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soulmatejunkeeTitle: 1 wedding, 4 rings and 1 almost funeral, Part 9/? (You & Me-Series)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
soulmatejunkee
Fandom: Queer as Folk US
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Timeline: Post 5.13; POV's
Word Count: 1.909
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. It’s all CowLip and Showtime.
Beta: Anna - thanks so much!
This is a short chapter, with a lot of talking - the next "honest" part, so to say. But hey, there can't be angsty drama in every single chapter, right? Hope you enjoy it anyway.
Things are going to change with that story, moving forward - finally! I hope you still enjoy it. As always: Every comment is welcome. I Love to read what you think. Thanks!
1. Listen to me
2. Trust me
3. Babylon Part 1 | Part 2
4. Find a way Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
5. ...remember what's missing?
6. The Party
7. Thanksgiving 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10
8. 1 wedding, 4 rings and 1 almost funeral 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Brian's POV
Had he always been so fucking complicated? I’m the last person that would tell him to take an uncontrollable risk, but he’s practically avoiding any kind of risk lately. That was not the Justin I knew.
“What’s your alternative?” I asked him and frowned. “Serving coffee and smiling at artists who are getting a show at the gallery you’re working at?”
He made a face and sighed. “Ahhh…” Then he fell on his back and lay right in front of me. “This sucks!”
“Why? This is a really great offer and I think that you’re just afraid that you might like being a computer animator and that this could really work out for you, other than the artist thing, which doesn’t so far.”
He looked at me, obviously not pleased by my words. I had no intention to hurt him, but when it came to his career, to his art and to his plans – except the ones for us – I had my problems to understand his decisions, especially since he didn’t decide anything.
“Of course you can keep living in that ugly apartment and serving coffee for people who are way more successful than you and smiling at artists who had more luck or money or talent than you… but then your plan for the weekly reunion stops at the end of April and we only see each other every other weekend , since you won’t let me pay for your flights.” I shrugged. “It’s your decision.”
“Stop it”, he complained.
“Stop what? That’s reality, Sunshine.”
I knew he wasn’t angry at me, but he was angry when he stood up, grabbed his clothes and left the room. A few minutes later I saw him at the studio and remembered why I had built in skylights. Anger didn’t have to be a bad thing, not always. He had to stop thinking about everything all the time and had to take some risks.
After almost six hours I was done with all the work I had taken home from office before Christmas. I hadn’t seen Justin since he had left the bedroom and so I took my shoes and my jacket and went to the studio. I knocked on the door before I got in and saw him sitting on the floor, staring at the wall. Everything was still untouched, the brushes, the paints, the canvas.
“Wow, I didn’t expect such progress”, I said ironically and shook my head. What the fuck was going on here? What the fuck was going on with him? “It’s absolutely overwhelming.”
“Fuck you. I was thinking”, he mumbled.
“For six hours?”
“And I’m still not done.”
I took off my jacket and sat down beside him and helped him stare at the white wall. After a few minutes I got bored. “What are we waiting for?”
“A sign, a sudden inspiration… anything.”
I tried, I really did, but I still couldn’t see the problem. It wasn’t that he had to make a choice or that he had to give up one thing for the other. How could he deal so easily with this long distance bullshit but then totally fail at his own career?
“I can give you a sudden inspiration”, I said. “Take the offer, work your ass off, make some money and start living! And when you’re here on the weekend take your brushes and start painting; otherwise you won’t have anything to sell anymore pretty soon. And stop thinking so fucking complicated. What bad thing do you expect to happen when you take that job?”
I didn’t get an answer, but now I became annoyed. What did he expect me to say when he showed me the offer? And what did he expect to happen by staring at the white wall? I rolled my eyes, stood up again and took my jacket. Helping him think about whatever wasn’t my plan for the evening, especially not without a cigarette and Beam.
“I can’t paint…”, he whispered and looked down. His fingers were now stroking the wood floor.
Well, that wasn’t a statement I expected, but at least it was a statement. Not an explanation for his struggling with that offer, but an answer. I cleared my throat. “Your hand?”
And then he looked at me and he looked really angry, almost pissed. “No, it’s not my hand, Brian! It’s my fucking mind! It’s empty! And it’s been empty for months! Living in New York, in that small room in that small apartment gives me a good excuse for not painting, it’s simply too small! But that’s bullshit! It’s gone, it’s not there anymore! I can’t see anything, I can’t feel anything! This beautiful studio is just a beautiful studio with white canvas, there’s no inspiration! Not in New York, not here, nowhere!”
I didn’t see that coming.
“With everything that had happened in the recent past, my head should be full with stuff, inspirations, feelings, colors and ideas”, he continued. “But it’s not! And I can’t… I can’t… I don’t know what the right decision is, because I don’t feel it! That job isn’t an inspiration either! What if I take the job and it sucks?!”
I shrugged. I admit, he caught me off-guard here, I didn’t expect an outburst of temper like that. And I also couldn’t see the connection between being a computer animator and being a painter, but obviously there was one. “Guess that’s the risk with new challenges.”
“No! No, it’s not!” He still looked at me and shook his head. As if I already had to know everything he would now tell me. “I always knew what’s gonna happen, I could see it. I had a picture in front of me, an inspiration, and an idea! I knew why I did it, always! No matter what! Leaving home, being onto you, doing Rage, going with Ethan, leaving Ethan, leaving school, going to Hollywood, coming back, moving in with you, living in my own place, marrying you, going to New York – but it’s like living in New York was the end of the road, the end of the inspiration! In the beginning it was great, it was new and I had tons of ideas, colors in my head and every person on the street seemed to be an inspiration! But now… it’s all gone!”
I guess, I wasn’t artist enough to understand how he felt and why it was so hard for him. But I still tried. “And you can’t see that offer as a new inspiration? As something that maybe gives you some new prospects?”
He still looked at me. “No.”
“But working at the coffee shop gives you an inspiration?” I couldn’t smother the sarcasm, he really confused me.
“I just told you, that my mind is empty!” He repeated with a sharp voice. Then he shrugged. “But yes, when I took the job at the coffee shop I had a vision.” He bent his knees and embraced himself, lay his head down and closed his eyes. “I was hoping that being here would change something, that this house would be an inspiration and this studio.”
I sat down again and looked at him. I wasn’t sure if I should touch him, I somehow doubted that he wanted to be caressed and I still had my problems to follow his thoughts.
“You drew this picture of Gus and me, it was just a few weeks ago”, I said. “It’s good, it’s very good.”
He kept looking at me, his head still on his knees. “That’s not the same. I can draw you in my sleep; I know every wrinkle you have.”
“Yeah”, I laughed and then frowned. “I don’t have any wrinkles.”
He bumped against me and even smiled a little. “It’s not the same. I can draw anything I see, anytime and anywhere. Just some lines on a white paper, no color, no vision, nothing. I can see the picture in front of me; it’s not in my mind. It’s already alive; I don’t have to bring it to life. Can you understand that?”
I shrugged. “I try.”
“Drawing is easy for me. Normally I draw everything beautiful I see; which is probably the reason why every sketch book is filled with your picture. With painting it’s different. I mean, of course I can paint you, but mh… I don’t think that I would like your portrait hanging all around the world. I prefer it to be just in my sketch book.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Can I say something to that?”
“I won’t paint your portrait.”
I laughed, grabbed him and pulled him back, so that we were now lying on our backs and staring at the ceiling.
“You know, I think you’re expecting too much”, I said.
“From New York?”
“No, from yourself. Why do you put so much pressure on you?”
He looked at me and then he turned around so that he was lying on his side, his head placed on his arms. “Do I?”
“Yes. Everything has to make sense, everything has to work out, everything has to be a success – and all of it has to happen immediately. You have so much time to find yourself, why do you think you have to do it with every project or every idea you have? That’s not necessary. You have your plan and you have your talent and no one can take that away from you. With so much pressure it’s no wonder that you can’t find any inspiration, you’re not really looking for it; you’re looking for the success, the breakthrough and that doesn’t work.”
“It worked for you.”
“God no, it didn’t!” I laughed. Sometimes I was really happy that we didn’t meet earlier, because that would’ve been a really big let down for him – and for me, too. He wouldn’t have admired me the way he did if we would’ve met a few years earlier. “The more dogged you try, the less it works. Keep your dreams, work them out and one day it just happens. But sitting around and waiting for it won’t make it happen faster.”
He seemed to calm down, to relax. Maybe I really said the right things.
“But sometimes it doesn’t happen”, he said. “There are so many artists out there who never sell any piece of art.”
“You already sold some pieces of your art, so you won’t be one of them. And your website already is a success; you just don’t want to see that. Rage is a success, too. And you sold two of your paintings two weeks ago.”
“One”, she sighed. “The one my father bought doesn’t count.”
“Of course it does”, I disagreed. “Everything counts. And sooner or later someone will buy another painting. And maybe one day it’s enough to live from, but maybe it’s not. What do you want to do then? I mean it Justin; do you really want to keep serving? You have other chances, you have a talent, and you should use it.”
“I thought I could live as a painter in New York.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be.”
He leaned forward to kiss me, when his stomach rumbled. He fell on top of me, laughed and sighed.
“Have you eaten anything today?” I asked.
“Nooo,” he giggled.
“Come on, Debbie gave me tons of food for you.”
TBC
Author:
soulmatejunkee Fandom: Queer as Folk US
Pairing: Brian/Justin
Timeline: Post 5.13; POV's
Word Count: 1.909
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. It’s all CowLip and Showtime.
Beta: Anna - thanks so much!
This is a short chapter, with a lot of talking - the next "honest" part, so to say. But hey, there can't be angsty drama in every single chapter, right? Hope you enjoy it anyway.
Things are going to change with that story, moving forward - finally! I hope you still enjoy it. As always: Every comment is welcome. I Love to read what you think. Thanks!
1. Listen to me
2. Trust me
3. Babylon Part 1 | Part 2
4. Find a way Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
5. ...remember what's missing?
6. The Party
7. Thanksgiving 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10
8. 1 wedding, 4 rings and 1 almost funeral 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Brian's POV
Had he always been so fucking complicated? I’m the last person that would tell him to take an uncontrollable risk, but he’s practically avoiding any kind of risk lately. That was not the Justin I knew.
“What’s your alternative?” I asked him and frowned. “Serving coffee and smiling at artists who are getting a show at the gallery you’re working at?”
He made a face and sighed. “Ahhh…” Then he fell on his back and lay right in front of me. “This sucks!”
“Why? This is a really great offer and I think that you’re just afraid that you might like being a computer animator and that this could really work out for you, other than the artist thing, which doesn’t so far.”
He looked at me, obviously not pleased by my words. I had no intention to hurt him, but when it came to his career, to his art and to his plans – except the ones for us – I had my problems to understand his decisions, especially since he didn’t decide anything.
“Of course you can keep living in that ugly apartment and serving coffee for people who are way more successful than you and smiling at artists who had more luck or money or talent than you… but then your plan for the weekly reunion stops at the end of April and we only see each other every other weekend , since you won’t let me pay for your flights.” I shrugged. “It’s your decision.”
“Stop it”, he complained.
“Stop what? That’s reality, Sunshine.”
I knew he wasn’t angry at me, but he was angry when he stood up, grabbed his clothes and left the room. A few minutes later I saw him at the studio and remembered why I had built in skylights. Anger didn’t have to be a bad thing, not always. He had to stop thinking about everything all the time and had to take some risks.
After almost six hours I was done with all the work I had taken home from office before Christmas. I hadn’t seen Justin since he had left the bedroom and so I took my shoes and my jacket and went to the studio. I knocked on the door before I got in and saw him sitting on the floor, staring at the wall. Everything was still untouched, the brushes, the paints, the canvas.
“Wow, I didn’t expect such progress”, I said ironically and shook my head. What the fuck was going on here? What the fuck was going on with him? “It’s absolutely overwhelming.”
“Fuck you. I was thinking”, he mumbled.
“For six hours?”
“And I’m still not done.”
I took off my jacket and sat down beside him and helped him stare at the white wall. After a few minutes I got bored. “What are we waiting for?”
“A sign, a sudden inspiration… anything.”
I tried, I really did, but I still couldn’t see the problem. It wasn’t that he had to make a choice or that he had to give up one thing for the other. How could he deal so easily with this long distance bullshit but then totally fail at his own career?
“I can give you a sudden inspiration”, I said. “Take the offer, work your ass off, make some money and start living! And when you’re here on the weekend take your brushes and start painting; otherwise you won’t have anything to sell anymore pretty soon. And stop thinking so fucking complicated. What bad thing do you expect to happen when you take that job?”
I didn’t get an answer, but now I became annoyed. What did he expect me to say when he showed me the offer? And what did he expect to happen by staring at the white wall? I rolled my eyes, stood up again and took my jacket. Helping him think about whatever wasn’t my plan for the evening, especially not without a cigarette and Beam.
“I can’t paint…”, he whispered and looked down. His fingers were now stroking the wood floor.
Well, that wasn’t a statement I expected, but at least it was a statement. Not an explanation for his struggling with that offer, but an answer. I cleared my throat. “Your hand?”
And then he looked at me and he looked really angry, almost pissed. “No, it’s not my hand, Brian! It’s my fucking mind! It’s empty! And it’s been empty for months! Living in New York, in that small room in that small apartment gives me a good excuse for not painting, it’s simply too small! But that’s bullshit! It’s gone, it’s not there anymore! I can’t see anything, I can’t feel anything! This beautiful studio is just a beautiful studio with white canvas, there’s no inspiration! Not in New York, not here, nowhere!”
I didn’t see that coming.
“With everything that had happened in the recent past, my head should be full with stuff, inspirations, feelings, colors and ideas”, he continued. “But it’s not! And I can’t… I can’t… I don’t know what the right decision is, because I don’t feel it! That job isn’t an inspiration either! What if I take the job and it sucks?!”
I shrugged. I admit, he caught me off-guard here, I didn’t expect an outburst of temper like that. And I also couldn’t see the connection between being a computer animator and being a painter, but obviously there was one. “Guess that’s the risk with new challenges.”
“No! No, it’s not!” He still looked at me and shook his head. As if I already had to know everything he would now tell me. “I always knew what’s gonna happen, I could see it. I had a picture in front of me, an inspiration, and an idea! I knew why I did it, always! No matter what! Leaving home, being onto you, doing Rage, going with Ethan, leaving Ethan, leaving school, going to Hollywood, coming back, moving in with you, living in my own place, marrying you, going to New York – but it’s like living in New York was the end of the road, the end of the inspiration! In the beginning it was great, it was new and I had tons of ideas, colors in my head and every person on the street seemed to be an inspiration! But now… it’s all gone!”
I guess, I wasn’t artist enough to understand how he felt and why it was so hard for him. But I still tried. “And you can’t see that offer as a new inspiration? As something that maybe gives you some new prospects?”
He still looked at me. “No.”
“But working at the coffee shop gives you an inspiration?” I couldn’t smother the sarcasm, he really confused me.
“I just told you, that my mind is empty!” He repeated with a sharp voice. Then he shrugged. “But yes, when I took the job at the coffee shop I had a vision.” He bent his knees and embraced himself, lay his head down and closed his eyes. “I was hoping that being here would change something, that this house would be an inspiration and this studio.”
I sat down again and looked at him. I wasn’t sure if I should touch him, I somehow doubted that he wanted to be caressed and I still had my problems to follow his thoughts.
“You drew this picture of Gus and me, it was just a few weeks ago”, I said. “It’s good, it’s very good.”
He kept looking at me, his head still on his knees. “That’s not the same. I can draw you in my sleep; I know every wrinkle you have.”
“Yeah”, I laughed and then frowned. “I don’t have any wrinkles.”
He bumped against me and even smiled a little. “It’s not the same. I can draw anything I see, anytime and anywhere. Just some lines on a white paper, no color, no vision, nothing. I can see the picture in front of me; it’s not in my mind. It’s already alive; I don’t have to bring it to life. Can you understand that?”
I shrugged. “I try.”
“Drawing is easy for me. Normally I draw everything beautiful I see; which is probably the reason why every sketch book is filled with your picture. With painting it’s different. I mean, of course I can paint you, but mh… I don’t think that I would like your portrait hanging all around the world. I prefer it to be just in my sketch book.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Can I say something to that?”
“I won’t paint your portrait.”
I laughed, grabbed him and pulled him back, so that we were now lying on our backs and staring at the ceiling.
“You know, I think you’re expecting too much”, I said.
“From New York?”
“No, from yourself. Why do you put so much pressure on you?”
He looked at me and then he turned around so that he was lying on his side, his head placed on his arms. “Do I?”
“Yes. Everything has to make sense, everything has to work out, everything has to be a success – and all of it has to happen immediately. You have so much time to find yourself, why do you think you have to do it with every project or every idea you have? That’s not necessary. You have your plan and you have your talent and no one can take that away from you. With so much pressure it’s no wonder that you can’t find any inspiration, you’re not really looking for it; you’re looking for the success, the breakthrough and that doesn’t work.”
“It worked for you.”
“God no, it didn’t!” I laughed. Sometimes I was really happy that we didn’t meet earlier, because that would’ve been a really big let down for him – and for me, too. He wouldn’t have admired me the way he did if we would’ve met a few years earlier. “The more dogged you try, the less it works. Keep your dreams, work them out and one day it just happens. But sitting around and waiting for it won’t make it happen faster.”
He seemed to calm down, to relax. Maybe I really said the right things.
“But sometimes it doesn’t happen”, he said. “There are so many artists out there who never sell any piece of art.”
“You already sold some pieces of your art, so you won’t be one of them. And your website already is a success; you just don’t want to see that. Rage is a success, too. And you sold two of your paintings two weeks ago.”
“One”, she sighed. “The one my father bought doesn’t count.”
“Of course it does”, I disagreed. “Everything counts. And sooner or later someone will buy another painting. And maybe one day it’s enough to live from, but maybe it’s not. What do you want to do then? I mean it Justin; do you really want to keep serving? You have other chances, you have a talent, and you should use it.”
“I thought I could live as a painter in New York.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You can’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be.”
He leaned forward to kiss me, when his stomach rumbled. He fell on top of me, laughed and sighed.
“Have you eaten anything today?” I asked.
“Nooo,” he giggled.
“Come on, Debbie gave me tons of food for you.”
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2011-02-11 03:39 am (UTC)i hope brian's words of wisdom sink in.
no subject
on 2011-02-11 07:26 am (UTC)