"Justin," I said through gritted teeth, "It's not that deep."

"Matthew..." he corrected distractedly, still in deep concentration, "And you told me to mash it up. There's chunks in here still."

"I like chunks." He shot me a disbelieving look over his shoulder. "What? I do." He rolled his eyes at my reassurance and continued on.

"Whatever," he said, "You're just trying... to make me... feel better."

"No much?" I quipped and he didn't say anything. I wanted to strangle the little fuck face as he pressed down on my potato masher, determined to crush every chunk of unmashed potato he could find. It would've been nice to watch his muscles flex in his plain white tee if I weren't so annoyed and hungry.

Okay... so maybe it was still nice. But only a little.

"You're being ridiculous," I sighed, turning back to the stove to flip my frying chicken. Justin offered me an annoyed grunt in response before I rolled my eyes.

I guess I should be kind of happy that he was willingly helping me prepare dinner. It was my sort of apology for the cold shoulder I had thrown at him for the last two days. Ever since that first morning of seeing Justin in a new... sexual light, I felt embarassed, almost like he knew what I was thinking, so I lashed out at him after work for every little thing he did. Everything from socks not being worn on hardwood floors to him taking a shower after working out in the living room. I told him I was just tired and didn't want him getting sick from cold feet or straining himself during his excercises. He told me he understood and swore to wear socks around the entire house and assured me that his excercises only consisted of cane-less walks around my home.

If he only knew he relaxed me more than anything a majority of the time. Don't get it twisted, the boy could still work a nerve, but it was nice to have a 'roomie'. I felt a lot safer and more entertained. I liked the 'hello's and 'hey's he always greeted me with when I woke up in the morning or came home from work, and the shy 'goodnight's before bed made me feel bless that I was brown-skinned so my blush could not show. I guess we were both still getting used to that. It's been a bit more comfortable. I've woken up in his arms every morning since the first night and though that's only two more times, it was two times too many in my book.

"Done!" Justin excitedly announced as he came beside me and shoved the bowl of mashed-to-death potatoes in my face.

"Congratulations," I said, shooing him away as I placed the finished chicken onto a paper towel covered plate.

"Smoothest potatoes you'll ever have," he assured with a puffed out chest and I had to laugh because I knew he wasn't joking around. He was practically bursting with pride.

"Wow, Matty boy," I picked up the chicken plate and turned off the stove, "You're in the major leagues of hypeness right about now." I placed the plate onto the wooden top of my small kitchen table and Justin followed behind, placing his mashed potatoes beside it.

"I can be hype," he joked, "You're a damn hater." We both headed over to the cabinets above my sink.

"Boy, please..." I said, swinging open the stained wood cabinet doors and retrieving two plates. "You've got nothing to hate on." I handed him the white plates and he carefully took them.

"I'm rich and famous and I can sing..." He sang the last part for emphasis and I smirked as he raised his brows in a cocky motion, as if to say he was the man and I knew it.

"Oh, so now you're Justin Timberlake?" I teased before grabbing two forks from the dish holder by the sink.

"I was always Justin Timberlake," he scoffed, but smiled nevertheless, "We can't change who we're meant to be, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "I thought Matthew was your destiny." We made our way back to the table and sat across from each other. Justin shrugged and passed me a plate as I handed him a spoon.

"I'm still Matt," he said.

"You can't be both," I argued, scooping some potatoes into my plate.

"Sure I can," he smiled, taking three pieces of chicken for himself, "Justin's my stage name."

"What is wrong with you?" I laughed, "You and these... split personalities."

"It's not a split personality," Justin took the potato bowl from my offering hands. "I'm Matthew as far as I know right now. Justin's still a mystery." I watched as he scooped up the biggest spoon of potatoes I've ever seen and smiled softly. He was so fuckin' greedy for such a skinny bastard and it was hilarious.

I watched him for a moment, chowing down like it was the last supper and wondered if I should ask what was plaguing my mind. I don't know why I was so hesitant to ask. It was innocent enough and I probably should've asked sooner, but I was... worried.

"What's wrong?" Justin asked, "Am I eating crazy again?" I laughed out loud, knowing I was guilty of telling him to slow down and chew one too many times and he chuckled with me.

"You are, but that's not it..." I trailed off.

"Well?" he inquired and I shrugged. I picked up my fork and scooped up some of my potatoes. I placed it into my mouth and it felt like silk against my skin. Damn, these were the smoothest mashed-to-death potatoes I've ever had.

"This is really smooth," I told him in amazement. "Good job."

"Thank you," Justin grinned, "But don't change the subject."

"I didn't know there was a subject," I said dumbly, "I thought we were having random conversation while eating smooth potatoes and fried chicken."

"You sure know how to drag something out, woman," he smirked, "But I'm standing my ground. What's up?" I shrugged again. Now I was feeling on the spot and didn't like that position.

"I was just wondering....ya know..." Now I had a freakin' speech impediment and Justin looked so amused that I wanted to smack him.

"You were wondering..." he egged on and I rolled my eyes.

"I was just wondering if you ever thought about Justin..." I spat out, licking my fork before dipping it right back into the mashed up goodness, "Like... family and stuff. Do you ever stop and try to remember anybody?" He licked his lips and moved his gaze to his plate.

"Yeah... the other night actually," he told me slowly, "I googled a little when you were at work the other day and I for a while now, I've been seeing this face in my head, ya know? Like little broken up images of different people and stuff I can't really understand. Like... rooms and pictures and parts of conversations, but I can never really... get it. But this guy was in my head so much, ya know? It was crazy because I needed his name."

"Oh, god..." I sighed, "You're gay and that's your lover." Justin sighed and rolled his eyes.

"No, asswipe," he said, shaking his head with a small curl of his lips. "His name is Trace A...something. A-lay-la.... A-ya-la... I don't know. But according to a fansite, he's my best friend and business partner. I have a clothing line." I raised a brow.

"Really?" He nodded proudly.

"Cool shit too," he gushed, "William Rast or somethin'. They have really nice track jackets. Mad expensive though. Like a hundred bucks or somethin'."

"Well, shit," I told him, "You better get on that. Lower those prices to Target level. Maybe I could get you one while your account is M.I.A."

"I'll get you something nice from there," he said, "They got some nice jeans."

"If you've failed to notice, I've got an ass," I pushed around my potatoes, "One that won't fit into your skinny bitch with no ass jeans collection."

"Umm... I happen to be a butt man," Justin said with a pop of his collar. "That's what I said in one of my interviews, therefore I would think to make my jeans ass accomadating."

"Whatever," I said dismissively and took a bite of my chicken.

"And another thing," Justin continued, "I haven't failed to notice that very nice ass you have. You should wear your scrubs less often. You're hiding your body. The millions of sweats that you own aren't helping."

"Umm... excuse me," I scoffed, not knowing if I was struggling to speak from anger or flattery. I deamed it a side effect of both. "I do not care what you notice or think of my wardrobe, for that matter."

"Maybe you should." He left it at that and I glared at him because wanted to know what he was referring to. A large part of me was hoping he was referring to me taking notice of him noticing. Fuck, why didn't I notice him noticing me? Why did I always have to notice him instead? Did he notice me noticing him?

"You have an annoying habit of spacing out," Justin told me, sipping on a glass of water I had set on the table earlier. I blinked and looked at his baby face, the stubble thicking along his jaw. He reached up and scratched his cheek and my eyes scanned his mouth, gleaming with a thin layer of liquid from his drink. He licked his lips.

"Maybe I'm ignoring you," I retorted, moving my eyes to my half eaten plate.

"Why are you so mean?" Justin asked and I looked at him from behind my eyelashes as I lifted my head just a bit. "I mean, I get that you're not obligated to actually be pleasant and you can be really awesome at times, but then you get all defense and weird-"

"Why don't you finish your food, Matthew?" I cut in like his mother would and he pursed his lips.

"You sound like my mother," he stated as if he read my mind. I rolled my eyes.

"As if you would know," I quipped and he went back to his food. The conversation didn't quite feel over. The awkwardness didn't let up, even after we finished and cleared the table; Justin doing the dishes without being told. I stared at his back for a moment, watching the muscles shift beneath his shirt. He was scrubbing kind of hard and I figured he was still angry with my bitterness.

"Come in the basement when you're finished," I told him, already turning toward a small door that led to downstairs.

"Why?" I heard him ask as I jogged down the stairs, not bothering to answer. I had switched the light on before making my way down, but the gray, cemented basment still creeped me out. It was definitely unfinished and had water bugs. It smelled like sitting water and I was sure there was water somewhere down here that I hadn't noticed. My washer and dryer were to the left of the stairs right as you stepped off and their piercing whiteness stood out in the dull room as I turned to walk straight back to a pile of huge, black trash bags full of crap.

I made my way over to a particular corner of the room I had reserved just for his stuff. I never quite got around to giving it to good will like I told myself to do so many times before. My schedule wouldn't allow it and now with Justin here, they had use. I wish I thought of this sooner instead of spending a million dollars at Target.

"Sasheirah?" I heard Justin call as his quick steps flowed down the stairs.

"Back here," I directed and I soon felt his presence close behind my standing form.

"What's this shit?" Justin asked as I dragged the bag closer to my washer.

"Clothes," I told him, "For you." He made a face that I peeped for just a second when I glanced over at him when he grabbed the bag from my hands and lifted it with much more ease than I did. He dropped it in front of the machine and some dust clouded outward as we both coughed. I waved the dirty air from my face before sneezing and tearing open the bag. Everything was neatly folded still, spilling over in the corners in some parts because of the movement.

"Whose clothes?" Justin asked, picking up some RocaWear jeans from the bag as I lifted the washer door.

"My ex's," I evasively explained, grabbing an armful of clothes and dumping it into the machine.

"Leather jacket ex?" he inquired, referring to his borrowed coat and I nodded, switching the load size to large and starting it up. "Did y'all live together or somethin' 'cause this is a shitload of clothes."

"Something like that..." I trailed off, not finding the topic particularly pleasing. He didn't seem to get the hint.

"Well, what happened?" he asked nonchalantly as I grabbed the Tide and dumped a cup and a half into the working machine before capping it back up.

"Can you pass me the last of the clothes?" I asked as he handed me three shirts and a pair of sweats. My fingers lingered a little bit longer than necessary of the pair of sweats. They were his favorite pair when we were dating.

"You gonna answer the question?" Justin asked as I finally let go of the pants and shut the machine. He hopped up on top of the dryer and looked at me expectantly as I leaned against he washer.

"We broke up," I told him.

"Apparently," Justin snorted, "Does he at least have a name?"

"Angel," I told him.

"And..."

"And Angel and I broke up." He gave me a bored expression and I sighed. "We didn't work out, man. What else do you want?"

"I want to know what was wrong with him," Justin chuckled, "He must be crazy."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't think flattery will get you anything out of me." I pretended to be unfazed, but I definitely was feeling that tightening gut feeling that annoyed me greatly.

"I'm just saying..." Justin trailed off before adding, "Look, you just seem like you need to vent and I'm here to listen. That's all I'm saying." I looked up into his blue orbs and saw that they flickered a yellowish tint in my basement's lighting. They also showed a great deal of sincerity and I found myself wondering what harm could possibly be done by telling him. I felt a bit of a rush as I hopped up on the top of the washer and swung my legs as they hung far off the ground. The machine vibrated beneath me and tickled me to the point of a small smile.

"You better feel blessed that I'm sharing this with you," I told him jokingly and he nodded.

"I really do." I sighed and then took another breath as if I were in labor. It was embarassing to remember he was staring at me and waiting and for a moment I forgot.

"Look," I started off strong, not trying to show him that a very small, cowardly part of me still shook from the thought of it all. "Angel and I were together for a while... We went to high school together and whatnot, but college came and we got close and started dating freshmen year... it was nice, ya know? Stupid puppy love..."

"Right..." he egged on.

"So, yeah... we got pretty serious by the time I finished school and went to Jefferson for a while before getting my gig at Temple Hospital. It was crazy though. We didn't really have that much time for spend together. I was working or in school or both for the most part, but we had love... I loved him at least..." And this was the part I hated. The part when my voice got weird and I could see Justin sensing my sadness. I was pretty sure he was praying I wasn't going to cry and I was praying the same damn prayer. I'd die if I ever let him see a tear roll down my face.

"...so, you loved him?" Justin reminded with a strong curiousity, but hesitation rang out in his tone. He didn't want to pressure me.

"Yeah, but apparently I wasn't around much, so he went elsewhere..." I sighed before chuckling bitterly. "My best friend, to be exact." Justin's shocked expression had matched the face of my friends when they found out, and it unfazed me. I was only slightly more humiliated. It stung a lot less now though than it did than.

"That's fucked up," he gasped and I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, but what was more fucked up was I came home from work and they were just chillin' on my sofa waiting for me to get home."

"No!" Justin gasped and I laughed lightly despite myself.

"They weren't doing anything," I clarified, "They were actually just waiting for me. They were on my sofa and I took a seat on the coffee table and he told me I was working too much and he had needs and that he found someone to fullfil it. I didn't even need to ask who because they were holding hands at the end of his statement and she was telling me 'Oh, you know you can't control love' and blah, blah, blah... Shit, I was just wondering why there was so much love going around and yet there was none for me.

I just couldn't figure out how I let this man live in my house rent free and have my best friend since grade school; I'm talking sandbox, have the nerve to tell me I wasn't fulfilling the needs. I worked my ass off and still managed time for the both of them. I had that girl's back through everything, even when her two-timing boyfriend broke up with her. I held his hand when he couldn't keep a job and I didn't ask for a single cent from his hands because I thought 'I love this man and I'm gonna marry him, so what's mine is his and his is mine'. Apparently he took that too literally because he definitely made my best friend his." I didn't realize I had gotten as loud and frustrated until I stopped talking and the silence hit me like it had been surpressed and suddenly released; much like my anger.

"Damn," Justin shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Please," I waved him off, "You didn't cheat on me."

"I know," he said softly, "And I never will." Will? I thought and my face must've said something because he stammered to fix his mistake. "I mean... I would- No! I never would... if we were together, but we're not...so..." I nodded slowly and fought the smile trying to spread across my lips.

"Don't hurt yourself," I teased and he blushed feverishly as he turned his vision to the side.

"Anyway..." he opted for the awkward subject change, "Please tell me you pulled some Lorena Bobbitt shit, chopped his balls off, and punched that best friend of yours in the face." I laughed and it was good and hearty and I think Justin enjoyed my laughter more than his own joke.

"No...no craziness. I just said 'Okay'," I meekly admitted, "He already moved in with her. He didn't even need his clothes. He told me to do whatever I wanted with what was in the house because he had already packed the important stuff. He basically wanted to give me a goodbye and toss me the deuces."

"That's some bull," Justin said and I agreed, "He told you to kick rocks without socks and flip flops and left you hanging-"

"What the fuck did you say?" I chuckled during my interruption.

"What?" he asked.

"Kick rocks without socks and flip flops?" I raised a brow, "I have never, in my entire life, heard some ol' bullshit like that." Justin smirked.

"Really?" he asked and thought for a moment. "I think my mama told me that before." I was a bit taken back.

"You remember your mom?" He picked up my panicked tone and made a face.

"I just get the feeling my mama said that. I don't know..." I suddenly wanted to Google it and see if it were true, but I was sure that wouldn't pop up... but then again, he was Justin Timberlake, regardless of what he thought, so anything was possible.

"Well, that's cool..." I dumbly added before hopping off of the machine; its shaking movements were making me feel weird.

"Hey," Justin called to me like I wasn't standing right next to him and I gently tapped my fingers against the metal framing of my washer. I watched him slid off the unmoving dryer and look at me with an amused expression.

"What?" I asked cautiously, not really knowing what to make of his face.

"I think you need one of these," he said, opening his arms as wide as they could go and wiggling his fingers for effect. I stared at him in horror, as if the very idea of hugging him was as disgusting as it was absurd.

"I'm all right," I assured, blowing him off. Justin sighed and stepped toward me as I stepped back.

"You need to stop frontin'," Justin said and I was rolling my eyes.

"Justin, seriously, I'll live," I told him him before I bent over to retrieve the fallen, now empty, trash bag from the floor. I could here Justin sigh behind me.

"C'mon, Sashy Washy," he cooed teasingly and turned to face him with an annoyed look.

"Never call me that again," I demanded and dropped his tired arms.

"Hug me, Sash," he said gently and I could feel the urge to do so from his sweet tone alone. Then I remembered that touching Justin wasn't an option. Especially getting myself wrapped up in his arms. You get to used to something and then it's ripped right from under you.

"No," I said, knowing that it sounded very weak hearted. I didn't bother stepping back when he moved closer to me.

"Sash," he said seriously and I didn't like the way the playfulness fell away from the room. I most certainly didn't like the flood of sadness that was taking over my stomach and my chest, making them tight and uncomfortable. "It's okay." His arms snaked around my body and I slowly, hesitately allowed him to pull me against his chest. He was warm and spelled like my Irish Springs soap. My arms wrapped around his tiny waist and I could feel the hard definition of his body everywhere.

We were quiet and the machine swooshed around in a low hum, almost like it knew a delicate moment was in motion. Justin's large hands rubbed my back in circles that warmed me, but I didn't move my hands from the small of his back. I didn't want to move at all. I was afraid that if I did, I'd stupidly pull away. Find my que to exit the scene. It made me uneasy to not want to move. To feel this good in the arms of a man I knew for just over a month. Even though I've spent every waking moment with him, it was too comfortable. It was too...much. His arms shouldn't be the safest place I now know. I shouldn't want to just lay in bed this way with him for a long time. I shouldn't be looking forward to more of his hugs despite the fact that I had to yet to finish this one.

"Okay, okay...that's enough." I tried to sound as light as possible, but my tone was still a bit weird. My body was screaming and yelling at me, wondering why as I frowned at the coolness that was now hitting my body as we pulled apart. My heart was trembling though; shaken by the fact that it could be shaken by his hug alone. Justin's eyes were on mine so heavily that I had to look away.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" I looked up at him again, his eyes much lighter now. He wasn't smiling though. He was still speaking quietly, gently...Almost like I was too fragile for much else. I felt angered by this. I wasn't fragile. I didn't need a gentle voice or hugs...even if they felt nice. I hadn't hugged much over the last two years since my break up and I wasn't going to fall back into a comfortable pattern of it again.

"Yes, it was excruciating," I voiced, "Thanks." My sarcasm seemed to shock him for a moment, but he quickly recovered, giving me an annoyed glare.

"Well, I'll remember that the next time I feel you reaching out for me at night," he bitterly state in a low tone and I felt myself flush with embarrassment.

"I'm sleeping, Justin," I argued, "I hug my pillows too, so don't flatter yourself." He laughed, unamused and dry.

"You are so unbelievable,"' he scoffed, "Why can't you admit that this feels good to you?" He gestured between us and I was flabbergasted.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked and he rolled his eyes and waved me off angry.

"Nothing," he grumbled, stomping up the stairs just as the washer's spin cycle slowed to a stop. I continued to stare at the steps he'd just run up and my mouth was agape.

Jesus Christ, shoot me now.