Bye Bye Bye
by Liz

~..~

You've lost count of how many times you've sung this song -- thousands by now, probably. The words and melody and dance moves are so ingrained into you all that you could probably do the old choreography in your sleep, and at times you suspect you probably have. You're worried sometimes that you'll zone out and forget to do the reworked steps, but at least the sound never changes. Or it hasn't until tonight, and that's why it's such a surprise to have something so completely familiar suddenly be so strange.

Only training keeps you from whipping your head around to stare at him, as he spits the words out like weapons. Sharp, angry, and bitter. You've all joked about how the fans seemed to like this whole bitter 'sync thing, but you don't think anyone ever expected the seething undertone of fury you're hearing now.

You can see your own thoughts reflected in the others' eyes when the choreography moves you around so you can see each other, but you're in the middle of a concert, and there's not a damn thing any of you can do. Not a damn thing except sing, and dance, and wait until you can get away from 40,000 prying eyes to try and put the pieces back together.

~..~

The phone call had come just before you were supposed to go onstage, and normally none of you would have even taken a call then. No cell phones were allowed in the quiet room, ever, but his had rung while you were all out in the toy room getting rigged up with your microphones. With a quick glance at the display he'd flipped it open saying, "Hey, baby."

It was an old ritual between them, a last call before stepping on stage, whispered declarations of love and care and good luck. As you stood there with your arms up while the wires were run you had realized that you couldn't remember the last time they had done it. It had seemed sweet to you, reaffirming the old tradition, and it had made you smile, because you were just that much of a romantic sap sometimes.

And then his expression had changed from an easy, careless, grin to something much sharper. You read the dismay in his eyes before you heard him gasp, "What? Who?" And then his face closed over, became unreadable. Fourteen-year-old Justin you could read like a book, and eighteen-year-old Justin had never been able to keep his secrets from showing in his eyes. Twenty-one-year-old Justin, however, had learned how to put all of himself behind the brittle shell he showed to the world, even to those closest to him. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you doubted it could be good.

"All right, then," he said in a cold, impersonal voice, and closed the phone with a snap. He tossed it behind him without looking, and one of the perpetual crowd of people backstage scurried to retrieve it. He smiled at you then, a scary smile that didn't reach his eyes at all. "C'mon. We've got a show to do."

And you did have a show to do, so you tamped down on your dismay until you could take it out and deal with it properly. You all did a hackey, and hugged, just like always. He had felt stiff and unyielding in your arms, and you held on an extra second, before he jerked away.

~..~

There's never time during the show to do anything more except frantically change clothes while you're back stage, and Justin studiously avoids your curious eyes whenever you're away from the audience. You have an endless stream of banter going on stage, but even if it isn't scripted, it is carefully constructed for public view. The five of you never expose anything unless you want it to be seen, or at least you try not to. After all this time it's become a flawless façade -- most of the time.

You watch him anxiously during Gone, the song he'd written for her. Surely, if what has happened is what you suspect, it's here that it will show through. But he croons and preens and postures without missing a beat, and you don't sense any of that sharp, hard emotion that had come through earlier.

Under the stage while he's still up there being adored, when you're finally getting a minute of breathing space, you all whisper to each other anxiously. Joey, Chris, and Lance all echo your own thoughts, your hypothesis. It's been coming for a long time. You've all seen the way they seemed to stop connecting, the way the distance has grown between them. But you've all hoped that it would be a painless end, that they will manage to salvage their friendship in the end. You're thinking maybe that isn't going to happen.

When the show is over, you all rush out of the arena and pile onto one bus for the ride back to the hotel. Justin disappears into the bathroom immediately, and the rest of you just wait. He'll have to come out sometime.

When he does, his eyes are dry, not even a little red. He looks completely composed, and his voice is calm and steady. "It's over, okay? Brit broke it off. She... there's someone else. Okay?" The edge he puts on the last word tells you all that he's done discussing this subject.

Your first thought is to wonder why she had to tell him just before a concert instead of waiting until a better time, and then you hate yourself for it. It's part of you, being a member of *NSYNC is imprinted in your skin and bones, but sometimes you think you've all become bandmates first, and best friends second.

~..~

They were never supposed to fall in love. Their "relationship" had originally been plotted and planned like the merger of two corporate conglomerates, or the royal marriage of two adjoining principalities. They were the golden children of the pop world, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that together they'd be even more appealing than they were apart.

Falling in love wasn't part of the plan, but it happened. They were nice kids, and they genuinely liked each other, and they were being thrown together constantly with someone who might actually understand the kinds of lives they led. Just because it came easy didn't mean it hadn't been real.

What they had discovered was that while falling in love had been easy, staying in love would be hard.

~..~

You wait, because there's nothing else you can do. When he was a child, Justin used to crawl into your lap to be comforted when things in his life went wrong. You miss that kid sometimes, because he was able to admit that he needed you. Now that he's an adult he tries too hard not to need anyone.

You wait, and every night you cringe, because the second song in the set has become like an open wound, festering and angry. It's the only time he lets it show, the only time that what's killing him inside is taken out for the world to see. The rest of the time he's the smiling shining pop star that the public demands, at least when there's anyone around to see. When it's just the five of you he becomes emotionless, expressionless, just going through the motions.

The story breaks, because the story always breaks. Unsurprisingly, it comes out in the British gossip rags, which always have the story first, even if the story is usually wrong. This time it's right, and the first indication of that is the deadly silence. Normally, the articles proclaiming engagement, or secret marriage, are met with a loud and vocal show of opposition, denials coming from his camp and her camp and sometimes even their mothers. When the break-up news hits this time, no one says a word.

Then, suddenly, there's a rush of noise from her people. Denials. Announcements that say Justin will be issuing his own denial shortly. Justin's phone rings constantly, but he rarely answers it. He refuses to address the subject in public, and he never issues a rebuttal. And then his phone stops ringing, and she starts saying coy things that hint around the break-up in interviews, and that's it. It's official, and it's public, and it's over.

You still don't know why. He doesn't talk about it, not to you, not to anyone. And every night he goes out on stage and sings that song as if he's sending her a personal message.

~..~

They had complained all the time about not being able to spend enough time together, and yet it was when they were able to have long stretches of togetherness that they seemed to run into the most problems. They were each so accustomed to living their own lives that fitting another person into the pattern wasn't quite as seamless as they would have wished. And of course, when Britney was visiting Justin, it wasn't just fitting in one other person, it was five.

Sometimes it seemed that she envied him, having people to share everything with. She had her family and her dancers and Fe, but mostly it was just her, out there against the world. None of you had ever had to do that alone, not really, and at times it was if she resented that. Resented all of you, and your place in Justin's life.

Because it was a huge place, and he made no secret of that fact. Whenever Brit came to visit, there would always be a brief time when no one saw Justin at all, and then everything would be business as usual. He'd play video games with Chris for hours on end, or chase Joey around the venue on a scooter, or curl up next to you on the couch while you took a nap. Just the same as always, except that Britney would be hovering a few feet away, a smile plastered on her face. The longer her visit lasted, the more forced that smile became.

You didn't doubt that she genuinely liked you, liked all of you. She just didn't much like the fact that it was pretty clear that you all knew her boyfriend a lot better than she did.

Once in a while you'd see her watching him with a speculative look on her face, as if she wondered who he'd choose if he was given an ultimatum. She never forced him to make that choice. You figured she was afraid she wouldn't much like the answer.

~..~

You find out because of a magazine, as if your lives weren't already photographed and packaged from every angle already. Except this isn't an article in a magazine, it's just a picture. And the picture doesn't tell you nearly as much as Justin's reaction to it.

A pile of magazines gets delivered every week, ostensibly for Lance, but you all tend to look through them. So it's not unusual for you to be sitting on the couch flipping through the glossy pages of US Weekly, and it's not unusual for you to see your own face staring out, or the faces of people you know. You live that kind of life.

Justin's sitting next to youz, casually glancing over as you read, when you turn a page and there is Britney, promoting her movie over in France. Newly single but not alone, because the picture is of her and Wade on the red carpet. You think that's a little odd, but don't intend on addressing a sore subject with Justin. Not until you look over at him and see the expression on his face. And maybe he hasn't learned how to hide himself as well as you thought, because all it takes is one look at him, and you know. You know why.

You haven't asked. You haven't asked because it's his business, his life, and if he wanted you to know, he'd tell you. You haven't asked because you know it's killing him, and because you know that the way he's dealing with it is by locking it down deep inside and not dealing with it. But this... this is huge. Too huge for you not to ask.

"She... and...? You've got to be fucking kidding me. She wouldn't."

You think maybe you should have kept your mouth shut when you see him start to crumble before your very eyes. It starts with his mouth, his lower lip trembling, and you can almost see it spread, from the look in his eyes to the clenched fists to the full-body shudder that overtakes him as you pull him close and hold on tight.

"She would," he chokes out. "She did. He... he did." He pauses, and you pat his back in what you hope is a soothing gesture. "He was my friend," he almost wails, and your heart breaks afresh.

Because it's so hard, for all of you, to let people in now. You've become too big, too famous, and it sucks to have to be suspicious about everyone you meet, but after getting burned a time or twelve, how can you help it? People gravitate toward you because of your fame or your fortune or your connections, and after a while it's just easier to restrict your circle to the people you love and the people you've known long enough to trust.

Wade and Justin had clicked from the first, and you remember that you were happy that Justin had someone closer to his own age, someone who loved music and dancing, someone who had grown up in showbiz. They were so much alike, Justin had told you happily, and even as you watched yourself get supplanted as the person Justin made music with, you were glad that he had found such a great friend.

You had trusted him, but worse, Justin had trusted him. And now Justin finds himself betrayed not just by the woman he loved, but by one of his closest friends. You know Justin, and you know that the second is probably harder for him to take than the first.

"You're better off without him. Her. Without both of them," you tell him, and that's pretty much the most useless thing to tell someone after a break-up, but he nods into your shoulder. "I'm sorry, J. So sorry."

He doesn't cry. You can't remember the last time Justin cried. But he holds on to you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.

You're not going anywhere.

~..~

You had known that Justin had something to tell you the minute he got on the bus, just from the way he kept bouncing around and throwing glances your way. He kept opening his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then he'd make some inane comment about the weather or the traffic. Britney had been in to visit, and he had said goodbye to her before you all went your separate ways -- she to the airport, the rest of you to the next tour stop.

You had known that he had something to tell you, but you also knew that he wouldn't blurt it out until he was ready. So you waited. You were good at waiting.

Finally he sat down next to you and leaned against your shoulder. You didn't say anything, just patted his head lightly. And then he had blurted out, "We did it."

It took a second for the comprehension to hit, to realize that the world's most prominent virgins were no longer.... well, the world's most prominent virgins.

Contrary to popular belief, they really had been waiting. Which didn't mean that they weren't doing... other things. But they had decided to wait to take that final step, Justin had told you seriously. Not necessarily waiting for marriage, but waiting until they were adult enough to handle it, waiting until they knew that it was the perfect time for them. You had nodded gravely, touched and amused by how earnestly he had considered this. And now it looked like the waiting was over.

Which didn't really explain Justin's attitude that morning. You would have expected him to be full to the brim with testosterone, swaggering around like he'd conquered the world. Where no man had gone before, and all that. Or at least walking around in a daze of love, overwhelmed with the fulfillment of his romantic destiny, or whatever the heck people who waited to have sex told themselves it was going to be. Instead he had seemed subdued, almost downcast.

"Is everything okay?"

He kept his head buried against your shoulder so he didn't have to look at you. "I don't think she liked it," he blurted out.

Oh. Oh! You had fervently wished he had been having this conversation with Chris, because you really had no idea what to say. "Um. Well. It's hard for girls. Their first time. I mean, it's supposed to be. Right?" You had slept with a few girls, but you'd never been anyone's first, at least not as far as you knew. And in recent years you'd slept with a heck of a lot more boys, and while that had its own set of logistical problems to deal with, they were completely different ones.

"Well. I mean. She's. You know. A dancer. So it... um... wasn't hard to. You know." You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, either, but you could feel the heat from his face practically burning through your T-shirt. You figured his face was probably as bright red as your own. "But. I don't think. I don't think I was very good at it."

You had tried not to laugh. Really, you had. But the thought of Justin Timberlake -- Justin Timberlake of the bee-stung lips and clever hands and fresh-poppin' dance moves and lethal hips -- being bad in bed was a little too hard to comprehend. You managed to keep it to a chuckle, though, as you said, "Don't worry, Jup. It's always a little bit weird at first, with someone new. You guys'll get better at it with practice. Just you wait and see." And then you hadn't been able to resist teasing him a little. "Just think of it as learning new choreography. Lying down."

He snorted, and you laughed, and then you were giggling together on the couch until you couldn't breathe. And you had known that it would all be okay.

~..~

So now you know, and as it turns out, you're a little pissed off. In fact, you're lethally, furiously angry.

Somehow you've gotten a reputation as a charming ditz, a sweet kitten who rambles on aimlessly. What people seem to forget is that kittens have claws, and you know how to use yours. Justin belongs to you -- you all belong to each other -- and no one fucks with what's yours.

It takes three phone calls, and when you're done, you can guarantee that Wade's not going to have much work coming his way. In fact, he'll be lucky to land a gig with O Town. Just because fame, fortune and connections were sometimes a hindrance didn't mean that they didn't come in handy. Lance will be proud of you.

You can tell it's a relief for him that someone knows, that it's not his secret alone anymore. You're not quite sure why he doesn't want the other guys to know, but you respect his wishes. He's embarrassed, he tells you. Embarrassed because people he trusted betrayed him? Embarrassed because he trusted the wrong people? You don't quite get it, but you do as he asks.

He starts coming by your room late, just to talk, he says. Usually he talks about nothing in particular, about some basketball game he watched with Chris, or something funny that happened during the show. You try to pay attention, really you do, but most of the time you end up nodding off mid-sentence, waking up hours later to find the room dark, and Justin curled up against your back.

You can be pretty dense, but you finally figure it out. In the middle of a long explanation of why zone defense probably won't work against the Lakers, you cut him off and say, "You know, if you don't want to be alone, you can just say that. You know I'll let you stay."

He flushes a little. "I'm not a little kid," he insists. Maybe it's just the way you think, but the non-sequiteur makes sense.

"No, you're not. You're... you're an adult. A man." And he is, he has become one, right in front of your very eyes. "And sometimes, adults, they need other people, too."

He meets your eyes, and then nods. He gets it.

It is a good conversation to have had, because it means you get to sleep a lot earlier. You don't have to pretend to be interested in basketball anymore. And you get to fall asleep wrapped in warmth and friendship.

Chris notices. It's kind of hard for him not to notice, sharing a bus with the two of you. He bites his tongue, though, and doesn't say anything about it to Justin, at least not in your hearing. Probably because he's been as worried about the cold, closed-off Justin as you were.

He's getting better now. He smiles more, and sometimes it even reaches his eyes.

But he still sings the song every night with cold, furious conviction.

~..~

You had known you were gay for pretty much as long as you could remember, but knowing it and accepting it were two different things. And even once you had accepted it, telling other people was an even bigger step to take.

Justin was the first one you had told, when you had figured out that you could keep pretending to like girls, but that it wasn't going to make you like boys any less. Of all the reactions, his was the one you had been most worried about. He was young, and straight, and Christian, and you had been afraid this was going to make him look at you differently.

He hadn't said much at first, just sat on the edge of the bed, nodding thoughtfully. Then he asked, "Is this supposed to change things? With us, I mean?"

"I hope not. I mean. I'm still the same person I've always been. Right? And I don't want you to feel... uncomfortable around me. I mean, you're like a brother to me, J. I've known you since you were twelve!"

Something flashed across his face and was gone, and then he smiled at you. "You had the hots for Tony, didn't you? I could tell."

You laughed, and ruffled his curls. "Hate to break it to you kid, but Tony's completely straight." You couldn't believe it had been this easy, but it looked like it was. You had been worried what Justin's reaction might be, and here you were, talking about guys the way you used to talk to him about girls. You underestimated him, sometimes.

You hugged him, and he hugged you back without hesitation. "If you want me to be there when you tell the other guys, let me know. I got your back, yo." You nodded and thanked him, knowing that he'd always have your back. You couldn't imagine Justin ever letting you down when you needed him.

At the door, you turned and smiled back at him. "So, yeah, Tony. Totally straight. Dale, on the other hand...." He let out a whoop and chased you down the hallway, threatening to tickle you until you gave him all the gory details.

~..~

All things considered, you think Justin is handling the break-up pretty well. The press has been relentless, but Justin just smiles and says that Britney is a special girl and he'll always love her. You resist the impulse to point out that all they have to do is listen to a certain song to figure out exactly how he feels.

He's going out a lot. A lot. Mostly with Lance, though sometimes with a larger group. They do typical crazy young guy things -- gambling and drinking and strip clubs. Justin tells you about it when he gets back, chattering about licking whipped cream off women's breasts as he pulls off clothes that reek of smoke and climbs in next to you. You don't pay too much attention because all the stories run together after a while, and you can probably just read about it in the gossip columns the next day anyway.

In fact, everything's pretty much settled down to almost normal, when in the middle of a story about Lance getting up and dancing on a table, he leans over and kisses you.

Really kisses you. Tongue and hands and body and... yeah. Really kissing. And it's good. Really good. Better than you've imagined, when you've let yourself imagine.

But you don't let yourself imagine very often, because Justin is like a brother to you, and he's straight, and you've known him since he was twelve. And now he's had his heart broken, and is rebounding with a vengeance, so no matter how good this feels, there's no part of this that can be a good idea.

You pull back, and stare at him. Your brain functions have pretty much ceased. "Huh?"

He smiles at you, and leans forward to kiss you again.

You put a hand on his chest, which is solid and firm under your touch. You can feel his heart racing. "Hold up, J. What's going on?"

The expression on his face tells you that it's a stupid question. "Want you," he whispers, nuzzling at your lips trying to capture them again. "Please?"

You can feel that he definitely does want you, because that's how closely you're pressed together. And he can feel just how much you want him back. But no. No. You can't do this. He's lonely and hurt and probably horny, and you can't take advantage of that.

Your smile is gentle as you turn the embrace into a simple hug. "This isn't a good idea. C'mon, you know that." After a minute you feel him nod against your shoulder.

"She... she said. She said I wasn't. That I didn't..." He takes a deep breath and buries his face against you as he blurts out, "She said she left me for Wade because she finally found someone who could satisfy her."

You've heard the expression "seeing red" before, you but you never knew what it meant until now. Because you're so angry that everything seems literally tinged with a flame red hue, and if Justin's ex-girlfriend were in front of you right now, you'd gladly claw her eyes out. Or at least rip out those stupid extensions.

It takes a lot of effort to keep your voice calm because you're so mad. "Oh, J, no. She was just saying that to hurt you. Whatever someone says in the heat of a break-up should never be taken seriously."

He pulls back enough to look at you, and there's desperation in his eyes. "But... how do I know that? What if it was true? I mean, I loved Brit, but somehow, there always seemed to be something missing. She always said...."

For some reason you think he looks more scared than hurt. "What? She said what?"

"Never mind." He shakes his head as if to dislodge the thought. "You're right. She probably just wanted to hurt me. Forget it, C." He manages a small laugh. "You don't have to sleep with me to prove my sexual prowess."

You're a little shocked to feel something that strongly resembles disappointment, and you push it away firmly. Like a brother. Straight. Rebounding.

He looks so sad, though. You kiss him on the cheek. "Well, if that kiss was any indication, I don't really think you have anything to worry about. Now, c'mon, let's get some sleep."

And he finally smiles at you, though there's something in his eyes you can't quite read.

~..~

You had been rehearsing for the No Strings Attached tour, with MTV cameras following you everywhere. You had come down a hallway and seen Justin sitting there staring at the camera, explaining that there wasn't a whole lot of time left to pull everything together, that there was so much more left to do. "And that's all I have to say about that," he finished with a show of bravado, but you could hear the quaver in his voice.

You looked at him and thought, God, he's beautiful

It wasn't much of a revelation, as epiphanies went. Thousands of screaming teenage girls would have been happy to tell you just how beautiful Justin was. But you'd known him so long, had seen him in front of you forever, it seemed, so that you never really stood back to take notice as he changed from the kid with the mop of curly hair who you knew on MMC.

He was still barely more than a kid, really. But he was beautiful.

And you knew that whatever other ideas you might have along that same line of thinking would be incredibly unwise. For both of you.

So you pushed them away, the thoughts new and still barely half-formed. You pushed even the possibility of it away and made yourself forget, made yourself ignore it as he stopped being a kid, but only grew more beautiful.

If you sometimes still had flashes of memory, moments of longing, random instants when you'd see him glowing and shining like the star he was and think What if?, well, who could really blame you?

Your thoughts belonged to you, and no one could fault you for them. It was what you did about them that was important, and you were careful never to do anything around Justin to indicate that you had ever seen him as anything more than a friend.

~..~

Your world is too small for it not to happen, though you expected it to be somewhere more public. An awards show, or a movie premiere or a charity event. Not in Starbucks at 8 o'clock on a Tuesday morning.

But you turn around with your cup of tea, and there she is. Pop Sensation Britney Spears, in the flesh. In a lot of flesh, per usual, wearing tiny low-slung shorts and a tinier handkerchief of a top. She orders some coffee concoction loaded with milk and sugar, and you resist the impulse to tell her that's not going to do her voice any good, and she can use all the help she can get.

You're pretty sure the two of you have an audience, since you always have an audience when you're in public, so you just smile sweetly and say, "Hey, Brit." Her smile back is just as sweet, and just as fake.

You follow her out to her car, and she's still smiling when she asks, "So, how's Justin?" Just the question is enough to make your blood boil.

There's no one close enough to hear you now, and you hiss at her, "The fuck do you care?"

She actually has the gall to look hurt. "Of course I care, JC. Justin is my friend."

"Friend? Friend???" You'd be shouting the words if you didn't think it would attract attention. "You've got a weird definition of friend. Speaking of which... how's Wade?"

The question doesn't faze her in the least. "Please," she says, flipping her hair back airily. "Like that was gonna last. He's a choreographer, JC." She says the word as if it's one step up from a scullery maid.

"Then why? Why hurt Justin like that? God, why tell him that Wade's better in bed? It wasn't enough to break-up with him, you had to destroy him, too?" She's standing there staring at you as if she hasn't done anything wrong, and it's infuriating you.

And she's staring at you with a look in her eyes that's quite nearly pity, and you don't get that at all. "Justin and I didn't belong together. And Justin was never, ever going to admit that. Not while we were together."

You know you're supposed to be dense, but really, you don't get this at all. "So then break-up with him, if you had to. But you didn't have to shred the guy's heart like that. You didn't have to betray him with one of his best friends."

"If Wade was willing to do that, did he deserve to be one of Justin's best friends?" she asks pointedly. Okay, she's got you there. "And you know Justin, he never would have taken no for an answer. He would have sent me flowers and come to visit me, and looked all cute and sad, and I would have caved. Really, the only way to do it was to make him hate me."

It's almost Machiavellian. You never would have thought that Brit had it in her. You're nearly tempted to try and set her up with Lance.

"Besides," she adds. "Now maybe he has a chance at what he really wanted all along." She laughs at your clueless look. "Oh, JC. Don't you even know?"

It's not hard to guess what she's hinting at, but you know she's wrong. Justin doesn't think of you that way, he never has. You say as much. "Justin's like a brother to me. He doesn't... you don't know what you're talking about."

She laughs again. "Justin doesn't want to be your brother, JC. Not unless you're planning a move to Kentucky sometime soon. And you've used that 'like a brother' line on him so many times that he doesn't think you'll ever see him as anything else. But we both know he's wrong. Don't we?"

You flush, and look away, and don't answer.

"That's what I thought. Listen, I've got to motor. It was good seeing you. Really. Take care of yourself. And take care of Justin."

You wave numbly as her car pulls out of the parking lot, and stand there staring at the traffic. Your tea has gone cold.

~..~

You had been in some town in Germany, some town with a long name you couldn't pronounce, and in a hotel that didn't have enough heat. Just like every other town in Germany that you had been in.

You were asleep, until the shaking woke you up. "JC? JC? Are you awake? JC?" Justin was standing by your bed, shaking your arm.

"Well, I am now," you grumbled, but you had moved over and lifted up the covers. "Homesick?"

He crawled in next to you, shaking his head. "Cold!" He leaned over to rest his head on your shoulder, and you rubbed his head, fingers tangling in the curls. "Well. Maybe a little."

You hadn't known if he did this with the other guys when they shared rooms, but you knew that when you and Justin had a room together, chances were good that he'd climb into bed with you at some point during the night. He was young, and you were far from home, and he'd known you the longest, so it made sense. And deep down you had kind of liked it, having someone warm to cuddle up with. He was a good cuddler.

You were almost asleep again when he whined, "I can't sleep."

Opening one eye to look at him, you had asked, "So, what, you want a bedtime story?"

He made a face. "Just... talk to me. What do you think it's going to be like?"

"What, when we get back to the States?" He nodded. "Probably a lot like it is now. Lots of shows in little venues, travelling around a whole lot. At least we'll understand the language."

"Oh." He had sounded disappointed. "Not too different, huh?"

Maybe he wanted a fairy tale after all. "Well, not at first. But once we start to get famous... yeah, that'll change things. We'll be able to have a bigger band, and better costumes. Stay in nice hotels. You'll have crowds of girls screaming your name, and you won't be able to go anywhere without someone knowing who you are. And once we sell a couple million albums, we'll be able to start doing our own stuff. Write our own music. Really make our mark." You had painted a picture for him of what your lives could be, and you felt him relax against you.

"And what about you and me?" he'd asked, almost asleep.

"We'll always be friends, J. Always. No matter how famous we get. You're like a brother to me, you know that."

"Brother?" he'd asked, and his voice sounded wistful. You figured he was probably missing Jon.

"Yeah. You're like family. I'll always be here when you need me. I love you, kid."

He hadn't answered you, and you thought he was finally asleep. You were almost asleep yourself when you had heard him whisper, "I love you, too." And then, so faint you could barely hear it, "And I won't always be a kid."

~..~

You're bad at this, at grand declarations and sweeping gestures. So you decide not to make any, to just sit down and talk to him. Figure out what's going on. Assuming you can ever find him, that is.

He's avoiding you, has been avoiding you ever since the night you turned him down. He doesn't come by your room any more, and whenever you see him he's always with someone else. Finally, you set your alarm to wake you in the middle of the night. This must be important if you're willing to forego sleep for it.

Shuffling across the hallway at 3 in the morning, you feel kind of stupid, and when Justin answers his door and stares at you in disbelief you strongly consider running back to your own room. But you've come this far, and it's too late to back out now.

"C? What's wrong?"

"Um." The reason you're not good at grand declarations is because you never know what to say. "I was. Um. Homesick?" It sounds just as stupid out loud as you thought it would.

But he smiles at you, as if he remembers too. "At least the heat works here," he says, and opens up his door wide enough to let you in.

So you're inside now, and the two of you are still standing there and still staring at each other, so it's not much of an improvement. You desperately try to think of something to say, some way to open up the door that you slammed closed a long time ago.

And then you give up, and just grab him and kiss him. So maybe you're not so good with the grand declarations, but the sweeping gestures seem to be going okay.

"I don't think of you like a brother. Okay?" You almost snarl the words out against his mouth, and his answer is a smile so bright that it nearly blinds you.

"Good," he whispers. "Because right now I'm feeling anything but brotherly." Then he pins you to the door and proceeds to ravish you, and okay, you like sweeping gestures a whole lot.

Sometime later, when you're lying on the bed coherent enough to form sentences again, you wonder out loud, "How on earth could anyone ever think that you're bad in bed?"

Justin shrugs, intent on tracing the curve of your bicep with his tongue. "She always said that my heart wasn't in it, that I had to try too hard. That I'd rather... that I'd rather be someplace else. With someone else." He raises his head and looks at you with soft eyes. "She was right." Then he goes back to work with that clever mouth, and the rest of your side of the conversation pretty much consists of gasps and moans.

That night you put on the concert of your life, energized and electric and able to take on the world. Justin is practically glowing, and the two of you keep smiling at each other across the stage. You can't stop smiling.

Justin sings Bye Bye Bye, loud and clear, with joy bubbling out of every syllable.