He was inside the house in seconds, on the floor cradling Justin’s head. “Justin? God, Justin?” Britney followed him in, calmly. And Lance was mystified. “Call 911!” he screamed, unable to see why she just stood there. “I can’t Lance,” she said evenly, kneeling down next to them. She took Justin’s hand in hers and stroked it lightly, tracing little circles in the palm of his hand, brushing her two fingers over his wrist. “Are you checking his pulse?” Lance cried, and this time the tears did pool in his eyes. Not understanding. Scared. “He’s alright,” she said with a sigh. “Help me get him to the couch.” Justin’s eyes fluttered and Lance leaned back with a disorientated moan. “What’s going on?” Britney smiled down at Justin. “Hey Boo. You decide to take a little trip without me?” A tear slipped down Justin’s cheek as he focused and Lance stared back at him. “Go!” he shrieked, scrambling away from Lance. “Brit, make him go!” Lance shook his head. “No! Justin you need a doctor.” He pleaded with Britney for help -- for insight. “Well?” “Give us a minute,” Britney said, wrapping her arms around Justin protectively. “Go on into the kitchen and get us all some sweet tea. I made some fresh this afternoon when I was here to walk Baby.” The fear that thundered in Lance’s chest was real, so real. His feet were unyielding as he watched Britney stroke Justin’s face and coo to him gently. In that second of time, he wondered what he’d missed being gone for so long. He was well aware of the public speculation when  Britney had curved her appearances tremendously, hearing through the grape vine that she had postponed her new album. He never questioned *why*, it simply didn’t matter enough to him. Now, his body tingled with dread, and he thought maybe he knew. Maybe she had obligations to Justin -- maybe pieces of this puzzle were deeper than he knew. “Lance, please,” Britney said quietly as she stared at him from the floor. “Come on now, don’t make me ring my southern bell.” It was an attempt at levity, and Lance nodded as he backed from the room -- shocked. He could still hear the conversation from his place in the kitchen, and he opened cabinets to find glasses. Baby’s nails clipped across the floor as he struggled to maintain composure. “Where’s the glasses girl? Huh?” His hands trembled as he moved through the kitchen, straining to hear what was happening in the living room. Baby yipped as he placed his hands on the cabinet next to the sink. “In here eh?” He swung it open and stared blankly at the cups. Justin was collapsed. Something horrible was happening, he felt it. “Lance? How’s that tea coming?” Britney called out, and Lance snapped back, plucking three glasses to the countertop. “Good. Be right there.” He poured the tea from the refrigerator in a daze, and by the time he made his way back out to the living room, Justin was sitting on the couch with a smile -- Britney by his side. She jumped up when she saw Lance, and took two of the glasses from him. “Bout time,” she giggled, handing on to Justin. “See? And you’re always saying how fast New Yorkers are.” Justin grinned and took a sip of his drink, nodding. “Yeah, but Lance is true Mississippi, right?” He threw a casual wink toward Lance who was standing rigidly against the door frame. Wondering if his he had landed in the Twilight Zone perhaps. “Mississippi. Yeah, I’m real southern,” he snorted, placing his glass down on a table. “Justin, what was this?” He waved his hand around in a flap of frustration, curious as to why they were acting as if life was good and all was well. It made no  sense to  him -- none at all. “I fainted,” Justin said between sips. “Not enough to eat today I suppose.” He tucked his feet underneath him and studied Lance carefully. “You weren’t scared were you?” Britney rolled her eyes and handed Justin her tea. “Y’all have it out. I got me a date with my man tonight and I need to get ready.” She tugged her mini skirt down and bent to kiss Justin’s lips. “Behave tonight Mr. Timberlake hear? If I find out you’re out from city boy here that you’ve been bad ...” Justin grabbed her around the waist and snuggled her close. “I’m all about behaving, Pinky.” He laid a sloppy kiss on her cheek and let her up. She wagged a finger at him and adjusted her wig. Moving to Lance, she threw her arms around him and hugged him. “It’s okay, hon,” she whispered into his ear. “Just enjoy him. He’s a hoot.” A lopsided kiss landed on his cheek before she spun around and wagged her fingers. “Ta ta boys.” The door shut and silence fell across the beach house once again. Lance was throbbing from the inside out. His head pounded and his heart shuddered with each beat. If he wanted to move, his body resisted. “She’s been dating Chris ya know,” Justin said as he stretched his body along the length of the couch. Lance’s eyes widened as a chuckle caught in his throat. “Chris who?” he dared ask, because there was one Chris he knew -- but that couldn’t be. “Chris who?” Justin laughed. “How many Chris’ you know that would cause the Pop Princess to move from trend to offend in a year or less?” “Kirkpatrick?” Lance gasped, rubbing his hand over his stomach absently. “You’re shitting me!” Justin held out his hand toward Lance and shook his head. “Nope. The one and only. Two of them flit around like butterflies. Totally blissful. Completely happy. Laughing all the fucking time.” Lance moved across the room, his eyes crinkled in merriment at the notion of Chris and Britney dating. “It’s just so ... I dunno. Odd.” His hands fell to his sides and suddenly he was afraid to touch Justin, scared of the unknown. Of what that fainting spell was. Of absurd things happening. “They love each other, Lance,” Justin said, capturing Lance’s hand in his and tugging him down. “What’s that song ... ‘All you need is love’?” He began to hum lowly as Lance tried to resist falling to the couch. “Come on, Lance. Let this go. All this ... this shit you have inside of you. Fear. It’s unsettling.” Didn’t he understand, Lance wondered silently. Understand how scared he was? How badly that fainting spell made him feel? He allowed himself to drift down next to Justin, curling their bodies together. He let Justin stroke his hair in some sign of comfort. He permitted Justin to kiss his head and sigh into his hair. Like all was well. Like all of this was some fucked up head trip and he was going to wake any moment in his office with phones ringing and contracts screaming to be signed. Yet he felt Justin’s heart beating against his ear -- strongly. Healthily. “Tell me what that was,” Lance murmured. “Not just fainting. What was it?” He picked his head from Justin’s chest and stared into his face, swept his gaze over the shaved head and sideburns, the long eyelashes that fluttered in false slumber against his cheeks. Lance removed his hand from Justin’s stomach and touched his cheek softly, true concern flush against his heart. A friendship that had circled round for whatever reason. Need to know that Justin was alright. “No talking,” Justin whispered gently. “Let’s lie here until the sun is gone. I just want to feel us together for a bit.” It was sentiment to Lance, mumbo jumbo that explained nothing to him -- only left him with more questions. Apparently, that was Justin’s way. Speak in tongues and free form while the real world raced around him. Disconcerting was what it was. Lance lived in a world where facts were what kept him going -- the ability to process from paper into an idea on stage, or on screen. Justin was living in dreams. In faded reality. It frightened Lance -- more than he wanted to admit. But he let it go and surrendered to an overdue nap, letting the thumping of Justin’s heart lull him into a sleep. Releasing his anger and frustrations. His regrets and ache to head back to New York. Night fell over the two on that couch, the moon making a grand entrance through the windows, bathing them in luminous glows that stirred them hours later. “Hungry,” Justin giggled into Lance’s ear. “I’m so hungry!” Lance roused from his sleep with a fierce ache between his legs -- a noticeable bulge that pressed against Justin embarrassingly. He sat up quickly and rubbed his face with his hands. Ashamed at this time his body would cry out so loudly. Justin lowered his head and smiled, brushing his hand over Lance’s erection. “First we eat,” he said gruffly. “Then we play.” A final squeeze and he stood up, leaving Lance’s mouth hanging, and his heart thundering. Submitting to whatever drug Justin was handing him -- some natural high he’d never been able to find before. Like a puppy, he stood up and padded into the kitchen behind Justin, staring in wide eyed wonder as the man who once burned pop tarts proceeded to make scrambled eggs and bacon. Full breakfast in the middle of the night. “What?” Justin asked innocently as he poured two huge glasses of orange juice. “You don’t like eggs anymore?” Lance shook his head, unable to keep the smile from his lips. “I just didn’t know you cooked.” He ducked his head and laughed lightly, shocked and stunned by everything. “Yeah, well. Funny thing happened when we disbanded, Lance.” Justin moved across the kitchen and bent down to plant a chaste kiss on Lance’s lips. “No more room service from them fancy hotels. I had to fend for myself.” He danced over to the cabinets and pulled some dishes out. “At first, it was an ugly scene.” “I’ll bet,” Lance chuckled. “Man, you were the worst cook I ever saw!” Justin nodded in agreement. “I did a lot of growing up,” he admitted, spooning the scrambled eggs onto the plates. “A lot.” His blue eyes held a faraway look, one of not only maturity but a touch of irretrievable times. A mystery that sat not far behind the brilliant color. Something Lance did not fail to see. Shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth, Lance tilted his head. “Anything you wanna talk about?” he garbled. “Not much to say, actually.” Justin chomped on a slice of bacon and smiled. “Life is good, Lance. A gift from God. A chance to be and to love.” There it was again, all that free spirit fluff that Lance didn’t understand -- couldn’t comprehend with his frame of mind. He was all about the reality -- the basics -- the facts. He believed what he could touch, trusted only in what he saw. Had turned away from church and while the occasional psalm fled from his lips, the feeling that was once behind it was no longer there. “I don’t have a soul,” he whispered suddenly, dropping his fork to the table. “Jesus God!” It was so sudden a revelation from within it caused his body to break out in a sweat -- to make his legs shake and his head pound. Dropping his face into the palms of his hands, he tried to breath, tried to call upon times of old perhaps, when he wasn’t so jaded and cynical. Justin was with Lance in seconds. He took Lance’s head and pressed it to his stomach, stroking the side of his face with compassion and understanding. “Let this shit go, Lance. This month.” Lance couldn’t stop the shaking -- the tremors that racked him so hard. No tears came, just the eerie beginnings of realization of what his life had turned into. His cell phone jingled loudly, creating an echo in the stillness of night. “Who the hell?” Justin gaped as Lance scrambled from his side to answer it. “Lance, let it go. Gimme the cell!” “Lance here, talk.” Suddenly that shaking stopped as his anchor returned to him -- the cell phone his contact between Malibu and New York City -- between Justin’s fantasy and his reality. Lance saw Justin in front of him, tapping his foot with hand extended. One finger held up in front of him let Justin know he wasn’t quite ready to let go -- not yet. A throw of his hands, and Justin slid the sliding doors open, vanishing into the night. Lance stared after him, fielding angry questions from his confused assistant. “Look, I’m fine. Vacation. I’ll be back soon. I’ll call you in the morning.” He stifled her objections, and clicked the phone off, wandering out after Justin. “Hey!” he called out as he made out the shadowy figure walking toward the surf. “Justin, come on. You can’t be mad at me for that. What if it was an emergency?” Justin paused and turned with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes glowing in the moon light. “Gimme the phone Lance!” he called out. “Come here and put it in my hand.” Lance froze. “What?” “The phone. Surrender the phone -- if you can.” It was a challenge extended, testing his will. A demand that Lance laughed at in disbelief. “Justin! It’s a phone. What’s the big deal?” Justin stood strong as the wind whipped around him. “One damn month, Lance! It’s all I’m asking! One month without cells and CNBC and the New York Times. One month where you live for you and not for some stock quote that scrolls on the bottom of a screen.” It made Lance feel petty and small, so he turned and headed inside to retrieve the tiny black Nokia, and when he stepped back outside, Justin was wading in the chilly surf. Lance watched carefully as he kicked his feet back and forth, and a unexpected wave of nausea waved over him. A sick kind of feeling that spread. He propelled his body forward, clutching the cell tightly in his palm. “You’ll catch cold,” he said as the breeze sent his tee shirt thrashing about. “Justin?” Justin turned slowly, his face a sparkle of inspiration. And Lance thought he might die from the intensity of the moment -- of staring helplessly at a seemingly perfect human. It shocked him and he dropped the phone to the sand, never blinking when the surf claimed it as it’s own and washed it away. Justin said nothing as he smiled brightly. He nodded in some sign of understanding of the enormity of what Lance was giving up. And in exchange, he moved behind Lance, wrapping him up with his arms. Protectively. Kissing the back of his neck. Tenderly. Rocking him along with an internal hymn. Spiritually. “What say we go back inside?” he whispered into Lance’s ear. “Go curl up in that big ol bed of mine and laugh some. Talk about how much fun it was when we were on tour. Set this new life free.” “Okay,” Lance replied, his deep voice nothing more than a faint mumble in the night. Overwhelmed and safe. For the first time since N Sync existed. He felt safe. Sweet November 4 Menu Sweet November 6