New York City truly was the city that never sleeps, and Justin was finding that out the hard way. He’d had a few goals when he reached the big apple, and he supposed that in a way he had reached them all; find a job, find an apartment, and start going to every gallery in the city to find someone to display his work.

The job thing hadn’t been as easy as he’d have liked. The city that never sleeps didn’t want Justin for a 9 to 5 shift, or even an evening shift. No, everywhere he went, they were only interested in night shifts. This was hard. Justin loved being out late, if it meant going to Babylon for a few hours, but at heart he was a day time person. Now that he’d gotten the only job that he could find – a waiter at a shitty diner – he was having to work from 2 AM to 10 AM. This meant that he had to get off work and immediately start checking out galleries.

The gallery thing hadn’t been as easy as he’d have liked, either. Despite what everyone seemed to think about him, and despite how good his art was, it seemed that there were plenty of other young artists just as good or better. The galleries were overflowing with ‘young genius’ types, and no one was especially impressed with his work.

“It’s very nice,” they’d say. “You have a lot of talent.” “I read that article, I was impressed. Come back in five years when you’re more polished.”

Justin had known that it wouldn’t be easy to gain recognition in New York, but he hadn’t realized just how hard it would be. Then, when he finally found a few hole-in-the-wall galleries that were actually interested in him, they’d ask him how many canvases he had done in the past month.

“Three?” the gallery owner would say, looking unimpressed. “Ah. Well, once you’re a serious artist, let us know, and we might be interested.”

Justin’s explanations about his hand, and how he couldn’t work for very long at a time, and how he was doing the best he could didn’t matter. No one in the Serious Art World cared about reasons or excuses. All they cared about were results. Of course, Brian would have shrugged and agreed with them, but at least when Brian told him that excuses were bullshit, he’d still rub his hand. Justin missed Brian rubbing his hand. He’d been able to work so much more when he had Brian’s massages. These days, he just took lots of pain killers instead.

At about 4 in the afternoon every day, Justin would go back to his extremely small studio apartment, and try to paint for a few hours before going to bed. He’d stand in front of the canvas he’d set up in his room (that took up half of it) and stare for long periods of time. Sometimes he’d even put some paint down, but he was never happy with it.

It was ironic, realizing exactly who his muse and inspiration had been, only after leaving him and canceling their wedding.

“Yeah,” Justin mumbled, setting his paintbrush down. “Really fucking ironic.”

It was 7:00, and he had to be up in five hours to go to work. He knew he had to get some sleep, so he reluctantly covered up his barely touched canvas, and collapsed onto the mattress he had on the floor, yanking the covers up over himself.

Justin hated New York. At first he’d thought it would grow on him. He’d thought he’d get used to it. Of course, he’d also thought that Brian would talk to him, that they’d keep in touch, that they’d have fabulous phone sex and weekend rendezvous. Boy, had he been wrong.

Just like every day, Justin buried his head into his pillow, tried to fall asleep, and cried.

The moment he finally began to drift off, the phone rang.

He considered not answering it, but he was so lonely that he decided he’d be happy to talk to anyone, just to make it fade a little bit.

“Hello?”

“Justin,” Michael’s voice said. He sounded pissed.

Justin winced and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “I hope you’re calling about Rage, and not to lecture me.”

“Well, sorry to burst your bubble,” Michael said, in that irritating pissy bitch voice that he got when he was really angry.

Justin groaned and covered his eyes with his left hand. “Well, go ahead. You might as well get it out of your system. Tell me what a horrible person I am for leaving. Tell me it’s all my fault. Tell me how Brian is better off, and how I’d better not come back because he’s finally getting over me.”

“Shut up,” Michael said, sounding exasperated. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

Justin shut his mouth, but he didn’t believe him.

“You’ve got to come home,” Michael said, the anger in his voice gone. “I know you went there because it’s good for your career and all, and you are my friend, so I feel bad for saying this, but… I don’t give a shit about your art career, Justin. I give a shit about Brian. And Brian needs you.”

The corners of Justin’s mouth tugged down a bit into a frown. He could feel his eyes welling up with tears. Damnit. He’d just stopped crying. Why did Michael have to make him start again?

“He doesn’t even want to talk to me,” Justin said. “I think he’s trying to forget me.”

Michael sighed heavily into the phone. “I know. He thinks you’re better off without him, that you’ll make tons of new friends and find some guy your own age to stalk instead of him.”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t have any friends here. I don’t have time,” Justin mumbled. “And he should know by now, I don’t want anyone else.”

“Well, everyone but him knows it,” Michael replied. There was a pause, and then his voice softened. “He just sits in the loft all day getting drunk and passing out. He doesn’t come out with us anymore, and he’s lost a lot of weight.”

Justin frowned more, a few tears running down his cheeks. His heart ached. “I want to go back,” he said, and he winced at the pathetic tone in his own voice. “But…”

“But you can’t, as long as he thinks you’re better off there, because otherwise he’ll always resent you,” Michael finished. “And besides, you don’t want to be with stepford-fag Brian, you want the real Brian. The trick is getting him to realize it.”

Jusitn nodded a bit. “Yeah.”

“But Justin, how are you supposed to do all that shit from New York?!” Michael was getting angry again.

“I thought we’d at least stay in touch. I thought he’d answer his phone, or reply to my emails. I thought he’d visit me…”

“Well, you were wrong,” Michael snapped. “And now it’s like watching him slowly fade away. You brought down his walls and defenses, and then you left him, completely exposed and vulnerable! He’s fucking lost without you. He needs you.”

Justin shook his head and sighed heavily. He was exhausted. “I can’t be in a one-sided relationship, Michael. I need him to know that he needs me, and know that I need him, too. I keep calling him to try to talk it out, but…”

“But he won’t answer your calls.” Michael sounded frustrated.

“Yeah,” Justin mumbled. “I don’t know what to do. I fucking miss him. I hate it here. I want to come home.” God, he was really crying now. He hated being so pathetic.

Michael must have taken pity on him, because he was relenting. “Look, just… call me later, okay? Just because Brian won’t answer his phone doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t. Ma’s worried about you, so call her, too.”

“Okay.”

“Bye,” Michael said, sounding disappointed.

Hanging up, Justin rolled over on his mattress and shut his eyes. What had Michael expected? He couldn’t just go home. Brian didn’t want him to come home. Justin couldn’t keep being the only one in their relationship to try, and he also couldn’t deal with the feeling that Brian was giving up everything he was just to make Justin happy. Maybe they were better off apart. After all, Brian was a lot older than him, and he’d been his first love. Don’t you always get over your first love? Isn’t that the point of one?

So why did he feel like he was dying? Why did he feel like there was no point in anything anymore? If Brian was just his first love, why did he feel like he’d been hollowed out inside, emptied, and left for dead?

New York’s population was huge, much bigger than Pittsburgh. There were people everywhere, people as far as they eye could see, people so packed into the small island that sometimes it was hard to walk down the street.

So why, Justin wondered, had he never felt more isolated and alone?