Date: Fri, 5 Jan 2001 22:22:55 EST
From: Gemmini999@aol.com
Subject: Chance at Love

Hi. This is mine. Don't steal it. It's also fiction, as if you couldn't tell.
Please write me with comments at Gemmini999@aol.com

This doesn't mean that anyone in N SYNC is gay. Just wanted to let ya know
that.

Gemmi

P.S. I know the narrative changes... I couldn't work it any other way.

* * *


    He was warm.
    Sometime during the night my body had pressed up against his back,
seeking heat only he could provide.  Now, in the pre-dawn hours, it felt like
I had been there forever, ensconced by him. The sun would rise soon, and with
the morning rays he would wake.  His large, brown eyes would flutter open for
seconds at a time, until he was conscious enough to focus in on me. Then he
would laugh and roll away, out from the heat the two of us created.  We
wouldn't talk about what had happened, just like we always ignored the unique
positions we awoke in.  They didn't matter. There was always something more
important to be dealt with: the group, the music, the interviews; any of the
daily activities that would clutter our lives until the sun closed its eyes.
But then the darkness would come, and with the darkness came the passion of
the night.
    I felt him shiver slightly. The room was tepid, and during the night he
had lost his blanket.  I pulled him closer, hoping body heat would erase the
chill from his blood.  Instead, he moaned loudly and tried to wiggle his way
towards me.  He was still shivering, but now I was beginning to realize it
wasn't from the cold. I absently brushed a hand over his chest, and the moan
turned into a deeper, yearning groan.  He was awake, I could tell.
    The window looked out into the dark night.  A few stars were out,
twinkling their songs; but most were home, safe in their beds.  They were
snuggled deeply under the warm quilts that on nights like this refused to let
the few unpleasant feelings that each held close to their heart enter.  This
was a night for passion, for romance.  The day would bring the harsh light of
truth, but now the night let magic take over. The morning would come soon
enough.
    "Your awake," I finally whispered.  I felt him nod, but he didn't utter a
single word. The silence, at times like these, said more then enough.  I
could feel his body responding to the acute proximity of mine.  I felt a
stirring as well, but I ignored it.  I didn't want another round of sex; we
would have time for that tonight, or tomorrow night.  Mornings like this were
rare, and I treasured them far more then a roll in the sack.  Because, on
morning like this, I felt complete.
    We laid there for god only knows how long.  The few stars that were
singing each disappeared, and the early morning rays of sunlight replaced
their happy melody.
    "Time to get up,"
    I nodded at his words. It was time to wake up, the other's would bang on
the door soon enough, and they couldn't find me here,  but I didn't let go
of him.  He didn't make any attempt to leave the warm confines of the bed,
either.  We both laid there, enjoying the last moments we would have of each
other's company for the day.
    Night would come, once again, but that was a long ways off.  Now was what
we lived for.
    He sighed and rolled away, leaving my arms empty.  He laughed quietly,
just as I knew he would, before climbing out of a bed.  He ran a hand through
his sleep-matted hair, then headed off towards the bathroom.  Seconds later I
heard the sounds of water hitting a cold tile floor and knew that I needed to
get up.
    By the time he started singing, I had resigned myself to my fate.  I
slowly dragged my tired limbs out of bed, pausing momentarily to straighten
the twisted sheets that had kept our bodies warm all night through. Lying on
the floor were my jeans from the previous day as well as my shirt.  I quietly
dressed and left the room as spotless as I had found it.
    Moments later I was once again naked, only this time in my own room,
feeling the heat of the shower on my back. The water was soothing; the aches
that I hadn't even felt faded away.  Only, the water wasn't him. I wanted
him to message my back, I wanted him to make everything fade away, disappear.
 I wanted him to wrap himself around me, until I couldn't tell where he ended
and where I began.  I wanted to love him.
    But instead of leaving my warm shower, instead of walking across the
hallway naked, not giving a damn about who saw me, I slid to the shower
floor.  The water was still beating erratically, the heat felt good against
my worn out body.  Only seconds ago I had been awake, thinking of our night,
of how much I liked being with him. And now... I was lying here, with tears
dripping relentlessly down my face, wondering if I could ever bring myself to
tell the truth.
    I think I loved him.
    I've said it to myself thousands of times. I've admitted that he's more
then a body to keep me warm at night, more then just another sex buddy. I've
admitted that he's special, and I care about him.  But we're still in two
different rooms, in two different showers, thinking two completely different
thoughts.
    At night, with passion beating at the windowsill, with the music the
twinkling stars perform gracefully, sometimes I turn and look into his eyes.
I try to understand the secret's that he's holding, that he's always held. I
try to understand why the night allows for our passion, our feelings.  How
the stars and moonlight and the darkness cover the truth.  And how, at times
like this, with the sunlight dancing around the shower stall, the truth
mysteriously uncovers itself.  I remember that the night is all that allows
us to be together, that the day is too bright, too forceful, and our
relationship looks strained.
    I try to understand how I ever allowed myself to get into this position.
When had the two of us given into the passion of the night, and when had we
accepted that the truth of the night is not the truth that we face during the
day.  How had we allowed ourselves only the night for passion?
    And, with a sigh, I understood.
    I stood up forcefully and turned the shower off.  The water stopped
beating it's erratic beats, the soothing warmth faded away.  And I dressed
quickly, not taking the time to throw a little gel into my abundance of hair,
not taking the time to glide into a pair of shoes.  Seconds later I was at
his door, knocking frantically.  The door opened immediately. He stood there,
worry evident in his face.  I didn't care.
    "Do you love me?" I asked.  He nodded, slowly.   The look in my eyes must
have shown my doubts because he kept nodding.  I stood there, not saying a
word. I didn't believe him. I didn't believe the delicate lies that were
dancing their way out of his heart and into mine. He didn't love me, but I
didn't love him either, and that thought broke my heart.
    He didn't want me to be anything more then a night object, a warm body
that made him feel alive, human.  I made him feel less lonely. He couldn't be
alone when I was willing to stand there, fighting his battles for him.  Just
like I couldn't be alone when he was there, whispering his lies.  I nodded,
slowly.
    "You don't love me, but... I don't think I loved you, either." I finally
whispered. "Because, if I loved you, my heart would be breaking right now.
Instead, I just feel a little numb."
    "But I do love you." He protested.  The sound of his voice, the horsness,
the emotion.  He might have been telling the truth, but somehow I doubted it.
    "No, you love the fact that you aren't alone. If you loved me, I
wouldn't have to shower across the hall, in a different room. If you loved
me, I wouldn't have to have a different room. I could just stay with you,
forever." I explained, more to myself then him.
    "Oh."
    "We were using each other."  The truth echoed in my head, bouncing here
and there in time with the beating of my heart. We both knew that the road
was lonely...and somewhere along the line, we had mutually decided we would
use each other instead of seeking out real companionship.  The other was a
warm body that we came to bed too, that we curled up against, and slowly fell
asleep holding, counting the beats of hearts as we became one.
    And now that the truth had come to the surface, I felt lonelier then I'd
ever felt in my whole life.  I was missing a part of me that I thought would
always be there.  I was missing a part of my heart that I had never lost
before.  I was missing the part that he held comfortably in his hands.  He
had stolen my heart, a long time ago.
    He had stolen my heart.
    I glanced up into his eyes, and saw he too was missing a part of him. The
sparkle that I used to savor was gone, replaced with anguish.
    "And here I was thinking that you were just too scared to commit to
someone. Too scared to fucking tell the guys that you were gay. Of all
things...stop lying to yourself Justin. Stop lying to yourself. I love you."
He shut the door after that, slowly, not giving me a chance to respond. I
don't think I could have said anything to take away the pain he felt at that
moment, anyways.
    He loved me.
    Joey fucking LOVED me.
    And I think, maybe, I was the one that needed a warm body in to clutch in
the middle of the night. I was the one that needed to be with someone,
anyone. I was the one that was so FUCKING scared of the world that I had hid
behind another person, and now, because of my own damn insecurities, that
other person was gone and I was left holding the pieces to a puzzle I no
longer wanted to piece together.
    His door was hard, unyielding. I couldn't bring myself to knock just once
upon it's oak surface. It looked too cold, too alone.
    I turned my back slowly and crossed the hall, into my own room with it's
own hard, unyielding door.  The sun was laughing at me, it's rays dancing
across the floor in a pattern I had never seen before.  It was happy while I
was standing here, slowly feeling my heart break into two pieces.
    Maybe I was scared. Maybe I was young, immature.
    But maybe, just maybe...tonight everything would look different.  The
moon would sing along with the stars, they would dance. No one would hide in
their beds with the cover's pulled up high, past their ears. I would go to
him, and he would open the door.
    The passion of the night might heal us.
    But somehow, I doubt it.

* * *

    The glass felt heavy, filled to the brim with vodka or gin or any
combination of the countless bottles on his shelf.  He tested it, warily.
The alcohol teased his lips, but went down with a satisfactory burn that made
him forget everything he had been trying desperately to remember.  He forget
the feeling of Joey's lips, caressing his gently.  The way Joey's tongue
would sneak out, simply to taste the younger boy's innocence.
    Reaching unsteadily for another bottle, he laughed to himself. Joey
wouldn't be able to taste his innocence after this. Then he remembered that
Joey didn't want to taste his lips anymore. Joey didn't want him curled up
next to him, in the heat of the night, simply for warmth.
    Joey didn't want HIM.
    The alcohol found it's way into his stomach faster after that. The glass
in his hand was never empty, the bottles slowly grew blurry.  He couldn't
tell how much he had drunk, or how much was left, but he knew neither was
enough.  The memories that were pounding in his head simply wouldn't
disappear.
    They couldn't.
    He fell back minutes later.  The room was spinning, he was spinning. His
entire life was out of control, and the alcohol wasn't making it any better.
If anything, the alcohol amplified every single memory, every single touch,
every single kiss.  He remembered the gentle way Joey would touch his cheek,
just to let him know that somebody cared after a rotten day. The laughter in
Joey's eyes made the interviews tolerable; the feel of Joey's lips made his
own life worth living.
    And the damn alcohol only intensified the memories.
    Wasn't the purpose of alcohol to make you forget? To place you into an
oblivion so deep, so untouchable, that not even the thought of love could
reach you?
    He didn't know anymore. He didn't know anything except the way that he
felt without Joey by his side, without Joey standing there, telling him that
maybe he shouldn't have another drink.
    Knowing that's what Joey would say, he reached slowly for the gin.  At
least, the bottle he though was gin.  He didn't bother pouring it into a cup,
he simply raised the smooth glass to his lips and drank. He drank until he
could drink no more, then he swallowed and began again.
    The room grew dark.
    Maybe the sun was setting, slowly over the hills like always.  They used
to watch the sunset's together. Every night, no matter where they were, the
two would meet and stare at the sky.  Another day in their lives was done,
and they still had each other. That was something worth celebrating.
    Only now, they didn't have each other. Day after day had passed, the sun
had continued to set... and Joey hadn't come to him. Joey hadn't apologized,
hadn't even mentioned the fight.  If it had been a fight.  He wasn't sure
anymore.  Maybe it had just been a discussion in which feeling were revealed,
lies were told.  Maybe it had just been the end of his life, because sitting
here in a fucking hotel room wasn't much of a life, but that's all he had
been doing since that day.
    Sometimes he couldn't even taste the alcohol anymore.  He didn't feel
the burn as it traveled down his throat, he didn't feel the way it gently
teased his lips.
    But he could remember the way it felt when Joey teased his lips. When
Joey was there, having a drink with him to calm them both before a show.  He
could remember the way it felt to lie in Joey's arms, at peace with the
world.
    He raised the bottle to his lips once more, determined to get Joey out of
his head. The alcohol went down with a splash, but Joey remained.  His
laughing eyes, his infectious smile, his gentle ways.  Joey remained.
    He tossed the bottle down to the floor, and reached out for another.  He
couldn't focus properly; the bottles were blurred, he couldn't read the
writing.
    Maybe it was time to stop. He tried to stand up, to walk to the bedroom
so he could fall asleep and dream about things other then Joey. The room
spun, instead, and he settled back down on the couch, with the bottles lined
up in front of him.
    They weren't as pretty as they were earlier; the different colors of the
alcohol weren't as sparkly, they didn't radiate the same sense of oblivion.
He still remembered the way Joey's lips felt against his, the way the two
would kiss for hours upon hours,  never going any further. They kissed
because it felt good, and it felt good because they loved each other.
    He loved Joey. Joey loved him.
    They loved each other.
    The stars were outside, twinkling, although he couldn't hear their music.
He always heard their music, at night, when he would lay in bed next to Joey,
staring out into the darkness.  The music would calm him, help him sleep.
Tonight, they were quiet.
    They had abandoned him, just like Joey had abandoned him.  He was alone,
except for the alcohol. Some bottles were still lined up, with liquid inside
some. Other's were knocked over, their contents spilled over the harsh wooden
floor.
    He wanted another bottle. He wanted to forget everything and everyone. He
wanted Joey.
    He wanted what he couldn't have.
    The room grew darker, and then lighter.
    He heard voices. "He's coming around", "Josh, shut the blinds". He heard
Joey's voice.
    "He's lucky he isn't dead." Dead? Why would he be dead? He didn't know.
He didn't know anything except the way Joey felt curled up next to him, for
the night.  He knew the feel of Joey's lips, the sound of his voice, the soft
sounds he made when he was happy.
    But that was all he knew.
    Slowly he opened his eyes. The light hurt, and reflexively he shut them
tight.