Write
“Hey, guys, look what I found.” Justin waved a copy of Rolling Stone around as he showed up in Lance’s room for breakfast, coming through the adjoining door from his own room. It was a fairly recent issue, one that featured a long article about NSYNC, part of the No Strings Attached promo. “Remember this one? The one from March? That piece by Anthony Bozza?”“That was only six months ago, Justin. My memory isn’t completely gone yet, you know,” Chris groused at him, pouring way too much ketchup on his eggs. Justin ignored him, dumping cereal into a bowl and flattening the magazine out beside his cup of coffee. Lance smiled at Justin and passed him the milk.
“I know, I know, but listen to this part. How come I don’t remember this part?” Justin started to read out loud.
THE PHENOMENA OF THESE NOT-EXACTLY MACHO GUYS ENGAGING IN ANTI-MACHO ACTIVITIES AND BEING REWARDED WITH THE ADORATION OF A ZILLION NUBILE WOMEN PREDICTABLY WINS THEM PLENTY OF ENEMIES AMONG THE DUDES. "THERE IS AN ANXIETY AMONG THE DETRACTORS ON THE INTERNET," SAYS WALD, "IN REGARD TO WHETHER THESE BOY BANDS ARE MASCULINE ENOUGH -- ARE THEY 'QUEER,' BOTH IN THE SENSE OF BEING GAY AND ALSO IN BEING 'OFF' IN THEIR MASCULINITY. THEIR LYRICS ARE NOT OVERTLY SEXUAL LIKE SOME OF THE R&B SINGERS' ARE, AND THE FACT THAT THEY DON'T PLAY INSTRUMENTS IS AN ISSUE AS WELL. THEY'RE REALLY NOT BANDS PER SE, THEY'RE BOYS DOING THINGS WITH THEIR HANDS. THE MUSICAL DENIGRATION OF THE BOY GROUPS INTERSECTS WITH A SENSE THAT WHAT GIRLS LIKE IS DISMISSIBLE. IT DEVALUES GIRLS' PLEASURE."
ALL THIS LOFTY ACADEMIC TALK ISN'T LOST ON TIMBERLAKE. "IT MIGHT BE BETTER IF IT WASN'T SUCH A SPECTACLE," HE SAYS QUIETLY ABOUT THE UBERGLITZY, MISSION IMPOSSIBLE-ESQUE STAGE SHOW THAT THE GROUP WILL SOON UNDERTAKE. "MAYBE PEOPLE WOULD RESPECT IT MORE."
Justin stopped reading as Chris indignantly demanded, “What does he mean, ‘not-exactly macho?’ I’m as macho as they come, baby! Especially when I’m ‘doing things with my hands.’” He made air-quotes as he spoke, and seemed to be trying to thrust his hips suggestively, only slightly foiled by the fact that he was sitting at the breakfast table with a plate of eggs and toast in front of him.
JC choked on his orange juice. “You did not just say that, man,” he sputtered, helpless with laughter.
Chris grinned back at him. “I did.” He winked and leered at JC across the table. “Hey, C, wanna play ‘boys doing things with our hands’ together?”
To Justin’s great surprise, JC turned bright red. Chris smirked at him lasciviously. “How’s about we engage in some ‘anti-macho activities,’ baby?”
“Shut up,” JC mumbled, his eyes fixed on his glass of juice like it was suddenly the most important thing in the entire world.
Justin exchanged glances with Lance. Did he know about this? Lance shrugged and took a bite of toast, chewing thoughtfully.
“Well, I’m feeling a little ‘off in my masculinity’ this fine morning, so I’m gonna go take a nap to try and recover,” Chris said, pushing away from the table and standing up. “You coming, JC?” And again Justin was surprised, because JC nodded and got to his feet. He left with Chris, ruefully meeting Justin’s eyes as Chris dragged him away.
Huh.
“Did I miss something here? Is there something y’all aren’t telling me?” He looked accusingly at Lance, who was flipping through the old issue of Rolling Stone with Joey.
“Hey, I’m just here for the zillion nubile women,” Joey said, laughing as he, too, rose from the breakfast table. He grabbed the last chocolate muffin. “Roll-out’s in an hour. You know they’re not taking a nap. You figure it out. See you guys later.” He turned back when he got to the door. “No overtly sexual lyrics? Did he even listen to Space Cowboy?”
Justin snorted with amusement, then frowned. He hated the whole diss about them not playing their own instruments and are they gay and all the other things that were said about boybands. He hated that Chris felt the need to wear a hat with *NSuck emblazoned across the front of it on TRL to show that they could laugh at themselves. He didn’t want to laugh at himself. He hated the word “boyband.” He should have left the stupid magazine where he found it, although really, the actual article itself hadn’t been that bad.
He looked up to find Lance regarding him fondly. He ducked his head, feeling slightly silly. “I know, I know.”
“Justin, not everyone thinks that way.”
“I know, I just want-” Justin broke off in frustration. He just wanted respect, he wanted his peers and the critics and the whole damned music industry to take them seriously, to take him seriously. Most of the time he didn’t give it a second thought, because who had time to think these days? They were way too busy for that, and the roller coaster ride they were on seemed always on the verge of leaping off the track and sending them crashing down onto the pavement below if he didn’t hold on tight enough. But he wasn’t stupid, none of them were, and it was like a constant itch that he couldn’t reach, knowing the kind of things that were being said about them behind their backs, and sometimes right to their faces.
“I know. Sometimes I wonder just how successful you have to be for that shit to go away,” Lance said.
“Well, apparently more successful than anyone in the history of the damn world isn’t quite enough,” Justin said peevishly. He was tired and it was early in the morning and he couldn’t remember where they were or where they were going next. He desultorily scraped at the sugar in the bottom of his cereal bowl, until Lance pulled the spoon out of his hand.
“Come on. Let’s get ready to go. We can spy on Chris and JC today. I think this may be something new.” Lance tugged him to his feet.
Justin let himself be tugged. He was curious about Chris and JC, and he thought he might be a little annoyed about it as well. That could just be a combination of the early hour and the magazine, though. He’d have to let that resolve itself before he said anything to Chris.
~~~~~
Lance listens to the playback, fuming as JC’s voice spits in his ear. Justin thinks he’s so clever, thinks he’s disguised what’s going on in this song, hidden it under discordant rhymes and sharp beats. Maybe the other guys have it figured out, and maybe they don’t, but Lance isn’t stupid.
And it pisses him off that Justin thinks he is.
He looks up to find Chris’s eyes on him. “Get over it, Bass. It’s a good song.”
“Fuck off,” Lance tells him coldly as he yanks the headphones away from his ears. He tells himself he’d be better off not to engage, because Chris isn’t really the one he’s got the problem with, and if he expends all his anger arguing about it with Chris, he won’t have any left for Justin.
Well, okay, that’s not true, but, still.
Of course it’s not that easy. It never is with Chris.
“No, I don’t think I will fuck off, Lance. It’s a good song. Leave him alone. JC and I like it,” Chris says flatly, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Lance.
And the tone of Chris’s voice, so implacable, so adamant, like there’s no room for discussion, enrages Lance still further. “No, he doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to use-”
And just like that, Chris is up in his face. “He’s not using anything, you ass. He’s dealing. Shit happened, he’s not over it, he’s stuck here with your morose ass, and he’s trying to deal.” And then just as quickly, Chris backs off. He looks as if he’s sorry he said as much as he did. “Just-God, I am so fucking sick of the drama around here. I’m so sick of your shit.” His face twists in frustration.
And Justin’s not here to intervene this time, he and JC and the sound engineer are off somewhere eating sandwiches, and Joey’s picking up Briahna from school and it’s just Chris and Lance. Lance is suddenly glad this is happening now. There’s no one around to tell them not to do this. He faces Chris, determined to have it out once and for all.
“I swear to God Chris, if you say ‘I told Justin this wouldn't work,’ I won’t be responsible for my actions.” Chris wants drama, he’ll give him drama.
“As if you ever were, anyway.” And that hurts so much, is so unfair, that Lance can barely breathe. Chris doesn’t seem to care. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this again, Lance, waiting for us to get back together?” he asks, almost conversationally. He’s deceptively calm, but Lance knows better. He knows Chris.
“I’d guess just about as long as the rest of us have, Chris,” Lance snarls, his skin flushed with adrenaline. He will not allow Chris to guilt him into apologizing for anything. “It’s not my fault-”
“Bullshit. I’m really so sick of hearing you say that, Lance, you have no fucking idea. I told you-”
“Yeah, Chris, you told us. You always told us. Maybe if you hadn’t been so eager to tell us, so goddamned determined that it was going to be a problem, it wouldn’t have been. Maybe we could have dealt with things better if you’d been, I don’t know, supportive, instead of always shaking your fucking head and prophesizing disaster all over the damn place.” And he’s wanted to say that for years, and he has no idea why he never has.
“Are you putting this on me, Lance? Because if you’re putting this on me-” Chris’s hands are balled into fists, and Lance thinks it he might get hit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s thought that.
“Do you think we fell apart all by ourselves? Do you think things happened the way they did in a fucking vacuum?” Lance demands incredulously. Because they didn’t, and Chris knows that very well.
Chris shakes his head like he can’t believe Lance is being so deliberately obtuse. “You were too young, and too wrapped up in each other, and my God, Lance, look at the way we lived back then, it was fucking insane, no one could have handled that, let alone two stupid kids who’d never been in a relationship before and who were convinced theirs was a love for the ages.” And Chris sounds so cynical when he says that, and it’s not the first time, and Lance feels a stab of sorrow for him. Lance may be cynical now, but Chris always has been, and that’s just sad.
And is that what they were? Just dumb kids? It was a love for the ages, at least they had thought it was. Lance was never going to want anyone but Justin. It was inconceivable that they would ever end. He’d felt like all of it, the fame, the craziness, the power, would last forever. He’d known it couldn’t, of course, that kind of thing never did, but he’d desperately wanted it to. And he’d thought, at the very least, that when it was over, at the very least, he’d still have Justin. “You and JC-”
“Me and JC were only ever fooling around. Me and JC were never ‘in love.’” And Lance can see the finger quotes, even though Chris doesn’t make them. “But you two, you were like our very own boyband version of Ross and Rachael, only without the fun parts.” Chris’s voice is weary now, as if it’s just all too much to bear, and that’s totally unfair.
“You didn’t help, Chris. Do you know how much that hurt Justin?” He remembers the wounded bewilderment in Justin’s eyes sometimes when he looked at Chris back then. Chris has the grace to look a little ashamed at Lance’s words. “And something tells me you’re not being a big ball of encouragement this time, either.” And that startles Lance into shutting up for a minute. Does he really think there’s a this time? He backtracks over everything Chris said earlier. “What do you mean, he hasn’t gotten over it?” he asks slowly.
“Just what I said. He’s tried, and maybe you’ve noticed how well that’s worked out?” Chris watches him with sharp eyes.
“He walked away, Chris. He left. It was his choice.” And as far as Lance is concerned, that’s the bottom line.
“You know, Lance, I’m not going to get into a thing here with you about whose fault it really was, and who did what to who.” Chris throws up his hands and starts to move toward the door. “It happened a long time ago, and maybe he hasn’t gotten over it, but he’s moved on.” He pauses, hand on the doorknob, and sends a mocking smile in Lance’s direction. “I would suggest you do the same, except there’re a lot of pretty boys in LA and Vegas who could probably testify that you have, indeed, moved on.”
“So? That’s my business, Chris, my life, and-”
“And I’m not arguing with that. Do whatever you want, you’re going to anyway. But in case you haven’t noticed, Lance, this song,” and he pointed to the soundboard for emphasis, “This song isn’t the only song Justin’s written for you.” And with that he’s gone, the door slamming behind him, leaving Lance with nothing to say, and no one to say it to.
~~~~~
The bus rumbled down the Interstate, on it’s way to whatever city they were heading towards next. Justin still hadn’t gotten around to asking anyone where they were going, but he figured he’d find out when they got there. He had more important things to think about this morning.
He sprawled on the big leopard print couch, his eyes half-closed, watching Chris and JC through his eyelashes. They were engaged in a silent battle over Grand Theft Auto, neither one of them saying a word, just furiously working their controls. Justin nudged Lance with his shoulder. Lance, who had been dozing with his head on that same shoulder, grunted in annoyance.
“Shh,” Justin hissed in his ear. Lance batted at Justin’s head.
“What?” he croaked sleepily.
“Look at them.” He nodded in Chris and JC’s direction.
“What am I supposed to be seeing, Justin?” Lance yawned, big and wide, right in Justin’s face.
“Dude, you’re so sleepy today,” Justin said, momentarily distracted from his mission. He smiled down at Lance’s bleary eyes.
“Well, if someone hadn’t kept me awake half the damn night,” Lance started.
“You’re not really gonna bitch about that, are you?” Justin’s smile broadened as a light flush crept across Lance’s cheeks.
“Okay, no, I’m not.” Lance grinned back at him. “But I am gonna bitch if you don’t let me sleep right now.”
“Okay, you sleep. I’ll keep an eye on Chris and JC.” He nodded at the two on the other side of the bus, still locked in combat.
“Fine, you do that. Wake me up when we get to-” Lance blinked. “Where are we going again?”
“Beats the hell out of me, man.” Justin shrugged, and Lance closed his eyes and settled back in against Justin’s side. Justin felt his eyes start to droop, too, lulled by the rhythm of the wheels of the bus on the highway. He and Lance really hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. His lips curved into a satisfied smile at the memory.
Anthony was bitching that load-in was hard enough without Kirkpatrick getting in the way, and why weren’t they at the hotel instead of under his feet making trouble. Smiling apologetically, JC hooked an arm around Chris’s neck and hauled him away. He didn’t go quietly, but he did go, and that seemed good enough for Anthony.
Lance was off somewhere, probably on the phone, or maybe with Joey, and that was fine, they weren’t attached at the hip or anything. Justin was bored, and they didn’t have anything to do for at least an hour. He could find something to do on his own for once. He could spy on JC and Chris all by himself.
Maybe he should explore the venue. He didn’t usually get to see beyond the dressing rooms and the rabbit warren of corridors and offices and catering and showers and make-up and wardrobe storage areas they normally inhabited. There might be cool stuff to see if he opened a few doors and peeked inside.
He hit pay dirt on the seventh door. It was dark and he really couldn’t see what the room was used for, except that right now it was being used for sex.
The kind of sex where JC had Chris pinned up against the wall and Chris’s jeans were around his knees and Justin didn’t want to even think about where JC had his hand and what he was doing with it.
Chris didn’t even seem to notice Justin was there, but JC did. He turned his head towards the door and growled, “Get the fuck out, Justin.”
Justin had never heard that tone from JC before, but he reacted instinctively, finding himself out in the corridor with the door closed behind him before he even thought about it.
So, he was right. The more he thought about it, the less he understood it. So he did what he always did when he didn’t understand something--he asked Chris.
“Why is it okay for you and JC to be together, but even after all this time, you still act like me and Lance are going to crash and burn and somehow ruin your life?” The direct approach pretty much always worked best with Chris, as long as you were ready to hear the answer.
“JC and I aren’t together.” Justin raised his eyebrows at that. “Not the way you and Lance are,” Chris went on. “We’re just having fun.”
“Oh, like that doesn’t have the potential to blow up in our faces, is that what you’re saying?” Justin fought to keep his voice low, because everyone else was already asleep, and the last thing they needed was a group discussion about this in the middle of Highway 104, or wherever the hell they were.
“Pretty much, yeah.” Chris sighed impatiently. “I know, I know, it’s true love forever, or some such shit, and I’m a dick.” Chris held up a hand to forestall Justin’s protests. “May I remind you that things are a hell of a lot more complicated than you like to make them out to be?”
Justin didn’t say anything. Chris scrutinized his face, then nodded. “Yeah, I thought so.” He stood up and turned to go towards the bunk area. “You let me know when you’ve figured out what to do about Britney Jean. Then we’ll talk.”
~~~~~
write: a: to set down in writing b: to compose in musical form
