Disclaimer: I don't own the guys. Please don't hurt me.

Major character deaths... Please be warned. I don't know where this came from, but I wrote it, and while it's sad, I kinda liked it, so I hope you all will, too. Thanks for reading!


        There was so much blood... And it was everywhere. The blond haired boy had never been more terrified and nausiated in his entire life, but he forced himself to continue through the house, searching for his friend. There was a trail of blood along the carpet, and along the walls in what looked like finger marks; someone had taken their blood covered fingers and dragged them along the wall as they walked.
        The blond knew that he could be walking straight into danger, but there was something so silent and still about the house. It was eerily calm and quiet, that if there was someone still in there, waiting with whatever tool to kill him with, he wouldn't care. If he was dead, it wouldn't matter.
        The trail of blood went into the closed bedroom door, the handle coated in blood. The blond took a deep breath and closed his eyes, silently praying for strength, and then slowly pushed the door open.
        There was a body laying on the bed, the sheets stained with blood. The blond covered his mouth in horror, feeling himself begin to gag, but he forced himself to stumble across the spotless floor and to the bed, looking for any sign of life in the person's body. They were almost white from the blood loss, their skin almost waxy in its texture. The blond could see the veins under the sallow skin, and wondered if it was at all possible that even through all that blood loss that the person was still alive.
        He reached out for the telephone beside the bed and dialed 911.

        "Lance!"
        Lance numbly looked up as Chris and Joey rushed towards him. He stood and they skidded to a stop, crashing into him as they hugged him tightly.
        "Critical," Lance managed to get out flatly. "The doctors said that he probably won't survive through the night."
        "Where is he?" Joey asked softly, tears in his eyes.
        Lance pursed his lips. "Just sleeping. His mom's in there right now." He took a deep breath. "Suicide. He tried to kill himself."
        Chris' jaw fell open. "No he didn't!" he exclaimed, horrified. "He would never do something like that!"
        Lance looked into Chris' brown eyes, knowing that Chris was trying to cling to any hope they had left. "I'm sorry, Chris," Lance whispered, and then felt all the strength seep out of his body, forcing him into sitting down. He still couldn't get the image of him lying in that pool of blood out of his mind... Or of the hallway and entire house stained in blood, for that matter.
        The woman came rushing out of the hospital room and to Lance, her eyes frantic. "He said your name!" she exclaimed. "The doctor's want you to go talk to him."
        Lance swallowed hard but followed her to his bedroom, standing in the doorway for several minutes until the room cleared out, and he was the only visitor. He slowly shut the door and crossed to the bed; to the lifeless form hooked up to several monitors laying on it. "You screwed up big time, buddy," Lance breathed, reaching out and taking his hand. "They don't think you're going to make it." He perched on the edge of the bed and wondered what would happen if he opened his eyes and looked into the blue that would be revealed past the shut eyelids. "What I can't figure out is why." He sighed. "No, I suppose that I can figure out why. It's because he died a few months ago, and you haven't been able to recover." Lance's voice broke for the first time, and for the first time since the first man's death, tears came to his eyes. "I've been so god damn strong for you," he hissed past his tears angrily. "And this is how you repay me? By trying to kill yourself?! Do you know that I haven't even mourned his death because I've been so worried about taking care of you?! Do you have any concept of how much that's taken out of me?!" Bitterly he glared at the body. "So fine. You want to die, you let go right now. I can't believe I wasted my time on you."
        The eyes slowly pulled open and revealed a perfect shade of blue. Lance's jaw fell, and he was speechless. "He says hello," the man on the bed whispered, smiling faintly. "He's coming for me, now."
        Lance pursed his lips, torn between the hardest decision he ever had to make in his life. What would be best for the man on the bed wouldn't necessarily be best for all of them. But the one on the bed was the one that mattered most. "Then go to him," Lance whispered, taking his hand. "But before you do, I have one thing I'd like to say to you."
        "Name it," came the hoarse voice.
        Lance choked so hard on his tears that he nearly suffocated, his eyes filled with hot, painful tears. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and there was a large, painful lump in his throat. "I have spent my entire life being in love with you," Lance choked out, his body shaking with small convulsions as his body protested the holding back of the tears. "And I want you to know that I will spend the rest of my life being in love with you."
        The blue eyes lit faintly. "Really?"
        Lance couldn't help it. His face scrunched up and he began to sob. "Yes, really." He pursed his lips so tightly that he tasted blood. "Now go to him, and we'll be together again someday."
        "I'm sorry... Sorry I didn't love you like you deserved..." The voice was so weak, so fragile, just barely hanging on, and only to finish the conversation. The pain was almost over; he was almost gone.
        Tears slipped openly down Lance's cheeks as he struggled to keep from sobbing, the strength it took actually painful. "I know. It's okay. I always just wanted you to be happy. He made you happy; that was enough for me."
        "Have to... Have to tell you something..."
        Lance sniffed painfully. "Okay. I'm listening."
        The man on the bed swallowed hard. "Under... bed... Box... For you."
        Lance's body was heaving with silent sobs, and tears wouldn't stop cascading down his cheeks. His breathing was shaky and labored, and he knew it was almost over. "Okay," he agreed, sniffing and trying to control his tears enough to speak. "Okay. I'll get it."
        "Love you, Lance..."
        The blue eyes closed and extinguished, and the heart monitor next to the bed flatlined.

        The blond haired man couldn't bear to go back to the house until several months later, long after the man's funeral; long after he was placed in the ground beside the one he loved. The blond barely had the strength to get out of bed every morning, and yet slowly, he had managed to drag himself out that particular morning and go to the deceased man's house. It turned out that the house had been willed to him, but the blond wasn't sure he wanted it. He already had a house, and this one had so many memories in it; memories that didn't belong to him. Memories that he could practically feel as he slowly walked through the house, unable to take more than a step every few seconds as he crept along the hallway to the bedroom. The blood was competely gone; the blond didn't know when it had been cleaned up and yet he didn't care--didn't want to know despite the fact that he was desperately grateful to whoever had done it.
        He half expected to see the owner of the house running along the hallway, that large grin on his face as he was chased by the blond, both laughing. The blond could practically see him now; see a ghostly image of them as he paused in the hallway to watch them run by. Their faces were smiling and laughing, as the blond ghost knew that he would eventually catch the deceased man. The blond watched the two run and then slowly fade out into oblivion, and he continued his walk to the bedroom.
        His fingers froze on the doorway and he stared at it for several minutes, searching for the courage to open the door. He knew he would be overwhelmed by the deceased's cologne, and he almost feared it; didn't know if he was strong enough to take this final journey just yet. And then he saw a ghostly image of his love smiling at him, and the blond turned the handle and pushed open the door.
        The room was just as it had always been, clean, perfect, and overwhelming in its smell of the man who had lived there. Slowly the blond made his way to the bed, searching the room with his eyes for memories long gone. He knelt down on the floor, in front of the bed, and slowly pulled up the blankets, looking for the box the man had mentioned. And there it was. A single wooden chest, the only object under the bed.
        The blond carefully pulled the box out from under the bed, stopping and staring at it. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what was inside, but hesitantly he undid the catch and slowly lifted the top.
        Pictures. Of the blond and the blue eyed man. Smiling. Happy. Together. Hundreds of pictures, spanning from the time they had met to only weeks before the man had killed himself. And under it all, a dark green, velvet journal.
        With shaking fingers the blond picked up the journal, opening it to the first page. It was obviously old, but there was another one under it... And another. Carefully the blond flipped to a random page and began reading.

        Lance was so cute today. He helped me with my jacket. Can you believe that guys like that exist anymore?! I didn't think it was possible. I know when I was growing up, I wasn't brought up to help people with their coats. But he was, and he's perfect. Unfortunately, he doesn't think of me as anything more than just a friend. Sometimes I ache thinking about how perfect he is, and I wish that he would care about me the same way that I care about him. Sometimes it hurts.

        The blond flipped to another random page, frowning slightly. It wasn't possible that the blue eyed man loved him, was it? He had loved and been with the other blue eyed one.

        I'm with J, now. We've been together for a few months, and as much as I love him, I still love Lance, too. I always wanted Lance to love me, and while I love J with my whole heart, Lance is my soulmate. I believe that, I really do. Sometimes I wonder how I can love J and love Lance, too, but I think I love them in different ways. Lance I love with a passion and longing that will span centuries and lifetimes and even eternity, but J I love with a caring and gentle peace. I wish Lance nothing but the absolute best, because that's what he is. Perfect.

        The blond closed the journal and then carefully tucked it back inside the box. It would do him no good to know any of this now, except to give him a small peace of mind. To let him know that the love that he had had didn't go unrequited, just unannounced.
        The blond stood and picked up the box, half tempted to leave it under the bed. But no, the blue eyed man had wanted him to have it, and so he would take it, read every word, and love him even after his death.
        The blue eyed man would live on.
        Slowly the blond made his way to the front door, and stood on the front porch, locking the house up behind him. He looked up at the door and stared at it longingly. He was leaving the man--his love--behind.
        But the man would never really be gone. The blond's heart would keep him alive forever, until the day that they rejoined each other in heaven. And then they would be together forever.
        "Goodbye, Justin," the blond whispered. "I love you."


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