The last time Brian had been in the hospital was when his son was born. Birth and death. The circle of life.

He tried to hold himself together. But all he could see in his mind's eye were all the times he'd been with Justin. Laughing, dancing, teasing, fucking. It was almost too much. Brian didn't know what to do with all the emotions that were coursing through him. He'd known for a little while that Justin was more than just a convenient fuck. He knew he cared about him but faced with the prospect of losing him he was forced to recognize how much he cared. He thought he might love him…and not in the plutonic kind of way that he did Michael but in a more primal, yearning way. Like having Justin in his life was as important as having air to breath. Brian didn't know where to put those feelings, they were completely new. So he shoved them deep down, tried to bury them; tried to be numb to them.

Three days Brian sat, waiting, Michael by his side. Three days he lived inside his own head. Three days he didn't speak, save monosyllabic answers to the basic questions given him by Michael.

Something to eat? No.

Something to drink? No.

You should go home and shower. No.

Brain stayed at the hospital, refusing to change out of the stinky, bloodied tux and refusing to relinquish possession of the blood-stained scarf. He wore it around his neck; he ran it through his fingers. He picked at the tassels. When the doctors came out to tell them that Justin was out of the woods he used it to wipe his eyes of tears.

Justin was still in a coma, but he would survive. The doctors had been able to stop the bleeding, and the swelling was finally beginning to subside. He also showed signs of normal neurological activity. He wouldn't be a vegetable. Brian watched Jennifer weep with joy at the news while he let only a few tears slip from his eyes as he allowed himself to feel relief. Justin would live; he was alive.

Hearing those words, it was as if he could finally breathe again. The doctors tempered the good news with a gentle reminder that there was damage to his brain. That until Justin woke up there was no way to know how seriously he would be affected. The smiles disappeared and they were somber once more.

Brian avoided Jennifer's gaze after that. She had blamed him for showing up to the prom, saying as much the night it'd happened, yelling and hitting him. Brian had let her, not defending himself. Finally the doctors had to pull her away. Brian retreated then, hiding out in an empty hallway. That was where Michael had found him. He couldn't even acknowledge his friends presence because Brian knew Jennifer was right and he was to blame. Hell, he blamed himself, too. If he hadn't gone there and danced with Justin in front of everyone, kissed him in front of everyone, he wouldn't have incited Chris Hobbs to take a damn bat and smash Justin's head in. But how could he have known? He couldn't have and the rational part of his brain kept trying to make him realize that.

He knew he shouldn't shoulder the blame but he couldn't put it aside. So instead of being angry at the coward who had attacked Justin, unprovoked, he was angry with himself for putting Justin into that situation. He simply should have known better. He'd just wanted to make Justin's prom special; he'd wanted to give him a memory he could cherish, a moment that he could look back on that would make him smile. And still that damned song kept playing over and over in his head, making him sick. He wanted to forget everything from that night, but he couldn't.

Plus, who knew if Justin would even still be able to smile once he woke up.

When they knew Justin would survive, Brian sent Michael away. Off to Portland. He had his life to get back to living and even though Brian didn't want him to go he knew he had to go. It wasn't long after Michael reluctantly left that Jennifer, none too gently, told Brian he should go, too.

So he did.

He went home, showered for nearly an hour, than burned the bloody tuxedo. The scarf though, which was now a dark rust color instead of a bright red where the blood had stained the silk, the scarf he kept. And he wore it. As a reminder. As penance.

It wasn't but a few days before Brian resumed his old habits. He had no other way to put the images of Justin, bleeding on the cold cement, out of his head, to make the pain of that night disappear. He saw his friends judging him for his behavior but he didn't care. They couldn't understand and he couldn't make them understand. So he pretended things were as they used to be. Before Justin.

It was easy. No one expected anything more from him.

They didn't know he still wore the blood-stained scarf under his clothes.

Every day.

Every fucking day.