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But if it all ended tomorrow, that would have been fine with him. Because everything good must come to an
end.
He loved his family. Blood and extended. They knew him before he was a pop icon. A sex symbol. One of
People's 50 Most Beautiful People. And they still loved him. They were his shelter when things were rough,
his rock when things seemed to be falling apart and his solace when things felt desperate. His true family
loved him, wanting nothing in return. He knew that if he ever needed them, they would be there for him. No
questions asked.
But deep down he knew they couldn't always be what he needed them to be. Do what he wanted them to
be.
He loved his soul mate. His guardian angel. The one that saved him from his life. From himself. He knew that
this was a love everlasting and undying. And with them, he needed nothing else. If he needed to escape,
his lover could provide it like no video game ever could. Capturing his attention for hours. Taking him to
wherever he needed to go to regain sanity, all without moving an inch. Those green eyes captivating him like
no other.
His lover could quiet the loudness ringing in his ears, soothing out the harsh screams and cries until there
was nothing but the sound of their voice. Singing everything and nothing, reminding him that their songs
aren't all that bad all the time.
Just looking at his lover it was more effective than any award, their presence enough to remind him of the
groups' successes and accomplishments. The way their eyes shone for him was so much more brilliant than
any chrome statuette ever could be. Because they knew the real him. They knew the man behind the
makeup and lights and still loved him best.
He realized that hearing his lover shout out his name with passionate cries, or even to moan in roughly in
pleasure was a million times more satisfying than all the fans in the world calling for him, chanting his name.
Just to hear those three little words uttered from their lips, could make any day worth repeating no matter how
bad it had been.
All it took was one moment in his lover's arms to realize that was where he belonged. The stage provided him
with a sense of fulfillment; his career a sense of belonging, but his lover's arms was his refuge. Bliss.
Happiness. And he knew that no performance, no show could give him the surge of adrenaline, that rush of
excitement that his lover could give him.
No matter how close he was with his family, his friends, they couldn't begin to understand him like his lover.
Didn't know a thing about him on a deeper level. His lover was there at 5am when he couldn't sleep, the
anxiety of their lives too great. Or after a particularly difficult interview, where the reporter was asking more
questions about his fluxuating weight or his sexual preferences. He knew that when his family couldn't
understand him, when they questioned his motives or intentions, that his lover would be there, holding his
hand supportively.
Closing his crystal blue eyes, he knew what love was.
Love was running fingers through his lover's dark, newly cut hair, longing for the shoulder length locks.
Love was gazing into a pair of green eyes that knew him inside and out, and still loved him unconditionally.
Love was kissing and being kissed in return, losing himself in the simple intimacy. In the loving touch.
Love was lying in their arms, listening to their heart bean in time with his own.
Love was Kevin Richardson. And Nick Carter was thankful for love.
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