Resolutions


“Jace, are you sure you won’t come with us?” Britney said softly, placing a gentle hand on JC’s shoulder.

He shook his head, subconsciously reaching to tug at the curls that were no longer at the nape of his neck. He sighed heavily, his eyes traveling to the back of the young man waiting impatiently at the door.

I will not cry.

“Britney, we’re gonna be late!” Justin yelled, foot tapping in irritation. He spun around and glared at JC. “Jace, if you’re not gonna come, then will you please just go upstairs or something so she’ll stop bugging you about it?”

“Justin. Shut. Up,” Britney snapped, throwing JC an apologetic glance. “Happy New Year, sweetie,” she whispered, kissing him on the cheek before walking out the door, hand in hand, with Justin.

Happy New Year indeed, he thought bitterly as he poured himself a shot of vodka, wincing as the liquid slid down his throat and settled in a warm pool at the bottom of his stomach.

Happy New Year, Joey. A shot.

Happy New Year, Chris. Another shot.

Happy New Year, Lance. Two this time, just for good measure.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning an elbow against the bar and resting his head in his palm.

And Justin…fuck you. Two more shots, and he looked up at himself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Fuck YOU, Chasez!” he said, pointing a finger at his own image. “I told you not to fucking CRY!”

He threw the empty bottle at the mirror, laughing as it shattered along with the image staring back at him.

He crumbled to the floor in a heap of tears and alcohol and sorrow, sobbing so hard he was gasping for air.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Justin wasn’t supposed to know how he felt. Justin wasn’t supposed to be disgusted by him.

Justin wasn’t supposed to hate him.

And Britney wasn’t supposed to be so fucking sweet about the whole thing.

He’d gotten drunk one night. Too drunk for his own good, stumbling drunk, I-don’t-remember-my-name drunk, and he’d hiccuped his way into Justin’s room, giggling madly at Justin’s nude form sprawled across the bed.

“JC, what the fuck?” Justin had said, reaching blindly for a pair of boxers.

“Hi Justin,” JC whispered, another fit of giggles taking over.

“Keep quiet, JC, Britney’s asleep.”

“Oh.” Hiccup. “Sorry.” Giggle.

“What do you want, Josh?”

“I wanted to—hic—talk to you.”

Justin patted the bed next to him, and JC stumbled forward, falling onto the bed and into another state of hysterics.

“JC!” Justin hissed. “Shut UP! You’ll wake her!”

“Oh,” he whispered. “Sorry again.”

“S’ok, Jace,” he said, rubbing his hand over his new curls. “Now what is it?”

“I gotta tell y’somethin.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yep!” Hiccup. “But I gotta tell y’somethin.”

Justin sighed and put his head in his hands. “Fine, JC. What do you have to tell me? You met some girl at a club?”

JC shook his head.

“Lance met some girl at a club?”

JC shook his head again.

“Chris met some girl at a club?”

JC giggled. “No. No girls.”

“Then what, JC?” Justin sighed, exasperated.

JC looked at Justin and blinked once. “I love you.”

Justin laughed nervously, shaking his head. “Yeah, C, I love you too, man. Thanks for stopping by in your drunken stupor to let me know.” He started to stand, but JC grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

“No, Justin.”

Justin’s brow creased in confusion.

“I. Love. You.”

“And I love you, too, C. Now go to bed.”

“Justin!” JC shouted, his eyes pleading.

“What?”

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, pushing himself forward, pressing his lips against Justin’s.

“The fuck!” Justin growled, shoving JC away. “What the fuck was that?”

And then the tears came. Along with the hiccups. And he couldn’t breathe, just mumbled apologies and stumbled out of Justin’s room, embarrassed and ashamed.

And leave it to Britney to have heard the whole thing. She came to his room the next morning, crawled into bed next to him and smoothed his hair out of his eyes, kissing his forehead softly.

He cried on her shoulder for over an hour, apologizing to her hundreds of times. She just shushed him and told him it was ok, he couldn’t change how he felt, she didn’t hate him.

“But he hates me.”

“No, JC, he doesn’t hate you. He’ll come around, I promise he will.”

But he hadn’t. He avoided contact with JC at all costs. He snapped at him. Made rude comments about his sexuality. Sneered at him every chance he got.

And JC had planned on going to the New Years party that Justin and Britney had just left for. He planned on it, and he had a date…and Justin cornered him the day before and told him that if he even thought about bringing his “faggot-ass” to the party, he’d be sorry.

So now here he sat, surrounded by broken glass, feeling as though his heart was mixed in with the pieces.

He thought the pounding he heard was just in his head. The room was spinning, his vision was blurred, and his head ached.

And it was pounding. Over. And over. And over.

He frowned, rubbing at his eyes, squinting in the darkness.

He thought he heard someone yelling his name.

“Josh!”

A muffled voice through the door. More pounding.

“Josh, open the DOOR!”

He pulled himself to his feet, struggling to keep himself up, and teetered towards the door.

“JOSH!”

He turned the lock, tumbling backwards as the door swung open to reveal Justin, panting for air, eyes wide.

“Josh, what the hell?” he whispered, taking a step forward. “Your BLEEDING!”

Josh looked down and laughed. Bits of the mirror were sticking out of his arm, blood tricking down the skin, turning it dark red. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Come on, babe, let’s get you cleaned up,” Justin said, taking JC by the wrist and leading him towards the bathroom.

JC twisted away from Justin, eyes filled with tears. “Leave me the fuck alone, Justin. Why the fuck do you care?”

Justin’s eyes were sad, JC just noticed, and his shoulders were slumped, head hung in shame. “I’m sorry, Josh.
I’m an idiot.”

“Damn right you are!” JC shouted, leaning against the door frame to support his own weight.

“JC, please. I’ll explain…just let me clean you up…you’re gonna get infected, hun.”

JC sighed and let himself be led to the bathroom, wincing as Justin pulled the shards of glass from his arm. The antiseptic burned, and tears stung his eyes and Justin bandaged his arm and took his hand. “Come on, Josh. We need to talk.”

Justin gasped when he saw the mess JC had made, and JC turned away, face burning in shame. “JC, why…” But he didn’t finish. He just sighed and led JC to the couch, pulling the older man down next to him and wrapping a protective arm around his waist.

“It’s 11:58, JC.”

JC nodded, looking at his hands.

“Two minutes until we start a new year.”

JC nodded again, his head swimming.

“Wanna know what my resolutions are?” Justin whispered, squeezing JC’s hand.

JC shrugged and closed his eyes, willing himself not to lean in to Justin’s warm touch.

“Resolution number one: stop being an asshole to the people who care most about me.”

He reached up and tucked a stray hair behind JC’s ear before continuing. “Resolution number two: stop trying to be what everyone wants me to be, and instead be who I want to be.”

He snuggled closer to JC, arm tightening around JC’s slim waist. “Resolution number three: come clean with my feelings.”

“Justin?”

“Hmm?”

“Better hurry. It’s 11:59 and thirty seconds.”

“Resolution number four: show the man I love just how much, in as many ways as I possibly can, all year long.”

The clock struck midnight and they sat their in silence, blue melting into blue, fingers intertwining, tears streaming down flushed cheeks.

“I love you, Josh,” Justin whispered, his lips meeting JC’s in the softest of kisses. “I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry. About everything. I’m sorry I—“

“Shhh,” JC said, his finger on Justin’s lips. “Happy New Year, Justin.” He pulled Justin down to lay next to him, fingers playing with Justin’s curls, hand resting on Justin’s stomach.

He looked up and smiled when he saw Britney in the doorway.

“Happy New Year, JC,” she whispered. “I told you he’d come around.”



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