Justin thought sometimes that he was used to the unreality of his life. Entire days made up of flashbulbs popping and people screaming his name could go by feeling normal before something made him feel boxed in and helpless. It was never the same thing clicking reality in, but each time it felt jarring and blunt.

The first time, he was looking out the window of the bus, his head filled with the techno looped soundtrack of a forgettable videogame, when he realized that he was deep in the heart of a city that he didn't know. It was the verge of night time, the street abandoned and looking dirty, bits of newspapers blowing, a fine grey grit blurring things.

It was fall teetering on the verge of winter, and he idly wished for snow, thinking that it would look pretty. Mostly, he thought that it would cover the ugly streets. It was just a quick thought, and he started to turn away from the window, to maybe see if Chris wanted to watch a movie or something, when the bus pulled up at a red light.

Justin was still moving away from the window when he saw the man, his age unascertainable and his face smudged and dirty. There was nothing really different or unusual about him, but he had a sign by his feet. "Help The Homeless. God Bless You."

Justin couldn't remember seeing anything other than plush hotels in so long, and he tried, really tried to remember the last time he saw someone so alone. He knew that he didn't look out the windows that often, mostly only at farmland. Chris teased him about it, but he liked to look at cows and horses.

He was quiet for the rest of their bus ride, but when they finally made it to their hotel, he ignored the fans waiting by the hotel, snapped at the bellboy, and ordered more food than all five of them could consume. Rich food, expensive food, and he told himself that it couldn't ever be him on the street, alone and begging for help from others.

He was unreasonable for days, demanding that they love him and yet being completely unloveable until Lance pulled him away from the others. Lance's face was cold and distant when he asked, "What the fuck is your problem?"

Justin just shrugged and uncapped the Evian he'd ordered. "I don't have a problem." He looked around at the group, and things seemed warmer than they had in days.

Lance just looked at him hard. "Yeah. Well." But he slung an arm around Justin's shoulders and led him back to the group. It was enough, and Justin didn't feel like testing them anymore.

Things drifted along and Justin forgot. Lance would probably have nodded and made a wise face and muttered something about the resilience of youth, he thought. He knew though, knew that he didn't have to test his reality anymore, didn't have to make himself remember that he was taken care of and loved.

He started signing autographs again, smiling and being himself, not a plastic, artificial creature who demanded love despite himself, not because of himself. The flashbulbs popped on his smile, not his back and he remembered how much he loved the spotlight, just because he could make other people happy by being there.

It started feeling normal again, the constant smile, the strobe lights. He didn't question anymore, until a little girl snapped him out of it. He was smiling, taking his time signing her picture, making small talk while she squeaked. He handed her the picture back, gave her a final smile.

When she leaned past the barrier and whispered, he moved closer. She looked soft and sweet, no more than thirteen, but a young thirteen. He remembered being that old, and having an intense crush on Janet Jackson. He thought that if he'd had the time to wait outside hotels, he'd have looked like this, innocent and hopeful.

He knew he wasn't supposed to move closer than an arms length away from them. This girl wasn't grabby, wasn't brassy and flirtatious, or even underdressed, showing inappropriate amounts of skin coated in glitter. He liked that, so he let himself forget the rules and moved closer. Wide blue eyes blinked up at him and she repeated herself.

This time he heard her and stumbled backward at the filth she was saying, the things she wanted to do to him. It was jarring and wrong, dirty words and propositions from a girl who looked too young to even understand what she was saying. He stopped, turned around and walked away, leaving everyone else to take his place and make his apologies.

He didn't order too much food or demand unreasonable things this time. He was just quietly mean, miserably displeased with everything and everyone. He started criticizing the way Lance danced and the way Joey ate and the way JC sang. He tried to criticize Chris, but Chris just cuffed him on the back of the head and walked away.

He tried not to think, not to compare the extremes, until it was the middle of the night and he couldn't close his eyes because if he did, he'd think about whether it was better to be cold and alone or the property of everyone. During the day time, he was unreasonable and demanding, until the only time that his friends talked to him was to ask him offhandedly if he wanted to go out with them.

He usually said yes. Hidden in the dim of anonymous clubs, buzzed on vodka or something equally simple, he felt like himself again, the person that didn't flounce around demanding concessions and then refusing them.

He was dancing by himself, warm with too much alcohol, eyes closed and ignoring the crush of people that he knew were probably watching him when Lance came over.

"You're too drunk. I get to babysit your sorry ass, before every tabloid has a story about Justin's oh so special alcohol problem to go with his oh so special attitude." He grabbed Justin's arm and hauled him toward the door.

The taxi ride back to the hotel felt too long with Lance sitting beside him, rigidly disapproving. Justin wanted to ask for a hug, thought about talking to Lance, but it was easier to lean his hot forehead against the cold smudgey windown and close his eyes.

Lance pulled him out of the cab, once they got back to the hotel, and he wanted to protest, to say that he wasn't that drunk, but then he stumbled. He let Lance sling an arm around him and guide him to his room.

At the door, Lance paused, his mouth twisting. "Can the Prince of Pop undress himself, or would he like one of his loyal peons to help him?"

Justin thought that if he stopped reminding himself that he didn't care, he'd have broken down at the contempt in Lance's tone. Instead, he just blinked hard and fumbled with his keycard. "The Prince of Pop is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you."

Lance pushed past him, yanking him into the room. "That's enough, you hopeless asshole. You're going to tell me what crawled up your ass and you're going to tell me right now."

Justin turned away, stripping out of his tight clothes, wanting his flannel boxers and soft long sleeved t-shirt. Fumbling into them, he ignored Lance, hoping for and dreading the click of the door as Lance gave up again.

When he turned around, scrubbing a hand across his head, swiping a hand across his cheek, Lance was still there, pale and determined looking, staring at him. He sat on the bed, staring back.

Lance broke first, looking away. "I don't know why I even bother." He got up, turned away.

Justin opened his mouth, looked for the words. "Lance. I... uh." He didn't know what to say, but it was enough to halt Lance.

He turned around, looked at Justin again and Justin could practically feel him really seeing this time. Lance spoke slowly, carefully. "There's something wrong."

Lance walked over to Justin and put an arm around him, and Justin couldn't help snuggling into the embrace, miserably wanting it, knowing that Lance wouldn't leave him alone, wouldn't want too much of him.

Justin sniffed a little, shrugging Lance away when he started petting Justin's shoulder and asked, "Dude. What's wrong?"

Justin walked over to the windows, pacing from one to the other, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably, the creak of the bed as Lance shifted seeming too loud and the lights outside seeming too garish. He finally turned and met Lance's eyes.

"Does it ever seem like too much? Like, there's no in between, only too little or too much and you're just trying to figure out where you fit in?"

Lance shifted, his eyes flicking away to stare off into space. "Yeah. Yeah, I know what you're saying." He looked sharply at Justin. "This whole diva trip thing, you don't really feel like that, do you?"

Justin just shook his head. "It's stupid. I just, I don't know, wanted to know what it would take for people to stop loving me." It sounded stupid to him, and he tried to think about better ways to phrase it, but Lance was nodding and smiling at him, really smiling for the first time in weeks.

When he moved back to the bed, Lance hugged him again, and this time there wasn't any of the distance and Justin felt warm. Lance leaned in and kissed the corner of his jaw and whispered, "Justin, we'll never stop loving you. And you'll never be alone, you know."

Justin thought that maybe sometime, when he wasn't drunk and Lance wasn't feeling sorry for him and petting his head, he'd want to know what it felt like to really be kissed by Lance. He looked up at Lance, relaxing when Lance just smiled at him.

"You should sleep, Just."

When Lance turned off the lights after tucking Justin into bed, the night felt warm and soft, not cold and lonely. When he closed his eyes, no one was abandoning him or grabbing at him, and he thought again about the feel of Lance's lips as they brushed his cheek.

~end~.