Brian was sitting up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, heart racing, when he woke up. His gaze darted around the room quickly, momentarily confused as to where he was. He didn’t recognize the furniture, or the bed, and it didn’t smell or feel like the place he’d just thought he was – like his old room, with the soccer posters on the wall, and the worn out blue comforter. Then his gaze finally landed on the sleeping body beside him and he felt himself relax slightly.

The soft glow of moonlight poured in through the thin curtains on the window of their hotel room – because that’s where he was, a hotel room, in ml:namespace prefix = st1 />New York – and it made Justin’s skin positively glow.

The room, like all hotel rooms, was cold from an over-enthusiastic air conditioner, and the only sound was the soft hum it made as it cooled the air.

Brian wanted to get up, to turn the air down. His body was slick with sweat and now that his panic had faded, he was freezing. But the air conditioner was across the room, and it seemed so far away. And to be honest, Brian didn’t feel particularly like getting out of bed right now. Not that he, a fully grown man, was afraid of the dark.

Well… maybe he was. A little bit.

Brian slowly lay back down onto the sheets, trying to ignore that they were cold and damp, and pulled the covers up over himself. Warmth slowly descended into his body, and he breathed deep and slow, trying to get his heart to stop racing, to make the panic fade.

But it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t fade.

He shut his eyes tightly, wrinkling his forehead in concentration. He was going to sleep. There was nothing wrong. It had just been a dream.

Then the images he’d seen in his dream flashed before his shut eyes and he opened them again quickly.

His heart still raced.

Sleep was overrated. He didn’t need sleep. He’d run on no sleep before, and he could do it again. All he had to do was get up and get his laptop, or a book, or the newspaper, or something to occupy himself, and he’d be okay. At least then he wouldn’t just be lying here, thinking about…

Brian shifted in bed, making a move to get up and cross the room, but again he froze. With one leg sticking out from under the covers his heart sped up again, and he quickly yanked it back under, and he gasped in a quick breath.

Brian squeezed his eyes shut. This was stupid. This was irrational. This was pathetic. This hadn’t happened to him in over a year, and some part of him had thought – and hoped – that it would never happen again.Why now? Why now?! Why should it happen at all?! He was… well, he was in his late thirties. That was a fact he couldn’t deny. He was a grown man, and he was Brian Fucking Kinney. Brian Fucking Kinney didn’t have nightmares about being a scared little boy. Brian Fucking Kinney didn’t get so terrified of his own memories that he couldn’t get out of bed. And Brian Fucking Kinney sure as fuck didn’t cry about it.

His eyes stung sharply with new tears and growled softly, rubbing his fingers over his shut eyes hard. He wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t.

Right now he didn’t feel much like Brian Fucking Kinney.

“Brian?” Justin’s voice whispered, muffled and sleepy sounding.

Every muscle in Brian’s body froze, stiff and cramped, at the sound of his partner’s voice. He was not going to get caught like this. He just wasn’t.

“Brian, what’s wrong?” Justin asked a little louder, lifting his head. A look of concern was on his face, although his eyes glassy and his hair was sticking in every direction.

After taking a deep breath, Brian swallowed hard and shook his head. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Justin’s eyes hardened momentarily, with a look that said simply ‘liar’. “You first.”

Brian tried to say something, but he couldn’t. Justin’s eyes were too blue, and too honest for him to look into. So he shut his own and put a hand over his face, and felt a few hot tears run down his cheeks. Silently, he cursed himself, waiting for the worry, the pity, the anxiousness, the talking.

If there was one thing Brian hated more than being caught… like this… it was being forced to talk about it.

The bed shifted next to him, and Brian felt Justin get up off of it. He winced, bracing himself for the lights to come on and his shame – his tears – to be fully exposed. Instead, there was a soft click and the air conditioner went silent, and then the sound of Justin’s bare feet padding back over the lush hotel carpet to the bed. When the mattress shifted again, Justin whispered, “It was getting cold.”

Brian felt himself nod, not removing his hand from his face. This was horrific. Only Michael was allowed to see him like this, and even then it was only allowed if he was so drunk he could pretend he didn’t remember it the next day.

“Do you need anything?” Justin’s voice said again, softly. “Medicine? Water? …Beam?”

Brian felt the corners of his mouth turn up weakly and he shook his head. “No,” he choked out, and his voice was strained and weak and he winced at the sound of it. He sounded just like he felt, like a weak little boy.

The bed shifted, and then Justin was beside him, lying on his side and facing him. Brian could feel his warmth, and then Justin’s fingers slid through his hair and gently pulled his head close.

Brian felt his body slowly be pulled against Justin’s, until his face was pressed against the boy’s – the man’s - smooth chest, and Justin’s arms – surprisingly strong – wrapped around him gently. A hand slid through Brian’s hair, and all of a sudden he felt… safe.

And then the tears really came.

He didn’t sob. He’d never been one for sobbing, not over something like this, anyway. Not over dreams. Not over his past. Instead, it like a silent, slow exhale of pain as hot tears slid down his face. The only movement was the slight shudder of his chest as he breathed.

The last time he’d let someone hold him like this, it was Michael. It was when he’d thought Justin was gone for good. It was when he thought that the big city had really stolen his Sunshine away. Of course, he’d been wrong. Justin had come back, just like he always did, and now they were together. The rings on their fingers proved that. And yet… his partner – his fucking husband – didn’t really know that much about his past. He didn’t – couldn’t – know why Brian was such a mess right now. That only made it that much worse.

“You should sleep,” Brian finally choked out, trying to force his body to relax once again. Keeping Justin up was no good. His Sunshine needed sleep to be able to do everything he had to do the next day.

“So should you,” Justin replied softly.

Brian shut his eyes again, and this time the nightmarish images only came for a moment, and then faded. They were still there, but they were dimmed, like a light bulb that was almost burnt out. His heart began to beat a little slower. “I can’t,” he replied, his own voice weak and tired. He winced at how he sounded, and not for the first time he wondered why Justin was here. He wondered why Justin would put up with this, with him, with everything it meant to be in his life.

“Yes you can,” Justin said. He tipped Brian’s head up gently with a finger under Brian’s chin, and although Brian tried to jerk his head out of Justin’s grasp, their gaze did meet. “You’re safe.”

For a moment he couldn’t breathe. Justin’s eyes were dark and hyptotizing, and his expression was gentle.

Then Brian took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, and Justin smiled at him. “Now get your beauty sleep,” he said in a teasing voice. “You have to look good tomorrow. It’s my first solo show, and you’re supposed to be my arm candy.”

Brian felt himself grin, despite the tears that were still on his face, and Justin pulled him close again. Brian let himself be pulled against his pale body, and rest his head on Justin’s chest as one of Justin’s hands stroked through his hair, and the other one stayed wrapped around his back, gentle and warm and reassuring.

Tomorrow he’d pretend this never happened. Tomorrow he’d wash up, and splash his face with icy-cold water until the puffiness and redness around his eyes faded, and he’d act as if nothing was wrong. He’d pretend that he hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night from a nightmare, and that Justin had had to hold him and pet him and reassure him so that he could sleep again.

But tonight, it was okay. Tonight he could lay there, and let sleep slowly take him again, as Sunshine stroked his hair and held him close. Tonight he could be thankful that he had a partner that knew him so well that he could make him feel better by doing so little, and that knew not to push, or prod, or make him talk about it. Once again, Justin had surprised him. He hadn’t queened out. He hadn’t been overbearing. He’d acted just right.

So maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t just pretend nothing was wrong. Maybe tomorrow, he’d tell Justin, if only a little bit, what his nightmares were about.

Maybe.