Justin had told you that it wasn't about love when yall first kissed.

He said it wouldn't ever be about love when he came, your name tumbling from his lips.

He told you that it'd never be about love with you.

You're missing him when he's not with you and you know why.

Because he won't admit that he loves you. He won't admit that you stay on his mind 24/7. He wont admit that he gets jealous when he sees you with other people, when you leave with other people. He wont admit that at night he aches for you, crying out your name.

He won't admit that he loves you too.

You asked what the flowers were about the second he stepped foot in your house, his sunglasses pausing in their descent to your pocket.

He's playing dumb and you lead him to the living room that holds just about 100 roses, each 12 bundled in a cute bouquet. You leave out the thanks because you don't want him thinking you're pressed over the flowers.

"Oh." He said it so nonchalantly you wanted to be mad. "I remembered how you said you liked roses." That made you blush and even though his tone sounded completely indifferent, you felt like you were on top of the world.

Joey and Chris were over and Lance was bringing Justin.

You weren't sure why they were coming or over but you weren't complaining,

When Lance showed up he warned yall, saying that Justin was in a bad mood and to stay clear.

Wow, to say Justin was in a bad mood was the understatement of all understatements. He glared at Joey every other second, he snidely made remarks about how Lance couldn't fucking dance, and poked Chris in the stomach repeatedly, teasing him about turning into a tubby leprachaun, something Chris absolutely hated.

He shunned you out, not even looking in your direction and you didn't know if you'd rather have him rip on your hair or your clothes than to ignore you for the whole day. Sadly, you picked the first.

You cornered him in the kitchen later on, asking why he was being such a dickhead to everyone.

He avoided your eyes for a good five minutes before sighing and confessing that he was in love with someone he shouldn't be.

And your heart went into overtime and your hands started to sweat. You prayed God wasn't just yanking your chain. You asked him who, softly.

He told you, softly also. Anthony.

Your heart was in the pit of your stomach as he explained how the man in the club had him at first sight, and how he had thrown him away.

You zoned out, hoping he'd finish and leave already so you can cry like the baby you were.

He asked if you want to go back to his place instead, pressing a kiss at the corner of your mouth and suddenly you hate him.

You answered with a cold, "No." and walked away, hoping he was watching you leave.

"It's not about love, so don't go on falling." Justin had laughed when he said it and right now you were doing anything but.

You were in love and he wasn't. Never would be, either. At least not with you. And never in your life had you felt so hopeless before.

He drove you crazy, is what you said when he stopped by your door after disappearing for a good month.

You didn't allow him in your house and you two sat on the porch even though it was pouring, big fat raindrops pounding silently agains the beds of grass.

He shivered and you looked away, sitting on your hands.

You asked, and he told. Seems Anythony had come back into town, asked Justin if he could crash at his place for a week, and by the end of those 7 days, he and Justin were on their way to Iowa to elope.

You felt as if the wind had just been kicked out of you. Twice.

You stood up, trying to ignore that there were hot tears slipping down your face. You cursed him and told him never to talk to you again.

You staggered into your house, wishing you had someone to cry to, cursing again that he was usually the person you would have gone to.

He was ontop, the rain splashing against the window pane, the sound drowning out the lust filled moans floating through out the house.

He kissed your cheek softly and gently, trailing a band of kisses over to your ear where he nibbled on your earlobe.

"God, you're so perfect.." he whispered and you frowned, arching your back into his touch.

You wanted to ask why he didn't love you then.

Your hands touched his face gently and he frowned at you, not speaking another word except for the "JC" that spilled from his mouth as he came.

The guys knew you were fucking. Or had been. Or... you didn't even know anymore. Chris even thought Justin would come to his senses and yall would start a real relationship.

God, was he wrong.

Nsync was now a sepctacle of ridicule ever since word got out that Justin was married... to a man.

Anthony stayed around, always following close behind.

Sometimes you pinned Justin as the sick puppy in love, sometimes you didn't. But Anthony was never the lap dog. Never.

He was tall and brute, had a handsome face, caramel colored skin and bright blue eyes.

He was probably cheating. But so was Justin. Y'all had gotten back "together".

As he passed you once, Anthony already in the car, he whispered that he had missed you. A lot.

You scolded yourself later when that seemed to be the only thing that made you smile that day.

Justin dissapeared again with Anthony in the summer of 2004 and you seemed to be the only one scared.

But as time passed, you weren't filled with that nervous worry you used to and after two years you were ok. You had moved on and were happy. Yes, yes you were.

Justin showed up 2 days after you and your boyfriend's one year anniversary, battered and brusied.

You gasped and he looked at you with sad eyes, tears shimmering in them.

You gauarenteed him a spot on your couch for as long as he needed it, and promised that Anthony wouldn't touch you again.

When he saw your boyfriend he strated to cry again and you asked Benj to leave yall for the night. He had nodded like the understanding boyfriend he was and left you with a simple kiss on the cheek.

Justin clung to you that night, explaining about the mess he had gotten into with Anthony. How they had to go to Georgia. How he had gotten fucked up everynight off of cocaine and weed, how the beatings started and how he knew they weren't going to end.

He fell asleep finally at around 2 and you laid him down, covering him with a blanket your grandma had made when you were too young to appreciate it.

You fell asleep in your bed, having made sure Justin was alright. But when you woke up, Justin was by your side, curled around you and you cursed him for still having an affect on you.

The first few days were horrible. Justin walked around the house paranoid and refused to set foot outside. To risky, he'd say in a hushed whisper.

The weeks after got easier but Justin was still drawn in, and only fell asleep by your side. You felt good when he told you that because that meant he depended on you, and you needed that.

The fourth week was the craziest. It seemed, all in the span on 7 days, Justin had regained his confidence, his humor, his self. He was the same Justin who at age 19 could shake his hips like the devil himself. He was back again, and thats why you weren't surprised when he kissed you with soft lips and a shy tongue.

You weren't the least bit surprised either when he laid you on your back and kissed you as if he loved you.

You "made love" at least once a day for two weeks after that. You cried once because even though Justin would whisper sweet things in your ear late at night, you knew it wasn't real.

He told you he was leaving 2 days before he actually did and you nodded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

He was going to his mother's for a while, try to get some sense into his head before starting over again.

You stared at him as he left and then started to cry when he stepped through the threshold. He stopped and turned around, looking at you with apologetic eyes, though he never said a word.

You realized, truly realized then that it wasn't about love for him, and it never would be.

-Fin-