies or moves to Afric, or at least realizes they were married to their sister at the end of the movie, Brian isn't interested. Justin likes documentaries, but he feels bad inflicting his straightforward taste on Brian's little bleeding romantic heart.

He sees Brian in his peripheral vision and closes his eyes. The futon dips down, and Brian sits cross-legged beside him.

"I can't believe this kid was so offended by your musical taste that he gave you a CD."

"It was so weird," says Justin. He stretches out across Brian's lap.

"Well, now that you're fully grown," says Brian, sliding his hand against Justin's crotch for emphasis, "I think it's time we got you some culture."

Justin covers Brian's hand with his own. "I thought that's why you keep making me watch all those Billy Wilder movies."

"You might have to put in some extra hours of studying."

"I think I can handle that," says Justin. He shifts around, so that he can see the television. The credits of the movie are running. The theme sounds familiar - it's the instrumental song from the mix CD. "What's this movie called?"

"'A Man and a Woman'," says Brian.

The title appears on screen: "Un homme et une femme."

"It's French," says Brian.

Justin tilts his head up to face Brian. "I can see that," he says.

Brian raises his eyebrows warningly. Justin settles back down to face the television.

The movie is pretty quiet - it's mostly just the pretty mom and the hot dad gazing at each other from across the dad's car. Justin gets lost in it for a while. He's sure that this movie will end with either the man or the woman moving to Africa or dying. Or at least taking their kids to another school.

"I just can't believe anyone could hate Missy Elliott that much," he says after a while.

"Were you listening to that one song on repeat?"

"What song?"

"The one that you always listen to, " says Brian.

Justin raises his eyebrows, waiting for more information.

"I'm not going to sing it."

On screen, the hot French dad, played by that actor whose name Justin always forgets, crosses the street. In a little while, he'll ask Brian to say the name of the actor again. The loft is almost completely quiet. Justin says, "It's okay, you don't have to," and smiles.

***

Soundtrack:

Funky Fresh Dressed to Impress / Missy Elliott
The Theme from A Man and a Woman / Francis Lai
Forbidden Fruit / Nina Simone
Coney Island Baby / Lou Reed