Wishing

By: Emma

© 2001

Disclaimer: I don’t know NSYNC, nor do I know anything about their sexuality. I have my theories and my assumptions and yes, my gay-dar goes off full blast when I see certain members, but that doesn’t mean that any of them are gay. But if they were, does it really matter? It’s all about the music. Oh, and this story is a work of fiction. That means it’s fake. Not real. Absolutely untrue.

Lance noticed Joey doing it during the second week of the second leg of their tour. Anytime they passed a fountain, Joey would pause and dig in his pocket, standing silently for a moment before letting a handful of coins rain down into the chlorinated water. The first time he had let it slide without mention, because it was completely normal to do it every once in a while. But, when Joey started carrying around so much change in his pocket that one side of his pants hung lower than the other and there was a noticeable jingle to his step, Lance pulled him aside and asked him about it.

“What’s with the change, Joe?”

“Just in case we pass a fountain.” Joey answered without really giving an answer.

“But why?” Lance asked and Joey looked at him as if to ask ‘why else?’

“Because I need to make a wish,” he’d said simply before walking away, shaking his head. Because, to him, making wishes was as natural as breathing.

At some point Joey decided that making wishes wasn’t working for him, and Lance had to get used to finding Joey sprawled face down on grassy patches at truck stops and outside of buildings. He pretended, at first, that there wasn’t anything unusual in seeing Joey pushing aside blades of grass and examining the earth around him. Then Chris had pulled Lance aside during an outdoor photo shoot in which Joey had just ruined his third pair of khaki pants and demanded to know what kind of “freaky-ass drugs the superhero wannabe” was on. Apparently, the others in the group weren’t amused with the delays Joey was causing. Lance had only shrugged and Chris had glared at him before stalking off with a muttered “well you’re his best friend, find out,” thrown over his shoulder.

There was no way Lance was taking blame for Joey’s odd behavior and he’d stalked over to Joey and planted himself on the ground in front of his friend.

“So help me God, if you crushed one, I’ll kick your ass.” Joey muttered before Lance could open his mouth.

That threw him. “Crushed…what?” He asked cautiously, wondering not for the first time if maybe Joey was on drugs.

“A four-leaf clover.” Joey looked up then as if he’d just realized who was sitting in front of him.

“Why are you looking for four-leaf clovers, Joe?”

“I need luck,” was the only answer he would give, shaking his head when Lance pressed for more information.

Then the tour moved north and it was too cold for Joey to search for clovers during their downtime, and the snow that covered the ground only hindered the search anyhow. So Lance wasn’t all that surprised to walk out of his hotel room one night to find Joey standing on the balcony next to his, shivering in the frigid Toronto air as he stared up at the sky as if the answers to life’s questions could be found there. He stood silently for a moment, watching Joey shake from the cold before he returned inside and slipped through the connecting door into the other man’s room. He grabbed a blanket off the bed and joined Joey outside, wrapping the wool around his friend’s shoulders.

Joey jerked in surprise and swung his head around to look at Lance. “Thanks man,” he whispered before turning his eyes back to the sky.

“Wh-wh-what are you duh-duh-doing out here, Juh-Joe?” Lance stuttered through chattering teeth. He winced as his jaw slammed shut during one extra hard rumble of shivers.

Joey brought one hand up to Lance’s mouth and his fingers found Lance’s lips without looking. “Shh,” he whispered, as if speaking out loud was blasphemous in the religion of the night. He let his hand linger for a moment ad when he pulled it away Lance found himself missing the heat of his friend’s touch.

“What are you doing?” He asked again a moment later, the clanking of his teeth louder than his whisper. Loud enough to get Joey’s attention and cause him to really look at Lance for the first time since he’d come outside. Lance thought he must have looked pretty bad in the cold air because Joey moved behind him and pulled him against his chest, wrapping the blanket around both of them and tightening his grip until Lance leaned his head back on Joey’s shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m looking for shooting stars,” Joey whispered, his breath too warm to tickle as it slid across Lance’s ear.

“Wh-why?” Lance stuttered softly, wondering where his sudden speech impediment had come from.

“Because I need to make a wish.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Find one yet?” Joey shook his head. “What are you wishing for, Joe?” Lance whispered, turning his head so that he could see the strong line of Joey’s jaw. Then Joey moved away and an icy wind blew across his back, and he shivered again.

“Go back inside, Lance.” Joey whispered, moving to lean on the cold, metal railing. “I need to be alone.” He didn’t turn to look at Lance, but the set of his shoulders made it clear that he didn’t want to be argued with. So Lance went inside, but he didn’t return to his own room. Instead he sat himself in the middle of Joey’s King-size bed and waited for his friend to come in.

Joey blew in on a cold rush of air, stopping short at the sight of Lance on his bed. He stared for a moment, meeting Lance’s sea-glass green gaze with his cider-brown one before grabbing his flannel pajama pants and walking into the bathroom. Lance waited as he showered and when Joey emerged from the bathroom a while later Lance stayed silent, watching as he towel dried his hair on his way to the bureau. And when Joey pulled the towel from his head Lance met his surprised look in the mirror with one raised eyebrow. Joey sighed and turned around, crossing his arms and looking at the floor.

“What are you wishing for, Joe?” Lance asked for the second time and Joey sighed, exhaling heavily though his nose.

“Something I can’t have.” Joey replied. He rubbed his hand over his face, looking at Lance through his fingers.

Something in his bashful gaze made Lance’s breath hitch in his throat. “What?” He whispered, moving to stand on suddenly unsteady legs. Joey just shook his head and turned to face the mirror again, studiously going through the items he had spread out on his dresser. Lance closed the distance between them and covered Joey’s nervous hand with his own shaking one. Joey closed his eyes into a painful grimace and tried to pull his hand from beneath Lance’s. Lance just tightened his grip.

“What can’t you have?”

“You.” Joey said, so softly that Lance almost missed it over the thumping of his heart.

But he caught it and something inside him exploded as he got the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking. “Says who?” he whispered and Joey looked at him and frowned.

“What?” he asked, the surprise taking away his ability to whisper.

Lance smiled and pulled the hand he had clasped tightly in his own up to his mouth, turning it over and kissing the palm. “Who says,” he began, placing another kiss on the heel of Joey’s hand. “You can’t have me?”

“I-I-I…” It was Joey’s turn to stutter and Lance chuckled, a low laugh filled with mirth and love for his friend.

“You’re not the only one who’s been wishing, Joey.” He whispered, right before he slipped his hand behind Joey’s head and pulled him into a gentle kiss. When they pulled apart Lance leaned his forehead on Joey’s. “Next time, Fatone,” he said, drawing a ragged breath. “Tell me when you’re wishing for me.” Joey only nodded before their lips met again.

And over the hotel, in the blackness of the Toronto night, a shooting star blazed a trail across the sky.