Chemistry

by >>Jae

Everyone said how much the lawsuit had changed Justin. It had really made him grow up, they said. He didn't feel particularly grown up. What he mostly felt was exhausted, and scared, and sick to his stomach.

He had stepped into JC's usual place as peacemaker. He wasn't sure how it had happened, wouldn't have believed that his halting awkward stammering could fill the space vacated by JC's smooth easy comfort. His sole qualification seemed to be that he was the only one Chris would let near him at certain times.

Since that one day at Justin's house, Chris hadn't shown a sign of weakness, a sign of defeat. He was sealed up in an anger so seamless that only Justin ever saw a glimpse of the old Chris. And JC, who used to shrink away from Chris' loudness, from his bluntness, who could make Chris roll his eyes just with the way he walked across a room, had become Chris' greatest ally. Only JC seemed able to share the boundless rage Chris felt at being ripped off, at being played for a fool. Joey and Lance drew away from their vivid vicious bitterness. Justin envied them sometimes. But Chris needed him.

JC and Chris stayed up late in what they called strategy sessions, which mostly consisted of coming up with ever more inventive and obscene ways to kill Lou Pearlman. Justin sat with them, trying not to wince at their words and trying not to fall asleep. When they finally finished, Chris would be wired, unable to sleep for hours. On a good night, Justin could distract him with a Playstation tournament. On a bad night, Justin would lie on his stomach on Chris' bed while he paced and hissed curses. Sometimes on those nights he couldn't help himself and would wake up in the morning with a blanket thrown over him, Chris sprawled snoring on the couch.

The depositions terrified him. He was struck almost dumb at the thought that the wrong word could ruin things for all of them. Even more terrifying was the fact that Chris was not at all intimidated by that thought. JC was calmer during the sessions, more muted, but Chris' behavior didn't change at all. Certain questions made him snort, or laugh, or hit the table, and the whole room would suddenly seize up with tension. The dark paneled offices were made for the cloaked hostility of their lawyers, for their own half-masked fear. Justin watched Chris' face, permanently set in an open snarl, and thought he might bring the walls tumbling down around them.

Justin mastered his own fear by the simple method of being more afraid of what would happen if he didn't. He appeared confident and strong so often that he was sometimes surprised when he was alone and felt anxiety flutter in the pit of his stomach. He was quick to speak up, although even in his anger JC would have covered for him reflexively. He intercepted as many questions as he could. When he couldn't, he laid a quick careful hand on Chris' elbow a second before Chris spoke, murmured Chris' name in a voice so low it was more a movement than an actual sound. Sometimes he simply put his body in between Chris and whatever Chris wanted to hit. It always worked.

At first Chris didn't seem to notice what he was doing, and Justin was glad. He had felt JC's eyes on him more than once, dark and serious, and he was afraid his knowledge of Chris, his diligent protection, spoke of more than friendship. But soon Chris began to look for him when they left their cars. Before he answered a difficult question he would put three light fingers on Justin's arm as if for luck. In the endless meetings, boredom broken only by horrifying revelations, Chris' shaking leg would brush up against Justin's and grow still. Justin didn't worry, though, because Chris never looked at him any differently, never moved away from his touch, never said anything unusual. Chris didn't seem to notice that Justin's friendship had changed, had distilled into something deeper, more desperate, more necessary. Justin thought maybe he was harder to read than he thought.

Justin's mother met him one night as they were coming out of a meeting with their lawyers. "I was going to eat with Chris," Justin said, watching the tension in Chris' back as he pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number.

"Well, tonight you're eating with me instead," his mother said firmly.

"Yeah, J, take the night off. You deserve it," Chris called. He hunched whispering over his phone. Justin sat in his mother's car, the air cool and free of tension and terror and secrets, and closed his eyes in relief. He was tired of being a grown-up. He deserved a night off.

Justin hadn't realized how much he had changed until he relaxed into his old pajamas, ate his old favorite dinner, climbed onto his old couch with his mother beside him. He wanted to feel small again and young, just for one night, wanted to shrink back into his life before 'N Sync, before MMC, when he told his mother everything and there was no problem too large for her to fix. Just for one night, he thought it wasn't too much to ask. But he was too big now to curl up into her lap; he had to settle for lying down with his head on her thigh. She stroked his hair, and he wondered what Chris was doing, thought about the problems she couldn't fix, the things he couldn't tell her. He sighed.

"Baby," his mother said, "he's a grown-up man. He can take care of himself. You can't do it for him."

"I'm not a baby," he said, and wondered why. It was what he had been wanting to go back to all night.

"No," she said, "you're not."

"You don't understand. How it is with us."

His mother was quiet for a long moment. Then she said softly, "Maybe I do."

Justin caught his breath. He thought, just this one thing. Just this one night. Without lifting his head from her lap, he said, "If I wanted to tell you something, would it be okay?" Even as he asked the question, he knew things had changed. Once he wouldn't have thought of asking.

His mother said, "You can tell me anything. Always. And there is nothing you can tell me, nothing you can do or be, that would make me not love you or not be so incredibly proud of you."

It was Justin's turn to be quiet. He sat up and looked at his hands. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Can everyone tell? Does everyone know?"

"No, ba - Justin," she said gently. "Just me. And I've known you a long time. I can read you pretty well."

"Oh," he said again. "It's not like you think. I haven't. He doesn't. Nothing's changed between us."

"Okay," his mother said.

"Would you mind," he said, "if it had?"

He felt her hand, cool against his cheek. "The only thing I ever want," she said, "is for you to have someone who can love you the way you deserve." He lay back down and felt her fingers in his curls again. He woke up the next morning on the couch, with a pillow beneath his head and a blanket over him.

It wasn't until later that morning, standing with one hand cupping Chris' elbow as he fought with their choreographer, that he realized that she hadn't really answered him.

The day the lawsuit settled Chris pulled Justin out of the impromptu party, dragging him by the hand down the hall. He opened a door and pushed Justin into a deserted conference room. Justin stumbled into a wall and then stood with his back against it, Chris right in front of him. Chris put a hand on his shoulder and Justin felt his eyes closing, his head tilting back, his lips parting before he realized what he was doing. He shook Chris' hand off and stared at the floor, blushing in horror.

"J?" Chris said with concern. "You okay?"

"Sure," Justin said. "Yeah, yeah, just, you know. It's so weird. Finally, you know. It's just kind of. Overwhelming." He looked up through his lashes to see if Chris was buying it. "It's a good thing, though. I'm happy. I'm happy."

"Yeah," Chris said slowly. He was still watching Justin curiously, a half-smile on his lips.

"Also," Justin said, "you know what?"

"What?"

"I told you so." Chris laughed, and Justin looked up and smiled. Things were back to normal. It was like nothing had changed.

"Listen, J," Chris said, suddenly serious, "I wanted to tell you that I know everything you've been doing all along."

Justin studied the floor again, a lump in his throat. "Um, yeah?"

"Yeah," Chris said. "And I just want to say that I appreciate it. You've been a trooper, this whole time. You really pulled through for me." He hugged Justin, hard, his arms loose and strong around Justin. "You're my best friend, man," he whispered. "Nothing's ever gonna change that."

Justin stood still in Chris' arms and thought, That's a good thing. I'm happy. I'm happy.