It was his own fault, really. He hadn't called ahead, he was supposed to be in LA for another night, and Justin really wasn't expecting him to show up when he did. That's what he tells Joey anyway, when he answers his door in the early hours of the morning. JC stands there awkwardly, looking anywhere but Joey's face as he asks if he can spend the night on the couch. "Just give me a blanket and I'll be fine," JC says, silently willing Joey not to make a big deal out of the fact it's 2am and he's obviously been woken out of a deep sleep. "I'll be outta your way first thing tomorrow. Or...later today. Whatever." Joey stands there, puzzled. "Uh...sure. But...isn't Justin home? Could you not wake him? Or did you lose your key? I don't quite--" His voice trails off as he sees JC's face. "Yeah, he's home." JC's voice is flat, emotionless. "He's just got company right now." Joey opens his mouth to reply, but stops when he sees the pleading look in JC's eyes. "C'mon in," he mumurs softly and steps aside, JC brushing past him in stony silence. *** JC's still asleep when Joey gets up the next morning. Curled into himself on the couch, his breathing soft and regular, one arm thrown across his face. Joey pads quietly into the kitchen, makes a pot of coffee and some eggs. He's buttering some toast when JC comes in, blinking sleepily at the sunlight in the room. Joey hands him a mug of coffee and a plate of eggs, and points to the table. "Sit. Eat. Talk." "Joey, I don't--" "I do." JC takes a mouthful of eggs, shakes his head. He swallows, looks at Joey. "I've heard it all before, Joe. It's not gonna change anything." "You deserve better, C. That's all I'm saying. He can't treat you like that." Joey tries to keep his voice even, to stop the frustration he feels from sharpening his words. JC idly traces a pattern on the table with a fingertip. "He makes me happy, Joey. I just. He makes me laugh." "You mean when he's not fucking around on you?" The words are out before Joey can stop them, and he instantly wants to take them back as he sees JC's face darken. "C, I didn't mean--" "Yeah, I think I'll be heading home now." JC pushes his chair back from the table, drops his fork onto the plate with a clatter. There's an edge of anger in his voice that's becoming all too familiar, and his eyes are dark and unreadable as he looks back at Joey, hand on the door. "Thanks for breakfast. Oh, and fuck you." *** The house is silent when JC gets there, no sign of Justin anywhere. JC's relieved in a way, not having any idea what to say. He needs time to think, to work out the jumble of noise in his head. He wanders through the rooms, taking in the familar surroundings, trailing his fingers along the bookcases in the study, the kitchen counters, across the mantel of the ornate fireplace in the lounge. There's only ever been one fire lit in it that he can recall-not long after the two of them moved in. Just the one. Justin had laughed at him- "C, it's the middle of July....you want to light a fucking fire?"- but JC had been insistent, until Justin finally shook his head in amusement and helped JC pile some logs into something resembling a pyramid shape. Then there'd been a frantic search for matches, and JC had spent ten minutes fruitlessly trying to get the wood to catch alight. "You need paper, genius," Justin had suggested helpfully from where he was reclined on a couch. "And it needs to be all scrunched up. Like this." He'd grabbed a sheet of paper off the low coffee table in front of him, and wadded it into a ball, tossed it at JC. "Here. Try that." JC had caught the paper, and frowned, carefully unfolding it. "This is...hey. This is one of my songs I'm working on, J." And he'd smoothed out the creases gently with long fingers, to reveal the words he'd written in a sloping hand. "Oh, was it?" Justin had screwed up his nose in apology. "Sorry. Didn't know." JC shook his head. "It's ok. It's not-I was just.Um." He chewed his bottom lip, then shrugged. "Nevermind. It's probably only good for starting fires with anyway." And he'd placed it in the grate and struck a match, licks of flame curling his words in on themselves. They'd made love on the floor in front of the fireplace, warm skin burnished orange by the firelight, the shadows from their bodies flickering on the walls as they moved against each other. "Too hot," Justin had gasped against JC's neck, sweatslick skin and tangled curls. "So hot." But he kept moving, gripping JC's hips with sure hands, thrusting into him, JC's back arching underneath him, muscles flexing and contracting. Justin had cried out JC's name as he came, shuddering, reaching around to grasp JC's cock, two strokes of his hand all it taking for JC to come too. Lying there afterwards, gasping in lungfuls of air, Justin had sworn they'd fuck their brains out in front of the fire every night if that's what made JC happy. JC had grinned, sated and content, Justin's arm warm and heavy across his chest. "Yeah. I'd really like that." But they'd never used the fireplace again. JC picks up his bag from where it sits by the front door, takes it upstairs with him. The door to the bedroom is ajar, and he places an unsteady hand on it, pushes it open. Sunlight slants into the room, and he can smell Justin's cologne on the air. There's the scent of something else, something that makes icewater run in his veins, and he shivers despite the warmth of the sun. The bed is neatly made, and when he pulls back the covers, he can see the sheets are fresh. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, not even really aware that he was holding it in. He kicks off his shoes, curls up on the bed, and sleeps. *** Justin shows up again two days later. JC hears his car pull into the driveway, and his stomach starts a long, slow roll. Apprehension or anticipation-he's not sure. All he knows is that his skin is prickling, his head is buzzing and even after forty-eight hours he still has no idea what he's going to say. So when Justin walks through the door, JC just stands there, fingers on one hand nervously pulling at the hem of his tshirt, heart thudding doubletime in his chest. "Hey." Justin stops when he sees JC there, leans against the doorframe. "I'm sorry, man. I don't know what I was thinkin'. Hell, I wasn't thinking, y'know?" JC nods, the apology catching him offguard for a moment. "Who-," He swallows, but the lump in his throat stays right where it is. When he speaks again, his voice is little more than a whisper. "Who was she?" He hates that he's even asked, didn't want those words to be the first he said, didn't want to ask them at all. But they've been burning in his head, churning in his gut for two days, and he thinks maybe now they've been spoken aloud, he can breathe again without feeling as if he's slowly suffocating. "She was...uh...no-one, really." Justin runs a hand over his face, through his hair, and looks at JC, blue eyes wide and clear. "No-one important, anyway. I don't even know...I just really missed you, and...." His voice trails off, and he reaches out to JC, touches him on the arm, fingers warm and soft against JC's skin. "I'm such an asshole," he murmurs, stroking JC's wrist softly. "I was lonely. I'm sorry." He grasps JC's arm, pulls him in close, glides his fingertips over the jut of JC's hipbones. Brushes warm lips against JC's collarbone, teeth nipping at flesh gently. Whispers, "Forgive me?" And JC wants to say so many things, wants to ask why, and how many times. Wants to ask if she clawed at his back while he fucked her, wants to know if she screamed out his name when she came. He wants to tell Justin how it made him feel when he walked in and saw the two of them tangled together, how the bile rose in his throat and the wrench he felt in his heart almost made him lose his footing. But he says none of this, because Justin's mouth is on his and is wiping out everything else in his head. He knows he should be angry, furious, he knows he has every right to be, but Justin's hands are sliding up under his tshirt, fingers pressing warm fire into his skin and all he can do is gasp against Justin's mouth, needing to be wanted more now than ever before. Justin fucks him up against the kitchen counter, JC's stomach pressed flat against the cold tile, his fingers scrabbling helplessly on the slick surface as Justin thrusts into him, leaves fingertip-bruises on his hip. "Mine," Justin hisses, the fingers of one hand twined in JC's curls, pulling his head back to nuzzle his neck, sucking and biting at the soft skin, his mouth leaving a bruise-purple stain. "All mine." And he thrusts into JC one last time and comes, biting JC's shoulder hard enough to draw blood. JC moans, reaches down to grasp his own cock, strokes once, twice and comes with a shudder, even as he feels Justin moving off him. "I need to shower," Justin says over his shoulder as he walks out of the room. "Just order pizza or something, ok?" JC nods, still breathing heavily, forehead resting against the countertop. He straightens up slowly, his fingertips rubbing absently at the bruised flesh of his shoulder. "Uh, sure. The usual?" But Justin's already gone, doesn't answer. As JC cleans himself up and looks for the pizza menu, he ignores Joey's voice in his head telling him he deserves better. He ignores it as hard as he can, even though every day it seems to get louder. "Fuck off, Joey," he mutters as he pulls on his jeans, retrieves his tshirt from the floor. "Just fuck off." He tells himself that Justin came back, and that's all that matters. All that matters is that he came back. *** When the phonecalls start, JC assumes they're just wrong numbers. Crank calls, maybe. Each time he picks up the phone, there's silence at the other end. One time he thinks he hears breathing, says "Hello? Anyone there?" There's a slight rustle, then the disconnect tone. He doesn't think anything more of it, makes a mental note to talk to Justin about changing the number. They're unlisted, but it's not unheard of for diehard fans to get hold of the number and call, the breathless giggles giving them away everytime. These calls are different though, a little unnerving. Just one more thing for JC to fret over. He's living on his nerves these days, nails bitten down, hardly remembering to eat, his face tight and drawn. Bruisedark circles under his eyes, and he doesn't sleep well unless Justin is there in bed with him, body warm next to his, an arm heavy across his belly. Sometimes not even then. He lies awake for hours, not able to switch his mind off, flickering images of things he doesn't want to remember running constantly in his head. When he does manage to drift into an uneasy doze, his body twitches as he dreams, the pictures behind his eyes make him cry out. Sometimes Justin will wake, ask what's wrong, but JC can't tell him, can't even begin to find the words. "Bad dream," is all he can manage, stuttered out between trembling lips, arms wrapped around shaking legs. And Justin holds him close for a while, strokes skin that feels feverwarm under his fingertips until the shivering stops, until his breath is no longer hitching in his chest. JC clings to Justin, needs to know he's there, wraps long legs around him as Justin fucks him soundlessly in the dark. And when it's over, and Justin's deep and regular breathing tells JC he's asleep again, he turns his head away so Justin can't feel the hot tears that slip unchecked from eyes that stay wide open. *** Lately JC feels like there's some colour slipping back into his world. There's less grey days, more days where it feels like he can breathe. Good days when he and Justin stay home and watch cheesy movies in bed, eating nothing but Doritos and drinking warm beer. Getting buzzed enough not to be able to keep their hands off each other, whatever movie they're watching quickly forgotten in the slow pleasure of rediscovery. On days like this, it's making love, not just fucking, and JC starts to let himself believe that things will be ok, that things will be just fine. On days like this, he remembers what it feels like to smile, to laugh. It's been one of those good days, and JC leaves Justin sprawled on the bed with sheets tangled round his legs as he watches Celebrity Squares, yelling out the answers. "We should be on this, C," he states, waving a hand at the TV. "We're celebrities, and I know all the answers. I haven't been wrong yet." "It's a re-run, huh?" JC ducks his head to avoid the pillow Justin tosses at him. "I'm gonna go make some toast, ok? Anything you want?" Justin screws up his nose, ponders for a moment. "Eggs? Scrambled? With cheese? Please?" He rolls over onto his back, tips his head over the end of the bed and looks at JC upside-down, waggling his tongue. "You know I'll make it worth your while when you get back." "As if I could resist the charms of the Timberlake tongue," JC grins. "Your wish is my command." He walks down the stairs, two at a time, smiles as he hears Justin arguing with the television over a wrong answer. I'm happy, he thinks. At the thought his smile widens, and he giggles a little. I'm really happy. In the kitchen, he makes toast, scrambles eggs for Justin. Grates cheese, humming as he does so. There's the beginnings of a song in his head, just a melody for now, but he senses the words won't be far away. It's been a while since there was space in his head for anything new, for anything as beautiful as music, and the realisation that it's returning to him spreads warmth like molten honey along his spine. "Welcome back," he whispers, wrapping arms around himself, eyes closed in the sunlit kitchen, smiling at the colours he can see inside his head. *** "Justin....have you seen my notebook?" JC's lifting up the cushions on the couch, shifting piles of magazines around. He's even looked in the kitchen cupboards, just to be sure. He knows what he's like when there's words and music in his head, how he tends to get a little distracted. Off the fucking planet, Justin calls it. Planet JC, population one. It's not like JC does it on purpose, and he's tried to explain that to Justin- how the melodies and word patterns take over his brain until he can get them out in some kind of order. Until he can make sense of them enough to share them with the world. Justin sticks his head round the door from the kitchen, cellphone to one ear. "Your what?" He murmurs something into the phone, something that sounds a little like hang on a minute. "Notebook," JC repeats, on hands and knees in front of the couch, one hand reaching underneath. "Blue cover. No...black. I think. Or is it dark blue?" He frowns a little, sits back on his heels. "You know, I'm really not sure." "Not a fucking clue," Justin says, and JC wonders vaguely if he's talking to him or whoever's on the end of the phone. Then Justin tosses something round the doorframe to JC, and it lands awkwardly at his feet, lies there splayed open with his own handwriting staring back at him. His notebook. He picks it up, straightens up the pages. Closes the cover for a moment, and looks at it. "Dark blue," he says absently, grabbing a pen, and scribbles down the line that's been rattling about in his head for the past hour or so. He reads over it once, then again. Scratches out two words, replaces them with another. Chews his pen, hums the melody he's come to know so well over the past few weeks, and then smiles. "They work," he says softly to himself. "It all works." He stands up, runs fingers through his hair, still smiling. He feels energised, more alive than he has in a long time. It's always like this when he's writing, when the music takes over. This feeling-this is what he lives for. "Dancing," he murmurs. "Yes. Dancing." And he bounds into the other room to look for Justin, to tell him that he wants to go out. That he wants to dance, to feel the music take over his body, to celebrate his song. Their song, really. Wants to show him the parts he's written just for Justin's voice, the parts for his voice, the lines where he knows their voices will blend together beautifully. Justin's not in the kitchen, and JC grabs an apple from the fruitbowl on the counter before heading up the stairs to the bedroom. He takes the stairs two at a time, barely able to contain the energy he feels. "I might just explode," he tells himself, and giggles at the thought. He can hear the low murmur of Justin's voice and figures he must be still on the phone. He's humming the song, the words dancing through his head and he can hardly wait to sing it to Justin. To sing it for him- with him. The thought of that makes his heart soar in his chest. He pushes open the bedroom door, sees Justin sitting on the bed with his back to him. Hears his voice, hears him say, "I miss you too, baby. We'll figure something out, I promise." Watches as Justin turns around, almost in slow motion, startled eyes wide and mouth open in guilty surprise. Justin says something else then, something that could be, "JC, I can explain," but there's so much noise in JC's head that he can't make out a word. He can't hear anything but Joey's voice, echoing over and over, and it's so loud. So very, very loud. He claps hands over his ears, and backs slowly out of the room, banging his hip hard on the doorframe, not even feeling it. "No," he mumbles. "No. Not again. No. No. I can't. No." He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up with a wrenching sob. *** "I'll fucking kill him," Joey says, but settles for punching him instead, leaving Justin slumped against the wall with a bloodied nose and two cracked ribs. "I want to see him," Justin gasps from between swollen lips. "You can't fucking keep me from him, Joey." Joey laughs, no humour in the sound. "Just watch me. He doesn't fucking need you and your shit, Justin. Leave him the fuck alone." He's taking JC's clothes out of a set of drawers, throwing them into an overnight bag. Justin gets to his feet, wincing a little, watching Joey warily. "I made a mistake, ok? That's all. A mistake." "Yeah. You did. And I'm making sure you don't get a chance to do it again." Joey zips up the bag, slings it over his shoulder. "Stay the fuck away, Justin. I'm warning you." "I know he'll want to see me." Justin lifts two fingers to his mouth, brings them away coated sticky red. Wipes them on his thigh, leaves a bright crimson smear against the pale fabric. "Tell him to call me, ok? We need to talk." Joey drops the bag, whips around and grabs Justin by the throat. Backs him up against the wall, leans right in close until they're forehead to forehead. "I said," he hisses, his voice low and deadly, "to leave him alone. That means no phonecalls. Nothing. Don't you think you've done enough damage?" His fingers tighten on Justin's throat for a moment, long enough for Justin to have to struggle to gasp in a lungful of air. Joey holds him there for an instant longer, then drops his hand, looks away in disgust. "You're an asshole," he mutters, picking up the bag and walking away. *** JC sits with arms wrapped around his legs, head resting against his knees. He watches Joey chopping vegetables, stirring thick sauce in a pot, dropping pasta into bubbling and steaming water. It smells wonderful, but even just the thought of eating is enough to make his stomach roil in protest. Joey holds out the wooden spoon he's using to stir the sauce for JC to sample some, but he just shakes his head. "C, you're gonna have to eat something." Joey leans back against the counter, looks at JC intently. "You'll get sick." JC closes his eyes. He doesn't care. He just wants to sleep, to dream away everything that's happened. To wake up and find out it's just been a bad dream. But he can't sleep, not even with the pills Joey got for him from the doctor. They just make him feel disconnected and numb- like he doesn't fit into his own body. He opens his eyes, looks at his hand and moves his fingers. It's like they belong to someone else, someone still capable of feeling. JC doesn't think he'll ever feel anything again, and right now, he's just fine with that. "C?" He blinks, realises Joey's talking to him, crouched down in front of the chair he's huddled on. "Come on, man...you're starting to freak me out a little here. Talk to me, ok?" JC slowly unfolds himself, stands on unsteady legs. "Tired," he murmurs, and leaves the room, Joey watching him go, eyes dark with worry. *** "Chris says hi," Joey calls to JC, one hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "And to start preparing for his surprise party. Apparently we're giving him one." "Really?" JC glances up, pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. "Cool." He goes back to the book he's reading, and Joey watches him for a moment, before returning to his conversation with Chris. "A little better," he says in a low voice. "Good and bad days, you know? Lately....kinda bad. Yeah. I will...ok. Bye." He ends the call, puts the phone back in it's cradle. He walks over to the couch where JC's sitting, flops down beside him. "Chris is worried," he says softly. "And I am too. You need to talk to someone about this, C. It's not good for you to....to keep it all inside." JC looks over at him for a long moment, then carefully marks his place in the book, places it on the coffee table, and stands up. "I have no words left," he says simply, and walks out of the room. *** JC wakes in the middle of the night, heart pounding in his chest. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he must have because his head is full of images from the dream he was having. Words and sounds and colours and noise, so much noise- and it's making him feel like he's spinning in place. Stuck on some crazy carousel. He fumbles for the bedside lamp, switches it on, and squints his eyes against the sudden light. The door to his room opens, and Joey's head appears, hair sticking up at crazy angles. "Clown," JC murmurs, and it's like Joey is a fragment from his dream. A leftover from the neon fairground slowly fading in his head. He runs a hand over his face, and Joey's still there when he looks again, closer this time-perched on the edge of the bed. "You're real," JC says in wonder, and reaches out to touch Joey's arm. "You had a nightmare, C." Joey's skin is warm and JC runs his fingers over it, feeling the texture. "You were yelling out." "I got lost," JC whispers, and it's important to him that Joey understands. "I couldn't find my way out. Everyone was gone." He grabs Joey's arm, fingers digging into his flesh. "I didn't know where to go. And they'd taken all my words." Joey shifts up the bed until he's right next to JC. Lies alongside him, wraps an arm around him and holds him close. "Shhh. It was a dream, C. You're ok. I'm here. You're not lost. It was just a bad dream." JC relaxes against him, closes his eyes again as Joey brushes the hair back from his forehead gently, over and over again. "You found me," JC breathes, voice thick and heavy with sleep. "It was you, Joey. You found me. You gave them back." He doesn't speak again, falls into a deep and dreamless sleep as he lies wrapped in Joey's arms. And eventually, Joey sleeps too. *** "I talked to Justin today." JC says it matter-of-factly, as he takes groceries out of two brown paper sacks, puts them away in the cupboards. "And I got more coffee. That stuff you have tastes like ass." Joey tries not to show his surprise, chooses his words carefully. "What did he have to say?" JC opens a cupboard, closes it again. Opens another, slides a box of cereal in place. "Oh, he apologised. Said he'd made a mistake, and all that. You know. The usual." "And?" JC grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, takes a drink. "And I asked him for my notebook. I thought I'd lost it. Then I remembered I left it behind." He wipes his mouth, and boosts himself up onto the counter-top. "And now I have it back." "So...things went well then?" Joey's still a little stunned at how calm JC is. Pleasantly surprised, of course...but still. It's been six weeks, and JC has hardly mentioned Justin at all, and now...this. He wants to tread carefully. "Yeah." JC smiles. "I called him a motherfucker, and said I hoped his girlfriend was as good at giving head as I was, because he's never gonna be getting it from me again as long as he lives, and yeah. Things went just fine after that." Joey can't stop the laughter. "Oh C- you didn't." JC grins at Joey as he takes another swallow of water. "Bet your ass I did. And you better believe I give fucking great head, Mr Fatone." "Never doubted it for a moment," Joey snorts. "And hey- welcome back, man." "Nice to be here," JC replies, the smile on his face the most beautiful thing Joey's ever seen. *** JC's bent over his notebook, pen in hand, scribbling away. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, half-finished cup of coffee beside him. He looks up when he hears Joey walk into the room. "Hey." He smiles, and taps the couch beside him. "C'mere." "What is it?" Joey sits, looking over JC's shoulder at the words on the page. "New song?" "Kinda." JC slides around so he's facing Joey, throws one leg across Joey's lap. "I wrote it when I was with Justin. For him and I to sing." Joey nods, pulls JC's other leg onto his lap, leans in and kisses him gently. "Hmmm. And?" "And I've made some changes. I think it's better now. Better than before." JC hands the notebook to Joey. Watches as Joey reads the words, the scribbled notes he's made. Grins as he sees the realisation on Joey's face. He hums the melody of the song, and Joey looks up at him and smiles. "Our song," JC murmurs, and starts to sing the words he's written, Joey's voice joining his, the two of them blending together beautifully. Singing the song JC's written with the words Joey has given him back. *** things you said that day like this-tori amos: a sorta fairytale
up on the 101
the girl had come undone
I tried to downplay it
with a bet about us
you said that you'd take it
as long as I could
I could not erase it
And I'm so sad
like a good book
I can't put this day back
a sorta fairytale with you
a sorta fairytale with you
and I ride alongside
and I rode alongside you then
and I rode alongside
till you lost me there in the open road
And I rode alongside
till the honey spread itself so thin
for me to break your bread
for me to take your word
I had to steal it
all in all was a pretty nice day
and I put the hood right back
where you could taste heaven perfectly
Feel out the summer breeze
didn't know when we'd be back
And I, I don't
didn't think
we'd end up like