Disclaimer: All characters, settings etc. belong to Showtime.

So, Queer as Folk is a recent discovery but I managed to watch all five seasons within three weeks. This is as well as going to school, doing homework and counting the fact that I watched it on Megavideo and they have their stupid 'you have watched 72 (sometimes just 54!) minutes of video today, please wait 54 minutes before you can watch again.' That was frustrating. But later I found a YouTube channel that has all the Britin moments from every episode. Just type 'Britin TV' into the search and it should come up.

Anyway, like a lot of other people, I fell in love with Britin...and Debbie (amazing! Enough said). So, naturally, I spent the last twenty minutes or so of 513 crying and shouting 'what the FUCK!' at the laptop. I didn't want to believe that was the end of them. And then they didn't even have Justin at Babylon? I like to think he was just busy or running late, but that's no excuse.

So I felt they needed a reunion. Now, let us all imagine that it didn't all end with 513. Let us all pretend that when Brian and Justin shared their goodbye it wouldn't be the last time they saw each other. Let us pretend that there's a series six of Queer as Folk. I can just picture the credits...lots of Brian and Justin, dancing, kissing, just stood with their arms around each other...

I can't wait. I hope you enjoy.

Brian's POV

I was stood, leant against the bar in my homeland – or should that be homoland...anyway, everyone else just calls it Babylon. The drink in my hand felt heavy; I'd given up keeping track of how many I'd had already – and Michael thought I drank a lot when Justin got bashed! If I drank enough, occasionally, I forgot that the night didn't feel like it used to; before he left. The 'thump-a thump-a' of the music, the dancing boys, the glitter falling from on high, reflecting the bright lights below... None of it felt the same anymore. None of it held the attraction it used to. I'd been fooling myself ever since Michael convinced me to re-open it.

"Wanna fuck?"

A shiver went up my spine at those words. It had been years since I'd heard them from this particular person. I couldn't really be hearing them though; that particular person was in New York, never to return. I put my breakdown in hearing down to an overactive imagination and far too much to drink...and the fact that I missed him, and I so longed to do what my imaginary Sunshine was asking me to. Only with him though. The most I accepted these days was a blow job, and even they didn't feel as good as they once did.

I tried to ignore my imagination when it started saying my name over and over again trying to get my attention. When I felt his hand on my shoulder, attempting to turn me around, I knew I was getting out of control. I reached behind me with my left arm and grabbed the top of his. Turning, I slammed him into the bar to the right of where I'd been stood, my forearm held across his chest.

"Fuck off!" I yelled. "And leave me the hell-" Shit. I registered the subtle differences in the person in front of me. "Justin..?"

"Hi, Brian."

After standing and gaping for a minute, I somehow managed to ask him if he wanted to get out of there. No doubt a serious conversation was on the way and Babylon wasn't the most ideal venue.

My car was parked in the alley, and I headed towards the driver's side. Justin came and took the keys off me when I couldn't even unlock it. As he pulled out I couldn't help thinking that it was like the good old days – except then it was Michael who had had to drive me home.

"Are you living at the loft?" He asked me.

"Yeah," I replied. I couldn't tell what he made of that news; he just nodded to acknowledge the fact that he'd heard and turned his attention back to the road.

The rest of the drive was a quiet one; a cliché of awkward silence and stolen glances when we both thought the other wasn't looking. Except I was always looking...if only to assure myself he wasn't a drug induced hallucination. I couldn't get it into my head that he was here. I thought I'd never see him again; though that's as much my fault as it is his.

"I missed this place," Justin said, after I managed to unlock and open the door. We stepped inside, taking off jackets though we both kept a small distance between us.

"It missed you too," I sighed whilst going to the fridge and getting a beer. I silently offered him one, he declined. I took a swig as I walked round the side of the counter, setting it on the bench. I couldn't help thinking about the similarities between my path now and the first night he set foot here. I pushed the memories out of my mind and returned to the present.

"Why didn't 'it' come see me?" He asked; we weren't talking about the loft anymore. "I mean for more than a weekend of fucking for the first few months. When I came for at least a week; kept coming."

"Until we both got too busy to honestly try anymore," I muttered. Whether it was loud enough for him to hear clearly, I wasn't sure. I sighed. "I didn't think I'd have to come see you," I admitted, my voice raised slightly in defence; "you always came back to me," I told him, wishing that it had been true this time like it always had before that. "Even when I screamed I didn't love to and told you to 'fuck off' and 'get out,' I'd come back and you were always here." He still was here. Everywhere I looked.

"It's been three years since I left, Brian."

"I gave up any hope any hope I might have had of you returning after one. I knew you weren't coming back then."

"I'm here now," he reminded me.

"For how long?" I shot back. I saw that it hurt him; he could hide his expression, but not his eyes. I had to do it though. I couldn't let this boy break me again.

"That depends," he said, trying to remain composed.

"On..?"

"If the offer still stands," he said simply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips though he was trying to fight it.

I almost smiled myself. I covered by asking; "which offer?"

"The one where you asked me to marry you."