Trace actually looked like a mini version of Matthew. His hair was buzzed down and he wore earrings in both ears, diamond studs to be exact. His style was dressy, but casual. He wore what I recognized as William Rast jeans from the 'W' printed on the back pockets as he walked ahead of me toward the elevators. The puffy black jacket he wore looked oversized, but warm and his gray vest and white dress shirt was visible through the open front of his jacket left unzipped. He was cute, though Matthew surpassed him in every way, especially height. Trace only had a few inches on me as opposed to the foot Matthew towered over me with. I frowned, imagining how they'd be the hottest best friend duo, hitting up the clubs and getting laid by anybody they beckoned towards them. Girls that were supermodels compared to little ol' me that they'd pass off as nothing.

Yet, there was a sense of maturity about Trace, as if he lived his party life and learned all he needed to know. He didn't look older than Matthew though. He actually seemed to be the younger one of the two. I pondered over that as we rode the elevators up to the seventh floor, which was always practically deserted for some reason. Trace had asked for privacy when he spoke to me about Matthew, so I decided this was as far away from prying eyes and ears that we could get in the hospital. I double checked the halls anyway once we stepped out of the elevators.

"I guess we should get down to business," I joked, taking a seat at the couch pushed against a large window in the middle of the hall. The burgandy cotton fabric was broken into by different sized triangular patterns of oranges and greens and yellows. It was tacky, but to be expected in a hospital. I watched as Trace's hand rested on the top edge and his fingers flowed the lines of the patterns as he took a seat next to me. We both turned on our sides, facing each other in a comfortable positions that made it look like we were old friends, chatting it up. I was holding back my chaotic emotions pretty well, but my mind was going a mile a minute, racing with every horrible image of goodbye. I couldn't tell which were worse; the thoughts of him leaving against his will or the thoughts of him simply walking off willingly with Trace. They both hurt.

"Well, first off... This Matthew guy... What does he look like?" I shrugged, playing along with his subtle way of asking if he looked like Justin Timberlake or not. The guy might as well get it out already, but if he wanted to play dumb, I could keep up.

"White guy, about a foot taller than me...Blue eyes, sandy hair. Dark blonde-brownish, I guess. Nice smile. A little lanky, but muscular... Hooked nose and these freckles on his upper back and shoulders." I noticed the raised brow on Trace's face and hurried to my next description. "And the boy can sing. All the time in the shower with the Al Green and Marvin Gaye..."

"Does he remind you of someone?" he pried and I rolled my eyes, looking around us again to make sure the coast was clear.

"Trace, it's okay, I know who he is," I assured with a small smile, "Well, I know who he was anyway."

"Was?" Trace inquired.

"He decided that Justin was a terrible name and that he wanted to be Matthew since it was cooler. I didn't argue, so now he's Matt." Trace seemed sadden by this news as he looked down at his lap and shook his head.

"Matthew..." he mumbled thoughtfully and I just watched as he fiddled with his fingers. "He wanted to name his first son that, ya know? He always used to tell me growing up that he wanted a kid named Matthew just so he could call him Matt. It was biblical, simple, and manly. Like every southern gentlmen should be..." He chuckled to himself at some inside joke I'd probably never understand before looking back up at me. "I really don't want you telling the world about this. We can work out a deal or-"

"Trace, please," I said, raising my hand to silence him, "If I wanted to sale him out, you would've seen him on the cover of Us Weekly two months ago. I'm not like that. Matthew and I are... We're friends. I don't do grimey shit like that to friends."

"Good," Trace said with a bit of uncertainty, "Then I don't have to worry about you being the 'source' in every magazine reporting on his memory loss or something."

"You don't have to worry, really. I have no interest in those kinda things." He nodded and we were silent for a moment. I looked at my Chucks and frowned. I'll never wear these again when Matthew leaves.

"So...how bad is he?" Trace asked, tapping his temple for effect. "I heard the memory was shot to hell."

"No, not that bad anymore. He remembered you. And his mom. And his brothers."

"That's it?" I shrugged. "Well, shit, he better start remembering his Dad or he's gonna be pissed once he's out of the ER. That man is fighting for his life down there trying to see his son again." I felt my chest tighten with worry.

"His dad?" I asked, Trace nodded. "That's who Trey and Mike were saying should've stayed in the car."

"Yeah, it was crazy. I was in the car with him and Trey and Mike got out to talk to those kids... His dad went crazy when Mike asked the kid about his phone. It was Justin's. There are probably five Sprint phones like his and he swore up and down the Nike's on the other boy's feet were Justin's too. He got all pissed off when the kid flipped open the phone and had this conversation right in front of Mike and Trey's faces..." Trace shook his head sadly. "Then this guy walks out in the same leather jacket we last saw Justin in. That was it. His dad lost his mind." Trace paused and bit his bottom lip, as if willing himself not to cry. I became extremely uncomfortable and sad. "Justin loves his Dad. He's as close to him as his mother. If something happens..." He trailed off. I frowned deeper.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," I assured as best I could. "He's a fighter, obviously." Trace laughed briefly.

"Yeah, that's where Justin gets his temper, fo' sho'..." he smiled dreamily. "It was his idea, Justin's dad's, to use Justin's phone to track him down. We were trying to pick up on call patterns from his phone bill. Like the general areas they were calling so we could have some idea where they were centered at, but they were passing it around or something. We had Jersey and Miami and New York listings. We couldn't tell where they were at. Then we got this GPS thing going with Sprint. Took forever and a day to pay those people off. They're not suppose to use it unless it's police business or some shit, but we tossed thousands at these people just so we could get access to this technology without anybody ratting us out to the media and it was worth it every penny 'cause we're here now and so is Justin. No paps or headlines in the wake. His dad's going to be so happy."

"Why didn't you just alert the media? I was worried that something was wrong with you guys. I would've been freaking out. You know those people would've hunted him down for you in no time." Trace paused a bit and chewed his bottom lip. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he quickly denied. "There's just a lot of shit that went down when Justin left, so we didn't even start looking until about month into his up and leaving. He tends to run off when he's pissed, but this... this was amazing. He planned this too well. He used cash and got around on his own. Nobody knew where he was or with who. We just knew he had gone. He was stupid for not telling anybody anything. And then he comes here, of all places...No offense."

"None taken," I shrugged off, "If I had millions of dollars, I would've chosen a better place myself."

"Yeah, but alerting the media would've been... chaos. Could you imagine what would've happened if we said Justin Timberlake was missing? And we didn't even know if he were safe. If people knew that he were out there alone like that, no protection-"

"He'd get his ass kicked to the point of memory loss and robbed?" Trace opened his mouth to argue, but quickly shut it.

"Well... it could've been a lot worse, I'm sure," Trace decided and I allowed it before my curiousity peaked up.

"So...what happened?" Trace looked up at me. "I mean, what pissed him off so much that he left the way he did?"

"I... I don't know if I should really discuss that with you." I was a bit offended by this and it must've shown in my face. "Sasheirah, I really appreciate everything you've done. I really do. I just think that what happened doesn't really matter right now. We know he's safe and well taken care of and that's the important part." I didn't like that answer.

"Well... Would it be safe for him to go back home?" I asked, now on the defense for Matthew. I did not want to send him back into a painful place. I wanted him to be happy going home.

"He'll be fine, there's no danger or threat against his life or anything," Trace explained, "Just a whole lot of... shit. Life is just a little complicated right now, but he'll work through it. He always does." I nodded, still unsure, but not seeing the point in arguing.

"Well, I guess I better head home then," I announced, standing as Trace did the same. "I better get Matt ready." Trace nodded.

"Wait, before you go," Trace called as I went to turn around and head towards the elevator.

"What?" I asked curiously as he walked along beside me.

"Why do you call him Matt?" he asked, "I mean, I know he told you to call him that, but even when he's not around, you call him that?"

"Well, all I really know is Matthew..." I tried to explain, "You know Justin. That's who you love and grew up with and acknowledge. I don't know that man. He never existed because Matthew can't remember how to be him. So... he's just himself. He's just Matthew."

"But they're the same person," Trace said, confused. "When you look at him, he's Justin Timberlake."

"Physically, yes, but mentally... Maybe not. I haven't had the pleasure I knowing both sides and neither have you. Maybe you'll be able to see what I'm talking about later, when you meet him. I know it sounds crazy now." I pressed the down arrow and he nodded, taking in what I just said before allowing me to step into the metal box before he followed.

"Seriously, thank you," Trace restated for the millionth time, "He's my brother. We grew up like we had the same mama. We wore each other's clothes and fight one another on the daily and I can't even tell you what went through my head the whole time he was missing..." The doors opened and we stepped out.

"Trace, there's no reason to think about all that now. Just worry about everybody getting better and seeing your best friend again, okay?" I was so good at comforting others, but myself...

"I know, I know..." He smiled warmly before walking up to me and embracing my form. I laughed as I struggled to wrap my arms around his puffy jacket. "Thank you so much."

"All right, all right," I jokingly pushed him away and he chuckled. "I'll have them page you when I'm back."

"Cool," he smiled. "I can't wait to see him."

"Well, it won't be too long," I assured, "I'll be back before you know it."

================

The ride home was a silent one, aside from my sobs. The moment I was out of Trace's sight, I was free to be as emotional as I wanted to be. It was almost too much the moment I pulled out of the parking lot and turned the corner. I had to pull over because my tears were blinding me. I eventually gained enough strength to mellow down into silent tears and hiccups until I parked in front of my house. I stared outside the driver's window, glaring at the little house that used to be so warm and inviting. I didn't want to get out of the car just yet so I sat and stared with the keys in my hand, the metal getting warmer in my palm.

I don't know why I was trying to avoid the inevitable. I had no choice but to get out of the car. Matthew was probably itching to blow up my cell with a million and one questions and wonderings. It was irritating and I was going to miss it. I was going to miss him running up to the door like a puppy the moment he heard my keys jingling outside. I was going to miss the way he paused, checked me out, and then hugged me, asking how my day was in one big muffled mess as his lips pressed against my neck in an awkward, hello kiss.

Speaking of kisses, I was definitely going to miss those sweet, lingering, passionate kisses. The ones that make my toes curl when he evily leans over to say goodnight and instead takes the breath out of me with his lips mingling with mine in a delicious affair. It last only a second, but feels like forever before pulling away, brushing our noses and laying down. I was going to miss the weight of his warm body on top of mine and the way his skin felt when sleeked with a thin layer of sweat as he pushed the hair from my face and leant down to kiss me before we both were too overwhelmed with moans of pleasure to keep our lips together.

I closed my eyes, willing away the memories as I hugged myself. I was in pain and it was emotional to the point of physical. I was crouched over, head against the cold leather steering wheel. I shook my head, tears flooding from my eyes. I did not want to do this. I don't think I could actually stand in that house and look at that man and tell him it was time to go home. It was a lie. He was already home. It was not time because there was no right time. I wish I had called out today. Stayed in bed and laid with him all around me. I could feel my heart recoiling. It did not know what to do. After so many lonely nights, it had found something worth getting up for and now... Now it was gone. Being ripped away like everything these last two months has given me has amounted to nothing.

As if I didn't feel dumb before for loving him, now that he's leaving, it further proves me right. I was so stupid to get caught up. I knew he was only temporary, but I had convinced myself somehow without much of my conscious knowledge that it was okay to be open. It wasn't. I could feel the walls building ten times higher. Even in my vulnerable state, I could predict my solid, cold nature in the future. I knew it was coming. Probably as bad as when Angel disappeared because now, I knew for sure, it was my own dumb fault. Angel's douchebaggery was out of my hands, but this... This was all me.

Then I felt the vibration against my thigh and I grabbed my phone and looked at the screen. I was not surprised to see my house number staring back at me. I rejected the call and wiped my face. I looked in the overhead mirror and saw my eyes were bloodshot. I sighed, not really caring, but wishing I looked a bit more presentable. If this was the last he'd see of me, I should at least give him a good memory. Then again, there's no sense in spiffing up for this funeral.

I finally got myself out of the car. I slammed the door shut and walked up my stairs. I searched for my house key briefly before slipping it into the door lock. Then I stopped before I turned it. I stared at the brass knob and felt the tears surging upward. I pushed them back down, turning the lock and pushing open the door. Matthew caught it before it hit him and I was a bit startled by his presence. He was smiling before he saw my face and I looked away.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, locking the door behind me as I walked into the living room. My poor little cat looked at me. Oh no he thought Not again. Oh yes, dear friend, part two of my life's heartbreak is about to come into play. More nights of random crying, angry mornings, and smothering the one man that has yet to break my heart; dear old Bob, my one true, feline friend.

"I just..." I stammered for the words, but I opted on shrugging in the end. "I don't know. I'm being stupid."

"Whatever makes you cry is not stupid," Matthew argued and my back was to him as he spoke. I stared at the television screen, wrinkling my nose at the Jerry Springer mess playing.

"Why are you watching this?" I asked and Matthew sighed, walking around me to the T.V. His scent washed over me and I bit my bottom lip as he pressed the button and the screen went black. Bob meowed in protest, obviously intrigued, before Matthew turned back to me.

"Answer my question, Sash," he said firmly before walking up to me. I watched his body move underneath my Temple University hoodie. I took in how manly and broad his shoulders were and the way the sweats he wore hung from his slim waist. "Sasheirah, please. I'm worried here." His hands reached for me and held my arms as he neared me until he was right against my body. His hands ran down my limp arms. I stared at the red letters written across his chest before they became too blurry to see.

"S-s-somebody..." I stuttered and fell off as I choked on my tears. Matthew pulled me against him and rubbed my back.

"Did somebody do something to you?" he asked, "Are you hurt? Did Shannon get on your nerves or something?"

"No," I weakly replied, rubbing my face against him. My entire face was wet with tears and I was sure the hoodie wasn't too dry either. I didn't want to look up at that face, but I didn't want to miss out on it either. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing away my tears before I pulled away from him and wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket, which I wasn't going to bother taking off. There was no point, we would be leaving soon.

"Sash, can you tell me what's going on?" Matthew asked impatiently, his baby face wrinkled with worry. I looked into his eyes and they were a brighter blue in the natural light of the sun shining in my living room. He had a bit of puffiness beneath each eye and some laugh lines. His mouth was slightly parted and I could see his white teeth peaking through.

"Somebody came by today... " I finally spoke, "And they came to take you home." He went from worried to confused.

"What? Who? When?" he asked in one breath and I held my hand up to silence him before he could continued.

"Your best friend Trace came here with your Dad and some bodyguards of yours, I'm assuming, and they want to take you home, so... Lets go."

"I am home, Sash," Matthew said defiantly, "I'm not leaving to go somewhere with a bunch of strangers. Are you kidding me?"

"They're your family and friends," I argued back and I didn't know why, "Justin-"

"Matthew!" he yelled, "My name is Matthew and I don't know those fuckin' people! How can you stand here and just tell me to leave like that? Look at you! You're a mess already-"

"Don't!" I yelled back with warning. "Do not make this about me in anyway. You have a person waiting for you and you're going to go."

"Are you serious?" Matthew asked, "Are you seriously telling me I have to go with these people just because they may or may not be who they claim they are?"

"Matt, he said his name is Trace Aya-whatever, and he told me that they tracked you down and, by the way, got shot at, for you-"

"Who got shot?" he asked more calmly and I shook my head.

"Two guys named Mike and Trey and your Dad, but I don't really-"

"My dad?" Matthew cut in.

"Yes, your dad," I repeated, "Trace said he started freakin' out and got out of the car... He was still in ER when I-"

"Is he okay?" I went to answer, but took a pause when I saw the look on Matthew's face. The voice almost didn't sound like his even though it came out of his mouth.

"I...I don't know," I stuttered, narrowing my eyes at his form. He looked like he was overheated all of a sudden, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Are you okay?" He looked around the room and blinked quickly before shaking his head.

"I..." He held his head in both hands and wobbled a bit. I grabbed his arms, as if I could hold him up if he had fallen.

"Maybe you should sit down," I suggested, "I'll get you some wat-"

"I'm fine," Matthew waved me off, swatting my hands away. "Lets just go." I was confused by his mood swing, but I stood and watched as he walked to the dining room closet to retrieve his leather coat.

"So now you want to go?" I asked, looking at the ground, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. I held my breath, but nothing came. "Matt?" I walked into the dining room and he was leaning against the wall, sweating a lot more than he was before. His jacket was dragging on the floor as he stubbled back and forth. "Matt!" I called, more panicked. I guess it didn't help because he lost his grip and fell to the floor with the loudest thump I had ever heard. I watched in horror, clamping my hand over my mouth to muffle my scream before I dropped to his side. My fingers felt for his pulse on both his neck and wrist.

I fumbled with my phone as I dug it out of my pocket and dialed 911, screaming at him over and over without a response. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer as the operator told me they were on their way. I put his limp hand in mine and squeezed it, letting my tears flow as freely as before. I told God over and over that He could never let me see Matt again as long as He got him through whatever it is that he's in right now. I didn't want him to leave, but I certainly didn't want death to be the one way to stop it from happening.

"Matt," I sobbed out, "Matthew, I love you."

--------------------------------------------------

I woke up in the most uncomfortable chair ever made in the most uncomfortable position ever attempted to be slept in. I groaned when the sun burned my eyes and it took me a moment to realize I was in one of the white hospital rooms I was accustomed to seeing everyday. Only this time, I had a very bad reason to be sitting here. Matthew. Sweat. Falling. 911. Trace. I was hoping it was all a dream, but I rubbed my eyes and heard confirmation that it was true.

"Hey, you're awake." The same strange, but familiar voice I knew belonged to Matthew and I stretched and looked across the room. He was sitting up in his hospital bed with a tray of food in front of him. He reached for the remote beside him and turned off the television. He was looking at me with an awkward smile as I wiped the sides of my mouth with the back of my hand.

"I think that you being awake is the real miracle," I grumbled before I yawned. "You feeling better?" He scooped up a cube of jell-o, the red jiggly mess almost toppled off the silver spoon, but he popped it into his mouth just in time.

"I feel great, actually," he assured, "Nurse said I had some type of anxiety attack." I nodded, looking at him and his shifting eyes that never stayed on me too long.

"Justin?" I called cautiously and he looked right up without hesitation or annoyance.

"What's up?" he inquired and I felt my heart sink.

"You didn't correct me," I said, "You let me call you Justin." He swallowed his jell-o and looked down at the bowl.

"Well..." he said slowly, "That's...my name." Then there was a deafening silence when reality set in and I realized that I didn't know this man sitting across from me at all. He had the same smile and eyes and voice, but he was not Matthew. Not even close.

"When?" I asked and he shrugged.

"I woke up and...here I am," he laughed to himself without much humor, "I told you that I didn't understand how this works."

"Do you know who I am?" I asked cautiously and he gave me a sad look like I had disappointed him.

"Sash, I could never forget you," he told me sincerely, "The Matthew in me would never allow it." I made a sour face, not wanting Matthew to be a person from within instead of a person inside and out. I gripped the arms of the chair to keep myself from screaming. I had lost Matt anyway and Justin wasn't even out of Philly yet.

"I'm going to get some coffee," I announced, standing up and making a beeline for the door.

"Sasheirah, please," Mat- Justin pleaded. "I haven't forgotten a thing. I still care about you, okay?" I was thankful to be facing the door because my eyes involuntarily welled up.

"I'll be back," I told him, walking out before he could respond. I slowly shut the door behind me and stood there for a moment before turning to leave. The moment I did, I rammed right into a body.

"Whoa," Trace said, raising his coffee cup holding hands. "Good afternoon."

"What time is it?" I asked.

"It's half past noon," he told me with a small smile, "Did you get a chance to talk to Justin?"

"For two seconds," I said, "I wanted some coffee." I sniffled and ran my hands over my face. Trace frowned and I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine."

"I didn't say a word," Trace told me innocently, "But I did bring you a coffee. Justin told me lots of cream and three sugars." I stared at the cup in his hands and breathed it in. He remembered the way I liked my coffee, but I didn't know a thing about him. It felt like he and I were old friends who knew a little about each other from the past we shared, but knew nothing about all the changes we went through over the years. I knew the Matthew in Justin, but I didn't know Justin himself. I wasn't sure if I wanted to. In those few seconds of sitting there with him, nothing felt the same. I did not feel safe or at ease. Conversation didn't flow. There was a wall that was built up between us and it was too awkward to do anything about it.

"I have to go freshen up anyway, so could you hold it for me?"

"That's fine," Trace said before I walked around him to head towards the bathroom. "Hey, Sasheirah." I sighed before turning around. "He's sorry about everything. Honestly, if he had any say-"

"Trace, really, I'm fine," I assured before making my exit into the ladies room down the hall. I didn't turn once to see his face or hear a reaction, and he did not offer a verbal response. The moment I was inside, I checked the stalls to assure I was alone before going up to the sink. I looked at my reflection in the mirror in front of me and frowned. My eyes were puffy and a light pink from my previous crying. My eyes were tight and I looked as sleep deprived as I felt. I shook my head, feeling like I was killing myself over nothing. What was the point in all these tears? He was definitely going to leave now. He had his life back, the way things should have always been. He never belonged here and I knew that since day one.

I was a fool and this was my punishment.

I washed off my face and coached myself the right lines to say once I got back in the room. It was really nice meeting you Trace, and Justin, I'm glad you're okay now. I really do wish you both the best and I hope your Dad's okay. Tell Mike and Trey I said goodbye because I really have to get back to work. Don't be strangers, okay? You always got a friend down here if you ever stop by.

Seemed good enough to get me out of there as quickly as possible, so I almost jogged down the hall to get it over and done with. I knocked on the door lightly before allowing myself inside. Justin and Trace looked up at me with identical smiles. "Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to tell you that it was really nice meeting you Trace, and Justin... I'm glad you're okay now. I really do wish you both the best and-"

"Sash, could you actually hold that thought for a moment?" Justin interrupted.

"Actually, I have to get back to work so-"

"Just a minute, please?" Justin asked before turning to Trace. "Could you please give us a sec, man?" Trace nodded.

"Sure, I'll be in the cafeteria," Trace announced, "I'll get you a sandwich. Anything for you Sasheirah?"

"No, thanks though," I politely declined before he left Justin and I allowed. I stood by the door with my hands behind my back. Justin stared at me. I glanced at my Chuck covered feet and made a mental note to bury them as deep into the back of my closet as I could.

"Sash," Justin said, turning to hang his legs off the edge of the bed. "Don't stand so far away."

"I'm fine over here," I told him, biting on my bottom lip. "Just say what you have to say."

"I didn't want it to be like this," he said sadly, "Don't be angry with me."

"I'm not," I told him...well, angrily. "I'm mad at myself, not you."

"Why?" he asked simply and I shrugged.

"Because... this whole thing was so stupid," I tried to laugh, but it came out fake. "This whole Matthew thing I had going on... It was... it was stupid."

"It wasn't stupid," he argued, "I happen to think that we had something real there. Something that definitely would've went somewhere if I hadn't-"

"Woken up yourself again?" I supplied. "It was stupid. Really."

"I really... I really care for you, Sash, you have to know that," he said earnestly and I wanted to believe him, but I couldn't.

"I know Matthew cared about me," I said softly, "I know he didn't want this."

"If I could stay, I probably would," Justin comforted, "But... Sash, you wouldn't believe half the shit I'm in back at home."

"I think I can believe anything at this point," I mumbled.

"I don't want to hurt you with the truth, but I don't want to lie to you either," he mumbled back and I raised a brow.

"I think it's better for you to just lay it all out on the table now," I said, "When else are we going to be able to talk like this again?" There was a pause and I anticipated the worse.

"I'm engaged."