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Lying on his back on his bed, Justin stared up at the ceiling above him, his mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings. Now that he was home he felt guilty about his behaviour at the hospital. He felt sorry for having given into his weaknesses and insecurities; especially as JC had been around to witness it. He felt embarrassed and ashamed that he hadn't done the right thing—which his conscience was now reminding him by supplying him with a major headache and an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he just couldn't ignore.

Clare had been right; he had been thinking of himself. He was a coward, and he felt ashamed of himself. Why hadn't he done the right thing and visited Libby? Even if he'd taken some time himself beforehand to get his act together, or even waited until everyone had gone home to go and see her then? Did he really feel better now for having left so abruptly? Now he felt even more anxious about his next visit as he had all the guilty feelings for having let her down last time.

He wished that he'd managed to keep himself together, even if he'd still left without seeing Libby. He shouldn't have made things harder on his friends by falling apart like he had. It must've been especially hard on JC, who'd so far been so understanding and considerate of his feelings. JC had obviously been concerned enough that he'd felt the need to drive him home and although he'd pretended not to, he'd heard his friend knocking on the front door ten minutes after he'd gone inside to have a quick chat with his mother.

He'd hated overhearing their conversation—all hushed voices and worried whispers—but at the same time he'd almost strained to hear what they were saying. He'd wanted to know what was being said behind his back, even though he'd known that he probably wasn't going to like it. Fortunately, other than filling his mother in on Libby's news, JC had only suggested that maybe she check on him in a few hours’ time and could she ring him later to let him know how he was doing? Typical JC. Always behaving like the parent.

Feeling his weariness overwhelm him, Justin momentarily closed his eyes and lifted his hands to rub at his temples. Headache. He knew that he could easily get up and head over to his bathroom to fetch himself some Advil from the bathroom cabinet, but he couldn't be bothered. He deserved the pain. Besides, it went with his mood. He grimaced as the dull ache washed over him in waves making him feel nauseous. It wasn't enough to make him want to physically be sick, but it was enough to give him the uneasy feeling all the same.

As Justin lay there completely still, his thoughts immediately flashed to Libby. He'd been an idiot to think that the operation would somehow produce a miracle cure, and the more he thought about it the more he inwardly groaned with regret. Why had he allowed himself to be so naive? If it was that easy, why were there so many people across the globe staying in comas for weeks, months, years? Why did he think that Libby would somehow be different just because he wanted her to be?

It had been a shock—that he couldn't deny, but shouldn't he have expected it? The doctor's hadn't once told him to expect Libby to wake immediately after surgery. It had been his own stupid expectations that had allowed that thought to plant itself in his brain and grow roots. He should've known better. He might've saved himself this heartache.

What was he to do now? Could he commit to being there for her for months, or years, if it came down to it? What would that mean for his career? His plans? His life? Could he really travel the world with the group—having the time of his life—whilst she was lying still in a hospital bed unable to move, speak or even breathe by herself? Would he be able to continue singing songs about being young, carefree and in love when he knew that the person that he cared for the most in the world might never recover from her injuries? Might never wake from her coma? Might die?

He groaned aloud and rubbed his fingers over his aching eyelids. Of course not.

I'd give it all, I'd give for us / Give anything but I won't give up / ‘Cause you know, you know, you know / That I love you, I've loved you all along / And I miss you / Been far away for far too long / I keep dreaming you'll be with me and you'll never go / Stop breathing if I don't see you anymore...

His lack of sleep and the stress of the last few days were doing a number on his body and he couldn't remember a time when he had been so physically and mentally exhausted. Not without being out performing every night that is. If only he could allow himself to switch off for a few hours just to get some sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was numbing, and was a welcome break from his mental turmoil. He needed to sleep.

He exhaled deeply and forced himself to push all thoughts of Libby out of his head. If he could just keep his mind blank then he might be able to drift off. Please, he begged. Please just let me sleep. Please just let it all go away.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, which was usually a sure fire way of getting himself relaxed enough to sleep. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He could feel his heart rate slowing and the heady grip of sleep pull him willingly into the abyss. Inhale, exhale...

"J...?"

"Hmmm...?"

"J...? Justin?"

"Wha...?" He asked groggily, his eyes shooting open. Although he was sure that he'd been sleeping, he felt as though it'd only been for a few seconds, at most. His blue eyes scanned around him, keen to find the person behind the voice.

"I said, 'I missed you at the hospital."

"Libby?!"

"Yes, Libby!" She smirked, amused by the startled look on his face. "Who else did ya' expect?"

"I... I just... I..." Justin stuttered, his eyes shooting around his bedroom for some kind of explanation. There she was, flesh and blood, lying next to him on her stomach, her legs bent at the knees and her bare feet waving over her head as she grinned at him. Her grin widened as he met her eyes once again and she let out a little giggle at his surprise.

"It's okay," she chuckled as she crossed her legs at her ankles and lifted a hand to support her chin as she tilted her head to regard him carefully. "I understand. You probably had other things to do. Like... watch TV... play some PlayStation... read?"

"Oh, God. Not you too," he groaned, sitting upright and running a hand through his short hair. Libby raised an eyebrow questioningly at him which was an expression he knew so well. "I swear to God, Clare hates me right now. I think she thinks I was being selfish, that I didn't want to see you..."

"And...? Were you?"

Justin stared at her bright face, her rosy cheeks and the crooked smile that was pulling at one side of her lips and felt a lump form in his throat. "No..." he struggled to say, his voice breaking. "No, I wasn't being selfish, I just... I just... couldn't." He once again ran his hand through his hair—a nervous habit. "I can't handle seeing you like that..." he said, the tears once again forming in his eyes. His voice dropped to a whisper and to his embarrassment, he felt his chin begin to wobble.

At once, the humour fell from Libby's face and was replaced by sympathy and concern. She sat upright and reached out to him, shuffling forward on the comforter to be closer to him.

"Shhh..." she soothed, reaching out a small hand to brush away the tears that had begun to flow down his cheeks. She gave him a warm, reassuring smile and tilted her head down to look him square in the eyes. He stared at her sadly, his heart pounding in his chest at the realisation that she really was there. "I understand, Justin," she assured him. "I know it's hard for you all."

She was so close, so real that his tears continued to fall and he brushed them away angrily with the back of his hand; annoyed that they were blurring his view of her lovely face. He felt so confused inside, his stomach a whirlwind of emotions that were only adding to his feelings of nausea, so much so that he almost felt the need to burp. Grief for what had happened to her, relief to see her so... alive, and love, more than anything, love.

Libby continued to smile at him, the brightness in her eyes just the way he'd always remembered her; the same slightly crooked grin that he loved and had missed so much. Seeing her there, and her apparently having no feelings of ill–will towards him, he felt the need to unload, to tell her how he was feeling, how much he was hurting...

"It's so horrible seeing you like that, Lib," he said in a choked voice. "So horrible, I can't even—"

Libby reached forward once again and placed her index finger against his lips. Immediately he closed his eyes, saving the warm feel of her skin against his, revelling in the touch. It felt so real...

"Justin, you don't have to torture yourself like this," she said, shuffling even closer to him until he could feel her warm breath brushing against his face. He opened his eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of her smile. She looked at him through her lashes, her green eyes wide and almond shaped, just like he'd remembered. "You look so sad all the time, J. I don't want you to be sad."

She pulled her finger away and when he pouted at the loss of her touch, she placed her palm on the side of his face, causing his eyes to flutter close and him to lean into her touch.

"I need you to be strong, Justin. For me, for Clare, for everyone. I need you..."

"Need me?" He questioned, his eyes popping open, and he stared at her, only realising after a second that her eyes had left his and were focused on his lips. He felt his heart rate take off at a run.

Libby frowned slightly and glanced up to meet his desperate eyes. For a moment she looked put out, and then her face softened, her eyes crinkling slightly at the edges. "Yes, there is," she corrected, removing her hand to place it in her lap. Justin watched its departure with dismay.

"Tell me what to do then, Lib," he begged her. "I'd do anything for you, you know that. You've already been gone too long."

"I'm still there, Justin," she said gently, rocking back onto her heels, widening the gap between them. Justin fought back a whine and instinctively reached out a hand to try to pull her back but she dodged easily out of his grasp. "The person lying in the bed is still me. I'm still there. You need to help me come back. You need to remind me what I'm coming back for."

"But how?" He asked, feeling her slipping away from him and the panic once again returned to his chest. He felt his stomach constrict with anxiety and the pounding return to his head. His breathing became difficult, and he realised, with despair, that he was about to have another panic attack. "Libby, please tell me..."

Justin reached forward once again and jumped when he felt his body start with alarm and his eyes shot open. He was still in his room, the ceiling above him was the same ceiling he'd been staring at earlier but something was wrong. He snapped his head around and searched desperately for Libby.

She'd been there! She had to have been! It was so real...

Justin felt his stomach constrict, and he knew that this time he was going to be sick. He shot to his feet and rushed across the room towards his en–suite bathroom, making it just in time to rip the toilet seat up and hurl into the basin. He continued retching until he was completely empty and his hands and legs were shaking with the effort. Once the feeling of nausea passed, he released his hold of the toilet and let his body sink to the floor, his legs splaying out before him. He just about managed to reach out and pull down on the handle with a shaking hand.

It had been a dream. A glorious, horrendous, soul destroying dream. She'd touched him; he'd felt her hand against his face. She'd spoken to him; he'd felt her breath on his face. And yet none of it had been real. His subconscious had played the cruelest trick on him.

As he continued to stare at the plain, off–white tiles of the bathroom floor, he felt a slight glimmer of hope as he relived the dream over and over in his mind, wanting to keep the sound of her voice and the feel of her hand against his cheek for as long as possible.

It might have only been a dream but it must have meant something, right? After all, weren't there books written on the meanings behind dreams? Maybe it hadn't been a trick, but rather a way for his brain to come up with a game plan. That's what he'd been thinking about before, hadn't it? How to go forward?

He swallowed hard, cringing at the sour taste in his mouth. He needed to brush his teeth, drink a glass of water, do something to remove the vile taste and he struggled to his feet, taking several attempts to get his long legs under control.

She may have only been an illusion, but dream Libby had had a point. He couldn't continue moping around; it wasn't doing him or anyone else any good. Neither would it make any difference to Libby.

With a new sense of strength and determination growing inside him, Justin shuffled across the room towards the sink and steadied himself by placing both hands on the ceramic bowl, glancing up to look at himself in the mirror. His reflection shocked him, and he realised with surprise that it was the first time in many days that he'd actually taken the time to look at himself properly.

Not that he was particularly vain, but his unhealthy hatred of his hair caused him to check out his reflection in nearly every mirror—or any shiny surface—which he passed that gave him the chance to check whether or not he had somehow managed to scare it straight. He was always disappointed. 

He ran a hand over his stubby chin, surprised at what a few days of not shaving had done to him. He looked much older, and that combined with the dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping gave him the appearance of a somewhat dejected, most likely inebriated, homeless man. It wasn't a good look, and it needed to go. No wonder he was getting so many funny looks around the Compound.

He felt much better already knowing that he had a plan. He could return to the Justin from before, the clean–shaven, squeaky clean, bright and bubbly young man who had no issues about singing songs about girls in pretty cars and bringing down the house with an upbeat pop song. It was all external anyway, it wasn't really him.

He could go forward knowing how he would manage each day until Libby came back to him. And she would come back to him—he was certain. Just like he'd been certain that he would make it onto the Mickey Mouse Club, and that the day he'd met JC he'd made a friend for life; and that Lance had simply had to come to Florida to audition for the group. He’d felt it in his gut and it was rarely wrong.

He would do whatever it took to bring Libby out of the darkness. He would stop at nothing, and like his determination and hard–work in the other areas of his life, he knew that it'd pay off. He would remind her what she was coming back for and he'd never let her forget it ever again.

I love you, I have loved you all along / And I forgive you for being far away for far too long / So keep breathing 'cause I'm not leaving you anymore / Believe it, hold on to me, never let me go...

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