Rebound

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1. 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.

2. 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 enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them.

That said, we now continue.

I blinked, stiffening a little, as Justin's mouth pressed softly against mine, and he felt it. His eyes popped open and he stepped back, letting go of me, his hand flying up to his mouth. His bright blue eyes looked panicked, remorseful, and he immediately turned away, a bright red flush creeping up his neck as I tried to figure out what to do.

"Justin," I began, unsure of what I was going to follow it with.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his voice shaking. He started to hurry toward the bathroom, probably trying to get away from me. In the loft your only options are there or the bedroom, and the bathroom was closer.

"Justin, wait," I said, putting a hand on his arm. I didn't grab him very tightly, but as soon as I touched him he just froze and kind of wilted, his shoulders slumping as he stared at the floor. "Justin?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. He sounded like a little kid, his voice soft, and he wouldn't raise his head to meet my eyes. "I'm so stupid. I just, I thought."

I saw a tear trickle down one cheek, and gave in to the first impulse that dropped into my head. Reaching out, I scooped Justin up in a tight hug, pressing him against me, my hands on his firm back.

"It's ok, Justin," I said quietly. "It's ok. I'm not mad at you, ok? And you're not stupid. Can we talk about this, though?"

"You're not mad?" he asked, holding onto me pretty tightly. "Are you sure?"

"Have I lied to you yet?" I asked, letting go of him. He stepped back, wiping quickly at his eyes, but at least he was looking up into mine again. "I'm not mad."

"OK," he said, smiling a little. He was still red, still a little flushed, and looked squeamishly embarrassed.

"I still want to talk about it, though," I said, and saw his smile wilt a little, the corners dropping. "Do you want to talk over dinner, or now, or wait until later?"

"The food'll get cold," he said softly. He swallowed a couple of times, and then his blue eyes tilted up from the floor again, meeting mine. "You're really not mad?"

"No, Justin," I answered again. "I'm really not mad. Now come on, let's go see how you did with dinner."

As Justin had said, he wasn't much of a cook, but the stuff he'd prepared was so simple that you couldn't possibly screw it up, really. The hot dogs weren't over boiled, although I had no rolls, the mac and cheese wasn't clumpy, and the beans came out fine. As we spooned everything onto our plates I could see Justin watching me out of the corner of my eye, and I smiled at him each time our eyes met. I could tell he was a little nervous and unsettled, and I didn't want to embarrass him, but whatever he was feeling when he kissed me was really only on his side, and I wanted to let him know that. I laughed at myself. Whatever he was feeling? It was obvious that he was feeling affectionate, at least. I needed to cut that off quick. We sat down, and began to eat, and I waited to see if he would bring it up. When he didn't, looking down at his plate for most of the meal and eating with deliberate care to be quiet as if to be sure not to attract my attention, I decided that I would have to.

"Justin?" I asked, and his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide. "Can we talk?"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I know I said it already, but I didn't mean to, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I just, well, I was thinking all day, and I thought, well."

"What, Justin?" I asked. "Tell me, please."

"I guess, you know," he said again, looking down, clearly uncomfortable. "You've been so nice to me, and you're so cute, and you listen to me. You really listen when I talk, and you care about what I say. You're so sweet, and perfect, and special, and I, well, I like you. I like you a lot. You're the kind of guy I've always been looking for, the kind of guy everybody dreams about finding. I guess, I, well, I thought you were the guy for me. I still do."

"Justin, you barely know me," I said, shaking my head.

"I've thought about it all day today!" he said quickly. He looked up at me now, earnest yet tense. "I feel like, I feel this connection with you! You can't pretend you don't feel it, too."

"Justin, I," I began, shaking my head. I was confused, that was for sure, and I didn't want to say the wrong thing and hurt him, or make things worse. I needed to let him down carefully, because he was such a sweetheart, and such a genuinely nice guy. "I do feel connected to you, but it's friendship, Justin."

"It's nothing else?" he asked plaintively. "How can you be sure? You haven't had any time to think about it."

"Neither have you," I said, frowning. "You just broke up with your boyfriend, who was your best friend for years, like four days ago, and you're ready to date again? You already think you're in love again? Are you familiar with the term 'rebound', Justin?"

"Maybe I'm capable of moving on," he said sharply. As soon as he said it this look crossed his face, like he wanted to clap his hands over his mouth, and his eyes went wide with shock. "Oh, Chris."

"Excuse me," I said icily, setting my silverware down. I stood stiffly, fighting a stabbing pain in my chest. I turned and walked away from the table as Justin stood, calling after me.

"Chris! Wait," he said, and I heard the scrape of his chair sliding off the rug. That meant he was getting up too quickly, not being as careful with my furniture as he should be. It was just as well, since he wasn't very careful with me, either. "Chris, I didn't mean that the way it came out."

"You're just full of mistakes tonight," I said, not slowing down. I walked into my bedroom and closed the many paned door behind me, turning the lock. Glancing back, I saw Justin on the other side, his face twisted in confusion and sorrow, his eyes wet, and I pulled the curtain, ignoring the sound of him tapping at the glass softly.

"Chris, please," he said again. His voice was cracking. "Please, I didn't mean it. I didn't. It just came out. Please. Please don't be mad at me, Chris, please."

I'd forgotten what it felt like to be hurt this way, to have someone callously say something that cut straight through me to the core of my sorrow. I was surrounded by people that knew, people who were aware of my boundaries and my limits, and I'd forgotten what it was like to have people around who didn't know what they shouldn't ever say. Then again, I'd forgotten a lot of things. Maybe I'd forgotten what it was like to be young, to follow my heart blindly, to fall into and out of love as the days went by like it was nothing. Maybe I'd forgotten what it was like to make stupid mistakes, to say things in anger and have to take them back later, always assuming that there would be a later to come back to. Most of all, though, I'd forgotten what it meant to let people inside, to care about people. I'd forgotten that if you let yourself care about someone, you also let that person have the power to hurt you, not only through the things they said and did, but also by the things that could happen to them. I'd forgotten that if you cared about people they could hurt you by leaving you, or being taken away.

I lay on my side on my bed, feeling that sharp pain stab into me, feeling my scars rip back open, feeling that old familiar throb. I tried to ignore it, tried to make it go away, as I lay there and tried to clear my mind and not think of anything at all. I also tried to ignore the fact that I felt a little worse with each sniffle and each choked sob I heard outside the bedroom. Causing pain to people you cared about was, after all, a two way street, and sometimes that pain went in both directions. I closed my eyes, wishing this feeling would just go away.

When I opened them again, I realized that I must have fallen asleep for a bit, because it was completely dark in the loft. We hadn't turned any lights on before dinner, since there was still plenty of daylight coming in, but I couldn't figure out why Justin wouldn't have turned any on since then. What was he doing? I sat up, stretching, and listened, but couldn't hear anything outside my curtained windows. No television, no computer sounds, not even a radio. Had Justin left? Had he felt so bad that he packed up and left the loft? Where would he go? I slid quietly out of bed, walking toward the door. I didn't even have his cell phone number. I wouldn't be able to call to check on him or anything. I'd have to wait to see if he called me. I jerked the door open, and jumped back in surprise as Justin rolled toward me, blinking awake and making a startled bleating sort of sound.

"Justin?" I asked, flicking on one of the lamps. He must have been sitting with his back against the door. "Are you ok?"

"Chris, I'm sorry," Justin said quickly, jumping to his feet. He stood in front of me, his lip trembling, as if he wanted to start crying all over again. "I didn't mean to say that, I didn't, you have to believe me."

"I do, Justin, I do," I said, hugging him. I pulled him over to the bed. "Come sit down, please, and calm down, ok?"

"OK," he said, sitting down beside me on the mattress. He wiped at his eyes again, and I kept an arm around his shoulders, holding him tightly against me, so that he would know he wasn't alone.

"Justin, what you said before, it hurt me, a lot," I said. I brushed my hand over his forehead, soothing him. "Some of it was just because of what it was, but it also shocked me to hear it from you. I know you didn't mean it, though, ok? I just, I needed to think about it, that's all. I was upset, and I needed to calm down, ok?"

"I'm so sorry," Justin said again. He looked up at me, and put a hand on my cheek, holding my face. His hand was soft, his touch gentle. "I was so scared that you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore, that you wouldn't like me anymore."

I sighed, pulling his hand down and holding it in my lap, squeezing it tightly between both of mine.

"Justin, I still like you," I said, and he turned, smiling gratefully at me. Oh, those eyes of his. You could just fall into them. "But only as a friend. I'm sorry, but the way you think you feel, sorry, the way you feel about me, it's, I don't feel that way about you, Justin. I like you, but that's all."

"Are you sure?" he asked, swallowing. I could see that he was hurt, and probably disappointed, but at the same time he was probably happy that I still wanted to be his friend.

"Yeah," I answered, shrugging. I gave him a little smile, not sure what else to do, and he smiled back.

"OK," he said, hugging me again. He squeezed me tightly, but then let go. "As long as we're still friends."

"Still friends," I said, standing. "Justin, did you sit against my door this whole time?"

"Yeah," he answered, standing as well. "I wanted to talk to you as soon as you came out of your room. I didn't want this to, you know, hang between us."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "Well, look, why don't I clean up the table, then, and you see if there's anything on TV?"

"OK," he said, waiting for me to walk out of the bedroom first. How polite. As I walked over to the table, flicking on the wall switch for the hanging lights above it, I heard him looking around for the remote. "Hey Chris, if you ever, you know, change your mind, I've never dated a redhead."

"Don't push it, Justin," I said, shaking my head. My amusement was evident in my tone, but I also meant what I was saying. Besides, he had hardly dated anyone.

"OK," he said, chuckling.

We spent the rest of the night in a kind of companionable silence. I let Justin pick the channels, but he didn't really follow a lot of the dramas that were on. He explained that because of their schedule he didn't get to watch a lot of television, so he wasn't always able to follow what was going on with the characters or what went on between them, and me trying to explain as the shows went on was almost more trouble than it was worth. We had much better luck with sitcom reruns, which he seemed to love, as those didn't really need continuity between episodes. I sat in one of my large armchairs, reading a book and following the shows at the same time, and Justin stretched out on the couch, watching intently, laughing at the funny parts. He had a good laugh, but he seemed self conscious about it sometimes, and a couple of times I actually caught him raising a hand to his mouth without being aware of it, as if trying to hide. Eventually our yawns got the better of us, and I told him I was turning in.

"Me too," he said, shutting off the television.

"You need help opening the couch?" I asked, sliding the coffee table out of the way.

"No, I got it," he answered. "Good night."

"Good night, Justin," I said, trudging off to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I came out he was waiting patiently on the back of the couch in his sleep outfit, a different set of pajama bottoms and a beater identical to the first, and he smiled at me. I gave him a little wave and went to bed, closing my door, ignoring the sounds of him tossing and turning on the couch bed, trying to get comfortable.

In the morning I woke up before my alarm, again, and went right to the bathroom for the shower. Coming out, I saw Justin sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, rubbing at his eyes, and wondered what he was doing awake.

"Justin?" I asked, making sure my robe was closed. No free shows before breakfast.

"You forgot to shut your alarm clock off," he muttered, rubbing at his face as if he wanted to rearrange it.

"I'm sorry," I said, smacking my forehead comically. He laughed at the gesture, and I smiled. "Go back to sleep, Justin."

"Maybe," he said. While I was getting dressed I heard the shower turn on, and was a little surprised. I had no idea how long he had slept yesterday, since I was downstairs, but I'd gotten the distinct impression that he was more or less comatose when I left. He didn't strike me as a morning person. On my way out I tapped at the bathroom door.

"I'm going downstairs, Justin," I called, unsure of whether he could hear me over the water. "I have to open up. I'll see you later, ok?"

"OK," he yelled, and I went downstairs.

Michelle and I were in the middle of the morning chores, as we referred to them, when Justin walked out of the storeroom, all scrubbed and freshly pressed. He was wearing khakis and a t-shirt, casual but not wrinkled, and he smiled at us, standing by the counter.

"Hi, Michelle," he said shyly, smiling at her.

"Good morning, Justin," she said, setting my coffee out. He glanced at the cup and she smiled. "Coffee?"

"Please," he said, nodding gratefully. I was right. He wasn't a morning person at all.

"What brings you downstairs?" I asked, wheeling the hand truck back into the storeroom, the newspapers all set out. "Did you want to do something today?"

"I don't think so," Justin answered, taking a cup from Michelle. She pushed a small pitcher of milk over, and Justin poured liberally, adding several sugar packets as well. "Once I wake up, I'm up, so I thought I'd come down, hang out down here."

"Hang out?" I asked, chuckling. "Justin, it's a bookstore. There isn't really a lot going on."

"It can't be that bad," he said, and Michelle snickered. I glanced at her and saw that she had her thoughtful look, her "I've got a really good idea that's going to amuse the hell out of me, but only me," look. "I mean, you seem to enjoy it."

"I enjoy it because it's my store," I said, distracted, trying to figure out what Michelle was thinking. She was one step ahead of me, though.

"I have an idea," she said, and Justin turned attentively to her. "Don't just hang out, Justin. Why don't you work here today?"

"Really?" he asked. He looked thoughtful, swirling coffee around in his mouth. "I never had a regular job before or anything. I guess, though, you know, it would give me something to do besides sitting around. I mean, I guess, as long as you don't mind, Chris?"

The two of them were smiling at me, Justin casually and Michelle with this mirthful cat that ate the canary look.

"Why would he mind, Justin?" Michelle asked, shrugging. "I mean, Chris, you've been saying for weeks that we need extra help. Why not let Justin pitch in a little, if he wants to?"

"I guess that makes sense," I said carefully, trying not to feel manipulated. Justin smiled at Michelle, both of them beaming these big stupid grins, and I wondered how long it would be before I could get her alone.

"Why don't you go walk around the store, you know, figure out where everything is, and I'll go get a you a nametag, ok?" Michelle said. Justin nodded, carrying his cup into the stacks with him, and I turned to find her smirking at me as she rummaged around behind the counter. She finally produced a Beans and Books nametag, and began to write "Justin" on it in black marker. "What?"

"What the hell are you doing?" I whispered, not wanting Justin to hear.

"Making him a nametag?" she asked, shrugging innocently.

"You know what I mean!" I hissed.

"OK, ok," she said, holding up her hands. "Look, Chris, you said we needed extra help. Would you rather he sat around all day taking up counter space and doing nothing? Besides, he'll probably get tired of it by lunchtime, and I think it's kind of cute."

"You think putting Justin to work in a bookstore is kind of cute?" I asked, shaking my head.

"No, I think the way he looks at you with those big puppy dog eyes is kind of cute," she answered, giggling. Seeing her giggle in one of her queen of darkness and night outfits seemed as out of place as blue eyeshadow on the Statue of Liberty. "Justin! I have your nametag!"

He came bouncing over, fueled by caffeine, before I could say anything else, and scooped up his nametag out of her hand. He pinned it carefully on his shirt, and then frowned.

"Do you think we should use my name?" he asked. "What if someone recognizes me?"

"Even if they do, no one would believe it," Michelle said, shrugging.

"I hardly can," I said smoothly, throwing her another look. Justin seemed completely oblivious, and went upstairs to figure out where things were there. I turned back to Michelle, wanting to disabuse her of the notion that Justin had a crush on me, even if it was true, but she was already straightening out her napkins and setting the cups out.

"Shouldn't you be unlocking the doors by now?" she asked, still smirking. "We'll have people banging on them for coffee any second."

I grudgingly got up to open the doors, and decided that maybe I would just wait and see. Michelle was probably right, after all. Justin probably would get tired of this, because, as I'd said, it's not like the place was a hotbed of excitement. As the day wore on, though, it became obvious that Justin was enjoying himself. We couldn't let him on the register, since he wasn't trained in using it, so he busied himself all day with helping customers find things, and he was actually pretty good at it. I hadn't realized before that Justin was naturally a people person, but he seemed to charm everyone he came in contact with, and the customers loved it. Most of our crowd during the day was older people and tourists, and the old people loved to see a nice, clean young man who was so polite. By lunchtime even Michelle had to admit that he was actually good, and that her little joke on me was perhaps misplayed.

She wasn't the only one who had underestimated him. In the back of my mind, I had also thought that by the time noon rolled around he would be back upstairs, watching television or playing games on my computer, but he seemed eager to please me. Each time he helped someone and I told him he'd done well, he beamed. Michelle was right. Justin had a crush on me, despite what I'd said to him last night, and he was working damned hard in the store in an effort to make me happy. He'd also surprised Meg, who seemed stunned to see him even if they all knew he was staying upstairs. She eyed him pretty skeptically, but Michelle's approval carried a good deal of weight, and Meg didn't say a word. By lunchtime, she had given up throwing herself at him, as he seemed completely unaware of her flirting, taking it just for friendly interest. The four of us were around the counter, Michelle and Meg serving soup and sandwiches while I watched the register, when Justin's phone rang. He jumped, pulling it out, and set it down on the counter, wringing his hands.

"Shit!" he hissed, stepping back as it chirped away. The three of us stared at him, our eyes ticking back and forth between him and the phone.

"Justin, answer your phone," Meg said.

"I forgot to shut the ringer off when I left my mom a message this morning," Justin said, stepping away from it again, as if the phone could hurt him. "I can't answer it. I don't want to talk to any of them."

"We can't just let it ring," I said, picking it up to read the display. "It's Chris. Do you want to talk to him?"

"No," Justin said, shaking his head. "No, please, I can't talk to any of them."

"What's wrong?" Michelle asked.

"It's complicated," Justin said, turning away. The phone kept ringing as Chris hung up on the voicemail and then called back.

"Justin's hiding from his band right now," I said, still holding the phone. The customers were starting to glance over at us. Justin gave me an urgent look. "He's on a little vacation from them, and he doesn't want them to find him."

"We can't just let it ring," Michelle said. "It's annoying the customers. Give it to me."

Before I could say anything Michelle pulled the phone out of my hands and flipped it open. Justin stared at her, open mouthed, and Meg and I waited to see what she would do.

"Hello," Michelle said smoothly, grinning at us. "You have reached the Church of Universal Peace and Hope. How may I help thee? Justin who? Oh, you mean Brother Justin. No, this is not his phone, it's our phone. Brother Justin has joined us in the belief that possessions weigh down the spirit, and has divested himself of his telephone. I believe he is in the atrium at this moment, meditating on the foolishness of money. I will be sure to let him know you called."

Michelle hung up and switched the phone off, handing it back to Justin as Meg and I giggled. Justin stared at her in surprise and then threw his arms around her.

"Thank you!" he squealed. "Thank you so much!"

"No hugging!" Michelle said brusquely. I noticed she wasn't doing much to pry his arms off of her, though, and snickered as we went back to work.

Michelle left right after the dinner hour, switching out for Julie, who accepted Justin's presence with the same blinking smile she accepted everything with. Julie was the one of us least often thrown and least surprised. I figured that she and Meg had the store well in hand, so Justin and I bid them good night, and climbed the stairs to make our own late dinner. He was still smiling and laughing, having had a great day doing nothing, and I was glad that he was happy.

"Thanks for letting me work at the store," he said, grinning. He still had his little nametag on, and I reached up and unpinned it. "Thanks."

I realized that he and I were face to face, very close, as I unpinned it, and I stepped back, flushing suddenly. Justin did as well, both of us turning away, and I went to the phone table to check my messages as he hurried away to the kitchen.

"What do you want for dinner?" Justin asked, busying himself at the refrigerator.

"I don't know," I answered, deciding that turning the stereo on might be a really good idea. We had been fine, just getting along, and then suddenly tension was just crackling between us. We'd stood face to face, and that was it. Now all I was thinking about was Justin's eyes, and his breath on my face as I unhooked his pin. God only knew what he was thinking of, but it had to be something similar. He was attacking the refrigerator. "Maybe sandwiches? Something simple?"

"Yeah, simple," Justin answered, almost as if talking to himself. "Simple's good. Simple. There's vegetables here, and some lettuce. Do you want a salad?"

"That's a great idea," I answered, opening the windows a little to let in some air. How could the loft feel so stuffy suddenly?

I went to the cabinet and got the plates as Justin started pulling things out of the refrigerator and handing them to me. The two of us seemed very domestic suddenly, deciding what was going on for dinner, sharing a table. I decided to ignore it as Justin started setting things on the counter next to him for the salad. Lettuce, tomatoes, and a cucumber stacked up next to him while I pulled some bread out of the bag and started making sandwiches for us both.

"What do you want on these?" I asked, reaching for the mustard.

"Doesn't matter," he answered, pulling a knife out of the rack to slice the vegetables up with.

"Be careful with that," I said absently, layering the bread with turkey. I was pleased to note that I had cheese as well. Justin was fortunate, in that I had gone shopping right before he came to visit, so I was pretty well stocked.

"I'm not a little kid," Justin said petulantly, chopping away. He was smiling, though. "Do we have to listen to this? Maybe something a little less jumpy? I want to eat, not dance."

"Fine," I said, smiling, rolling my eyes at the ceiling. I walked away to the stereo, looking through the CD's on the rack to see what else we had. I settled on some opera, figuring I would punish him with it for daring to assault my musical taste, and as I popped it in I heard him make a little sound. "Justin?"

He didn't answer, and I turned to see him hunched over the counter.

"Justin?" I said again, sharply. Something about the way he was standing gave me a shiver. He turned a little, and his face was sheet white.

"Chris?" he wheezed quietly. The knife he had been cutting the cucumber with clattered to the floor, the blade smeared with dark red.

"Justin!" I yelped, hurrying toward him. He turned all the way, holding his hand to his stomach, and I saw red flowers blooming on his shirt, dark scarlet. He took a half step toward me and dropped to his knees.

To be continued.