The small screen sprayed its dim light across the darkened room, casting a surreal glow over its occupants that lay sprawled in every direction possible. Every inch of space was covered, long legs draped over even longer legs spread out over each other with goose down pillows buried somewhere underneath adding little effects to any sign of comfort. It was an impossible hour, somewhere in the middle of yesterday and the next, but several eyes - though heavy with fatigue- still watched the screen, breathing softly, even and quietly so that the only noise came from the ancient vcr device that clicked angrily along. There was nothing new age about the old black box that balanced itself above the thirteen inch screen tv, whose glory had long since washed away with the ever present state of the art equipment being introduced on the daily. In fact, everything about the quiet space, in the far corner of Justin Timberlake's 10.9 million dollar manison paled in comparison to the lavish living found just outside of its walls. From his grandmothers old stained glass wall art colored in hues of greens and oranges which displayed various scriptures to the blue spray painted papsan chair - with its carolina blue cushion and broken base- posted against the corner wall. The parted sectional, covered in a fabric no one quite recognized, stood slanted against the walls- never having recovered its unscrewed legs from the move. Justin thought it added character, a little down-home-reminiscent-of-your-roots charm that fit just right with his "bang-bang" room. Three years later, even after finding the wooden bottom pieces in one of the boxes out in the garage, Justin refused to admit that he had just forgotten where he'd placed them and insisted that he preferred the lopsided "appeal". The "bang-bang" room did not adhere to regular rules of decorum, in fact the "bang- bang" room only recognized one rule " Enter At Own Risk". It was the room set aside from all the others, ignored by interior designers and only served as aggravation for his mother. It was the room he came to for relaxation. It was his place of seperation, his paradise when it seemed all else was lost. It was the closest replica of the forever cherished basement bedroom of his oldest friend Trace Ayala, where every memory began...

The screen turned black, the vcr groaned angrily, as one last loud click sounded and suddenly focused in on a girl staring blindly into the camera. Her expression was priceless, a cross between boredom and anxiety- if such a combination ever existed. Her thick brown hair was pinned to one side, exposing the faded green stem of the bright pink bazooka tattoo slicked on the skin of her neck. Her speckled yellow brown eyes danced with annoyance, as her mouth smacked hard on her gum pushing out huge bubble yum air bubbles.

" Shit....look at Grayson." Calvin " Cal" Buckley's shoulders shook as his mouth attempted a smile amiss the thick lump of chewing tobacco tucked into his bottom lip. Lifting a hand to block the spit filled showers headed her way, Tildon " Tildy" McCoy eyed the bottle of building brown spit disdainfully. Her dark lashes touched over her pale cheek as she rolled her eyes inwardly, still- after nine years- hating the filthy habit her cousin picked up ever since he was sixteen. Like clockwork, Cal smiled knowingly, picked up his bottle, released his drippings and set the bottle even closer to Tildy. Justin only smiled, his eyes still plastered to the small screen, already seeing the sneer before it escaped Tildy's lips.

"Is this thing on?" Grayson clucked her tongue, sucked in the side of her left cheek and popped her gum loudly. Her eyes moved past the shot and narrowed, her expression was all the evidence needed to know Trace was behind the lens attempting to direct the footage. Needless to say, he had not told her the camera was on, and so seconds passed silently with Grayson staring back at the room laughing at her. Tildy, who long since sat up and moved her legs to rest over Trace's chest, giggled to herself as she watched her childhood friend make an array of faces- only to settle on frustration as she moved out of her seated position to tackle the cameraman. Justin could here Trace chuckle softly, listening to the obscenities that flared from Grayson's mouth, while watching the disruption take place on camera.

" You black eyed weiner!" A forgotten phrase which caused the group of them to laugh, the tension building in Justin's chest almost forgotten as he watched and waited for the camera refocus on Grayson Peters. He watched as the corner of her mouth lifted into her characteristic half smile, the light reflecting off her incredible- unusual yellow brown eyes. He loved watching this video, loved when he was able to share it with the only other people in the world who understood what "Gray" meant to him.

" Take the fucking gum out Off Black." Justin smiled at the nickname dubbed by Trace for her, thinking- as he did everytime he replayed the video- that Trace's voice sounded ridiculously nasal for the age of sixteen when this video was made. Knowing the grown, though characteristically short, man Trace was now almost seemed like the person behind that camera lens was someone from a lifetime ago. Trace had grown from an awkward dwarf into a successful business man, soon to be married in the fall. The man that layed beside him, with his stubby arms crossed over his puffed chest was nothing like the pimple faced brat who bothered his back-door neighbor's life for a living. Grayson and Trace loved to hate each other, in fact Justin was convinced it was the only way they knew how to show their affection to one another. To any one else, it was a wonder the two could stand to be in the other's presence- to Gray, Trace, Tildy, J and Cal it made perfect sense.

" Grown an inch..dweeb." Pausing, Grayson clucked her tongue once more and turned her attention back to the camera. Flashing a bright smile, one Justin had never been able to forget and doubted he ever would, Grayson leaned into the camera and planted a kiss on the lens. Again the group of them laughed, increasing in intensity as Trace's squeaky voice blasted from the background complaining about the smudge on his father's camera. Justin remembered how pissed Chevy Ayala had been to learn his only son borrowed his prized camera to film Justin's going away home video, only to accidentally tape over the only other footage of his father putting the winning whole in the Sagamore golf tournament earlier that summer. It was 1997, and Justin was heading on his first US promotional tour, leaving his friends once again after a summer of being together for the first time since he had started show business. 'NSYNC had just released their first single to the US, and even though they had already established a name for themselves overseas, it was time to bring the hysteria home. It was a huge transitional period, which invited the extended break that allowed him to fly his closest friends out to the house he and the other members of 'NSYNC shacked up in. It was the first time he had seen any of them since Christmas, and even then he hadn't been able to see Gray- who had traveled to Arkansas to be with family during the holidays. He remembered that summer well, could still remember the way his breath caught in his throat when she stepped out of the cab and ran into his arms...

" I guess we are suppose to say how proud we are of you...you know the mushy crap that Trace writes in his diary about..." the camera moved from her face to the floor, and they all laughed as they listened to Trace's reprimand. The look on Grayson's face, once it came back into focus, gave clear indication that Trace's warning had no such effect. " Anyway...I guess I'll start off by saying that I truly...truly thought it was impossible....but you really did grow into that knogen of a nose of yours..GEEZ..i thought it would NEVER happen for you...but i guess it worked out..."

" Yeah just remember who brought sexy back." Tildy winked towards Justin, settling back against his side with her back. Trace smirked, while Cal offered no response - just picked up his bottle and swooshed around the murky liquid before adding to it.

" Disgusting." Tildy sighed, before turning back to the screen. Grayson was talking, saying something that had the group laughing once again, only this time Tildy didn't join in. She missed her friend, wondered what it would be like if she were there with them now- laughing, enjoying each other's company, finding peace from a world that never wanted to give it. Seeing Grayson, watching the home video, reminded her of a life that she almost forgot she ever lived. Tildon McCoy, Girl magazine editor and chief, was nothing like the carefree redhead who followed her cousin and his knucklehead friends around the backroads of Shelby Forest, TN those early years of her life. Tildy, the naive girl who gladly ate the " chocolate" worm Justin had given her was nothing like the wary and cautious, extremely tense hard-nose priss she is now. Surely the Tildon she had become would know the very apparent difference between an earth worm covered in mud and a gummy covered in chocolate. It was her business to know how to weed through the bullshit, and weeding through was her specialty. In fact, Tildon had it down to a science, which was probably why Cal couldn't stand her. Cal was the epitome, nominated spokesperson for pure bullshit.

" Can we talk here...." Cal felt the juices in his mouth spurt out at his watched Grayson tilt her head to the side, her top lip tucked into her bottom lip, which always poked out when she imitated deep concentration. " In what way..does it make sense to you..to wear khaki cargos...with a carolina blue jersey....clearly a D minus. Surely you weren't going to take that to fashion week..." If he wasn't so captivated by her sweet, engaging laughter, he would have made sure to make eye contact with Tildon as he once again retrieved his bottle and deposited into it. He loved getting under her skin, as taut and thick as it was. He didn't know where his cousin thought she came from, but it was his duty to remind her that she came from the same dirt backroads as him. He wondered exactly how Grayson would take to her only girl friend nowadays, would she be able to see past the wrought iron bullshit facade Tildon surrounded herself with. It was like Grayson was the only part of her history Tildon recognized, like her life started somewhere outside of Shelby Forest- never having ever touched down there. Grayson, even before....she stayed true to her roots.

" Trace is about to pitch a fork with all this talk about you...." Trace still wanted to wrangle her neck, in fact if she were right there..he'd sure as hell reach over and throttle the shit out of her. She wasn't. She hadn't been for so long. If he had an ounce of sentiment, or at least an ounce he was willing to share, he would admit to himself that he missed her. He would admit that it wasn't the same without her. He would be able to finally understand why Justin's uneventful relationships and every comedic aspect that came along with them just weren't as funny without her humorous insight. He would never say those things, he never did and hadn't planned on ever mentioning it. It hurt like hell to think about it....but he'd never miss there Wednesday nights. He'd always be found, somewhere on the floor tangled in whatever awkward position they all managed to work out, right in the 'bang-bang" room, with the only other people in the world he knew better than he knew himself...

" But I am proud of you Milk..." Justin's heart tightened with his jaw at the sound of his nickname. It never made sense why she called him that, in fact- she never had a legitimate explanation. 'Milk" just fell out her mouth one day, and that was his name ever since. Everyone had picked up on it, and eventually turned to calling him 'Milk' as well, that was until...

" I will always be proud of you...even when you are wearing that shiny shirt under an oversized black suit, with stark white sneakers and platinum hair...." He told his stylist to get rid of the reddish undertone in his hair, he still had NO idea where the blonde came from. Of course, Grayson had been the first to see him just minutes after the disaster, and just refused to let him live it down. It was the worst weeks of his life, until the color faded and settled into something he didn't find all that repulsive, and his curls grew back. His curls could keep Grayson going for hours...

" You are doing exactly what you were born to do...agonizing the world with your amazingly nasal vocals while lighting it with your hair.." he didn't laugh all that much when she first said that, still young and slightly- very slightly- self concious about his talent. His voice used to be nasal, as evidence of the Star Search and MMC stint- but it had taken on a new dimension that he was still trying to work through that summer. There were a lot of changes he had tried to work through that summer...

" I guess I'm sayin' all this to say..you did it Milk..you did it, and don't ever stop." He wished she was right there with him, so she could see all that he has done, so he could share with her everything that he had become. He hated thinking about how young... how stupid he had been when they were younger. There was so much he would have done differently, so much he wished he could change, because maybe..maybe things would be different. Maybe he wouldn't have to hold so tight to these moments, when he finally had them all together, when differences were set aside, hoping that they understood how much it meant to be together - and see how much it hurt to be apart..