Alright, a lot of the time, Justin thought JC was weird.

Especially now. Somehow, being famous and being JC Chasez of �N Sync had changed his friend. Justin admitted that everyone changed, himself probably the most, but JC changed in a way that was just� weird. He didn�t seem to be the same person that Justin remembered meeting on the Mickey Mouse Club all those years ago.

Not like they weren�t friends or anything. Of course he and JC were friends. They always would be. Justin loved his four band mates with a stronger and deeper and harder love than most real brothers shared. The five of them didn�t need blood to be brothers or to bond. Something else held them together. Their souls were intertwined.

That didn�t change the fact that Justin still thought JC had gotten weird.

Justin caught him in the Quiet Room one day, half an hour before the sound check started, reading a book. It was a book about art. His long hair was falling loosely around his face, with his head bent forward. JC�s glasses slipped a little lower on his nose. His fingers stroked absentmindedly on the outside of the book jacket.

�What is that about?� asked Justin, feeling bored and trying to feign some interest in the stuff JC was interested in now. He sat down beside JC on the couch.

JC turned, surprised to see Justin there, as if he hadn�t heard him come in. He also seemed surprised that Justin asked, because mostly the guys just made fun of JC for his new interests. He seemed pleased that Justin actually asked, smiling a little bit. Turning to the book for a moment, he angled it so Justin could see. �Oh, well, it�s just about the progression of the Impressionist movement in art,� he said. �It�s mostly about Monet, who is an artist most people love but I can take him or leave him because��

The words JC said washed around Justin with a kind of odd immunity and Justin felt like he was being carried down the current of a river that he couldn�t possibly begin to understand. He just nodded and smiled in the right places. Eventually, JC, dense as he was, stopped talking and smiled amusedly.

�You�re not listening at all, are you?� he asked.

Justin wasn�t a bit ashamed when he said, �Nope.�

With a helpless, kind of embarrassed shrug, JC said, �You don�t have to try to pretend to like the stuff I like, Just. It�s okay.� His hand smoothed over the glossy pages of artwork, even though his eyes watched Justin.

�Yeah, I know�� said Justin. �Figured I�d give it a try though. I�m� gonna go see what�s going on out there,� he said, nodding his head out the door.

As JC turned to watch Justin get up and leave, all Justin could see was wild brown hair and bright eyes hidden behind glasses. He thought that he didn�t know what had happened to the JC he had known and he didn�t know when this JC had gotten here�. this JC, who Justin didn�t know.

When Justin turned around in the doorway, just to ask if JC wanted to come with him, JC was already bent over his art book again, engrossed in the swirls of colors, which created worlds that Justin didn�t understand.

* * *

Justin remembered when he and JC were so much alike that all their possessions were basically both of theirs. Especially in the beginning, when all five of them used to sleep on the same bus. Clothes, music, magazines, even their shampoo� they liked the same things. They liked to do the same things.

When Justin was bored, JC was always up for a basketball game. So was Chris, but Justin wondered when JC stopped coming to play ball. Making up some excuse, busy with other things. Justin found that he and Chris played one-on-one, more and more.

The JC that Justin remembered had a loud laugh, a Julius Caesar haircut and a passion for music and football. That JC liked to stay in the hotel room, listening to music and keeping Justin company while the others went out clubbing all over Europe. One time, when Justin was depressed about being in Germany and missing home so much it actually made him sick� JC just came and sat down on his bed and held him until Justin fell asleep, to the sounds of JC�s CDs playing low and smelling the scent of his soap on JC�s skin.

Sometime between then and now, JC never did that anymore and Justin never asked him to. Justin didn�t need that anymore.

Justin knew everything about the JC he used to know. Right down to JC�s favorite ice cream flavor, which was mint chocolate chip. When Justin had found out a couple of months ago, from a magazine article, that JC�s favorite flavor was now coffee, he had felt hopelessly lost for two seconds. Then Justin felt guilty� because maybe he should�ve known. JC loved to drink coffee now -- he had to have it every morning.

JC started to like things like art and painting, like gourmet food and wine. He started to grow his hair out and pronounced his profound love of pink, even though his favorite color used to be black. He started going to places, like museums and art shows and poetry readings -- places where Justin felt like he couldn�t follow.

For some reason, he and JC had nothing in common anymore� except music.

He and JC still liked to listen to the same music. That never changed, not even after all these years. BoyzIIMen, Stevie Wonder, and not just R&B, jazz and blues too. Justin never listened to that stuff before he met JC. On his first day on the MMC, Justin had been introduced to all the other kids. He remembered thinking that tall, lanky guy with the floppy brown hair was kinda cool. So when JC told him to try out the music he liked, Justin did.

�C�mon, man,� said JC back then. He held out tapes he had made of his CDs, especially for Justin. His eyes were bright and he was grinning, much like he always did now when he tried to get the guys to try something new. �You can�t be listening to country if you�re gonna be on this show. Tell me what you think.�

So Justin popped the tapes into his Walkman that night, lying down in his bed and staring at the ceiling. Eventually, he found himself singing and dancing along to all the songs, grinning like a fool. His mother caught him doing that, but she only grinned and said, �You�re finally getting to your real Tennessee roots.�

When JC caught Justin blaring Stevie Wonder in the dressing rooms one day and dancing, he had leaned against the doorway, grinning. �Told you,� was all JC said. He laughed when Justin threw a towel at him. Justin had thought JC had a pretty laugh, back then. It seemed like he and JC would be the best of friends.

Justin wondered when all that changed. When he had become afraid to try what JC loved.

* * *

One day, Justin had looked over at JC, who was sweating and grinning in a way that everyone did when they knew rehearsal was finally over. JC caught Justin�s eye, smiling in his direction before taking a long gulp from his water bottle. Sweat dripped from his long hair and down his neck, mingling with the water that splashed from his mouth. JC�s sharp profile, head tilted back as he drank, was highlighted in the lights of the stage.

Justin suddenly had an overwhelming desire to learn about who Monet was.

* * *

Months later, when Justin called JC during their break and asked what he was up to, he wasn�t really surprised when JC said, �I was planning on going to the Smithsonian. You know, the DC museums.�

JC was on the other side of the continent and still he managed to bore Justin with two simple sentences.

�Oh,� was all Justin could think to say. �Cool.�

�They have a new exhibit up that�s gonna only be there for the summer,� said JC. His voice was a little broken up over the static. Justin frowned a little, knowing that he shouldn�t keep trying to use his cell phone indoors and across thousands of miles of distance.

�Oh.�

A laugh crackled through the phone�s receiver. �Don�t get too excited, man,� said JC.

�I mean� Wow, that sounds great!� said Justin, putting so much feigned excitement to his voice that it even made him laugh.

�Riiight�. What were you calling about anyway, Just?�

Justin found himself waving his hands around vaguely, as if JC were there to see it. He forced himself to stop. �Oh�� he said. �Seeing what you were up to. I was planning on going over to your side of the world sometime, if you didn�t mind.�

�Too boring in your mansion over there?� asked JC, with a laugh.

�Actually, yeah.�

�Sure. Do you need me to pick you up from the airport or anything?�

Even though Justin couldn�t see JC, he could kind of see him in his mind�s eye, standing in his kitchen and walking around with the phone cradled in his shoulder. The fact that he could visualize the scene so well told him that maybe he did know JC better than he thought. �Nah, I�m cool,� he said. �Can I stay at your place?� JC was the only one of all the band mates who had a condo in Washington, DC. It was close to his parents� home.

�Sure.� JC laughed, which still sounded pretty, even on the phone. �Bye, Just.�

�See ya, C.�

* * *

On the way over, flying over countless farm fields and Midwestern states, Justin wondered what the hell he was doing. Just deciding to go to the east coast to see JC? He would see JC in a couple of months, when the tour started up again.

He watched fluffy clouds float by his window.

Why was he going?

Justin had just ordered the plane ticket to DC and tossed some clothes in a bag before heading out the door to the airport.

What was he doing?

What was he planning on doing?

With sudden determination, Justin pulled out a book from his bag. An art book. About Claude Monet.

He was going to meet JC.

* * *

When Justin arrived at JC�s condo, he kind of stood outside the door stupidly for a moment, unsure what to say when he actually got inside. He knew JC was home, because he saw JC�s car parked outside the complex when the taxi had dropped him off. Justin shouldered his bag and fingered through the his keyring, looking for the one that would unlock JC�s door.

Somehow he managed to find the right key and to open the door. When he stepped inside, he put his bag down in the foyer and went in, hearing the familiar sounds of jazz crooning somewhere inside. JC�s condo was a nice one -- it took up a full floor and was a lot bigger than most apartments.

Justin didn�t have to wander far before JC came into the living room, smiling in a surprised, pleased kind of way and wiping the paint off of his hands with a rag.

�Hey!� JC said. His hair was messy and his clothes had paint splattered all over them, but his eyes were bright and he looked happier than Justin had ever seen him. �You should�ve called. I could�ve picked you up.�

�No, I told you I�d be okay,� said Justin. Somehow, seeing JC this content made Justin smile, just from the radiance of JC�s happiness. �You look busy, anyway.�

Surprisingly, JC shook his head, almost shyly. It was cute. �I� I�m just fooling around,� he said, gesturing with paint-covered hands. �Nothing else to do.�

Taking his jacket off and putting it on the couch, Justin said, �Can I see?�

�Oh� yeah, sure,� said JC. He nodded his head and Justin followed him to the den, where JC had covered the sofa and floor with white sheets, now smattered with paint. The easel stood in the middle of the room, supporting a painting that depicted a couple, holding hands and heads bowed towards each other. The colors were exaggerated and the lines were broad and wide, not perfectly shaped, making the people seem a little� weird. Like they weren�t just people in a painting. Like� they were�

�Moving,� said Justin, without even realizing he said it.

JC turned toward him, startled. �You get it,� he said, smiling happily and obviously pleased. His eyes seemed brighter than the blue on the canvas and Justin thought maybe he�d say anything to get JC to keep smiling at him like that.

�You�re a good painter,� said Justin, with a grin. �If you can make me understand something about art.�

�It�s not as hard as you make it sound,� said JC. �It�s all about� what you feel. There�s no secret code or anything. What else do you see?�

Justin frowned at the painting, unsure what to say. He had no idea what he was talking about and he was afraid he would say the wrong thing and that smile would go away. He stared for a moment, looking at the way the woman�s skirts seemed to fly around her and the way the man�s expression didn�t seem to stay the same. �The� the movement of the people is kind of saying how love changes,� said Justin, floundering a little with what he was trying to express. �They love each other but they won�t stay the same. But their hands stay together. That never changes.�

�Yeah,� said JC. His voice was soft and he didn�t look at Justin. �Yeah.�

* * *

The next night, Justin was trying to make some complicated dish that he couldn�t pronounce the name of. Actually, he was trying to help JC make a complicated dish that Justin couldn�t pronounce the name of. Same difference, in Justin�s mind.

�Ow,� said Justin, as the oil splattered and spit at him, stinging his skin in little bites.

JC said, �Big baby.� But he was laughing. �Don�t put throw the onions into the pan. If you put them in more gently, they won�t splatter as much.�

Justin thought that was easier said than done, because the pan was really hot and he wasn�t about to get his hand near the thing. �Alright, alright� what am I doing to these again?� he asked.

�Caramelizing them,� said JC, without looking up from his pot of bubbling stew.

�Like candy or something?�

�Um� that�s not what caramelizing means,� said JC.

Justin didn�t mind JC laughing at his idiocy, but still� Justin felt like he was all thumbs in the kitchen and it wasn�t a good feeling. He was used to being good at things. �You know what? How about you cook and I eat?� he said.

�If you really wanna,� said JC. �Here, come taste this.� He was holding out a wooden spoon to Justin, cupping his hand underneath it to keep the stew from dripping.

Stepping closer, Justin blew on the food and licked some of the sauce from the spoon. His eyes watched JC watching him. �Needs a little sugar,� said Justin, voice suddenly hoarse as he realized how close they were standing together.

�Okay,� said JC, as soft as a caress.

* * *

�Why did you come here?� asked JC. He was rummaging around in his kitchen, talking to Justin, who was sitting in the living room, flipping through the television channels. Justin had been there for a few days now and they hadn�t done much. Talked a little, gone out to eat, gone clubbing, doing their own things.

Justin didn�t really feel like making up an excuse, so he said, �I don�t know.�

�You flew across country for no reason at all?� said JC. His voice was muffled because his head was peering into a cabinet.

�I guess you could say that,� said Justin. He stretched out lazily on the sofa. �Maybe I came to get a cultural experience from the man himself.�

JC said back to him, �I don�t see what the big deal is. I get some new hobbies and you guys make it sound like I�ve been abducted by aliens.�

�Your hobbies are weird, C,� said Justin with a laugh. He heard the tinkle of glassware from the kitchen.

�They are not!� JC said, but his voice was a lot closer this time. He was standing over Justin, looking down at him from behind Justin�s head. He was smiling but the expression seemed upside down from Justin�s point of view.

Justin had to tilt his head back to look at JC�s face. �Sure they are.�

�Well, wanna try my other hobby?� said JC. He came around to the front of the sofa and Justin saw that he was holding a couple of bottles of wine and some glasses in his hand. �Now that you�re legal and everything.�

�You trying to hit on me, Chasez?� asked Justin, with a laugh.

�Is it working?� asked JC. He waved the bottles back and forth lazily in one hand, stepping closer to the couch. He was still smiling.

Justin�s heart was beating too fast. �Maybe,� was all Justin could say.

* * *

JC�s kisses tasted like sweet wine and they were more addictive than alcohol could ever be. Justin couldn�t get enough of them. They were like kissing something deliciously exotic and forbidden, but at the exact same moment� they were like kissing something familiar and warm. The contrast of feeling blew Justin�s mind. JC was leaning over him, murmuring incoherent words as they made out on JC�s sofa. The soft leather made no noise with their movements and the cold slip of it against Justin�s skin made him shudder. JC�s mouth melted his mind. Justin couldn�t breathe and he didn�t care.

After a moment, Justin didn�t know who he was kissing. He thought of art and beauty and wine� of worlds he knew nothing about. His hands pushed at JC�s chest.

Their kiss broke off and JC leaned back, looking confused and a little hurt. His lips were red and swollen and his hair was messy from where Justin�s hands had been. Justin wanted to kiss him again.

�You� you�re not�� JC licked his lips. He frowned and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. �Yeah, I should�ve known. Sorry,� he whispered. �Sorry.�

�No, no, JC�� Justin caught JC�s arm in his hand before his friend could get up. �No, I mean� that�s not why I stopped you. It�s�� Justin felt stupid then, because he couldn�t find the words to communicate what he wanted to say.

�What?� JC asked. His expression was wavering between sadness and curiosity.

Justin�s hands waved around, as if he could catch the phrases he needed from the air. �It�s� it�s like� you�re the prince and I�m the peasant boy who has no chance with you because your world, your life, is so different from mine,� said Justin. �Maybe we played together when we were little� But� but now we�ve both grown up and we can�t play together anymore because we grew to be different people. I don�t� I don�t even think I know who you are,� finished Justin in a whisper.

For a moment, JC just sat there, brow wrinkling as he tried to understand what Justin was telling him. Then, the thoughtful lines smoothed out and JC laughed a little. He shook his head. �You,� said JC, �are an idiot.�

�Wha?� said Justin, but the word was lost against JC�s kisses.

JC said softly, on Justin�s lips, �But I love you anyway.�

And as easily as that, Justin knew exactly who JC was.

* * *

A few days later, JC came into the living room. He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and he was holding something behind his back. Justin looked up from his magazine to narrow his eyes at his friend, just a little suspicious.

�Wanna play ball?� asked JC, producing a basketball from behind his back.

Justin grinned and leapt up from the couch.

* * *

�I don�t really like Monet either,� said Justin. He stared up at the painting. He found that with the size of the thing, he had to take a lot of steps backward until the blurry spots of paint converged into an image of water lilies. That was what Impressionism was about, or so the book said. Seeing the big picture. �He just paints scenery all the time.�

A few of the visitors in the museum, obviously fans of Monet, gave Justin sideways glares. He ignored them.

JC laughed softly, coming to stand beside him. Even though his eyes looked at the painting, JC found Justin�s hand and clasped it tight. �Eh, it�s just art,� said JC, with careless shrug. �There are other things I�m interested in.�

�I know,� said Justin. He laughed, squeezing JC�s hand.