All Over You
By: Rhys

~~~
our love is like water
pinned down and abused
for being strange
- Live, "All Over You"
~~~

"Looking sexy, baby," Chris said, batting his eyelashes as he squeezed Joey's ass. Joey rolled his eyes but blew a kiss, and Justin laughed, shaking his head. "What's wrong, Curly? Feeling neglected?" Chris dropped onto Justin, grinding. "I love you, too."

"Fucker," Justin cried, pushing Chris off, laughing hard. "People are gonna get the wrong idea or something. Whatever. It's gonna hurt my chances with the ladies." Justin gasped as Chris rolled over him, pulling Joey down on top of them. "Kinky shit!"

"You're just jealous, kiddo," Chris said, planting a sloppy kiss on Justin's face.

"Ew," Justin whimpered plaintively. "Get him off me."

"Isn't funny when it's you, is it?" Joey asked, swapping Chris playfully on the ass to move, and Chris sprung into Joey's arms, nearly knocking over JC, who just shook his head and grinned, preening in the mirror.

"Rejected by the kid!" Chris cried, putting a hand to his forehead, "tragic."

"Is he drunk already?" Lance asked, sticking his head out of the bathroom, and Chris scoffed, waving off Lance's concern. "Are we about ready to go or do I have time to style?"

"Does the lady have time to style?" Chris repeated as Joey dissolved into rumbling laughter, still holding Chris, who threw his head back and grinned, kicking his legs. "Joey, darling, I think the lady needs a hug."

"Fuck off," Lance shouted, running back into the bathroom and locking the door before either man could get to him. Chris catapulted out of Joey's arms and threw himself against the door, thumping loudly. "Somebody make him stop!"

Joey laughed lowly and put his hand on the back of Chris's neck, and Chris looked up, smiling and suddenly calm under the fingers, redirecting his energies to JC, who offered to add some sparkles to Chris's spikes and didn't mind so much when Chris fluffed his hair, laughing.

~~~

The club was loud and dark, intermixed with sudden flashes of bright lights on sweaty bodies then just a pitch of black where there was nothing. Justin was twinned around a perky young blonde, hips grinding sensually. Lance was at the bar, chatting it up with the bartender and two women at the counter, gesturing wildly with his hands. JC, Chris and Joey crammed into a corner booth, shouting over the music between drinks.

"Oh, baby," Chris whispered, nipping at Joey's neck, while Joey batted him away idly, trying to focus on JC's rant about the death of disco.

"One of these days people are going to think you're together if you keep that up, Chris," JC warned, pausing in his story to chastise seriously. Joey nodded solemnly, but Chris just pressed closer, wrapped around the larger man. "It'll hurt your demographic."

"I don't have a demographic, baby! I'm free to do as I please." To prove his point, Chris tucked a finger under Joey's chin and kissed him deeply, climbing into his lap. Joey was laughing, back on Chris's side. The shade of red JC turned was well worth Chris's affection.

"The bartender thinks you're together," Lance announced, squeezing in next to JC with a pitcher of beer. Chris clapped merrily, leaning over Joey to grab the ale, and gave him another kiss, all tongue. "And, this is funny, but there's a guy at the bar checking Chris out."

"No way," JC hissed, "where?"

Lance didn't look up. "Big, Germanic guy at the end. He thinks you're cute."

"Does not," Chris said, laughing. "You made that up! Besides," Chris added seductively, running his hand under Joey's shirt, "Joseph is the only man for me. Isn't that right, baby?"

Joey rolled his eyes, stealing the pitcher. "Whatever, man. If you say so."

Chris smiled and snuggled in close, laughing. It was strangely warm inside the club, and Chris felt like he was burning inside. Most of him faulted the alcohol, but the smaller part, the part that spurred him onward in the joke, knew it was partly Joey. It was all a joke, but sometimes, when Chris was alone, or drunk, he pretended it wasn't.

It was stupid anyway, just a running gag.

"I don't know," Lance was saying, "the big guy's kind of cute. And you like them big," Lance was careful to add, sparing Joey a critical look, "obviously."

"You calling me fat, Bass?" Joey asked, pounding the table for effect, and Lance shook his head, biting back the laugh. Joey reached over to mess Lance's hair, and Chris slipped forward, head dropping under the table. The resulting flashbulb was enough to make Joey twist his fists in Chris's shirt, hauling him upwards. "You fucker. They took a picture of that."

"Like I'd give you head in a dirty club," Chris said haughtily, "give me some credit."

Justin sauntered up to the table, "yo, man, that guy at the bar thinks you're hot."

Chris finally looked over, eyeing the blond man seductively before blowing him a kiss, waving his fingers and mouthing a lewd promise. The man simply smiled and turned away, ordering another drink. Chris looked back to his friends. "Obviously, it wasn't me he wanted."

"Dude, you gotta be careful, you know? People are gonna start thinking you're into guys or something, like, seriously," Justin said, squeezing in next to Chris and taking his beer. Chris fought weakly but conceded, grabbing Joey's glass instead. Joey glared. "Just watch it."

"It's the new millennium," Chris replied, waving away the concerns and giving Joey another kiss, who accepted it without blinking. "People don't care about shit like that anymore. And besides, Jup, rather presumptuous of you to assume I don't swing both ways."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "So you're gonna try to get with the big guy?"

"I never said I was into that," Chris said quickly, feeling Joey move against him, tighten at it, and Joey looked at him seriously, and Chris laughed. "Shut up, you ass. I never said anything. You're all fuckers. I'm going to the bathroom."

"To jerk off!" JC and Lance said in unison, and Chris thumped them both over the head. Before leaving, he climbed on Joey's lap and kissed him deeply, just to gross Justin out, who covered his eyes and told them to – "knock that shit off!"

Chris was laughing at he tumbled to the bathroom.

~~~

"Fucking piss-smelling washrooms," Chris muttered, finally finding the bathroom in the basement, "fucking piss-smelling washrooms without proper lighting, fuckers!" Chris jumped up and punched the light, bringing the flicking to a stop and casting the room into dull but complete light. "Gotta piss. Where's the fucking toilet?"

Chris stumbled into the wall and held himself upright, unzipping himself and closing his eyes as his bladder emptied. It took a moment to get rid of the hard-on. When he was finished, he zipped up and went to wash his hands.

"Hey."

Chris looked up, and the big guy from the bar was standing there, in front of the door. Chris looked around then smiled crookedly, "um, hi," continuing to wash his hands. Drying them on his pants, Chris moved to leave, but the big guy stepped in front of him. "Excuse me."

"No," the guy replied seriously, though he was still smiling.

Chris looked up, realising the guy was even bigger in person, a good three inches taller than Justin, who towered over six feet. Chris smiled calmly, and said, "listen, buddy. I wasn't serious out there. It was a joke."

"Very funny," the man said, stepping back, and Chris moved to pass him, but the man merely locked the door, the click loud and angry inside the dirty bathroom. Chris smiled again, a reflex, and the man stepped forward, "very funny."

~~~

Joey blinked. "My teeth are floating. Where's the bathroom again?"

"Downstairs," Lance said, "find Chris if you can, see if he fell in."

Joey nodded and walked across the club, grinding with a couple of the ladies before jogging down the stairs. The man's washroom was at the end of the hall, and he walked to it, opening the door. The light was flickering, and Joey's jumped up to hit it, knocking brightness into the room.

"Whoa, buddy," Joey said, seeing Chris kneeling over the toilet in the stall farthest from the door, puking. "I think you've had enough for tonight, man. You didn't really drink that much. Remember when you had the dreads and I used to hold them back? Don't really need me now with the spikes."

Chris puked again, holding the toilet bowl. "Fuck off," he gasped, his voice raw and wet. Joey frowned and leaned in closer, but Chris threw his arms back, fisting Joey in the stomach. "Just. Get the fuck away from me, all right?"

"Chris," Joey said, biting his lip. "Come on. I'm going to take you back to the hotel."

"I'll go by myself," Chris said, "just. Leave me the fuck alone, Joe."

Joey frowned. "If you're sure."

"Yes," Chris snapped, "yes, I'm sure."

Joey left the bathroom and remembered only when he sat down at the table, falling quickly back into laughter, that his bladder still ached. When he returned to the washroom, Chris was gone, and later, when he went to the hotel, Chris wasn't there either.

~~~

At five, a soft knock hit Joey's door, and Joey shot up, startled. Pulling on a pair of pants, he stumbled to the door and peered through the peephole, seeing only Chris, who was staring at the floor. Quickly, Joey unlocked the door and let him come in.

"Hey," Joey said, scratching his head. "Come in."

Chris stepped into the room, still wearing his bar clothes and a long, black coat that came to his knees. That, Joey was sure, was new. Walking to the window, Chris stared out, and Joey came up behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Chris jumped and shook him off, growling, "I hate you."

Joey blinked. "What?"

"I fucking hate you," Chris repeated, turning around when Joey tried to touch him again, smacking Joey in the chest. Joey stumbled, disoriented and confused. Chris stepped forward, pushing him again, and Joey backed into the bed, falling onto the floor with a loud thud. Chris grabbed him by the arms, nails digging into Joey's skin, breaking the flesh. "I hate you."

Joey breathed deeply, "what did I." Gasped. "What did I do?"

Chris threw Joey against the wall, clenching his fists, and Joey stood there, not understanding, stupid and shaking his head. "I," Chris breathed calmly, "hate," thrust his hands into Joey's stomach, "you."

Joey gagged, bruised. "Why?"

"It was just a fucking joke," Chris hissed, backhanding Joey and advancing again when Joey hit the carpet, rolling to muffle the impact. Joey's nose was bloody, and he looked up at Chris, lifting his arms to protect his face. "You think you're funny, don't you?"

Joey blinked rapidly. "Chris."

"You think you're funny? It wasn't funny," Chris said darkly, hauling Joey to his feet and cornering him, pressing into him, so much taller than Joey remembered. "You're a cocktease, funnyman. You're a fucking cocktease."

Joey thought about banging on the wall, to get Lance's attention, but Chris had his wrists pinned, menacing. "Chris, I don't know what you're talking about, buddy. Why don't we just sit down and talk about this?"

"Fucking cocktease," Chris repeated, jaw grinding with fury, and Joey looked at him, caught those eyes and saw something feral, some rage that wasn't supposed to be there. Chris grabbed Joey by the arms, dragging him to bed and forcing him onto his stomach. Joey froze, held down and unable to move. "You like them big, don't you? I'm big." Chris bowed next to Joey's ear, "I'm gonna rip you in half."

Joey felt Chris pull away, felt cold and bruised all over, and he turned around, watching Chris step back slowly, shaking his head before he turned, putting his fist through the mirror. Joey was all over Chris, holding his arms against his body, dragging him back onto the ground.

"Oh god," Joey kept saying, his breaths coming in ragged pants, "oh god. Oh god."

"It was only a joke," Chris muttered, shaking his head, "and he didn't get it."

~~~

It was another hour before Joey dared to move, and Chris tried to crawl away the minute his arms were free, but Joey held on tighter, his chin hooked over Chris's shoulder. "Chris, you have to tell me what happened."

"No," Chris said, blinking hard.

"Chris, were you – did somebody hurt you?" Joey asked, and Chris shook his head woodenly, cradling his bloody fist to his chest. The smaller body was tight and trembling, locked in a twist of rage. "Chris, I need to know. If you were," say it, Joe, "hurt."

"Nothing happened," Chris said, arching to get out of Joey's grasp, but Joey just held on tighter, ignoring the shaking, just holding on. Chris rolled his shoulders, trying again, but Joey wouldn't ease up. "Let go of me, Joe."

Joey looked down, facing the light, "Chris, man, there's blood all over my pants."

"No, there isn't," Chris said, lifting his hips and trying to slide out of Joey's arms, but he couldn't, and he threw his head back, grunted angrily and kicked out his legs. "Fuck. Fuck," Chris repeated, smacking his head against Joey's shoulder, "fuck."

"We have to go to the police."

Chris's breathing stopped then his entire body rippled, limbs flailing out in four directions as he tried to buck Joey off. "Fuck," Chris muttered, writhing like a snake in a trap, fighting, "fuck, Joe," Chris relaxed again, exhaling, "no police. Ever, Joe."

Joey took a long time before he nodded, cold all over.

"I need to take a shower," Chris said suddenly, pushing at Joey's arms, and Joey let go, swallowing loudly. Chris looked at him, face like stone. "Don't you fucking dare; don't you start crying, Joe. Don't you dare."

Joey dropped his eyes, gave in. "You're showering here, then," he said quietly, a black sickness whirling in his stomach. "And I. You have to let me make sure you're okay, Chris. I'm going to need to – I have to see how badly you're hurt."

"Quickly then," Chris said, eyes darting around the room, "before the others wake up."

~~~

It took a lot of patience and absolute quiet to get Chris out of his clothes. Joey stood in front of the open door – not locked because Chris panicked when he tried to do that – and took the bloody clothing, draping everything over his arm until Chris was undressed, pressed into the corner.

"Don't you ever tell," Chris hissed when Joey tried to get him away from the wall, half-animal in the way he breathed, shorts gasps of air through clenched teeth. Joey reached for him, but Chris pulled away, "stop trying to touch me. Run the fucking water."

Joey sat on the edge of the tub, twisting the knobs and putting his fingers under the stream, testing for heat. Staring into the filling tub, he felt Chris watching him, threatening him with every breath to keep the silence. Joey thought he might puke. Or cry.

Mostly, Joey tried not to look at Chris, didn't want to see the floor or the small pool of blood behind Chris's left heel, dark and wet on the mottled pale skin, couldn't look Chris in the eyes, felt like an animal himself. Joey felt wild and cornered and cold.

"Let me take you to a doctor," Joey finally said, dipping his fingers into the tub.

"Fuck you," Chris snapped, hand pressed to his face, curled into the corner and turned completely away. Joey swallowed the hiss of air in his mouth, seeing marks on Chris's white back, bloody indents of teeth.

Joey turned off the tap and stood up slowly, looking into the mirror. "Chris," he said, watching the glide of his cheeks, "I need to. I have to look," Joey frowned, cut off from the reflection that mirrored his image, "it won't – I'll be gentle."

Chris closed his eyes tightly. "Fine."

Joey nodded and walked closer. Chris pressed tighter into the corner, shaking his head, but Joey put his hand on Chris's back, urging him to the counter. Inhaling, Joey dropped to his knees and got kicked when he touched Chris's thigh.

"Hey," Joey said sharply, "stop that."

Chris hunched over further, dropping his face into his hands, and Joey put his palm against Chris again, flinching when Chris jerked, a strange mew rumbling in the smaller man's chest. Gently, Joey used his fingers, pressing them to bruised, bloody flesh, forcing his stomach to quell its rolling. Closing his eyes, Joey sat back on his heels and said, "get in the tub."

Chris slid in, cursing at the heat, the sting of the water. Putting his hands against his face, Chris curled his knees to his chest and leaned forward, the bumps of his spine visible through the pale skin. Joey dipped a washcloth into the water and drizzled water down Chris's back before pressing the cloth to his skin, bathing him.

"Can you," Chris murmured, "can you leave me alone for awhile, Joe?"

Joey's fingers paused – his whole body lurched – but he nodded, leaning over to hang the cloth on the tap. Chris looked up, his dark eyes still smouldering but colder now, cooling, and Joey didn't know what that meant, just that it made him hurt inside.

Carefully, Joey pressed a soft kiss to Chris's head, in the dip of his temple, and Chris turned his head away, eyes drifting shut again. Joey stood up and walked out into the main room. "I'm going downstairs," he said calmly, pulling on clean jeans, a shirt, a jacket, "to get things. I'll be back."

"Okay."

Joey nodded. It wasn't okay at all.

~~~

It was almost seven, Joey realised, the little store was open already, with a single other customer thumbing through the magazines, looking up when Joey entered. Joey smiled crookedly and walked to the back of the small room, looking for. For things. That he. Chris. Needed.

Joey picked up a small tube of antibacterial cream. Bandaids, for Chris's back, and gauze, for his hand. Tylenol, Joey grabbed blindly, blinking. Joey could smell the blood all over him, felt it burn under his skin. Joey began to walk to the counter then turned back, his fingers grabbing a package of. Joey let go but picked it up again. A package of Kotex, with pink on the plastic bag, guaranteed for heavy days. For heavy bleeding.

Joey gave the clerk thirty dollars and walked out, tucking the bag into his coat. The lobby was empty, and Joey jogged to the elevators. Waited impatiently and got in when the doors slid open, made them close just as quickly. Inside, it was hot, stifling, but he still felt cold, sick.

The elevator was covered in mirrors, reflecting back a thousand Joeys, but he barely recognised his own face. The bag fell out of his jacket, the contents spilling out onto the floor. Joey blinked, and looked down, the image blurred.

Pressing his hands to his face, screaming into his own skin, Joey willed himself not to cry. Lost. And sobbed, until his chest ached and the doors pinged open. Wiping his eyes, Joey stepped out into the hall, bag in his arms, hoped Lance was still asleep. Prayed.

Chris was as Joey left him, sitting in the tub. He looked up as Joey came into the bathroom then looked away, staring at the wall. "What did you get?"

"Stuff," Joey replied, setting the bag on the counter. "I'm gonna get you some clothes."

"Something black," Chris said, poking at the water, "loose."

Joey nodded and cried again in Chris's room, painful sobs that knotted his stomach, and he puked bile into the toilet. Running cold water, Joey splashed his face, rubbed his cheeks, stared. And vomited again, eyes closed.

~~~

Getting Chris dressed was easy, but attending to his wounds hurt them both. Chris punched him when Joey explained the pads, shaking his head, but Joey grabbed the back of Chris's thigh, bringing back red fingers.

They fought again over the cream, Joey's nose dripping blood as Chris tried to duck out of the room, but Joey grabbed him by the waist, heaving him off the floor. "If you don't cut it out," Joey breathed in Chris's ear, "the guys are going to hear something."

Chris eventually nodded and used the cream himself, making Joey turn around and look at the wall. Later, Joey put cream on Chris's back, using a single finger to rub it over the teeth marks, and slapped bandaids on five of them. Finally, Joey wrapped Chris's hand, grateful there was no glass to dig out.

Joey sniffed loudly as he tied the gauze together, licking at the blood on his upper lip. Chris reached up with his free hand, touching two fingers lightly to the bridge of Joey's nose. "I'm sorry," Chris said quietly, and Joey nodded, lifting the covers on his bed and urging Chris under them. Lying on his side, Chris curled into a ball and closed his eyes.

"How do you feel?" Joey ventured cautiously, stroking the dark hair.

Chris took a long time in answering, and when he did, it was painful to hear. Chris whispered, his voice broken, "dead inside."

~~~

Chris wasn't really that different, Joey noticed about a week later, just meaner. Like, he knocked JC into a wall and broke his aviator sunglasses, apologising without any sincerity, and he punched Justin in the eye when Justin snuck up behind him, grabbing his hips, and he made Lance cry a lot, though Lance blamed it on allergies.

Joey probably took the brunt of it. When Chris wasn't off by himself, quiet, and he was attacking anything that moved, which was mostly Joey because no one else wanted to speak him to him until he – "got the fuck over himself" – or so Justin said When Joey got too close, Chris always snapped – "I hate you" – and Joey would back off.

By week three, Chris wasn't angry anymore, just quiet and withdrawn. In interviews, he came alive, joking at the expense of Lance or Joey, but it wasn't how it used to be. Lance frowned at the jokes, and Joey couldn't smile anymore.

If they noticed Chris and Joey no longer flirted, only Justin mentioned it, commenting – "did you guys, like, break up, or something?" – and trying to laugh, trying to make it funny and comfortable, but Joey only looked away, sick inside.

Joey decided that he was a sick fuck. He missed Chris a lot, even when he sat next to him, trying to keep him company late at night when Chris didn't sleep. He missed the touching, and the hugging, and he even missed the kissing. It was like Chris wasn't there anymore. It was just this body that looked like him.

And he was a sick fuck for being so selfish and remembering Chris's kisses.

~~~

One night, Joey asked, "you wanna talk about it?"

Joey expected a no, but Chris shrugged and said, "okay."

Which was scary, terrifying really, because Chris never talked about it, not even when Joey asked, and Joey asked a lot at the beginning, wanting to know when. Where. Who. But Chris wouldn't say anything, and if Joey pushed, Chris said – "I hate you" – because it always worked.

"I'm sorry," Joey said, when he realised Chris wasn't going to say anything. Chris sat on the opposite end of the couch, feet tucked under him, pulling at the hem of his jeans. Joey was leaning back, feigning comfortable. "You know. I didn't. I shouldn't have let you go home alone."

Chris frowned and looked at him. "What?"

"I let you walk home alone," Joey said. "I shouldn't have done that."

Chris hummed and looked down, pressing his lips together in a straight line. Joey scratched his head, waiting for Chris to speak. Eventually, the black eyes looked back at him. "It didn't happen there, Joe."

Joey blinked. "Oh." Fuzzily, his mind buzzed, confused. "Then. Where?" Chris closed his eyes, shook his head, and Joey opened his eyes wide, bile in his throat. "The bathroom," Joey whispered, "when you." Joey's heart jumped. "I thought you were sick from the beer."

"No," Chris said, pulling at his toes, "I was sick from having," Chris looked up, viciously bit his lower lip and drew blood. "A dick shoved up my fucking ass," Chris finally said, the first time, Joey realised, the only time he actually said it.

Joey pressed his hand to his mouth.

Chris ground his teeth, angry breaths through flared nostrils, shaking. Joey recognised the look and thought, just for a second, about running, but he didn't. He just sat there, waiting for Chris to either jump him or go back into his shell. Chris did neither. He just said, "yeah, well."

Joey nodded, for no reason really, other than the fact he was covered in cold sweat and trying to hold his supper in his belly and couldn't think of a single other thing to do. "Were we," Joey asked, then stopped, gasping in a sharp breath of air, because of course they were there, sitting upstairs, laughing while Chris. "Chris, fuck, if we'd known," Joey said, but paused because it sounded stupid. "I'm sorry I came too late."

Chris nodded, biting his lower lip, and Joey wondered if he was finally crying, but he didn't seem to be, just appeared to be quiet and withdrawn, inside himself again and not able to come out. "My fault, really," Chris said slowly, pressing his cheek against his knee, staring at the floor, "for flirting with you. Made him think, you know, that I was into shit like that."

Joey crept closer to Chris, just wanted to be in his sphere and see him clearly, and Chris looked at him, face cold as ice. Pressing his palm against Chris's cheek, Joey expected the skin to be freezing, but it was hot like hell, and damp from sweat.

Joey thought about all the intelligent and earth-moving things he could say, about words he could utter and with one breath put Chris back together, but they didn't come to his mouth. All Joey could do was pull Chris into his lap, noting the lack of fight, and lay his chest across his back, protecting him and whispering, "it's not your fault. Okay, Chris? It wasn't you."

Like it made it all better, when it really didn't help at all.

~~~

It all kind of came to a head on the last night of touring when Lance dropped Chris during one of the flips. Chris bounced to his feet smiling, but he was seething, Joey could tell in the way he jumped and pointed and thrust his hips. Nothing was smooth; it was all angry and jagged.

Backstage, Chris started running at Lance, coming from behind, but Joey intercepted with his shoulder, plowing into Chris's stomach. They both went flying, with Joey kicking Lance in the head and knocking him into JC. Justin merely stared, and Joey barked, "kid, get these people out of the room!"

Justin didn't ask questions, just got them out while it still looked like Chris was just excited, and Joey was just Joey, and they all were just a bit wound up, agitated, like caged animals. Lance was on the ground, hand against his head, and JC sat beside him, scared.

"I hate you!" Chris shrieked, kicking when Joey wrapped his arms around his legs, pushing them with a thud into the wall. Their head cracked together, and Joey stumbled forward, trying to get himself completely wrapped around Chris. "I fucking hate you all! I hate you!"

"Guys?" Justin asked, holding his fingers to his mouth. "Guys, please," he said and looked like he was going to cry. Joey glared at him, struggling to get Chris under control, using all his weight, all his strength, to hold him still.

"Fuck," Joey breathed, his body burning. "Chris," softly, "please, calm down. No one knew, Chris. We'd kill for you. Die for you. We love you much, Chris, just please." Joey pressed his face in Chris's chest, murmuring. "Stop."

Chris went slack, and Joey landed heavily on his body, panting and gasping, aching all over. "Okay," Chris whispered, lying there and limp like a doll, and Joey moved off him, sliding down his stomach but not letting him go.

"I didn't mean to drop him," Lance said, looking around, bleak. "He's so light. I keep forgetting. That he's lost so much weight." Lance put his hand over his eyes, sniffling, and JC rubbed his back. "I'm so sorry, Chris."

"We're all sorry," JC said, "for everything. We love you, Chris."

And they didn't know or understand or anything but seemed to be all right with the unknown, loved him unconditionally. Chris got to his feet and plowed into Lance with a hug, grasping at him before grabbing JC, and Justin mixed in eventually with Joey circling them all, and they cried just because they could, even if it didn't make much sense, just that Chris was back, a bit, in their arms.

The press came back just in time to take the picture. It looked great.

~~~

Chris moved in with Joey once they went on break, taking most of his stuff from his apartment and living in Joey's spare bedroom. Joey offered, and Chris accepted, and that was that. They lapsed into domesticity, and some time right at the beginning, Joey sat back and realised he was in love. It wasn't too shocking, just kind of sick, really, because Chris was still so messed up in the head with everything and didn't need Joey's needy emotions on top of it.

Joey caught Chris writing letters to the other guys, to apologise for everything and tell them he loved them a lot and that bad shit happened, but he was feeling better, that he was learning how to let go. Joey talked to each of them after, realising they were fine not to know, just happy that Chris found balance. Peace.

When Chris's lease expired in September, Joey said, "let it go" and Chris just moved in completely, making Joey's house less empty and sparse. They didn't fight anymore, and Chris didn't say another word about hating any of them.

~~~

One night, three weeks after the tour ended, Joey found Chris huddled in the corner, shaking with rage.

Joey dragged Chris to his cellar. It was full of junk, old furniture and stuff from the last owner that Joey was too lazy to throw out. Chris blinked, and Joey grabbed a chair, smashing it against the wall, demonstrating what rage could look like. "Get it out. Before it poisons you."

Joey stepped back and Chris stepped forward, looking at Joey tentatively, and Joey nodded, knowing if something wasn't done, Chris was going to explode and take Joey with him. And Joey wanted a kind of happy ending, needed one, for Chris as well as himself.

In the end, things were broken, and Chris was on the floor, sobbing into his hands, small and angry and sad, Joey thought, holding him tightly, a sad creature who didn't smile anymore, but it looked like Chris and seemed liked him and probably was him. "Thank you," Joey whispered, "for coming back."

"I didn't think I could," Chris said, shaking, "I didn't think. I would."

~~~

One day, Chris started kissing Joey again, very non-serious at first, little licks on the jaw and things like that, and hugs, random ones at random times when Joey wasn't expecting it. It wasn't really like before. It couldn't be, Joey realised, because things were so different, and Chris was darker now, more down-to-earth and aware of the world.

Joey came home from shopping, two paper bags full of food in his arms, and Chris was in front of the television, sleeping with Busta on his stomach, who was visiting for the next few weeks until they started the second leg of the tour.

The night Dani dropped the pug dog off, she and Chris talked for a long time, and Joey accidentally caught the end of it, with mentions of "love too much" and a lot of mutual tears. It was actually the day after that when Chris started touching again, so Joey thought maybe she'd done what he couldn't, brought back all of him when Joey really only grabbed the pieces.

Joey put the bags on the counter and turned on the range, two pots of water ready to boil. Joey seasoned the steaks, taking a couple minutes to phone his mom and ask about the strange, red vegetables he picked up that looked interesting but didn't have a name. Whatever they were, his mom assured him, they could be boiled.

Joey was eating the mashed potatoes right out of the pot when Chris came into the kitchen, and Joey dropped the spoon, looking guilty for contaminating it. Chris just smiled – didn't laugh – and kissed him on the cheek, poking at the strange vegetables and asking no questions.

Joey tripped over Busta – twice – muttering, "damn dog."

Chris laughed at that and hugged the pug to his chest, nuzzling Busta's face before letting him go, the small dog scurrying out of the room. "Listen, Joe," Chris said carefully, and Joey turned around, wiping his hands dry on his pants. "Thank you. For everything." Chris sighed, turned to look out the window. "I don't like being me anymore. You make it, you know, bearable."

Joey approached him slowly, cautiously touched his hand to Chris's back and rubbed, wondering if the skin was scarred or if it'd healed smooth. Joey breathed in the smell of Chris, clean and faintly like Irish Spring soap, and simmered in the heat he gave off.

"I know," Joey whispered, kissing Chris's shoulder, and Chris looked back at him, ready to question, but Joey went back to the steaks, pulling them out of the broiler. They didn't talk again until Joey was pouring the wine, and Chris grabbed him by the waist, pressing his face to Joey's belly.

"I love you too much," Chris whispered, fingers pressing against Joey's skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. "I always did."

And Joey hugged him back, pressed the indent of Chris's body into his so if Chris ever went away again, he'd remember with vivid thought how it used to be. It was a terrible time to fall in love, Joey thought, not healthy for Chris and not right for him to want it, but it would have happened anyway.

Because, Joey knew, it had to.

Fin.

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