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Collide - Part One - Chapter
Eighteen 
part one: nails for breakfast. “Tomorrow I should be getting a copy of the statement from Zambino’s attorney. If you wanna come in around noon, we can run over it,” Brian explains, glancing back over his shoulder as he leads Justin down the hallway, heading back towards the lobby. His suit jacket is thrown over one arm, and he has his brief case in the other. Justin nods, and hurries a few steps to catch up. “What the hell kind of statement would they have, anyways?” He asks, snorting, “Sorry he stole your client’s kidney, we swear it won’t happen again!” Grinning, Brian shakes his head and glances over at Justin, who’s snickering despite himself and zipping his own jacket up. He goes to answer, but cuts himself off when, in one single split second, the entire hallway they’re walking down is suddenly pitch black, flooded with absolute darkness. “What the fuck?” Justin yelps, his eyes widening despite the fact that it doesn’t aid in helping him see. He begins to blink rapidly, and, a few steps ahead of him, Brian stops walking. “Brian? What the fuck happened?” Brian’s mind races as he tries to think of something to say. He doesn’t know what the fuck happened, can feel Justin’s hands beginning to grip at his back, palms flat against each of his shoulder blades. “It, uh… It seems as though the power’s gone out,” He manages after a half second of contemplation. There’s a nervous huff of laughter that edges out his voice as he begins to wonder if there is anyone else left in the building other than them. Justin copies the same sound of nervous laughter before almost tripping over the back of Brian’s heels. He tries to close his eyes and block the feeling of complete darkness out, but he just becomes more nervous when he does so, and there is absolutely no difference anyways. “I can’t see anything,” He whispers, leaning forward. Suddenly his mouth is only a few inches away from the cloth of Brian’s shirt. Brian, who can feel the warm heat of Justin’s breath soaking through the fabric. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he drops his suitcase and jacket to the floor and slowly turns around, reaching for Justin’s hands the entire time to pull them away and off of his back and arms and shoulders. “We’ll go back to my office,” He tries to explain, as he presses Justin backwards. The kid won’t budge, feet secured and both of his hands tightly gripping Brian’s forearms. Brian tries to move again, wishing above all else that he could see what he was doing. “Justin. Back to my office?” A few moments of push and pull before Brian finally gives up and wraps his arm around Justin’s shoulders. He only has to tug for a second, pressing his fingers into the skin of Justin’s arm before the blond’s feet seem to unglue from the floor and he begins to stumble along. Brian keeps one palm flat against the hallway wall, and uses it as a guide to lead them back to his office. The entire time, the lights don’t so much as flicker. … “Fuck,” He mutters, standing in the middle of his darkened office. A minimal amount of light comes from the blue screen of his cellphone, but it doesn’t do much other than light up the side of his face -- one cheekbone at most. On the other side of the office, Justin wraps his arms around his stomach and presses back against Brian’s huge leather chair. The familiar feeling of the black surface against his thin t-shirt is more calming than he would ever truly admit. Using one curled finger to poke through the blinds, Brian peers down at the shouting group of people below the window. They’re no longer calling his and Justin’s names -- instead, they’re trying to figure out what has happened and what caused it, much like Brian himself. “Did you find out what happened yet?” Justin asks, eyes wide in the dark. Brian covers the mouthpiece of his cellphone, and dutifully repeats what the automated electric company phone system just recorded off to him in-between a chorus of digital beeping and ‘press in your phone number’s. “A main fuse blew up. A quarter of the entire fucking city is blacked out.” “What?” Justin hisses, and Brian hears the chair squeak. “When will it come back on?” He goes to hold up one finger as a ‘be quiet’ movement, but then he realizes that Justin can’t see him anyways, so he chooses to ignore him instead. After another moment of listening to the monotone recording, he replies, “They said four a.m.” “What?” Justin squawks, voice coming out a pitch higher than he would’ve liked it to. Brian snaps the cell closed and mutters a quiet, “Fuck,” before another angrier, more hurried sounding, “Fuck!” comes out too, the ‘k’ ridiculously over pronounced. He storms back over to the window that he paced away from and yanks the blinds instead of peering through them, squints into the distance, hoping to find any kind of light on the horizon. Not one flash. He tries not to throw his cellphone out the window as he mutters, “This entire block and the next one over are pitch fucking black.” “Not helping, Brian,” Justin whispers, voice edging on nervous laughter. He tightens the grip he has around his own waist, and presses back into the chair. … “How the fuck am I supposed to know?” An angry pause, before, “No. I don’t.” Justin rests the side of his head against the tops of his knees as he listens to Brian, arguing with what he imagines is one of the councilors at the youth centre. “Listen. If I could see a foot in front of my fucking face, maybe I’d bring him back. But as it stands, I can’t see a fucking traffic light for three miles.” Another loaded pause. “Yes, three miles!” Five minutes later and Brian is hanging up without a goodbye. Justin can hear a constant string of soft muttering drifting through the black air, and he looks in the general direction that he guesses Brian must be in, but, as usual, can’t see a thing. “Come sit over here,” Brian tells him, though it really sounds like more of an order. Justin can hear him shifting around, the floor board creaking, and the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric as he moves. “At least the moon gives off some light.” Laughing nervously, Justin hates that his voice is still embarrassingly high and starting to border on shaky as he mumbles, “Ah. Romantic.” That gets a snort out of Brian, and then something that sounds suspiciously like a body dropping down onto the floor -- all long legs, torso and arms. A few silent moments pass before -- “Um, Brian?” Justin whispers, voice hoarse as he squints into the dark. The sound of Brian stretching his legs out over the floor, the shoes scuffing the tile, then, “Yeah.” “It. Uh…” Justin trails off, sounding obscenely confused. “It appears as though… I can’t exactly, uh, I can’t exactly seem to move.” A pause. “…What?” Brian peers over in the general direction of where he knows he last left both his desk and Justin, but can barely make out the shape of the set of chairs sitting in front of it. “Yeah, I kinda…” Another pause, and nervous bark of laughter. “I can’t.” A pause long enough to blink two or three times, before Brian replies, “Why?” “I don’t know.” A moment’s hesitation and confusion before Brian starts to crawl back up off of the floor. He pushes himself up on his knees and then to his feet, blindly feels his way over to his desk. Along the way, he pauses to ask, “Did you have a stroke while I wasn’t looking, or something?” More nervous laughter, and Justin’s afraid he looks worried, but it doesn’t matter anyways, because Brian can’t see his expression. “Just put your feet down. On the floor,” Brian murmurs, leaning down to rest one hand on the arm of Justin’s chair. Justin’s blinking rapidly, somehow an automatic reaction to the fact that he can’t focus in on anything, because everything is the same color. He shakes his head. “I can’t see anything.” “No shit,” Brian snorts, moving his hands to push Justin’s legs down. He gets one foot off of the seat of the chair, and then the other, and the whole time, he doesn’t even complain about shoes on his brand fucking new Italian leather. “I can’t either.” After a few minutes of pushing and pulling tense limbs, Brian manages to get him out of the chair, and, once he’s out, Justin hurries behind Brian until they’re back against the wall and underneath the office window. They both slide down, backs against the wall and heads bumping under the window sill. Brian glances over at the body beside him. He can barely make out Justin’s profile, but that’s okay. He watches for a few moments and then looks back ahead, in front of their torsos and hips and legs and knees and feet, into a darkness that he can’t begin to see through. And, after what could be five minutes or fifteen, Justin leans over. He rests his temple against the top of Brian’s shoulder, his breathing soft and eyes closed. Brian lets him. … “We don’t have any food,” Justin mutters, though most of his voice disappears into the fabric of Brian’s shirt. “What if we starve?” The sound of a pen being rapidly clicked on and off ceases for a few seconds, silence for a few short moments before resuming, the same t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t noise floating through the air as Brian shrugs and replies, “I saved some fortune cookies.” “Oh, that makes me feel better,” The blond snickers, pulling away from Brian’s shoulder to glance over at his profile. Voice tight, Justin smiles and says, “Here. One parting note before you die of starvation.” The noise of the pen clicking stops again, and this time, the sound of Brian’s laughter -- real fucking laughter -- fills the air. Bounces off of the walls, and slides under the layer of darkness that surrounds the rest of the room. … “What the fuck?” Brian mutters, blinking. He studies the way the entire room has lit up one or two shades. Though it’s no longer completely dark, the only thing he can make out are the lines of the objects in the room -- his desk, chair. The top of his computer monitor. And it only took an hour and a half to do so. “What the hell is that?” Looking over at Justin, Brian stares at him, eyes wider than usual in a ‘what the fuck’ way before he shrugs, twisting himself around, pushing his body back until he’s balancing on his knees, looking out of the window to where the light is coming from. “Well fuck,” He laughs, when he sees what has been set up on the ground beneath them. One of the larger news stations has a small generator set up, and it’s only big enough to power a one flood light, barely shedding light over the quarter of the parking lot that the media are still camped in, but it’s more than was there before. Justin mimics Brian’s movements, shifting until he’s kneeling beside Brian, his fingers curled around the ledge and hip pressing against hip. “I can see my hands!” He exclaims, laughter packed behind his voice. The words are barely out before he’s tumbling backwards onto the floor. Brian yanks on Justin’s side hard enough to send them both down, and it’s only after managing to sit himself up properly that Justin shoves back and hisses, “Hey!” Brian scowls and rights himself back up against the wall. “The power’s out, Justin,” He snaps, leaning in so close the blond can feel the heat of his breath against the skin of his cheek. “That means the security system is down, too.” Justin’s eyes widen three sizes larger than they were before. … “Say something,” Justin mumbles, voice tired and eyes bleary. He turns his head to look at Brian, who is almost half asleep as he leans against the wall, one shoulder uncomfortably pressed into the brick. Outside the sky has turned from dark blue to pitch black, and Justin guesses it’s probably a half an hour after midnight, one in the morning at the latest. “What?” Brian asks, eyes narrowing. Justin laughs and repeats, “Say something.” “Sei still,” Brian replies, a smirk curling the corners of his lips up even though his eyes are beginning to close, a tired haze falling over them both. Justin laughs and asks, “And what’s that mean?” “Be quiet,” Brian answers, the smirk on his lips dangerously close to breaking away from his face and turning into a laugh -- or something that is worse yet, a giggle. Not much of a battle is put up, though, because when Justin squawks, “Hey!” with a high pitched voice, Brian starts to laugh whether that was his original intention or not. The corners of his mouth curl further and he snorts, watching Justin’s movements from the corner of his eyes. “Hey!” He repeats, mimicking Justin’s voice, pitch and all. The blond crosses his arms over his chest and scowls for a short moment, a scowl which only aids in egging Brian’s laughter on. Justin’s anger rapidly fades into his own half smile of sorts, and then he’s turning back to Brian long enough to whisper, “…Say something else.” “Nein.” Justin rolls his eyes and nudges Brian’s arm, teasing, “Even I know that one,” followed by a pause worth no more than a few second’s hesitation before he continues prodding. “Come on.” “Nein,” And this time Brian even throws in a head shake. Frowning, Justin pinches the bottom of Brian’s elbow through his white work shirt, and manages to get two finger’s worth of elbow skin. He breaks and ends up giggling when Brian jumps and tries to push him off, even when he tries to copy the way Brian says his name, and manages a soft, “Brian.” “Justin,” Brian mimics, and Justin feels his cheeks go warm at the tone of his voice. Goddamnit, he thinks. “Just say something!” Justin smiles, after a short battle of arms and fingers pushing at each other. He manages to get in one more prod to Brian’s upper arm. After two and a half more pokes of the finger, Brian finally groans and shoves Justin off, squawking despite himself in his own version of a perfectly indignant voice, “What the fuck do you want me to say?” “I don’t know!” Justin exclaims, caught up in the moment until Brian widens his eyes at him that speak the unspoken shut up. He lowers his voice, then. “Say… just talk!” Brian rolls his eyes before dutifully reciting, “Sag... rede einfach! “Are you imitating me?” Justin asks, trying to be serious even though he can’t really help the smile that’s just barely hidden behind the tone of his voice. He rolls his eyes when Brian smirks at him, tongue in cheek, and nods. “Real mature, Brian.” Smirking, Brian whispers, “Sehr erwachsen, Brian.” “Would you shut up?” Justin laughs, lightly elbowing him in the side, the darkness that surrounds them almost forgotten. Brian shoves back a little and smirks, one corner of that crooked mouth twisted up into a half-smile. Brian raises his eyebrows after that, and asks, voice teasing, “I thought you wanted me to say something, Elfenbeinhaut.” “What?” Justin asks, mouth open in a wide grin, as he disregards the beginning of the sentence for the last word. Brian laughs, and with the same tone, repeats, “What?” “What did you call me?” He asks, one eyebrow arching up as he leans in to see Brian’s face properly in the darkness of the room. Justin can barely make out the bridge of his nose, and the curve of his bottom lip. Lips that are dangerously close to his own. “I don’t remember,” Brian murmurs, shaking his head lightly, a mere inch from side to side. Eyebrows still raised Justin nods, a half-smile crossing his face as he pretends to understand Brian’s predicament to the current situation. And Justin can’t help it -- neither of them can. Because they’re too close, too already there to stop as Brian leans, lips still curved into a half smile from their cut-off conversation. And they move like that, together, until Justin is exhaling through his nose, bottom lip below Brian’s with his breath hot against Brian’s cheek. They should do it -- Brian knows this, and despite everything Justin does too. They shouldn’t do it, but they have this problem, this Thing. This thing that has just been defined as mouths lips tongues noses cheeks pressed together, an echo of knees hips stomachs and hands, and this thing is pushing them together, tightening around knee caps and securing on ribs. And fuck is all that Brian can think, as he feels Justin’s body as it inches closer to his own, the air suddenly urgent between them as his own arm moves, so he can wrap his fingers around the back of Justin’s neck. Oh fuck. But this thing that they have. This thing… it’s okay. Chapter Translations: Sei still - "Be quiet." Nein - "No." Sag... rede einfach! - "Say... just talk!" Sehr erwachsen, Brian - "Real mature, Brian." Elfenbeinhaut - “Pale Face” (Literal: “Ivory Skin”)
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