“He’s gone, Brian. You have to accept it, I know it’s hard…” Lindsay’s voice was soft, her hand holding his.

Brian Kinney lay on his couch, staring straight ahead, his jaw tight. He knew she was right, he knew he needed to get over this, get on with his life.

He looked down at a picture in his hand. Daphne had snapped it at the prom. It was of him and Justin dancing, Brian’s lips pressed to Justin’s, their figures almost silhouettes. On the table were some other pictures. He and Justin at the art show, at Debbie’s for dinner. Justin’s smile lit up every one.

The night his life had imploded rolled across his mind again, as it frequently did these days.

Leaving Justin’s prom that night, he’d kissed him, had promised to see him later, then had watched the younger man walk away from the mirror on his Jeep, Justin’s hands playing with the beautiful silk scarf he’d given him. Then he’d seen Chris Hobbs, Justin’s homophobic classmate, come up behind Justin with a bat.

He’d jumped out of his Jeep, calling out Justin’s name, warning him, but it was too late. As Justin turned, Hobbs had cracked him in the head with the bat, and Justin had sunk to the ground. Brian had caught up by then, he’d shoved Hobbs, taking the bat and swung it with all his strength across Hobbs’ shins. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.

As he knelt beside Justin, he’d realized that neither would he. Justin’s head was pouring blood, and Brian moaned, trying to hold him, to get the bleeding to stop.

“No, no…God…” he cried out, then he called 911 from his cell.

The trip to the hospital had been a blur, he’d gotten out of the back, carrying in his hand the scarf that the paramedics had handed him when they were bandaging Justin’s head.

He’d called Michael, but he’d let the nurses call the Taylor’s; he hadn’t wanted to deal with Justin’s father.

Michael had been on his way to Seattle with his lover, David, but he’d missed his plane to come and sit with his best friend, comforting him as they waited to see whether Justin would live or die. It was the longest night in Brian’s life.

Brian didn’t believe in love.

It was his mantra really. He’d said it to Justin when the young man had sworn his love for him after their first time. Justin had shown up the next night, trying to stay, but Brian had a trick there that he’d found online. He’d told Justin to leave and then had followed him outside. Justin had berated him for fucking anything, anyone, then had told him how much he wanted him. But Brian was having none of it.

“I don’t believe in love.” Brian had told him simply. “I believe in fucking. It’s honest and it’s efficient. You get in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit.” There was more, but Justin had gotten the point. Brian was a one-night stand kind of guy. He’d had Justin once, that was all he wanted from him.

Brian was just being honest. He had never misled the teen, or lied to him about his intentions. Justin had selective hearing where Brian was concerned though.

Justin hadn’t given up. He followed Brian, making it impossible for the older man to ignore him, and even after Justin’s father had jumped Brian, and smashed into Brian’s Jeep, Brian had kept him around.

Because putting obstacles in Brian’s way, forbidding Justin to see him, forbidding Justin to be gay, had forced Brian to take notice, and to stand up for Justin’s rights. Nothing made Brian angrier than someone being told they couldn’t be true to themselves, especially if they were gay.

And under his roof, in his bed, Justin had been well on his way to becoming the best homosexual he could be.

And Brian started to become a different person, one who could perhaps consider having a partner instead of a steady stream of one-night stands.

But that had ended when Chris Hobbs had swung that bat.

Justin had been in a coma for 2 weeks, but then he’d woken up. The damage done was apparent as soon as he was conscious though. Jennifer Taylor had been there, Brian wasn’t because after that first night, he only came after everyone else had left. He’d come every night, after midnight, and would sit and watch through the glass as Justin struggled with his demons in his sleep. But Jennifer had come to see him at his office the day after Justin had regained consciousness.

Brian’s secretary announced her, and he waited until she’d sat down before sitting down himself. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Taylor?” he’d asked mildly.

Personally, Jennifer had thought to herself, he didn’t look like he could anything for anyone. He looked exhausted and worn, and his hands were shaking slightly as he lit a cigarette. She knew he’d been visiting Justin at night, the nurses had told her. So the ‘I couldn’t give a shit’ act that he projected to everyone was obviously a load of crap. Craig would lose his mind if he knew she’d come here, but she did need something from this man who’d stolen her son’s heart.

“Justin woke up this morning.” She said softly. Brian’s eyes flickered, and there was some relief on his face.

“That’s good, right?” he managed.

“Yes…but there’s a problem.” She admitted.

“What?” Brian looked puzzled. He knew that the main concern had been that Justin might not wake up ever. He had. What else could be wrong?

“He doesn’t remember.” She said softly.

“Well, the doctor said that short-term memory loss was likely…” Brian started, but Jennifer held up her hand.

“No, Mr. Kinney, he doesn’t remember anything. Not me, not his Dad, not his own name. It’s a total blank.” She said painfully.

“How long does the doctor think this will last?” Brian asked slowly.

“He doesn’t know. It could be permanent.” She answered, wiping some tears from her face. The look of confusion on her firstborn’s face this morning, his terror when he realized he didn’t know anyone…it had been heartbreaking.

“I want you to come and see him. The doctor feels that maybe seeing things that were important to him will help to jog his memory. Craig is out of town today on business. This is the best time.” She wouldn’t beg him, but one look at his handsome face told her she wouldn’t have to.

“Let’s go.” He said, standing up and grabbing his coat.

Brian had entered the hospital room quietly, but Justin had stirred anyways. Brian walked up to his bed and looked down at him. The bright blue eyes were dull, and a little lifeless, as they flickered awake; the large bandage covering the soft blond hair. Brian touched his cheek softly.

He focused on Brian, and the older man smiled. “Hey, Sunshine. It’s about time you woke up.”

“Sunshine?” Justin mumbled.

“Justin, do you know who this is?” Jennifer had asked softly from the other side of the bed. “Do you remember him?”

Justin looked at her for a moment, then looked back at Brian.

The man was in his late twenties at least. Dark hair, rumpled and stylish, expensive looking suit, long leather duster, he obviously had money. His face was handsome, a little predatory, but his hazel eyes were what drew Justin’s gaze the most. The eyes looked so familiar somehow. But….

Slowly he shook his head. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I’m no one. Rest.” Brian said quietly, patting his arm. Then he swallowed and walked out, and didn’t look back.

“You really thought that he would remember, didn’t you?” Lindsay asked softly, cradling his head in her lap. She was the mother of his son, and his best friend after Michael, and she probably knew him the best of anyone.

Brian just nodded. He had. He’d thought, in his conceit, that Justin would see him and it would all come flooding back. That would show that fucking asshole Craig Taylor.

But that wasn’t what had happened. And 3 weeks later, Justin still hadn’t remembered.

“I was so sure.” Brian’s voice was harsh, then he shook his head and continued. “His mom called, said that he’s at home now, trying to draw, apparently the artist in him is still alive and kicking. He wants to go to college in the fall. His hand is screwed up a little but physio is helping with that. But he still doesn’t remember…”

“Maybe it just takes time; but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. If you don’t start taking care of yourself, your son is going to be fatherless. You can’t work all day, drink and take drugs all night, then do it all over again. I know you’re hurting, Brian, but this isn’t the way to handle it.” Lindsay said quietly.

“I don’t really know any other way.” Brian replied, shrugging.

“Well, you need to find one, Peter.” She kissed his head. She’d always likened him to Peter Pan; Brian didn’t believe in growing up.

“Will you stay with me, Wendy?” he asked softly, looking up at her. He just didn’t want to be alone, not tonight.

She paused, thinking, he knew, of Mel, her partner, and of their son, who was at home with the aforementioned.

“Of course I will.” She concluded. Brian was her weakness, and though Mel hated him with a passion, Lindsay couldn’t imagine a life without him. She would make it up to Mel in the morning, make her favourite breakfast in bed, spend the day together, maybe see a movie.

He rose and took her hand in his, then led her to his bed. He almost laughed as they shed some of their clothes and got under the covers. He never thought he’d see the day when he’d have a woman in his bed.

Lindsay was thinking the same thing. “This is a first, isn’t it.” She teased.

He settled down in her arms, letting her hold him in her soft embrace.

They were silent then Lindsay said in the darkness. “It’ll get better, Brian, I promise.”

Brian didn’t answer for a long time, so long that Lindsay thought he’d fallen asleep, then his voice answered, so soft that she barely heard him.

“I miss him.”

Tears filled Lindsay’s eyes, knowing how hard it was, even now, for Brian to admit that and she held him tight, wishing she knew what to say to make it better.

Justin sat at his desk, looking at the drawers, which were mostly empty, as though someone had cleaned them out. There were pens, pencils, paper, but nothing personal. He got up and walked to the closet. It too looked very impersonal.

The bedroom walls were bare, but he saw holes from tacks, so there had been pictures up before. Why had his parents removed them?

He knew it was late, and he should be resting, but this room felt strange, just like everything else.

Daphne had visited again today. He understood why they had been such good friends. She was such a compassionate person, so fun and friendly. He wished he could remember her.

He looked under his bed and found an old sketchbook. Curiously he opened it, and his eyes widened. The sketches were good, a little rough, but good. And all were of the same person. The man from the hospital. The one who called him Sunshine.

He had to find out who he was. His mom had warned him against mentioning the visit to his father; apparently he blamed the man for Justin’s accident, which also hadn’t been explained to him. Was it a car accident? Had he been hit by a car driven by the dark haired man?

Justin lay down in his bed. He’d ask Daphne tomorrow. She’d know. And he slowly drifted off, the last picture in his mind a pair of hazel eyes that were so very familiar.