Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:
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If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.
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I don't know any of the celebrities in this story, and this story in no way is meant to imply anything about their sexualities, personalities, or anything else. This is a work of pure fiction.
Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I've enjoyed hearing from all of you.
This season would not have happened if not for a discussion I had with Clive, who is generous enough to cohost this story on his site. Stop and tell him hello at www.authorclive.co.uk.
That said, back to the show.
Justin
"Why?" Josh sobbed, repeating it over and over as he rocked back and forth, clutching his knees. "Why? Why?"
He wasn't just crying. He was shaking, struggling to breathe, the kind of crying that little kids have, the full out abandonment to emotion that adults rarely ever show. Tears were streaming down his face, which was red, his eyes squeezed shut above his running nose. Every time he sucked in a breath it was a raw, stuttering inhale, and he immediately shrieked it all out again. I knelt next to him, pulling him against me, but he remained huddled in a tight little ball, holding onto himself, not opening up to me. I kept my arms around his shoulders.
"Josh, maybe, I don't know, maybe this is some kind of a joke," I began, trying to comprehend this.
Jack wouldn't leave Josh. He wouldn't, especially not without a reason. Even if they did break up, it wouldn't be this way. Jack was too big of a drama queen, too into having everything always be this huge face to face confrontation, to ever just walk away. And even if he did somehow convince himself to just go, to just walk out of a club and out of Josh's life, would he really come back to the hotel room to drop off the ring but leave his suitcases lined up by the door? This couldn't be right, couldn't be happening. Jack wasn't capable of this kind of cruelty, was he? No matter what Josh did, or whatever Jack thought, he just wouldn't leave in a way that he knew would hurt Josh more than anything else.
"Josh, Jack wouldn't do this," I said, shaking my head. "This has to be something else. This couldn't be him."
Shaking his head, either to negate what I was saying or just to negate all of this, Josh scooped up the ring from the floor and pressed it into my hand.
"Look," he sobbed. I glanced down, but didn't really get what he was saying. Anyone could have dropped off a plain silver ring. It didn't prove anything. Josh must have read my face, even through his tears, because he shoved my hand toward my face. "Look!"
I looked down at the ring again, really looked, and then I saw what Josh was trying to tell me, what he was trying to show me. The ring in my hand had a nick on one side, a dent, small but noticeable. Two weeks ago Jack had slammed his hand in Josh's car door somehow. His hand had been ok, a little sore for a day or two, but otherwise unhurt. His ring, though, had received a nick on one side, a tiny dent that Josh kept wanting him to take in to get smoothed out. Jack wouldn't take the ring in because he didn't want to take it off, didn't want to be separated from it, because for him, being separated from that ring was the same as being separated from Josh.
Or, at least, that's what he told us.
Right then, holding that ring as I knelt on the floor, holding Josh, everything in my heart, everything I felt toward Jack, hardened and died. I felt cold rage sweep over me as I pictured him coming in and just dropping this off. He hadn't even signed the damned note, just typed it out, dropped it on the table, and walked away, leaving Josh behind, broken and alone. Everything they had gone through, all the fighting and struggling and tears, all the pain and heartache, and Jack had just walked away. Was everything he'd ever said a lie? All the times he said he'd never hurt Josh, always love Josh, never leave Josh, had it all been lies?
"Why, Justin?" Josh sobbed, still holding himself tightly as I held onto him. He relaxed a little, turning his head to press his face against my chest while I held onto him. I felt his tears wetting my thin beater, and I kept my arms locked around him, rocking back and forth in time with his, listening to his keening wail of grief as he sobbed. "I love him. I love him more than anything. Why did he leave? What did I do?"
"You didn't do anything, Josh," I said softly, his hair brushing my chin as I lowered my head down, trying to get closer to his ear. "You didn't do anything, none of this is your fault. I don't know what's going on, why Jack did this, but I'm right here, Josh. I'm here."
Josh continued to sob against me, fighting for air, choking out every breath. Josh looked up at me, his wet eyes bulging with panic, and he turned, pulling away from me, dropping to his hands as if he was going to start doing pushups. Before I could react he retched, vomiting onto the floor. I felt my own gorge rising, and I fought it down as I grabbed his shoulders, holding him up to keep him from collapsing into it. Beneath me, Josh heaved, still sobbing, and spewed out another stream of foul-smelling liquid. The cleaning bill on the suite was really going to suck. The vomiting seemed to take a lot out of him, and I scooped him up in my arms, hooking one under his legs. He grabbed my shoulder, and pressed his face to my chest again, but otherwise he just lay limply in my arms, still crying, his body still shaking, as I carried him into the bathroom and set him on the counter. I leaned him back against the mirror, and ran a washcloth under cold water.
"Josh?" I asked, wiping around his mouth. I filled a glass with cold water, and handed it to him, and he rinsed his mouth and spit, still sobbing. "Josh?"
He didn't answer, or at least not understandably. I'd never seen anyone cry like this, not this hard, and I didn't know what to do, didn't know how to help him get through this. I felt frustration boiling up inside of me again, felt like hitting out at something again. If Jack had walked through the door right at that moment I might have killed him without even giving it a second thought. I picked Josh up again, my bruised shoulder straining painfully, and I carried him into the bedroom, laying him down on the bed, putting his head on a pillow. I pulled the sheet up over him, and turned to walk out of the bedroom. Josh's hand whipped out, his fingers digging painfully into my wrist. Damn it, between my shoulder and my hand, that was the last part of that arm that didn't hurt.
"Don't leave me," Josh whispered, his voice barely a squeak. "Please don't leave me alone."
"I'm not, Josh, I promise," I said, kneeling down so he could see my face, see how serious I was in my eyes. "I want you to stay here, and just rest. Don't think about this, just stay here and calm down. I want to go out into the suite room and make some calls, ok?"
"Just don't leave me alone," Josh whispered, and then began sobbing again, turning away from me to bury his head in a pillow.
"I won't, Josh," I said, stroking his smooth shoulder. "I won't leave you. I'll be right back. I promise."
I closed the bedroom door behind me as I walked into the suite room, picking up my phone from off of the table. Trying to ignore the smell of vomit, I began to open the windows as I dialed Chris.
"Justin? What's going on?" Chris asked, snapping awake. I looked at the clock again, and realized I kept calling Chris at times that were dreadfully early, at least for him. God only knew what I was doing to the modeling industry with this kind of sleep deprivation. Then again, God only knew what Chris was doing to the modeling industry. "Did you find Jack?"
"Not exactly," I answered, sitting down on the couch. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to look at where Josh had thrown up. "He found us."
"Then everything's ok?" Chris asked. I heard a door closing behind him and realized he was having some more naked cigarette time. We all knew each other so well, but I'd also thought we knew Jack pretty well, too. Maybe none of us really knew each other like we thought we did.
"No, no it's not ok," I answered flatly, wondering how many times Josh would have to tell people this same thing, and how much it would hurt him. "Jack left Josh."
"What?" Chris yelped, loud enough that I had to hold the phone away from my ear. "He what? Why?"
"I don't know!" I answered. "I don't understand any of this, and Josh is in crying, and he threw up all over the floor. Jack came in while we were sleeping, and just left this note, and his ring, and didn't even say anything."
"What?" Chris asked again. I could tell he was having problems putting it all together. "What's this note, Justin?"
I picked up the typed note from the table, uncrumpling it, and began to read it to Chris. While I was reading it, I felt a little twinge of something, some idea in my head that didn't quite form, and then Chris spoke, and I lost the thought.
"Shit," Chris said softly. "Where's Josh now?"
"I put him in bed," I explained. "I'm gonna let him rest, and then when he wakes up I think we're coming home."
Chris sighed.
"Call me when you guys know what you're doing, ok?" he said, inhaling loudly. "Joey's in New York, but I'll make sure me or Lance or Howie picks you guys up, ok?"
"OK," I said. "Bye, Chris. I'll call when we know what we're doing."
I heard Josh behind me as I hung up the phone.
"We're leaving," he said quietly. I turned toward the door, and saw him standing with one hand on the doorframe. He still looked pale, and shaken, and his eyes were red, but he had finally stopped crying. "I don't want to stay here, Justin. I want to go home."
"Josh," I began, standing. I walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He lay his head down on mine, and I heard his breath still quivering unsteadily, as if he was fighting to keep it even. "Are you sure you just want to, you know, to give up?"
"Jack did!" he said sharply, looking up at me. His eyes filled with tears again, one rolling down his cheek. I brushed it away with my thumb, holding the side of his face with my hand. "He says not to try to find him. Justin, please, I just want to go. Please."
"OK," I said, hugging him. He pressed back against me, and then I let him go, stepping back. "Jump in the shower, and I will, too. When you're all set, come over to my suite, and I'll call and have someone bring our bags down, ok? Then we'll go to the airport, and catch the first plane we can get, ok?"
"Yeah, ok," Josh said, turning away. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and I felt my heart sinking again. His shoulders were slumped, and he was barely lifting his feet as he walked away from me.
When I finished with my shower I wrapped the towel around my waist and peeked out the bedroom door. Josh was sitting on the couch in my suite room, in a tight black long sleeved t-shirt and a glistening pair of beige-ish snakeskin pants. He wasn't watching the television, or reading. He was just sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, maybe staring inside himself, and he glanced up at me as I opened the door, standing wet in my towel, but his face didn't change at all.
"Hey," I said, smiling. "Are those snakeskin?"
"Imitation," he answered. It was a weak attempt at conversation, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. "Are you almost ready?"
"Twenty minutes," I answered. "Are you ok?"
"I don't know," he answered. "Please get dressed. I don't want to stay here."
I called the front desk while I was getting dressed, and asked for someone to come to Josh's room to start bringing the bags down, and then to come to my room when they had finished. I also arranged for a car to take us, and then I started getting dressed. It wasn't until I was almost done that I realized that Josh's hands, sitting folded in his lap, had been bare. His ring was gone. When I finished getting dressed, I walked out into the suite room, and Josh looked up at me again with that same blank expression, as if he was just holding everything inside. He stood, looking at the floor, and we walked to the elevator, not saying anything.
Josh didn't talk while we waited in the back of the car for our bags to be loaded, and he didn't say anything for the entire ride to the airport, just staring out the window. I wasn't sure if he was really seeing anything, and I didn't want to ask what he was thinking about, because I was afraid that he'd start crying again. I heard him sniffle, once, as we started turning in to the airport, and I reached out for him. He grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard, and I let him, even though it was the hand I'd punched the bathroom wall with yesterday, but he didn't look at me. He wiped at his eyes with his other hand, and neither of us spoke.
Josh didn't speak for the entire plane ride, either, except to ask the flight attendant for water. I asked him several times if he was ok, and he just kept nodding, and I asked once if he needed to talk about anything, but he just shook his head. Eventually he fell asleep, and the flight attendant tried to hand me a pillow for him, but he seemed so comfortable with his head resting on my shoulder that I didn't want to disturb him. I called Chris, but he must have been in a meeting or something, because he didn't pick up, so I left him a message letting him know what time our plane would be landing. After I hung up, I stared down at Josh, watching his eyes dart behind his eyelids, feeling his breath flutter over the top of my arm, thanks to the short sleeved shirt I was wearing. His hair was right below my head, and smelled kind of like apples, and I thought about how peaceful he looked, and how nice it felt to have him resting there against me.
I must have fallen asleep, too, because the next thing I remember is the flight attendant gently tapping my shoulder, telling me that the plane had landed. I looked around and realized that everyone else had already disembarked, and I thanked her as I carefully shook Josh awake. He blinked at me sleepily, his sky blue eyes sparkling.
"Justin?" he asked, looking around.
"Come on, it's time to go home," I said, stretching.
Lance was waiting for us at the end of the ramp, a bodyguard waiting unobtrusively off to the side, casually scanning everyone else and trying to stay more or less unnoticed. Lance smiled when he saw us, but it was a faltering smile, as if he didn't know quite how to react. I knew how he felt. It was a happy reunion, but the circumstances sucked. Lance wrapped Josh up in a quick hug, and Josh hugged him back, tightly, before stepping away. Lance turned to me, and shook my hand, gripping it tightly. Sometimes Lance and I hugged, and sometimes we just shook hands. I always let him decide. We were getting close again, treating each other like friends again, but it was always tentative. We were always careful around each other, me not to hurt and him not to be hurt.
"Welcome back, guys," Lance said quietly. His green eyes looked sad as he looked at Josh.
"Thanks for picking us up," I said. "No Howie?"
"He's out with the Boys today," Lance said, frowning. "His publicist said we were spending too much time together in public, so we can't go anywhere together for a while."
"That sucks," I said, as we began walking toward the baggage claim area.
Josh fell into step with us, but didn't say anything. He just kept walking along at that slow shuffling pace, head down. Lance looked over at him, and then looked at me with an unspoken question in his eyes. I didn't know how to answer, so I just shrugged and shook my head sadly. When we began pulling our many bags off of the belts, Lance left for a second to go get someone to bring a cart over. As we unloaded them, I realized that the hotel had loaded Jack's bags in with ours, too, and I pulled them off. If all the rest of Jack's stuff was in storage here, these might as well join it. Maybe he'd come back for them, and then, he'd be mine, regardless of what Josh had to say.
Lance dropped us off at Josh's house first, inviting us to come over to his place later for dinner with him and Howie if we wanted. Josh hugged him goodbye, and we began hauling our bags through the front door, leaving mine out at the driveway, because Josh was going to drive me over to my place, which was only a few streets over. When he walked through the door, I heard him inhale sharply, and looking around, I realized why. The front room of Josh's house, usually a wide open space, was full of boxes, and I kicked myself realizing that I should have thought of this. All the stuff that didn't go into storage had been shipped here, because it was stuff Jack wanted. All of these boxes, cluttering up Josh's home, were full of Jack's stuff, and looking at them, Josh's eyes began to water again.
I grabbed him and turned him away from them, back to the door.
"Come on," I said, taking his suitcase from him.
"Where are we going?" Josh asked, blinking at me, his bottom lip quivering. He was about to lose it again, but I thought I knew a way to cut this one off.
"Sleepover!" I said, smiling brightly. I was hoping my enthusiasm might be infectious. "You're gonna come stay at my house, just like we used to! You can sleep over, and we'll stay up really late watching TV, and then in the morning, I'll make us waffles!"
"Justin," Josh began, looking away as tears trickled down his cheeks. I grabbed his face, gently but firmly, and turned him toward me.
"Nope, no arguing," I said, smiling. "We're gonna have a slumber party, and look, you're already all packed. Do you have your car keys?"
Josh fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his keys. I don't know how I could have not noticed them, as those pants were so tight I could practically read his underwear label through the scales, but he pressed them into my hand as he wiped at his eyes again. I walked him down the driveway to where my suitcases sat.
"Wait right here, ok?" I said. He nodded, and I hugged him. Running back into the house, I grabbed Josh's suitcases, not even glancing at Jack's. I locked the front door, and exited through the garage, backing the Jag down the driveway. I could have taken the Viper, but there was barely room for us in there, much less for luggage. I hopped out, and began loading bags into the trunk. "Get in, Josh."
"Justin?" Josh asked quietly. I rushed over to him, and he wrapped his arms around me again, squeezing tightly. I felt his chest through his thin shirt, pressing against mine, and watched the way his arms pushed at the fabric of his sleeves. "Thank you."
"That's what friends are for," I said, hugging him back.
We rode over to my house, me driving Josh's car, in silence again. I could see Josh shutting down, see him pulling inside himself, and I didn't know what to do. Josh, by nature, was a sort of private person. He had definite hermit tendencies sometimes, locking himself away for days at a time while he worked on a song, or just kept to himself. I was worried that now, with him so upset, and so deeply hurt, if I didn't keep at him that he would just fade away somehow, that he would lock himself in his house and not come out. I watched him looking out the window and realized that his eyes weren't moving, weren't tracking the scenery. Whatever he was looking at wasn't outside.
When we pulled in at my house, he helped me carry my suitcases in, and then we went back out to the car for his. While I was carrying his up the stairs, I turned my sore arm the wrong way somehow. I didn't make a noise, but he must have seen me wince, because suddenly he was right next to me, his face filled with concern.
"Justin? What's wrong?" Josh asked, pulling his suitcase out of my hand.
"Nothing," I answered, shrugging. Josh put a hand on my other shoulder.
"Justin, please don't lie to me," he said quietly. "Just tell me what's wrong, please."
"It's nothing," I said, smiling. "I hurt my arm a little yesterday, and it's kind of sore, that's all."
"Let me see," he said, staring into my eyes. I could see myself reflected in his eyes, and watched myself raise my hands in protest. "No, Justin, let me see."
Josh took the bottom of my shirt and carefully pulled it over my head, leaving me standing in my beater in the hallway. The whole side of my shoulder was one big bruise, a purple blotch surrounded by yellow on the rounded muscle that looked a lot worse than it felt. I saw Josh wince, and he gently took my forearm, raising my arm a little and watching me wince as my arm flexed.
"Justin, why didn't you say something?" Josh asked, the corners of his mouth turning down as his eyes widened. "Does it hurt to move your arm?"
"I thought you had enough problems," I said, nodding to answer his other question.
"Maybe a massage would help," Josh said.
"Josh, you don't have to do that," I said, holding up my hands in protest. "Josh, go get unpacked and settle in. You don't have to give me a massage."
"I know I don't have to, but it might make you feel better," he said. "Go lay down on your bed, on your stomach, and take your shirt off, ok?"
"OK," I said, shrugging. I peeled off my beater and climbed up onto my bed, resting my head on my folded arms as I listened to Josh rummage around in my bathroom. Eventually he walked in with a bottle of baby oil, pushing up his sleeves. He climbed up onto the bed, straddling me, and I felt his butt settle onto mine as he folded his legs. Snapping open the bottle, he squirted some onto my back, right in between my shoulder blades, and I jumped. "That's cold!"
"Sorry," he said, running his hands up my spine, pressing the base of both palms hard into my back. The oil started to warm up a little as his hands slid through it, working it across the top of my back. "Is that better?"
"That's great," I sighed, sinking into the mattress as I felt him move my arms down. Josh started working at my neck, kneading my traps, and I felt the tension of the past few days start releasing. Josh's hands were warm, and soft, and they slid over me with surprising skill. "That feels really good, Josh. Where did you learn how to do this?"
Josh had rubbed my shoulders every once in a while, after a rehearsal or just absently while we were watching a movie, and I remember thinking that he was good at it, but I'd never realized he had this kind of skill. I'd had professional massages that weren't this good.
"Remember that trainer we had on our first tour? Dillon?" Josh asked, and I nodded, letting out a soft groan as he worked firmly down my back. "He was really good at this, and I asked him one day. It turned out that he was a licensed massage therapist, and for the rest of the tour I paid him to give me lessons."
"You must have learned a lot," I sighed, lolling helplessly on the bed as Josh worked my good arm, and then carefully worked over the other one, doing his best to avoid the bruised area. He paused, having done my entire back down to my waist, my neck, and my arms, so I assumed he was done. "Thanks, Josh. That was great."
"Roll over, and I'll do your front, too," he said, climbing off of me.
I looked up at him, and wasn't sure of what I should say. I might be completely relaxed, but part of me definitely wasn't. Pressed against the mattress, my cock was throbbing hard, having climbed to attention while Josh had straddled me and worked his hands all over me. I wasn't thinking anything sexual, but just the feeling of him touching me, of his warm, strong hands sliding through all that oil, kneading and pressing, had turned me on. I didn't think he would notice, since I was on my stomach, but now he wanted me to roll over, and my state would be rather obvious. I don't know why it embarrassed me, since Josh and I had seen each other with hardons before, but I just didn't feel right about getting one while he was giving me a rubdown, not now, not when he'd just broken up with his boyfriend. I didn't want him to think that I'd taken his innocent favor and turned it into something sexual.
"No, that's ok," I said quickly, not moving. "Really, I feel great, Josh."
"Justin, I can't give you half of a massage," he said, smiling and shaking his head. "What's gotten into you? Just roll over, and let me finish up."
Reluctantly I rolled over, keeping my eyes locked on his. If he noticed my condition, he didn't say anything, and his face didn't show it. Josh climbed back on, straddling me, and squirted the oil onto his hands this time. He brought his palms down to my chest, and I inhaled involuntarily, my pecs pressing up against them. Josh smiled, a small, tight smile, and began to very professionally work at my neck, the front of my shoulders, and my chest. I kept my eyes locked on his, and neither of us spoke as Josh worked over the front of my body as skillfully as he had down the back. He continued to stare down at me, not really smiling anymore, his face kind of set in this look of determined concentration. At least if he was concentrating on me he wasn't thinking about Jack.
Even though I was trying to stay calm, trying not to think anything even remotely sexual as my handsome, well built gay best friend rubbed his hands all over me, I felt myself responding to him, my nipples hardening as his hands slipped over them, my cock throbbing painfully hard now, aching in my pants, but at least he couldn't feel it. Rather than sitting all the way down on me, like he had on my back, Josh was keeping himself raised a little above me, so I could hope that he still hadn't noticed what he was doing to me. As his hands slid down my abs, pressing them, I let out another involuntary groan, and Josh's fingers dipped toward my waistband. I found myself torn, wanting him to stop, but suddenly also wanting him to drop his hands down to my crotch, to keep massaging where I really needed it. He suddenly looked uncomfortable, swallowing and finally breaking eye contact as he glanced away.
"Um, there," he said quickly, hopping off of me. His ass slid briefly over my hard cock, and he must have noticed it, but he didn't say anything. "I hope you feel better. I'm going to go, um, unpack a little."
"Thanks, Josh," I said, swallowing uncomfortably. He nodded and hurried from the room, but not before I noticed that the front of his pants looked a little full, as well.
What was I thinking? What was wrong with me? Josh was my friend. I hadn't invited him over here to put moves on him. I had invited him to help him, to take his mind off of Jack and his problems. I shouldn't be one of them, shouldn't be adding to them. And then there was Brit, too. I couldn't think about Josh's significant other, or former one, without thinking of mine. I loved Brit, I did, but could I also love Josh? I loved him as a brother, as a best friend, as the guy in the world who was the closest to me, ever, but did I love him that way? And why was I worried about being the one to put moves on him? I wasn't the one who had half-stripped my best friend and then thrown him on a bed and rubbed baby oil all over him.
I didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning. I heard Josh get up and go to the bathroom several times, and heard him go down to the kitchen once for water, but I didn't want to bother him, didn't want to get too close until I could figure out how I felt, and what was going on inside me. If Josh needed me, I was sure he'd knock on my door, but I didn't want to be the one needing him, not when I was supposed to be a friend. When I got up in the morning, I found Josh in my music room, curled up on the couch, barefoot in silk Calvin Klein pajamas, staring at the piano, which I have to confess that I don't actually know how to play, and blotting at his eyes with a tissue. There was a pile of crumpled tissues on the table beside him.
"Josh?" I asked, staying in the doorframe. "Are you ok?"
"Justin, hi," he said, blinking. His face was pale. "I was just, you know, thinking."
"Do you want me to get us some breakfast?" I asked, not sure of what I should do. Did he want a hug? Did I only think he might want a hug because really I wanted to hug him?
Before Josh could answer, we heard my doorbell chiming. I walked over, figuring it would be one of the guys, and Josh followed slowly behind me. Whatever had come over him last night, whatever had caused him to pull out of his shell and give me that massage, was gone, and he had folded back into himself again. His shoulders were slumped again, and his eyes were flat. He might have been smiling last night, but today the light was gone again, and I realized that this was going to be a struggle for Josh, and that maybe the whole thing hadn't even hit him yet. I had to be here for him, and couldn't let my own selfish wants, the weakness of my hormone driven body, get in the way of that.
Thinking that, resolving to keep myself under control, and to keep any thoughts to the contrary out of my head, I pulled open the door, and found Britney on my doorstep, waving at a cab that was pulling away. I had just talked to her on the phone last night, and she hadn't mentioned coming to visit. She grabbed me, wrapping me in a hug, and jammed her tongue into my mouth as she kissed me wetly hello.
"Hey baby!" she shrieked, pressing her breast implants against me. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Sure, babe," I answered, surprised. Britney let go of me and ran into my house, throwing herself against Josh. His eyes bulged as she hugged him tightly, his mouth dropping open as if she'd just slipped ice cubes down his back.
"Oh, Josh, I feel so bad for you," she sighed, hugging him again.
I stood in my doorway, staring at the two of them, letting my eyes tick back and forth between them. On the left, Britney, the woman I loved. On the right, Josh, the man I, well, what, exactly?
More to come soon.
Also, just a response to the people who have written to say that they hate me, hate the story, and hate all of this, feel free not to read it. Or, on the other hand, feel free to trust me enough as an author to think I might actually know what I'm doing. It's your choice.