Thank you to Molly for the beta, Jenn for the hand holding and N. for the encouragement.
This is my first *NSYNC story so all comments and criticisms will be greatly appreciated.

2.1

He stops somewhere in Southeast Colorado, which is technically more West than Midwest, but he thinks that's the thing about these flat places: they all just bleed into each other. He always thought it was just an illusion created by the bus but now he knows why every person he's ever met that's from Kansas isn't there anymore.

It's sixty-seven minutes since he heard the news on the radio, and really god bless satellite, and sixty-five minutes after he hurled that piece of crap cell phone into the snarl of dirty clothes and empty Doritos bags that the back of his RV has become and he's standing at some payphone digging in his jeans for quarters. He dials the number and stands watching three men turn great bushel barrels over a flame, roasting green peppers until their skins turn black and the smoke smells just like all the Mexican food places he's ever eaten.

He counts four full turns and six rings before Joey picks up.

"Yeah."

"Tell me you knew about this."

"Chris?" Joey's voice is muffled and Chris looks at his watch, wondering if he caught Joey in the dressing room. "Fuck. Where are you?"

"Tell me you knew."

The silence at the other end is all the answer he needs but still he waits for Joey to talk again.

"No."

"Diane?"

"No. No one did. We all just found out."

"Fucking MTV."

Joey snorts. "No shit. I have curtain in an hour and all I've been doing is answering my phone and explaining that no Lance doesn't tell me shit anymore either."

Joey's voice sounds raw and bitter, except Joey doesn’t do bitter. Pissed, maybe, and that's something that Chris can relate to. Fucking Lance.

"Listen. I've got to-"

"Yeah. Okay. Go sing your little Italian heart out. I'll catch you when I get back."

Chris hangs up before Joey can answer.

1.5

He watched Lance. Lance who was standing in his casual business attire talking to them like potential investors for any one of his many projects. Really all Chris was waiting for were the inevitable pie charts and bar graphs that would surely help Lance elucidate his point and drive his sale home. Not that there was any danger that they would say no to him but Chris desperately wanted to tell him that he should have left the door to door salesman at home and brought the wide-eyed kid with a dream instead. It would have been a much easier sell. And maybe Chris wouldn't have been so quick to laugh.

He was obviously the last to know. The only one whose jaw hit the floor and okay, he thought, that made sense. Joey was Joey and would always and forever know everything about Lance first. And JC was the type of guy that you couldn't help but tell your dreams to. And Justin had first thrown out the idea of a solo album about three days before so Chris knew Lance probably floated the idea there. Mostly, though, no one seemed at all surprised but him.

So Chris waited and waited for the laugh track to kick in and when it didn't he went ahead and provided his own. He laughed and Lance waited patiently until he was done.

"Kind of lame, huh?" Lance asked, his eyes on his shoes.

"Hey. Whatever man. Just don’t come crying to me when the nights are too cold and all those Russian men refuse to help you warm the bed." He felt like an ass, but it had been almost a year of just not talking about it at all. And at some point they were going to have to be able to joke about it, about the whole last year and all the time before, and it might as well be then, he decided. Lance was going into space and it might as well be then because it was all Chris could do not to keep right on laughing.

And maybe, maybe he said it just because it was something he would have said before.

2.2

Chris had plans to buy a small bushel of peppers and sit on the steps of the RV peeling the blackened skins, tearing up just a little as the oils soaked into his pores. Instead he's watching the bright lights of Broadway slip by the window on his way to Joey's apartment. It feels like he was just here, the city settling back onto his skin, covering up the lingering smell of smoke, and he remembers that he was just here. The VMAs were only three weeks ago. Three weeks ago when Lance was still going into space.

-

Joey's on the phone when he arrives and Chris knows he's talking to JC by the soft tones.

They don't know where he is. No one, it seems, does. All they know for sure is that he's not in Russia and not in the US. And Chris just laughs at Justin when he says, in all earnestness, that at least they can narrow it down.

And then it's two days in New York and still not a word from Lance. But then MTV.com says he's in London, for some much needed R&R, so that's where Chris goes.

-

Joey doesn't say anything when Chris tells him the flight leaves in two hours, just climbs into the limo behind him and spends the whole ride staring out the window.

Joey insists on walking him to the gate, talking about Bri and Broadway and the cute makeup girl the whole way.

"Aristocratic she called it." Joey turns his head, giving Chris a clear view of his profile like he's never seen it before.

"Dude. She just wants in your pants."

"I know." Joey grins. "But I'm easily impressed by smart women."

"No, man, you're easily impressed by pussy."

Joey looks wounded and Chris thinks he might just haul back and hit him, lay him flat right here on the concourse. He's disappointed when Joey's doesn't hit but just lets his hand fall heavy on Chris' shoulder, his fingers curling tight around the bones. Before he can protest Joey's hauling him in for a hug. He sometimes forgets how much smaller he is than Joey but now Joey is wrapped around him and Chris isn't going anywhere until Joey decides to let him.

"Just. Don't fuck this up. Okay?"

"Hey! Fuck you too." He tries for joking but like everything else it comes out snide and mean.

"Chris." And it's that voice that always reminds Chris that Joey's a dad and way more fucking grown up than he'll ever be.

"I know, Joe. Okay. I know."

1.4

"So." Lance slid into the booth, pinning Chris between the wall and his body, and swallowed half his glass of beer before continuing. "We're dating, huh?"

"Yeah. Didn't you get the memo?" Chris laughed into his glass, poking with a free hand at Lance's ribs. He hadn't meant to say that really, that part about Lance dating him, but Larry King had been an asshole and Lance was always up for shit like that anyway.

"Memo?" Lance feigned shock, cupping his face in both hands, letting his mouth fall open in a wide 'o'. "And here I was, waiting for your letter jacket."

"Whoa. What makes you think you're the steady, huh? You're just the rebound guy. You don't go giving your letterman jacket to the rebound guy."

Lance grinned and downed the rest of his glass. "You want?" He lifted his chin at Chris' almost empty glass, wandering off to the bar when Chris nodded.

Foam ran over the rim of the glass when Lance set it down, covering Lance's fingers on its way. Chris tried not to watch as Lance sucked at his knuckles.

"The rebound guy, huh?"

"Yeah. Don't take it personally but I'll be over you by this time next week, rejuvenated and on the prowl."

"For the love of your life?"

"That or a quick lay. I'm flexible."

Lance nodded and shimmied a little across the bench, his leg touching Chris' under the table. "So this rebound gig? Correct me if I'm wrong but doesn't it usually involve rebound sex?"

Chris choked on his beer, grabbing for a napkin as the bitter liquid ran down his chin. It wasn't like Lance didn't know; Chris had never tried to keep it secret that he swung that way. Chris looked hard, searching Lance's face for the joke he knew must be there. When he didn't find it he looked for the telltale signs of drunkenness. But Lance's eyes were clear and bright as they stared at the back wall, not really meeting Chris' gaze. "You're offering?"

Lance shrugged and slid back a little. "I just thought…"

Chris arched his eyebrows and waited.

"You know. Sex. Like. Just sex. No strings attached."

Chris laughed and Lance grimaced and Chris wondered if maybe Lance wasn't just a little drunker than he appeared.

"God, we've pretty much ruined that phrase, haven't we?"

Chris laughed again and wondered if maybe he wasn't just a little drunker than he appeared, too.

"Hey. Okay. Never mind. All you had to do was say no." Lance mumbled a little under his breath when Chris hadn't stopped for a full minute. He shifted his weight away from Chris and moved to leave.

"No. Wait." Chris grabbed at his wrist and pulled Lance off balance, grunting when he wound up with half a lapful of popstar.

"So, yeah?" Lance righted himself, and Chris had to bite back the laugh because Lance's eyes were huge and excited, none of that cool façade that Chris really kind of hated now that Lance seemed to wear it everywhere. "I mean, this wouldn't be like me taking advantage of you in, you know, your weakened state?"

"No." Chris reached under the table and let his hand fall over Lance's knee. "This is fine, this is great. And Jesus fuck you talk a lot."

Chris watched as Lance's gaze went from concerned to hungry and couldn't help but flinch a little when Lance leaned over, his mouth right up against Chris' ear. "You like how I talk."

The voice was low and more Southern than it'd ever rightly been and Chris felt it working its way down his spine, little shudders like the best kind of pain.

-

Ten minutes later he was pinning Lance's hands above his head, Lance's legs crossed in the small of his back as Chris pushed inside.

-

He woke up to the sound of the shower running, rolled over and groaned. The sheets smelled like Lance.

He just lay there; eyes closed, his recovered t-shirt resting on his chest, and waited. Waited until Lance was out of the shower and half dressed, his back to Chris while he pulled up his pants.

"What are you doing here?" was not at all what he meant to say and he would have blamed it on still being drunk if he could. But he wasn't. He wasn't even hung over.

Lance's back straightened, the muscles bunching and pulling across his pale shoulders. He pulled his shirt over his head and answered without turning.

"It's my room."

And sure, Chris had noticed the laptop and suitcase that definitely weren't his but that wasn't really the question.

"Yeah. Okay. Really not the point."

"Chris." Lance shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels and looking everywhere but Chris' face. And good, okay, that was something Chris knew: the awkward morning after complete with requisite avoidance and a good two meters of personal space. And fuck Lance because Chris hadn't been drunk and he was pretty sure Lance hadn't been either. But maybe that was just one more thing that Lance had learned to hide. And it was fine, all fine, because better a drunken stumble than a pity fuck.

"I was drunk," he blurted because he didn't think he could survive hearing Lance say it first. And it was just like some stupid sitcom where the awkward silence is broken by the two friends at the exact same time, both talking all over the other in a rush to say the same damn thing. But his life had never been a sitcom and whatever Lance had said it didn't sound anything like drunk.

"Wait. What?"

"I said…" Lance wasn't looking anywhere but him then, eyes flat and voice low. "I said this was a mistake."

That wasn't it. Chris knew that wasn't it at all but he just nodded and sat dumbly, fingering the worn soft t-shirt and watched Lance leave.

-

Joey didn't speak to him for a week and Lance two more days after that. But it was okay because he had Justin who called Lance a 'prissy bitch' with lots of flair and little real conviction and JC. JC who had sat with Chris and listened to him use every unpleasant and loathsome name to describe Dani those first few days but who just shook his head and hugged Chris hard whenever he mentioned Lance.

2.3

Chris meets him in London, although Lance doesn't know he's coming so it's less like meeting him and more like tracking him down. And he does. Tracks him down in some dark punk bar that's not at all Lance's style but a lot like his own and Chris briefly lets himself think that there might actually be hope for Lance yet.

He watches from a corner, hanging back because Lance is in it deep with a tall kid with blue-black hair and more eyeliner than Cher.

He watches the kid go to the bathroom and something twists in his chest when Lance follows. He bites back the curses because it's so fucking stupid and not at all unlike what he'd done in clubs just like this one when they were pedaling themselves out across Europe. But Lance is still younger now than Chris was then.

The bass beat shakes the table a little and Chris abandons his empty glass and shuffles to the bar, orders another beer and waits.

He's only two sips into his beer when the kid comes out looking pissed. His gut twists again and he works to keep his steps even and slow as every precautionary story he's ever heard about dirty bathrooms in seedy clubs runs through his brain.

The door swings too wide and slams into the wall but Lance doesn't even jump, just finishes rinsing his hands and shakes the water off.

"You ready to go?"

Chris just nods, doesn't even question how Lance knows. Lance always fucking knows.

He follows Lance as they wind towards the exit and Chris pulls his jacket around him against the cold and damp.

1.3

Chris sat on his couch staring at contracts and briefs, things that he didn't really understand yet but that he knew he would before he signed. The trial was almost over the lawyers kept telling them, it was going well they said. He wanted to believe them, and as soon as they were away from Lou, as soon as new contracts, ones that he understood inside and out, were signed he would.

He tossed one sheaf aside and reached for another when the knock came. Still clutching the papers he opened the door to find Lance.

"Come on." Lance grabbed the papers, tossing them on the table by the door.

"What are you doing?" Chris looked down to where long fingers had encircled his wrist and then back up at Lance's bemused face.

"You're taking me to eat," Lance explained like it was perfectly obvious and he was a little disappointed in Chris for being slow on the uptake. Chris really hated that tone.

Chris shook off the hand and motioned Lance in. "Shouldn't that be the other way around? I mean you storm my home, assault me and then I'm supposed to buy you a taco? I don't think so." He flopped down on the couch, reached for another contract and grinned at Lance. "Besides, I'm busy."

"Sitting alone at home and moping isn't busy, it's pathetic." Lance kicked at his feet and tossed keys in his lap. "Now get your ass up, I'm hungry."

"Fuck off, working here."

Lance looked unimpressed. "Seriously. Now. Or I'll call your mother and tell her you've holed yourself up and are refusing to eat."

"Oooooh." Chris fluttered his hands in front of him. "Scary."

"Fine," Lance sighed and moved towards the phone. "I'll call my mother."

"Oh fuck you! Don't you ever fight fair?" Not that Chris was scared of Diane he just really hadn't been able to look her in the eye for months. Not since she'd hugged him in the corridor while Lance had lain asleep, the unsteady rhythm of his heart traced in green lines, and whispered in his ear that it wasn't his fault. The same reason he'd already decided, as soon as Lance had mentioned food, that he'd go. It was small and not nearly enough but making sure Lance ate was something Chris could do.

"Fighting fair is too much work," Lance grinned and pulled Chris to his feet so quickly they almost ended up a pile on the floor. "Let's go."

"Okay, okay, keep your panties on." Chris laughed, letting Lance pull him out the front door and into Chris' car.

"So where we going?"

"Usual."

"No," Lance groaned. "I meant real food."

"Mexican is real food."

"Yes. But Taco Bell doesn't count as Mexican. Turn here."

"Where are you taking me, Bass?"

"For authentic TexMex."

Chris glanced over, amusement plain on his face. "And what would you know of that, Mississippi boy?"

"Just trust me. It'll be good, I promise."

Chris looked skeptical but followed directions until they were finally sitting in some hole in the wall binging on chips and salsa while they waited. Chris wasn't at all surprised when the food came and Lance was proven right.

-

Chris wasn't surprised when Lance followed him back inside after lunch and made himself at home on the couch. Chris grabbed a random tape and threw it in the machine, turning the volume low, and took up next to Lance on the couch. He didn't say anything when Lance curled up next to him, head in Chris' lap and one hand curled over his thigh.

He waited until Lance's breath evened out, his body slack with sleep, before he reached for the next contract. He muted the movie and ran his fingers through soft blonde hair as he read.

It felt like hours later when the phone rang and caused Lance to stir next to him. His breath caught when Lance's hand slid up his leg, grip tightening as Lance slowly woke.

"Chris, man, I know you're there, pick up. Okay, fine, just get your ass over here when you get this. I'm having a PlayStation crisis here."

"Justin?" Lance raised his head just enough to be heard. His eyes were blurry with sleep and Chris had to resist the urge to smooth down errant spikes of blonde hair.

"Boy can't problem solve for shit."

Lance nodded, squeezing one last time at Chris' leg as he sat up. "You going over?"

"Yeah. He'll be calling every five minutes until I do."

Lance laughed into his hands as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "I should probably get home. Early at the courthouse tomorrow."

"Yeah." Chris felt his face fall and tried to turn before Lance saw.

"Hey." Lance knocked his shoulder against Chris'. "It's gonna be okay. Right. I mean, if nothing else we got our name."

"We shouldn't have to be doing this."

"Yeah. We should have paid more attention," Lance agreed, his face drawn and serious.

Chris just nodded, refusing to look at Lance.

"No. Hey." Lance raised a warm hand to Chris' neck, lightly stroking the short hairs at the nape. "I mean we all should have. And we will from now on. It'll work out."

Chris leaned into the touch and, for a minute, let himself believe.

2.4

Chris pretty much hates London. Technically he hates Germany but he's more than willing to extend the sentiment to encompass the entire continent and further. He could live here the rest of his life and never be warm again and why Lance gave six more months of his life to this heartless place he'll never understand.

Lance turns the corner quickly, face to the wall and Chris is ready to move in and hold his head while he boots before he realizes that Lance is just using his body to shield the wind. Chris sees the dull red flare before he smells the smoke and Lance wordlessly hands him one while dragging hard on his own.

"Thought you couldn't have these with the training." Chris takes the cigarette without looking at Lance.

"Not in training anymore."

Chris turns when Lance starts to move again, sure that those four words are all he's going to get for now. The hand on his arm is as much a surprise as the paper it offers. Chris grabs the folded sheet and looks up but Lance is already moving out of the alley.

He grips the cigarette between his lips and unfolds what Lance has given him. It's in Russian but Lance's name is spelled out in big bold letters in the middle and it altogether looks a lot like the school award Taylor got for her dinosaur diorama last year, except where hers said 'Third Place' Lance's says 'Cosmonaut'.

Chris refolds the little paper, tucking it into his coat pocket as he follows Lance out of the alley. They walk quietly and Chris has no idea where they are or where they're going. All he knows is that his fingers are damn near frozen and Lance is actually starting to piss him off with the silent routine.

"So. April?" he tries, and fuck it if Lance doesn't want to talk. Chris flew across a damn ocean for him and maybe Justin was right, Lance is just a prissy bitch most of the time. He's just good at hiding it.

Lance laughs, his breath hanging in the air for a moment before dissipating.

"That's what they tell me." He takes another long pull from his cigarette before tossing it down, and grinding it under his heel. Chris catches his eyes for a minute, holding Lance's gaze for the first time all evening. He looks tired, Chris thinks; dark smudges under his eyes that could just be shadows but aren't.

"It's fucking freezing," Lance says and Chris looks away, tossing down his own cigarette as Lance steps to the street, arm thrown up for a cab.

1.2

Chris slid into a back booth with his beer, careful of the torn vinyl and cracking tabletop. Both Joey and JC had begged off for the evening and Chris hadn't bothered to ask Lance as he usually just smiled and politely turned down clubbing invites.

He was half done with his beer and making plans for a hasty exit when he spotted him. Lance was in the middle of the dance floor bouncing with the music, moving in such a natural, easy way that Chris had to look twice just to make sure it really was his bandmate. His blue shirt shimmered in the light, inching up a little each time Lance lifted his arms to expose his stomach where his pants clung tightly to his hips.

Chris was grateful the club was relatively empty and that he'd found a booth way back in the shadows with an unimpeded view of the dance floor. He stared unabashed. Lance had never danced with them at clubs, at least not like that. Chris knew it wasn't because he couldn't; JC had taught Lance to feel music, to just move with it, when they'd first started. It was the choreography that Lance had a problem with. He'd always just assumed Lance was embarrassed, or just didn't like dancing very much. But as Chris watched him on the dance floor, grinding down unselfconsciously in the mass of bodies, it was clear that he was enjoying it; was even very good at it.

The song changed, something slower with a deep bass beat. Lance turned but still didn't seem to see that he was being watched so Chris slid out of the booth and took a step towards the floor before he realized that Lance had his hands resting on a set of narrow hips. Hips that were feminine in the way only tall, lanky boys' could be.

Chris pushed back into the shadows, willing Lance not to see him. It wasn’t really a problem because Lance was busy, his fingers wandering over the pale strip of skin running over his dance partner's hips. Chris closed his eyes against the image. He hadn't known and how could he have not. He wondered, briefly, if he should maybe get 'moron' tattooed on his forehead because looking back he realized Lance had never been subtle, never really tried to hide. Chris just hadn't seen; hadn't wanted to.

Chris threw back the rest of his beer and made for the door, careful to keep as many bodies as possible between himself and the dance floor. The cold night air bit through his jacket, stinging his skin as he walked back to the hotel.

-

Chris woke with soft hands on his face, his body rolling a little where the mattress dipped. It occurred to him to be freaked out briefly but then waking up with one of the other four in his room really wasn't that odd a thing anymore.

"What time is it?" he asked, squinting, unable to see the clock without his glasses.

"4:30."

He sat up, brushing away the hands he'd seen not two hours earlier around the waist of some pretty blonde thing. He leaned back against the headboard and waited. Lance came to him, after all.

"You could have just asked," Lance said finally.

"We did. You lied."

"I didn't. JC asked if I'd ever been with a girl. I haven't." Lance's voice was calm and clipped like he was maybe offended that Chris had even thought him a liar. And wasn't it just like Lance to get off on the technicalities.

"But you've been with boys?"

Chris' eyes started to adjust and he could just make out Lance's profile.

"Yeah," Lance answered, bowing his head to look at the hands twisting in his lap.

"Last night?"

"No."

"Are you lying again?"

"I didn't Chris. I don't."

"Okay," Chris nodded because Lance sounded like he needed to be believed. And really, Chris knew Lance didn’t lie. Not to them. Not about the big stuff. Not yet.

"Do the others…?"

"Just Joey. He covers for me sometimes."

"Okay," Chris nodded, not really sure where to go from there, "okay." It was too late to be having conversations like that he was pretty sure. He pushed Lance's leg a little, until Lance looked back up. "Move over man, I gotta piss."

Lance snorted a small laugh and shifted around, letting Chris up off the bed.

He caught his reflection as he was washing his hands and cringed a little. He looked like shit. They all did. Constant touring and the damn cold, but they were finally big in Europe and Lou said it wasn't long now till they went home. Chris ran a hand over his face, still grimy from the show and club and hoped it was early enough that he'd actually be able to get a whole shower's worth of hot water.

When he came out twenty minutes later, Lance was asleep on his bed, curled up on his side, his hands tucked between his knees to keep them warm. He wondered if he should wake Lance, hustle him back to his own room. He decided against and instead threw the covers over the sleeping form, wrapping him up as best he could and ignoring how Lance sighed and shifted back into the touches.

Chris dressed quietly and left for coffee. The sun wasn't up yet and the air still night frigid and Chris couldn't help but hate himself because Lance had just come out to him and all he could think about were 'if this gets out' scenarios. In his mind they all ended badly for Lance, for the band, for him.

He paid for the coffee, carrying four and using the fifth to scald the bitter taste from his mouth.

Lance was gone by the time he got back.

2.5

Lance doesn’t say anything when they get in the cab so Chris gives the guy the name of his hotel while Lance stares out the window.

He wonders if he's going to have to make a scene when they arrive, drag Lance out forcefully and all that because there's no way that Chris came all the way to London just to let him sit alone in the cold. But then they're there and Lance stumbles out of the cab right behind him and really Chris is pretty thankful. He doesn’t think he can push Lance around anymore if Lance doesn't want to be pushed, even with how drawn and pale he looks now that they’re in the light.

Lance doesn't say anything in the lobby. Not in the elevator. And not when he follows Chris into his room and pushes him back up against the door. Chris can taste the whiskey burn and Coke sweet in Lance's mouth and pushes their bodies to the bed, taking everything Lance needs to give.

Lance growls when Chris is kneeling between his legs trying to kiss and go slow. A sound low in his chest that Chris can feel through his fingers all the way to his cock and Lance is pushing him away, pushing him over until Chris is sprawled on his back and Lance is crouched over him, rolling the condom on and taking him all the way in.

It's fast and rough and Lance is chewing on his bottom lip so it's probably too much but Lance doesn't stop so Chris grabs at his hips until he comes with a sharp cry.

-

He wakes just as the first light is coming in and it's not long before he hears Lance stirring beside him. The first words out of Lance's mouth are "this isn't my room" followed quickly by "I was drunk." Chris thinks maybe it sounds more like a question than a statement of fact. Lance sits up, throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands, looking back down at Chris.

Chris pretends he's asleep.

-

"I wasn't…" Chris sits on the edge of the bed, clutching at the hem of his t-shirt and talking before Lance is even really in the room. "I wasn't drunk."

He hopes he doesn't sound pathetic but he can't tell because Lance is staring right at him, low voice cutting under his. And all he wants is one of those sitcom lives where shit like this counts as an overture of love and the two people who talk at the same time always mean the same damn thing, laugh at the misunderstanding and fall back into bed.

Instead he watches Lance pull on his shirt and shoes, looking everywhere but at Chris.

"Lance?"

"I said…" Lance's back tightens under his shirt as he reaches for the door. "I said this was a mistake."

And, yeah, Chris knows that's exactly what Lance said.

1.1

Chris was a light sleeper. Self-preservation had taught him that. It had also taught him to be adaptable, that sleep was important. So it only took four days of being woken up twice nightly by soft footfalls - first Lance leaving the room, later returning - before he learned to sleep through it.

-

He didn't know if Lance was still getting up every night and forgot about it altogether until rehearsal one night when Joey said something about Lance looking tired.

"Joey, man, the kid's like an albino. Of course he looks tired, it's like part of their image."

Joey cuffed him and laughed deep in his chest but Chris looked harder and thought one sleepless night wouldn't kill him.

-

The soft rustle of bedclothes woke Chris and he turned in bed watching the LED display count off ten minutes before he threw back the covers and reached for a t-shirt.

He was quiet on the steps, avoiding that one, third from the top, because those months around Lance had taught them all that the kid was jumpy. Chris knew Lance didn't learn that at home but he can't remember if he came to Florida that way.

Lance wasn't in the dining room or the living room or the kitchen and Chris was ready to go back up and check the bathroom when he saw the back door and the small can of soup that was propping in open.

The night air warmed his skin and Chris really loved Florida. Could live there his whole life without ever being cold again and some days that was really all he needed to know.

Lance was leaning back in one of the chaise loungers that Joey had managed to scavenge from a garage sale for a buck and quarter each. One leg bent up and the other folded underneath, his foot tapping to a rhythm Chris couldn't hear. He had his head tilted back and eyes open but Chris knew Lance didn't see him. He scuffed his feet, kicking at the ground but Lance must have had his music loud because he still jumped about a mile high when Chris touched his leg.

"Chris? I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Nah," Chris lied. "Couldn't sleep."

"Yeah. Me either."

"Homesick?"

Lance looked over at him, catching Chris' eyes with his own. "No."

Chris snorted a laugh. Kid couldn't lie worth shit. "Liar."

It was too dark to see but Chris was sure Lance was blushing as he twisted his hands in his lap. His head down, his voice was not really much more than a whisper but the even with the city noises Chris could hear.

"I miss my momma. Like. A lot. And I kind of miss home, but just my friends. Not really high school or anything."

Chris nodded but didn't really understand. He'd never been that attached to a place. Home was always just where he was at any given moment. Orlando now, Europe soon, and he didn't really think much farther after that.

"So your grand plan against homesickness is to sit outside and mope?" It wasn't really funny but he grinned anyway and was relieved when Lance grinned back.

"Nah. There's supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. I was up and thought I'd come out for it."

"Cool. So which way do I look to see this spectacular event?"

"Um. You can't. Actually."

Chris blinked because he was pretty sure Lance had just told him in his pleasant way that he would appreciate it, please, if Chris just left him the hell alone. Which was obviously not what Lance meant.

"What? Is there an admission fee or something? Some kind of interstellar drive-in you're running here, Bass?" He tried to sound joking but it sounded brittle in his own ears.

"No," Lance was quick, his voice louder than he needed to be and Chris smiled because of course Lance hadn't wanted him to leave. "No. I just. The lights." Lance gestured up vaguely. "The lights are too bright, you can't see."

"So wait. You're sitting out here, at buttfuck in the morning, waiting for a meteor shower that you won't be able to see?"

"Okay. See. It sounds really stupid when you say it like that."

Chris wrinkled his forehead, his eyebrows arching and waited for Lance.

"It's just. It's this thing. I always watched them at home and now…I mean, it's still happening, even if I can't see, it's still there and if I didn't watch I'd know I'd missed it."

"That's…"

"Lame? Yeah. I know. What can I say? I'm just as dorky as I look."

And Chris had to laugh at that because really Lance looked like the poster boy for dorkiness.

"Hey. Whatever man. Just don't come crying to me tomorrow when you're all dragging your ass around."

Lance grinned a little and nodded and went back to watching the sky. Chris tilted his head back and tried to pick out all the constellations he could name.

It was still dark when he woke up, his back aching a little from the awkward position. The old blanket they kept on the back of the couch was draped over him and the lounger next to him empty. He drew the blanket around him cursing Lance under his breath for the knots he felt forming in his back.

He wandered over to the dining area that doubled as a practice room just in time to watch Lance step too far, his foot sliding on the slick floor, his body impacting heavily when it fell. A grunt and a low moan and Lance rolled to his back; one arm flung up over his eyes the other still clutching his Walkman tightly to his chest. Chris watched the sharp rise and fall of his breathing and thought about the way the light from the small lamp made the skin where Lance's neck met the edge of his shirt glow.

The next night he slept straight through.

2.6

They don't fly back together. Chris takes an earlier flight so he can catch the connection to Denver and pick up his ride. He had plans, after all, and can't wait to get back to flat, dry places and those peppers that are green under black and have oils that burn his skin and give him a real reason to cry.

-

Joey's waiting for him at the gate, Dodgers hat pulled low and glasses on, and he's holding a sign that reads 'moron'. Chris doesn't even think to argue. He really believes that Joey is going to hit him this time when he tells the story but Joey just hugs him again and pulls him to the next gate.

He wants to say 'it's not my fault' whenever Joey looks over at him but he's not even sure it's the truth so he stares at the lights out on the tarmac, ignoring Joey and pretty much everything else.

-

He heads back East because, frankly, he's a little scared of the mountains and there's just no way that he's driving through them, not now that it's October and there's a sheen of snow on his RV. So it's more bleeding landscapes and ink black nights and by the time he gets to La Junta the men and their bushel barrels are packed up for the season. He finds a run down bar that declares the best green chili in five counties on its marquee and orders the biggest combo plate they have.

His waitress, Penny, who's way too young to be working in a bar, keeps looking at him over her notepad and finally asks if he's that guy, snapping her fingers as she reaches for a name. He nods and smiles and signs her notepad even though he's pretty sure that he's just been mistaken for a Backstreet Boy because she goes away humming something that sounds a lot like I Want it That Way. He leaves her a big tip anyway.

He slows down, taking more time for tourist traps and holes in the wall. Joey won't be done with Rent until Christmas and there's not really anything to hurry back for. He calls Joey a lot, mostly just to listen to him talk. He had to get a new cell phone and the sound is so crystal clear he's actually pretty glad he trashed the last one. Joey always talks about Bri and Broadway and the cute makeup girl. Only once does he mention Lance.

"You should call him."

"I will."

"It's been, like, weeks. Call him."

Chris nods even though he knows Joey can't see and hangs up.

-

He's put out for a nice hotel room in one of the Dakotas when he rolls over and finds Lance in his bed. He doesn’t really waste any time wondering how it is that Lance ended up in his bed somewhere on the great plains because Lance is like that, so resourceful that he pretty much gets everything he wants. Pretty much. He turns over and falls back asleep wondering if the bed will still even be warm when he wakes.

When he rolls over again Lance is still there, awake and looking at him.

"It wasn't," Lance says, his eyes soft and unfocused as his fingers curl around Chris' nape. Chris closes his eyes and feels the press of soft lips to his own. "Just so you know, it wasn't a mistake."

He wraps his arms around Lance's waist, pulling until Lance's head is resting against his chest. Lance is warm against him, curling his body around Chris' and Chris knows he could stay right here and never be cold again.

end