Nine

Lance was up and reading the newspaper by nine the next morning. He had spent the beginning of the day trying his best to tiptoe around the house. When he realized what he was doing, he had laughed out loud. Justin couldn't hear him, so it made no difference how much noise he made.

At ten-thirty, he heard the upstairs shower running. Justin's appointment was at eleven-thirty, and Lance had been ready to waken Justin at ten forty-five. Apparently Justin's inner alarm clock was adjusting. Lance decided to be a gracious host and bring Justin some breakfast. He poured some Lucky Charms into a bowl, added milk, then poured a cup of coffee. He carefully carried the mug and bowl up the steps, and went into the room Justin was using. Lance heard Justin singing as he sat the items down on the dresser. Justin might not have been able to sing correctly with the rest of them, but alone he still sounded perfect.

“Your own…Personal…Jesus…someone to hear your prayers…someone who cares…” Justin sang over the sound of the shower. Lance had to chuckle. The last thing he expected to hear from Justin was Depeche Mode. The water stopped and Lance jumped. He didn't need Justin to find him lurking around his bedroom. Before he could dart out the door, however, the door from the bathroom opened.

“Uh, hi,” Lance said nervously. Justin appeared in the doorway, wearing absolutely nothing.

“Oh!” Justin said in surprise. Lance turned red to the tips of his ears. Justin swallowed, then walked into the room to get his clothing. They had been naked in front of each other millions of times. This time, however, there was an odd strain in the air. Lance looked everywhere but at Justin, and Justin randomly grabbed something to wear, praying that whatever he picked actually matched.

“Breakfast,” Lance said, pointing at the cereal and coffee. Justin smiled.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Lance made it out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door and gasping for breath. Justin was too beautiful. This wasn't fair.

“I'm leaving!” Justin called up the steps at eleven-fifteen. Lance came barreling down, fastening his belt as he walked. “I'll be back in…”

“I'm coming with you.” Lance grabbed his car keys and took Justin by the arm.

“You're coming along?” Justin asked. Lance nodded. “Thanks,” Justin said gratefully. He was scared to death of what the doctor might find, but he didn't want to bother Lance by asking him to come along. Justin slid into the passenger seat of the car, feeling much more relaxed.

The doctor frowned as he looked at Lance. “And he had no trauma? Physical or psychological?”

“No,” Lance said. “He just woke up like this.”

“You know what's wrong, right, Doctor?” Justin gave him the old charming smile. “I bet you do.”

“I bet I don't,” the doctor said sadly, and Lance's face fell. Justin took one look at him and sighed.

“So basically you're telling me that it's good I saved my money, because I will NOT be making any more by singing.” Justin angrily kicked at the leg of the chair he was sitting on.

“No, I'm not saying that,” the doctor said. “I could run more tests and…”

“No, don't bother.” Justin stood and held out his hand. “Thank you for your time.” The doctor shook the hand and Justin hurried out of the room.

“Thank you,” Lance said over his shoulder, running after Justin. He had the notepad out as he ran.

“I don't believe this. A fucking specialist doesn't even know what's going on.” Justin kicked the tire of Lance's car. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?” Lance shoved the notepad at Justin. “I don't WANT to go to another specialist, Lance. They'll all say the same thing. And I KNOW what I did to deserve this. Apparently being a total prick DOES earn some sort of punishment.” Justin flopped into the passenger seat and said nothing more.

“Hey,” Chris said as Lance opened the door. “What's going on?”

“He needs you,” Lance said. Chris opened his mouth to protest. “I have NEVER seen Justin this miserable. You know what keeps him alive…it's the music. His ability to make it, to hear it, to feel it. And now no one can tell him why part of that has been taken. He hasn't said a word in over three hours, and I can't get him to even look at me. Go talk to him. You're his best friend, Chris.”

“Not lately,” Chris mumbled. “He's too much of a diva for me to be his best friend.”

“Puhleeze. You're as much of a diva as he is. GO, dammit!” Lance growled, pushing Chris towards the steps.

“Fine.” Chris stomped up the stairs and Lance sighed.

When Chris came back downstairs a half-hour later, he wore a frown. Lance jumped up from his seat on the living room sofa. The television was on, but Lance hadn't really been watching it. “Hey,” Lance said softly.

“You were right.” Chris looked at Lance sadly. “He…I don't know. I guess I still thought he was playing…that it was another way of getting attention.” Chris sat down on a chair. “I guess I don't know my best friend anymore.”

“Did…did he say anything?”

“He apologized for being a jackass lately…said he deserved everything he got. He cried, Lance.” Chris looked at his feet. “I can't remember the last time I saw him cry. Even after that whole Britney thing, he never let us see him cry. And I hate not being able to help him!”

Lance had to smile. Ever since the beginning, Chris had adopted Justin as his favorite little brother, and he had gotten Justin out of more scrapes than Lance could count. “Thank you for coming over,” Lance said. “I'm sure he feels better.”

“I dunno,” Chris said, tugging at his chin horns thoughtfully. “But I'm glad I could try to help. Do you want him to come stay with me?”

“No,” Lance said almost too quickly. “He's all settled in here, you know.”

Chris studied Lance carefully. “Is JC right, Lance? Do you have a thing for Justin?”

“It's not 'a thing,' Chris,” Lance said. That term made it sound so stupid. “I've had feelings for Justin since I met him…and I've always kept them hidden.”

“Oh.” Lance was thankful that Chris said nothing more. “Well, I'm outta here, then. You take it easy, Lance, and call if you need anything.”

“I will,” Lance promised. Chris gave him a hug, then let himself out the front door.

Lance turned off the TV and wearily climbed the stairs. Justin's bedroom door was open, and he was curled into a ball on the bed. As Lance slowly entered the room, he saw that Justin's eyes were closed. Lance went to the window and drew the curtains closed.

“You don't have to do that. I'm not sleeping,” Justin said. Lance turned and gave him a tiny smile. Justin sat up, rubbing at his eyes like a little boy. He looked up at Lance, and his eyes were so sad that Lance sat down next to him. Without saying a word, Justin moved to lay his head on Lance's lap. Lance stroked his fingers across Justin's head, saying nothing. “I'm nothing without music,” Justin said. Lance began to say something, and Justin could feel the vibration of Lance's voice. “Quiet, Lance. I can't see you anyway, and I don't really need you to say anything.” Lance fell silent. “Who's gonna want me around now? I can sing, but I can't hear anything. I'd have to learn music simply by reading the notes and trying to get them right. I can't sing WITH anyone…because I'd throw everybody off. And what else am I good for? I can't produce, can't really write…” A tear slid down Justin's cheek.

Lance tugged on Justin's shirt until he sat up to look at him. “You're not nothing,” Lance said slowly, so Justin could understand. “And I would want you,” Lance added softly. “I think you're wonderful.”

“Really?” Justin whispered.

“You can do anything,” Lance said bashfully. Justin lay back down on Lance's lap, this time drawing Lance's arm around him. He held Lance's hand, shyly kissing the palm once before pulling Lance's hand close to his chest.

Ten