justin and jc, a typewriter, and magic.

The keys felt smooth and liquid under Justin's fingers, like they'd been oiled so many times that they just held the impression of the fingers that had spent so long striking them. It looked like it was older than dirt. "Dude. When'd you get the typewriter?"

JC barely glanced over his shoulder; he had his head tilted to the side and was running down the stacks of CDs on the shelf in his office, looking for the BT album he'd promised to lend Justin. "While ago. Change of pace, you know."

Maybe Justin was imagining it, but it felt like there was something there, humming under his fingers like old attic secrets. "You been writing songs on this thing?"

"More or less. Writing some stuff, anyway. Just sort of -- noting some things down."

Justin ran his fingers along the platte and then picked up one of the sheets of discarded paper that were lying next to the machine. Squinting a little, he read, in neat typewriter font and slightly smudged ink, "Justin's album will be a success. Lance will find someone who loves him. Joey and Kelly will live happily ever after. Chris will be safe and secure --"

JC's hand crossed into his line of vision and flipped the paper over before Justin could keep reading. "It's not polite to read other people's wishes, Justin," JC said, and smiled.

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