There he stands: the living legend of Liberty Avenue, Brian Kinney. Barefoot and shirtless with a defiant posture all his own; he can be more erect while slouching than anyone. He feels a pair of eyes focused on him, distracted momentarily by the waves of rainbow colours that float between them. Yes, someone is definitely watching him, the attention fixed on him and burning like some laser ray out of one of Mikey’s stupid comic books.

He exhales slowly, for once no taste of cigarettes and booze on his tongue. All he tastes is sweetness from the bright orange candy he just crunched, bits still stuck to the ridges of his teeth. He doesn’t know why he ate, never liked those things anyway. A small smile twists his lips as he remembers Justin’s incredulity when he told him he hated coloured candies waitresses leave at the table after a meal. He hears himself in a ghostly whisper of a memory in his head that, “Only a total dump would leave coloured candy crap rather than mints.” With a good natured cackle, Deb had told him she was shocked there was something he WASN’T interested in sucking on, obviously not too angry with Brian for rejecting her added touch to the bill. Leave it to Deb to make sure EVERYTHING in that fucking diner was as colourful as her.

He sniffs and shakes his head at the memory, feels that pair of dark eyes burrowing into him again. He feels naked for a moment and for once is less than comfortable with the sensation.

This one sees through everything.

He raises the little plastic wand to his lips again and blows, putting a rainbow curtain of distortion between himself and his audience.

He doesn’t regret watching Gus this weekend, agreeing to play Daddy for more than just a couple of hours at a time. For once there’s no hot ass contest or Leather Ball tonight and even if there was he thinks he’d probably want to sit this one out. After all, even Brian Kinney needs a night off once in awhile, needs a little time to think about things without a haze of sex and drugs and smoke around him.

Christ, maybe he’s having a midlife crisis or something. Next thing you know he’ll be looking for a pretty little wife and a home in the suburbs.

He looks at Gus, watches as the boy turns back to him as the last of the bubbles hits the coffee table and bursts. The child waits patiently for the next stream of colourful spheres to be created by Brian’s lips. What do you know? Another guy waiting for a blow. Do these things never cease? Brain wonders.

He dips the wand into the container and blows a stream high into the air, right at the ceiling of his loft and, like his son, he watches as the little bubbles come drifting down, sees how they hit the floor and are gone immediately. He follows Gus’s line of sight and sees one bubble taking its own path and coming to land at the child’s feet. It refuses to pop even when it meets with the unforgiving wood floor. Gus kicks his foot and pops it, squealing in childish delight. Brain laughs in spite of himself, hearing the laugh of someone else in those giggles, seeing the beaming smile of another reflected in that joy.

He realizes he was supposed to call him an hour ago. Funny, he lost track of time and for once that’s the simple and honest truth, not just some tired out excuse for trying to squeeze in one more trick than he had time for. He starts heading for the phone but somewhere along the way decides it can wait. After all, it’s not a very big container of bubbles to finish. Gus claps his hands together clumsily when he sees Brian about to blow bubbles for him again. With a gentle breeze Brain surrounds them with another floating rainbow, puts the simple barrier between them and the world for just a few more minutes.

End

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