NOTES AND DISCLAIMERS: So completely made up, fictional, for entertainment only. Thanks to Kel, Younger and Katie. So very much.

Chris feels awake. Finally. All the way awake for the first time in ages. He goes downstairs and starts cleaning. Cleaning is Justin's thing, but Chris is willing to give it a try. This is a time of flux and it's time to do and act. Right now he cleans.

He empties the ashtrays. Justin doesn't own ashtrays because he's always wanted Lynn to quit and he's never wanted to admit that he actually smokes enough to need them. So there are tiny plates. It's easy to spot Justin's because the butts are lined up next to each other, a little circle going round. Chris counts five of Justin's from the first plate and another three from the second. The third plate is across the room and only has Lynn's lipstick stained Virginia Slims.

Chris has always said he likes change but this morning, awake for the first time in ages, he thinks he only likes change in himself. He's come to realize it's JC's natural state, Joey really doesn't, and Lance does it slow, but Justin's different. Chris hates Justin changing.

He hates the way Justin is changing now.

Justin gets up late and doesn't say anything for an hour. He makes tea and pours milk into a bowl of cereal. He doesn't look at Chris once. He walks past Chris and goes into the living room. He turns on the TV to ESPN. When Chris starts vacuuming, Justin turns up the TV.

After exactly sixty-one minutes, Justin comes into the room Chris has finished cleaning up and sits down on the couch. He says, "You cleaned. I have maids, you know."

"You have a cleaning service. You don't have maids anymore. You decided to get rid of anyone who'd be here every day. I was there." Chris grins, because it's funny. Some other time that might have been some deep, meaningful moment. But right now, it's just funny; it's just the truth.

"The point is, I have people who do that." Justin just sits and doesn't twitch or rub his chin or play with hair. Justin's posed. Chris sits down across from him and Justin's leg bounces up and down. It's reassuring.

Chris says, "I know you have people. I wanted to. It was cleansing." Chris laughs and Justin doesn't. "You're no fun anymore," Chris says.

Justin snorts. "I'm very sorry. I've got a lot going on."

"Blah blah blah. You've got nothing going on. Absolutely nothing. I've seen your schedule, boyo, you're not doing anything."

Justin leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. "Wow, so sorry. I'll try to make my nervous breakdown more fun for you."

"You're not having a nervous breakdown. Unless it's some Timberlake-ized version of a breakdown. As mean as this sounds, man, you having an actual breakdown would be much more fun than this. I'd have something to do, you know, keeping you from doing too much damage to yourself, getting you help." Chris pauses. "It wouldn't be fun, actually." Chris taps Justin's knee. Justin still doesn't move. "But it would be more than this. Are you having fun?"

"Fun isn't this big goal of mine right now." Justin gets up and goes back upstairs.

He stays in his room all day. It's Chris's room, too, has been for two years, but nothing ever happens. Nothing has happened in weeks. Chris hates that, too.

Justin comes downstairs for dinner but all he has is a bowl of cereal. He puts the bowl and the spoon in the dishwasher and goes back upstairs without saying anything. Chris follows him up after five minutes.

Justin is already in bed, idly flipping through channels. Chris says, "Sex tonight?"

Justin snorts and his mouth quirks. "I don't, probably not."

"Fine, then." Chris gets his stuff from the room and takes all of it to the next room. He puts his underwear in the top drawer of the empty bureau. He puts the rest of his clothes on the floor.

Chris walks back to Justin's room. Justin turns off the TV. "Are you leaving me or something?" His voice cracks and Chris feels hopeful.

"Or something. Just moving down the hall. When we're actually using the room again, you let me know. But really, you're too much fun to leave completely."

Justin just stares at him for a few minutes. Then he turns the TV back on.

Two days later, Trace moves out. He bites his lip and looks at Justin, sitting on the couch, watching TV. Trace steps in front of the TV and says, "I'm moving out, you understand? You, dude, I've known you since you were born and even when you were nobody it's been the fucking same. You're the big man, I'm the sidekick. And you know what? That's fucking fine. You're you and I'm me. And I don't fucking care, really, it's fine. I'll stay in your fucking shadow and like it. Not that you ask, or anything."

Justin narrows his eyes. "You're bringing this up now? Like, not anytime in the last twenty plus years you've known me?"

"Well, you know, it wasn't so fucking annoying except for the last two months when you just fucking sitting here and you don't listen to anybody and if I'm not even your damn shadow or your sidekick then what the fuck am I?" Trace hugs himself.

"Dude, I don't have time for your identity crisis. You're perfectly fine. Chill." Justin inhales and looks at his feet. Chris thinks Justin's ashamed of himself, but that could just be wishful thinking.

"It's not an identity crisis. I think we should keep that to one per house, right?" Chris thinks applauding would be really rude, but Trace gets off a good line once a decade, so he laughs quietly.

Justin says, "This is not an identity crisis."

Trace says, "Whatever the fuck it is. You call me, okay? You got my number and you call me when you straighten yourself the fuck out." Trace turns and walks out. It's his finest moment, Chris thinks. Trace doesn't look back.

It's time for an ultimatum. Another ultimatum, Chris thinks, because Trace's walkout was an ultimatum of sorts. Chris grabs a post-it and writes "you're gonna tell me what's going on in two days or else." He puts it on Justin's cereal and waits. The post-it disappears in the morning, but Justin stays in his room.

Chris waits. Another day of Justin hiding in his room. Chris goes down to Justin's gym and works out for two hours in the afternoon, "gotta be strong," running through his head.

He knocks on Justin's door as soon as the sun rises the next morning. No answer, but he opens the door and walks right in. Justin's asleep, holding a pillow, tangled in sheets. He looks beautiful. Chris shrugs and stands up. He jumps on the bed and bounces up and down. He sings "this is the song that never ends" and he doesn't stop until Justin grabs his ankle and pulls him down on the bed.

"Fuck you," Justin says and puts the pillow over his head.

"Stop that." Chris pulls the pillow away. "Seriously. Stop right now. All of this. Just stop. Tell me what's going on."

"What the fuck time is it?" Justin puts his hands over his eyes.

"Oh, come on. Seriously, don't set me up for that shit. It's time you talk, young man. It's way past time you explained yourself. It's time, time, time. I can sing more if you want. Time after time, maybe?"

Justin sighs. "What do I have to do to make you go away?"

"Keep on keeping on," Chris says quietly. He licks his lips and watches Justin tense and breathe.

Justin says, "I don't know what to do."

"Tell me."

"That's it. That's all." Justin sits up. "I was done with the album, and I was driving back from, uh, somewhere, and I just thought, I don't know if this is what I want to be anymore."

Chris sits back. He says, "It's not like you're a telemarketer or something. Or even, well, a bad person. Who you are isn't a bad thing. I don't understand."

"It's not fucking that. It's, like, maybe I don't like my job. My job, music. I don't know. It's fucking insane. It's all I ever wanted to do, like, ever, but I was driving and I saw this office building and I could see in and there were people just sitting there. Like, on computers. And I thought, huh. I could do that. And it was really fucking scary, like, swear, I almost had a panic attack. Because, why would I suddenly want to do something else?"

It's the most Justin's said in six weeks. Chris says, "Wow, you are weird."

Justin frowns. "Man, remind me to come to you with all my fucking problems. Fuck you. I was gonna say, I don't want you to go away, but I changed my mind."

"No, I mean, Justin. You thought about getting another job so instead of doing anything about it or actually, you know, realizing that everyone gets bored with their job, you just came home and stopped talking to people and stayed up late and smoked with your mother and alienated me and Trace over that? Because, man, maybe you are having a nervous breakdown." Chris stretches out his leg and pokes Justin in the thigh.

Justin looks up, his eyes wet and red. He bites his lip and looks down again. "You think this is funny?"

"Well, maybe not funny, per se. Because I can see you're hurting. But, man, Justin, I thought maybe you'd decided you were straight or something. Something huge and life-changing."

"Not liking my job isn't like that?"

Chris leans over and kisses Justin's cheek. "It's not the kind of thing where you're gonna dump my ass, so you know, this huge change is something I can handle. If it's even that."

Justin nudges Chris away. "You make it sound like nothing. I've wanted to do this all my life. And I'm doing it. And now, I don't know, I don't want to. Did I just waste the last few years? Am I just having some kind of repressed crisis of confidence? Am I--"

"Reading too many books that use phrases like repressed crisis of confidence? Yes." Chris shuffles around on the bed so he's sitting next to Justin and takes Justin's hand. Warm and clammy. Justin squeezes his hand. "Dude, you can do whatever you want. You haven't wasted anything. You've wasted six weeks fucking brooding, but you know, that's your choice."

"I wasn't brooding. I was thinking a lot. I needed to just think."

"That was your plan. Think a lot? Ignore everybody and stare out the window? Maybe next time, ask me for a plan."

Justin shrugs. "I was thinking. Like, trying on parts, trying to want to sing. Or make music. Or do promos. It's just the same shit, you know. Make the album, promote the album. Tour. Break. Make the album, promote the album. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe this is, like, serious and I don't want to do this thing I've wanted my whole fucking life. You know?"

Chris shrugs. "I don't. I don't know at all. But, you know, I was somewhere else in my life when I was twenty-four. And you're different from me. People get bored with their jobs, man. It happens. They change what they do. It's a job, it's a career, but it's not your life."

"Yeah." Justin lets go of Chris's hand. "You know, this was good. Getting it all out. I thought it would be really scary and stuff. Um, it's still scary, but."

Justin looks determined. Chris blinks. "Okay. Glad I could help. You gonna be, um, a firefighter? A policeman?"

Justin shakes his head. He moves forward and holds Chris's face. "I'm gonna, we're gonna use this room again, you're gonna bring your fucking stuff back in here, and we're gonna talk about this more later. One scary thing at a time." He kisses Chris hard and pushes him down on the bed. Chris brings his legs up and holds Justin as close as he can. He likes this plan a lot.

They fuck like old times, rough and laughing, Justin arching and biting, Chris thrusting and groaning. Justin giggles against Chris's shoulder when they're done and panting and falls back asleep. Chris stretches.

He showers and goes downstairs, cleans everything all over again. In the middle of the vacuuming, Justin comes up behind him and hugs him. "Thank you for not waking me up."

"The vacuuming didn't wake you up? I was so hoping." Chris pushes back and Justin lets go. Chris turns off the vacuum. "First day of the rest of your life, man. What you gonna do?"

Justin flops down on the couch. "I don't know." He doesn't smile. "I really don't. But. For right now, I'm gonna call Trace, I'm gonna call my mom. And you know, work from there. Worry about the big scary decisions and thinking tomorrow. What do you think?"

"I think you should keep running shit by me. Because that I approve of. Absolutely." Chris laughs. "Except not. Maybe just for today, because otherwise, I ain't your therapist, or your cheerleader, I'm your boyfriend. Your super hot wow lover, in fact, judging from what you said our first time."

Justin nods his head. "Yes. Can I call you that? Super hot wow lover? Hey, super hot wow lover, get me a drink of water." He laughs and covers his mouth.

"Yeah, that doesn't work for me. I'm in charge of you today, and you're gonna not act like an ass." Chris sits down next to him. "You really feeling better just from sex and talking?"

Justin shrugs. "I feel more focused. I'm still shit scared about all this. But, less like I'm gonna go nuts or am already nuts. That was, um, extra scary."

"You think questioning your calling makes you nuts?"

Justin looks sheepish. "Maybe. Have thought, don't anymore."

"You're pretty tightly wound." Chris sighs. "But it's cute."

"Really?"

"No. But I'm determined to keep this light." Chris leans back on the couch. "So you call Trace and we'll work all the rest of us this shit out later."

Justin says, "Yeah. That's a plan."

THE END.

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