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In case there is any confusion: the following story is not real, nor do I intend for you to believe it. Seriously, don't. It is also my first foray into the world of pop fiction, so any suggestions or criticism would be appreciated. This is my answer to Merry's Billy Joel Challenge, inspired by the following lyrics: Some day we will both look back
Twice in a Lifetime Chris stood in his kitchen, glaring at his coffee maker. The damn thing had an automatic timer. It was supposed to turn on and have coffee ready for him when he woke up. Yet there it sat, smugly empty of coffee. It knew he needed coffee to think in the mornings. So what if he happened to get up an hour or two early? He'd paid enough for the piece of junk; was it too much to ask that it provide him with coffee when he needed it? Swearing under his breath, he flipped the on switch and listened to the rushing sound as the heating unit started up. Now he'd have to wait, and even though it wasn't like he had anything else to do, he wasn't in the mood to sit around and wait for his caffeine infusion. He wanted it now, damn it. Feeling very put upon, Chris slumped into a chair and propped his elbows on the table. He really didn't need this. He had enough problems already. He'd been sitting around his house going crazy with boredom for a whole week. He didn't need a coffee maker with an attitude to top things off. His problem, Chris had figured out after three days of rearranging his LPs and CDs by year, genre, and finally alphabet when he realized he couldn't find anything the other ways, was that he wasn't the type of guy who did well with nothing to do. It wasn't an issue most of the time, but in the past few months, he'd found himself with huge chunks of time on his hands where he had nothing that needed his immediate attention. Whole days at a time, even. He could remember dreaming of that kind of opportunity, but it had never occurred to him that he might not know what to do with it. There were only so many hours he could sleep in any given week, and only so much cleanliness he could stand to live with. Sure, there were people he could call to go somewhere or just hang out. He had plenty of friends in town, but when he mentally shuffled through his list, none of them jumped out at him as someone he wanted to be around at the moment. It was just a measure of the suckitude of his life at the moment that the people he really wanted to hang out with were scattered all over the country. The coffee maker gave one last sigh and gave up. Chris stood to get himself a cup, frowning at the time display. It was too early to call anyone. Joey was in the same time zone as Chris, at least, so he might be up, but all he talked about these days were wedding plans and whether or not he was insane for thinking he could be a decent husband. Chris just wasn't in the mood to discuss the relative merits of taffeta and monogamy. Justin might or might not be up, depending on his schedule. If Justin were on break too, Chris would call him up on the off chance that he might catch him sleeping and get to piss him off, but the last time they'd talked, Justin had actually admitted to being a little tired. Which, for Justin, was the same as saying he was about to collapse from exhaustion. It was hard to get enough sleep on tour; Chris didn't want to interrupt whatever rest Justin might be getting. That left Lance and JC. Lance, wherever he might be, was always up early, attempting to get a jump on all the other ambitious people trying to take over the world. If Chris could catch him between calls, he'd be good for an hour's gossip or more. JC, on the other hand, would still be asleep. Even if he hadn't been four hours behind Chris, he would still be asleep, because JC never got up before noon if he had a choice in the matter. Obviously, Lance would be the better choice. He wandered into the living room and found his phone, sipping at his coffee as he hit the speed-dial code. "'Lo?" a familiar, sleepy voice mumbled after several rings. "Hey, C. How's it hanging?" Chris sat back on his sofa. JC was the best person in the world to talk to when he was asleep. He could carry on entire conversations without waking up, and he'd agree to anything. The fact that he made absolutely no sense was--actually, not that different from when he was awake. "The elephants are in the freezer," JC answered seriously. Chris grinned. "Really? What're they doing there?" "Eating the spoons. 's not good for them." "Probably not. Why don't you get them out of there?" "'kay," JC murmured agreeably. He grew quiet, and Chris wondered if he were going to the freezer to rescue the elephants right then. "C? You there, man?" "Mmm." Chris settled back for some serious messing with JC's head. "Listen, I was thinking about painting my house pink, but I can't decide between cotton candy and fuchsia. You being our expert on girly colors, I thought maybe you could help me out here. What do you think?" "Mmm." JC sighed into the receiver. "Pink is happy." Chris snorted. "Oh, yeah? Pink the singer or pink the color?" "I like pink boxers." Chris nearly choked. Oh, the blackmail possibilities! "Really? What else do you like?" "But the elephants are cold." JC was starting to sound worried. "They need sweaters." "Pink sweaters?" "Like a waterfall." "Pink like a waterfall, huh?" Chris shook his head. "You're a strange man, C." "Happy elephants," JC agreed, his voice dropping to a mumble. "Okay, Spazz, I'll let you sleep. Call me when you wake up, all right?" "Mmm." "JC, hang up, okay?" Chris had learned from experience that it was important to make sure JC hung up the phone, or else it would still be buzzing at him when he finally woke up hours later. For some reason, that tended to make him grouchy, and he always blamed Chris. "'kay." JC was silent again, but there was no dial tone. "C. Hang up the phone." "'kay. Night, baby. Love you." Jerking back, Chris hit the end button and dropped his phone like it was hot. "Damn it, C." He couldn't sit still any longer. Somewhere in the city, someone was up and willing to entertain him--or would be, once he'd pestered them enough. Grabbing his wallet and deliberately leaving his phone on the couch, he walked out the door. Chris had fallen in love with JC somewhere in Europe. He wasn't sure exactly where, because he'd fallen some time before he finally realized where the giddy, achy feeling whenever he saw JC was coming from. He'd suspected at first that it was food poisoning, but a couple of bottles of the German equivalent of Pepto had done nothing to cure the feeling. He'd had to drink a lot of apple juice afterward, though. Once he realized what his problem was, Chris had tried to avoid JC for a couple of days while he figured out what he was going to do. He had no intention of harming the group by starting an ill-fated love affair, but there was always the possibility that it wouldn't be ill fated. Unfortunately, JC took Chris's avoidance as a sign that Chris was mad at him. Never one for confrontation, JC holed up in his bunk and sighed a lot. Chris didn't realize anything was wrong until Joey threatened to kick his ass. He went back to the bunks and knocked cautiously on the frame of JC's. "Hey, JC? Something wrong, man?" There was something suspiciously like a sniff, then JC said in a muffled voice, "I'm fine, Chris." Chris tugged the curtain back enough that he could see JC's face. His eyes were dry, but missing their usual gleam. "Allergies?" he asked dryly, but his voice was maybe a little gentler than usual because it was sort of his fault. Okay, a lot his fault. "Just tired." JC smiled weakly. "What's up? We're not there already, are we?" Chris couldn't even remember where "there" was at that point, but he suspected it was a long way off. "No, we're not supposed to get there till tomorrow morning. I was just checking to see if you were okay." "I'm good." "That must be why you look like someone stole your teddy bear." Chris pulled the curtain all the way back and sat down on the edge of the bunk. "I do not." JC kicked at him. "Asshole." "Come on, JC, talk to me. You've been moping for days. What's going on?" JC frowned at him. "Maybe I should ask you that question," he said finally. "You're the one who's been avoiding me." Chris squirmed. "Avoiding you? What're you talking about?" "You. Avoiding me. Why?" JC's blanket had loose blue threads sticking out of it. Chris plucked at one. "Chris." It was basically piss or get off the pot time. Chris contemplated running, but he couldn't get that far on the bus anyway. Besides, he had almost gotten the thread completely unraveled. "Christopher," JC said warningly. "Okay, okay. I wasn't avoiding you, dude. I was just thinking about something." He tugged on the thread, fascinated by the way it slid out of the blanket. JC swatted his hand. "Quit destroying my blanket. What were you thinking about?" "You." JC frowned at him again. He had, Chris noticed, formidable eyebrows. "What did I do?" "Nothing!" Chris took a deep breath. Somehow, when he'd pictured this conversation in his mind, it had gone much smoother and involved a lot more kissing. "It's nothing you did. Or it is, but not in a bad way." "Then what kind of way is it?" Sometimes it was easier to show than to tell. Banking on JC's dislike of violence, Chris leaned forward and kissed him. "Oh," JC said after a few minutes. He was panting slightly, though whether it was from the extended kiss or the fact that he was now lying on his back with Chris sprawled across him, Chris couldn't even begin to guess. "That way." Several hours later, Chris was finally drifting off to sleep with JC curled around him. His body still tingled faintly in several places from JC's touch, but his mind was pleasantly blank. The sound of JC's breathing, familiar from hearing it every night on the bus and in shared hotel rooms, made him feel safe in a way he wasn't quite ready to deal with, but enjoyed anyway. "Good night, baby. Love you," JC murmured into his ear, barely more than a breath. A second later, Chris was asleep. He didn't even remember the words until JC said them again the next night and the next, but before long, he couldn't go to sleep until he'd heard them. The insomnia he suffered from after they broke up only added insult to the soul-crushing injury. When Chris got back home, it was after midnight and he had three phone messages. He deleted the one from Johnny's assistant promising a long night of shrieking teenies. He'd end up calling her back eventually, but he liked to pretend at rebellion. Justin's message was long and rambling and interrupted more than once by people wanting his attention. He signed off with, "and your cell phone? It's mobile for a reason. Unless you're just avoiding me 'cause you know you owe me fifty bucks from that Lakers game. Call me, dork. Love you." JC's was much shorter and more bemused. "Dude, why am I dreaming about pink elephants? Give me a ring, okay?" The next day, Chris left his phone behind again. When he got home well after two in the morning, just a little bit drunk, he had three messages from Justin with variations on "call me, asshole," some sibling gossip from his mom, and one message from JC. "Hey, man, give me a call. And Justin said you owe him five hundred dollars and you might as well quit avoiding him, because he knows where you live. I thought you were going to quit betting against him, dude." The third day, Chris turned off his phone, stuffed it under the couch cushion, and spent the day at home, eating popcorn and talking back to Lifetime movies. He ended up with another call from Johnny's assistant that he deleted, one from Joey--"What the fuck do I care if the bridesmaids are carrying pink flowers or white flowers? I'm not marrying them. Oh, yeah, quit avoiding Justin. You're making him whine. And he says you owe him five thousand dollars. Didn't you swear never to bet against him again?"--and two from Justin, who was beginning to sound a little worried. Chris sighed and made a mental note to call him as soon as it was late enough for him to be done with the show. JC, on the other hand, was starting to sound irritated. "Chris, call Justin and tell him you haven't run off to Tahiti before he drives everyone insane, and then call me and tell me why you're being a prick. And Justin says you owe him fifty thousand dollars and he's going to hawk your underwear on Ebay to make back the money. You never learn, do you?" Apparently not. If he had any sense at all, he'd quit checking his messages. Chris sighed, checked his watch--still too early to call Justin--and went to the kitchen. There was some pasta in his refrigerator that was possibly non-toxic, so he heated that up and went back to the living room to flip channels. Not too surprisingly, nothing was on. He settled for a few minutes on an infomercial that promised to improve his life astronomically, but he had to send in three installments of $29.95 plus shipping and handling to find out how it was going to accomplish that. Chris was vaguely tempted, but he had a suspicion that he owed half of his net income for the next year to Justin, so he probably needed to conserve his money. Finally it was late enough to call. Chris hit mute on the TV because Justin had issues about people not paying attention to him on the phone, then idly flipped channels while he listened to the phone ring. "Fucker," Justin said as soon as he picked up. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for two weeks. Where were you?" "Just doing stuff." Chris landed on VH1 Classic. He didn't recognize the band, but he found it comforting that their outfits were at least marginally worse than anything he'd ever been forced to wear. "And it's only been four days." "So what's up with not calling me back?" "I was just busy, dude. I got a life, you know. Things to do, people to see." "People to avoid," Justin added. "Only you don't have any reason to avoid me, so what's the deal?" "I thought I owed you fifty grand." "You owe me way more than that, dude, 'cause you never pay up when you lose." "That's 'cause I lose about a tenth of what you say I owe you." "Interest, man, it's a killer." Chris could hear the smirk from several states away. "It is when you calculate it the way you do. How was the show?" "We were totally on fire." The smirk now had the sound of a grin. "Everything clicked, you know? The crowd was wild." "Cool. You have a club show tonight, too?" "Nah, just the regular show." Justin sighed. "Good thing, too. I'm kind of wiped." "You ought to try sleeping once in a while." "Find me the time, man, I'll be there." "Oooh, you're going to sleep with little ol' me?" Chris put on his best Elly May Clampett and fluttered his eyelashes, even though Justin couldn't see him. "Why, Mr. Timberlake, I do declare." "Freak." Justin laughed. "But seriously, dude, you're avoiding my question. Why've you been hiding out lately?" Chris sighed. Once Justin got an idea in his head, it took a wrecking ball to dislodge it. "I'm not hiding, asshole. I'm just doing things. Enjoying my vacation." "Uh-huh. C said you called him right before you fell off the face of the earth." "Yeah, friends, remember? And we're kind of in a group together. I'm allowed to call him whenever I want." "Yeah, but when you disappear right after, it kind of makes me think something's going on." "J, you are totally worse than my mother ever was. I'm thirty-one years old. I'm too old to report in to someone every day." Justin sighed. "Fine. Be that way. You're too old to be in denial, too, but that's never stopped you yet." "Asshole." "Fucker." "Moron." "He still loves you, you know." Chris hung up. And stuffed the phone between the couch cushions when it immediately began to ring. And cranked the sound up on the TV, only to have Michael Jackson start bellowing out how Billy Jean wasn't his lover, which was more than he could handle on any level just then. He retreated to the kitchen, found a beer hiding at the back of his fridge, and made a mental note to go shopping sometime soon. He set up the coffee maker, started a grocery list that devolved quickly into doodling pictures of Justin with big ears and a nose that stuck out about a foot. When he finally ventured back into the living room, the phone was still ringing. Swearing, Chris dug it out of its hiding place. Damn Justin. Boy was a multi-millionaire and still couldn't buy a clue. "Quit stalking me, you pervert," he growled into the receiver. "I don't want to talk to you anymore." "Great phone manners, dude," JC said, sounding amused. "But I'd hardly call leaving a couple of messages after you called me stalking." Chris winced. "Hey, C." "You okay? You sounded a little . . . " There was a pause, and Chris could imagine JC's hand twisting as he tried to pull the word out of thin air. "Upset?" "I was talking to Justin." "Ah," JC said like that explained it all. Which, really, it did. "It's about time. He kept calling and asking me if I thought you'd been kidnapped by crazed fans or something." Chris snorted. "Like I'm the one they want to kidnap." "He had this whole psychological profile on the kind of fan who'd want you more than him and be desperate enough to do something illegal." JC sighed. "You really can't be leaving him on his own like that, man. He gets crazed." "He's always crazed." Chris settled back onto the couch, shoving the overturned cushion down with one foot. "So what's up with you?" "Not much. Some promotion stuff, some vocal work, you know the drill. Which is one of the reasons I called. Besides not talking to you in a while other than when I was asleep, dude, and what was up with that, anyway? You know I hate it when you do that. I've been dreaming about elephants all week." "I'm not the one who brought them up in the first place," Chris protested, even though he really didn't remember. Elephants sounded more like JC, though. If it had been him, it would have been something more like psychotic weasels. "So what was the other reason?" "Oh, yeah, I got something I want you to take a look at. I'm just playing with it right now, but I think it might work on the album, and I'm kind of stuck 'cause it's got a big part for you and I need to hear you sing it, you know? It's working in my head, but I don't know if it's going to work when it's recorded, so what do you say?" "To what?" JC sighed, a sharp, exasperated breath. "Coming here. Working on this with me. Unless you've got something else going on?" That sounded like the worst idea Chris had heard since Lance had decided to go punk and dye his hair blue. "I don't know, C. I'm kind of . . . " "Johnny said you didn't have anything scheduled for the rest of the month." JC sounded just the slightest bit smug. Chris made a mental note to kill Johnny the next time he saw him. "Well, no, but I . . . " "And Joey said that the last time he'd talked to you, you were complaining about being bored." Chris added Joey to his hit list. And Justin, just on principle and because he was the one who said the l-word of doom and got Chris thinking that visiting JC would be a bad idea in the first place. "Yeah, but . . ." "Christopher." "When do you want me to come?" Chris spent the whole flight out with Justin's words playing in his head. He still loves you, you know. Except Chris didn't know, because he had hung up on Justin before he could clarify if Justin knew what the fuck he was talking about in the first place, and in the second place, exactly what kind of love they were discussing. Because JC loving him like a friend or brother wasn't exactly news, and Chris would be damned if he was going to have a nervous breakdown over that. He had to save his energy for the important things, like figuring out what he'd do if Justin wasn't talking out of his ass and JC wasn't just harboring fraternal feelings. Tahiti had a nice ring to it. The plane, however, landed in LA, and Chris was stuck. At least until three the next afternoon, when Air France was boarding for the South Sea Islands. Chris made a mental note of the time, just in case. It was sufficiently late--or early--enough that Chris didn't really want to call anyone to come pick him up. Luckily, it wasn't difficult to find a cab, and way before he was ready, he found himself standing outside JC's door, contemplating ringing the bell. Or possibly running for his life, because the thought of what might or might not be waiting for him was leaving a black hole in his stomach that seemed to grow with every breath. Ultimately, it was the thought of explaining to JC why he was standing outside the door, stiff as a board from not moving for several hours, that made him ring the bell. And ring it again, and again, and again, because JC wasn't answering. He was almost through "Quit Playing Games" when the door was jerked open. "I hate you." JC glared groggily, his hair sticking up at weird angles from sleep. Then he smiled. "Chris!" "JC!" Chris was careful to copy JC's exact tone of surprise, but the mockery, as usual, was lost on JC. He searched JC's face, looking for signs of unrequited adoration, but was pretty sure that all he saw was simple happiness mixed with a healthy dose of just-woke-up. "Chris!" JC grabbed him into a tight, warm hug. He had been trying to ignore JC's obscenely sagging boxers, but as soon as JC pulled him close, his brain registered skin and completely shorted out. "I missed you," JC whispered into his hair, then pulled back, his grin huge. "I thought you weren't getting here till tomorrow." "It is tomorrow," the part of Chris's brain that was still working managed to reply. "Dude, clothes?" JC looked down at himself and shrugged. "I was asleep. You should be glad I put these on to answer the door." Glad wasn't quite the word Chris was looking for. "It's going to make a great picture in the tabloids, anyway." JC laughed and tugged him inside. "Man, it's good to see you. It's been, what, a month? Six weeks? What's with the hermit act, anyway?" Chris sighed. "Vacation, remember? Taking it easy, relaxing? Just because I'm not a workaholic like you guys, suddenly I'm a hermit?" "Just because you've barely talked to any of us in a month, suddenly you're a hermit." JC frowned at him. "At least according to Justin, but seriously, are you okay? 'Cause you're not usually this hermit-y." "Seriously, I'm fine, C." Chris widened his eyes, trying to look sincere, because if he didn't head this off at the pass, JC would become convinced that he was hiding a terminal illness or something and rush him to the hospital while frantically planning his wardrobe for the memorial service. Charcoal suit, no doubt, with some tasteful pastels mixed in. JC studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "If you're lying to me, Kirkpatrick, I'll sic Lance on you." Chris smirked. "And your mother." Chris quit smirking. JC, obviously satisfied that he'd made his point, reached down to grab one of Chris's bags. "Come on, I'll show you were you're sleeping." JC's guestroom was purple in a very aggressive way, but Chris had slept in far worse places with more normal decors, so he wasn't going to complain. At least the bathroom had running water, even if the faucet did bear a distinct resemblance to a dick. Chris had often wondered about JC's decorator. "If you need anything, just grab it," JC said. "There's a good chance it's yours, anyway, or Joey's, since he stayed here last. Or Tyler's, but Mom taught us to share, so, you know, you're good either way. And you can always wake me up if you need me." "It's not my first sleep-over, dude," Chris pointed out. JC grinned and grabbed him in another hug. "I'm glad you're here, Chris." He pulled back to plant a kiss on Chris's forehead. "Sleep well, honey." Chris pretty much didn't sleep at all after that. Their love affair turned out to be ill fated after all. The end might have been easier if Chris had known it was coming, but somehow he missed the warning signs. He thought they fought because they were both passionate people. He thought that JC ignored the verbal digs Chris sent his way because JC knew he didn't mean them. He thought, with an arrogance even he had to admit was dickheaded, that the fact that they had been friends before they were lovers would save them from all the things that could go wrong in a relationship. He was completely, egregiously wrong. The end came when he least expected it. They were flying high in Europe, word had it that they were close to going home for good, and they'd spent several nights in hotels recently, which meant an actual bed to have sex on and cuddle in after. Life couldn't have gotten much better. And then he and JC got in a fight. It was a stupid fight as most of them were, over something so unimportant that Chris had forgotten it midway through the screaming match. To be honest, he'd been enjoying himself, flinging insults with an abandon that grew from growing up in a house where a good argument was cheaper and more entertaining than cable. He should have realized something was really wrong when JC went silent. Later, he wondered if he could have avoided everything that came after if he'd just shut up right then. "I can't do this anymore," JC said finally, interrupting Chris in the middle of a pithy put-down. "Do what?" "This." JC's hands waved, apparently encompassing the entire room. "Fighting. All the time, fighting and yelling and I can't do that, Chris. I can't live that way." Chris felt a moment of panic, because JC had that tone of voice that said he'd made up his mind and nothing would change it. "Okay, so we'll stop arguing. I can do that." JC shook his head. "No, man, no, you can't. It's what you do, and it doesn't mean anything to you, I know that. But it means something to me." He cupped Chris's face in his hands, his eyes a tender contradiction to his words. "You're my best friend, Chris. I loved you before I was in love with you, but if this keeps up, I'm going to end up hating you. I couldn't stand that, baby." "So I'll stop, C, really." JC had just looked at him sadly. "I love you too much to lose you, Chris." And somehow, that had meant they were broken up. It was sometime after noon when Chris finally dragged himself downstairs and into the kitchen in search of coffee. Luckily, JC was as much a caffeine addict as him, so there was a half-full pot waiting on the counter. He had managed to inhale one cup and was starting on his second when JC wandered in, dressed in blue track shorts and a black wifebeater that made Chris very aware that he hadn't slacked off on his weight training. "Morning," he said far too cheerfully, and Chris scowled at him. JC didn't seem to notice. "Sleep well?" "Like a baby," answered Chris, who had spent a week at Joey's when Briahna was teething. "Good, 'cause I want to get in the studio today. I've been messing around in there while you were sleeping, and I think I got something worked out that's pretty close to useable." And so Chris found himself in JC's studio, which was even more tricked out than he remembered it being, singing about mountains. He wasn't entirely sure why, since JC was on a roll and didn't want to interrupt his flow by backing up to show Chris the rest of the song. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that mountains didn't usually disappear overnight and therefore represented undying love, although with JC, you never knew. They could just as easily stand for fame or be a phallic symbol or just rhyme with something JC wanted in the song. Either way, it had good harmonies, and Chris suspected it would totally rock with five voices blended together to sing it. Even if the fans didn't know what it was about, either. JC, as always, was completely focused, erasing several notes and pencilling in others as he made Chris sing the same lines over and over. Watching him hum to himself as he chewed the end of his pencil, Chris fought against the urge to steal the pencil and beat time with it on JC's keyboard. JC tended to get irritated by that kind of thing. Which was reason enough to do it, yes, but might just make JC throw some E's above high C into the song, and Chris didn't want to try to hit those night after night. He fiddled with knobs on the console until JC reached over absently to hit his knuckles with the pencil. "Chris. Thousands of dollars. Fuck it up and I have to kill you, man, and nothing I've written for this album will sound as good in four part harmony. Or, really, three, since I'd be in jail. So leave it alone." Chris sighed and sat, prudently tucking his hands under his thighs so he wouldn't give in to the urge to grab at things. JC went back to humming. Chris tried humming along, only to get a glare. He tried just sitting still and relaxing, but before he knew it, his foot was tapping and JC was frowning at him. Chris slumped down in his seat, frowning up at the ceiling. He'd forgotten--or, more likely, deliberately blocked from his memory--how uptight JC got when he was writing. There were reasons why he usually avoided JC during times like these, reasons that had to do with both of their sanities and continued survival. He sighed again, just for something to do, and shot a glance over at JC to see if he'd get a reaction. Nothing. JC was leaning forward, his hair curling around his face, looking unreasonably pretty. The muscles in his arms shifted as he wrote. Chris had an impulse to reach over and trace the contours of JC's biceps. Preferably with his tongue. He sighed, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth to keep it in place. While JC's reaction to a tongue bath would probably give Chris an answer to the "he loves me, he loves me not" question, the truth was, Chris wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. On the one hand, if JC fell out of his chair laughing, Chris's dreams of eventually getting back together with JC would be crushed. On the other hand, if JC turned and captured Chris's mouth with his, as Chris kept picturing, then Chris would be forced to decide if he could survive another potential break-up. Unless JC just wanted to throw him down on the floor and have hot, meaningless sex. That, Chris could probably handle. "Dude, you're staring," JC said suddenly. "Quit it. You're totally freaking me out." "I'm bored," Chris said, not whining because he was thirty-one years old and therefore too old to whine. JC sighed, scribbled something quickly on his paper, and handed it to Chris. "Here. Sing this." Chris glanced it over quickly, looking more at the tune then the words. JC had given him the whole song this time, so he hummed the opening bars to himself to get the pitch before starting to sing. He got the mountain thing this time. Yes, it did seem to be in the song to rhyme with "fountain" and "out then", but JC had worked it into a metaphor in the second verse about how love was always there, immovable, even when the people who were in love went away for a while. Midway through the second chorus, he started to wonder if JC might be trying to tell him something. He looked over at JC, and his voice abruptly left him. Because JC was watching him, a small smile on his face, his eyes tender in a way Chris hadn't seen in a long time. Thirty-five minutes later, Chris was ringing the doorbell at the place Lance was renting, still shaking. "Chris?" Lance was already frowning as he opened the door. "I thought you were in Florida." "Let's go get drunk." Chris pushed his way past Lance without waiting to be invited. "Like, right now." Lance frowned at him. "You've been at JC's." "How did you know?" Chris asked distractedly. He had his hand over his heart, feeling the rapid pounding of blood through his veins. Was it possible to have a heart attack just because someone looked at you the way you'd been dreaming for years that they would look at you again? "Because Justin said you were this close to getting back together with JC and that you were freaking out about it." "Justin lies." Chris tried to find the pulse point on his wrist. Should he be worried if he didn't have one? "Well, yeah, but . . ." Lance frowned at him. "What the hell are you doing?" "Having a heart attack. Do you remember the Heimlich?" "That's for choking, dufus." Lance wrapped an arm around him anyway, but since it was around his shoulder, Chris didn't think it was going to do him much good. Post-astronaut-training Lance had an iron grip, though, so Chris followed him meekly into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. "Okay, tell me what happened," Lance said in his best "I'm being patient with the morons" voice. Chris frowned at him. "I'd rather get drunk." "We can do that, too, but not until you tell me what happened." Chris's heart was finally calming down, mostly due to the fact that Lance was cutting off all circulation to it from the veins in his neck. He squirmed, but Lance didn't let go. He sighed. "JC looked at me." Lance snorted. "JC looks at you all the time, Chris. So do Justin and Joey and I, when there's nothing good on TV." "Asshole." Chris squirmed again, but Lance had him good. "You remember how Justin used to look at Britney? Right before he'd start in on co-owning property and how much his mama wants grandkids?" Lance winced. "Let's go get drunk." "The thing is," Chris said, or tried to, but he was drunk enough that it came out sounding more like "thinsies", "is that C and me? We're too fucking intense for my own good." "You are." Lance was frowning, which made him look disturbingly like a chipmunk. Chris had an urge to pinch his cheek, but a vague memory of Lance's super-strength suggested that doing so might be a bad idea. "Who told you that?" Lance asked. "C. In Germany, when we broke up. When he broke up. Wasn't my idea." Chris glared at Lance in case he was going to argue, but Lance didn't seem to notice. "Chris," he said slowly, "you know I love JC like he was my brother, but every once in a while? He's full of shit." Chris nodded morosely. He totally was. Like the time he'd told Justin that girls would like him better if he shaved off all his leg hair. "'Cause Justin couldn't wear shorts for weeks, and it was the middle of fucking summer." He sighed. "He's got a fucking mean streak, you know?" Lance shook his head. "You are totally wasted, aren't you?" "I don't know. Have I passed out yet?" Apparently he hadn't, because Lance made him walk out to the car, even though he said he didn't want to. Lance had a mean streak, too. The lights from the other cars on the road were making him dizzy, so he closed his eyes and listened to Lance hum along with the radio until they finally pulled to a stop. He let Lance pull him too his feet and walk him to the door, only realizing at the last minute that they were back at JC's. "Traitor," he said to Lance as JC suddenly stood in front of him, arms crossed, frowning, and in general looking like Chris's mom when Chris was in Big Trouble. "It's for your own good," Lance said, looking a little smug. JC took his arm, tugging him into the house. Chris let himself fall forward so that he was leaning on JC instead of Lance, partially because the room was spinning and partially because JC was still wearing the wifebeater. Pretty muscles. He rested his head on one. "What did you do to him?" JC asked. From the sound of his voice, it seemed that Lance was in Big Trouble, too. "This one is not my fault," Lance said. "Which is why I'm going home and you get to put him to bed. And for God's sake, talk to him tomorrow, would you?" "You want to come over and help me tie him down, first?" "Oooh, kinky," Chris muttered into JC's arm. The room had added a tilt to its spin that he didn't particularly like. "Can I watch?" He could feel the sigh shiver through JC's body. "I think it's time you went to bed." "Yours or mine?" JC sounded strangely sad when he said, "Shut up, Chris." Sometime after the sun came up, Chris awoke and realized two things: first, he felt like shit, and second, someone was in his room. Thoughts of burglars and those fuckers from The National Enquirer sprang to mind, but after a moment, he relaxed. What were the odds anyone intending to steal his belongings or his dignity--such as it was--would bring him coffee? "Chris?" JC. Damn it. He'd been hoping for Lance. He was pretty sure Lance had been around at some point. "Chris, I know you're awake. We need to talk." Chris debated whether getting his hands on the coffee was worth facing JC. The coffee won out, but only just. "Gimme," he mumbled, reaching his hand out from the covers. "Sit up, first." Gingerly, Chris complied. "Shit, C, close those curtains, will you?" JC handed him the coffee mug and went to fix the curtains. As they shut, Chris sighed in relief. Now, if he could just make JC leave him alone, he might actually survive the day. As usual, he had no such luck. JC sat down at the foot of the bed, tucking his legs under him in that double-jointed way he had that made Chris's knees ache. "I talked to Justin last night. He said that he told you I was still in love with you." Chris winced. "Way to beat around the bush, C." JC gave him a dry look. "Seems like you're doing enough of that for both of us." "Justin would spontaneously combust if someone took away his gossiping privileges." Taking a sip of his coffee, Chris made a mental note to do something horrible to Justin someday soon. "He was telling the truth." "I need more coffee." Chris started to crawl out of bed. JC grabbed his foot, leaving him with the choice of staying still or kicking JC off the bed. The second option sounded good, but there was a heavy armoire right in JC's flight path, so he was forced to remain on the bed. "Chris, just hear me out, okay?" JC rubbed his thumb over Chris's ankle. It was aggravatingly soothing. "Justin was right. I thought I was, not over you exactly, but kind of living with it, you know? Kind of like when you have a sore tooth and can't get to the dentist and you can stand it as long as you don't poke at it or eat anything too cold or too hot, but as long as you leave it alone, it's bearable." Chris's head pounded. "Dude, did you just compare me to a cavity?" JC pinched him. "Shut up and listen. It wasn't until we went on hiatus and quit seeing each other all the time that I realized that the whole reason I didn't think I was missing you was because you were there all the time, and I could kind of pretend we were still together, except without the sex. Which sucked, but not as much as not being together at all." Chris squirmed. Maybe if he got a better angle, he could get loose without bashing JC's brains into the furniture. "So I thought about calling you and telling you I'd been an asshole and I didn't want to be broken up anymore, except you were in Thailand and it cost too much, so I waited, and I started thinking that maybe I was being an even bigger asshole to just expect you to want me back, so I didn't." JC looked away. "Which may or may not have been the right thing to do, but anyway, you started acting weird and Justin told me what he'd said to you, so I knew why you were acting weird, and I figured I had to tell you." With morbid curiosity, Chris asked, "Tell me what?" JC looked back at him, and Chris thought for a second that his heart would stop. It was the same look as yesterday, gentle and direct and filled with love. Chris wanted to look away, but for some reason, he couldn't. "That I'm not ever going to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. I won't ask you to try again, I won't act any different toward you, and I won't ever bring this up again. If you ever decide you want to give it another try, I'm here, but it's got to be your choice." Chris would happily kill for some aspirin, or at least some more coffee. This was too much to ask of him this early in the afternoon, and with a hangover, too. Everything he'd wanted for five years right here in front of him, and the thought of reaching out to grab it left him in a cold sweat. "I haven't changed," he said abruptly. "I still argue and fight and I'm a complete asshole to people on a daily basis." JC nodded. "And I still hate arguing and fighting, and it still bothers me when you're an asshole to me. But maybe I've gotten used to it, or maybe I've grown up, or maybe I've just realize that it's not all that important in the long run, because it's not like it's kept us from being friends, right?" "I can't do it." Chris twisted, managing to get his foot loose without knocking JC over. "I can't break up with you again, C." He pushed himself up from the bed, glad he still had his clothes on as he headed for the door. "Christopher." He stopped, because he always stopped when JC used that tone. He felt JC's arms come around him, holding him tight from behind. "It's okay, Chris. That's what I've been trying to say. We've been through too much to let anything come between us." He kissed the edge of Chris's ear, a feather-light touch. "You're my best friend, man. I love you too much to lose you." "So you just left?" Justin asked. Chris stared up at the underside of his chin from where he lay with his head in Justin's lap. Which was way too bony, but he'd work on feeding the boy up tomorrow. Tonight was his turn to have a crisis. "What was I supposed to do? Declare my undying love and suggest we move to Vermont for the commitment ceremony? It's fucking cold there in the winter, you know." Justin frowned at him. At least, that's what Chris thought his expression was supposed to be. It didn't particularly look like a smile even though it was upside down. "You've been pining away for him for the past I don't know how long, and when he basically hands you himself on a platter, you come visit me?" He swatted the top of Chris's head. "Moron." "I was not pining!" Chris protested. Pining was for tragic heroines living in the English countryside. "Pining, moping, acting like an ass, it's all the same thing." Justin shrugged. "Chris, seriously, why are you here? Everything you've ever wanted is back in LA." Chris closed his eyes. Justin was right, but . . . "I had everything I wanted back in Germany. It didn't work out." "You're both older now, and C, at least, is wiser." Justin tugged gently on his hair until Chris opened his eyes. "No bullshit, man. I love you. I want to see you happy, and I haven't really seen that since you and C broke up." Chris didn't get tears in his eyes, because he was thirty-one years old and therefore too old to cry. It was just the smell of Justin's aftershave making his eyes water. "I don't know if I remember how." "Then go let JC remind you." Chris still had the keys to JC's SUV. A spare set of house keys hung on the same ring, so he let himself in. It was late, but Chris wasn't surprised to see the light on under the studio door. He opened the door without knocking and stood leaning on the doorjamb, watching JC fiddle with the controls on the console. Intent at his work, JC didn't look up when Chris cleared his throat. "Hey, C," Chris said, then winced as JC jumped back and banged his shin on the leg of the console. "Ow, shit, Chris! What are you doing here?" JC asked as he rubbed at his leg. "Justin," Chris said, and left it at that. JC nodded. "I'm glad you came back. I still want to finish working on the song, and I had a couple of ideas earlier about an--" "C," Chris interrupted. His heart was pounding again, but he ignored it. JC bit his lip. "Chris?" Chris moved closer, reaching up to cup JC's face with his hands. "I love you, too." |
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