'There's a house,' he thinks, 'and a club, and more grass, and trees�'
He's staring out the window.
One of his favourite pastimes.
When he isn't kicking Joey's ass at 'Bulbasaur's Adventures in Pokemon World', or horsing around with Justin, of course.
He doesn't get to do it a lot. Staring out of the window, that is.
That's just how it is.
That's his life. Busy, crazy, hysterical.
Lonely.
That's what he is.
What's he looking for, staring out that window, trying to count the number of cars passing by? What's out that window that intrigues him?
Freedom.
'It's the freedom,' he realizes. 'To be able to go out there and pick up some chick without having the tabloids hounding the hotel door the next morning, or Johnny on my back the whole month, or Lonnie or Dre hanging around and scaring off every other person who sees me.
'I just want to be free.'
................................................
Something's wrong, and Justin knows it.
Chris doesn't mope.
There are only two times in his entire life that he's seen Chris unhappy - when Busta and grandmamma Kirkpatrick died. Heck, he'd even been okay when Dani broke up with him, although he'd put up a pretty good show of misery for the press to lick up.
Justin peeps into the room at the back of the bus, knighted 'Chris' Playroom', and catches Chris staring out the window.
'Wait, wait, wait, staring out the window? Dude, something's up.' Justin thinks as he slinks into the room, not bothering to knock. He's in trouble.
"Hey, Chris?"
Chris jumps, literally, three feet into the air. "Justin!" he yells, turning to glare at his younger bandmate, "The hell?"
Chris is mad, Justin can tell. He's seething. "Um�"
Chris sits down with a huff, pouting.
'It's adorable,' Justin can't help thinking, even though it's a pout, 'because it's not polished and fake and forced the way mine is. It's real.'
Maybe that's something people take advantage of. Chris' realness. He isn't refined, he hasn't become manufactured, he's stuck it out longer than the rest of them.
On the other hand, JC's affected by all the glamour and glitz worse than the rest of them. He's retreated so far back into his shell Justin doesn't think he'll be able to find his best friend again. Lance is the only one who can occasionally coax JC out of his hiding place, his secure heaven. Justin envies him sometimes, because inside, he's safe. He's spazzy, he spaces out, but no one blames him for not paying attention, because that's just the label he's got going on for himself, and he likes it. He's lucky, Justin thinks sometimes, because he doesn't let this affect him inside. He's just become a recluse.
Joey, has gone all out to party, and he takes his frustration out on the chicks he brings back to the hotels. And being the idiot he is, he went and got Kelly pregnant. But that's okay too, because Joey is branded stupid anyway, stupid and very, very horny.
Lance has immersed himself in work. Work, work and more work. He's got the smooth gentlemanly manner working for him better than Justin has. He's become so plastic and so fake on the outside that sometimes, just sometimes, Justin's scared of him. Scared because Lance seems to be what Justin has in store for himself. All forced laughs and smiles and no friends, just 'contacts'. Justin shudders at the thought.
"Hello? You home there?"
It's only then that Justin snaps out of it, realizing that he's spaced out. Something he would never, never do. "I was just thinking," Justin mutters, glaring when Chris lets out a short bark of laughter, because heck, Justin never thinks either. All dumb blond and rich ass image he's got going, buying fourteen fricking Mercedes Benz and all.
"What are you thinking of?"
"What?" Justin blinks, not too sure he's heard right. No one ever asks what he's thinking, mainly because they aren't too sure they want to hear him ramble on about Britney again.
"What are you thinking of?" Chris says gently, and Justin almost laughs too. Sometimes, they forget that Chris is actually a very smart, very caring psychiatrist in the making. Sort of.
"Nothing," he lies, because the thoughts in his head, he thinks, are too much for anyone but himself to bear.
"Okay," Chris starts to stare out the window again, uncharacteristically quiet and Justin hops around a bit, uncomfortable in the silence.
"Do you ever feel like, you know, everything is too much and you need to stop it and the only way you know how is by lying? And then you start lying and you keep on doing it because it's, like, it addicts you. It makes you want to keep doing it, 'cause it stops you from thinking so much, and it just, it just makes everything stop. It makes the world stop spinning and your head stop hurting and it really helps. For a while. Then everything goes crazy and now you want to stop lying and you can't and everything's so fake and plastic and sometimes you want to forget it and just damn it all to hell and just give everything up so you could just live again. And you�"
Justin trails off when he sees Chris looking at him, unnervingly quiet, just� observing. Justin's leg starts bouncing again, and he studies the suddenly fascinating pattern of the floor. 'This way left� then right� oh, look, the mark we left from the peanut butter fight last week�'
"Justin." Still, he doesn't look up. "Justin."
"Yeah."
"Finish what you were saying."
"It was stupid. Never mind," Justin mumbles and turns to go out the door.
"Okay." Chris shrugs and turns back to stare out of the window.
Justin utters a little sigh, halfway between relief and longing. A small part of him wants Chris to ask, to press, to need to know the thoughts running through Justin's mind. The other part tells him to get smart and leave.
He leaves.
Chris doesn't stop him.
................................................
Chris notes that they've passed an old Alabama-ish looking town. Not that he knows exactly what Alabama looks like.
He wonders about what Justin says as he stares. He's never felt� like what Justin's felt. He doesn't think he has. It's always real for him. This fame, this money. He's still extremely cautious with his money; his momma's taught him well. Nothing would possess him to buy more than what he needs to. At home, he has a pair of running shoes, a pair of sandals, and a pair of sneakers. That's all he's really needs.
As he goes back to staring out the window, Chris thinks he really lets his thoughts wander too far.
................................................
'It's funny how strange things happen when you're smack in the middle of something very normal,' Justin thinks.
Still, he's not questioning it. His hands have snaked their way into Chris' hair, Chris' fingertips are light on his cheeks and Chris' lips taste of snow and sweetness and mint and chocolate.
And most importantly, Justin concludes, Chris tastes real.
................................................
Chris thinks, kissing Justin might probably be classified under one of the 'not-so-dumb-things-I've-done-in-my-life' category. 'Heck,' he smiles, running a hand softly, softly, softly, down the side of Justin's face and neck, 'it's probably under smartest-thing-I've-ever-done.'
................................................
He's found what he's been looking for. He's found his reality.
He doesn't need to lie again, ever.
In Chris, he's got everything he needs to ward off the evil press, the hounding, the pressure. Everything.
He's turned back into what he first was.
Justin Randall Timberlake. Just another guy doing what he loves.
Except now, he's ready to take on the world.
................................................
Chris glances out the window, smiling.
It's been a long time since he's looked out that window.
A long time since he's wondered about freedom.
Something, or someone, interrupts his thoughts. "Ha! Take that, Joey! Your Charmander ain't no match for my pumpin' Squirtle, yo!"
Chris smiles at Justin's elation, and shakes his head.
It's been a long time since he's wondered about anything other than Justin, really.
'But it's okay,' he thinks, then.
He doesn't need to anymore.
End.