Justin felt like a lot of things changed after the group broke up.

Joey, who'd been the one to call it quits, went home to Kelly. Justin would go over at least once a week to play with Bree and eat a decent, home-cooked meal, and be told he needed to "put more meat on your bones, man, you're wasting away."

JC kept writing and producing music, and entered in a partnership with Lance. Justin would bounce ideas off them, and ask when they were going to steal him away from Johnny, and remind them to get to Orlando more often because "Bree is so *big* now. And, Dude! I swear to you, she called me "Jutty" two days ago! She totally knows my name!"

But what changed the most was Chris, who went back to singing folk music on the acoustic guitar Justin hadn't seen him take out of his closet in eight years. Chris, who grew his hair out and stopped wearing contacts in favor of the wire-rimmed glasses he had once claimed to hate. Chris, who during *NSYNC had the purest voice Justin'd ever heard - "a choir boy voice," Lance once said enviously - but who suddenly could sing all smoky and husky, as if *he* grew up in Memphis, instead of Justin. Chris, whose cover of "Me and Bobby McGee" was so beautiful it made Justin cry, and who had convinced JC to cover The Indigo Girls with him on his next album.

The thing was, though, that when Justin watched Chris in interviews, or flipped through the pages of Rolling Stone, Chris seemed like a completely different person. Instead of cracking jokes, or bouncing with pent up energy, or try to stuff people in garbage cans, he would sit still and have serious discussions. And he talked a *lot.*

He talked about his childhood. He talked about politics. He talked about the pain of unrequited love. He talked about being a gay man in the pop scene, and not being allowed to reveal his sexuality or enter a serious relationship, because it might turn away the fans.

Justin, who had considered Chris his best friend, left a long, ranting message on Chris' voice mail, the gist of which was, "Why the fuck didn't you fucking *tell* me, you fucker?"

Chris, who was apparently capable of sharing the most intimate details of his life with Dave Letterman, a man that had once spurned them as a "bubblegum boyband," never called him back.

'It's not *right*, yo," he complained to Joey.

"We thought-"

"'We'?!" Justin sputtered. "You mean you knew?"

"I knew from Universal."

"And JC?" Justin asked suspiciously.

"Chris told JC when we started the group, and Lance when he turned 21."

"He told fucking Lance and he didn't tell me?"

"We thought it was better that way. You're young Jup, no matter what you say. He didn't want to... to traumatize you, or anything."

"You're right," Justin said bitterly. "'Cause the last thing I'd want when discovering I was gay would be for my best fucking friend in the world to tell me it was okay, no, I wouldn't rot in Hell, and oh, hey, "I'm gay too! Let me show you the ropes."

Joey spit his coffee all over himself. "*You're*...?"

"Yes," Justin said. "I'm. Hence, the recent break-up with Brit."

"But - I thought - you asked her to marry you!"

"I thought I could fool myself into being straight."

"That's one of the stupidest reasons for proposing that I've ever heard, Justin."

"Yeah, well," and he was shouting, but he didn't care, "maybe if I could've *talked* to *Chris* about it!"

Joey sighed. "I'll give him a call."

"I'm too pissed to talk to him right now."

"Jesus, Justin. Don't be such a girl!"

"Fuck you."

"No, man, fuck *you*. Either you want to talk to him or you don't. This isn't High School. I'm not passing notes for you in Study Hall."

"I didn't *go* to high school," Justin said sullenly.

Joey stared at him for a minute, then cracked up. Justin tried to be offended, but Joey's laugh was too infectious. He ended up snarfing his coffee on the table, and having to borrow a pair of pants from Joey for the drive home.

* * *

"I don't want to talk to him, Joe."

"He's your best friend, man."

"I know."

"Then why?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Joey used the opportunity to finish diapering Briahna, and watched her toddle off.

"Chris?"

"What do I say to him?

"You can start by explaining why you didn't tell him you were gay before outing yourself on Letterman."

"*Can* I?" Chris asked.

"Well I sure fucking hope so, Chris. 'Cause I bet it's a doozy of an explanation."

There was another long pause, during which Joey was hard-pressed not to throw the phone into the swimming pool. He would have, except he'd never remember half the numbers on his speed dial.

Finally, Chris whispered, "Does he hate me?"

"No," Joey said. "But he's gonna if you don't call."

"I just. I'm not good at. Explaining stuff."

"Yeah, and I'm Dr. Ruth." But it was true - for all his vaunted psychology major, Chris couldn't explain motivation if it bit him on the ass. He understood it, but he couldn't tell you why.

"Joe-"

"No. Absolutely not."

"I know," Chris said. "You're right. I just. I'm gonna fuck it up."

"I think," Joey said, "you already have."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, man. I already knew you were gay."

"Yeah."

"Yeah. So call him, alright?"

"Alright."

"Chris."

"I will! I will. I promise."

"Tonight, Chris."

"I have a thing."

"Tomorrow, then. Don't make me kick your ass, Kirkpatrick."

Chris snorted. "You wish, Fatone."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

"I'm telling him you'll call."

"Yeah, yeah. You know, I *can* be responsible about some things."

"Chris, you have never, not once in your entire life, been responsible where Justin was concerned."

"I know," Chris said after a minute. "But I can change."

* * *

Chris left a message on Justin's machine, asking him to come over so "we can talk. Because, shit, Curly. I. Yeah. Let's do this in person, man."

After smiling at the use of a nickname he hadn't heard in ages, Justin pulled on a jacket and drove over to Chris'. Then he sat in the driveway for twenty minutes feeling nervous, before mentally shaking himself. *He* had nothing to explain. Nothing at all.

The clouds that had been vaguely threatening to rain all day finally started drizzling. Justin took it as a sign to put the top up on his convertible and go inside. He let himself in, and wandered around the ground floor looking for Chris. There was the sound of music coming from the backyard, so Justin made his way through the maze of boxes - apparently, Chris had finally decided to get some real furniture in his place, because there was now a matched sofa and chair set in the living room, and a rolled-up carpet leaned against one wall.

Chris was standing outside, just under the roof. He had his right leg propped up on a chair while he strummed the guitar. His hair was down, hanging in his face, but Justin saw his glasses anyway as the last remnants of the setting sun reflected off the frames. Kariya sat silent at Chris' feet while he sang, softly, "I drive myself crazy." Justin's heart clenched in his throat for a second, before he was able to swallow thickly.

"I never thought of that as a folk song before."

Chris' right hand stilled, but he didn't turn around. "Don't know if I wanna try it or not."

"It sounds good," Justin offered. But then, as far as he was concerned, everything Chris sang sounded good.

Chris just shrugged, and put the guitar in its case. "Let's get inside before the rains hit."

Justin pressed against the doorway to let Chris and the dog pass, kissed Kariya hello when she licked his pants, and followed Chris into the living room.

"You want coffee or something?"

Justin shook his head slowly. He didn't even really want an explanation anymore. He just wanted Chris to stop being this enigmatic person and return to being his favorite older brother. He felt like he didn't know Chris anymore, and it terrified him, because he'd always thought he knew Chris best.

"I want to start by apologizing," Chris said. "I should have called you before doing Letterman. I know it must have been a shock."

"Kind of," Justin said, although mostly what had been a shock was the fact that when Chris revealed his homosexuality, sitting in a chair next to Dave, his hair pulled back in a braid, his dark eyes emphasized by the glasses and the dark flannel shirt, Justin immediately wanted to fuck him. That had been the first sign that he himself was really, truly gay, as opposed to simply not attracted to Brit any more.

"I guess, I just didn't know how to tell you in person, so I didn't tell you at all."

"Why didn't you tell me when we were *nsync?"

"I was. Protecting you, I guess. I mean, you didn't need to know all that stuff, about not having a relationship, not being able to date, and. You were so young, Curly. You still are."

"No, I'm not," Justin said. "I'm old enough that when I realized I was gay it never occurred to me not to tell you. Never once."

"Sure, but I'm older and... What?"

"I'm gay," Justin said.

"Okay, see, but that's a good point," Chris said, regaining his composure, "because if I *had* come out in *nsync, then people would've accused me of corrupting you and. I didn't need that, J. I still don't."

"You didn't need a lot, seems like." Justin said, and he was starting to feel angry again.

"What?"

"You didn't need to sing lead vocals, even though you're clearly more talented than the rest of us put together, because look at how you're doing versus-"

"Justin-"

"I'm not finished! You didn't need to ever be in the front in photo shoots, or interviews. You didn't need to sing the way you're capable of singing or act like you do in interviews now, like an adult. You didn't need to finish your college degree, even though that's the first thing you did after we broke up. You didn't need to do anything, to be anything, that you are now."

"It wasn't like that," Chris said softly.

"Wasn't it?" Justin asked. "Who *were* you, Chris? Who are you now?"

"I'm me. I'm the same person you knew before."

Justin looked around the room, at the furniture and boxes and carpet, at the walls now decorated with a soft, dark blue wallpaper, at the clothes his friend was wearing, and the glasses, and the guitar case that rested by Chris' chair, and all he could do was shake his head.

"No, you're not."

And after that there was nothing more to say, so he left.

* * *

"He hates me," Chris told Joey and Kelly over dinner a few days later.

"How can he hate you?" Kelly asked. "He hardly knows you."

"He's known me for seven years."

"He's known the part of you that you let him see," Kelly said, and then Joey elbowed her and she shut up.

"Have some lasagna," Joey said.

"Wait," Chris said, "let her finish. I want to hear this."

"You've changed so much, Chris, and I don't think you even know it."

"How have I changed?" Chris asked, and Joey could hear the real puzzlement in his voice.

"You have a new skin," he said. "Like. You're being *you*."

"It's true," Lance confirmed over the phone later that night. But it was JC who finally made Chris understand.

"You blossomed," he said.

"I'm not a flower."

"That's not what I mean. You just. You repressed yourself. And I know it was for us, and I'm incredibly grateful because we had a great run, and I'm sure in your mind *nsync was worth it, but. You came out of the closet, Chris - and not just in the sense of admitting homosexuality. You're admitting *everything*. You've got this shiny new skin, and sure, the. The guts inside are the same old guts you've always had, but. Justin's just. Blinded by the skin, you know, and suddenly he's seeing all this stuff you kept mixed in with your guts, before, and."

"I'm not a pile of intestines, either," Chris said, but he knew what JC meant. "I took off the mask," he said quietly.

"Yes! And. He's. He thought he knew you, Chris. Thought he knew everything about you, and suddenly there's this whole layer that he completely missed, and. He's frightened. He doesn't want to lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere," Chris whispered.

"Well, don't tell me that. Tell Justin."

"Yeah. Yeah, I - thanks, C."

"Anytime," JC said, and then he heard the phone hit something, a muttered "shit! Sorry, sorry," and then a click as Chris hung up. Even a blossom, he thought to himself, grows off the same stem that held the bud. Then he thought it was a good lyric, so he wandered off to write a song.

* * *

Justin had his own appearances to make - on Leno, though, because Letterman stilled spurned "pop sensations." But late night was late night, as far as Justin was concerned, and it really didn't matter which host it was who ribbed you about your ex-best friend, and dragged up the memory of Lou Pearlman, and joked in his opening monologue about boybands and group sex.

And maybe Justin did understand, just a little, where Chris was coming from, but it didn't make it any easier, didn't fade his anger, because the fact was that Chris had lied to him. About everything.

"It wasn't like that," he told Jay, and it *hadn't* been. "I mean, sure, Chris and I are gay, but I didn't even figure it out until after the group broke up, and it's not like Chris ever. Propositioned me."

There was dead silence in the audience. "You're." Jay paused.

"Gay," Justin said. "I'm gay. But, you know. I mean, if weird 35-year-old ex-boyband folk singers can be gay, why can't I? I mean, you gotta be honest. True to your roots."

"We have to cut to commercial now," Jay said. "When we come back, more with singer Justin Timberlake and keepin' it real."

And that was that. Except that when Justin got home, the message light on his machine was blinking furiously.

"I'm not 35, fuckass."

Justin grinned, and skipped to the next message.

"And I'm not weird, either."

and then

"What the fuck *was* that, J?"

and

"This is why I didn't *tell* you stuff. 'Cause you make me a fucking *role* model, and. Jesus. You can't just. Fuck."

Then Joey and Kel left a message glowing with praise, and his publicist had a verbal heart attack, and his mother loved him, and his dad and stepmom and brothers loved him, and Brit called him a "fucking asshole. Call me and warn me, dipshit. He just better be fucking worth it, whoever he is. If he treats you wrong, just tell me, and I'll kick his fucking ass. Fucker," and JC and Lance were "so supportive of you, man, anything you need," and Johnny informed him that he had arranged an interview with Time, so that Justin could discuss homosexuality in a more supportive atmosphere than a nighttime talk show.

And then "Fuck, J. Look, just call me when you get home, okay? I mean. I didn't."

And then a loud crash, and, "sorry, sorry! Kariya knocked into me, and. Just. Are you okay? Have the shakes hit you yet? 'Cause they're followed not long after by the vomiting, and you should try to get over here before you blow chunks all over your car."

And, "I love you, man. You know that, right?"

And it *was* worth it. But it was still uncertain enough that Justin didn't have time to call Brit before he ran to the bathroom.

And then suddenly there was a cool hand on his head, smoothing the soft fuzz, and a sturdy arm on his waist, and a familiar voice saying, "Shh. Shhh. It'll be okay. It's gonna be fine," and even though Chris must have seem him like this a thousand times over the past eight years, Justin still felt his stomach drop and he wanted to drop through the floor.

But no one had ever actually died of embarrassment, so he wiped his mouth with toilet paper and turned to face him.

"Hi," Chris said.

Justin pulled himself to his full height, hoping for some advantage over this new, strangely-mature-and-attractive-Chris. But despite - because of? - the fact that Chris had just been watching him lose his supper, his stomach dropped to his knees and he felt like he was fourteen again, talking with strange little men on the audition circuit. He sighed, and tried desperately to remind himself that he had sold a platinum album all on his own, thank-you very much, and that he was a heartthrob and a sex symbol, every bit as much as Chris, and. He was staring. And possibly starting to drool.

"Hi," he said, and wiped his mouth again.

* * *

"Have some tea," Chris said, "it helps settle your nerves."

"I don't like tea," Justin said, but Chris made some anyway, because it gave him a chance to order his thoughts, and calm his own nerves.

"I don't like tea," Justin repeated when Chris handed him a mug of decaffeinated Earl Grey.

"I know," Chris said. "It helps. Trust me."

"Why?" Justin asked, even as he sipped the tea.

"Tea is soothing, man. Everyone knows that."

"I meant, why should I trust you."

"Oh," Chris said. He'd kind of figured that, but he'd hoped Justin was just being obtuse.

"Look," Justin said, "it's not that I don't appreciate..." he paused. "The thing is, I. I have my own life now, you know, and you can't just pop over and. Cook for me, and."

"Jesus, kid. It's just a cup of tea."

"That's not the point," Justin said flatly.

"I wanted to talk about the show," Chris said.

"I already heard everything you had to say on my answering machine."

"Did you?" Chris asked. "Because I distinctly recall saying that I wanted to discuss it in person."

"That's great, Chris," Justin said, "but maybe *I* don't want to discuss it in person. Maybe I'm tired, and maybe I'm, yes, a little scared about revealing something so important to the entire world, and maybe I don't want to discuss my reasons with someone who is just going to yell at me and who I hardly know anymore anyway."

"I wasn't going to yell at you," Chris said, even though that had been his original plan. His original plan involved yelling, and wondering what the hell Justin had been thinking, and when was he going to just grow up and stop throwing temper tantrums because Chris had dared to do something without him, and where the fuck did he get off, anyway? His original plan had been kind of dumb.

Justin sighed. "Whatever, man. I'm going to bed."

"I just want to talk, Justin. Don't you owe me at least that much? A nice, friendly talk over tea?"

And that had been the entirely wrong thing to say, because Justin's eyes turned hard, and he clenched his jaw, and Chris could see him counting down from ten in his head before he ran a hand over his face and said, "Good night, Chris," and walked upstairs, leaving Chris alone in the kitchen with two cups of Earl Grey, an open container of milk, and a spoon that was starting to drip honey all over the floor.

"Fuck," Chris muttered, and poured the tea down the drain.

* * *

"Well," Justin said, "at least someone's happy to see me. Aren't you, Sweetie Pie?"

"Jutty!" Briahna cried, and gave him a great big grin. He managed to kiss her on the cheek before Joey plucked her from his arms and let her toddle around the backyard.

"Don't use my kid as an excuse, Justin."

"What do *I* need an excuse for?"

"For making Chris feel like a piece of shit."

"Joey!" Kelly called from doorway. "Language!"

"All he wanted to do was talk, Justin."

"Told you before," Justin said. "I don't want to talk to him."

"Stop being such a baby."

"Me? I'm. Oh, this is rich."

"You're just pissed because Chris finally started acting his age. Well, you know what, Justin? Maybe if you grew the fuck up -"

"Language!"

"-you'd be old enough to fucking *relate*."

"*Joe!*"

"Just, take her inside, Kelly. I can't have this conversation with a bar of soap in my mouth."

"No," Justin said, "I have a better idea. Let's not have this conversation at all."

"Oh, that's great, Justin. So now you're not gonna talk to any of your friends?"

"I don't need this, Joe. I've got enough to deal with, with the label postponing my record and the goddamn picketers outside my house and I. I don't need this from you, too."

Joey blinked. "The. Picketers?"

"They hate me," Justin whispered, and he ran a hand over his head. "They didn't hate Chris, I know, but. They hate me. They said I'm 'poisoning their children.' Johnny said there's talk of organizing demonstrations outside MTV."

"Jesus."

"And I just wanted. Is it so much to ask for some support?"

"Of course not," Joey said, and pulled him into a tight hug. It wasn't what Chris would have done. Chris would have said "Don't be a pussy, Curly," and tackled him, and then tickled him mercilessly until he couldn't breathe. Then Chris would have pulled him up, and gotten him crazy drunk, and whipped his ass on the Playstation. Then, late at night, when he was still awake and yet completely exhausted and it was hitting home again, Chris would have shown up at his door, and held him while cried himself to sleep, and maybe made him breakfast in the morning and watched cartoons with him until he smiled. Except that Chris wasn't like that anymore, and somehow he was crying against Joey's neck, and even though Joey was much bigger than Chris and he didn't have to bow his head to fit against Joey's shoulder, Joey's hand on his back felt remarkably soothing, and it was almost as good.

Almost.

* * *

"He hates me," Chris told Lance and JC. It seemed to be his mantra these days. "Hi Chris, how you doin'?" "He hates me." "Good to hear. See you 'round, right?" "He hates me." "'Kay then. Next Friday sounds good."

"You're drunk," Lance said. "No one likes you when you're drunk."

Chris blinked. "You don't like me?" he asked in a small voice.

"Of course I like you."

"But you just said."

"I just meant," Lance said, "that you're in a state of mind where you *think* that no one likes you. Because you're drunk."

"Why would no one like me because I'm drunk?" Chris asked. "Because I'm a stupid fuck who lied for eight years, maybe. Because I don't know how to tell people I love them - by the way, I love you, man-"

"Thanks," Lance said.

" -And you too, C,"

"I love you too, Chris."

"-ma-thanks, C-maybe. But because I'm drunk?" Chris sniffed. "I don't think that's a very good reason not to like me, Lansten."

"Did you tell him you love him?" Lance asked.

Chris squinted at his whiskey. He had a vague notion that if he stared at the brown liquid long enough, and looked depressed enough, Lance would move on to a cheer-Chris-up topic of conversation.

"I take it that's a no," Lance said.

"I told him."

"Really?" JC asked. "Chris, that's wonderful! That's a big step in the right direction. A big step. What did he say?"

"Nothing," Chris said. "I was talking to his answering machine."

"You were talking to his answering machine," Lance said.

"He hates me," Chris said.

"Okay," JC said, "so it's only a baby step in the right direction. But, you know, a flower needs sun *and* rain to flourish."

"What are you talking about?" Lance asked.

"I blossomed," Chris told him. "I took off my mask of skin, and revealed the inner guts of my homosexuality."

JC beamed. "See?" he told Lance. "*Some* people understand my metaphors."

"Actually," Chris said, "I just memorized it."

"I can't believe you told his machine," Lance said. "I suppose you tried to be all manly about it, too. Like Joey."

"Joey's gay?" Chris said. "What is this? Homosexuals on Parade?"

"Joey's not gay," Lance said.

"Good," Chris said. "'Cause apparently when people stop being straight they start hating me. It's, like, a reflex."

"Joey doesn't have time to hate anyone," Lance said. "He's got a toddler in the house."

"Plus," JC said, "Justin's practically living there."

Chris turned to Lance accusingly. "I thought you said Joey wasn't gay."

"He's not. Justin is."

"Justin has a crush on Joey?"

"No," Lance said, and wished vaguely for some aspirin. "Justin's having a crisis moment, and Joey's helping him through it."

"What crisis?" Chris asked, and suddenly he seemed more alert and less drunk off his ass.

"They hate him," JC said.

"They who?"

"Fans, press, everyone. They're picketing his house. Carson had to pull his latest single off TRL. And Jive's postponing the release of his record."

"*What*?! Why don't people ever *tell* me these things?" Chris started rooting around in his jacket for his cellphone.

"Hey, 's Chris. I need to skip the meeting. No, it's an emergency. And can you get someone to book me a ticket back to Orlando on the next flight out of here? Thanks. Yeah, it's a good reason. 'Kay. Talk to you later."

"What are you doing?" Lance asked. "Justin hates you."

"Justin needs me," Chris said.

"That's right," JC said. "Sun *and* water. And some good soil for nourishment."

"I gotta go," Chris said.

"Call us when you get things sorted out," Lance said.

"Don't forget," JC said, "that transplants take time to put down new roots."

"JC?" Lance said.

"Yes?"

"Do you have an aspirin?"

"You have a headache?"

"No," Lance said, "but you will."

"It's a good metaphor!" JC said.

"Once I hit you over the head."

"Chris gets it!"

"Repeatedly," Lance said.

* * *

"What are *you* doing here?" Justin asked when Chris arrived at Joey's doorstep.

"Where else would I be?" Chris said, and "Nice to see you too, kiddo," and, "Oh, Justin," and pulled him into a tight hug.

Justin had thought he was still angry at Chris, but he didn't have the energy to be angry *and* deal with the press *and* not break down when talking to Johnny *and* try to convince Jive not to cancel his album. So he dropped the anger, and reminded himself that Chris was here, and Chris was trying, and Chris obviously cared about him even if this was new-stranger-Chris and not old-best-friend-Chris, and he should maybe just let it all go.

"Thanks," he said, when they finished hugging.

"Don't," Chris said. "I haven't done anything."

"You're here," Justin said.

"Yeah, but." Chris ran a hand through his hair. "*You* wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. If I hadn't done the Letterman."

"I think," Justin said, "that I'm old enough to have decided to out myself purely based on my own reasoning skills." There was a tendril of anger, back already and creeping up from his stomach.

"J," Chris said, "would it even have occurred to you if I hadn't done it first?" Then he cringed, and held up a hand before Justin could respond. "I didn't mean it that way. I just. I worry about you."

Justin really wished he could respond with some kind of snappy comeback, like "Don't," something really harsh and cruel that would get Chris to just treat him like an adult for once, but he also really wished he could let it all go, and that Chris would take care of it, and him, for him, and he could concentrate on not feeling quite so shitty. And this second desire must have won the brief tug of war in his mind, because instead of anger he saw concern in Chris' eyes, and realized that he was rubbing his own eyes with the back of his hand and asking, "Why won't they just *like* me?"

But it must have been the right thing to say after all, because Chris put a hand on the small of his back, and murmured, "I know, Justin," and "Shhh," and "We'll make it better," and guided him to Joey's couch, and didn't go away.

When Joey came home a few minutes later, he found them there, Justin with his head in Chris' lap, Chris running a soothing hand up and down Justin's spine and whispering stuff that Justin didn't really listen to, but appreciated anyway because the soft hum of Chris' voice was really all the comfort he needed.

"How you doin'?" Joey asked.

"Better," Justin said. And discovered that he meant it.

* * *

"He been staying here full time?" Chris asked Joey as they watched Justin pace the living room. He was talking to Johnny again, in a strained, hushed tone that was apparently his default setting these days. Chris didn't like it.

"Pretty much," Joey said.

"Shit."

"Sucks," Joey said, and sipped his beer.

"Why I went folk," Chris said.

"Funny," Joey said, "I always thought Justin was why you went pop."

Chris choked on his beer. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I remember when we sang doo-wop. A cappella. And you loved it, Chris. That was what you quit Universal for. But you let us get to you."

Chris stared. Did Joey really. Did they all think that? "It wasn't like that," he said.

"It was," Joey said. "It wasn't a *bad* thing, but it was *exactly* like that. Justin had a hunger in him, and you starved yourself so he - so we - could eat."

"You've been talking to Jayce, haven't you?"

"He knows what he's talking about," Joey said. "JC gets it on a deeper level than anyone I've ever met."

"The problem," Chris said, "is that there's no English translation for half the thoughts in his brain."

"He was right about this one, though, Chris."

Chris shrugged uncomfortably. "Purging is good for your soul."

"And you were used to being hungry," Joey said.

"What the fuck is *that* supposed to mean?"

"You know how much you've told me about your childhood, Chris?"

Chris narrowed his eyes, but before he could respond, Justin got off the phone.

"What happened?" he asked.

"They'll put out the album," Justin said, "if I re-record it all. They want. They said we have to change my target audience." He sat down next to Chris.

"Do you want to?" Chris asked. He ran a soothing hand along Justin's back.

Justin shrugged. "I want to *sing*," he said.

"Do you want to sing what they want you to sing?" Chris asked.

"What does it matter?"

"What matters," Joey said, "is whether it's worth it to change yourself. Just for them."

Chris felt Justin's shoulders tense beneath his hand. His own body had gone completely rigid. If he could have kicked Joey, he would have.

"Who am I, if I don't sing?" Justin asked.

"Who are you if you do?" Joey replied.

"I don't know," Justin said, in the scared-Justin voice that Chris had grown to hate, and he wandered away.

Chris stared at his hands. He felt very small, and very worthless. What had he been doing all those years, if Justin could still be made to hurt like this? If Justin had no identity beyond what he was given?

"Chris."

"Hm?"

"Maybe purging will help him, too."

"It should be voluntary," Chris said. "Mine was voluntary."

"Not always," Joey said. "Not until you were twenty-four."

"It's different when it's not by choice."

"Justin's always had it easy. Maybe, to become himself. Maybe he needs this."

"It's different," Chris said again, but what he really meant was "Justin's different."

"I know," Joey said.

"I love him," Chris said. It was the first time he'd told Joey. He expected it to be a big declaration. The universe should be fundamentally altered. But Joey just smiled sadly and put one of his hands on Chris' shoulder.

"Let him grow, then," he said. "Let him fall."

"What if he can't get up? What then?"

"Then," Joey said, "*then* you come by, and help him."

* * *

"It's not that I *mind*," Joey said when he opened the door to find Lance and JC, "it's just. Could you call first?"

"Where's Justin?" Lance asked.

"Out by the pool with Chris, moping."

"We figured it out," Lance said as they walked through the hall.

"Time for the flower to blossom," JC added happily.

"I thought," Joey said, "that Chris was the flower."

"Don't be stupid. Chris is the skeleton."

Joey stopped walking and watched JC's back as he made his way outside.

"He writes good music," Lance said.

"Sure," Joey said.

"Shut up," Lance said, and they followed JC.

When they got outside, Chris and Justin were lying on lounge chairs, Justin's head on Chris shoulder. Chris had a protective arm around Justin, while JC, twirling a sunflower in his fingers, sat at their feet.

"So you see," he said, "we think you should let Jive cancel your contract."

"Et tu, Brute?" Joey murmured. Lance glared at him.

"What C's not saying," he told Justin, "is that *we* want to sign you."

"Why?" Justin asked.

"Why not?" Lance said.

"Um, because no one wants my music?"

"Of course they do," JC said, "they just don't know it yet."

"It'll be tough going at first," Lance said, "but the potential pay-off... even in *nsync, we had a large gay fan-base, J. You're tapping uncharted waters here, and it's gonna be huge."

"I don't know," Justin said.

"You could sing with me," Chris said.

"Huh?"

"To help you start out."

JC smiled. "That's a great idea."

"Hm," Lance said. "Folk artist Chris Kirkpatrick returns to his pop roots in a show of support for fellow gay singer Justin Timberlake... it could work."

Chris poked Justin. "What do you say?"

"No."

"What?"

"No," Justin said, standing up. "I'm not singing with you, I'm not signing with them. Just, no."

"Why?" Chris asked.

"Because I'm not a charity case. I fucked up, yeah, but you know what? I can damn well sink or swim on my own."

Chris reached for his hand, but Justin pulled away.

"No, Chris. I don't need you flying in here to rescue me like fucking Superman. I'm not fourteen."

"I never thought you were," Chris said.

"Right," Justin said. "Which is why you haven't left my side for the past three days. I don't need a fucking baby-sitter, Chris."

"I just thought--"

"You thought wrong."

"Okay," Chris said. He stood up, and started walking indoors. Joey touched his arm, but Chris just shook his head.

"Let it go," he said, and closed the patio door behind him.

"What the fuck was that?" Lance asked.

"What the fuck is this?" Justin said. "We're all faggots, so we stick together?"

"Or maybe," Lance said, "we're all brothers, and we love you."

"Even when you're a prick," Joey said.

"Me?" Justin said.

"Yes, you." Lance pushed him back onto the lawn chair, and sat next to him. "We know you can do it on your own, J. The point is, you shouldn't have to."

"Sink or swim on your own," Joey said, "but at least recognize a lifeboat when it floats your way."

JC tossed his sunflower in the pool. "So much for metaphors," he said, and followed Chris inside.

* * *

"You okay?" JC asked Chris hesitantly.

Chris looked up from his guitar, and smiled. "Sure," he said. "Just brooding. You know - dark room, dog at my feet, Simon & Garfunkel."

"Chris-"

"It's okay, C. I'm a rock. I feel no pain."

"He's an idiot. Lance'll change his mind, you'll see."

"No," Chris said. "Don't."

"What?"

"He's right. He can sink or swim all on his own, C. We can't - I can't do it for him."

JC sat next to Chris, and gently took the guitar from him.

"Joey *told* me," Chris said, "and I. I didn't want him to be right, but he was. Justin grew up when my back was turned."

"No, he didn't. He pretends, Chris, but he's just a kid. He *is.*"

"Maybe he shouldn't be."

"What are you. Chris."

"I go on tour next week, you know? And I just. Let him figure it all out. Find his happy ending."

"And then you'll come home triumphantly and Justin will be ready and the two of you can ride into the sunset together?"

"I didn't say that," Chris said.

"Did you have to?"

"I can't hold his hand - Joe was right about that. But I don't think I can watch if he falls."

"And how long will you stay away? A few months? A year? How many tours will it take? You shouldn't have to - you can't wait forever, Chris."

Chris shook his head. "I already have."

* * *

"Jayce said you were going on tour," Justin said softly when he let himself into Chris' house.

"Album to sell," Chris said. "You know the drill."

"Yeah."

Chris picked Kariya up and nuzzled her neck with his nose.

"Chris?"

"Mm?"

"Do you have to go?"

"Justin."

"I know."

"You can do this," Chris said, putting the dog down and touching Justin's shoulder.

"I know."

"You can do this, all by yourself. You're rich, and famous, and talented. And grown-up. You don't need me for this."

"I need you," Justin said, desperately.

"Not for this," Chris said.

"I need you," Justin said. He buried his face against Chris' neck. "I need you."

Chris hand came up, stroked Justin's head gently.

"Okay," he said.

* * *

"No," Joey said. "Absolutely not."

"Joe," Chris said, "it's okay. Drink your beer."

"You are *not* postponing your career *again* just because Justin needs you."

"It's okay."

"It's not! Jesus, Chris, what the fuck's the matter with you?" Joey stopped pacing Chris' living room long enough to pick up his beer and take a long drink.

"There's nothing wrong with me," Chris said icily.

"I thought you changed," Joey said.

Chris shrugged. "I can change back."

"Change-why do I even fucking. You're an idiot, Kirkpatrick, you know that, right?"

"I don't see what the big deal is. He asked me to stay."

"So of course you dropped everything."

"He *asked*, Joe. It wasn't me pushing. He asked me. I'm supposed to tell him no?"

"Yes."

"You know," Chris said, "I really don't get you. Justin's your friend too."

"Justin has a family and 3 other ex-boyband members who are perfectly willing to take care of him. He can spare you for a tour."

"He said he needed me, Joe."

"Did he say he loved you?"

Chris sighed.

"I'll take that as a no, then." Joey flopped on the couch. "You have to stop, Chris.

"Why? Who is it hurting?"

"You. Me. JC, Lance. Hell, even Justin. Because it's gonna kill you, and we're gonna have to watch it."

"I don't want to lose him," Chris said softly.

"You won't. Just be his friend, and love him, and you won't."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"You're trying to manage him, just like everyone else. He's an adult, Chris. He's been in the business longer than you have, and he can look out for his own interests. He doesn't need you to do it for him."

"He *asked* me-"

"He asked you not to let him go."

"Well if you're so smart, Joe, what am I supposed to do? He tells me he needs me, he tells me not to go, he cries in my arms. What the fuck would you tell him?"

"That I need to have a life too. That I love him, and I always will, but it's time for him to stand on his own two feet, and let me stand on mine."

"Fucker," Chris said.

Joey smiled. "Yeah."

* * *

"Okay," Justin said.

"Okay?"

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "You're right. You. You deserve a career too, more maybe, 'cause I've always been. and. you'll come home, and I'll be here, and."

"J," Chris said, squeezing Justin's shoulder. "J, it's gonna happen for you again."

"Jive's being a bunch of fuckers," Justin said. "They won't. I wrote all those songs."

"Hey," Chris said. He tipped Justin's face up, tapped him on the nose. "All the kids gotta do is look into those baby blues, and they'll be fallin' all over you again. And your next album'll feature all those songs you wrote."

"Elton called."

"Yeah?"

"He told me I'd be stupid to do it their way." Justin grinned wryly. "Gotta do my thing, you know?"

Chris sat next to him. "You're gonna sign with Lance and Jayce?"

"Nope," Justin said. "Nope, I'm gonna wait."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Justin nudged Chris with his knee. "Go," he said. "Go tour, and sing, and do your thing thing. And when you come home, I'm so gonna whoop your ass at basketball, 'kay?"

"You could come with me," Chris said softly, staring at his hands.

Justin's breath hitched a little. "Yeah?" he said.

Chris nodded.

"Yeah."
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