Lance lay stretched out on Justin’s bed, his hand resting idly on his lower stomach, the other picking aimlessly at the soft comforter beneath him. He rather fancied lying about on the bed lately, choosing to lounge in a well worn pair of jeans Justin had picked up for him. Holes in the knees and frays near the ankles that once seemed untidy now seemed normal. Shirts were optional, and he hadn’t felt to need to wear one. “I thought we could go to Britney’s for dinner,” Justin was calling out, his voice carrying through to Lance from the steamy bathroom where he was enjoying a leisurely shower. “She and Chris invited us.” Lance yawned and let his eyes close. There were no clocks to remind him of time, and no place *that* important to have to go. He’d let go of a lot, he thought, and dinner with Britney and Chris might be nice. Weird but nice. “Fine with me,” he called back, rolling onto his stomach. It had been such an eye opener, being whisked off with Justin. A dip into reality where peacefulness seemed to take his life over. Lance rested his cheek on the back of his hand and sighed. He couldn’t fathom the fact Justin had been under his nose for all those years, and yet he’d ignored him. Never cared to dive too deeply into the boy wonder. Rather liked keeping him at bay. Now, as the sun illuminated Justin’s bedroom, Lance was plotting. Why just November, he wondered. Why not make it a permanent thing? Him and Justin. He could easily run Free Lance and A Happy Place from Los Angeles. They could live in the beach house, or, Lance thought as his lips curled excitedly, they could buy a bigger place together. Let Justin decorate it with just the right touches. Of course he’d have to adjust to the cell phone again, and all the day to day nonsense that Lance knew filled his life. He let out a hesitant giggle, burying his face into his arms. Feeling boyish and a bit impulsive. A damp hand landed on his lower back, and he let out a happy purr. “What’s so thrilling that you’re grinning?” Justin asked, sitting beside him as he adjusted the white towel around his waist. Lance rolled over and grinned. “You’re thrilling,” he said lowly, surprised with the honesty from which it came. “And alive, and ... damn.” His eyes glittered in the sun, and he reached up to touch Justin’s cheek, rubbing a droplet of water away with his thumb. Happy. Content. Justin was not looking back, however, a fact Lance noticed immediately. His heart dropped a little to see hints of a storm marring the usual vibrant blue. “Justin? You alright?” Lance was concerned, instantly, odd feelings rising inside his chest like a river washing ashore. Scared. “Hmm?” Lance sat up, his senses immediately on alert. “You alright? You seem a million miles away suddenly.” “I’m fine,” Justin lied, leaning over to brush his lips over Lance’s. A playful smack to Lance's thigh and he got up. “Hurry and dress. I want to get Britney some flowers before we go.” “Okay,” Lance mumbled, rubbing his fingers roughly across his mouth. It was strange -- the connection that had just been so intense now fluttering away a bit. Enough to make Lance’s gut roll and his mind twirl. He watched Justin through narrowed eyes, observing the way he rubbed the towel over his damp body softly -- as if maybe it hurt. And the way his hands moved just that much slower. His broad shoulders slumped a tad, and he wobbled uneasily as he attempted to slip his jeans on. Lance watched -- and questioned silently. And tried to make his heart stop that incessantly violent thumping that seemed to capture his breath and run with it. Stupid he wasn’t, and Justin was hiding a monster of a secret. It tore him down the center, exposing sides of his persona he wasn’t prepared to see. Slowly, he got up and padded over to Justin. Eying the span of his back -- the multitude of tiny freckles that settled against tan skin. He reached out and touched them gently, running his fingertips over the brown dots. “You can talk to me,” Lance said, his voice barely more than a deep whisper. Justin tensed, Lance felt it under his touch. But he didn’t run. Instead he curled his arm around Justin’s waist and pulled him back -- safely. Begging for that same trust he’d given to Justin. “I know,” Justin replied, patting Lance’s arm with a little less affection that usual. He turned and tilted his head at Lance. “I’m fine, Lance. Really.”  It was obvious that Lance was less than convinced, and Justin choked at the prospect of having trouble dance in those green eyes. “Lance. Come *on*. This is not supposed to be all serious and shit.” Justin wrapped his arms around Lance’s neck and hugged him. “It’s all good, okay? It’s all good.” Lance felt the shakiness in Justin’s voice as he whispered words that weren’t all together true. It made Lance edgy, tentative in each touch. As Justin tried to break the embrace, Lance yanked him back in, cupping his face in the palms of his hands -- forcing their gazes to meet. Windows to the soul. “You’ll tell me right?” Lance queried. “You’ll tell me if something is not right?” The twinkle faded, and a mysterious haze clouded Justin’s eyes -- his face -- his expression. His hands rested on Lance’s wrists and he nodded. Unconvincingly. “We’re gonna be late,” Justin said, clearing his throat to break the intensity. “Chris’ll have kittens.” Lance saw the struggle raging inside Justin, and out of respect, let it go. He dropped his hands and forced a smile. “Chris having kittens is not a scene I want to see,” he snorted. Justin licked his lips but didn’t smile. “Yeah. So. Get dressed. I’m gonna take Baby for a run before we go.” There was nothing he could do, Lance thought sorrowfully, as Justin tossed a shirt over his head and made his way from the loft. He wasn’t going to push, and it angered him. If Justin was ill, he had that right to know. Or so he thought. Frustration built a fortress inside him and he yanked a tee shirt from Justin’s dresser, tugging it on without thought. Slipping his sandals on, he growled to himself -- more determined than ever to propose the idea of living together. Justin needed him. He needed Justin. Mutual was coming into play for the first time in Lance’s life. It conflicted him. Lance stood on the deck and watched Justin stroll along the surf, pausing to toss the occasional shell back into the ocean. Baby yipped and ran ahead, and Lance felt a well of emotions stirring inside him. Love he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel. Admiration. Lust. All of it entwined within, swirling ferociously. Making him turn away with the assault it caused on his body. He glanced around Justin’s home -- his domain -- his life. Scattered memories of life past dotted the rooms. Lance peered at them, realizing most of these memories were shared -- not just with him but three others. A group. A band of brothers. Brothers that were now scattered for the most part. It was a photo hanging in Justin’s game room that nailed Lance -- that sucked the breath from his lungs with the force of a bomb. It caused his hand to fly over his heart and stare. A random photo perhaps, but speaking volumes to him nevertheless. An early photo of the five of them -- a very tacky picture of the five of them lounging on a bed somewhere in Europe. Horrible lighting and awful clothes. But it was the look in their eyes -- in five pairs of eyes that suddenly called to him. A truth. An honesty. Justin curled up so innocently next to him. JC staring right at him. Joey and Chris on either side, protecting the best they could. A picture that spoke a thousand words, literally. Lance reached out to touch it, surrendering to the feeling of being eighteen again. Lounging in that wondrous feeling that he had back then. Like life was a book and he was going to explore and devour it all. But, he saw it now. How jaded he‘d become. How figures and profit reigned over humanity for him. How being with Justin in such simplicity had made him slow down. How he would never display that photo in his home for the very petty fact it was a horrible photo, taken by some no name photographer, lacking in style and edge. No, his home contained few N Sync photos -- but the ones that were displayed were done by top notch artists and were most likely air brushed. Shallow came to mind. “Remember that night?” Justin asked, pressing his hand to Lance’s back. “We stayed up all night and laughed.” Lance didn’t remember. Not at all. He bit his lips and furrowed his brows, begging the recesses of his mind to dig deeper, pull it out. Nothing. Not even a hint. “I don’t,” he whispered. “What did we laugh about?” Justin sighed into Lance’s neck and smiled. “We laughed about the fans that came to the hotel with Tickle Me Elmo’s. We laughed about the girl Joey snuck back who looked more like a boy. We made fun of the way Chris farted during the interview that day. And watched Indiana Jones with sub-titles.” His mind whirled trying to come up with those images -- and with Justin holding him, he thought maybe he did remember those Tickle Me Elmo dolls, and the Indiana Jones movie. “Popcorn all over the hotel room?” he asked timidly, turning his body into Justin's. “Being yelled at in the morning because we didn’t respect ourselves enough not to make a mess? Having to get down on our knees and clean it all up ourselves?” Lance smiled as he felt tears prick at his eyes. The image was the sweetest one he could have fathomed -- a memory long since discarded as frivolous. Justin nuzzled his nose into Lance’s ear and giggled. “Yeah, and we bitched because Chris refused to pick any of it up. He just sat on the bed with his feet kicked up looking through a comic book and told us that since he was the oldest, he could pick and chose what he decided to do.” Lance did remember that, how furious the four of them had been as tiny kernels of corn embedded in their knees. How red their faces were at being scolded for being so immature and disrespectful. How it had taken them nearly an hour to get every last stitch of popcorn up by hand, not allowed to ask for a vacuum. “We were only kids,” he whispered. “Having fun.” “And we weren’t allowed much of it, were we?” Justin asked, running his hands down Lance’s back. “Me and you especially. We were always told to grow up, to act mature. To stop looking at the girls, or to look more. To study harder. To take our vitamins. Not to drink. Stay out of clubs. Be what we weren’t.” Justin pulled back and smiled. “It kind of hurt. Maybe it still does.” “I loved my life,” Lance defended, turning away. “I was this little scrappy geek from Mississippi. Fuck, I couldn’t have dreamed this.” His eyes blurred with tears and he swiped at them, refusing to break down. “I had chances no one else got. I worked hard to get respect and money.” “And you let it consume you,” Justin countered, tugging at Lance’s belt loop. “You let it take that Mississippi geek and turn him into some kind of mogul.” He took a breath, to drive his point home. “Like the moguls we fought so hard against when we were in N Sync. Remember?” It crushed Lance -- nearly buckling him. Realization sank into him as he understood what Justin was saying. To lose. To shut out. To be so hurt you can’t let anyone in. Not to smile or be able to learn. So he let the tears come, drip recklessly down his cheeks. The truth had stung him, stabbed at him deeper than he could have imagined. No one dared show him this before. No one cared quite enough, perhaps. He whirled around and dropped to his knees, grabbing Justin around the waist, burrowing his face in his stomach. Letting his tears flow and dribble until Justin pulled him up, and brushed the tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay now,” he assured him gently, guiding him to the couch. “Now you know. Now you can heal.” Lance could only nod as he dampened Justin’s shirt, as he vowed silently to make whatever amends necessary to become whole again. part seven sweet november menu part nine