The latest fashion in message t-shirts for such rockers as Korn, Blink 182, Fred Durst and Alien Ant Farm? Free Justin Timberlake. The first ones started appearing two months ago, but that version -- featuring a photo of Timberlake overlaid with fake bars -- used a copyrighted image of the runaway boy bander. The t-shirt producer closed up shop after being threatened by representatives of TransCon (Timberlake's erstwhile managers) and Jive Records. Fred Durst still wears his (pictured left), for festive occasions like last week's concert in Des Moines, Iowa. The more legal version has only the words and no pesky borrowed images. Don't think the trend signifies some kind of boy band - rocker détente. "I can't stand f------ Timberlake," says Korn singer Jonathon Davis, "Can't stand the Backstreet Boys. But the shirt's damn funny."
-ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY, The Scout

In Lincoln, he packed everything into a truck and retrieved Joanne. He leaned over a box, sweating in his t-shirt, one of Justin's they'd accidentally packed and thought, this is the end of this. No more Nebraska.

He drove to Clinton. His mother fluffed the pillows in his room and bought expensive cat food for Joanne. His mother didn't ask questions, didn't say she told him so. He didn't think of Justin. He woke up on the second morning he was home and stared at the ceiling for an hour. Then he updated his resume and went to a temp agency. No more of this, he thought. He was back in the real world where he didn't worry about Justin's madness or any of that.

The woman at the temp agency smiled broadly and complimented his many marketable skills. She promised him work by the next day.

Lance tried to forget the Justin thing. He tried. The temp agency came through the next day and after his first day of work he walked into a convenience store to buy a new pack of cigarettes. He saw the new Rolling Stone, the headline in the corner: Inside the Backstreet Brouhaha. He threw the magazine on the passenger seat of his car and brought it in to the house without opening it.

After dinner, he watched TV with his parents. His father pointed at his t-shirt and said something about remembering when Lance's college group first got those t-shirts. Lance looked down and saw he was wearing one of the orange ones like he'd been wearing that night at the movie theater. Not the same one as that night, because that one had a small grease stain from the popcorn on Justin's fingers as he'd touched Lance. Lance rubbed his eyes and nodded. His mother sat next to him and fiddled with his hair. "You look nice in orange, honey," she said.

Lance leaned his head back and sighed. He got up and read the Rolling Stone sitting on the stairs in the living room. He remembered Justin and Chris doing the interviews for the piece. He found himself in the montage of photos on the first page, walking Justin out of the first press conference, identified only as a "friend." Chris and Justin had gotten their spin across well, he thought, painting a detailed picture of the unfairness of the contracts and Justin's rational reasons for wanting out.

The other side was represented first by one of the lawyers, the one Chris called "weaselfuck," who smarmed about breaking contracts and little boys who were bucking for money. Kevin was only quoted spouting shit about the Boys eagerness to return to work, with or without Justin. Kevin also had one line about how Justin hadn't seemed that upset before he ran away. Lance thought about Justin's cache of razors, pills and booze and wondered how blind Kevin was. Or how much he lied. Howie, surprisingly, had one short quote, saying only that he wished Justin had talked to them more before he left. They had let Brian be the hatchet man, which he did well. In three short paragraphs, Brian painted Justin as a willful child, unstable and bratty. Brian added some veiled allusions to Justin's new friends and their evil influence. Lance closed the magazine and put it away.

Brian's hints were already being amplified left and right, Lance had heard it back in Florida before he left. People whispered that Justin was a druggie, a slut, and a fag. Lance rubbed his forehead and walked upstairs to sleep.

JC called him four times over the next two weeks. He bubbled about his work, new jobs he got, only casually mentioning Justin and always with a slight hesitation after he'd said the name. Lance just ignored those parts and talked to JC about everything else. Joey called him as often, not on the same days as JC and he talked about his class and Justin and just babbled like Lance was still part of the gang. Lance said "yeah" and played along.

JC called him one afternoon at his latest temp job. "Your mom gave me the number. You should get a cell phone again."

Lance ate his yogurt and looked out at the deserted street out the window. "I'll take that under advisement. How was the Britney thing, C? C'mon, spill."

JC laughed nervously. "Well, the actual back up singing went okay. The rest was weird. I mean, it was weird before I ever got there. Not just the whole, hi - we were on this stupid show together when you were a kid and now you're rich and famous and I paint houses - part. But you know, the Justin thing."

"Cause she's dating Nick Carter?" Lance threw away the empty yogurt cup.

"Well, sort of. But, I mean, hasn't Justin told you that story? About when she and Nick started going out?" JC was tapping his fingers on the table and Lance could hear it. He could picture JC hunched over the table.

"Um. He mentioned once that he asked her out or something but then Nick kinda got there first."

JC snorted. "Sort of. Yeah. So, Justin knew her and stuff and liked her and then she was opening for them - for the Backstreet Boys - so he's hanging out with her and stuff. Anyway, he sort of asks her out, and she kinda says yes, and like, two hours later he walks in on her going down on Nick Carter."

"Ouch."

"Dude, that's not the fucked up part. I mean, it's fucked up, but," JC paused and then inhaled, "it was Justin's dressing room. He walked in on them in his own dressing room."

Lance shook his head. "Nick Carter's a fucked up psycho. Did Justin say anything to you before you went and stuff?"

JC said, "Uh. He just told me not to show off or riff or anything. Which was good advice cause one of other guys there tried that and they just told him to leave. Like I said, the singing part went well. I might even, you know, get a credit on the album. But it was weird cause, you know, Justin. And - get this - Kevin Richardson was there."

Lance shook his head again. "Did he have you thrown out for being a friend of Justin's?"

"No. He didn't even acknowledge me until I was leaving. Then he just looked at me. So I looked back at him with thinly veiled contempt."

Lance laughed. "Is Joey's vocab thing rubbing off on you? Thinly veiled contempt?"

"It's accurate," JC insisted, his voice a little wounded. "Anyway, he followed me out and was all, what's your problem?" JC stopped talking and Lance heard the tapping resume.

"JC, just tell me. It's okay." Lance closed his eyes and stretched his neck. They never let you leave the gang, he thought.

JC's voice was suddenly louder, like he was leaning into the phone. "I said I was a friend of Justin's. And he said that Justin was a very unstable person who needed help and real friends of Justin would get him real help that he needed, not encourage his mental breakdown. So I said Justin wasn't mentally ill, he just wanted out. And then the fucker looks me up and down and says..." JC paused again.

Lance imagined JC steeling himself for the rest of whatever he was about to say. JC said, fast and quiet, "He says, 'Are you fucking the Infant now that Nebraska boy slunk home to Mississippi?'" Lance shivered. Lance had hoped he had left the story. He looked out at the cars and wondered if he was being watched right now. He was back in the real world. Kevin couldn't touch him.

Lance swallowed. "What did you say, JC?"

JC sighed. "I wanted to say something really clever, you know? I dunno." JC paused again and coughed a little. "I said I left screwing Justin to the experts like him. Chris would have done better."

"That was pretty clever, JC. Seriously, that was a good line." Lance shivered again. "You should tell Chris what Kevin said. Not the part about me, but the needing help part. You know?"

JC agreed with Lance and hung up. Lance looked in his rearview mirror twice driving home, wondering if he was being followed. He didn't think about Justin, he only thought about Kevin Richardson calling him Nebraska boy.

The next day he came home and found his mother reading the Rolling Stone article. She looked up at him and sighed. "I was reading this and thinking, you know, honey, if someone had come to us and wanted you to join one of these groups? I would have signed those things they put in front of us. You are so talented, and you really enjoyed those things." She sighed again.

Lance sat across from her and rubbed her hand. "You would have done everything to protect me you could have, Mom. It's okay. Everyone did their best, you know, just some people have different definitions of best for Justin, I think."

His mom looked at the pictures. She looked down at the table and blushed as she said, "Your, uh, Justin looks nice."

Lance smiled and kept rubbing her hand. "He is nice."

Joey called the next day. The first thing he said was "Carson Daly is a massive tool. Have I ever told you that?"

Lance laughed. "You have many times. But this time you speak from experience, right?"

Joey laughed, a warm sound across the lines. "Indeed. MTV? Pretty fucking cool. And Justin did really good in the interview. Like, really good. Which was good, cause he was totally psycho this morning, so you know, I was all worried that the interview would suck."

Lance looked down at his desk. He ran his finger over a small cut on the plastic top. "He was, uh, having a little diva fit?"

"Oh, definitely. I mean, pretty justified, I think. Did you see the thing where TransCon seized his house and stuff?" Lance grunted no. "Well, they did. Said they paid for all of it, blah, blah. Anyway, I don't think Justin minded the house, but fuck, he started to wig when they showed the guys taking all his shoes out of the house on TV. Justin's got a lot of shoes, you know that?"

"Yeah. He likes sneakers." Lance rubbed the plastic and didn't think about the expensive sneakers Justin wore the night they met.

"Apparently, and this I did not know, he collects 'em. Has like over four hundred pairs of sneakers. Which was not the straw that pushed him over the edge."

"The straw? Joey, how you doing in that class?" Lance grinned.

"I'm doing fine. I'll have you know I wrote a sonnet. Justin's was a lot better, but mine was, it was okay, and you shouldn't listen to anything Chris says about it. Anyway the straw here, that final nail in the coffin is that they sent a list to Chris and they say they want Justin's necklace thing. Say TransCon paid for it and they want it back."

Lance whistled. "Shit. The JTR thing? You're shitting me. His parents bought him that, I thought."

Joey sighed. "That's what Justin said. Only, you know, louder and with a lot more obscenities. He said they could have the necklace when they pried it off his cold, dead body. Chris calmed him down in time for the interview. Which went well. Justin did really great."

Lance sighed. "When does it air? I'll tune in."

"Uh, they're gonna show it to TransCon, you know, to get other comments on it and stuff, but soon, I think. Pretty soon."

BRIAN LITTRELL of the BACKSTREET BOYS was also backstage with AMY GRANT and VINCE GILL. Speaking of band-mate on the run JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE, Littrell said, "Justin's not thinking straight at all. He's completely turned around and unstable when you actually talk to him."
-ROLLING STONE, Random Notes

Lance came home from work two days later and walked straight up to his bedroom. He sat on his bed and Joanne ambled over and sat on his lap. She looked up at him and burrowed into his stomach. He petted her and then the phone rang. He wasn't waiting for it this time.

Chris's voice was ragged and harsh. "They took him, Lance. They took him."

Lance swallowed and clutched Joanne's neck for a moment. She just sat quietly. "Chris, what? What do you mean?"

"Justin. They took Justin. He and Joey were out running this morning and an SUV pulled up. Someone in there started talking to Justin and then Justin got in. The door slammed shut and the SUV drove away. Joey got the license plate number and I called a friend and it's registered to those TransCon fucks. They fucking took him."

"Are you -- he's not home yet? Maybe he just isn't home yet?" Lance felt Joanne burrow in closer to him. His mouth was so dry and his fingers tingled.

"Lance. It's the last night of his fucking class, he's got a ten page story sitting, neatly typed, on his bed and the class starts in ten minutes and he's not here. They took him. I don't know why he got in, but he didn't want to go with him. Joey heard someone banging on the door as it drove away. I've paged Justin and called his cell and fuck. Lance, you know they took him."

Lance hadn't thought of Justin at all, really. He had thought of him in the abstract and now suddenly, he could almost feel Justin breathing on his neck, singing something under his breath, wrapping around him. He looked at the bedspread and tried to understand the pattern of it. He swallowed twice and gripped the phone harder. "I need to tell my Mom, Chris. It's -- it's a long drive."

Chris sighed. "We'll leave the light on. Call me from the road."

Lance's mom found him while he was getting the carrier to put Joanne in. He turned and looked at her. "Mom, I gotta take the car ..."

She sighed and kissed his cheek. "Drive safe, honey. Give my love to, to Justin and call me when you get there."

He drove through the night and wasn't even tired. He listened to AM stations, FM stations whatever came through before fading to static. It was pitch black sometimes on the roads to Florida, his lights showing only the road before him. He left Mississippi behind.

He called Chris in the morning. He sipped his coffee and leaned against the phone booth. "Chris, I should have -- how's Joey?"

"He went to the class last night, you know. He wanted to turn in Justin's paper. Anyway, he's about what you'd expect. We both told him that it's not his fault, and he just looks grim and you know. JC's all blithering around here, cleaning, for fuck's sake. Just -- when you get here, I'm gonna try something."

When Lance got to Chris's house it was dark. Chris, JC and Joey came out and carried his boxes from the car to the room he had shared with Justin. No one said anything until Lance came in the house with Joanne in her cage. JC covered his nose and said, "Dude, I'm allergic. Can you, uh, just keep it in your room?"

Lance nodded and carried the cat and her litter box into his room. He watched Joanne run around twice and when she settled onto the bed, he went out to the living room and sat on the couch. Joey hugged him and then walked back to his room. Chris looked at him and said, "I'm gonna try something. We'll talk later." Lance fell asleep on the couch, his head resting on JC's lap. He woke up with a pillow under his head and a blanket tucked around him.

In the morning, Chris looked grim but he said, "Tonight, Lance, you and me are gonna take a drive and talk. Until then, I don't know. I gotta go to court. Motions and shit."

Lance went into his room but only looked for Joanne. He found her perched in the window and sat looking out at the empty street for an hour with her in his lap. He put more of the expensive cat food in her dish and then walked out, looking straight ahead. He watched JC clean the house and helped set up the steam cleaner he had rented. Then he slept on the couch until Chris came home.

Lance drove, just following Chris's vague directions. After a few minutes, Chris started talking. "Sometimes I think they're all evil fucks. I mean -- they took him, Lance. And they've probably got him in some institution all fucked up and doped up. Cause they're evil, I thought. But you know, they're not. Fuck, they don't think they're evil. They're, like, us. They think they know what's best and they think he must be nuts to be doing this, so, you know, they're probably thinking of this as some kind of intervention. Like we're some cult. Like Kevin said, they think he's gone crazy and they want to help him. There aren't many people who think they're evil, who are all 'I'm evil! Woohoo!' They think they're doing the right thing."

Lance sighed. The street lights flashed by and Lance thought again of alien landscapes. He'd left Clinton, though, and this was his now. He looked at Chris, staring out the window. "We're not a cult. And he's not nuts. Shit, he's fucked up -- but he doesn't need to be wherever they put him. And we're not like them. Cause they decided for him. We -- we never did that."

Lance saw Chris nod in the reflection from the window. "You're right. I always -- I always told him, here's what's going on, you choose. Here's what I think, you choose." Chris directed him into the parking lot of a convenience store. Chris didn't get out so Lance sat in the car. They sat in silence for thirty minutes.

Lance wasn't sure which car was the one Chris was waiting for, but a few minutes after two cars pulled in, Chris made a noise and jumped out. Lance stared out the window and didn't look in the convenience store. Ten minutes later, Chris got back in the car. He had three magazines with him: Hustler, Penthouse and Vogue. "I got the Vogue for JC," he said with a sad attempt at a grin. Lance made a move to start the car, and Chris put his hand out to stop him. "We're gonna wait for another little bit."

They drove home. As they walked inside, Chris was looking at the centerfold. He looked at Lance and said quietly, "I got something for you to do tomorrow. Like around eleven." Chris looked down. "And you were right. About the stuff in the car."

Lance fell asleep on the couch. He woke up when the sun hit his eyes and saw it was only seven. He sighed and walked into his room. Justin's room, really. Lance didn't have many boxes, and he had them all stacked against one wall. He sat on the bed and looked at the mirror.

Justin had stuck a bunch of pictures in the mirror above the dresser, like a fourteen-year-old girl. Now he looked at it and thought it was really more like a dressing room mirror. He saw the pictures of Justin's family, brothers and parents. A picture of him and Justin from Lincoln taken by Justin holding his arm out, their faces bright and out of focus. Lance had wanted it for later, to prove that he really did meet Justin fuckin' Timberlake. Another picture Joey had taken, right before Lance left, where Justin was standing behind Lance, hugging him, burying his face in Lance's shoulders and Lance had been grinning. A picture of the five of them, sitting on the couch from when Joey was testing a timer he had just bought. Chris was snarling, and Lance remembered him saying, "We're a gang, fuckwad!" One picture of the Backstreet Boys, a candid of the six of them waving moonmen in a bus. The only new picture was one of Lance, a black and white one Joey must have taken while Lance was studying.

Lance sighed and started unpacking his stuff. Justin hadn't put anything in the drawers Lance had used, but Justin didn't have much anymore. He had shown up in Nebraska with a week's worth of clothing and since then had borrowed things from Lance or JC. Lance moved two pair of Justin's jeans and found a popcorn bag pressed between them. He took it out and ran his fingers over it. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He put the bag back.

He had put everything away and was looking for Joanne when he found the box under the bed. Joanne ran away from his hands so Lance pulled the box out and looked at it. His name was written on the side in precise block letters. Inside he found copies of all the Backstreet Boys CDs Justin had sold. He didn't cry when he read the list Justin had made of all the money he owed Lance, or when he found the crumpled ones and fives that Justin had saved towards the total. He cried when he saw the cheap cat toy Justin had bought with a little "Joanne" written on the side. He cried, hunched over the edge of the bed, clinging to the box.

Chris came in and found him at ten thirty. He threw an LSAT study guide on the bed. He told Lance to study it, at a coffee shop on the other side of town for two hours. "And dude, all two hours. I don't care if the fire alarm goes off. I don't care if armed men come in and tell everyone to leave. If fucking Carrot Top starts performing on your table, you stay there." Lance nodded.

He sat at a table by the back and tried to take notes from the study guide. He looked down and realized he'd written 'Justin' thirty times over. He turned over the paper and tried to concentrate. He'd waited an hour when it happened. Someone clapped him on the shoulder and started talking in rapid Spanish. Lance looked up and saw Howie, wearing a baseball cap and glasses. Lance swallowed and said, "I'm sorry. I don't speak Spanish."

Howie grinned nervously. "Dude, sorry. I thought you were someone else." Howie rapped the table. "I'm sorry," he said and walked away. Lance wondered if he'd fucked up, if Chris had forgotten to tell him some password. Then he saw a folded up piece of plain paper on top of his papers. He ignored it for twenty minutes. Then he gathered up all his papers and shoved them in his bag. He read the book for another forty minutes and left. He sat in his car for a moment and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and unfolded the piece of paper. There was a street address and the city and zip. Across town again, forty minutes from their house. Under that was written 'checked in under the name J. Randall Infante.' Justin had been gone for five days.

Chris drove, taking a long circuitous route and doubling around twice. After twenty minutes, he pointed at the name. "They fucking call him that even in, like, memos. I've got these memos from TransCon and shit and it's all, the Infant did this. The Infant was drunk, getting a blowjob from some twenty year old girl. They call Nicky the Baby all the time, and they call Justin the Infant. In, like, nearly official fucking documents. Eight years of that shit. Fuckers."

The nurse wasn't sure about letting them in to see him. Chris said, "I'm his lawyer."

She pursed his lips. "His lawyers come every morning."

Lance leaned over the counter and looked at her with all the weight of pain he could muster. "We really need to see him."

The nurse looked down and shuffled her feet. She made them sign in and pointed them to the common room. They entered a large room with a TV in one corner. They walked towards the TV and the patients sitting around it when they heard Justin singing. They turned around and Justin was in the corner, by the window. He had his back to them, shuffling in a small circle, holding a Walkman and singing not exactly loudly, but audibly. Justin started to turn towards them and Lance held his breath. He heard Justin singing softly something about being at home behind the sun and then 'I wish I was the souvenir you kept your house key on.' Justin wore old sneakers with no laces, pants that looked like scrubs but lacked a drawstring and an orange t-shirt. He turned around all the way and saw them. Justin gasped twice and his hand twisted and clutched the t-shirt. Lance realized the shirt was Justin's, or more accurately, his own. He could see the little grease stain near Justin's fist.

Justin's jaw sagged a little and then he smiled a bit too wide. "My friends! My friends are here." Justin walked a little unsteadily towards the two of them. Lance looked at Chris and saw his shoulders hunch over as he drew a ragged breath. Justin grabbed them both and turned them around, draping his arms around them and leading them towards a door. "Let's go outside. There's a pretty gazebo and we can sit out there and have a visit." Justin sounded spacey. Justin sounded like JC at his worst, and worse than that. As they walked out into the sun, Justin started singing under his breath again. "'I wish I was the verb to trust and never let you down.'"

Lance put his arm on Justin's back and felt Justin tremble. He started thinking about competency hearings and tried to think how they could get Justin out of here. He looked at the Walkman Justin had stuck in his waistband and the little strip of skin he could see under the Walkman. They walked down a small hill and Justin let go of them. He walked a little ahead and pointed at a rundown gazebo. "We should visit there. Nicky was here once, you know? A few years ago, I think. When they let me visit, we talked there. I gave him a blowjob, too." Justin gave a little grin and loped towards the gazebo.

Chris looked at Lance and said, "Fuck." Lance nodded and kept his eyes on Justin. Chris took a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, lit two and passed one to Lance. Lance took a long drag as he stepped into the gazebo. Justin leaned back and spread his arms out. Lance watched Justin settle into an attitude of near sleep, his face slack, but his eyes flicked nervously around. Chris drew on his cigarette and hunched over. Lance had never wished so fervently to hear Justin swear.

Justin said, "Dude. You should quit smoking." Justin's voice belied his appearance, sounding clear and lucid.

Lance grinned. "Justin, you asshole, you're faking." Justin's eyes flicked to Lance for a second and Lance knew he saw a small smile before Justin settled back to his attitude of dopiness. "I think you should let us smoke. Chris is deeply upset to discover his client and friend is a doped-up vegetable. And, me, here I've come home to win back your heart and you're, as noted, a barely there idiot. We're deeply upset."

Justin stared at Lance. He shook his head a little and looked down after a few seconds. "Well, you know, fuckers can't keep me down."

Chris looked down to hide his smile. "Justin, I love you. If I wasn't so fucking straight, I'd hatch plans to steal you from the corn-fed Nebraska boy."

Lance didn't laugh, just barely. "I'd like to note, again, that I'm from Mississippi and the whole corn-fed phrase, to me, implies some mid-west thing. Mississippi is a state that grows cotton. And, damn, y'all, that corn-fed dog don't hunt." Justin smiled and then settled back into his dopey face. "Justin," Lance said. "Have they made you sign anything?"

Justin said quietly, "They bring me shit every morning. I tell 'em I don't write a thing without my copy of Strunk and White right by my side." Chris covered his face to hide his giggle. "Nah, I just cry and ask for my mom or pretend to fall asleep. Sometimes I ask for Chris. In my performance here, I'm shooting for like, JC at his worst or Nicky all doped up."

Lance nodded. "I got that. They've put you on drugs? And you're not taking 'em?"

"No. I palm 'em or throw 'em up. But if you act out of it enough, they don't check. I don't want 'em to think they have to inject stuff or shit like that."

Chris looked up again. "Any other visitors?"

Justin grinned for a moment. "Brian. You believe it? It worked out well. I figured that it wouldn't make sense for me to not be a little belligerent. And Brian came the second day."

Lance looked down and smiled. "How'd that go?"

"He called me a fag. Which, I was like, is a pretty intolerant attitude coming from someone whose band -- like four out of six take it up the ass at least occasionally. Fucker. He started out saying I should take this time to reflect and pray. Anyway, it ended with me telling him I'd drop everything, be happy Infant again if he blew me right there. Offer expires in five minutes." Lance and Chris both took long drags on their cigarettes to cover their incipient laughter. "Kevin would have been on his knees, I tell you. Brian left." Justin looked over at Chris. "How'd you find me?"

Chris looked at Justin fiddling with his shirt. "I made a call."

Justin narrowed his eyes. "Howie?"

Chris stared at a tree behind Justin. "I called Nick. AJ told me where the meeting would be. Howie passed the address to Lance."

Justin shook his head. "I fucked up when I ran away, you know."

Lance said, "Justin, it's okay."

Justin looked away at the grass. "I mean I should have gone to Howie and AJ, I could have let Nicky fuck me until he went along and we could have overwhelmed Kevin and Brian. We could have done this as a unit. I didn't think of them at all. I was just -- fuck. I lived in this fucking bubble and I don't know how to do these things the smart way."

Lance sighed. "Justin, it wasn't your job. You did your best. Don't worry about it."

"I've got enough things to worry about, I guess. Shit -- promise me you'll tell Joey this was the first thing I said. But he shouldn't beat himself up. Best bodyguard in the world can't do shit with a stupid client. And it's okay."

Chris nodded. "Look, we gotta get you out of here."

Justin stood up. "We can't stay out here long. Look, I'm gonna get out. I can do it. I was gonna wait until tomorrow, but I'll do it tonight. Just leave the porch light on."

Chris stood up. "We can get you out of here legally. I think. I'm pretty sure, Justin, don't go off half-cocked."

Justin smiled. "Chris, seriously, they'll move me tomorrow. And I know you could get me out but maybe that's eventually. And I won't stay here. And it's not half-cocked. They think I'm slow and stupid -- and drugged up. And I think I'm in slightly better shape than most of their normal patients. Shit, Nicky broke out twice when he was here, and he was taking every drug they gave him plus the cool ones he could steal. If I'm not home by the morning, you start with the legal shit. Okay?" Chris nodded and walked out of the gazebo. Lance stood up and Justin put his hand on Lance's arm. "Lance? Did you mean that -- you came back for me?"

Lance ran his hand over Justin's face and kissed his forehead. "Yeah. We can talk later. When you get home, okay?" Justin looked at him and smiled. He nodded and sat down in the gazebo. When Lance and Chris looked back from the hospital, Justin was still sitting there, playing with his Walkman.

They ate dinner, pretended to watch TV and looked at the door every ten minutes. JC kept asking how Justin would get in, and Joey would say he had a key. Chris would start debating with Joey how Justin would get a ride to here and then they would both trail off. Lance said more times than he should have that he hoped Justin remembered the street address now.

JC was the first to fall asleep, a little after midnight. Joey woke him once and the second time he just carried JC to bed, JC only waking up enough to throw his arm around Joey's neck and rest his head against Joey's neck. Chris went to his room and fell asleep around one a.m., muttering about court the next day. Joey and Lance sat in the living room for an hour watching the news. Joey fell asleep first, Lance watching him breathe with his head back against the couch.

Lance woke up and blinked at the clock. It was three o'clock. Lance looked around, like Justin would be just sitting there, quietly. Joey was sprawled across the couch. In Lance's room, Joanne blinked at him. Lance walked to the front door and threw it open, to see if Justin was walking towards them or something. He saw Justin sitting on the steps.

"Dude," Justin said, wrapping his arms around Lance, "I could get my wallet back but not my keys. I knocked and knocked."

Lance swallowed. "I just woke up -- were you out here long?" He clung to Justin.

"A few minutes. It's nice to be home." Justin dragged Lance inside and closed the door. He leaned Lance against the door and they kissed. Tender at first and then Lance was tugging Justin closer, clawing at his waist while Justin gripped Lance's face tight. Justin broke off the kiss. "We should wake up the other guys, maybe?"

Lance inhaled. He looked into Justin's eyes. "We could wait. Maybe talk first."

Justin smiled. "We could wait on the talking, too. If that's okay. Cause I know we need to talk and shit. But, um."

They walked back to their room, kissing the whole way, except for when Justin banged his hip against the couch trying to walk backwards. Justin just swore quietly, made sure Joey hadn't woken and went back to Lance. Lance leaned against the door for a moment when they got there. "Hey, I got a surprise for you."

"What?"

"Joanne missed you." Lance giggled.

Justin kissed him again and whispered, "That's good."

In the bedroom, Justin reached for Lance, but Lance pushed his hands away. "This is yours, Justin. For you." He picked up a remote and aimed it at the CD player. Justin grinned as the sound of quiet guitar and soft drums echoed off the walls. Lance thought, I want to remember this. He placed his hand on the back of Justin's neck, rubbing his fingers into the groove there and enjoying the softness of Justin's skin. Lance drew Justin to him slowly and kissed a line around Justin's neck, ear to ear and back again. Justin breathed softly, in and out and a few little moans. Lance ran his thumb across Justin's lips, full and hot, and then met them with his own.

They backed up slowly, mouths together but not open, until Justin reached the wall. He leaned against the pictures and the posters, and Lance leaned against him. Lance teased Justin's lips with his tongue, and then let it slowly slide into Justin's mouth. Justin curled his fingers through Lance's and Lance raised his hand to the wall and placed the other one on Justin's hip. It was cotton candy, Lance thought, the sweetest thing, as he felt Justin dissolve over and over again. He slid his hand up Justin's side until it was at the back of his neck again. Little curls were sprouting there, darker now than before he shaved his head. Lance tugged at them until Justin kissed him harder, until Justin pressed his hands against Lance's stomach. Lance pulled back and saw tears in Justin's eyes.

"Baby."

Justin kissed him again, and Lance felt them in the kiss. "Baby." He lifted Justin's arms, slid his shirt off, and pulled at the elastic on Justin's hospital pants.

"Fuck, Lance, I fucking missed you." Justin tugged at Lance's jeans.

Lance took Justin's hand and led him to the bed. JC had done laundry again, and the clean sheets were neatly folded on the floor. The mattress was silver and bare, and Justin slid over it like water. He sprawled against the headboard, smiled more genuinely than Lance had ever seen.

Lance's fingers encircled Justin's ankle and he bent down to kiss the hollow between tendon and bone. He pushed his thumbs in steady circles against the sole of Justin's foot, working slowly until he reached the heel and then worked his way up Justin's leg. Justin laughed when Lance kissed the delicate skin behind his knee. "That tickles, dude."

He raised his eyebrows at Justin and kept moving north. He ran his hands firmly up Justin's thighs, felt familiar muscle, tone and structure that he'd missed. He drew lazy circles around Justin's dick and over the tiny raised veins on Justin's stomach, pausing to kiss Justin's hipbones and to dip his tongue into Justin's navel. Lance intertwined his fingers with Justin's again, rested his head on Justin's chest so that his ear was to Justin's heart.

"This music," Justin said. "It's pretty. What is it?"

"Coldplay. JC gave it to me when I moved back in."

"I like it, dude."

"Yeah?" Lance placed his leg over Justin, and then sat up.

Justin raised his chin and rubbed it against Lance's throat. "It's nice."

Lance traced Justin's eyebrows and the curves of his nose. "What happened here?"

"Old boxing injury. Busted it in a prizefight."

"Tyson?"

Justin laughed and licked the hollow at the base of Lance's neck. "Actually, yeah. Tyson Fleur, this kid in, like, fourth grade. We were playing at recess and I took a football in the face. Very Marcia Brady."

"Did it hurt?"

"I can't remember." He closed his eyes. "I mean, it must have, right? But I can't remember."

Lance snuck two fingers into Justin's mouth, rubbed them along tooth and tongue, then slid them out and used them to stroke Justin before gliding inside. It was pressure and heat and Lance felt like he was flying. Justin said things, made words and sounds and nonsense and perfect sense, rocking and shaking against the exposed mattress and against Lance. And Lance could read him like before, could read him always, and pulled out just before Justin came. He did the rest the work with his mouth, so slowly that Justin cursed him. When Justin did come, in a spurt, in a burst, he cursed Lance again.

"I did miss you," Justin said later, after they'd made the bed. "And not, you know, fucking you or whatever. I mean, I did miss fucking you, but I missed you. I missed, like, moments."

Lance rubbed his feet along the cool sheets. "Like what?"

"Like seeing your face, you know, in the morning, all early. When it's still sorta dark but the sun's starting to come up. Or listening to you brush your teeth while I take a shower. Or how you hum, hearing you hum when I make cereal or a sandwich." He took Lance's left hand and flipped it over. "I missed your wrists."

"Justin. I love you."

Justin raised Lance's wrist to his lips. "And I love you, like, I love you more than anything."

There was sex again, and music on a continuous loop. "I want to live life and be good to you," the man sang, and it was the last thing Lance heard before he fell asleep.

Joey bursting in the room woke him up, saying, "Okay, man, are you done screwing so we can say fucking hello?" Lance opened his eyes and Joey was hugging Justin, had lifted him up from under the covers. JC and Chris came in and Lance made sure the blanket stayed around Justin's hip at least.

Justin said, "Guys. You guys rock."

Chris laughed. "Well, you saved your own ass, so we didn't really do that much. And man, you're naked and all sex smelling, so, we're gonna, uh," Chris grabbed JC's arm and started walking out of the room. "We're gonna let you shower. And then we're gonna feed you."

Justin giggled and sank back into the bed. "I need to shower."

"Me, too." Lance sat up and grabbed a clean towel.

"Lance, wait a sec. We really -- I want to talk to you." Justin sat up but didn't make a move. "See, when you were gone, I was all talking to JC a lot, about things, 'cause I knew he sort of understood. 'Cause he was on the Mouse thing and he knows about the business and being a kid. And you know, you were right. I don't know how to be a person sometimes."

Lance shook his head. "It's okay, Justin."

"No, no, it's not. Like, Nicky. When we used to. Okay, when I decided to leave everything, to run away, right before -- the part where I decided to leave. There was this guy, he worked the lighting on our tour. And we used to play basketball, one on one, all the time and he was -- we kissed a few times. He just liked me. And we did it a few times and then one day he just wasn't there. So. And I didn't know how anyone knew, I still don't. I think they, maybe, told him things about me. And stuff I'd done. And like, two weeks later, Nicky tells me Eric -- that was the guy's name -- he wrote me. And Kevin made sure I didn't see it." Justin brought up his knees, rested his arms on his knees and his chin on his arms.

"Eric was from Nebraska. From Lincoln. That's why I ran away there. Cause I figured there was one nice person from there, so it had to be nice, right? I didn't want to find him or anything, it wasn't like us, but." Justin wiped his mouth. "I'm talking so much, fuck. Anyway, when I was talking to JC, when you were gone, I was saying how I've been fucking everything I could get my hands on since I was fifteen. And with Nicky, you know, it was when he had time for me, fitting me around Britney and whatever fucking games he was playing on Howie." Justin looked out the window, away from Lance.
 
"And he always just -- he fucked me and it was always his way, that's the way he liked it. And otherwise, Lou was always making sure that I was available to the fans, no dating for Justin, you know, just these stupid things with models. So I fucked fans and whoever and I was just like Nick."

Justin looked at Lance, suddenly, his eyes so blue. And it was one of those moments when Justin didn't look real, he was so beautiful. Then Justin started talking again. "So, JC said, in his flowery stupid way, that I had done all this fucking and I'd never made love to anyone. Except you. And it was like that night, when we were back in Lincoln and I just couldn't understand what was wrong with you, why you wanted to fuck like that, all slow and shit. And I do try too hard, 'cause no one ever treated me like that. You were right to break up with me. But I'm gonna keep trying, you know, to not be that person. I never had people around me, really, who could teach me not to be an asshole."

Justin sighed and buried his face in his arms. "Okay," he mumbled, "I'm done. No more talking from me, like, ever."

Lance hugged him. "Justin, baby, I'm not leaving. So you have to talk again, at some point, or otherwise how will I know whether you want macaroni and cheese or spaghetti for dinner?"

Justin looked up with red-rimmed eyes and said, "For my next class, I'm taking sign language." He smiled a little and kissed Lance.

Onto the very exciting Part 4!

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