NOTES: Sequel to Lighted Windows and Your Life Is Now. Very confusing without reading those two first. The usual thanks to Joss Whedon & BtVS. Chris quotes Julian Barnes's book, History of the World in 10 and a Half Chapters. Lance quotes the movie A League of Their Own. Thanks to J-lo and Tiffany.

LIMP

Three days of impotence and Lance got himself to the doctor for the earliest possible appointment. This had never happened to him. Never. It had happened twice, really, but that hardly counted. He'd been drinking both times and both guys had been skanky, sort of. This was three days, no drinking, and Justin. Lance looked down at his dick and thought, what did I ever do to you?

The doctor did some tests, prostate exam, and then just stood there, asking dumbass questions. The doctor said, "You've lost twenty pounds since your last check-up, Lance." Actually, it had been thirty-five, but he'd gained back five in tour muscle and another ten since Justin. And then the subtle questions about how Lance had been sleeping, the stress in his life. Lance bit his lip and didn't say, "What about my dick? Make my dick work." The doctor gave him something, a snap-test to do that night, and said, "Yes, often erectile dysfunction is a physical problem, but, Lance, in your case, I don't think that's what we'll find." Fucker.

The snap test snapped and when Lance spoke to the doctor in the morning, the doctor mentioned sex therapists, psychologists and made little noises of discouragement when Lance asked about more physical tests. Lance sighed and said, "Is it psychiatrists or psychologists that can prescribe drugs? Which one can get me Viagra?"

The doctor said, "You can't take Viagra -- it's contraindicated for men with heart problems. Don't even think about it, Lance." Fucker.

He had the card for that woman Johnny had wanted them all to see, he'd kept it in his wallet, tucked behind two credit cards and a picture of Joey and Brianna. He called and made an appointment for the first thing in the morning, the next day. Fucker. Fucking sucked.

Justin came into the bedroom and threw a basketball at Lance. "Come on, one on one."
It was Justin's new thing to practice, he'd agreed to do some charity basketball celebrity game thing in six weeks and now he wanted to play basketball every afternoon. This was supposed to be prep time, new album with all new songs. Usually they rushed right into the studio, but this time JC was training Justin on production and they were both writing songs, so, prep time. Lance didn't have much to do except sit around, work on other things and berate his limp dick. And play basketball with Justin, apparently.

Lance sighed and changed into sweats, followed Justin down to the backyard. After ten minutes, Justin held the ball away and said, "Fuck, Lance, you got to play for real. Foul me, okay?" Lance nodded his head okay, tried, but clearly not enough as Justin slammed into him twice. So Lance got the message and played hard until Justin threw the ball away and pulled Lance close. "See, that was good," Justin said, panting a little.

He was pressed up against Lance and it was just fucking unfair, fucking cruel because Justin was hard and Lance was not. He had every reason to be, there were few things in the world that turned Lance on as much as a sweaty Justin up against him. Lance ducked his head against Justin's neck and sighed again. "I'm working on it, I swear," Lance muttered.

Justin stepped away and shook out his hair like a dog. "Look, we don't have to." Justin looked away and started walking back to the house.

Lance followed him and cursed his dick. They'd been so close, he thought, him and his dick, and now this betrayal. He'd always, always used condoms. He knew his dick hated being stuck in some suffocating rubber thing all the time, but it was for his own good. Tough glove love, and he didn't have to have anything burned or frozen off his dick or keep penicillin refills in the medicine cabinet like every other gay guy he knew. The first day of non-performance he'd been kind, and now he was just angry. Look at him, he thought, look at pretty Justin and tell me you don't want him. Stupid dick.

Shower, change, work stuff, and then dinner. He let Justin cook and picked at his veggie tacos. Justin looked up from his empty plate and said, "I'm glad you're gonna see a therapist."

Lance clenched his jaw and thought, yeah, me, too, fucking glad exactly describes it. He said, "Did I say that's what I was gonna do?"

Justin looked down again. "You didn't, but I figured it out."

"Most erectile dysfunction is, like, a physical thing. So." Lance picked at his taco.

"Not yours. I mean, I'm sorry, but it's, like, just part of the whole." Lance looked at Justin, Justin talking in his smallest voice, his hands gripping the table, eyes fixed on his lap.

Lance said, "Look. Okay, fine, the doctor referred me to a therapist person, I'm gonna go and see if that helps. I don't think I'm crazy here."

Justin sighed. "You're not crazy, okay? You're not. I'm saying, things have been worse with you lately." Justin paused and pressed his lips together. "I think this would be good for you and I'm glad you're doing it."

And Justin was putting up with Lance's lack of a dick of any use, so Lance just nodded and said, "Okay."

He didn't want this, wasn't interested in this. Stupid. Stupid. Justin had been staying with him since the end of the tour, and it had been really fun, with them being together and the fucking and now it just kinda sucked. He loved Justin. He loved Justin completely and he needed his dick to start working before Justin decided he'd rather be with someone who could get it up.

The counselor person didn't have a receptionist, which was reassuring in a way. Lance just knocked on the door and she said, "Come in."

He cut right to the chase and said he needed to get his dick working again. She just nodded, so he explained that this was not normal for him, not normal at all. It had never happened to him before. She nodded again and said, "Lance, let's go back a little further, okay?"

And then the questions about Justin and the kidnapping. Lance didn't think any of that was important, Justin was back now and basically okay and everything. He explained about the amnesia and the migraines, but other than that, Justin was okay and they were all okay. Except Lance's dick, and that had just started a week ago.

She asked him about his relationship with Justin now and he said, "He's my boyfriend. I love him, he's my boyfriend." Lance thought he should steer this back to the important part so he said, "And we have great sex, great sex until five days ago." She paused and wrote something in her notebook. Then she went back to asking about Justin before and after.

She asked him about why he'd been convinced Justin was alive. Lance said, "I just was," and thought that really he hadn't been convinced at all. He opened his mouth to say that and all that came out was a sob. He was crying, crying like a baby and he couldn't stop. Messy, wet sobs and a runny nose and he kept trying to say something, to explain how he wasn't like that at all but he just kept crying. He ran out of steam right before the end of the session and the woman handed him a Kleenex. He blew his nose while she said they should probably schedule an appointment tomorrow, too. Lance nodded and rubbed his eyes. Impotent and crazy, apparently, he was quite a catch.

He got out his PDA and said, "We should maybe just say every morning the rest of the week, if you can?" She nodded and he wrote it down. He asked her about her bills, he didn't want anyone to know or leave a paper trail. She explained the procedure and Lance nodded like he understood.

He walked out and saw someone out of the corner of his eye so he ducked right into the bathroom. Two stalls, a sink and it was a pleasant unisex bathroom. He could wait them out.

It had been about two minutes of staring at himself in the mirror and trying to wash off the humiliation when JC came in. "I was waiting for you," he said. "I wanted to take you to lunch."

"Who," Lance said and then turned back to the mirror. "Justin told you. Did he, did he say why I'm here? I mean, specifically?"

JC said, "He just said you'd finally realized something was wrong." Lance turned around and JC smiled. "Come on, let's go to lunch."

Lance sat in the passenger seat and kept his head turned away from JC. He could see the bodyguards in the car behind them in the mirror on his door, following closely. JC said, "How, uh."

Lance held up his hand and tried to look like himself, less wrecked and broken. "Just, no, C. Okay?" JC muttered something that sounded like okay and turned on the radio. They went to a restaurant downtown Lance hadn't been to in ages and he stared at the menu until JC started to send the waitress away. "Wait," Lance said. "I want a hamburger. Medium well, with everything."

JC smiled gently and said, "I am really glad you're doing this, Lance."

Lance tapped his fork on the table and waited for his food. Of course, he thought, Justin wanted to make sure he ate, so he sent JC and had probably given him orders to watch that Lance cleaned his plate clean. Lance didn't say anything until his food came. He took one bite of his hamburger and smiled. "I miss meat."

JC was eating a salad, and he said, "Justin doesn't let you eat meat?"

"It's not that, he doesn't really care. But he doesn't like having red meat in the fridge or anything or on his cooking surfaces, so I just don't buy it." Lance ate half his hamburger and started picking at his fries.

"Don't you want the rest?" JC had finished a salad and some pasta dish by then and was leaning over two empty plates. "Justin says you don't eat much."

Lance ate his fries and seethed. "Justin says a lot, doesn't he? I'm not fucking anorexic. I'm just not that hungry."

"Justin doesn't say a lot, we just talk. We talk about you, we talk about Chris, man, calm down. He's worried about you."

Lance said, "There's nothing to be worried about." He pushed away his plate, and, fuck JC, he was full. It was a big hamburger and they gave you a lot a fries. So what if he'd only eaten half of it. He was full.

JC sighed. "There's a shitload to be worried about, Lance." JC had snapped into his serious and determined voice so Lance looked up. "You don't sleep well, and don't lie to me, we were on a bus together for the entire tour. You don't eat hardly at all, you're all moody like you want to give Chris a run for his money and we have every right to be worried about you because we like you."

Lance said, "Chris isn't moody lately, you know. He seems mostly happy." JC snorted and drove Lance home.

As Lance got out the car, JC pulled him into a hug and said, "Seriously, you should keep going there, okay?"

Lance went to his bedroom, didn't look for Justin. Maybe all the crying had been what his dick wanted, to make him beg or something. He pulled off his pants and sat on the bed in his underwear and t-shirt. He spat on his hand and reached for his dick, pictured the hottest thing he'd ever seen. And even after the sure-shot rewind of the time he'd accidentally walked in on Joey and Justin back in Germany, accompanied by the most dependable of strokes, nothing. Limp in his hand. Stupid dick. Lance flopped on the bed on his stomach and fell asleep.

Justin woke him up by snapping the elastic from Lance's underwear. "Come on, basketball." Part two or maybe three of Justin's nursemaid plan: pick up limp dick from therapy, watch him eat a hearty meal, make him exercise. Day two, he cried less and when he came out, Chris was waiting for him. Chris didn't talk to him about the therapy, so Lance was grateful. They swapped anecdotes, the same ones they'd been telling for years, making fun of Lou and repeating their favorite slanderous stories about the Backstreet Boys and O-Town. Then he got home, couldn't get it up and Justin made him play one-on-one for an hour. Day three, he cried a little less. He stopped trying to explain that the crying wasn't like him. Justin was waiting for him after that session and he skipped trying to masturbate and blew Justin instead.

Lance's mother was waiting after his fourth session. They went through a McDonald's drive-thru and ate in the car, across the street from Lance's house. His mother asked him how the therapy was going and he said, "I feel broken and raw. Like, open gaping wound. Is that good?"

His mother smiled and said, "Better than before, right?"

"No, not really. I know everyone's all, oooh, Lance was so miserable, but I'm much more miserable now. This last week has sucked, the week before sucked, Mom, it all sucks." He wasn't going to cry again. Stupid, stupid. His dick still wasn't working at all, and he spent an hour a day talking about things he'd rather forget while his counselor just nodded and prodded. He ate more fries and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He said, "I only went because I was having this problem, you know?"

His mother raised an eyebrow and squeezed his knee. "What kind of problem?"

Lance blushed. He said, "I can't, you know." He lifted his index finger and then let it fall. "You know, Mom, don't make me say it."

She blushed and patted his knee. "It happens, you know."

"Right, but not to me. And not for two straight weeks." Lance blew his nose on a napkin and asked her if she wanted to come in. She shook her head no and he went into the house and took a nap without even trying to see if his dick had decided today's psychological disembowelment had been enough. Then more one-on-one and then actual work he could still do.

He thought day five would be Joey's turn but instead he found JC in the waiting room again. Friday night and no sessions for the next two days and he finally wondered where Joey had been.

He woke up, watched his dick wilt before he could even touch it and got out of bed because at least today, he probably wouldn't cry. He'd gone years without crying, from about Germany to sometime after Celebrity was done, and now every fucking day. In the shower, he thought again that it was weird that Joey hadn't gotten Lance nursemaid duties assigned from Justin.

He wandered through the house and couldn't find Justin anywhere, and in the kitchen he found a note from Justin under a cup of coffee saying he had gone back to his house for the morning or something. Lance drank his coffee, toyed with the idea of breakfast and went with bodyguards to Joey's house.

Kelly answered the door and hugged him. "It's so good to see you," she said, and then, of course, "You're so thin, we need to fatten you up right away."

He walked back to the living room where Joey was playing with little place cards. Joey looked up and grinned at him. "Only one month now, man. I just can't decide where everyone should be sitting."

"Don't put me anywhere near your aunt, okay?" Lance sat down across from Joey and looked down at his lap. Joey was sticking cards on a poster board with pins. Lance watched for a few seconds or minutes and then said, "You know I'm doing this thing?"

Joey nodded. He kept looking at the cards. "It's a good idea, like everyone isn't already telling you that."

Lance said, "It feels really good, when everyone's sooooo fucking thrilled that I'm in therapy. Like, how fucking crazy did y'all think I was before?"

Joey smiled a little and pinned two cards to a drawing of a table. "Pretty fucking crazy, Lance."

Lance sighed. "Look, I was just. Justin's had someone waiting for me after every session and I just wondered how you got out of it?"

Joey clenched his hands in his lap. He said, "I figured if you wanted me to, you would ask me yourself."

Lance grabbed at the cards and found the one with his name on it. He tapped it on the table. "Is this, okay. I -- I thought we were over the thing."

Joey looked up for the first time. "I am," he said simply. "We could maybe talk about it, if you're checking back in here."

"I." Lance paused. Stupid therapy should make these things easier and he just felt more exposed. He rubbed his eyes. "I didn't think I checked out. And, uh. I thought we were fine. About that night."

"You checked out the day it happened. You've been back a little, periodically." Joey sounded so calm, Lance was afraid to actually look at him and studied his hands instead. Joey said, "And, yeah, I'm fine with it. It was stupid, but people do stupid things when they're grieving." Lance winced and bent back the corner of his card. Joey said, "I was mad at myself, but you're the one who holds a grudge like it's going out of style or something."

"I'm not mad at you, I wasn't ever mad at you." Lance looked up in surprise and then looked back down. Today wasn't a day he was going to cry and he couldn't take the gentle look in Joey's eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I meant, I think you're mad at you, and you're the one holding a grudge. And fuck, you're the one in therapy. Can we, man, let's talk about something else. You want me to come and make sure you eat after your sessions?"

Lance just nodded. A tears-free day, he swore to God, this would not be another day he cried. So he nodded and pinned the card with his name on it to the poster board, put himself at the table with Joey and Kelly and Brianna, that's where the best man sat.

Joey started talking about the seating again and Lance swallowed around the lump in his throat until it went away. They even made jokes. Joey hugged him tight as he left, mumbled something about seeing him on Monday. Lance gripped the steering wheel for a minute when he got in the car, and didn't cry. "There's no crying in baseball," he said to himself.

Sunday morning, he lay in bed and watched Justin come out of the bathroom, just a towel wrapped around his waist. Lance didn't look away from the ugliness on Justin's shoulder, ever since, he always kept looking at Justin in case Justin looked at him. Lance stared and said, "Right, today? Happy day. Even if I have to sleep all day, seriously, Justin."

Justin laughed and said, "Fine. Let's just spend the day in bed." Justin ignored the x box and Playstation attached the TV and started popping in tapes. A daylong marathon of Justin's new favorite TV shows. Justin rubbed Lance's chest and rested his head against Lance's shoulder. And even if Lance's stupid dick didn't think it was nice, didn't think anything was nice enough to pay attention to anymore, Lance loved it.

After a few hours, Justin said, "Do you wanna play a video game or something?"

Lance said no, and Justin said, "Me, neither really." Justin really only played video games anymore when Lance or Chris wanted to. Lance knew Justin went over to Chris's sometimes and sat there and played until Chris got tired, and it was one more thing about Justin that hadn't changed. He was still the sweetest person Lance knew.

Like someone had pressed start over for Justin, Lance thought, and he was surprised the things about Justin that were essential and stayed even after everything. Right after the tour was over, they'd done the VMAs, one of those performances where they watched the video later and couldn't believe how good they'd been. Lance remembered the waves of applause, louder than he thought he'd ever heard, and Justin's fingers grinding into his forearm as Justin had waved and smiled the perfect smile. Joey had thrown Justin over his shoulder as they ran off and when they had gotten back to the dressing room he'd put Justin down abruptly while they'd all laughed. Justin had clutched his stomach, suddenly pale, and pitched over to throw up in a trashcan. Joey, contrite and shocked, had said, "Woah, J, I'm sorry, man, I'm sorry."

Justin had looked up and said, "No, no, not you," and leaned back against the wall, still sitting. He had been so pale, and Lance had watched Justin rub his forehead and close his eyes.

Lance had said, "Justin, you don't -- do you have a migraine or something?"

Justin had nodded and said weakly, "Just a little one, almost just a bad headache. I've got that new medication, it's really good." Justin had opened his eyes and growled at all of them with their downcast faces, "Stop it. Don't feel guilty or something. This is the fucking job, this is what I fucking wanted. I wanted to do this, it's fine." And he had sounded just like Justin, so nobody had said anything.

Lance had thought, when he first realized Justin was looking at him, was wanting him, Lance had thought that Justin would be weaker, dependent. He'd kept away because he didn't want that, not with Justin. It wasn't like that at all. He'd promised himself before he'd kissed Justin back, a hundred promises to never lie to Justin, to never omit a story that Justin didn't remember because it made Lance look bad, to never wish Justin wouldn't get his memory back. He'd kept all of them, except the last one.

Justin rolled over on top of him and grinned down at him. "Let's make out."

Lance tried to smile. "Well, I'm always happy to get you off."

Justin blinked and sighed. "I hate that, though. It feels kinda wrong if I'm the only one who gets anything out of it." Justin didn't move, except to lower his head to the pillow next to Lance's.

Lance patted Justin's back. "I'll hate it more when you leave me for someone who can actually get it up."

Justin pushed himself up and scowled. "That's not gonna happen. You'll work it out."

Lance rubbed Justin's back and they necked for a while. Nothing from his stupid dick, but Justin got hard and Lance went down on him. So, still a happy day of sorts.

Day 6, day 7, day 8, and he still couldn't get hard. Stupid dick, stupid therapy. Day after day of talking about Justin before and after, talking about Joey, and Lance still felt gutted every time he walked out the door. And for nothing, really. In the afternoon they finished playing one on one and Lance found Justin stretched out on his side on the bed, reading. Lance got into the bed, and rested his head against Justin's stomach. "Whatcha reading," Lance said. Nice view, he thought, looking down at Justin's crotch. Lance started smoothing his fingers over the waistband of Justin's jeans.

Justin shifted a little and said, "It's, uh, a book about Stonewall."

Lance laughed. "Well, let's leave that out of interviews, okay? And give me some warning before the big coming out on TRL."

Justin snorted. "It's not like that, but you know. It's our community, man, it's not wrong to know more about it." Justin's not so inner forty-year-old lesbian coming out again. Lance couldn't imagine Justin ever saying that before. Lance unbuttoned Justin's jeans and pushed them off Justin's hips. "Lance," Justin said, "I'm not, let's not, uh."

"I just like the view," Lance said. He lifted Justin's hip and pulled Justin's jeans and underwear off. And that was an even better view, Justin's dick, his thighs. Lance settled his hand onto Justin's hip, rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin.

Justin said, "How's therapy going?" The first time Justin had asked.

Lance rubbed his thumb a little lower, burrowed more into Justin's stomach. "I dunno. I hate it. I feel like I'm just one big exposed nerve. Everything I learn about myself makes me think I'm a complete asshole."

Justin said softly, "You're not. If I'm not, you're not."

Lance moved his thumb closer to the hair around Justin's dick. Teased a curl down there a little. He really liked this view. Lance laughed. "Yeah, right. You know what? I like you better since, uh, since you came back. That's how much of an asshole I am." Lance held his breath and stilled his thumb.

Justin made a noise, Lance heard a thump like Justin had put his book down. "Am I, you think I'm gonna be mad now?"

Lance kept enjoying his view. Like a conversation with Justin's dick, which was, really, was better than the conversations he'd had lately with his own dick. Lance sighed. He said, "Justin, I like you better this way, I like you better brain-damaged. That doesn't make you mad?"

"Don't make it sound like that, that's not. Damn it." Justin sighed. "Why didn't you like me before?"

Lance blinked back tears. No crying in baseball, no lying to Justin. "For no good reason. And I liked you, it was just. You were so perfect, you know. It wasn't even righteous. You got everything but you worked for it and everyone loved you and you were still incredibly nice and sweet. And man. We were friends, I loved you, but. You got everything, man. You got Joey and sometimes I used to think that maybe he would've, if it had been me, and I only ever slept with him once." Lance stopped again and wondered if he'd ever actually told Justin that.

Justin said, "You and Joey?" so Lance thought, yup, hadn't mentioned that to Justin. Justin said, "I didn't think, it's not like I stole him from you, right?"

"God, no." Lance laughed a little. "You seriously overestimate my ability to ask for things I want. Or back then. It's just, I wanted him and couldn't do anything about it and you could. And then he didn't want me, or boys, or whatever." Lance needed to explain this better. He needed Justin to understand why Justin should hate him. "So, you see, totally not your fault and I still, I resented you for it."

Justin said, "You slept with Joey? When?"

"When you were. Right after they told us you were probably dead. I mean, that night or the next, I think." Justin murmured something like okay and Lance was almost angry. "Justin, hello? I resented you no reason, because you never went to the grocery store without being mobbed and for taking Joey even when you didn't actually take him from anyone, not me for sure, and now I love you, I love you more brain-damaged."

Justin pushed at his head, pulled him up so they were face to face. Justin looked serious, not mad and Lance didn't understand at all. Justin said, "Can you help me out here, cause I don't remember. Did your low self-esteem thing start before the band or because of the band? And I have too gone to a grocery store without being mobbed. I used to bike to Whole Foods, like, twice a week when I was in San Antonio. Amy cooked sometimes, but she always had meetings, like, a few nights a week or more and I'd cook for myself."

Lance swallowed and said, "Because of the band."

Justin kissed him. Then he said, "I love you. Okay?" Lance believed him.

Lance told his therapist and she just had the same non-committal look on her face. Lance thought about making up stories for her, about fucking fourteen-year-old fans or something just to see if she would react. It's not like she was helping. He felt worse, and he still couldn't get it up. He decided to tell someone who would actually get mad.

Day 10 and Chris was his assigned nursemaid and food-watcher. As they drove home from lunch, Lance said, "I like Justin more now."

Chris looked over at him and said, "Therapy's working real well for you, isn't it?"

Lance said, "I haven't noticed that it is, you know. But Justin would leave me if I didn't, so."

Chris tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He said, "You're so fucked up. You just said that so I'd be mad. And Justinbot would never leave you." Chris said Justinbot these days with affection, Lance thought Justin even liked hearing it. It still made Lance wince. Chris said, almost laughing, "Still, the therapy is working a little. Before you wouldn't've said it to my face like that, you would have implied it, danced around it, told JC, so I'll take the direct approach as progress."

"Why aren't you mad at me?" Lance just wanted to find someone who agreed with him and hated him for the way he felt.

"I'm not. Cause you're fucked up. You're all fucked up and it's like kicking a puppy when it's down. Kicking a puppy and taking its candy. And then writing its phone number on the bathroom wall. I'll be mad at you later and you know, it's not even anything to be mad at you for." Limp dick, kicked puppy, Lance felt impotent in every single respect. At least Joey wasn't throwing video games when they played after dinner the last few days.

Day 11, day 12, day 13 and if he had to talk about his pointless feelings for Joey and the way he'd felt when Joey fucked him and after one more time, Lance would scream. Every weekday in this stupid brown room, looking at empty walls and Lance hated it. He didn't cry any more, he just rambled on and listened to himself and shuddered. Chris was probably right and Lance thought there was no way Justin would stay with him when this was all done. Even if his dick did start working.

Not that his dick was working. Almost a month now, and he kept thinking about being sixteen and seventeen and getting hard-ons from linoleum or a stiff wind. When he was eighteen, he'd had a hard-on every time Joey touched him or Justin brushed up against him. His hard-ons had embarrassed him and now he'd drop to his knees and promise to never swear or eat meat if it meant he'd get one again.

Joey dropped him off after day 14 and Justin had left a note about playing basketball with an actual team somewhere. Lance went upstairs and stripped to his boxer briefs. He dug in a box in his closet and found his favorite porno. Maybe his dick has just decided it didn't like Justin. He looked at the door like a teenager or something and popped the tape in. He loved this movie. Once he'd gotten hard just from the cheesy Casio on the opening few seconds. He stuck his hand in his underwear and put the baby oil on the floor with his other hand.

It wasn't working. And therapy sucked, because he could see the burly Italian main guy kinda looked like Joey if you squinted. Then came his favorite part and he realized the slim blond guy kinda looked like Justin. He pulled his hand out and flopped back on the bed. Fucking sucked. His dick didn't want porn. His dick didn't want Justin.

Maybe his dick had gone straight. Lance had fucked a woman or two, maybe his dick had snuck off to one of those conversion camps or something and decided that was the life. Hell, he'd try it for a hard-on. Lance closed his eyes and pictured Dani, she was hot. And still nothing. So his dick hadn't gotten straight, wasn't interested in guys and was apparently bucking for some kind of asexual thing. Celibacy. Lance rubbed his hand on his stomach and said, "I'm a fucking Baptist. That means you're Baptist, too and we don't do celibacy. We get to fuck, okay?" Limp dick still.

Day 15, day 16, day 17. They were going into the studio in a few days and JC came over for dinner. "We have to de-gay all these songs," Justin said with a giggle. Justin and JC had been writing together and apart and they had about twenty songs between them. JC's had all these high solo parts, Justin's had a lot of bass parts. Lance thought Joey could file for sexual harassment or something. Maybe neglect. He said so, and Justin said, "But it's just. I hear you singing around the house all the time, and it's just in my head."

JC giggled and the two of them changed non-specific endearments to "girl" and the like over some veggie lasagna thing Justin had made. Lance ate half of what Justin had put on his plate and looked up to find Justin staring at his plate. "What," he said quietly.

Justin said, "I see you doing it. You're not fooling me, you need to eat. You haven't gained a fucking pound."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm not hungry. I ate, now I'm full." Lance looked over at JC who was staring at Lance, because, of course, JC wouldn't look away.

Justin sighed. "Fine, you're not doing it on purpose, but just eat more, will you? You're too thin."

Lance clenched his jaw. "Any other tips, Justin?"

"Stop, stop dwelling on things, okay?" Justin didn't look away either.

"Maybe if you remembered anything, you'd remember this is the way I am." Lance meant to bite it back and then thought, screw it.

Justin slammed his hand down on the table. "Fucking stop it. Seriously. You can't push me away, you know?" Lance saw JC look down at his hands. Lance didn't feel hungry, he just felt stupid and wrong. Justin kept talking after a quick glance at JC. "I've learned, you know, I know this now, I'm not leaving you, you can't push me away."

Lance ate two more bites of his lasagna. He said, "I can't even try?" Justin giggled a little so Lance felt a little better. JC ate quietly and hugged Justin when he left.

Day 18, day 19. He started talking to his therapist about his fears about the upcoming trial. The third kidnapper, who had worked security in the community where Justin and Lance lived, had denied being involved even after being fingered by the other two. And now, Lance had to testify, had to help establish the chain of evidence. And everyone knew, Lance knew, he was supposed to look pathetic, win jury sympathy for the poor little rich boys. Lance was appalled at how easy it was going to be for him to look pathetic. His therapist, as always, only nodded and asked more questions about why he cared if he looked like he'd been grieving.

Day 20 and Justin had told him no one would be there to pick him up since the outside producers were coming. Justin had made a joke about coming up with a better reason to be late than "visiting his headshrinker." Lance got to the studio and mumbled something about FreeLance. He had a lot more to do this time around, and he barely had time to say hi to Justin for the first few hours.

Justin had studied all these producing things with JC, had studied tape and memorized names of people he couldn't remember at all. He was faking it, laughing at stories he didn't remember, nodding at things. It wore Lance out just watching it, so much time Justin spent trying to be what people expected. Lance pulled him outside after six hours and said, "Why don't you ever ask why you have to do this? I mean, why don't you just say you don't remember anything? Why don't you admit when your head hurts?"

Justin rubbed his forehead, fingers tracing where the cut had been unconsciously so Lance knew Justin had a headache. Justin said, "Well, part of it is for me, right? If everyone knew, there'd be, like, a fucking rush of people trying to claim that I had promised them things, that I had fucked them, to say things about me I couldn't contradict." Lance nodded, and felt bad all over again because he hadn't thought of that. Pushed start over and Justin still thought the best of the guys. Justin inhaled and leaned his head against Lance's shoulder. Justin said, "And it's good business. We have a business here, I like it." Lance sighed and rubbed Justin's back.

After ten hours, one of the outside producers was grabbing a smoke by the door when Lance went out to his car to see if he had some of Justin's painkillers in his car to slip to Justin. The producer smiled and said, "He's different. I guess that makes sense, he's been through a lot."

Lance nodded and started to say something about recovering slowly and bad injuries, but the producer talked over him and said, "Damn good songs, though."

So Lance just said, "Yes. They are." He waited for the guy to finish his cigarette before he went to his car.

Day 21, day 22. He told his therapist he thought he wasn't making any progress. She asked him why he felt like that and he almost screamed. He said the same to Justin and Justin said he seemed to be getting better, so Lance kept going.

And it was the day and he woke up early and looked through his closet for a suit that fitted. He tried not to like the amount of weight he'd lost, the way he looked now. And he kept thinking he'd gain it back so he hadn't had his suits altered. He was going to look thin and drawn, his suit too big like a little boy. Then he fiddled with his hair until Justin came in and kissed his neck. "I'm going to the studio. So, if anyone asks, I'm not watching."

Lance said, "Are you gonna?" Court TV was broadcasting every day, and Lance was really even more nervous about what an idiot he was gonna look like.

"I'm not. I might watch because of you, but I don't care. I don't think about them, I don't care." Justin smoothed out a stray wrinkle on Lance's coat.

"You don't care?" Lance believed him, but Lance cared. He hated them. He wanted them locked away and killed.

Justin said, "I don't care. I don't remember, I don't want to remember, it happened, let the people who get paid to care care about it."

Lance kissed Justin and then said, "I gotta go. I love you."

Justin said, "I love you, too. Do good."

It went fine, really, at the beginning. He answered questions about the security in the community, hoping to help establish there had to be someone on the inside to plant the box, to get the other two in to grab Justin. Lance should've had breakfast, though, his two cups of coffee were doing a little dance in his stomach. He felt hot and he sipped his water. Still hot. Then the questions about the day of. The box day. He had talked about this, his therapist loved making him talk about the box day. He felt like he was sweating. He wondered if he was sweating.

The prosecutor started waving pictures. He showed Lance a picture of the box. Yup, that was the box. It's not like Lance had forgotten. He was hot. He could hear his heart racing, and he just kept sitting there. Over soon, he thought. Then the prosecutor showed him a picture, kept it turned away from the cameras. Lance knew that one, too. He remembered that part. He hadn't believed it at first, he needed to say that he had maybe touched the things, he opened his mouth and started to say that. That was it, he had maybe touched the things in the box and he had called Johnny and he had hung up.

His head was swimming like the coffee and water in his stomach, his heartbeat was so loud. He heard the judge say, "Mr. Bass? Mr. Bass, do you need a break?"

Lance turned to the judge and said, "I called Johnny first." The judge rapped on his desk, almost like pyro exploding when it was right next to him and then a bailiff or someone had their hands on Lance to help him down. "I'm okay," Lance said, and stumbled. He wanted to cry but he wouldn't. He smelled Joey before he realized the bailiff had passed him off to someone, had passed him off to Joey. Joey and bodyguards all around him as he reached the bathroom. He threw up in the sink.

Lance drank the water Joey put under his nose and then sank against the wall. "That was, that was pretty pathetic, wasn't it?"

Joey crossed his arms and scowled. "Fucking cheap tactic, making you look at that."

It's okay, Lance thought. People pay to see pain, it was only a little galling to let them have it for free. He said, "It's okay." Joey sat on his heels next to Lance and rubbed his knee.

The rest was anti-climax, the defense didn't have any questions. He got home and Justin met him at the door. "I thought you were at the studio," Lance said, his tongue thick and clumsy.

Justin pulled him inside and hugged him. "I saw you on TV, I came home."

Justin made him dinner and didn't bitch at him when he only ate half. Lance was tired, he was incredibly tired and he walked up to the bedroom at seven. Justin followed him in and took off his shirt as he crawled into bed next to Lance. Lance knew he should look, he owed it to Justin, but on his shoulder. It was just a mass of red and ugly. Nothing about Justin should be ugly and Lance looked away and said, "Justin. I know, I know, but tonight, I can't. Can you, uh?"

Justin made a soft sound and Lance could hear him pulling on a shirt. Lance turned over and pulled Justin closer. Lance said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry anyone would ever hurt you."

Justin just said, "I know," and kissed his forehead and Lance fell asleep right after that.

Day 25, day 26, day 27. He was maybe better with some things. Couldn't get it up to save his life. It had been more than a month, more than six weeks. He tried not to count. Justin was nice about it, and Lance gave him pamphlets he'd ordered under Joey's name from the Internet about thinking about sex not just as intercourse or orgasm as the only ending. So Justin started fucking him again and let Lance go down on him more often. Lance didn't believe the pamphlets, he just wanted to make sure Justin got off enough so he wouldn't leave him.

Day 28, day 29. His therapist actually smiled at him when he said he hadn't slept well since the box day. It didn't make Lance feel better at all.

That Saturday was Justin's basketball thing. Chris sat right behind Justin in the first row of seats and JC and Lance sat further up. Justin had been practicing and practicing, watching old Duke games and Bulls games instead of his TV shows. Lance bit his lip and watched Justin smiling at the other players like he remembered them. There was no one near enough to him to help him cover. Justin wore a white t-shirt under his bright blue jersey, and he kept tugging down the sleeves.

Lance wrung his hands until JC put his hand over them and Lance stopped. Some asshole from some stupid rock band fouled Justin and Lance said, "Fucker," under his breath. JC squeezed his knee like his mother had last month when Lance said he was impotent. Justin scored and Lance and JC almost stood up and cheered. Justin waved to them and then made a thumbs up to Chris. Halftime and Justin talked to his teammates, the cameras and Chris jumped down to stand near him.

Lance turned to JC and said, "Please don't tell anyone, okay? I can't get it up. Like, not for seven weeks."

JC's eyes widened and then he chewed one of his nails. He said, "Huh. I can get you Viagra."

Lance laughed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm not fucking allowed. Heart thing."

JC said, "Oh." And then, louder, "Oh. That's why you went to the counselor. I couldn't figure out how Justin convinced you."

"The doctor said it was completely psychological. Fucking sucks beyond belief." Lance sighed. "So, yeah, I'm impotent and crazy, nice to know you."

JC hugged him and said, "I'm honored to know you, you stupid dipshit."

Justin did well and no one could tell he didn't remember their names or how to play. He and Chris stayed for the after-party thing and JC went home with Lance. In the car, JC said, "Maybe herbal Viagra or something? You think that would work?"

Lance said, "No, I think I'm just fucked. Have to get un-fucked up somehow, I guess. Tell anyone and I'll beat you to death. And I haven't gotten off in seven weeks, so man, I have some serious aggression built up here." JC giggled and Lance sighed.

Day 30, day 31. Party. Someone from Jive had seen Justin reading his book on Stonewall and Lance and Justin were not allowed within thirty feet of each other. Justin was supposed to talk only to women and smile a lot at a specific brunette model so they could float something to Page Six. Lance leaned against a wall and sipped his Coke. No alcohol until he got a hard-on again. Chris wandered over and tapped their glasses together. "How ya doin', Bass?"

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Watching my boy. Are you on no-talking terms with JC, too?"

Chris grinned. "Yeah, I told 'em I bought the book. Only Joey can talk to his love tonight."

They watched Nick Carter drift in, smile at Justin, move on to some leggy blonde. Lance said, "I hate Nick Carter."

Chris laughed. "Fat Nick? You know he and Justin did it once?"

"When?"

"When. Uh, fuck - 2000? Early in the year. Never since, or before, but yeah. I wonder if Justin knows that." Chris grinned. "I should go tell him."

Lance sighed. "Oh, please do. Also, you know, he fucked that girl over there, the one from Jive with the fake tits." Chris laughed again and drifted off.

Lance did his job, worked the crowd and smiled as people said what they always did, that the album sounded like it would be amazing. Lance watched Justin talking to the model. Lucky for Jive, the girl liked The West Wing and Lance overheard the two of them having an animated conversation about Josh and Donna. Justin, Lance knew, thought Josh and Sam should end up together but he was pretty sure Justin knew not to say that.

Lance ended up in a corner with JC, longing for any kind of alcohol. JC didn't bring up that Lance was a dickless wonder and Lance liked him more for that. Then Howie came over. Lance hated Backstreet, but Howie was too nice, it felt too petty even for Lance to hate Howie. Howie smiled and said to Lance, "How are you?" all serious concern.

Can't get it up and pretty damn crazy, fuck you very much, Lance thought. He said, "Fine. How are you?"

Howie said, "I'm good. I'm glad you're good, you guys. I've been thinking about you guys, it's all been pretty horrific and now things seem much better. Justin," Howie said and waved his hand over to where Justin looked damn good, Lance thought, in his nice suit and wire-rimmed glasses.

"Yeah," JC said, "things are much better now." Lance would probably go to hell for the way he resented Howie, undamaged, happy nice Howie, because Howie actually had been nice to them the whole time, sending food after Justin first disappeared and even calling a few times to check on them. Still, Lance thought, fucker.

The party started to wind down, the model had left and Lance looked around for Justin. One of the bodyguards pointed him towards the kitchen and he found Justin chatting up a pretty Hispanic cook. Justin was saying something about ovens and the girl was laughing and Justin even looked a little guilty when Lance cleared his throat. Justin introduced him to the girl, whose name was Teresa and Lance dutifully shook her hand. "Justin, we gotta go." Justin nodded his head and turned around to wave goodbye to Teresa as they walked out.

As they walked out, Justin said, a little loudly, "You can ride back with me, Lance, and tell me about all the hot chicks you talked to tonight." They were both giggling when they got in the limo. When the doors closed, Justin threw his legs over Lance's lap and pulled him down in a kiss. "You're so hot," Justin said. "Tell me about the hot chicks you talked to and didn't want at all."

"Well, you can be pretty sure I can't cheat on you, so." Lance giggled again. "How was your evening?"

"It was good, actually. Did you actually meet any hot chicks, I mean, have you ever?" Justin leaned back against the seat but left his legs over Lance.

"I mean, you know, like maybe once a year." Lance ran his hand through Justin's hair, feeling the almost coarse curls against his fingers. He loved Justin's hair. "Did you like that model girl?"

Justin laughed and leaned into Lance's hand. "She's fine, but see, you know, you guys keep telling me I slept with all these women and I haven't felt a thing. I had this whole theory about societal pressures, you know, like situational heterosexuality, and why I kept sleeping with women before and how now I didn't remember half those things about the way pop stars should act and my natural impulses were all that came out, but you know? I actually wanted to sleep with that girl." Justin blushed and grinned.

"The model?" Lance tightened his hand in Justin's hair.

"No, not at all. I mean the girl from the kitchen, Teresa. Teresa. So I guess I am bisexual, after all." Justin sat up a little and rested his head against Lance's shoulder.

"I'm so happy for you. You could've brought her home if you wanted. Ditch me." Lance ran his hand down Justin's cheek and grinned.

"Eh, I want you more." Justin pushed back against the seat and kissed Lance again. A nice, long kiss, tongue and warm big hands along his jaw, the little shock of the cold rim of Justin's glasses against Lance's cheek, all perfectly wonderful. Justin's legs were still on top of Lance's and it was all good.

And, oh. Lance thought, don't think about it. Don't scare it and then he concentrated very hard on Justin's tongue and the wicked, wicked things it could do. Justin swung his legs over and then straddled Lance, moving his hands to Lance's waist. "You look hot in suits," Justin said, "my yuppie boyfriend."

Don't think about it, Lance thought, maybe it was just a phantom hard-on, like pains in an amputated leg. Don't look down, he thought, look at Justin. Lovely bones, beauty deeper than just skin, a mouth that needed to be sucking cock, Justin, Justin, and Lance thought there was a reason he didn't write songs. Lance said, "No leaving your yuppie boyfriend for the hot chick cook, okay?"

Justin said, "Nope, nope. Never." Justin leaned forward, pressed his hands against Lance's chest and trailed kisses along his jaw. He said, between kisses, "Did I ever tell you?" kiss, "even when I didn't remember you," kiss, "I wanted you," kiss, "I saw this guy once who looked a little like you," kiss, "And I watched him for, like, ten minutes, all turned-on," kiss. "You're my type."

Lance's pants felt uncomfortable, strained and he wouldn't think about it. He kissed Justin again, tongue and tongue and lips and lips. Justin's hands moved down to Lance's waist and then lower and Lance almost said, "Don't touch it!" but he closed his eyes and didn't think about it.

The limo stopped and Justin jumped out, dragged Lance out with a strong grip on his hand. And the walk up to the door, that felt like trying to walk with a hard-on but Lance wouldn't think about it. Not thinking about it. He heard the bodyguards exchanging greetings and Justin pulled him into the kitchen, one of their kitchens and slammed the door. Justin pushed him against the refrigerator and sunk to his knees. Lance looked straight ahead as he felt Justin unzipping his pants and then, yes, hand in his underwear and definitely yes, hand on his dick. Justin said, "oh, yeah," very quietly.

Wet hot mouth on his dick and Lance decided to look down. Oh, yeah. Justin looked up at him and yeah, that was a sight for sore eyes, Justin taking his hard dick in his mouth. "I love you," he muttered, meaning his dick, and said it again meaning Justin. Lance's hips moved in an almost unfamiliar thrusting, and Justin pushed him back against the refrigerator again. The zipper was cold and bit a little so Lance moved his hands down to get his pants down. Justin batted his hands away while sucking, obscene sucking and licks filled the kitchen and it was, really, the hottest sounds Justin had ever made in Lance's opinion, and Justin tugged Lance's pants and boxer-briefs down to his knees.

Too fast, but it had been so long and Lance came harder than in his whole life, or maybe he'd forgotten how good everything could be. Justin rocked back and smiled up at him as Lance sank to floor, bare ass on cold floor. Linoleum. Justin's kitchen, Lance thought. Justin's house. Lance rubbed Justin's lips and said, "Is your mom home?"

Justin laughed and said, "I have no idea."

Lance said, "Let's go upstairs now, then, and close the door and see if I can do that again."

He couldn't. Lance sighed and kissed Justin, pulled him closer. "It's okay," Justin said and he'd been saying that a lot.

"Talk about how you find women attractive, that worked last time." Justin just sighed and rolled onto his back. Lance reached down and held Justin's dick, felt how quickly Justin could get hard again and said, "Hey, baby." Justin almost grinned and kissed Lance until Justin came.

Lance woke up hard and thought, don't think about it. Don't think about it. Then, eyes still closed, Justin's hand on his dick, sure, fast strokes. First time in forever Lance's dick didn't wilt away and not the first time Justin had tried this, so maybe Lance's new refractory period was hours and hours instead of fifteen minutes. Lance pushed up against Justin's hand and Justin said, "Open your eyes, give me your hand." Justin sounded a little breathless and Lance did as he was told.

Justin was putting lube on Lance's palm and fingers, guiding Lance's hand to Justin's ass. Lance had just woken up but he could understand this. One finger, two in Justin and Justin panted a little. Before Lance could say "condom," somewhere around the c, in fact, Justin was lowering himself onto Lance. Fucking wow, Lance thought. He thrust up and Justin pushed down and Lance opened his eyes and looked because there was really nothing so beautiful as this, naked Justin bent over him and man. Lance tried to breathe and wow, so hot and tight and he came so quick he almost cried. Justin cried out and fell over him, almost laughing.

Justin took Lance's sticky hand in his and said, "I'm gonna shower now. And yeah, you're so cute."

Lance smiled and stretched and kept looking at Justin walking to the bathroom in case Justin looked back. He heard the shower start and went into the bathroom. Lance was sitting on the counter, still naked when Justin got out, wet and clean. Lance stared at his pretty face and smiled.

"Dude, get your ass off the counter," Justin said. Lance stepped into the shower and had started fiddling with the handles to turn on the water when he heard Justin say, "That was pretty wow."

Lance opened the curtain and said, "Yeah. I've only, you know, once without a condom. And I was sixteen, so. But yeah."

Justin said, "I don't think I've ever."

Lance looked down and said, "Yeah, you have. With, uh, with JC. Cause you were both clean and you were exclusive or whatever."

Justin blushed and said, "Oh. Dude, how do you know that?"

"JC cried on my shoulder a lot after you two broke up." Lance turned back to the handles, looked for his shampoo.

Justin sat down in front of the shower. He said, "Did you and JC ever, uh, you know?"

Lance laughed. "Just twice, man, and it was years ago. I'm really not that," Lance paused. "I fucked a lot of guys in my time, but within the group? Just you and Joey for the long-time crushes, okay?"

Justin smiled and rubbed the scars on shoulder. Lance didn't look away in case Justin looked up. Justin kept looking down and said, "Well, we're both clean, right? So, you know, maybe we could keep doing it that way, as long as we don't, uh, you know, keep being so wow that it's all quick."

Lance said, "Sure. As long as I can keep getting it up, that would be good."

Justin pulled the curtain closed and said, "Take your shower."

Day 33, day 34, day 35. He asked the therapist if they could maybe only do this three days a week and she agreed easily. He maybe felt better. His dick was batting about .500 but at least it was coming up to the plate. He masturbated one morning, thinking about Justin straddling him and maybe Joey, just a little, and then felt bad he'd wasted a hard-on on himself.

Another party and Lance still wasn't supposed to hang out with Justin at all in public so Lance sat at a table in the corner and watched JC sweating and undulating with Joey on the dance floor. Joey, getting married in just a few days and it was exciting that it was finally happening. Lance had gotten his tuxedo fitted the day before, and was a little relieved and almost a little sad that he'd gained five pounds. JC was looking good, well loved and fit and his eyes flicked from Lance over a few feet with a bright smile. Lance didn't look up, he just said, "Hey, Chris."

Chris sat down with a grin. "You psychic now?"

"JC had that look he gets when he's looking at you, so I knew it was you." Lance was half hard, watching JC and so what? JC was hot, he wasn't gonna do anything about it. He loved his dick so much, hard, hard, hard. Lance turned to Chris and said, "Your boyfriend is hot."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, duh. Your boyfriend is hot, too."

Lance grinned. "I know it. I love his hot little ass."

Chris sniffed Lance's drink. "You're not even drunk, man. That's just sad."

Lance thought he was a little drunk. Drunk on his hard-on, his happy hard-on. "Do you believe in love, Chris?"

Chris looked down and finished his drink. "Drunk on Coke, that's just sad. And, sure, I believe in love. I don't believe in soul mates or love at first sight or any of that crap, but I believe in love."

"You and JC are so alike in so many ways." Lance giggled.

"I don't need to fall in love with someone who believes in the exact same things I do. I just mean, look. Love is hard. People change. There isn't someone out there who's fucking meant for you, there's the person who's the one for you at this point in time. It takes so much fucking work to make things last because you know, shit. I'm not the same person I was when I was C's age, he's not gonna be the same person when he's my age. We get older, we get deeper, hopefully, and yeah. So soul mates? Which soul? I mean, the essentials will probably be there, but your soul, man, we grow and change. So. And I think you can be in love with all sort of people, but you can only love someone who loves you back. I love you is something you have to say to someone who you actually know and have a relationship with."

Lance said, "Okay." He was starting to feel a little guilty about being turned on by Chris's boyfriend. He looked down at his Coke and thought about Justin. He said, "But you believe in love?"

Chris said, "We must believe in love or else we surrender to the history of the world and someone else's truth."

Lance said, "Oh."

Chris said, "Got it from a book, man. I'm not that deep. Yet."

Lance got home after Justin because they weren't supposed to leave together anymore. He set up his laptop in the bedroom and looked over at Justin, asleep in the bed. He wondered what Justin would have been like, now, if nothing had happened. Probably not sleeping in a t-shirt that said "Martin Sheen is my President." Lance went back to trying to find the book Chris had quoted. Not so easy with just a quote.

He heard a noise and then Justin said, "Are you home?"

Lance smiled and said, "Nope. Just an amazing simulation."

"Oh." Justin sat up and said, "Whatcha doing?"

"Looking for a book. I should just ask Chris." In the half-light, Justin looked twelve almost and then Lance blinked and thought he could see Justin at forty, still beautiful. Justin flicked on the light by the bed and looked like Justin again.

"What book?"

"We must believe in love or else surrender to the history of the world and someone else's version of the truth. That's the quote he said to me." Lance turned off the computer and stood up.

"That's nice," Justin said, pulling off his shirt and curling on his side.

Lance took off his shirt and pants and underwear and lay down next to Justin. He tugged at Justin so Justin was lying on his back, his scarred shoulder hidden against Lance's chest. It was okay, Lance thought, to look away sometimes. And as soon as he thought it, he didn't want to. Lance moved on top of Justin and said, "I believe I love you, how's that?"

"That's nice, too," Justin said. And Justin pulled at his neck, kissed him. Lance was hard and happy and his fingers brushed over Justin's scar and everything was pretty close to beautiful.

THE END.

Onto the next story, Part 4, Dare

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