"My father was an abusive drunk, my mother was a frigid bitch: The age-old lament of modern, queer youth," Brian said dismissively, a faint hint of a laugh bubbling up from his chest.

"The last time I saw my mother was at my father's wake. We weren't exactly the Cleavers."

A pop culture reference Max would actually pick up on! Brian's lips twitched with amusement.

In his arms, Gus squirmed, the bottle nipple falling from his slack lips. Brian put it aside, shifting the kid up onto his shoulder and pushing to his feet. Warm and sleepy, Gus went down easily, Brian's fingers slipping through the dusting of dark hair on his head, brushing over one soft cheek before he pulled away.