MEET GREGORI:
Gregori stifled the urge to pace and flipped his lighter closed instead. God, he wished he hadn't given up smoking. His nerves were stretched so taut that he'd kill the Pope for a small drag. Hell, he thought to himself, I'd kill the President for some second-hand smoke! Grunting slightly, he got to his feet to look at himself in the full-length mirror hanging on his wall. He scrutinized his facial features harshly and decided that he'd have to be satisfied with what he saw. Because the only way he could possibly further enhance them would have to be through surgery, and he'd had enough of hospitals over the last 2 months to last him a lifetime.
His mind drifted back to the white-walled room that stunk of antiseptic and cleaning supplies, that stunk of sickness and death. He blanched sharply as a vision of his grandfather flashed in his mind. Always strong and vital, Nikhola Faie had looked like a shrunken doll in the oversized hospital bed. It had sent convulsions ripping through his limbs. Gregori had barely made himself stand through the last moments of his beloved mentor and idol's life.
Swallowing the bile that always rose in his throat at the thought of Nikhola, Gregori turned back to look at his features that were so much like his grandfather's. Descended from Hungarian gypsies, his shoulder-length raven hair had a slight wave to it that brought out the sharp angle of his cheekbones and hollows in his cheeks. Black eyes glinted back at him, grief and emptiness showed greatly in their depths. His bronzed skin looked grossly pale, and even black circles from his last 2 months of sleeplessness showed harshly.
Nervousness suddenly paced his spine.
Why was he nervous?
He had no idea, but he had a feeling he was soon going to find out.

ENTER STEVEN:
Steve sat back with a lusty sigh, his beer clutched in his hand. He had 4 hours until he had to show up for the gig at Klub Vertigo, and he was at a loss for what to do. Chewing on his bottom lip, he debated going to see Emily. He wanted to see her, and she was only an hour away. But, God, it was horrible seeing her go through her childish pain whenever he had to leave again.
Thoughts danced in his head, and he picked one out of the jumble. Damn, he swore. Should he do it? He'd thought about it often enough, and it would give Em a sense of stability, something that he couldn't give her at this point in time. His parents would be glad to have her permanently. The only thing holding him back was Emily's mum. The woman wouldn't go for the idea, although it would be best for Emily. The woman was a shrew, but she was, after all, Emily's mum and his ex-girlfriend. The thought of going over her head had occured to him, but he couldn't do that. It would betray everything that they had once shared, and although he wasn't on good terms with Emily's mum, he wasn't completely sorry about their relationship. He had gotten Emily out of the deal after all, hadn't he?
Finally deciding that he'd simply call her later and go see her the next day when he had more time, Steve looked at the pile of 63 pieces of correspondence and grimaced. His brown-eyed vision caught sight of the well-worn paperback, and he swiftly calculated that he had about 189 pages left. He weighed the two in his mind. It didn't take long to come to a conclusion. All too often when Steve had free time, he ended up dedicating it to Emily, but since he had decided to see her tomorrow, he got selfish. I'm going to spend a little time on myself, he thought smuggly as he reached over to pick up the book and resume the reading he had stopped over 4 months ago.
Emily Dickinson.
Poetry.
He sighed happily as he sank into its intoxicating rhythm. God, he loved poetry. The way the words were strung together to create an absolute utopia, the ultimate pleasure. He envied those eloquently artistic people, people like Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allan Poe, Brian.
Groaning at the unbidden thought, he laid the book on his chest and sank into his envy. Damn the man, Steve thought, but he hated him. Brian had that gift, the gift that Steve would have killed for, the gift of eloquent speech.
But, oddly enough, crowds scared him. Not the kind of crowds that he played to now, but the intellectual crowds. By no means was he stupid, but sometimes he felt that way, so he did the only thing he could to release his own poetry: He pounded them out on his drums.
The door to his room opened and in walked a very stressed, and obviously ragged, Brian.
"Don't you know how to open the door when you hear someone knocking?" Brian walked to the kitchen and appeared a minute later, a beer dangling from his fingertips.
"I didn't hear you knocking. I was thinking." Brian arched his eyebrow delicately, silently asking what he had been so lost in thought over. Pain and sorrow flashed over Steve's features as he answered, "Emily."
Leaning across the coffee table, Brian gave Steve a swift hug. "It's alright, love. She'll understand. She always has." But Steve just stiffened and took a long drag from his bottle.
"Yeah, but isn't it just a little bit too much to ask of a five-year-old? I mean, my God, Brian, she needs some kind of father figure, and I want to be there for her." Brian nodded, continuing the long-standing doubts that Steve held, giving the supportive response Brian knew that Steve needed at that moment.
"Do you want to leave the band, Steve? You know that both Stefan and I love you dearly, but you also know that we love Emily just as much. If you being near her all of the time is going to make you both happy, then Stefan and I will be more than willing to give you up. We want your happiness above our success, so just say the words, Steven, and it'll be accepted without question." Brian had never seen that intense look on his face before, and deep down, he was terrified that Steve would finally decide to leave. He was ashamed, but as Steve slowly shook his head, relief swelled inside him. He knew what an important role Emily played in Steve's life, and therefore, he knew what the decision to stay had cost him.
"I guess you'll be going to see her tomorrow then, eh?"
"Yeah," Steve muttered. "I'd be going there tonight if that damn rave didn't end so fucking late." At that point, Brian started to growl, and Steve knew he was fixing to blow up about his latest fling.
"The bitch," he finally exploded. "Do you think I could get away with killing her and stashing her body in the Thames? No one would find her, and if they did, she'd stink too much for anyone to go near her." Steve chuckled slightly as he thought of Felicia. The woman was a leech, not to mention an idiot. Brian must have really been desperate to lay her.
"Nah, killing her ain't gonna solve nothing. Why don't you just drop her?" Brian glowered at him before downing the rest of his beer.
"You don't think I've tried? She's dumber than the village idiot. Can't take a bloody fucking hint if it slapped her in the face. And now she wants to spend 'a quiet night' at her place. Stupid woman. What am I going to do? I'm not going to her place. That's not an option, but I don't feel like going to that rave. My head's splitting in 5 different directions. The gig will probably end up sucking to all hell and back, and it's that woman's fault."
"Look, Brian, if I have to go to the rave, so do you. And you know how bad Stefan is looking forward to it. He hasn't been to a dance in months, and he's going through withdrawls."
Brian snarled and poked a finger in Steve's face. "Give me one good reason that I should even consider going to that damn thing."
"Stefan is counting on it."
A cynical smirk curled Brian's lips. "I said good, Steve."
Swallowing a laugh, Steve acted as if he was seriously thinking about a good reason. "Well, you could meet an extremely exotic boy at the rave. Someone to help you 'get over' Felicia."
Instantly Brian's green eyes flashed fire. "Now that is a good reason. Alright, but it'd better be worth it."
For some obscure reason, they both had a feeling that it would, indeed, be worth it.

BRIAN'S DILEMMA:
Brian left Steve's flat, walking in search of Stefan. It had been 4 months since the tall, blonde Swede had anytime to himself, and Brian could only guess as to where he might be. As he walked, the dilemma called Felicia took over his mind. What the hell was he going to do with her? The woman was beyond description, and not in a good way.
Yesterday evening, Brian had gone in search of some type of enjoyment while he left Stefan to deal with Sam Walker and his rules for behaviour in Klub Vertigo. He had been thirsting for something, and he couldn't quite figure out exactly what he wanted. Minutes had stretched into hours, and Brian had gotten fed up with sitting on that bar stool waiting for the desired unknown to approach him.
Pulling a note out of his jacket pocket, he leaned over to pay his tab when a flash of colour caught his eye. He smoothly looked over his shoulder to see what he had been subconsciously desiring: One of the most seductive women he'd come across in months.
He guessed her to be just slightly taller than himself, but by God, she was a curvy creature. She had all of the right curves, in all the right places, in all of the right proportions. But what truly fired his blood was her small breasts. Brian admired her from afar for several seconds until her eyes turned to him. There was a flicker in their golden brown depths as she trailed her eyes over his body. Silently he took a mental inventory of what he had on: black vinyl pants and a silver shirt. Nothing overly glam, and he was rather glad. He got the impression from her raised eyebrow that she wouldn't go in for the whole ambiguous look.
Turning from her when the bartender cleared his throat, Brian accepted his change and tossed back the rest of his vodka. Sliding from his place, Brian sauntered away, determined to walk out and let the vision make the first move, confident that she would. He grinned as he remembered the way she calmly stepped in his path. He had to admire her spirit, and also her dress. It was a burgundy silk number that must have cost her a fortune, although the poor thing had probably been paying for the thread which held the scraps of material together. Raising his green eyes to her brown ones, he let a smile slowly curl his lips. The woman was going to fall and fall hard, and Brian was simply going to nod his head and walk away from her when the gig was over. That's the way he liked it, that's the way it was going to be, that's the way it always was.
He murmured a sensual hello and raised her hand to kiss the back of it. Brian felt the shiver that spread through her with his lips.
"What's your name, sweet angel?"
"Felicia."
Brian still flinched when he remembered the sound of her voice. That annoyingly high-pitched, whiny-assed voice that sent chills down his spine and through his blood. He had been more than willing to ignore the voice, but her stupidity was another matter entirely. That flash that he'd seen earlier he had mistakenly assumed it as a sign of intelligence. The poor twit didn't have a whit of an I.Q.
Grinning again, he remembered what went through his mind at the prospect of her non-existant intelligence: "Thought I was getting karat gold, but what I got was you." It was a vicious thought, even for him, but that's just the way it was. She was incredibly stupid and her voice set his teeth on edge, and the only other thought that he had entertained after her first word was: Get her drunk, get her in bed, then get the hell away.
Things hadn't worked out quite that way. He'd gotten the drunk and fuck part, but he couldn't seem to get away from her. Dammit, she was always there! Always there with that voice! Anger welled inside him as he realized that Felicia was the cause of his phenomenal headache. The bitch had a rough time ahead of her if she kept up his ass.
Brian's thoughts were so turmoiled that he ran into Stefan without seeing him. Pulling back, he looked up into Stefan's eyes, eyes that were blazing with hatred. Stunned, Brian stumbled backwards at the violentness of it.
"Stefan?" he murmured hesitatingly.
The normally quiet, smiling Swede wrapped his large hands around Brian's throat and, despite the rage in his eyes, said quite calmly, "You bastard. I'm going to kill you."

STEFAN'S HEARTACHE:
Stefan was pissed. Highly and royally pissed. For 6 hours, Stefan listened to Sam Walker drone on and on about what could be done in Klub Vertigo and what couldn't be done. He rolled his eyes in thought and opted for slamming his fist into his thigh instead of killing someone, as was his first instinct. The short, rotund man had done something that no one but his sister had been able to ever do: annoy him. Stefan prided himself on being a very sensible, even-tempered person; a man who was rarely upset by such trivial things as being left alone to deal with a dense, repetitive man. But, by God, he was pissed.
Brian had left him to go get drunk and get a lay, while Steve disappeared to the flat that they regularly rented whenever they were in town. Stefan raged and seethed inside as he remembered the way they had gloated at him and Walker before they had disappeared out the exit.
For the past 15 minutes, the tall blonde had been walking..actually, storming..down the street, his hands fisted at his sides. He swore that if he got his hands on Brian, he was going to kill him. Brian had promised that him that he wouldn't have to deal with any more owners after that last fiasco in Grenville. His mind still ached over it when he thought of how the man had almost cheated them out of half of their payment. He had always known he didn't have a strong head for business, and the incident just proved it, but Brian had no right to do what he did. Stefan ground his teeth together as he remembered how Brian had ridiculed him. His eyes smarted with tears.
The asshole, he thought again for the thousandth time. He was always so much better. He was always the great one. There were times when Stefan wanted to grab Brian by the neck and shove his nose in his own mistakes and his own transgressions. Sometimes the guy was a complete idiot.
Not to mention a thief.
Nicky. Stefan whimpered to himself as he remembered the man's stunning blue eyes and charming smile. He had believed himself to be in love with the attractive American. The man had very definitely returned the action..Stefan grimaced..until they both had sat down to dinner with Brian one evening. Brian had insisted that he meet the new paramour that Stefan was constantly praising and speaking of. The night was a disaster that weighed forever on his mind.
Brian had claimed later that the boy had been groping him beneath the table, and that was the only reason why he had set about threatening the American. Anger had welled up in him at the way Nicky had cried in his arms later that night. He had left the boy sleeping in his bed, and he then stormed 8 blocks to barge into Brian's flat at 2:47am. Stefan didn't have a thought for the woman that laid in Brian's bed or for the fact that Brian was naked and seriously aroused. The only thing that Stefan was thinking of was Nicky's tear-stained face and his hoarse voice.
He had raged for only a few minutes before Brian shouted raggedly.
"You blind fuck! He propositioned me when you left the room! I knew he was using you. He was using you to get to me, dammit!" The truth sunk in with a sickening thud as he stumbled backwards, grabbing at his chest as he if he had been shot. And at that moment, Stefan had sincerely believed he had been, for his chest ached with something that it had never ached with before. His eyes had stung, his face had burned, and his heart had broken. Staggering towards the door, Stefan didn't ignore Brian's pleading..he simply didn't hear it.
Nicky was gone when Stefan returned, and for that, he was eternally grateful. He didn't want the one man that he had briefly but deeply loved to see his downfall. The room was in shambles and Stefan was huddled in the center of the it, sitting cross-legged, clutching his stomach, or rather clutching his fists against his stomach, when Brian walked in half an hour later. Stefan never knew that Brian was ever there.
Stefan was still experiencing his inner turmoil of 4 years past when he ran smack into Brian. Almost without thinking, Stefan put his hands around Brian's white neck and threatened to kill him. Fear was obvious in his green eyes as Stefan's fiery gaze burned into him.
"What are you talking about? Stefan? Love?" The hands tightened as a spasm went through the Swede's body.
"Nicky."
The compassion and sorrow that immediately replaced the fear in Brian's eyes, and desperation took over in Stefan's.
Quite unrealizing of his actions, Stefan began to hit Brian. The blows were only half-hearted and not aimed at his face, only his torso, but Brian made no move to stop him. Brian's body ached as the blows slowed to a stop. A sob tore from his throat as Stefan's arms fell uselessly at his sides.
"Oh, God."
Brian held him tightly as Stefan wrapped his arms around his waist and sobbed into his neck. It was awkward for Brian, considering how much taller Stefan was the he, but somehow Brian accommodated him. Neither cared that passers-by stared or that people were whispering, the only thing that mattered was Stefan's grief and Brian's whole-hearted attempts at comforting him. Finally the crying settled down into hiccups and shuddering sighs.
"Come on, my love," Brian murmured soothingly in Stefan's ear as he rubbed tight circles on his broad back. "Steve will be at the club by now, wondering where we are. And you've got a rave to get ready for."
Stefan merely nodded and blindly allowed his friend to guide him towards Klub Vertigo, Brian's arm tucked around his waist and his other hand on his chest. The touch of Brian's small hand on his heart numbed its aching and helped heal the wounds.

GREGORI'S REVELATION:
Gregori clenched his teeth together and tried to stop the nervous rocking from foot to foot. God, the line was long. But then again, what did he expect? It was Placebo, for Christ's sake.
Placebo.
He sighed heavily as he thought about how long he had patiently, even desperately, saved his money in order to come to this concert. In the back of his mind, he knew that his family would consider him "sexually confused" if they knew he had come to this concert.
Well, screw them, he thought fiercely. He only had one damn life to live, and he wasn't about to let the stiff priorities of his old-fashioned, backward parents control his life any longer. They had done it for years, but no longer, he swore...no longer.
A pair of hands hit him from behind, forcing him forward into the person ahead of him.
"Sorry, man," Gregori apologized, then turned to glare at the overly affectionate couple behind him. Fuck, that was disgusting, but a small voice in his head told him the only reason it was disgusting was because he himself wasn't doing the same thing. Grimly he accepted the truth as the loneliness swept over him.
Maybe that was why he kept throwing himself into the thick of things, tossing himself into the hustle and bustle of evening life. He vainly hoped that he could find someone, one small connection, then he would be spared the agony of going through life in a solitary state. Sighing heavily, he gave up his musings and flashed his ticket at the doorman then was ushered inside by the bulge of the crowd.
What was he doing here?! he thought frantically as the crush of bodies heaved and pulsed around him, pushing into him, suffocating him.
A sheen of sweat glazed his forehead and upper lip.
He was going to be sick.
He couldn't breathe.
He was going to pass out.
He was dizzy.
He had to get away.
Gasping for breath, his heart pounding, Gregori staggered out a door that was connected to a hallway. Here the loud buzz of hundreds of voices was reduced to a moan, the stifling air of the dance floor was an appreciated coolness, and the packed tightness of bodies disappeared.
"Oh God, oh God," he chanted over and over again as he slumped against the wall. His knees clattered, and very ungracefully Gregori fell to the floor. He ignored the silver leather pants and lightning blue shirt that he was dressed in as he pulled his knees to his chin. Suddenly, on the cold, broken tile of the back passage of Klub Vertigo the abrupt finality of his grandfather's death caught up with him. Dimmly he was aware that "the grieving process" had begun.
Tears marred his liquid black eyes as he envisioned his grandfather, the noble and intelligent Hungarian, buried once and for all in the depths of the American soil an ocean away. Convulsions racked his body as he understood that he'd never have another person who would completely understand him. When his grandfather had left, so had Gregori's only mentor and teacher, his only friend. That was why Gregori had left the country the day after his grandfather had been buried: Gregori had left because he was alone, and he'd rather be alone in a new country than to be alone in a place that would offer mocking pity instead of sympathy.
There was nothing he could do now.
There was absolutely nothing he could do.
He was all alone.
No one would ever be able to comfort him.
There would be no healing of his heart.
Warm hands appeared on Gregori's broad back. Startled, he jumped guiltily, cracking his head sharply against the wall. Colour exploded before his eyes only to clear to the most breath-takingly poignant green eyes Gregori had ever beheld.

INTIMATE MEETINGS:
Christ! Brian thought. He didn't know why he had felt the urge to walk up to this stranger and lay his hands upon him, but, now he was glad he did. This guy was walking the razor's edge of desperation. Never in his entire life had he seen such intense and poignant sorrow. It even surpassed the levels that Brian had witnessed in his own eyes.
Brian had been letting Lucy do his makeup when a sharp sense of claustrophobia overwhelmed him. His chest began to burn with panic's fiery caress, his throat cut off his breath, and his vision began to grey around the edges. If he didn't know better, he would swear that he was experiencing stage fright. But that was ridiculous. He was a seasoned veteran. He wasn't scared of the lights or the screaming fans or the press of bodies or the constant throb of instruments.
Hell no, he wasn't scared.
Fuck it..he was petrified!
Shoving Lucy out of the way, Brian jumped to his feet and rushed to the corridor behind the stage. The cool air rushed to greet him and soothe away his fears. His short black dress made it rather hard for him to elegantly slide to his knees, so he sagged against the tile wall, dragging in large lungfuls of air, when a sound caught his ear.
Sobs.
Gut-wrenching, rib-cracking, heart-felt sobs.
Turning his head towards the sound, Brian watched a man huddled into a darkened corner cry his heart out into the palms of his hands. Propelled by something fierce, he walked towards the stranger and stopped just at his shoulder, wondering if the man would sense his presence.
He didn't.
Briefly Brian debated disturbing him during his grief. He knew that personally if anyone had dared disturb him during his grieving, he'd have joyfully strangled them, and he didn't know if he should infringe upon this guy's solitude. A convulsion that ripped through the stranger's body made Brian act involuntarily: he put his hands on the man's back to rub tight circles along the clenched muscles just like he had done Stefan's only an hour earlier. Jerking back to look up at him, the man's head smashed against the tile wall, thudding noisely. Tears mingled with the mascara and coursed streaks down his angular cheeks.
"Jesus," Brian murmured at the pained eyes, pulling his hands back slowly as the man got a trapped look in his eyes.
"What's wrong, love?"
Agony replaced the fear in his black eyes. "Oh god" became the stranger's litany. Gently Brian gathered the man to his chest and rocked him softly. It was with bittersweet melancholy that he did this, wondering to himself when someone would be strong for him.

SILENT AGREEMENT:
Gregori tried to blend in with the crowd. He tried to mix; he tried to become swallowed by their overexuberant enthusiasm, but he couldn't do it. Heaven knows he tried, but he stuck out like a sore thumb. Wishing the people would just disappear, he turned his black eyes towards the stage and relived the brief moments in the cool, dark corridor.
He had met Brian Molko, the man that he had admired for so long from so far away. He'd been touched by a man who he felt was living his life. Gregori had counted on Brian for years. His lyrics and his music had been with him throughout every obstacle he had had to face.
When he had accepted the fact that he desired men more than women, Brian had been there belting out "Nancy Boy", letting Gregori know that it was alright. When he had to watch his grandfather die, Brian had been there crooning "Ask for Answers". And when Gregori had come to terms with his impending death, Brian had connected with him by releasing the bittersweet "Every You, Every Me". He had counted on Brian, and Brian had never let him down. Even when he had realized his grandfather was never coming back, Brian had been there. Not with a song this time, no. Brian had been there to hold him, and that was far more needed than a mere melody.
The lights on the stage came up, and a resounding gasp escaped every throat in the audience. Brian Molko was no where to be seen. Stefan was posed and ready. Steve was sitting with sticks in hand, but Brian's place center stage was empty. Whispers rushed from one side of the club to the other, an avalanche of sound.
Sensing the crowd's astonishment, Stefan stepped towards his microphone and began to speak. "Well, I am Stefan Olsdal, and I welcome you to Klub Vertigo. Behind me is Steve Hewitt, and our lead singer, Brian Molko, has decided to..." Stefan's words were interrupted by the sharp twang from Brian's guitar. Immediately all eyes shifted to stage right where Brian strode into view.
Strapped across his shoulder was his guitar where he was plucking out the notes for "Come Home". As the lyrics played themselves in Gregori's head, he understood that Brian had been there for him once again. Brian understood his claustrophobia, had understood his panic, and he was seeking to relax it. Smiling to himself, Gregori felt his tension washed from his body as Brian's voice swept through him.
The night wore on as song after song was played. Because Gregori was so intent upon Brian and his words, he did not realize that the crowd was gradually pushing him closer and closer to the stage until he was boxed in against it. Feeling the immoveable imprisonment, Gregori's early panic returned with a vengeance. He turned from side to side, wide-eyed and desperately seeking a way out, a way of escape when Brian sang sympathetically "I know, I know". Gregori felt his entire being connect with Brian in that murmuring of those 4 syllables. Gregori didn't remember the rest of "I Know", but he snapped to attention when he felt Brian's green eyes rest on him.
With a boyish grin on his face, Brian strummed out "Miss Moneypenny", giggling slightly into the microphone as he sang out the numbers. Laughter and light shone in his eyes as he looked down on Gregori from the stage, inviting him to join his secluded world of higher intelligence and sarcasm.
Letting himself release his emotions to the rhythms, Gregori watched spellbound as Stefan brought out a wooden stool for Brian to perch upon. The lights faded. A soft white center spot illuminated Brian as he hunched over his guitar and started fingering the notes of "Teenage Angst". His husky voice coupled with the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to drive Gregori into deep depression. Brian knew the agony he was silently living. Damn, but it felt good to have someone KNOW what was the matter instead of having to ask. Tears welled in Gregori's black eyes and streamed down his checks in testimony of Brian's accuracy. The long vibration of the last note struck a chord deep in his heart, a chord that had been wickedly snapped since the time of his grandfather's death. Now, with that heartfelt rendition, dedicated solely to him, its twisted jaggedness mended itself, guided by the expert touch of Brian's care.
Kicking the stool to the side, Brian jumped to his feet, a naughty glint in his eye as he pounded out "Drowning by Numbers". It was a blantant carnal expression of his desire to meet with Gregori later. The proof was evident in the unflinching stare and in the slight bulge beneath his leather dress. Scarcely nodding his head in mutual agreement, Gregori turned to make his way towards the dark and deserted hallway, having already decided to meet Brian there after the last song.

TRIALS:
He tried to be patient. He tried to be calm, but it just wasn't working. Anxiety wormed through his determination. What if Gregori had been mistaken? What if Brian wasn't meaning what was implied? What if Brian wasn't even talking to him? The doubts that assailed him pushed the breath from his body. No. Gregori couldn't take the humiliation of being rejected. There was nothing he could do now but quietly make his exit and vainly try to forget the past 4 hours.
Tiles of imitation black marble passed slowly by as he walked to the door that would be his salvation. It was a simple looking messiah. A black metal door that was merely 12 feet away. It took nothing but a small shove to open it, and by opening it, a world of intricate, and far safer, possibilities loomed. Gregori's long, slender fingers touched the doorknob when a nagging sensation pulled at the back of his mind. Turning hesitantly in the direction from which he had just came, Gregori locked eyes with Brian. The distance between them seemed to shorten and radiate with suppressed emotions. Gregori decided that if pictures were worth a thousand words, then the look that he was getting from Brian at that precise moment was easily worth a million.
So, he thought with joy, he hadn't misinterpretted the silent message that Brian had been sending him during "Drowning by Numbers". The thought had Gregori smiling, and seeing the smile, Brian started forward only to have a sultry woman manuver herself into his path. The movement efficiently shattering the tentative, fragile link between the two of them, and the doubts returned to Gregori swiftly as if feeding on his vulnerability.
"Dammit, Felicia! What the hell are you doing here!?" Brian roared as he recoiled sharply from the woman.
"Baby, we've got plans tonight, remember?" she explained in a voice that made Gregori's ears ring.
"No," the singer reiterated as he untangled himself from her clinging grasp. "We do not have plans. I told you earlier. Go away."
"But, baby--" "Get..lost...Now." The calm fury of his silky voice was enough to cut her off. With a strangled sob as she realized her loss, she fled down the hall, her thin spiked heels clinking along the tile floor. Neither man paid attention, however, as they were once again drawn into their own world.
Humour danced in his emerald eyes as he spoke to Gregori from the length of the corridor. "Since I find myself with no plans this evening, would you consider spending some time with me?" The innocent tone of his voice had Gregori's mouth turning up unconsciously, a mouth that Brian noticed was extremely delicate and sensual.
Sensing that the time of speech was over, Gregori followed Brian's movements with his black eyes. The shorter man walked toward him and came to stop just in front of him. He placed his hands on Gregori's shoulders and ran them down his slender arms with feather lightness until he touched the Hungarian's hands. Long, slim fingers on aristocratic hands, attached to rather regal-looking wrists. Eagerly Brian's emerald gaze absorbed the appearance of the hands before he interlaced his fingers with them. With gentle guiding, Brian led Gregori towards the dressing rooms behind the stage. The silent utopia did not sustain though.
As soon as they opened the dressing room door, they were blinded by the light. The blindness fled rather quickly, however, as the sound of breaking glass cut through the air.
At Gregori's side, Brian jerked roughly, dropping his hand. "What the--" He looked at Gregori, astonishment clearly visible on his face as he reached up to touch his cheekbone. Blood decorated his fingertips as he brought them down for inspection. "Fuck me, goddammit! Who the fuck threw glass at me?!"
The two men in the room looked sheepishly from one to the other, trying to avoid Brian's enraged glare.
"Motherfucker! Answer me!" Drawing a deep breath, Stefan spoke up, trying to explain.
"Look, man. Steve pissed me off, and I was throwing the vase at him. He ducked, and you opened the door." Stefan looked as if he was going to continue, but Brian stopped him.
"Stefan, we can't afford for you to throw shit at me everytime you're mad, you idiot!"
Anger raced over Stefan's features as he glared down at Brian. "Fuck you, asshole. I wasn't throwing it at you. It glanced off of the door jamb, and a piece hit you. It won't even scar," the Swede finished with the utmost contempt.
Gregori could feel the rage swelling inside Brian. Almost without thought, Gregori placed his hand on Brian's arm and squeezed gently, in warning or restraint, he knew not which.
"Could you get me some water, band-aid, and a tissue? We'll get this matter fixed up soon enough, and then I believe you all have a rave to attend in your honour." It was either Gregori's beguiling voice or Steve's guilt over his part in the incident that got the supplies gathered. It took less than a minute for Gregori to clean the blood off of the superficial wound and bandage it up.
Moving to stand up, he was brought up short by Stefan's large hand on his chest. "Who are you, mate?" The question was innocent enough, but the tone was deadly. And even though Stefan had just ridiculed Brian on his vanity, loyalty and love won out over the disagreement. Quickly Gregori's gaze caught Brian's, asking for help, and Brian got to his feet and placed a hand on Stefan's wrist.
"He's mine, Stefan. Not a thing to fear." Reluctance was visible in Stefan's stance as he ground his teeth together. Something about this stranger nagged at Stefan's psyche.
"You fuck with Brian, you fuck with us all. And I ain't talking about in bed. Get me?" Dropping his eyes to the floor, Gregori nodded meekly. He could hear the shuffling of feet and the rustling of clothes just before he felt hands lifting his chin upward. Brian's eyes smiled down into his.
"Introduce yourself, love."
The Hungarian cleared his throat and managed to say distinctly, "I'm Gregori."

ABRUPT DEPARTURE: The past month for Brian had been the best of his life. The idyllic time wrapped itself around him and imprinted such unforgettable memories that he swore he had not been alive before Gregori. The Hungarian soothed his temper when ruffled, coaxed a smile when depressed, and loved him beyond belief. Never had he felt such an enjoyment from life.

Twisting his wrist lazily, the clear liquid in his glass swished around the sides and trickled over his knuckles. The coolness of it startled Brian from his thoughts, and he jerked back, an oath on his lips. But the oath died into a soft laugh as Gregori took his hand into his own and gently licked off the vodka with the tip of his tongue.
"You always do that to me, do you realize that?" The throaty whisper guaranteed that no one in the crowded club would overhear them.
"Do what, love?"
Brian chuckled to himself. "You always stop me from swearing. I haven't had a good swear in almost a month."
Gregori looked up and grinned wickedly. "I beg to differ. Just last night you cussed up a storm. That wasn't really nice of you, darling. There I was, in the middle of the greatest performance of my life, and you start cussing at me. It wasn't very appreciative of my efforts."
The innocent look on Gregori's face coupled with the remembrance of the previous night caused Brian to groan aloud as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Don't. We are not in the place to continue this conversation."-the arch of Gregori's eyebrow prompted Brian to add further-"And if it weren't you, I would have no qualms about shagging your ass on this table top. Yet, I have respect for your reputation, and I'll not subject you to the gossip of low-intellectual reporters."
The smile on Gregori's lips faded, but desire and admiration mingled, burning brightly in his black eyes. He still held Brian's hand trapped between his own, and realizing that, Gregori began to run his thumb softly over the back of it. Things had been this relaxed and sensual since that long ago night at the Klub Vertigo when two lonesome souls intertwined.
They sat there for several moments, letting the tranquility of their mood lull them into a place out of the throbbing atmosphere. Gregori, lost in the memories of their first encounter, did not notice the reporter who came up to Brian, nor did he notice the way she huffed off, angry and annoyed. Belatedly he snapped back to the present when he felt Brian shuddering.
"What? Brian? What is wrong with you? Brian?" When Brian didn't answer, only kept his head hung with his shoulders jerking, panic started to creep into Gregori. What was wrong with him? Was he choking? Was he crying? Automatically fearing the worst, Gregori dropped to his knees beside Brian's chair and put his slender arms around his waist.
"My love, are you alright? Tell me what's wrong. You can trust me." Slowly Brian raised his eyes to meet Gregori's, and mirth shone from them.
"Bigmouth just struck again, love." Realizing what he meant, that he had stuck his foot in his mouth, embarrassment enflamed Gregori's features, making his complexion ruddy.
"God, I feel like an idiot," he muttered as he hung his head. He could feel Brian's lips moving close to his ear. "Don't, Gregori," came the hushed response. "It just proves how much you care."
Swiftly, Gregori turned to him, his dark face tightened with a look of fierce intensity. "You do know that I love you, Brian. I'd never let you down. I'd never promise you something that I couldn't see to the end. Tell me you know that I love you. Tell me. Please."
The gleam in his eye involuntarily made Brian recoil. He had heard somewhere that actors had to be constantly reassured of their worth, but Gregori was not an actor, and the desperation in his countenance frightened Brian. The emotion brought back painful flashes of memories of his youth: the fanatical glare of his father's eye as he lectured his son on acting more like a son instead of a daughter; the painfully sick way his mother had tried to mold him into something he could never be; the anger he had to endure from his embarrassed brother, Barry; the taunting from immature middle schoolers; the horrified, condenscending looks from complete strangers; all of these memories came spiraling back with a fury, making him nauseous.
"Brian. Please."
Sweat beaded his upper lip and forehead. To say "yes" now would be to ensnare Gregori, which, as of now, was not a bad thing. But what if Gregori turned out to be one of the other junkies that followed him around? What if he was merely a fame-seeker? What if Gregori was using him? What if Gregori, the present object of his emotional freedom, began to smother him, to hamper his creative processes? What if he became repetitive, mundane, restrictive?!
"Brian?" The whispered plea struck the taughtly stretched nerve that Brian had been questioning. Stumbling to his feet, a panicked murmur of denial flowed from his lips as his green eyes searched rapidly for an exit. He didn't feel the frigid hands grasping his arm. No. They weren't hands; they were manacles, and the manacles had to be cut. Nothing could hold him back. He couldn't be held back. He had to be free.

A PROMISE KEPT-conclusion:Gregori stared at the blinking light on his answering machine, knowing instinctively who it was. Dr. Franatovich. And the news wouldn't be good. With a deep sigh, he picked up the receiver and dialed the number he knew now by heart, a feeling of resignation settling over him.
"Hello, Dr. Fanatovich's office." The feminine voice was all business, but a note of wariness was present, the badge of her occupation.
"Vanessa, it's Gregori. I guess my results are in." Unwittingly his hand clutched at the phone, his knuckles bleeding white. At the sigh Vanessa gave, his heart plunged.
"Hiya, Greg. Yeah. The results did come in. And, honey,"-there was a slight pause-"I'm really sorry." A self-indulged whimper slipped past his lips as she informed him that the doctor would be on the phone in a minute. This was it. He was finished. Everything that he had worked forward to was lying in front of him in a heap of rubble, and this time, no Phoenix saviour would rise from the ashes.
"Gregori, as you guessed, your results are in, and I'm afraid the news isn't very good." The man on the other end of the line allowed the sorrow to slide into his voice. It was such a waste, to see a young soul vanish before it had had a true chance at life. But there was nothing anyone could do about it now, Gregori's time had run out, and nothing could reverse the tragic results.
"How much time?"
"Four months at the most, and that's being generous," Dr. Franatovich sighed. "The cancer is just too far gone. Everything else failed, and there's no longer any hope for it to move into remission. I'm sorry, son." Tears rolled silently down Gregori's cheeks as he softly answered.
"Not as sorry as I am."

Two weeks had slowly passed before Gregori found the nerve to dial the number where Brian was staying. Panic edged at his chest as the phone rang. Twice. Thrice. As the fourth ring started, courage fled abruptly, and Gregori moved to hang up.
"I'm here!" Brian's voice moved over the wire, and Gregori paused. They were both on the line. It would be so easy for Gregori to talk to him, to say the words, but he couldn't.
"Brian? It's me," he whispered instead. The weeks of loneliness rushed in and drowned him. The night when Brian had run out of the club came back from the depths of his memory to haunt him anew. What if Brian still felt that way?
"Gregori! Oh, thank God. Where have you been? I couldn't get in touch with you. I've been trying for weeks now. Is everything alright? When are you coming back? I've got somethings to tell you. I think we need to talk." The rapid fire dialogue gladdened Gregori like nothing else would have. And the way his voice had deepened towards the end made Gregori believe that he had been desperately missed by Brian. But how could he go back to Brian when we would just leave him again? Gregori didn't think he could put him through it.
"Brian," he began before he was immediately cut off.
"I've got rehearsal, but be here tonight. At eleven. Cheers, love." And with that, Brian hung up, leaving Gregori with two options: show up at Brian's at 11, or walk away and die with a troubled soul. As he thought on it, he realized he had absolutely no choice at all.

Rehearsal had crashed through, he'd burnt his thumb on his lighter, he'd misplaced his favourite shirt, and he'd almost been hit by a damn car, but Brian vaguely noticed. He was living in anticipation for 11 o'clock to roll around.
Only 3 more hours,Brian thought to himself almost giddily as he stepped into the shower. Only 3 more hours until I hold the man I love in my arms. Only 3 more hours until he knows that I love him.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that at first he didn't hear the sound of the doorbell. Then the pealing jarred his attention. It startled him from his musings so profoundly that he got shampoo in his eyes. Cussing thoroughly, he rinsed out his eyes.
"I'm coming, goddammit!" he roared as the bell continued to chime. With his hair still dripping water, Brian climbed out of the shower and threw a towel around his hips. He stomped to the door and threw it open, only to gasp in shock at the sight in front of him.
"I hope you don't mind me coming early."
Gregori.
Happiness bubbled up inside of Brian so swiftly that he felt light-headed. Grinning like an idiot, he pulled Gregori in and closed the door.
"No, I don't mind." His throat clogged with his joy and speech was impossible. There was only one way Brian could think of to disspell that doubt he saw lingering in the Hungarian's eyes.
Gregori had no idea what Brian was thinking until he found himself gathered in the singer's arms with his lips upon his own. The weeks of despair and his current findings left Gregori helpless in the shadow of Brian's passion. Left him so helpless, in fact, that speech and thought wasn't possible until several hours later.

Brian stared up at the ceiling, but he concentrated on the man curled at his side. There was something wrong. Gregori had always proven to be highly emotional, but never had he cried when they made love. There had to be something wrong.
Running his fingers through his black hair, Brian forced Gregori to look up at him. The pain and grief mingled in his black eyes, but there was acceptance there as well, and Brian quaked inwardly, wondering what the hell would cause the boy so many different and warring emotions.
"I've been thinking about what an ass I was the other night. You know, at the club? I want to-" A sob rose from Gregori, and Brian stopped. Anxiety wormed through his body, making his heart race.
"Gregori, what's wrong?" Instead of answering, Gregori jumped up and scrambled for his clothes, pulling them on haphazardly. "Gregori! What are you doing? Where are you going? STOP!" But Gregori didn't stop, not until he was fully dressed.
For a full minute he stood with his back to Brian, still sitting in the middle of the bed, looking hurt and angry. He had to leave before he hurt him anymore.
"Do you love me?" he asked softly, watching Brian's reflection in the frosted window.
"Yes!" he whispered fiercely, unhesitatingly. Nodding once, Gregori turned to face him.
"Then remember the times we had with love, remember that I would never hurt you, and that is why I'm leaving now. Remember that I promised you that I would rather die than see you hurt. I'm keeping that promise now." Gregori walked to the bed, kissed Brian one last time, and walked out, ignoring Brian's pleas, ignoring the pain he felt, ignoring the sounds of his own heart breaking.

The ringing of the phone jerked Brian from the fitfull sleep he had been taking at his desk, but he didn't reach out to answer it. They'd call back. For a week now, he'd been lost in a tumultuous sea of dejection. It seemed Gregori had vanished off the face of the earth. Brian couldn't sleep without seeing Gregori as he had been during their final conversation: composed, cool, and determined.
"Brian?" Steve stuck his head into the room and inhaled sharply at the way Brian looked. It seemed as if Brian had reached the bottom of whatever hole he had been falling into. The pain and betrayal was eminating from him so thickly that it could have been cut with a knife. Brian raised his vacant eyes to his drummer and managed to raise a questioning eyebrow. That simple action drained him of whatever strength he had left.
"I hate to tell you this, mate, but it seems they've found Gregori. He hung himself." With a startled cry for Stefan, Steve lunged for Brian as the singer's eyes rolled back into his head and he blissfully fainted.

Why the hell had he done this? Why? What was so wrong that he couldn't tell me about? He knew I loved him, he knew he could trust me, so why then God didn't he come to me!? Brian had been torturing himself with these questions over and over again as Stefan drove them to the cemetery where they had buried Gregori. Stefan, bless him, had taken care of all the arrangements, paying for everything, somehow knowing that that was what Brian would have wanted if he hadn't been so steeped in grief.
He didn't remember getting out of the car, he didn't remember being led to the newly dug grave, he didn't remember anything until he was suddenly staring at the stone that now embodied the only thing left of Gregori-his name.
Steve and Stefan looked at each other with fear as they witnessed Brian's depression. He was immune to everything, even immune to the thorns that were carving at his hands from the bouquet that he was holding. He was even immune to the short man who was calling his name.
"Mr. Molko? Please, Mr. Molko, I have to tell you something about Gregori." With a startled exclamation, the man was hauled up by his shirt front as Brian whirled on him.
"What the hell do you want with Gregori!?" Brian whispered in fury. His eyes gleamed with a hysterical rage that frightened both of his friends.
"I want nothing with Gregori, Mr. Molko, it's you I came to talk to."
Giving way to the utter desperation, Brian screamed hoarsely. "Who the fuck are you?!" When the words "Gregori's doctor" pierced through his grief, Brian jerked sharply, his face melting into blankness.
"His doctor? Was he sick?" Brian's vision blacked around the edges, and he was vaguely aware of Steve and Stefan coming to stand on either side of him.
The short man nodded. "Yes. Gregori was seriously ill. Just before he...um...died, he asked if I would see you got this." Brian's hand trembled as it reached out of its own accord to accept the envelope Dr. Franatovich held out to him. He didn't want to read it, he didn't want to know what it said, but somehow he managed to open the envelope and read the words on the page within.

"Brian, I know you won't understand, but it had to end this way. I couldn't offer you anymore, and if I had, I would have been lying. I've been living on borrowed time for years now, but I lived in Heaven for the last few months. Remember me as I was, for if you think of how I might have been, you'll be hurt, and I wouldn't want that for anything in this world. I did this to spare you, and I hope that you'll come to accept my decision as the right one. With all my love to you, forever."