NOTES: The usual thanks to Tiffany and Lily. Thanks to the Indigo Girls and Coldplay. And the ones we love too much.

NONPAREIL

Day turns to night when JC isn't looking. His hand forms words, ink like charcoal on his fingers and on the page, until Justin moans. It's a little noise, made in sleep, as Justin sprawls across the bed, still wearing his jeans. But JC hears it and studies Justin's face, and realizes he can no longer tell the difference between a dull roar and a slow burn.

Justin's back is pale and long and there's not enough light to see the freckles on his shoulders. Pale, a long blank slate, unwritten. And Justin with his eyes closed, asleep so JC can't even tell that the years have worn on Justin at all. Justin still looks unfinished, looks his age, twenty and full of the future. JC has to see Justin's eyes to see how battered Justin is by everything, by himself.

Justin's hung over and won't wake up for a while. He lurched in the room, stripped off his shirt and fell on the bed with a muttered, "wake me when you need to." JC can smell alcohol and something else, sweat and cigarettes and someone's perfume. Justin hasn't smelled like himself, like the boy he once was, in years.

JC's stomach rumbles, aches. He stretches his arms above his head and behind his shoulders until it hurts. His letters bleed on the page when he scans them again, and his words run into each other so that he can barely read them. He flips the sheet over and tries to start clean with another piece of paper, but finds himself distracted by Justin's skin, an expanse of milk, buttermilk, butter cream. It tastes rich, he remembers, from Germany and Orlando and buses and beds, like almonds and cinnamon and honey. If JC closes his eyes, he can still taste Justin on his tongue, but he doesn't let himself close his eyes anymore.

He hasn't closed his eyes for a year now, a solid year since he told Justin they had to stop. And Justin still comes to his room, flops on his bed and lets JC wake him up. JC throws the notebook across the room, watches the pages fly out like wings. It's beautiful for a moment and then his notebook's splayed across the floor and someone will walk on it. Trample it all down. JC falls back onto the bed, his head on he pillow, next to Justin.

"Whazup?" Justin's voice is quiet and slurred.

"Go back to sleep. I just got tired." JC says it soothingly, like one of the directors from back in the day who Britney called Naptime Voice.

"Sleep with me," Justin says, like he always says.

JC's muscles are tense, knotted and cramped from a week of rehearsals and repetition. "I'm just going to lie here for a little bit."

"Come on." And then Justin's hand is burning a hole through JC's shirt. "Keep me company, C."

JC closes his eyes, slides against the mottled comforter, and feels like he's falling when Justin curls around him. "Just for a little bit, Justin." And then he repeats, "Go back to sleep."

"You smell good," Justin mumbles in JC's ear, words that turn into breath moving in and out at a steady pace. Justin snores, only a little, almost not at all, but the sound fills JC's brain with lyrics. He toys with the idea of writing them down but knows that he won't. That isn't the kind of song that he sings.

JC falls asleep, wakes up in the middle of the night warm and languid. He moves a little, still waking up, and Justin's wrapped around him, Justin's hand down his pants, hand wrapped around his cock. Justin's not asleep at all, panting in his ear, "want you, want you." JC moves his hips, loses himself for a moment. Then he pushes at Justin, rolls away.

"Justin. Fucking stop that." JC's hard and feels like an idiot, it's over, it's over, he decided it was over and he was right. If he wanted to be with someone who drank too much and took things he shouldn't and had long since lost himself in this dance of self-destruction, if he wanted that, he would still be with Justin. "It's -- Justin." JC forces out the word, keeps his back to Justin. "You shouldn't molest people in their sleep. You remember right and wrong? Consent?"

"Fuck, JC. You need to stop being so uptight."

"I'm not uptight, I just -- go away." He looks at Justin and crosses his arms. "Like, go away, Justin. Get out of my room."

Justin rubs his palms against his eyes, a smirk on his lips. "You're so full of shit."

"Get out of here." JC watches the bones on the back of Justin's hand, how they slide underneath the surface. "Go be somewhere else."

"I'll go," Justin says, curling his toes into the carpet. "But you're coming with me."

JC sighs, gives up. "I don't want to go anywhere with you, Justin. I'm not interested in the things you're interested in."

Justin laughs, harsh and loud. "Like music? The band? Hell, if you're not interested in that shit, that's a bad sign, man."

JC sighs. "You know what I meant, stop being cruel."

Justin finds his shirt, puts it on. He pulls JC off the bed and says, "Let's go. Let's party."

JC's in Justin's arms, hard and he wants Justin so much. He almost leans his head back, reaches for Justin and then shoves Justin again and walks to the door. "Fuck you. Fine, let's go. I can make sure you get home safe."

They make it as far as the parking garage before Justin pushes JC against a pillar. Justin's mouth tastes sour and his breath smells used, and it makes JC feel older than Chris. But he lets himself kiss Justin back, lets himself have this moment that's turning into a minute, that's turning into motion, because he doesn't have anything else besides the band and music and all of that is wrapped up with Justin, too.

"Now that's a kiss, huh?" Justin's words slur again. JC's not sure why.

"You win."

Justin puts his hands on JC's shoulders. "I don't think I do."

Justin's slipped the bodyguards again so JC takes the keys and won't let Justin drive. Justin stretches, arches his back, and guides JC by tugging on his arm to indicate left or right. JC doesn't question that Justin knows some place here in wherever they are. "You drink too much," JC says. He needs to assert himself a little.

"You say that a lot." Justin waves at a dark doorway down the street. "Park, man."

"I say it a lot, we all say it a lot. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Justin gets out of the car with a hop, bounces around and grabs JC's arm. "It means none of y'all know how to party."

JC's a wet blanket, a sore loser, so he does three shots with Justin because he needs a different taste in his mouth. They hit him hard but wear off when he sees the back of Justin's head lurching somewhere between a stranger's knees and navel. He pushes through the crowd and into an empty bathroom. The water from the tap runs nothing but tepid, and he cups his hands beneath the faucet until they collect enough water for him to splash on his neck. He's rubbing his skin furiously when Justin swings in.

"You're in here," Justin wipes his mouth on the hem of his shirt. "I would have given you a sponge bath, yo, if you would have asked."

"I'm washing off my cologne."

Justin lurches, falls a little against JC. JC remembers all the reasons why he never comes out with Justin. He knows no matter how strong Justin is, he's wearing down and JC won't allow himself to be there when it happens, won't watch it. He turns away from Justin and he's been lying to himself, again. He hears Justin grunt a little and turns immediately, catches Justin as he passes out.

He slaps Justin, pinches him and Justin just twitches a little. No bodyguards, can't call the cops. JC holds Justin for a moment, the two of them splayed out on the bathroom floor and begs Justin to wake up. Justin, typically, doesn't answer.

JC left his watch at the hotel, so he counts to sixty, slowly, in his head and then out loud, two minutes, five minutes, eight minutes. He hears footsteps outside and can't decide if that's good or bad until the door creaks open. It's Joey.

"Dude," he says.

"Help me get him up, Joe."

They get Justin outside, drag his shoes across the pavement, and audibly scuff the toes. It's snowing a little, and JC can feel the flakes melting on his skin.

"What're you doing here, man?" Joey asks, unlocking the car door.

JC holds his hand in front of Justin's nose to make sure he's still breathing. "He wanted to go out." And then Justin coughs, a thick, wet sound. JC turns Justin automatically, rests his fingers on the back of Justin's neck.

"Fuck." Joey peeks into the back of the car. "He's a fucking mess."

JC drives back to the hotel, Joey giving him directions this time. They call Lance from the road, make sure he gets a doctor they can trust. When they pull into the parking lot of the hotel, Lance is standing there with a bearded man, the man dressed in dark jeans and a flannel shirt.

JC fumbles with the keys, opens the back door and somewhere in the ride back, Justin threw up again and now he's got vomit on his face, on his shirt and neck. The doctor makes a noise, jumps in the car and leans over Justin. JC falls back, leans against the car. He won't watch. Lance takes his arm, starts to pull him away. JC shakes him off, buries his face in his hands as he hears the doctor order Joey to help him carry Justin upstairs.

JC trails behind them, Lance trails behind him.

"He'll be okay."

JC thinks he nods. "Yeah. Just...it reminds me a little of, you know."

"When I was sick."

"When you were sick."

Lance catches up to JC and tosses an arm around JC's shoulders. "And now, I'm the picture of health, you know?"

JC definitely nods this time. "Yeah."

He stops feeling good when he gets to the room. The doctor's stripped Justin down to his boxers, has needles out and JC looks away again. The doctor says, "You have no idea what he took?"

"He drank a lot," JC says weakly.

"There's something else here. No chance of a hospital, right?"

Lance coughs. "If we have to, of course, but if we can avoid it, that's what we want. Is that a clear line?" The doctor grunts yes. JC keeps his eyes averted but in the mirror he can see Justin's long legs, pale and unmoving on the bed.

Lance grabs Joey, says, "Get Chris. We all need to talk."

JC thinks that's a good idea. They'll make Justin see the light this time, their four voices stronger than just his. He rubs his mouth, wonders if he's rubbed off all the traces of Justin's kiss.

Chris punches the couch instead of the wall and Joey looks as tired as JC's ever seen him. When the doctor comes out, he gives them instructions and Lance writes them down on JC's pad. They sit silent, JC staring at the carpet until he realizes that they are staring at him. Chris taps his knee. JC's legs are unsteady, but he walks to the bedroom.

Justin's under the blanket, his jeans and t-shirt folded neatly on a chair. JC kicks off his shoes and gently lifts the sheets, then slips into the bed and rests his head on Justin's chest.

Justin's woozy and out of it the next day as JC follows the doctor's instructions and sits next to Justin while he sleeps. The next morning, when Justin's more together, JC sits in the back while the other three explain in small words what's going to happen. Justin nods like he agrees, and then at the end says, low and clear, "Fuck that. Fuck all that. You can't make me." He stands up and walks out.

JC walks after him, says, "Justin."

Justin whirls on him. "It's your fault. You know that, right? Cause I wouldn't be doing any of it if you hadn't dumped me." JC falls back and opens his mouth to say, that's not true. Justin pushes him against the wall. "Your fault. But I'm not gonna do that shit."

JC says, "You have to. This isn't my fault."

Justin shakes his head and suddenly grins evilly. "Sleep with me. Fuck me, right now, and I'll do it."

"You're such an asshole."

"You want me." Justin runs his fingers along the bulge in JC's jeans.

JC thinks about the movement of Justin's chest lulling him to sleep. "This isn't a joke, dude. You could be dead, Justin. Like, if I hadn't been there, or Joey, you know, who knows?"

"Fuck you," Justin sneers.

"You have a choice, Justin." JC sees more lyrics, more lines he'll never compose. "We told you that."

"You never gave me a choice."

"I did, too. I told you, you had to stop and you wouldn't. You've always had choices. You've been doing this a long time, Justin, you fucking know what you're doing." JC's tired of being sad, tired of waiting for Justin to die, and he decides, standing there, it's time to be angry. "You fucking little child. You've had things handed to you, 'cause you're pretty and you sing like an angel and you're all these things and you act like it's killing you. Fuck you!"

Justin falls back, looks shaken for the first time in, maybe, years. "How can you say that to me? You think this isn't hard?"

"Of course it's hard, you little prick. I know exactly how hard it is, and I'm not choosing any of the things you are."

Justin snarls. "You used to. I remember you back in the day, man. You on the set, on your fucking knees when you needed to be."

JC steps up, hisses at Justin. "That's not the same. You're just saying that to hurt me and it's not working now. You'll have to work harder, Justin. Or you could actually fucking listen to me."

Justin sighs, deeply.

"Are you listening?"

"What do you want me to do?" Justin asks softly.

"Oh, Justin." JC takes Justin's hand, weaves his fingers between. "Just...stop. Please. Don't fuck yourself up like that anymore."

"I did love you," he says, and traces a line down JC's face. "I might still."

JC knows it's the first time he's heard this from Justin. "I don't want you to say that."

"But it's true."

"Just get better, Justin. Let yourself get better."

"You loved me, right?" Justin looks young, younger than when JC first met him.

"Of course," JC says. "Of course. I don't want you to die."

Justin sags against the wall, sinks to his heels. "Well, that's a fucking declaration. I don't want to die, either. And you know, I'm proving pretty fucking unkillable. I'm touched, really. You don't want me to die. I'm moved."

JC gets on his knees. He takes Justin's face in his hands. "I loved you, love you, will always. Like, stupid love song love, Justin. So be moved. And do what we want. "

Justin surges forward, kisses him. "Fuck me first."

JC kisses him back, slower than before, lets his hands run under Justin's shirt and over Justin's pants. The kiss breaks off just long enough for JC to pull out his pass-card. Soon, they're inside JC's room and they're naked, and Justin slips the condom on JC while they're still kissing. And JC moves in Justin, leans down to taste the almonds and cinnamon and honey, and feels the slow burn.

Justin wakes him up. He kisses JC over and over again, mutters quietly about love and forever. JC rubs Justin's face. "You have to go today. It's just two weeks, but you have to."

Justin buries his face in JC's chest. "Don't wanna. I promise to stop everything. You stay with me."

JC shakes his head. "No. I'll be here when you get back."

Justin rolls away and sits on the end of the bed. "Great. Just great. Everyone's over-reacting here. I don't need this, you know? I'm fucking fine." Justin lies back, rolls on his side and rubs JC's leg. Up his thigh, and down again. "I'm totally fine." Justin looks up with a sly expression. "Let's spend all day here. Fuck our brains out."

"No, Justin. I didn't fu -- make love to you last night as a bribe or something, but you said that you would go, and you have to go."

"I'm not going," Justin says, but his mouth gets red and small.

"It's just two weeks." JC lets his fingers rest on Justin's neck, moves them up to rub the soft skin behind Justin's ear as he talks. "It's just two weeks and -- and we're not going to, like, do anything while you're gone. We won't learn new steps or anything. Solidarity, you know?"

Justin sighs. "What about, like, the press and shit? I don't want people to know."

"We'll figure it out." He rests his forehead against Justin's. "Lance will come up with something. We'll take care of it, Justin. But you have to go."

Justin pulls away. He stomps around the room, finds his clothes from last night and pulls them on. JC watches him open drawers and then walk around in a circle. "Fuck. This isn't my room. I can't even pack."

JC looks down at the bedspread and plays with the sheet. "I think Lance was gonna do that for you anyway."

Justin snarls. "Oh, right. I forgot. One fucking screw-up and I'm all fifteen again and y'all get to decide everything."

JC sighs. "Justin."

Justin shakes his head. "Right, right, all for my greater good. Woo fucking hoo." Justin gets back into the bed and pulls the covers over both of them. "Last chance, man, fuck me into oblivion all day or send me off to hell for two weeks and wait for me to come back all zombified and cleaned up and boooo-ring."

JC kicks off the blankets. He steps into the bathroom, slams the door shut behind him, leans against it. He hears Justin on the other side, but he can't make out what he's saying. The thought of keeping a diary crosses his mind. If he writes down these words in his head, maybe he can stop thinking them. Maybe he can rip out the pages and burn them and be done with the whole damn thing. Justin says JC's name, screams it, and when JC opens the door, Justin says, "I'll go."

THE END.

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