All Good Things: The Final Fanfiction Saga

Chapter Fourteen: So Much to Say

Two weeks later

Chris sat in row 56, Seat 9 of the arena. The late summer heat wafted warm air across the open field and hit his already-perspiring face. He looked up at the sky, a strange fixture of orange-purple, and sighed.

It wasn't a forlorn sigh or a melancholy sigh, as some might have suspected. Fans insightfully seemed most concerned about Chris' well-being after the split, but Chris gave them no reason for worry. He bounced up and down on the stage like a giddy child, bumped Justin's butt at all the right times. He even brought back his famous braids -- granted, as a wig -- to hearken back to the good old days.

Today was the last of those days.

He sighed again. Chris was exhausted. Their mini-tour had been the most intense they'd ever experienced; and even though every night was capped off with an explosive after-party, what the boys really felt like doing was crawling into their luxury hotel beds and hibernate until next year.

Now he was wishing he could do it all over again. It was four hours until their final concert, and Chris knew that try as he might, anything he did couldn't slow down the minutes. So instead, he left time up to his own devices while he soaked up atmosphere and cleared his head.

"What are you thinking?"

He looked up to see the group's youngest member looking down at him with curiosity in his blue eyes.

"I'm having a reflective moment," Chris answered. "You ever seen the view from here?"

Justin slid into Seat 10 next to him and faced forward. "Wow," he said. "Actually I came here when I was about 13, for a Janet Jackson concert. It was a whole bunch of us from the Mickey Mouse Club crew." He squinted. "How do they see anything from here?"

"Somehow, they don't care," Chris answered wryly. "You never came out here and just sat down before?"

Justin shook his head. "Nope. Never had the time." He chuckled to himself. "I guess I'll have a lot more of that after tonight, huh?"

"A little, but probably not a lot," Chris answered, resting his feet on the seat in front of him. "So how are things? Have you spoken to Madeline yet?"

"We've been talking on the phone," Justin said, suddenly feeling shy. He leaned back in his chair and twiddled with his jacket hem. "I called her after she left me that letter, and, um, we've been ... talking."

Chris gave him a sidelong glance and raised one eyebrow. "Yes, Curly, you said that already. And pray tell, how has the talking been going?"

Justin pretended to rub his forehead so he could desperately try to mask the goofy smile spreading across his face. "Pretty good, I think," he said as calmly as possible. "We're kind of starting over, just talking about stuff, not putting any pressure on ourselves. Taking it slow. It's weird to say it since we've known each other for a while, but we're sort of learning to communicate again. At least that's the goal."

"Sounds good." Chris commented, taking another long look around the arena. "I won't lie to you, J. I sure will miss this place."

"Me too," Justin answered. "Maybe we should rebel. Form our own duo."

"Like Hall & Oates?"

"I was thinking more Milli Vanilli. With Hall & Oates there was always the quiet guy that always sang backup. And I couldn't put you through that," Justin cracked.

"What makes you think I would be Oates?" Chris shot back.

"You would be good at it. You know, 'Whoa, here she comes.' And then I would sing 'Watch out boy, she'll chew you up.' And you would sing, 'Whoa, here she comes.' And I would sing 'She's a maaaaaaneater.'"