~~~
where we're always free to choose
never free enough to find
i wish something would break
because we're running out of time
- Live, "Overcome"
~~~

They shared a bed almost every night, curled up under thick blankets, with Chris in his flannel pajamas and Joey in his tee-shirt and sweatpants. Joey sometimes didn't sleep at all, and he knew Chris didn't sleep all that often either, but it was the appearance of sleep that was worth something more than watching television until exhaustion took over.

There were nights when they just talked to each other, lying in the dark. Other nights, they touched each other cautiously, testing the limited boundaries, and some times, they kissed until Joey was smacking his head in frustration at his useless body and Chris was assuring him it was all right, that nothing would have happened anyway. Sometimes, Joey felt tingly with pleasure; sometimes, there was nothing.

This particular night was a silent, motionless one. Even Busta and Korea were still, curled up on the floor and sleeping together. Chris was turned on his side, away from Joey, and breathing quietly, which meant he was very much awake, and Joey was on his back, staring at the ceiling, a hand smoothing over the small of Chris's back.

"When do we start touring?" Chris asked suddenly, even though Joey knew he knew already, but Chris seemed to hate silence and always seemed to pierce it with whatever conversation he could muster. Mostly, it was all just filler. Joey wondered what he was really trying to say but never felt it was his place to ask.

"Two months," Joey replied, tracing a finger over the soft, almost invisible, patch of dark hair at the base of Chris's spine, and Chris shivered, sighing. Someday, Joey thought, he was going to lick that sliver of flesh and things would be all right. "Are you going to be okay for it?"

"I think so," Chris admitted, after only a little bit of hesitation.

"You'll tell me if you want us to push it back?"

Chris lifted his head. "I'd try. You'd probably know, anyway."

"Probably," Joey agreed and spooned up behind Chris, holding him by the waist. Chris relaxed, leaning against him. Joey kissed him at the fold of his ear. "I know it sounds cheesy as crap, but I'm proud of you, you know? Really fucking proud of you."

"Day by day, it's getting better," Chris murmured, and didn't say anything else until Joey fell asleep, calmed by the feel of Chris in his arms. Joey knew Chris wasn't going to sleep at all, so Joey slept for the both of them.

~~~

Most of the time, Chris was a puzzle to Joey. Back in the beginning, before everything happened, Joey used to be able to forecast Chris's actions as if they were his own. Chris was predictable in his mania. Chris could be counted on to act a certain way, to do a certain thing.

Now, Joey couldn't guess at what he wanted. Sometimes, he continued on like he usually did, with quiet contemplation and forced half-smiles, and this, Joey was coming to understand, was the way Chris was now, the present Chris. The past Chris came out at weird times when Joey didn't expect it, like when he'd jump on Joey's back and tumble them into the pool as JC and Lance looked on stupidly, confused.

But mostly, he was still quiet and withdrawn, empty somehow when Joey thought he needed to be sad. They bathed together a lot now, Chris always setting the water too hot, Joey always hanging back, his limp dick hanging low and small between his legs, dead.

"Bubbles?" Chris asked, running his fingers through the water, and Joey nodded into the mirror, knowing Chris would see it. The lines of Chris's back were sharp and pronounced; he was too damn skinny. Joey tried to remember if he'd seen Chris eating that day.

So he asked, "are you eating?"

"Right now? No," Chris replied, keeping his voice low and calm, which meant he was on the verge of anger, again, but was keeping it controlled for Joey's sake. "But we had dinner together. Ramen. You were there Joe. I ate it."

Joey remembered noodles but had thought it was yesterday. Chris was thin -- for the first time since he was an impoverished and starving child, Joey was sure -- and Joey wanted to believe it was because sitting in the house, with nowhere to go, was somehow athletic. He knew it wasn't.

"You're really fucking skinny, man," Joey blurted out, a hand idly stroking his useless cock, trying to surprise it. It was soft against his fingers, a roll of loose skin nestled by kinky hair. It didn't feel like his dick, though. Joey's body rarely felt like he remembered it. "Like, really skinny."

"Well, you caught me," Chris replied, turning the hot tap all the way around until steam began to rise from the water. Joey walked over and turned it back down, leaving his hand over Chris's coiled fist. "I'm anorexic. I'm surprised you didn't notice. Since I obviously didn't eat dinner with you this evening, or had those three ham sandwiches for lunch, or the fucking dozen donuts I crammed into my mouth this morning."

"Fuck, Chris," Joey said. "I'm allowed to be concerned."

"I'm getting pretty sick and tired of it," Chris snapped and stood up, "fuck you, Joe. You're driving me insane with this constant worrying. I told you I wasn't going to do anything fucking stupid to myself. I told you that."

"It's what you don't tell me that's the problem," Joey replied, trying to stay calm, but he knew they sometimes needed to fight, just to get the violence out. Joey swore, though, the minute either of them got physical, he was leaving. Lance was already on speed dial to deal with the aftermath, should it happen. "You fade in and out of my life, when you please."

"You have no idea!" Chris shouted, throwing his arm out. "You have no idea, Joey!"

"Then give me a clue here."

"You don't want to know!" Chris screamed and left the room. Joey let him go and emptied the tub, sitting on the edge of the bath. He reached for a robe and shrugged it on, then he went to find Chris, who was sitting at the window with an agitated Busta in his lap. Joey didn't know if he was allowed to touch him. "I'm sorry," Chris said.

"Me too," Joey replied, waiting for some sign. Chris put Busta on the floor then held out his hand, leaving it hanging between them. Joey walked over and settled between Chris's legs, reclined in the window seat, staring out across the lawn. "I'll stop nagging, man. I'm sorry. I'm too much like my mother for my own good sometimes."

"It's okay," Chris said, "it's just. Sometimes, it's just too much."

Joey nodded and closed his eyes, and Chris pressed his face against the top of Joey's head. When Chris's arms circled his waist, Joey put his hands over them. They sat there for an hour, trying to remember how to live. Sometimes, Joey thought they'd forgotten.

~~~

Justin spent a lot of time over at their house, sitting in the living room, and he occasionally brought Britney, who Chris had told the whole story to only a few weeks ago because it wasn't fair to Justin. Joey knew Justin fought with Chris about it, didn't want him doing it for Justin but for himself, and Chris shouted back that if he was doing it for himself, nobody would have ever known.

It put things in perspective.

"You aren't really sleeping with him, are you?" Justin blurted out one day as Joey was making grilled cheese sandwiches for them. Chris was at some FuMan function, trying to get back into his company. Chris didn't really leave the house all that often anymore, once a week to see Dana the psychiatrist, every second day to go get milk from the 7-11, so when he was gone on his own terms, Joey was almost glad, even if he was left with two yapping dogs and clingy Justin.

"We sleep in the same bed together," Joey said quietly, "but I don't think that's what you mean." He stacked a sandwich on the two already made then started to fry a fourth. Justin sat at the table, staring at his hands. "He lied to you when he said that. We're not."

"It's been, like, eight months, right?"

"Almost ten," Joey said, buttering up two slices of white bread.

"And you haven't even tried?" Justin asked, "I mean, does he want to?"

Joey peeled the plastic off the cheese and put the sandwich into the pan, pressing it down with the spatula. He didn't really want to be talking about this to Justin, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from speaking either. "He wants to."

Justin made a face, like he was thinking too hard, "I read that if, like, you don't get them back into it, or whatever, then they'll never do it. If he says he wants to, maybe you should believe him you know? Or he won't. Ever."

Joey sighed. He couldn't even muster enough anger or irritation for a retort. It wasn't any of Justin's business, but the lines of who needed to know and who didn't were so blurred. Joey wasn't sure how correct a statement that was. "It's not him. It's me."

"You don't want him anymore?"

The way Justin asked it didn't sit well. It turned in his stomach and settled uneasily deep inside, and Joey slammed down the pan, causing them both to jump. Turning to him, Joey said, "I can't, Justin. Okay? He wants to, and I can't."

"Why not? If he wants to ..."

"Because I fucking can't get hard, that's why!" Joey shouted, flinging his arm out desperately. "It doesn't matter what he wants because my fucking dick stopped working a year ago, and I don't care what he says, that really does play a big part in everything." Joey was seething, literally shaking with rage, and he was glad Justin was on the other side of the counter, or Joey would have gone after him and beat him down. "Jesus, what business is it of yours, anyway? Christ, kid, just go home."

Justin looked down again. "Joey, I didn't mean." Justin put his face in his hands, shoulders slumping, and Joey could tell he was crying, knew Justin well enough to know the kid had trained himself years ago to do it silently. "I'm sorry, Joey."

"No, no," Joey said quietly, taking a deep, cleansing breath. "It isn't your fault. It's. I know everyone is waiting on us, to see what we'll do and if we can do it, but. Can you tell them that? Just say I have a reason. And that it's mine, not his? Just don't tell them about that."

Justin nodded, rubbing at his face with the cuffs of his shirt. "Really, man, sorry. I didn't think."

"It's okay," Joey said, turning back to the sandwiches with a pain in his belly that felt something like fear, a little bit like shame. "It's fine."

~~~

Beverly phoned once a night, and Chris started timing it so he wasn't home when she called. Joey ended up talking to her more than he ever had in his entire life, and he spent a lot of time talking about everything that wasn't Chris. She asked, of course, and he said he was keeping an eye on him. Joey didn't know if she knew they were together, but he assumed she did. They lived together, when both of them could afford several houses each.

"You need to talk to her," Joey said when Chris came back after the latest time, two half-melted Slurpees in his hands. Chris set them on the table, shaking his head, and Joey rubbed his temples wearily. "Chris, for Pete's sake, she's your mother, not mine. You're fine with everyone else. What's the problem with her? Why are you making me lie to her?"

"Nothing," Chris said, taking his Slurpee and marching into the living room, and Joey followed, the dripping cup between his hands. He sat on the couch, pulling one leg close to his body. Chris talked around the straw between his lips. "It's nothing, man, just shit I have to deal with and don't really want to yet. She just makes it worse, you know. I can't deal with her, too."

"You're going to tell me," Joey said then let it go, knowing that Chris would when he could, and Chris nodded, defeat painted all over his skin already. Joey changed the subject. "C's birthday is coming up, the big two-five. Lance wants us all to go over to Lance's apartment and hang out, order Chinese and stuff."

"You aren't going out?" Chris asked, frowning, and Joey looked away. It was a tradition that every year on each other's birthday, they went out together and got the birthday boy so drunk he could barely stand then they all stayed up with him while he puked his guts out, but it'd all but stopped on Joey's last birthday. "Why not?"

"Chris," Joey said as he turned back, slurping at his drink and grateful for the chill as it slicked down his throat, cold as ice. "You know why. The same reason we haven't gone out the last three times. We don't go as four. We go as five."

"I'll go," Chris said quietly, and Joey snapped his head up. "No, it's. I've been thinking about it, and I want to go."

"You don't have to," Joey said.

Chris looked away. "Yes, I do."

~~~

It took Chris nearly two hours to come out of his room the night they were going clubbing for JC's birthday, and even when he showed up in the hall, he wasn't dressed. "Nothing fits, man," he said simply, staring at his feet. He was wearing what he always wore: baggy jeans and a tee-shirt. "It's all hanging off me. I look like a fucking troll."

"I'll call Lance, get you something to wear," Joey said and went to grab the phone. Chris sat on the bed as Joey explained the dilemma, and Lance promised he'd come over with something club-worthy, leather pants and a button-up shirt. Joey thanked him before hanging up, and sat next to Chris, who was staring at his hands.

"You could have just worn what you're wearing," Joey said quietly.

"I know," Chris muttered, crossing and uncrossing his thumbs. "God, what the fuck is wrong with me? It's a club. It's C's birthday. Nothing is going to happen, I know that, but I'm." Chris pressed his hands to his head. "God, I hate this, Joe, I hate feeling like this."

"It's pretty shitty," Joey agreed.

Chris looked over at him, and Joey tilted his head, lips pressed firmly together. Chris's eyes narrowed and he reached out, fingers curling around Joey's wrists and holding them tightly. Joey glanced down and didn't make a sound when it became painful, didn't fight at all when Chris twisted his arms, fast, pinning them behind his back. He only shivered a bit when Chris forced him to his stomach, hovering over him.

"It's so easy," Chris said quietly, "it's so fucking easy, Joe."

"It hurts," Joey muttered, but he didn't move, didn't have to, because Chris let go at that. With an apologetic and bleak lift of his eyebrows, Chris rubbed a thumb over Joey's skin, which was sure to be bruised by morning.

~~~

JC picked a quiet, mostly empty club that never expected to have Nsync walk through its door. They had a table reserved at the back, out of the light, and Chris sat in the middle, two of them on either side, protecting him. Under the table, his hand stayed on Joey's thigh.

JC ordered three pitchers of beer, which started the evening off, and by the end of it, they were all hollering Happy Birthday, even Chris, who was drunk enough that Joey had stopped drinking an hour ago, just in case. It was liquid happiness, the smile that crinkled the skin around his brown eyes, but Joey was glad to see it back, anyway.

Lance was on the other side of Joey, talking mostly to JC, who was slurring his words badly and seemed to really like the feel of Justin's silk shirt. Joey sat in silence while Chris smiled, told a bad joke every once in a while and informed Justin that he smelled like cheap cologne. Justin told Chris he smelled like a donkey in the sun, and Chris grinned. He was so drunk.

"Hey, Joe?" Chris said, his voice so low that for a moment Joey didn't recognise it and jumped when the hand touched his knee. Joey turned to look at him, and Chris's eyes were full of an emotion Joey couldn't name. "Would you die for me?"

"In an instant," Joey replied, without missing a beat, and this seemed to placate Chris, who went back to staring at Justin, just to piss him off. Joey looked around the club, keeping his eyes open. He didn't know what he was looking for. They were in Orlando; the guy who'd attacked Chris had been in New York. Joey was paranoid, and he knew it, but he couldn't risk missing something so important again.

"Joe?" Chris said again, and Joey turned his head. Chris looked at him for a second then turned away, going back to Justin. Joey didn't pay it any mind. He could smell the alcohol on Chris's breath. Joey looked at the ceiling instead, listening to JC squeal about the music as he dragged Justin to dance.

Joey looked at his hands, clasped on the table, and Chris pushed into him suddenly, face against Joey's sleeve. Joey looked at him then at Lance, who regarded Chris for a couple seconds before leaning over and whispering, "he's not going to ask you for anything tonight, so you have to remember what he's afraid of." Joey looked at him blankly, and Lance gestured with his thumb to the neon sign on the opposite wall.

"Oh," Joey breathed, feeling like an unthinking jerk, because of course, why hadn't he thought of that? Joey waited another few minutes then announced loudly, "I'm going to the bathroom. Would either of you ladies like to join me?"

"I'll pass," Lance said, sitting back, but Chris nodded. Joey urged him out of the booth and didn't stop Chris when his hand found Joey's, crushing his fingers. A big guy with a moustache, bumped Chris from behind, and Joey grabbed Chris's fist before he could hit him, smiling apologetically to the stranger. The man eyed them then turned away.

"Calm down, okay?" Joey whispered, arm around Chris's shoulder, holding him protectively. He tried to ease Chris's worry, keeping his voice light and easy. "I'm not going to let anything happen. I'm sober, Chris, and I'm your big, bad boyfriend. I'll kill anyone if they touch you. All right?"

"I'm sorry," Chris muttered, putting a hand to his face, "I'm sorry."

The washroom was brightly lit and clean, and Joey stood back while Chris stared at the two stalls and the out-of-service urinal. Chris pulled him into the stall and locked the door, and Chris pissed while Joey waited, his back against the door. Two men came in.

"Fags," one of them said, and Chris stood up straight. Joey just touched his back and stroked him, rubbing up to his shoulders. When that didn't help, Joey kissed him behind the ear and on the neck and over the line of his jaw. Chris was still tense but stayed where he was.

They pissed while Chris shook, barely standing, and Joey held him up, arms under his armpits when just clutching his shoulders didn't work. The moment the door slammed shut, Joey stepped back and let Chris continue. He did, after a minute or two, head hung low.

Joey took his turn, Chris pressed to his back like a second skin, breathing hard, and Joey stood where he was for a long time, holding Chris's hands where they circled his belly. When Chris stopped holding quite so hard, Joey lifted the fingers to his mouth and kissed them.

"Joe?" Chris asked, voice raw and liquid. "Joey, I want to tell you."

"Then tell me," Joey said. "I'm listening."

"I'm too drunk," Chris muttered, rubbing his cheek against Joey's shoulder. "I'm too drunk. I feel. I feel like that night, Joe. I can't." Chris's voice caught, and Joey turned around, hands going for Chris's face, which was soaked. "I'm so afraid, Joe. I'm so afraid. I want to go home. Please take me home."

"Okay," Joey said and let Chris wash his face before they wandered out, back the table where Lance was sitting, eyes on JC and Justin. He looked up when Joey approached the table. Chris stood behind Joey, still holding his hand. "We're going to go, okay?"

"Are you going to be okay on your own?" Lance asked, and Joey nodded. "All right. If you need me, my cell's on. Chris," Lance said, and Chris moved a bit, more to Joey's side. "It was good of you to come out tonight. It took balls. We're proud of you."

Chris nodded, his face hard again, and Joey led them out into the night, Chris tucked under his arm. Chris was unsteady enough that it looked more like he was drunk, which he was, than like he was with Joey in a way that was more than friendly. They'd taken a cab to the bar, but they were close enough to walk home. Joey hoped the air would clear Chris's head.

"Wait, stop, I'm going to puke," Chris said suddenly, and then he was in the bushes, heaving up all the beer in his stomach, retching until his belly was empty. Joey helped to his feet then wiped the corner of Chris's mouth with his hand, cleaning it. Chris looked up at him.

"I love you so much," Joey said and kissed his lips, holding his face between his palms, and he didn't care who saw. For that moment, nothing mattered but Chris. It was probably grossly unsanitary, Joey realised, but he was so tired of Chris feeling like he was dirty. He folded Chris in his arms and just held him for a while, until Chris's hands touched the small of his back and returned it.

They started walking again, cutting through the darkest pathways just to hide from the world. Chris took his hand a few times, and he stopped three more times to vomit. Each time, Joey kissed his mouth afterward.

"I walked for hours," Chris said, staring straight ahead as he finally broke the lingering silence. Joey shivered when Chris let go of his hand and tucked it into his own pocket instead, walking alongside Chris, barely moving. "I just left and I walked until I lost my way then I turned around and walked back."

Joey didn't want to think about it, walking. He remembered when Chris came to him, how he let Joey check to see if he was damaged. Joey never told him just how bad it really was, but he knew Chris must have known. Joey should have taken him to the hospital, but the bleeding stopped eventually, or so Chris claimed. Back then, Joey hadn't quite learned how to see his lies as clearly. He wondered, now, how long it really took.

"I shit out blood in a McDonald's bathroom," Chris said, pulling at his sleeve with a nervous hand, and Joey watched him, nearly stumbled over a fire hydrant in the distraction. Chris didn't look at him, even when he tripped. He just keep his eyes straight ahead.

Joey remembered the smell of the blood. Even now, when anyone bled near him, he knew it, and it made him sick. He walked around with bandaids in his wallet, to hide any injuries he might receive. It was a trigger, the counsellor said, he would probably react to it from now on. Joey didn't like the idea that there was poison like that under his skin.

"I didn't scream when he raped me," Chris said, and he stopped at that, looking at Joey for the first time. Joey kept their eyes locked for as long as Chris could stand it, and when he looked away, Joey was almost relieved. Chris continued, "I tried, but he," and Chris paused.

The silence hung heavy between them.

"Show me," Joey said, and Chris moved behind him, twisting his arms behind his back and pushing Joey down to his knees. It was dark. Joey focussed on Chris's actions, didn't fight when the hand closed over his mouth, and the thumb and finger pinched his nose shut.

"You scream," Chris whispered, "and I'll suffocate you, just like this. Some guys get off on this, not me, but some guys." Chris's hand tightened, and Joey blinked, trying to stay in his own head, but his chest was tight and empty. When Chris finally removed his hand, Joey was panting, and his stomach felt queasy.

"Come on," Chris said, helping Joey to his feet, "let's keep walking."

~~~

They passed the house. Chris seemed sober, though Joey could still smell beer on his breath when they got close enough. They walked to a park and sat under a tree. It was almost two in the morning, but Joey wasn't very tired anyway.

"I stole someone's coat," Chris said suddenly, picking at the grass. Joey sat next to him, staring at Chris's knees. When he looked up, Chris was frowning. "I feel bad about it. It was a really nice coat, and I stole it."

"I'm sure he'd forgive you," Joey replied, remembering the black coat, that it cut to the middle of Chris's leg and how heavy it was in Joey's hands when he finally got Chris out of it. It was exactly the type of coat a man would steal to hide the broken body underneath.

"I'd never stolen anything before in my life," Chris continued, and he rubbed at his forehead, hard enough that Joey took his hand and held it instead. Chris shuffled back a bit to lean against him. "Not even when we were so poor that we couldn't afford to get me a winter jacket. I should have stolen a coat then, when I needed it."

"You needed it," Joey said seriously, trying to validate the theft. He knew Chris rarely took anything from anybody, remembered way back when they first started and were mostly paying their own way, how Chris went for days without proper food because he wouldn't tell anyone he was hungry. "You did what you had to do. You were just surviving, Chris."

Chris nodded. He didn't speak again, so Joey sat back and stared up at the stars, or rather, what he could see of them. The city made them disappear into the dark, faint pinpricks instead of glowing suns. The air was still warm but cooling down quickly.

"What's the time?" Chris asked and lifted Joey's wrist, peering at his watch. He ran his fingers around the edge of the leather band, ruffling the hair on Joey's arms. Joey leaned forward and breathed a kiss into his hair, eyes half-closed.

Chris stood up suddenly, holding his hand out to Joey, and Joey pushed to his feet. He followed Chris home, staring at his feet for most of the walk. When they got to the door, Joey fished out his keys and unlocked it, letting Chris go in first. Joey went to turn on the lights, but Chris grabbed his head, shaking his head. Instead, he set the security alarm then followed Chris up the stairs.

Joey took off his watch and walked into the bathroom, the only lights in the room coming from a track of lamps on the ceiling over the tub. Joey remembered why he bought the house: there was just enough room everywhere, not too much, not too little, just enough. There was just enough space for both of them there.

Chris stood at the mirror, his hands on the counter, and Joey moved behind him, pressing his fingers to the bumpy ridge of Chris's spine between his pointed shoulder blades. He was just so thin. It was like he was disappearing. It made Joey sad.

Joey ran his knuckles down Chris's body, unfolding his fingers onto the small of his back then moving up again, fingers curling back to his palm. He dragged the back of his hand over the bumps of his ribs, dipping under Chris's arms. Chris bowed his head and shuddered hard.

"We should get in before the water gets cold," Chris said, and Joey nodded, taking his hand away. He sat down first, ignoring the sting of the heat on his skin, and watched Chris slip in across from him, curled into a ball, as small as possible. He tipped his head forward, and Joey's eyes traced down his neck then across his arms, staring at Chris's hands. The fingers curved over his knees, spread apart. He wasn't angry, Joey thought, if his hands weren't.

"I'm trying to tell you something," Chris said, finally, after sitting there for a fifteen minutes. Joey looked up. Chris scratched his face and twisted his lips together, brow furrowing. "But I. This isn't. I don't like telling people things, you know? Like, I don't like saying things that I know will make people feel bad for me."

Joey nodded, floating his hand on the water. Chris never told anybody anything, and over the years, Joey and the other guys had gotten pretty good at figuring out what was going on without him saying a word. JC figured out Dani and Chris broke up three weeks before he told them. Chris hated to be pitied, so he swallowed the truth until it was forced out of him.

Joey usually tried not to think about Chris's secrets, never had. Now, though, even when he was trying to guess at them, he was usually wrong. Maybe Chris was right, Joey thought, maybe he really didn't want to know. Almost ten months, and they'd never really talked about what happened that night, not really.

Joey didn't know how welcome he was in Chris's life, in Chris's nightmare. More than the others, that was obvious, and more than Chris's own family, but he was still always kept at a safe distance. There were parts of Chris that none of them knew, Joey understood, pieces of him that Chris probably didn't even know were there.

"Joe?" Chris said, and Joey nodded. He was listening. "If you don't want to hear this --"

"Just a bit afraid of it," Joey admitted honestly, dropping his hand under the water and putting it against his thigh, keeping himself grounded. "I want to hear it. I'm tired of -- I think about it sometimes, what happened to you. I try to imagine --"

"Please don't," Chris said quietly. "Please, I don't want you thinking about me, like that."

Joey frowned. "Chris, I have to. You're, like. I love you," Joey said, and it sounded so lame, so insufficient in describing just how big the feeling in his body was. "I want to understand. It's the same with all of you guys. I need to understand."

"I know," Chris mumbled, a hand against his face. "I know that. I just. It's so hard, to tell you these things, but I need to get it out. I thought it would be easier if I was drunk, but that just. That just scared me. I'm so sober right now," Chris confessed.

"Then tell me what you need to tell me," Joey insisted.

Chris looked bleak. "I can't say it."

"Just tell me, fast, before you can think about it," Joey replied, "just throw it out there."

"I can't," Chris said, and he reached out for Joey's hand, taking it out of the water and holding it so tightly Joey's fingers cracked. Chris was shaking, Joey realised, and when Joey finally caught Chris's eyes, they were glimmering. "I can't."

"Yes, you can," Joey said, a tightness in his belly that rose higher with every breath. His mind was racing, and he couldn't slow his thoughts down enough to even make a guess about what Chris was attempting to say. "Chris, you can say anything you want. There's not a single thing that you can tell me that will change anything. I've already seen you at your worst, Chris. You let me see you then, so let me hear you now."

Chris bit his lip, tipping his head against his shoulder, and Joey moved suddenly, kneeling and reaching forward for him. His hands rested on the rounds of Chris's shoulders, firmly holding him, and Joey didn't push it further, just made the contact.

"He didn't use a condom," Chris blurted out, so quickly and so loudly that Joey jumped back more at the desperate tone than the words themselves. The water splashed around, huge rolling waves hitting the sides of the tub and splashing onto the tiled ground. "He didn't use a condom, Joe."

"Are you." Joey paused, gripping the sides of the tub so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "Are you sick, Chris?"

"I don't know. I haven't. I mean. I keep trying to. Every time I leave the house, I try to go, but I take one look at the clinic and just. I freak, every fucking time." Chris scratched at his arms, rubbing himself, and Joey approached him again, taking his hands. "I mean, if it was, like, a STD, I'd know, right? Like, like gonorrhea, or chlamydia. I had chlamydia in college."

"I had crabs, a couple times," Joey admitted, then felt immensely stupid for saying it. Who cared about that when Chris was. When he. Joey closed his eyes, but Chris squeezed his hands, lightly. "I'm saying dumb shit now. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. I mean. It's fine. I just. I don't know what I'm trying to say. He didn't use a condom. His dick was in my ass, without a condom, and that just. It makes me more angry than anything else, to know I could die from something he gave me, when I didn't scream just so I could live. I mean. I'm probably not sick, right? We'd know."

"You're so skinny," Joey said softly, rubbing his thumbs over the tops of Chris's fingers.

"Oh, that. I." Chris moved in the water, inching just a tiny bit closer, and Joey spread his thighs, letting Chris settle between them. "Okay. The truth is, I'm eating, but I can't keep it in. I try, but it just. my body doesn't want it. Nothing stays inside."

"How long has this been going on?" Joey asked, quiet.

Chris shrugged. "Since the beginning. I mean, sometimes it's worse, like, when I'm freaking out, and I'm thinking about the fact that maybe I'm sick, that maybe I'm dying, then it's bad. Sometimes, I can forget. This isn't always my life."

Joey frowned. "It's always your life."

"I don't want it to be," Chris said sadly.

"You're worrying yourself to death," Joey said.

"I know that, too. Which is why. Which is why I'm asking you for help, to come with me. I need to know if there's something inside me that's killing me. If he poisoned me," Chris said carefully, eyes still wet. Joey lifted a hand to his face, and Chris leaned into the touch, eyes flickering shut. "I don't want to die, Joe."

"You're probably fine," Joey murmured, his belly turning. "You're right. We'd know."

"I hope so," Chris said, moving a bit closer, and Joey pulled him that last step, taking him into his lap, Chris's thighs on either side of his hips. He wrapped his arms around Chris's waist, holding him tightly, and Chris buried his face in Joey's neck. "If I got you sick, I couldn't live with myself. I want us to be together, like we should be. We're getting so close."

"I want that too, so badly," Joey confessed and surprised himself when he realised it was the truth. It didn't matter, in that moment, that his dick didn't work, or that the sheer idea also terrified the living shit out of him. He wanted to be with Chris. That was enough.

"I know I need to get tested, I know I do, but I fucking swear to god, if I'm sick, I'm going to fucking hunt that asshole down and murder him, like, I will. I'm so fucking angry, and so fucking ashamed, and so fucking sad all the goddamn time. Talking about it helps, I guess. Dana's nice, but there's just so much, and I. God, I'm shaking," Chris said, small in Joey's arms, and Joey nodded, holding him as tightly as he could. Chris's skin was wet and slippery and cold, and his teeth were chattering.

"Come on, let's get out of the water," Joey said quietly, helping Chris to his feet, and Chris didn't let go once they were standing, just kept his arms crossed over Joey's back. Wrapping them in towels, Joey guided Chris to the bed. "Okay. Tomorrow, we go to the clinic, and we find out if he did give you anything, then you and me, we'll talk some more, because I want to know everything. Okay? I want you to tell me everything. I want to hear it."

Chris nodded, hunched over, and Joey crawled in beside him, rubbing his cold skin between his palms, not missing an inch of skin on his body. Chris pushed into him, like he was trying to burrow under Joey's skin, and Joey kept him close, folding Chris in warm limbs and forcing the life back into him.

"You're going to be just fine," Joey said quietly. "It's all right to be angry, Chris. If you have anything, I'll help you hunt him down myself. Okay? You and me against the world, okay? We're going to be just fine, Chris."

"I'm so cold," Chris replied. "I still feel so dead inside."

"I know, but it'll get better. Every day, you said it yourself." Joey pulled him even closer, burying his face in Chris's hair and breathing, his hands pressing to the small of Chris's back. Joey could count every bone in Chris's body just by running his palms over them. "And you're not dead, Chris, not even close."

And Joey kept saying it until Chris fell asleep.

~~~
my master's in the yard
giving light to the unaware
this plastic little place
is just a step amongst the stairs
~~~

Fin.

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