A/N: Okay, now, thanks to jen's review asking for "Reasons Brian Kinney is an Asshole," I decided to write one more chapter for this thing, haha. I'm pretty sure this is going to be the last one, especially considering this was actually supposed to be a one shot, lol. And there are probably a lot more reasons why Brian is such an asshole, but as I'm only human, I most likely couldn't live long enough to type out all of them. ;)

Disclaimer: Still don't own Queer as Folk. It belongs to Showtime and Cowlip.

I was sitting on the couch, innocently minding my own business and flipping through the paper. Relaxing, doing absolutely nothing wrong and nothing to suggest that what I wanted then was for Justin Taylor, the bane of my existence, to wander in from the bedroom, clutching something in his hand and looking particularly smug about something.

The little voice of reason in my head that always spoke in Lindsay's voice warned me that this couldn't be good. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he strode haughtily across the room and plopped down heavily on the couch beside me. I kept my gaze firmly fixed on a point in my paper, hoping he wouldn't notice that my eyes were no longer moving to scan the page. I was now rather preoccupied with watching him without making it obvious. He had me curious against my will.

Justin cleared his throat to announce his presence and get my attention. Like I didn't already fucking know he was there. I decided that the best course of action would be to simply ignore him. I nonchalantly flipped a page of my newspaper, still not actually reading a word of it, and settled into the couch cushions.

I felt said cushions move under me as he crawled closer. I half expected him to do something incredibly annoying and lesbionic and, well, Justin—like curl up on my lap and bury his face in my chest so that I couldn't see my paper over him, but instead he just poked me in the shoulder.

"What?" I drawled, trying to appear bored.

"I have something I want to read to you," he said matter-of-factly.

"Great. Do I have to listen?"

"Yes."

I sighed wearily, now going for a long-suffering sort of expression. "Fine. Go ahead."

He smiled and straightened up. "Well, first I'd just like to say that, despite everything I'm about to say, I love you more than anything."

I snorted.

"Also, you started this whole thing, so really I'm just returning the favor."

"Are you going to read whatever the fuck it is you want to read to me or not?"

He shot me a warning glare before letting his innocent Sunshine smile settle into to place as he began to read from the paper he held tightly in his hand.

"Reasons why Brian Kinney is an Asshole..."

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. Little fucker..."Youdid not actually write that fucking list, did you?"

"Are you going to be quiet so I can read?" he scowled at me. I fell silent, rolling my eyes toward the heavens as he continued. Why the hell he thought I would want to listen to him read a list of things about me that annoyed him was beyond me. But, considering he had found mine concerning him, I figured it was only fair that I sit through it. It might be interesting, anyway.

"Number one... He has little regard for other peoples' feelings."

I gave a dry chuckle. "Now that's where you're wrong, Sunshine, I have no regard for other peoples' feelings."

"Yeah, I've noticed that. But I thought I'd give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that there might be a heart down there somewhere under all the ice... and rock hard muscles," he said, eyes darting down to the bare skin peeking out the top of my shirt.

"Never assume anything," I smirked, my tongue finding its way into my cheek.

"Number two... he gives everyone shit about accepting help when it's needed, then refuses to accept it when it is offered to him."

"I don't need any help," I said stubbornly.

"See? That's exactly the sort of attitude I'm talking about. You need to learn when to let go of your pride and accept that everyone needs somebody sometimes," he said accusingly.

"Yeah. Everybody except me," I replied coolly. When had I ever given the impression that I was incapable of doing something because of the lack of another person lending their assistance?

Justin rolled his eyes. "Yeah right. I've saved your ass a fair few times."

I almost laughed. "When was this, and where the fuck was I? Obviously, I wasn't anywhere near reality when it happened..."

He glared at me. "I've helped you."

"Care to tell me when?"

"Not really."

I surveyed him carefully. He was biting his lower lip, avoiding my eyes, and looking generally guilty. What wasn't he telling me?

"Come on, now's your chance," I prompted. "When have I ever called on you to save my ass?"

"Never," he admitted. "Doesn't mean you didn't need me to. And it doesn't mean I didn't."

I was beginning to get exasperated. He knew I hated playing games. "What the fuck are you talking about, Justin?"

He sighed. "Nothing. There was just a little incident, about a year ago... you probably don't even remember it. Some guy was on your ass because you didn't promote him or something, and I got him to lay off. That's all, okay?"

I narrowed my eyes, certain beyond doubt that that was not all there was to it, but I left it alone and let Justin continue with his list.

"Number three...he doesn't give a shit how bad he scares people."

All right, the last two I could understand... somewhat... but now I was a little confused. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked again, wrinkling my forehead in puzzlement.

He frowned. "I'm talking about the way you are sometimes. Your famous Kinney self-destruct modes you go into."

"I don't fucking go into any—" I began.

"You do," he cut me off. "When something happens and you don't or can't deal with it like a normal human being, you fall right into your own self-inflicted trap of destruction. One of these days, no one's going to be able to save you. You're eventually going to have to start rescuing yourself from yourself," he said solemnly.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you finished?"

He considered. "Yes."

"Good. You really need to stop hanging out with Ben. He's already filled Michael's head with crap... yesterday he was actually going on about the 'self-imposed seclusion of the character of Captain Astro, and the resultant ramifications on his life.' The last thing I need is for him to get to you, too," I said gruffly.

Damn Zen Ben and his analytical mind-warping powers. It made for fucking boring conversation, which was all I'd been able to get out of my best friend since he'd started dating the freakishly balanced professor. Well, I was not letting him get to Justin. Next thing I knew, he'd be spouting gibberish about symbolism instead of blowing me or wanting to chat about ancient civilizations of dead people in favor of fucking.

No, I was certainly not letting that happen. I think I'd have to kill myself.

An image of a snow-white scarf flashed through my mind at the thought. Hmm... maybe there was something to that theory of Kinney self-destruct mode.

Anyway...

"Number four...he is simultaneously the most and least mature person I know," Justin continued.

I chewed on this for a moment. "And how's that, exactly?"

Justin shrugged. "You...you're like...wise beyond, well, the years of anyone I've ever met. You understand more than most people do, you don't get caught up in all the bullshit. You see things as they are, you know the way things work, and you're brave enough to be who you are. No matter what. And in those ways, you're like, a total Yoda or something," he explained.

This time I actually did laugh. "Short, green, and irritating I am not."

Justin grinned. "No, I definitely prefer your embodiment of Yoda. You are beginning to give him a run for his money, as far as age is concerned, though."

I made a face at him. "Asshole."

He rolled his eyes, still smiling. "Which brings me to my second point. You also have a way of being the most immature person on the planet."

"I resent that," I said, pointing a finger at him sternly.

"Resent it all you want," said Justin, shrugging again. "You throw inexplainable temper tantrums over the stupidest stuff, whine and refuse when you have to do something you don't want to do...plus you act like a horny seventeen year old ninety-five percent of your waking moments."

Okay. So that stung a little. "Well, you should know all about how horny seventeen year olds act, considering you were one just last year."

"And yet you act like one more often than I ever did."

I didn't bother to reply. It was like arguing with my fucking mother, well, arguing with Debbie... as she lectured me on my behavior. I swore to myself I would never live with a parental unit again after I moved out of my childhood house. What the hell had ever happened to that? That wasn't to mention the fact that Justin was twelve fucking years my junior, and yet he was, most of the time anyway, the "mature" one in our rela...arrangement, something even Lindsay had pointed out to me once.

"What's number five?" I asked, feigning boredom again as I successfully attempted to divert his attention.

It worked like a charm. He looked down at his paper again, and I watched as his cheeks turn distinctly pink. "Number five..." he said quietly but determinedly, not looking up from the paper. "He won't admit he loves me, even though it's obvious."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Then opened it back up, where it remained half-open for at least ten more seconds. I closed my eyes. We weren't about to have this conversation again, were we?

"Justin..."

"That's all there is," he said, his voice still so soft I barely heard him. He got up from the couch, taking his list with him.

I sighed as he hurried back to the bedroom, returning my attention to my newspaper, though any hope of actually reading it now was hopelessly lost. I dropped my head into my hand, rubbing my eyes wearily. I realized that I was a little unnerved by all he'd said. I knew that even Justin, who had practically worshiped me, adored me, had to at least have a few complaints about me. What he'd said had surprised me though. Each of the five things he'd mentioned.

You know the really scary part, though? The part that was causing my senses to prickle in awareness as I tried to ignore the fact that my stomach was turning uncomfortably?

The little fucker was right.

I am in such deep shit.