// being true //

"What's the first thing you're going to do when you turn 21?"

Be true to myself, thinks Justin. Maybe for the first time ever in my life.

But that's not how he answers the interviewer's question, because he knows that's not what everyone wants to hear. Instead he rolls out the expected answers-- about how he's looking forward to be going out to clubs with the rest of the guys, to be able to buy a drink at the bar, to be able to gamble where and when he wants, should the mood strike.

"Just like your average 21 year old guy then?" the interviewer smiles, before adding, "Except not every average 21 year old guy has Britney Spears for a girlfriend, right?"

Justin smiles too, though it doesn't reach his eyes, and feels like it's pasted on and starting to crack at the corners. "Right."

***

Joey has been making all kinds of elaborate plans involving hiring out a club and filling it with all kinds of friends and colleagues to help Justin celebrate, and he brings Justin lists with names on them and Justin looks at them without really seeing them at all. But he nods and tells Joey that's cool, that's fine, and wow, he really appreciates all the effort Joey is putting into this. Joey just beams happily and says it's not every day you turn 21, so he just wants to help make it special.

And Justin knows he should be on top of the world, because Joey's right, and he has all these people around him who love him and want him to be happy, and he should just stop feeling so fucking sorry for himself. He tells himself this so many times he loses count, but figures if he keeps saying it over and over, eventually he might even start to believe it.

***

He has nightmares where he's running. Constantly running. From what or who, he doesn't know. All he knows is that he has to keep running, because if he stops, even for one moment, even to think or to breathe, then something will happen. Something that will turn his world upside down and inside out.

Something he's not ready for. Not yet.

***

"Did you feel different when you turned 21?" he asks JC one afternoon. JC's sprawled on a couch, half-asleep, humming absently along to a cd that's playing. Justin doesn't think JC's heard him, and is about to ask again, when JC finally speaks.

"No," JC says carefully. "But--" and he pauses again, searching for the right words, "People felt differently about me."

It's a typical JC answer, thinks Justin, but he thinks he knows what he means anyway. Spending so much time with JC means that often he finds himself on the same wavelength, and sometimes that's not always a bad thing.

"Like...they expected more from you suddenly?" he asks, hugging his knees to his chest, and JC nods.

"So very much more." JC frowns, as if he's remembering, and Justin thinks there's more he wants to say. But JC seems to decide against it, and closes his eyes again, his fingers moving on his thigh, tapping out the rhythm.

"JC," says Justin quietly, almost to himself, "What if there's no more to give?"

JC doesn't answer, and Justin can't think of a time where he's ever felt so lost and alone.

***

Justin's hands are shaking so badly he can barely hold the phone, let alone dial the number. On the third attempt he gets through, and almost hangs up again when he hears Britney's voice.

"We....we need to talk," he says when he finally gets his voice to work. "I have some things I need to say, and to do...and--" He swipes absently at the tear sliding down his face, and can't finish what he planned to say, but he thinks he's probably said enough. He knows Brit's a smart girl, and that this was always going to happen. It was only ever a matter of when.

"I'll be there soon," she says softly, and the note of resignation in her voice as she ends the call is all it takes, and his legs suddenly refuse to hold him. He slides gracefully downwards until he's on his haunches, phone still clutched in one hand, the disconnect signal barely able to be heard above the roar in his head.

***

"You what?" Lance's eyes are wide. "You and Brit? It's--"

"Over, yeah." Justin rubs a hand over his face, as he throws clothes into an overnight bag. "I guess you'll read it in all the tabloids soon, but...I wanted to tell everyone first. Brit and I....we...we thought that was the best. And--" he pauses, looking up as the door opens and Chris walks into the room. "So yeah...I have to go."

He pushes past Lance, and Joey, who's sitting beside a shell-shocked looking JC, grabs his wrist. "Where? And for how long?"

"Just a few days...away. Away from..." -- Justin gestures helplessly. "Just away."

"Okay," says JC. "Okay. It's okay."

Justin doesn't know whether JC's giving his approval or just trying to make himself feel better, but he stops and crouches down beside him, lays a hand on his arm. "C, I'm sorry. I need to do this," he says softly, and JC nods, not meeting his eyes. "I'll call", he adds and JC nods again as he curls himself in against Joey.

Chris hasn't said a word, and Justin can't bring himself to look at him as he walks past him and opens the door. He doesn't need to see Chris to know exactly what his face looks like as he watches Justin leave, and he certainly doesn't need to see Chris to know that it feels like something inside him has broken.

Justin doesn't need to see Chris to know any of this, because he only has look at his own reflection and he'll see all those things staring back at him.

***

Justin opens the door, and isn't surprised to see Chris standing there, fixing him with a steady gaze. "You didn't call," Chris says, as he brushes past Justin. "And you promised JC you would. That's shitty, man."

"Yeah," says Justin. "It is. I know." He walks into the kitchen and sits down, arms resting on the counter. "So, how'd you find me? Brit?"

Chris sits opposite him. "Yeah. She said we needed to talk." His eyes are dark, almost black, and pretty much unreadable, unless you know what to look for. Justin knows only too well, and sometimes he thinks it's that very knowledge he's trying to get away from, to forget. But that knowledge is as much a part of him as the blood in his veins, and all the running he's done only makes him tired. And suddenly, he doesn't want to run anymore.

"So, I'll be 21 soon," begins Justin, and he's said it so often, it's almost become the punchline to some bizarre joke. But this time, it's not funny at all, and he knows it's now that the running away will stop. Right now. "And everyone is asking me what I want to do. What this means to me. And, I just...I think I finally worked it out." He plucks at his sleeve. "After all these years, I finally worked it out."

"Joey seems to think what you need is a huge party," says Chris. "To party until you puke. And I think he's planning on some incriminating polaroids in there too. Possibly featuring nakedness. Actually, definitely featuring nakedness. And I hear--"

"Chris, shut up." Justin's voice isn't unkind, but Chris still shoots him a look. "You know that's not what I'm talking about. You know none of that stuff is new to me. You know the novelty of all that wore off a long time ago."

Chris nods, because he does know, all too well. "Then what do you want, Justin?" And those dark eyes fix on his face, not wavering for a second, and Justin can see something close to the truth looking back at him.

"You," he says, reaching out and covering Chris' hand with his own. "It's always been you."

***

"That," says Chris, gesturing wildly in the air, "was a great party. I mean, great. Was that party not great? Joey did you proud, man. Did I mention how great that party was?"

He sits down suddenly and Justin stoops down to grab him under the arms and haul him to his feet. "I believe you did mention something to that effect, yes. Now, let's get you inside, huh?" Chris mutters something under his breath, and sways gently on his feet, curling into Justin.

"I think I drank a little too much," murmurs Chris against Justin's neck, his breath warm, his mouth pressed to Justin's collarbone. "It was a fucking great party, man."

"The best," Justin grins, guiding him toward the door. Chris stops suddenly, one hand raised in the air, a look of intense revelation on his face.

"Wait," he says, reaching a hand into his jacket pocket. He fumbles for a moment, before pulling out something and handing it to Justin, closing his fingers around it..

"Here."

Justin looks down at what Chris has placed in his hand. It's a small gold disc, round and flat, his name engraved on one side, and on the other is the date. "Um...okay," he says slowly, looking at Chris, waiting for the punchline. Chris grins back at him, then smacks a palm against his own forehead, before fumbling in his pocket again.

"And this. This goes with it...I tried to get it on there, but y'know...I'm a little drunk." He hands it to Justin, a glint of silver, and cool metal pressed to his palm . "It's your own...I had it cut. Seeing as, y'know, you're here most nights anyway." He grins and presses a damp kiss to Justin's jaw. "Happy 21st birthday, man."

Justin looks down at the small silver key in his hand and smiles.

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