Five Days, Part 1 Three days after he left for New York, you wake up from your sleep strangely refreshed. It�s strange because you�ve spent the last three days so busy on the new account that you haven�t really had a chance to properly miss him, even. It�s strange because you have your arms around his pillow and you have gravitated towards his side of the bed in your sleep�so you know your body misses him, but your mind has been too occupied to catch up yet. It�s strange because you�ve slept less than two hours for the past three nights and yet, for the first time since he left, you don�t feel tired. You�re fresh, just as you�d be after ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. You sit up on the bed and blink into the lazily drifting light coming in through the half-closed shutters of the bedroom doors, and know it will be time to get up soon�even if the alarm hasn�t gone off yet. You roll your neck, trying to get rid of the kinks from yesterday�s late night at Kinnetik. You try to think of how wrapping up work on Redmond Automotive�s new campaign has taken longer than expected, even if you were as brilliant as always. But all you can really remember is that you barely made the deadline. The deadline. Home by three. No kissing on the lips except the lips that belong to him. Ironic that you should follow the rules to this day, when you yourself wanted him to go out there with no strings attached. To make a career for himself and be completely fabulous. No worries. No regrets. No ties to the past to bog him down. He is more than capable of making up his own mind. He�s bright and smart and talented and destined to go places no one has reached before. That�s why you two are together. Together. A laughably insipid concept for the location-challenged. The out-of-towner�s bidding to make a long-distance relationship work. Bleh, should be your normal response. But what you have with him has never been normal, is beyond ordinary. He made you promise that you will never give up on him, that you will hold onto him. And you agreed. You two are still together, distance be damned. Therefore, it doesn�t really matter if you haven�t actually gotten the chance to speak to him since he grabbed the red-eye three nights back. You know he�s busy settling in at the new place and you wanted to give him time on his own without hogging him like some fucking dyke with your unnecessary phone calls. He�s a big boy, he�s fine, and you will call him when he�s settled down. Besides, he�s left you five messages on your cell-phone, and three at the loft in as many days, telling you how hectic things are at the new place and how awesome New York is and how much he misses you and loves you. He can�t help it if you�ve been so tied up in meetings with Louis Redmond that you haven�t actually been available to receive those calls. And then spending nights finishing up the same work, holed away in your office with Theodore and Cynthia. Of course he hasn�t been able to get through to you. You don�t want to think about how you kept the cell by your side in last night�s session, because you wanted to talk to him, really needed to hear his voice. You don�t want to be reminded that despite how tired you were when you finally got home and collapsed on your bed, you couldn�t help but feel somewhat disappointed that there wasn�t a message waiting for you this time. No I-love-yous and I-miss-your-cocks to tide you over for the night. You don�t want to think about it because it�s fucking lesbianic behavior and you hate such conduct in others, so why would you ever tolerate it in yourself? You won�t and you don�t. Still, as you kick off the duvet and slide out of bed, before making your way towards the bathroom, you take a detour to the living room and check your phone messages. And sigh. None since last night. You roll your eyes at yourself�what were you expecting, Kinney, that he�d have left you a love note between three am and seven-thirty? He was probably out at a party last night, just as he ought to. Just as you want him to. His assurances that he won�t let you fuck it up ease you. He is who he is: the one who makes you say and do things you never say to anyone else, the one who�s more than capable of keeping this thing you have with him�a relationship, your brain reminds you, it�s called a relationship�together, for both of you. You just hope his faith in you is as strong as yours is in him. You splash cool water from the tap onto your face and stare at your reflection. Your narcissistic side�which frankly makes up around ninety-percent of your entire psychological makeup�is more than pleased to note that your eyes are clear, with no new lines visible to mar your perfect good looks. There�s also no sign of fatigue on your face from the last three nights� activities. It�s strange, considering how out you were last night when you came back. Perhaps, it�s going to be a good day, you raise your brow at the mirror. And why wouldn�t it be? Everything�s fine. You�re fine. He�s fine. Life�s good. It has to be. Three days after he left for New York, you push all negative thoughts out of your head and get ready to go out and be brilliant once again. ******** You know stopping in at the Diner was a mistake when the fourth person sits down in front of you to ask how he is doing. �You know, Brian,� Emmett swirls his mango shake with a spoon and looks at you. �It�s all right to miss him. Sometimes life�s hard and you face temporary separations, but you must remember that no matter how hard and tedious the road may be, true love will always prevail.� He ignores your eye-roll at the syrupy sentimentality of his words and sinks his straw into his drink. �Emmett Honeycutt,� you drawl at him with your sing-song sarcasm, �how extraordinarily profound of you.� Your smirk widens when he sticks his tongue out at you. But then you blink as he locks his gaze with you and noisily slurps the rest of his drink�humming in delight. You wrinkle your nose at the foul display. �Deb, I asked for my breakfast an hour ago. I have to get to work sometime today.� �Hold your fucking horses, will you? It�s coming right up.� She hollers this from the kitchen and then carries the tray to your table, setting your plate down in front of you. �What�s the big deal anyways?� She frowns at you, her hands on her hips. �You were a goddamned no-show at Sunday�s lunch. You disappear off the face of the planet for three fucking days because you�re so busy making money. And the morning you finally show up at the Diner, you act as if you�re catching the fucking 8 o�clock train. You own the damned company, what�s the fucking hurry?� �The fucking hurry is that I have a fucking meeting to get to before I go to the office.� You stab at your omelet, find it too greasy, and push it aside, taking a sip of your coffee instead. �You slack off with your clients, and they don�t take you seriously anymore. You slack off at your own office and your employees start to think they can slack off too.� You direct the last at Theodore, who accepts it with a snort and a complacent grin. �That�s my cue to get out of here and head to my little corner in His Majesty�s Domain.� He slips out of his booth. �Please, no late-nighters for at least a week, Bri,� are his last words to you before, with a wave, he�s gone. �See you at Babylon tonight?� Mikey, too, is sliding out from his seat. �I haven�t seen you at all in the last three nights.� You sneer at him. �If I can tear myself away from making my next million.� �Oh, come on, Brian,� Mikey is adamant. �Justin asked how the new DJs were at Babylon. He says the clubs in New York are amazing.� �You spoke to him?� The question is out before you can stop it. But you are genuinely surprised. You don�t know why but for some strange lunatic reason you actually thought that if you hadn�t spoken to him, no one else could�ve either. �Yeah. Twice.� Michael looks at you strangely. �Why? Didn�t he call you?� �Sure, he did.� And you�re not lying, really. He did call you. Eight times in fact. So what if it was only to leave messages on your voicemail�because you realized during the drive to the Diner that none of his missed calls on your cell-phone were made at times when he knew you would be free to take his calls; it�s almost as if those messages were all designed to be messages, not calls. You wonder why you didn�t think of that before. Whatever the fuck, you mutter silently. The phone calls happened. He picked up the phone and dialed your number. That�s technically the same thing. �He told me he hopped a dozen clubs but he couldn�t find a single guy who had a cock as perfect as mine.� You keep your voice normal as you smirk at Mikey. However, something comes through your tone, because, suddenly Emmett is looking at you interestedly, a devious glint in his eyes. �Oooh, yeah!� He leers at you impishly. �Our baby is making some big splashy waves at the hot, hot, hot New York clubs. Can you imagine? The beautiful, hunky, young gay crowd from the biggest metropolitan center of America?� You snort at him. Emmett has apparently decided that it�s time to switch back to the normal, teasing repartee he usually reserves for you. You breathe a sigh of relief. This, you can deal with. Syrupy romanticism never really works for you. You take a long sip from you coffee, feigning nonchalance, and then nearly choke when he says: �He told me he went out the first two nights and got hit on by two dozen hotties, each night.� He got to speak to him, too? Almost of their own accord, you feel your eyes narrowing dangerously as you glare at Emmett. �Someone�s getting acquainted with the green-eyed monster.� Mikey sniggers at you. �Fuck off.� You stand up, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the table. �He�s gone there with my blessings, and he�d better fuck all the hotte...
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