Michael

"I'm sorry." I get nothing but loud silence from him so I keep talking. "It didn't mean anything! Nothing happened."

Brian sends me a scornful look and then turns away, grabbing a few more clothes and putting them in the small overnight bag.

"Fine," he barks, sounding anything but. "It didn't mean anything! Nothing fucking happened!" Anger is radiating from him in waves as he throws my words back in my face, showing them up for how lame they really are.

"Why won't you believe me? Why can't you trust me when I tell you that you're misinterpreting what you saw?"

He slams the dresser drawer so hard that the photos on top rattle. One of them falls to the floor, a crack appearing in the glass. It's the picture we took together at Comicon a couple of years ago. I was surprised and touched when I found out that he had actually kept it framed in his bedroom. Seeing it lying on the floor with a crack running between our images seems like a bad sign--a very bad sign.

"It's a little goddamned difficult to 'misinterpret' someone else's tongue down your fucking throat and his hands in your pants...Mikey!" He sweeps past me to grab toiletries from the bathroom.

My anxiety escalates at the tone of his voice. Usually when he uses his pet name for me, it's with affection. Now he's saying it like it's a curse--like he hates me. My stomach is starting to churn even more than it has been over the past twenty minutes. My head feels hot and heavy, like all the blood in my body has gone to one spot. Even my throat feels like it's going to close up. Can people really die from panic? -- because I'm feeling awfully close right now.

Despite the tightness in my throat, I manage to squeeze out, "Where are you going, Brian?"

"Away from here." He brushes roughly past me to go back to the bedroom. He calls out over his shoulder, "Away from you."

I want to shake him in frustration, to get him to talk to me, or even look at me for one minute. "How can I get in contact with you?" I hate the neediness in my voice, but can't stop to think about maintaining my cool now.

He gives me an evil look. "You can't." He grabs his jacket from the closet, picks up the bag and starts striding to the door of the loft.

I can't let him escape this way. Some irrational voice, deep within, tells me that if I let him walk out the door, things will never be the same again. I sprint after his departing form and grab his arm to spin him around. The tension in his body nearly zaps me like a bolt from above before he whirls around. I only have time to wonder at the wrath on his face before he puts his hand on my chest and shoves me away. I stumble on something--maybe my own shoes--and fall. I don't recall landing on the floor and bumping my head on something hard. The next thing I see is Brian standing over me with an emotional battle playing out on his face, looking like he wants to say something. He hesitates for a moment, face pale and tight, before saying words I thought I would never hear in this lifetime: "By the time I'm back, you had better be gone. I don't ever want to see you again!"

And just like that...I'm alone. The sound of the door slamming is still echoing through the loft. I don't bother to get up from my position on the floor. What would be the point? I lay my head back on the wooden floor, wincing at the bruise on my head. I try to leave my mind blank and concentrate on the patterns on the ceiling, but eventually the thoughts and regrets crowd themselves in and demand to be weighed, measured, and examined from every viewpoint.

After lying there, feeling sorry for myself for a long time...wanting to cry but unable to let myself, I start to laugh. Maybe I'll just stay here on the floor and let my mind go completely--go crazy so I don't have to think about tonight. Maybe if I'm tucked away in a psychiatric ward, in a padded room, Brian will take pity and come back to me.

Yeah. It could work. And when I come back to my senses, this whole situation will have blown over...I wish it could be as easy as that--escape for a while and let my problems fix themselves. I wish that I could take it all back...that none of this had ever started, but it did and it's my fault for letting it go as far as it did.

Brian

Maybe I should crazy glue my hand to the car horn. These stupid fucking drivers! Not one of them has any business being behind the wheel of two tons of metal, glass, and plastic. I swerve around another one who's decided that driving within the lane is optional. That puts me behind a truck that's moving at the speed of cold molasses. I change lanes again and find myself in the clear. After a minute of driving, unmolested, I start to wish that some asshole WOULD cut me off. I want someone to piss me off so bad that I can practically taste it. I no longer wonder at those asinine "Road Rage" stories. Sometimes, if you're in the right mood--and someone drives too fast or too slow or too close or too anything...shit just happens. If only it would happen now and take my mind off of Michael.

I don't know where I'm going, so I just drive. I would crash at the lesbians' house, but Lindsay will ask too many questions. Debbie's is out of the question. No matter what the truth is, Michael's mom will probably find some way to twist it around and make this MY fault. My mother or my sister--neither is an option. I can't talk to them about anything. Ted or Emmett is a possibility. But not right now. I think if I talk to anyone who tries to make me see HIS side of things, I'll snap.

I guess I kind of snapped already. I didn't mean to knock him to the floor, but he shouldn't have grabbed my arm. I wanted to help him up, but I was afraid of what I might do if I touched him again. Didn't mean anything? Bullshit! That's my line. Michael never does anything that "doesn't mean anything." So what did it mean? My mind refuses to wrap itself around the possibilities. I'd rather stay angry with him.

And I am angry. I'm not grandstanding. I'm not doing this so he can come running after me and beg me to come back home. I'm not going to turn around and take him in my arms and cry like a woman about how "all is forgiven." I can't...

I won't.

Instead, I'm going to fan the flames until they explode all over everything within a five-mile radius. I hit the horn again, when some jerky driver tries to merge onto the highway, going twenty miles per hour. Let him wait. I'm too busy trying to go nowhere fast. I start to turn my feelings over in my mind. I don't know what's worse--that I'm angry with Michael or that I'm angry with myself. Why am I a victim of my own anger? It's not because I did anything wrong, because I didn't. Suddenly, I can feel the bile rising in my throat.

I pull over on the road's shoulder and open the door just in time to puke my guts out. I spit and then dig through my bag and find a bottle of water. After I rinse my mouth, I lean my head against the headrest and let my eyes close. The only thing penetrating my concentration is the roar of the traffic rushing by. They all have their own destinations--work, school, the mall, another city, another state. I envy them because I'm too tired to even turn the key in the ignition again, much less choose a destination of my own. Must be my hangover. When I left the loft last night, I wandered into some dive and drank the worst watered down scotch in Pittsburgh until my stomach burned and my head felt numb. I have no idea how long I'd been out. When daylight started to make an appearance, I found an all-night diner and drank a gallon of coffee. Then I went back home.

Why did I push him away? More importantly, why did I let him get to me? In my previous relationships...my one previous relationship...it had been easier. I let Justin get close, but not too close. Always kept him guessing. Always left him wanting more. That strategy backfired and he left me for someone who could give him more. I should have learned my lesson. Don't fall in love with it and it can't hurt you--my old motto. I forgot about it with Mikey.

After he and Ben drifted apart, we went back to our same old routine--best friends...nothing more...sex on the side, but only with other people...don't even think about love. But our old routine didn't feel right anymore. After several months of pretending, I realized that it was time...for more, for deeper, for better. Luckily, Michael realized it too. It was almost too easy, the way we slipped into the role of lovers. That should have been the first warning to me.

My jealousy should have been my second warning. I've been jealous of Michael's men before--a little. But there had always been a good reason. Most of them were just one-night tricks whose names were forgotten before the door slammed closed behind them. Nobody gives a shit about them, including me. The last two were different, though.

I couldn't stand David. Smug, arrogant asshole. He had Michael on puppet strings, twisting his feelings, making him dance, and trying to change him. People accuse me of being just like David, but they don't know shit about it. I may try to twist him a little, but who doesn't do that to their friends and family? No one--that's who. Those who say they don't are just trying to manipulate you into thinking they're wiser about these things--that they're right. But it actually proves my point. I'm upfront about it--give me that, at least. And I never tried to make Michael into a different person. I love him, faults and all--I love the whining, the pouting. I love the way he gets flustered when I tease him. I love that he loves me no matter what. I love his big heart. I love his insecurities and his strengths...I love him. And he loves me--or I thought he did. I don't think Dr. David could say the same. Besides, I'm way hotter than he ever was.

I know Michael loved Ben too. That situation was trickier. His eyes used to glow when he was talking about the famous Professor. Ben was all right, I guess. But he scared me because if Michael could love Ben despite the obstacles and the risks, then maybe I had been replaced. When Ben was in the hospital, and Michael had his brief breakdown, I wanted to scream at him to walk away--No! Run away as fast as you can, before it's too late. Part of it was because I didn't want him to suffer when Ben eventually became sicker. Part of it was that I couldn't stand the possibility of him catching "it"--the dreaded disease. Yeah, it was mostly those two things. But there was one tiny little part that was just selfishness on my part--that part of me that wanted Michael to worry that way about ME, and me alone. It's the same part that wanted him to shed tears only over me; to let his eyes glow when he was thinking about yours truly and no one else. I had owned the rights to Mikey's heart for so long that it was hard to fathom that someone else might have moved in and taken over. I made myself get over that real quick. No one was the wiser, except me.

And no one was secretly happier when they broke it off.

And now here comes contestant number three: Kevin What's-his-name. I knew he was trouble the moment we met. Something in the way he looked at me, made my radar go up--like he was checking out the competition. I could laugh at that. There IS no competition. Mikey is mine. Even before there was a David or a Ben or a Kevin, there was me. The first two are out of the picture, but I'm still alive and kicking. Number three doesn't stand a chance--try though he may. Mikey would never betray me--not after I told him I love him and only him. He would never leave me once I told him that I wanted us to be forever. Mikey would never...

And so I'm sitting here on the side of the highway, feeling drained. Why am I angry with myself? Because I let myself love Michael so hard and so deep, that the thought of it ending stabs me straight through where my heart's supposed to be.

Kevin

I hang up the phone again. I've already left four messages, but he still hasn't called me back. I should give up, but something inside won't let me. We never should have started, but now that we have, I need to see it through. And after last night, now that everything is out in the open, maybe we can move forward.

I met Michael at a comic book convention in Philadelphia. We were both going for the same, limited edition, "Captain Astro" 100th issue. After a few minutes of friendly arguing, I caved in and let him have it--in exchange for him having lunch with me. Something in him captivated me. He was cute--with thick black, wavy hair and twinkling eyes that were such a deep, dark brown that they looked black. The most beautiful smile I'd seen in a while sat right above a cleft in his chin that begged to be touched. All of that was on top of a tight little body which was absolutely working the tee shirt and form-fitting jeans. When he turned around to pay the girl behind the table for his book, I couldn't help but admire his butt because it was as perfect as the rest of him.

I was pretty excited when he agreed to lunch and I hoped that it wasn't just in payment for my sacrifice. We went to the food court in the conference center and bought lunch. I don't remember what I ate that day because I was too busy being charmed by the man across from me. We had a lot in common--same age, obsessed with comics, sort of into the club scene, both from the Pittsburgh area. It was as if fate had dropped us into each other's laps. Talking to him felt like coming home to a friend I'd known for ages. Everything went so well that we exchanged numbers and agreed to meet again.

And that's how it began--very innocently--at least on his part. From the beginning, I could feel myself getting sucked in, and I didn't mind a bit. On our second meeting, when I came to visit him at his comic book store, he mentioned "the other man." He did it so casually and unselfconsciously that it took me aback. I had been hoping for something more than a new friend, but obviously my signals had gotten a little crossed. In that split second after he said the words "my boyfriend, Brian," my mind went blank and I wanted to leave. Then I looked into those eyes again and decided to stand my ground. Who knew what could happen?

We've been friends for few months now. We call each other on the phone, exchange e-mails, and get together every so often. I've been to the loft that he shares with "him." That's where I met Brian. I can understand what Michael sees in him. Six foot plus, hazel eyes, pouty lips, a body that screams "sex." And that fierce expression in his eyes--on the surface it says "Whatever. Who gives a fuck?" But if you look a little more closely, underneath the studied indifference, there is a look that growls, "Back off. He's mine." I don't know if Michael even knows that it's there, but I'm sure that everyone else notices. We once went clubbing together and I could see the predators shy away from Michael, paralyzed by Brian's protectiveness. All without Michael being aware of what was happening around him. I suppose that if I had met him in those circumstances, with Brian standing guard, I wouldn't have taken it any further either.

Fortunately or unfortunately for me, I met Michael on his own and unprotected. There was no one to warn me away. And I fell.

I've told Michael, before, how I feel. At first he didn't believe that I had fallen in love with him. As if I might have mistaken him for someone else. No mistake...it was all about him and how he makes me feel like everything in my life has fallen into place. He explained that he was in a relationship with someone he loved deeply and that there couldn't be anything between us. He was so gentle and kind about it, that it made me want him even more. Eventually, I stopped listening to his words and focused on his lips moving. I reached out to brush my thumb against them. They were just as soft as I thought they would be. He jumped up and started pacing. Now his words caught my attention because he was saying that we should stop hanging out. "Let all this calm down," were the words he used. I wanted to laugh at the idea that any of this could calm down.

After all we'd shared, a simple touch threw everything out of balance. It almost killed me to agree to spend some time apart. However, it was the only way I could get him not to sever our relationship altogether. So for a couple of weeks, I spent my days moping and looking forward to calling him again.

During our hiatus, I spent many restless nights dreaming about making love to him. My fantasies had a recurring theme: screwing him slowly on the counter at the store with his legs wrapped around my waist and him panting my name over and over; dragging him to the backroom at a club, so I could suck and swallow his thick hard-on for a long, long time until his hot, musky juices exploded in my mouth and then finish with a delicious deep-throating. I would have given anything to just show up at his loft, throw him face-down on the couch and pump my cock into his sweet opening until he was sweating and whimpering and begging me to make him come. My dreams ranged from sweet and romantic to erotic and a nasty. But it wasn't only about sex. I dreamed that we'd go away together to some island retreat where we'd swim and spend hours in the sand under graceful palm trees. I dreamed of spending nights by a roaring fire, snuggling on a couch sharing a good book and a mug of cocoa. Oh, how I dreamed.

It was a lot of hard work keeping those fantasies under control when I was at work or talking to people I know. One good friend told me that for two weeks I acted like a space cadet--floating somewhere in a black star-filled vacuum.

After some time had passed, Michael and I reconnected and tried to pretend that my declaration wasn't floating between us--like the elephant in the room that everyone tries to ignore. Things were okay for the next few weeks--until last night happened.

I'm really starting to worry about Michael not answering his phone. I don't think that Brian would actually hurt him, but he was furious--like an explosion waiting to happen. Michael practically threw me bodily out of the loft. I stood outside the door for a while, ready to rush in at the first sign of violence. I couldn't discern their words over the stereo, but I could tell they were yelling. The stereo was the reason Michael hadn't realized that Brian was on his way up. I, on the other hand, had been standing at the window and had seen the jeep pull up to the front of the building.

I don't know what possessed me. I knew it might not work--that it could make things worse--end them for good. Maybe it was too much sun earlier in the day, or too much exercise--Michael and I had just from a late night run in the park. It could have been Michael himself--he looked so sweaty and sexy, like he'd been making love for hours already. But standing there watching him getting drinking glasses out of a high cabinet, his sweat-dampened tank top tee shirt pulling up to reveal his waist, his taut buttocks outlined by his running shorts, I was suddenly possessed by a not-so-bright devil. The little demon kept whispering in my ear, "Let him catch you together. Then he'll go away." I walked up behind Michael and put my hand on his bare waist. The glass he was holding slipped from his hands and hit the counter without breaking as he spun around to face me. I didn't give him a chance to protest before I grabbed his face in my hands and started kissing him, pushing my entire length against him so that he was trapped against the counter. The inside of his mouth was wet, hot, and sweet. I couldn't resist licking all around the inside and then sucking on that incredibly long tongue. And he didn't push me away...not immediately...not until I had slipped my eager hand into the back of his shorts and started kneading that perfect ass in my hot hand...not until it was too late and the loft door had already been opened.

I pick up my cell and call Michael again, hoping he's okay. When he doesn't answer, I grab my car keys and my wallet and head out to my car.

Michael

I hear my phone ringing and I know that it's Kevin again. I've stopped checking the caller ID. I should just turn it off, but I'm afraid that when Brian cools down, he might try to reach me. I welcome that, even if it's only so he can yell at me. There's not much left to yell about. He did it for a while last night, in between ignoring my explanations. He called them "lame-ass excuses that are boring the shit out of me." That was the last thing he said before stomping out of here. I'm not sure where he went, but he came back just after sunrise, smelling like a brewery. In no time at all, he packed his bag, and left again.

I rub the back of my head. It's kind of sore from where my head hit the floor. Actually what I hit was a set of keys that I had dropped on the floor earlier. They left a nice little gash in my head, but at least its not bleeding anymore--thanks to a few staples in the emergency room. I tried to stop it myself, but every time I took the pressure off, it would start bleeding again. That'll teach me to throw things without looking. I finally gave up and drove myself to the closest hospital where they fixed me up, good as used. Despite the numbing medicine the doctor used, the staples hurt just as much as they sound like they would--a lot. A couple of ice packs and a few drinks later to wash down the painkillers and I'm feeling relatively pain-free and slightly buzzed.

I want to sleep for a while and then wake up to find that everything is the way it used to be. I stretch out on our bed where I'm surrounded by Brian's scent. I pull his pillow to me and inhale deeply. With my eyes closed and my arms full, it almost feels like he's still here. I fall asleep that away.

It seems like a long time later when an annoying buzzing sound breaks through the fog of my sleep. The front door. I drag myself out of bed and walk to the intercom.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

Fuck. Kevin. "You can't come up here. Go home."

"I just drove for half an hour in the middle of the night. Let me in for a few minutes."

"You should have called first. I would have saved you the trip."

"I did call. You didn't answer. Come on Michael. It's freezing out here."

"It's May and it's seventy degrees out there." I let go of the intercom and wait.

His voice pleading again: "Okay it's not cold, but it's really dark. If I get mugged, you'll feel really bad."

I shouldn't relent, but his begging gets to me. He really could get mugged out there. I hit the door buzzer to let him in and unlock the door. While the elevator grinds its way up slowly, I go to the bathroom and check myself in the mirror. Damn it! I look like forty miles of rough road--and that's being kind. I splash water on my face and run a comb through my hair, careful to avoid the staples. I also toss on a pair of cut off sweat pants and a short-sleeved tee shirt. I feel more comfortable a little covered up since the incident in the kitchen.

When I step out of the bedroom, Kevin is standing there. I drop myself onto the living couch. He walks past me and joins me on the couch, sitting on the opposite end. He stares at me for a minute before speaking.

"Are you okay? I was worried when you didn't answer the phone."

I shrug my shoulders and look away, only to hear him gasp, "What the fuck did he do to you?" Suddenly, he's right next to me, holding my left shoulder so I can't turn around, gently touching the bandage on my head. I feel tears spring up and I have the sudden urge to confide in him.

He turns me around and holds my head between his hands. "Did he do anything else to hurt you?"

That I'm responding to this sympathy amazes me--especially because the hole in my head is indirectly his fault. But I'm feeling unbalanced by my fight with Brian, the knock on the head, the pain meds, and the drinking. I let him pull me into a hug. I've needed this all night--only from someone else.

"It was an accident. I tried to grab him and he pushed me away. I tripped and fell."

"Michael, you don't have to make excuses for him. I know how he can be."

I push him away, my self-pity replaced by anger on Brian's behalf. "What the fuck does that mean? You don't know him like that! It's ridiculous for you to say you do."

"I see how he treats people--like they're dirt beneath his feet. I see how he manipulates you into doing what he wants. You're too blind to see it yourself."

"That's crap. You and everyone else think that it's so easy to read him; you don't know the first thing about Brian." I pause, thinking for a while.

"But I do. And I should have known how he would react." I look at Kevin, feeling like I'm seeing him for the first time. "And I should have stayed away from you when you first told me how you felt...after you kissed me."

"Michael--"

"No! Just leave--now." He tries to grab me by the shoulders and make me listen.

"But Michael, I love you! You can't end things like this."

"If you love me--if you REALLY love me, then you'll walk away like I'm asking." He starts to shake his head, refusing to accept my words. "Brian once walked away. He did it because he thought it would make me happy--make my life better."

"So giving up on you makes him the better man?" he says with disgust.

"He didn't give up on me. He gave up for me. He risked sacrificing our friendship out of love for me. What have you done, besides sabotage my relationship with Brian so you can have me for yourself? That's not love--it's selfishness." He looks dejected at my last words. He gets up and starts to walk to the door.

"I think you're making a mistake, but if you change your mind, I'll be waiting." And then he leaves.

Kevin

The first time I kissed him I was hooked. It was only natural for me to stare at his mouth while he was talking, but my fascination became overwhelming and I had to taste him. The first time was planned out, though he never knew. We met for lunch one day, when he had some free time. I was already sitting at one of the cafe's outdoor tables when he arrived. And there he was--cheeks flushed with fresh, cool air, a ready smile on those kissable lips, and a spring in his step. When he was standing before me, saying "Hi," I stood and kissed him. Nothing prolonged--not even any tongue involved...just a kiss on those lips. It was like a taste of heaven.

He immediately blushed and said, "What was that for?" smiling and stammering. I made some excuse like "I always kiss my friends like that," and, "I hope I didn't embarrass you." It was completely ridiculous. I never kiss my friends like that and of course he was embarrassed--the blushing was hard to hide. But he wasn't angry and that gave me free reign to do it again each time we met. And each time I pushed it a little further--one time a little harder, next time a little longer, eventually a quick taste with my tongue. I lived for those moments--the very brief moments, when he was all mine.

One day we met at his store. We had gone back after one of our lunches so he could show me an idea he had for his comic book, "Rage." He had the storyboards spread out on the counter and was pointing out an action sequence, which wasn't working the way, he wanted. He was practically crackling with the electricity of his excitement and I was drawn to him. We were leaning forward looking at the pages. His face was ever so close to mine--close enough to touch--so I did...I slowly stroked a finger down his cheek. He stopped talking, but he wouldn't look at me. He kept staring at the storyboards as if he could burn a hole through the papers with his eyes. He was biting his lower lip so hard that I wanted to kiss him and make him stop injuring that treasured part of him. I leaned over and planted three kisses where I had touched him. His eyes fell closed and he stepped back, breathing deeply.

"Stop."

Stop? I couldn't do that. I stepped closer and cupped his cheek with one hand, stroking his cheekbone with my thumb. "Why should I? Don't you like this?"

He gulped, opened his eyes, and pushed my hand away softly. "This can't happen."

At least he acknowledged that there was something happening. I ignored his words and pulled him in for another kiss. He put his hands on my chest and I could feel the heat burning through my shirt, branding my skin--and then he pushed me a little and turned his face away.

"You should go now."

I smiled, I think, and kissed him one last time on the lips before walking out of the store. "Let him think about that for a while." I knew I had him right where I needed him. He didn't stop seeing me then. We continued to be friends and I continued to push the envelope. If he didn't like it, why didn't he stop me?

Brian

I'd already been sitting in my car for an eternity when a tapping on my window startled me. The police--just what I need. I roll down the window and try to look innocent. But this time it's unnecessary because I'm not in trouble.

"Sir, are you okay?"

I'm surprised. I'm not used to people I don't know caring if I'm okay. "I am now. I was feeling kind of sick to my stomach and I had to pull over." I try my best to look nauseous, which is not that difficult, considering how bad I feel.

"Would you like me to escort you to the nearest hospital?"

I'm not used to all this courtesy from the boys in blue. Usually I'm being pulled over for speeding or running red lights. "No. That's all right. I think I'll just get off on the next exit and go back home. He looks at me carefully--probably looking for signs of intoxication.

"May I see your license and registration, please?" There goes courtesy. I give him the items he requested and wait while he goes back to his car. A short time later, he returns to my car window and hands the items back to me.

"Just be careful while you're driving. Hope you feel better." He tips his hat and returns to his car. It's over and I have no ticket and no handcuffs--will wonders never cease?

I turn the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. Carefully, I pull onto the highway and get off the next exit, like I said I would. A few minutes later, I find a convenience store and park in the lot. I get out of the car and enter the store. I grab a bottle of ginger ale out of the fridge and head up the aisle to the cashier. While I'm walking I pass a shelf of cereal boxes. On the top shelf is a box of Cap'n Crunch. We're running low on Michael's favorite breakfast cereal. I pick it up and test the weight in my hands. It's a small box so I grab two more boxes and take all the items to the cashier. He rings up my order, takes my cash, and bags my purchases.

I walk back to the Jeep, place the bag on the floor of the passenger side, and walk to the driver's side where I get in. Staring through the front windshield, I watch traffic zoom back and forth. A woman is crossing the busy street pulling a tiny dog on a leash. It keeps barking at passing pedestrians. It looks like rain--a welcome relief given how hot it's been these past three days. I look back at the bag in the car. One of the boxes of Cap'n Crunch sits on top, mocking me.

I start the car and drive back home.

Michael

I've already had breakfast--the last of the Cap'n Crunch, cleaned up the mess in the loft, and worked on the next issue of "Rage." Still, I'm bubbling over with all this extra energy. After I rearrange my closet in color order, I start on Brian's closet. He'll probably tear my head off for rearranging his stuff, but I have to do something. While I'm working on black--damn he has a lot of black clothes--I hear the loft door open. I abandon the closet and walk out of the bedroom. Brian is standing in the kitchen drinking a bottle of ginger ale. He points to the paper sack on the counter.

"I got you more cereal. I think you're almost out."

I walk to stand in front of him. When he doesn't back away or push me away, I put my arms around him and lay my head against his chest. Slowly his arms come around me and hold me tight. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

I'm confused and I pull back to look at his face. "Sorry for what? It was my fault." His only answer is to touch the bandage on my head. I had already forgotten about it. "I did that, didn't I--when I pushed you?"

I want to get rid of all his guilt. I stretch up on tiptoe and press a kiss to his lips. "It's just a scratch...and it was an accident."

He closes his eyes and leans his face against mine. "You scared me...I scared myself. I've never been that angry before. I had to leave for a while."

"It's okay--you were shocked by what you saw. I understand. But I want you to understand that I would never hurt you like that. After all these years of waiting, you're not getting away that easy, Mr. Kinney."

I can feel him smiling against my face. "You're not going to hang out with him anymore, are you?"

"Of course not. I wish we could still be friends, but his feelings for me make that impossible. I've already told him that we need to end our relationship."

"You talked to him after I left?" I nod in response. "He was here?"

I tread carefully, "He came over to make sure I was okay after our fight. We talked. I broke it off and he left. That's all." I grasp Brian's chin in my hands to make sure that he's focused on my eyes. "Kevin wanted to be more than friends, but it was all on his side--not mine. You are the only one I love--the only one I want. You can trust that to the end of time."

His hazel eyes gaze into mine, piercing my soul. After long moments, apparently satisfied with whatever he sees, he presses a kiss on my forehead and hugs me tight as if he'll never let go.

Kevin

I still see Michael once in a while. We've even spoken briefly when we're on the street...never alone. I miss our conversations. I miss the debates we've had. I miss the times when we talked, laughed, and danced. I miss that one-of-a-kind smile that lights up the room. My fantasies are not a satisfying substitute. I have no choice but to seek out the places where I might see him and hope that one day he'll walk up to me and say the magic words: "I broke up with him. Can we start again?"

I've seen HIM too--the other man. I can't even say his name anymore--the one who has Michael's heart in the palm of his hand. I can't help but feel jealous whenever I see them together because they're disgustingly happy. I desperately want what he has. I hope he appreciates the treasure he's holding. I'm trying to do what Michael asked--trying to love him by letting go. But when the other man fucks up, he better watch his back and step carefully because I'll be right there to pick up the pieces.