[ Justin is a sore spot, has always been from the moment Brian found him in his bed the morning after he fucked him. he couldn't shake him, couldn't harass him or bully him, break him down until a million pieces until he disappeared. he kept coming back and going and coming back again; it's a pattern he understands, if nothing else. except that here he can't keep an eye on him from a distance while pretending he no longer gives a shit. she fidgets with her gun and he's grateful for her silence.

she's an incredibly sharp girl and her edges slice like his own; he knows this from working alongside her, from supervising, from drinking with Wichita or watching her with her interesting array of friends.

he laughs the noise that one expects from Brian Kinney, a depraved, entirely mature laugh. ] I haven't heard that since I was thirteen.

[ but witness him getting up and pointedly not saying anything ungraceful like ugh, my back while he takes her hand. ] I'm not interested. Crazy as this place gets, I don't want to add to it with a firearm.