1.
Everything starts in the middle of February. Bright lights flash in Chris's face and he holds up his hands to shield his eyes from the glare. Between the cracks in his fingers, Justin swivels fresh sixteen-year-old hips for the flaying arms of weeping Swiss girls. He bares his stomach, revealing flat white muscles, and rakes a hand through his curls like he knows he's channeling Elvis. One of the girls faints and a security guard wraps her little body in his big arms and carries her away. Justin doesn't even blink. A long-fingered paw grabs his waistband and tugs sharp, but he twists away with a tight smile on his face. Loose nails make blood on his skin before security pushes the crowd back.
In the sweaty after-show mass of assistants, tech crew, and girls with shiny plastic passes, Justin stands by himself in the shadows with a towel around his neck. An assistant passes him water and he holds the bottle as if his knuckles are melting. Chris frees the perspiration from his thick black bangs and walks over.
He notices the way Justin breathes, as if trying to remember how. And the way his shoulders tremble a little, the way the silly bangles on his costume slide to show wet skin. Skin so luminescent, so smooth. Chris blinks hard to get the itch out of his cheeks. Justin flashes his eyes once at him and he looks twelve instead of sixteen, blue slits wider than usual, fear stretching the irises. There's no smile, only timid whiteness and bright curls.
But then Joey claps him on the back and growls in his ear. Another assistant puts a pen in his long fingers, and the expression shifts so quickly Chris has trouble catching the change until it is too late. The grown-up Justin is back, the thirty-year-old peeking uncertainly from clear blues, the easy smile and smooth swing of his walk returned.
Chris shakes his head. JC says something to him, but Chris has to ask him to repeat it three times before he finally understands.
2.
It's beyond late when Chris, Joey, and JC get back from the club 每 and this isn't the first time since January this has happened.
At the club, JC got a little carried away with the excitement of being legal in Europe. Now Chris and Joey slink their arms underneath his shoulders to hold him steady as they pull him to their room. Chris's head still pounds with trance rhythms and smoke catches his nostrils.
Lynn emerges from the room she shares with Diane, puts her hands on her hips and throws them a bleary-eyed glare.
JC stumbles a little when Joey throws off his arm, but Chris places an even hand on his back. "Good evening, Missss Harlesssss," JC purrs, a sated smile on his face.
Chris waves his hand and Lynn switches the glare to him. "You're supposed to be the responsible one," he's pretty sure she wants to say. But her mouth only twitches and she pulls her pink bathrobe tighter around her shoulders. Then disappears inside.
Joey whistles low and puts his arm back around JC's waist. JC hums Sarah McLachlan and swoons just as Chris fumbles with the plastic key card and lets them inside the tiny room they share.
He thinks he might see Justin standing in boxer shorts and an old t-shirt by the vending machine, his thighs looking smooth but shaky underneath the plaid cotton, but his vision is wheeling as it is. He is only too happy to find his bed (even though the mattress springs creak when he rolls and the stained comforter smells like piss).
Chris dreams about the lanky Scandinavian boy with graceful cheekbones who bought him beer at the bar because he didn't speak German, or it could've been because Chris just didn't have enough deutschmarks to cover his tab. The Scandinavian's face twists and whirls until flesh becomes new flesh. Then his dreams are all about Justin standing beside the vending machine, a shadowed torso of new wet skin, staring at him with vacant midnight eyes and shaking.
When the alarm goes off at an ungodly hour the next morning, he can explain neither the heat between his thighs or the bile in his mouth.
3.
He eats breakfast at McDonald's with the babies and their parents that morning and crosses his legs underneath the table to stop the furious twitch in his ankle. He slurps strong coffee, chokes down dry french fries﹛and feels Lynn's eyes on his shoulders. His stomach twists and flops as he realizes too late he shouldn't have ordered that last vodka after that fourth beer.
Lance shoves his sausage-egg mcmuffin down his throat as if he hasn't eaten in a week. Between mouthfuls, he talks fast in a sloppy accent about Joey teaching him poker on free Tuesdays and the love affairs of Nashville singers. Diane nods, says "Yes, dear" in the wrong places, and stares evenly at Chris's forehead.
Justin ordered coffee even though it makes him choke and now he stares earnestly at his mug. He wraps his hand around the handle even though his fingers are shaking. He puts the mug to his mouth but his hand wobbles so badly that the hot brown liquid spills down his white shirt. Lynn clucks and dabs at the stain with a paper napkin. He scowls and his face reddens as he twists free of her touch. He tries again, but he can't steady his hand this time either and burns his lips.
After Justin, Lance and Diane finish their meals and leave, Lynn stays behind. She leans closer to Chris over the bright yellow plastic table, her mouth clenched tight and her knuckles red. Chris swallows more of his coffee and can't stop fidgeting with the leftover crumbs on his plate. Behind their table, a statue of Ronald McDonald, plastic red hair and all, stares goggly-eyed at him.
"His hands- they wouldn't stop shaking," she whispers fiercely, and his ears ring with her worry.
Chris looks up so sharply he gets a crick in his neck. He'd been so sure this was going to be a lecture about last night.
"I wish I knew what was going on." She narrows her eyes and puts her fingernails between her lips. "Is Lou working you guys too hard? Are you sick of eating out all the time? Do you want . . ."
Chris sets his mug down and puts his hand over hers. "Mrs. Harless," he says. He does not smile. "You know. . . Justin was born for this."
"That's what I thought," she says, but her voice trembles a little. She removes her hand from his and clasps her fingers together until sweat runs down her wrists. She nods jerkily, as if a puppeteer pulls her neck. "That's what I thought."
Chris shakes his head and finishes his coffee. He does not watch her leave.
4.
Chris watches Justin at rehearsal. He studies the slope of his neck, the easy swing of his hips.
He watches until Joey pushes his shoulder and whips a towel at his head. Chris scowls, grabs Joey's wrist, and shoves him away. Joey yelps and touches his arm. In a far corner of the room, Lou's fat face folds into a frown and he leans back in his plastic lawn chair until it creaks.
"Tonight," Joey whispers into Chris's ear, eyes twinkling anxiously towards Lou. "It's Astral Projection playing. At the Pleasuredome. We're leaving at one."
The choreographer snaps at Justin and Justin yells back, red in the face. "Try it again," the woman says smartly. Justin frowns and does the move, but he falls over his ankles and lands nose-first on the mat. He swears when he crumples. Chris winces, glad Lynn isn't here to see this. The choreographer puts her hands on her hips and glares. Justin repeats the move, but his motions are only half-heartedly passable.
Chris keeps an eye on his hands. They're still shaking, though Justin tries to hide the vibration by rubbing his fingers together.
5.
Chris steers JC away from the pretty French boy washing his hands at the sink and leads him toward the stalls, hands tight on his shoulders. JC protests weakly. Just as Chris bends him over the toilet, he vomits three times. Toilet paper is strewn all over the stall and the dispenser is streaked with brown. Chris grabs the scraps of paper remaining on the roll and pats down JC's sweaty neck. When JC turns around, his bile dribbles down Chris's shoulder. Chris frowns darkly.
"Is he all right?" Joey's voice calls from the doorway. He adjusts his necktie and his face is flushed. Chris sees a large-chested blonde through the smoky haze behind him.
"I'm taking him home early," Chris yells, and Joey doesn't even protest. Chris winces, amazed at how quickly "home" has become bad hotel rooms in strange cities that are thousands of miles from where he was born.
"You," mumbles JC, stumbling a bit as Chris keeps his arms around his waist. "You and Justin."
Chris chokes and pushes back wild strands of JC's hair with both palms. "Me and what?"
JC's eyes are particularly lucid, and Chris rights him with a quick tug. "Aren't you a little old for him?"
Chris's stomach twists. He's had three beers and smoked a few joints that a German girl with brown curls lit for him, so that must be why he's so nervous. He wipes JC's mouth with his wrist and slides an arm back around his waist. "We're getting a taxi for you, okay?"
"Can walk m'self," JC mutters lazily. Chris lets him move on his own, and he shuffles outside of the club without falling once. Chris's sleeve is sticky with his bile and when they get outside, he wipes it on his pants and grimaces.
The cool late night air lightens his face. As he waits, he stares at the stars and remembers running from drunken stepfathers and broken down apartments, punching the pavement outside at midnight until his knuckles bled. He bites hard on his tongue until it pricks and promises himself that one day, when he is rich and famous, he will buy a Harley Davidson and ride far away from here, ride so fast that his stomach hurts and his eyes are blinded by the sunset.
He gets JC back to their room and only passes Lance in the hallway. After he covers JC with blankets in Joey's bed, he stumbles into the dirty bathroom. The itch gets in his throat and he retches twice on the tiles.
6.
At the concert the next night, Justin has trouble holding the microphone between jittery fingers. Once he fumbles it so bad he messes his routine. The techs switch him to a face mike during a costume change.
After the show, Joey asks Chris about Justin's hands. "Is he on something?" he hisses, checking behind his shoulder to make sure he's out of Lou's earshot. Chris's face grows hot as he watches Justin take off his shirt and wipe down his shoulders. He switches his glance back to Joey and shrugs.
"I'll ask," he promises.
"You do that," Joey says.
7.
Instead of going with Joey and JC one Friday, Chris takes Justin to an all-night Chinese dim sum restaurant in Stuttgart. Lance stays behind because he just ate sauerkraut for the first time and he's sick to his stomach.
The restaurant is on the second floor of a tacky souvenir shop, and they climb a long flight of creaky stairs to reach the place. It's mostly empty when they get there, and the hostess bows to them and shows them their table. She asks them in a strained sing-song if they've ever eaten dim-sum before. Justin flashes a smile and says he hasn't, but Chris cuts through his eager denial and says they have. When she leaves, Justin glares at him. His hands haven't stopped shaking since they left the hotel.
"It's all-you-can-eat buffet," says Chris, eyeing his trembling fingers sharply. "You get a tray, choose what you want, bring it back to your table. You know, like Old Country Buffet."
Justin frowns. "I've never been there."
"Oh," Chris says quietly, remembering the five-dollar roast beef that tasted like dust and the crowds of grandmothers on Sunday afternoons.
He rises to his feet and Justin gets up too. Justin curls his hands into fists but the shakes don't stop. They get their trays. Justin makes it to the buffet line and picks out heaps of different entrees, but he gets a little carried away. His plate is piled high when he meets Chris at the opposite end. He grins above his rice and yakisoba bowl and his teeth are so white they gleam.
Justin gets a few feet back to the table before his hands shiver so hard the tray upends its contents on the already stained carpet. The waitresses cluck at him and rush over to towel up the piles of rice on the floor. His grin quickly fades. A sharp-tongued gray-haired woman asks him what he'd like and stacks up another tray for him with careless heaps of food he doesn't want. His eyes narrow and his mouth juts stubbornly into an angry pout when she carries his tray to the table. He sits and she places it in front of him. He wipes his face and smiles convincingly when he catches Chris's stare. Chris silently pokes at his yakisoba with his chopsticks and watches Justin pick up his plastic fork. Justin puts it back down and stares at it, as if expecting it to rise into the air of its own volition. Several moments later, he picks up the fork again and poises it over his rice. Then he decides the better of that and returns it to the table.
"Want to try chopsticks?" Chris asks mutely, slurping his tea. Justin scowls and puts his hands underneath the table. "How long has it been like this?" he says next. Justin ducks his head.
"Dunno," Justin says. Then he whispers the next bit, sneaking a quick glance at Chris's face. "I can't make it stop."
Chris waves his hand and Justin hesitantly brings his hands out from under the table. Chris grabs his fingers and Justin jumps at the harsh touch. The itch is now in Chris's belly when he strokes Justin's knuckles. He stretches back the boy's fingers until the joints straighten and the lines in his palms redden. Justin's face shivers, his skin suddenly white. Chris releases his grip and puts his own hands on his face. Justin stares out at the window and sets his jaw. Chris is pretty sure he's never seen that expression on Justin's face, and it is oddly captivating.
"I don't know either, Justin," he says behind his palms, trying to catch the exact luster of Justin's eyes between his fingers. Justin looks down at his plate and sighs heavily, as if he'd expected Chris to say something else. His lips part suggestively and his eyes glint with just a hint of longing as he catches the reflection of some shadow on the street below. Chris flags over the waitress for beer as the itch creeps down his thighs.
Justin asks for some too. Though his curls stick out everywhere and his cheeks shine, the woman doesn't ask for his ID. Chris cocks his head and bounces his toe underneath the table. He downs the beer fast when it's placed in front of him. Justin chokes down his as long as his hand is steady around the bottle. Chris frowns and tries not to care any more.
When the manager finally kicks them out with a handful of fortune cookies and a receipt, Justin can hardly make it down the stairs. It's raining when they get outside and in minutes they're soaked to the bone. Justin twirls around on his heels and raises his head to the sky, dropping half the fortune cookies in the process. He remembers he's holding them when his boot crunches one that fell.
He thrusts one up to Chris's face and nearly tips over into the street. "Will you open this, Chris?" he yells loudly into the wind. Chris takes the fortune cookie from him and puts one arm on his shoulder. "My hands, they. . . my hands aren't sss-so steady."
"I know," Chris says softly. He rips off the plastic and gives it to Justin, who chokes and watches the drops of rain run down the wrapper. He breaks the cookie and squints at the tiny black print on the strip of white paper that's growing damper by the second in his palm. "Don't worry about money," he reads. "The best things in life are free."
"What does that mean?" says Justin, the wrapper clutched tight in his fist. "I don't know what that means." He kneels down and whispers this to himself over and over again.
Chris thinks of his motorcycle when he looks at Justin's face, and he's not really sure if those are the rain or tears that now track down Justin's cheeks.
For a moment, though, he thinks he sees Justin's hands go still.
8.
At rehearsal, JC twirls and dances about the room while the choreographer works with Justin. JC takes Lance with him and his bare feet whisper and slide across the floor, his hair all astray as he flies. Lance stiffens up a little when he grabs his shoulders, but he relaxes enough to let JC tip him forward and swing with him.
JC bowls Lance so close to the floor that he flops on his back with an uncomfortable squeal. Lance scowls and laughs awkwardly, then brushes himself off and stands very much away from JC. Joey hides a smile, takes a long pull from his Gatorade and rubs withered eyes. Chris shakes his head; he can't really tell the sober JC from the drunk one anymore.
"Fuck!" Justin sputters, his face burning two shades of purple. Jamie, the choreographer, puts her hands on her hips and her eyes flash dark. Chris's eyes switch automatically now to his hands: they're shaking, as always.
"You're usually so on target!" Jamie says loudly. "I don't know what's with you this week!"
"Nothing's with me!" Justin snaps back, cheeks wet with sweat and eyes gleaming harshly. "I'm taking a break, okay!"
Justin stalks from the room, spine stiff and head thrown back. JC stops twirling. Joey and Lance look at Chris.
"What?" he says when no one speaks.
"You were supposed to talk to him," Joey hisses between clenched teeth.
Jamie starts yelling at Lou, who's been sitting silently on his plastic lawn chair in the far corner the whole time and scowling fiercely. The air is so taut that Chris breathes harder than usual. JC angles his head. "I can talk-"
"I'll do it," Chris mutters darkly and leaves the room.
Outside in the hallway among a mess of sound equipment and broken parts, Justin stands shakily by the vending machine. He tries to put quarters in the slot, but his fingers wobble too badly to keep the coins flat. He fumbles the next try and the quarter falls to the cement, tumbling to the shadows beneath the machine. He bends over until his ear is nearly pressed to the ground and splays out his hand, long quivering fingers grasping for the silver. When he gets it, he bangs his head on his way up. His eyes brighten and he gnaws his lower lip to stop the curse he nearly whispers.
"Justin."
He jumps at Chris's voice and leans his head back over his shoulder to get a closer look at him. He tries to smile, but his tongue only traces the outline of his mouth into a smirk. Chris tries not to think about the itch on his neck when he sees the spot of moist red. Justin's lips are wet now, but there's a hint of dampness in his eyes too before he blinks it away. Chris suddenly squirms at how sixteen he looks 每 unsure of himself and all alone in the world.
"I can't make it stop." Justin hangs his head apologetically and crushes his fingers over the coins. Chris tries to speak but he can't form any words. "You know what I'm talking about."
Chris nods quickly. "You know, back at the- at the restaurant?" Justin moves his head. "For a moment they weren't shaking. Outside in the rain."
"Really?" Justin's eyes get a little lighter.
"When I read your fortune."
Justin raises his head and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. A little sparkle gets back in his eyes, but they're still too bright to be dry.
Jamie sticks her head out the door. "Are we ready to work now?" she says a little too eagerly.
Justin nods and sniffs, but his shoulders are straight, his chin is high, and something older flashes in his now-dry eyes. Chris narrows a glance at his back when he returns to the rehearsal room, and the itch shifts and writhes in his belly. He scratches the back of his ear, but the mess in his stomach doesn't go away.
Later, when Joey asks him about going out, Chris says he's too tired. When they get out in the bright sunlight and walk to the busses, Chris promises Justin video games after the show just to get him smiling again.
9.
Joey and JC have left already, Joey in his casual jeans and t-shirt and JC in bangly sparkles. Chris downed a cup of rum and coke with them from the bottle of genuine Jaegermeister that Joey picked up at Tengelmann on the way over to the venue. He hadn't been able to find the word for liquor in his German-English phrase book, so finally JC mimed tipping back a shot glass and falling to the floor. The clerk had laughed and pointed them to the right aisle.
"Pregaming," Joey'd explained when they'd gotten back to the hotel room. JC, who's never been to college, said he likes fancy mixed drinks better, and Joey asked him sternly to count the deutschmarks in his pocket. JC shut up after that.
Now Chris flips through channels too fast to notice what's on, blinking fast and tapping his feet. He's draped over the edge of the bed he'll share with Joey that night, and he wraps a stained sheet around his waist to keep the chill away. His finger pauses when he hits a higher channel.
It's grainy, but if he blinks hard he thinks he can see a flash of skin, a smooth curve of breast. Then the sound snaps on: moans pour from the static, throaty moans and purrs and screams. Chris's foot stops bouncing and he leans forward, heat gathering between his thighs when the man's breath hitches in a high-pitched whimper. He realizes with an eager rush that it's not the curve of a breast he sees next to the man, but an easy pitch of buttocks.
Somebody knocks, but Chris doesn't notice until they knock again. They knock so fast and repetetively that Chris snaps and jumps to his feet, growling to himself as he lunges for the door. "What," he says sharply as he pulls the door open and shuffles back to the bed.
"Am I interrupting something?" Justin asks brightly. Chris curses and scrambles for the remote, which fell under the bed in his haste to get to the door. Then he can't decide which is worse: the cluster of red and blue Dixie cups surrounding the half empty Jaegermeister bottle on the table that's pushed near the bed, or the half-moaned scratches picked up from some neighbor's porn channel on the television. Chris finally rescues the remote and turns down the volume. It'll be hard for Justin to pick out the shape of a penis, anyway.
"Is that-" Justin scrunches up his face and squints into the screen. He plops down next to Chris and leans forward with his hands clasped. Chris rolls his eyes and moans sharply.
"Wellshutthedoorthen," he grumbles too fast. Justin flushes bright red, jumps to his feet, and closes the door. His face is still red when he returns to his place on the bed. Chris tries not to notice how close he scoots the second time and raises the volume instead of thinking about it.
"Are those two guys?" Justin asks, his eyes widening a bit as he sneaks a look back at Chris. Chris glances at his hands; he's got them curled into fists, but his fingers still tremble like crazy.
"Um, I think so," Chris mumbles awkwardly. He shifts a little further away from Justin. "It's kind of, um, difficult to tell, though."
"I think those are two guys," Justin says, and he moves a bit closer. His skin is so red that Chris can feel his heat, and he smells a little cologne mixed with sweat. It's nice, a foresty waft through the smoky room. Chris frowns. He's never picked up on Justin's scent before.
"Justin." Chris's voice is soft but it comes out as a bit of a whimper. He moves around and shuffles his legs to hide the hardness between them. Justin stays completely still and puts one of his shaking hands on Chris's thigh. Chris grabs his wrist and puts his fingers between Justin's knuckles. Justin shivers and lets him touch his hand. His thumb twitches violently, but the other fingers get rigid.
"I can't. . ." Justin tries, and his voice catches in the same pitch of the man on the television screen. Chris releases his hand with a sharp jolt, and the shakes are back throughout the whole hand. Justin practically growls with irritation. "It's not that."
"You're sixteen." Chris's eyes flash. He realizes how dim the light in the room is and his eyes fall on the gleam of a bottle on the table. He gulps, his stomach doing all kinds of twists.
"It's not that." Justin raises his chin and his eyes are defiant, hard and old. He clenches his fingers together but his whole wrist shakes. He leans so close to Chris that the smell of his cologne gets in Chris's hair. Chris pulls back and shimmies to the corner of the bed.
"You're sixteen," he says, harder this time. Justin lets out a strangled snarl and puts his mouth sloppily on Chris's chin. Chris puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back.
Someone knocks and Chris quickly picks up the remote, flips through a couple channels until he finds the international CNN channel.
Lance's head appears through the doorway. "I can't sleep," he explains shyly, looking down at his toes. "Thought you were playing video games?"
Chris jumps up and begins clearing off the table. Lance squints at him and joins Justin on the bed. Justin keeps his eyes on the press secretary who's giving a briefing, though Chris is sure they're glazing over. Lance grabs Justin's left hand and stretches back his index finger. "Still?" he asks with a furrowed brow. He holds Justin's wrist back a little too long and Chris drops the cups he's got tight to his chest.
Justin jumps up. "I'll help you."
Chris swears as he bends and scoops the cups with his elbow. Justin's curls gleam in the dim light of the room, whole body quivering and slim waist uncertain. Chris clutches his fingers tighter across the red plastic, dumps the cups in a black garbage bag, and scowls.
"No. You stay here with Lance," he says harshly. Justin's face falls and his fingernails wobble unsteadily. Then he raises his chin defiantly and squares his shoulders on his way back to Lance. Chris turns his back and stalks roughly from the room.
After he dumps the bag in the garbage dispenser outside the hotel, he stops and sinks his shoulders with his back to the wall. Sixteen, he whispers, but it doesn't sound like an excuse any more 每 or an apology, for that matter. He doesn't know what it sounds like. Sixteen, sixteen, sixteen, he says until the word freezes the blood on his lips. He closes his eyes shut and lets the cool night air breeze over his skin, lets his foot wobble until his nerves break. When he's rich and famous, he thinks to himself as he looks at the sky, he'll buy a motorcycle and ride away from all of this, these bad hotel rooms and cheap beer cans at his feet. It'll be just him and the road and he'll ride into the sunset, alone in the world and yet free.
When Joey and JC stumble back from the club, Joey catches Chris with his hands down his pants, sitting on his knees by the toilet and sweating.
10.
Lou's with Justin in that cramped office at the venue a long time. The tech guys run around setting things up and Jamie does some last minute things with Lance and JC. Chris paces below the stage, takes long sips from his water bottle, and swings his elbows in vicious circles. Joey watches him from the front row.
"You talked to him, didn't you?" Joey asks, staring past Chris's shoulders.
"I talked to him," Chris hisses, his face red.
"Then Lou won't be too hard on him."
"I'm not worried about that!"
"Why are you pacing, then?" Joey asks pointedly.
"I always get wound up before shows," Chris shoots back, his voice hard and cold. Joey sighs and turns his face. Chris keeps pacing.
A door slams and Justin walks onstage, hands curled into fists and face a sharp red. Chris looks at him and stays still.
"Well?" he asks when Justin gets closer. Joey smirks behind him.
"Don't wanna talk about it," Justin says in a hard voice. When he opens his mouth Chris notices the blood on his cracked lips. Chris follows Justin outside even though Joey shakes his head. He stays back in a doorway and watches as Justin punches the cement wall in the hallway over and over again until his knuckles redden and swell. His fingers shake harder with each hit, though the blows are fiercer each time. When he turns around and sees Chris, his shoulders drop but his eyes burn darkly.
In the bathroom, Chris shows Justin how to wrap clean bandages around his hand and how to put Neosporin on his knuckles to take the sting away. Justin leans into Chris suddenly and his lithe, tight body spoons flush against his chest. He looks like something Chris used to be once, but he's a little more precarious- a little more fragile. He doesn't really show it much, Chris has noticed, but it's times like these that Chris likes him best. Aloof, sort of. Real. One day this Justin will fall away, Chris knows; this Justin will get lost in the crowd and forget the way back home. But for now Chris prefers not to think too far ahead. He just strokes a free hand down Justin's waist and keeps him close.
Justin's wrists twitch, but his hands are mostly steady as Chris wraps the bandages around his knuckles.
11.
Lynn takes Chris out to breakfast at a nearby McDonald`s, just her and him alone while it's still dark out. Chris can't remember a time when he wasn't eating greasy slop in restaurants at the wrong hours of the day.﹛Or a time when he went to McDonald`s because he just wanted a decent hamburger, not because it was the only thing in the area that reminded him the most of home. Instead of looking at her food as she eats, Lynn stares at the family talking excitedly together across the aisle. Chris follows her lead and eats his toast in silence.
When she turns her face to him, her eyes are gleaming. He sees the resemblance between her and Justin then; the cut of the eyes is so similar, or perhaps it is the way their eyes curve just before they want to say something important. She wipes a hand across her face and her eyes regain their dullness.
"Lou's been telling me things I don't want to hear about Justin," she says, her mouth stiffening. "I saw the bandages on his hand. I know you helped him with that."
Chris shuffles his feet and mumbles something into his coffee. The liquid is hard and bitter this dawn, fast on his tongue.
"You're the grownup here, Chris." Lynn puts her hands together and leans forward. Her bangs fall across her face and get into her eyes, obscuring the blue in them. "Justin needs you to grow up. He needs you."
"I can't make him better, Mrs. Harless." Chris shakes his head and wipes the coffee stain off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Only Justin can do that."
Lynn finishes her bacon and cleans her fingers with her napkin. When she looks back at Chris, her eyes are dry but serious. They finish the rest of their meal in silence.
12.
That Thursday at midnight the club is hazy and hot, almost stifling. The trance rhythm thrums as steadily in Chris's ears as the beating of his heart. He sniffs as he sits and waits for the bartender. The boy across the bar with eyes like silver is probably eighteen, nineteen at most. He's got a shaved head and his tongue traces the contours of his thick lips, the motion smooth and languid as he eyes the bartender suggestively. Joey told him over a bottle of beer earlier that evening that he and JC would leave the room empty for him later than usual, and Chris has had the itch for boys more so than girls lately.
But the boy doesn't look his way, even when Chris slides an eager stare in his direction. He only follows the lanky waist of the bartender, who now moves over to Chris and places the heels of his palms on the counter. Chris orders a rum and coke with a heavy sigh. When he gets it, he stirs the black liquid lazily with a red straw shaped like a sword.
"Hi." Chris jumps as the voice glazes across his ear in English and hot, milky breath whispers on his skin. The boy with the silver eyes smiles widely and leans back. "Care to dance?"
Later, Chris tries to remember how he got from the throbbing dance floor and pumping arms to the bathroom stalls at the back of the club, but it's a little hazy in his brain. The silver-eyed boy goes down on him as his back is pressed tight on the stained stall door, his mouth slimy and his tongue wet and eager in all the right angles. Chris gasps when he feels little teeth and his bare feet slide and scratch the damp tile. "Hotel room," he barely garbles between fast pants. "I- have-"
"Oh yes," the boy says quickly, covering Chris's face with his lips and going for the tongue. Chris hurriedly buttons his fly and they stumble outside into the sharp night air. He feels like he's walking in a dream- things like this don't really happen to him. Maybe they happen to somebody like Joey, with his easy swing and quick eyes, but not to Chris. Never to Chris.
Chris's head is spinning by the time they reach the hotel, and he fumbles with his key card at the door. The hallway is mercifully empty as the boy nips and licks his neck. Chris scrambles to shut the door and clear the table of half-empty liquor flasks, but the boy's still nipping and kissing and says he doesn't mind mess. He pushes Chris onto the table, scattering cups and shards of glass, and unbuttons Chris's shirt in a blinding rush. Chris tries to kiss back but the boy presses him down too hard and bends his waist tight against the table. Chris narrowly misses those thick lips and runs a gentle tongue across the chin instead. They're both breathing hard and quick and when Chris has a chance to catch his breath he says fast, "I'm Chris."
"Manfred," the boy pants in his thick German accent. His lips go lower down Chris's chest, finding waistband and obliging hips. Chris gasps at the expert ministrations of his tongue.
Something crashes in the distance and Chris tries to ignore the loud noise it makes when it falls. Manfred's hips press harder and he turns Chris's back to his belly. A young boy's voice yelps loudly then and Chris isn't quite sure it's from Manfred's lips, which now tickle his spine and hint at going lower. He jerks his head up and his jaw falls open when he sees Justin standing in front of him, half-naked and shivering, basked in the dim hotel room light with his blue eyes wide open. Chris curses and stumbles off the table.
Manfred pulls out jerkily and stuffs his pants in angry thrusts up his waist. His face flares red as he says sourly, "You like them young, don't you?"
Chris curses some more when Manfred zips up his pants and pushes his shirt over his shoulders, face scrunched up and nose purple. "Manfred, it's really nothing-he's just-"
"I'll find my own way home," Manfred says angrily as he leaves the room.
Justin continues to stare at Chris with an open mouth. Chris looks down at his waist with a frown. He hurriedly buttons up his pants and throws on the shirt that fell to the carpet. His face flushes crimson and he can't look at Justin. "Why were you in our room?"
"I was- I thought-" Justin stumbles. His hands shake violently and his knuckles tighten, but he doesn't try to curl his fingers into fists. Chris pushes past him as Justin stutters uselessly some more. He takes a quick look around the bathroom. It's dirty and cramped to begin with, but his foot steps in a milky stain that hasn't yet been toweled. He puts his hands in his hair and tries to scream, but nothing comes out of his mouth.
"You were-" Chris scowls and stalks past Justin. "That's disgusting! In my room. In my bathroom! Justin. Of all-"
"I'm sorry!" says Justin, his voice a little too sharp. Chris swings a glance at him and frowns. His whole arms are trembling now and his face is bright red. "I'm sorry! I just, I don't know what I was thinking! But you were in here. With that guy-"
"Sometimes I like guys! Is this something we need to talk about?" Chris stomps around the table and clears off the cups with an angry sweep of elbow. He bites hard on his lower lip and can't find a garbage bag.
"No! I like guys too." Justin's ears turn purple as he blurts it out, and Chris whips his head around, eyes narrowing.
"You're too young to know what you like. Sixteen-" he says roughly. He smashes each of the cups with his fist so they fold in two. He tosses them into the small wastebasket by the bathroom and misses several completely; they scatter around Justin's feet.
"I know I'm sixteen, you don't need to say it so much! I know that, okay! And I know what I like!" Justin yells back. Then, softer and more fearfully: "Because . . . because I like you!"
Chris's face grows hot and his ears burn. "Out. Get out!" he says sharply. He finds Justin's shirt lying across the bathtub and pushes it over his shoulders, wincing each time he touches bare skin. Justin writhes, whines, and tries without any luck to wriggle free of Chris's fingers.
Chris puts firm hands on Justin's shoulder blades and guides him to the door. He`s red in the face with anger, but Chris doesn`t care. "It's past your bedtime, Justin." Justin freezes and glares defiantly at him, but Chris shuts the door in his face and tries not to notice how much worse the shakes through his fingers have gotten.
He only sleeps a scant few hours, but it is a sleep filled with dreams about white-eyed boys who turn their backs on him, and of the moon over fields of dry grass.
13.
Lou calls a group meeting on Monday morning. They all wait for him in a circle with their knees touching on the floor of a small office somewhere in Germany. Justin won't look at Chris and JC pokes Lance in the side until he snaps and grabs his wrist tight. JC winces and glares at him.
Lou shuffles into the office and slaps a German tabloid on the dirty cement floor. "Page 24," he growls. They hesitate, but at last Joey reaches for the paper and gingerly flips through the pages. On page 24, there's a grainy photo of Chris with his mouth pressed against Manfred's, and there's more than one of them. The article is only about two hundred words and babbles about their number one hit and their sparkly costumes. Chris's ears flare up and he twiddles with his shoelaces, refusing to look at Justin.
"Now, I can make this go away," Lou says gruffly. He shuffles through his briefcase and comes out with a stack of white papers. "I know some people. But when you guys blow up- and I know you will- my connections only spread so thin." Nobody speaks. "In the future, if you decide to get involved with any groupies- boys, girls, I don't really care- I want you to have them sign these confidentiality agreements."
"What?" Joey blurts out. He grabs one of the forms and reads through it fast. "This is stupid."
"It's for your own good," Lou bites back. "Fame has a price. Time you learned that."
They all take a form. Nobody looks up when Lou lumbers out of the room. Justin crumples his into a ball,﹛eyes glaring angrily away from Chris﹜ rises harshly to his feet, and leaves the room. JC's eyes linger briefly on Chris and he follows Justin out, tapping on Lance's shoulder. Soon, only Joey sits in the room with Chris.
"Chris, I'm sorry."
"What for?" Chris mumbles at his shoes.
Joey puts a hand above his shoulder, but his fingers don't touch skin. He leaves Chris alone in the tiny office with the photographs and the forms piled on the floor. Once alone, Chris picks up the tabloid and traces a hesitant finger over Manfred's hazy face. The image blackens his silver eyes so he looks thin and wobbly in the frame, seventeen at best, specked shoulders wrapped around Chris's chest. He throws the paper on the ground with a sharp sigh, gets to his feet, and leaves the room.
14.
Someone raps softly at Chris's door late that night when ghosty shadows from the moon creep through the window and fall across the old rug. Chris is in bed with European magazines, staring at the humps underneath worn blankets that are Joey and JC intertwined together on the other bed. Chris gets out of bed and lumbers to the door, unfastens all the chain locks. Lance's pale face peeks at him, hair in white tangles and eyes tired.
"What's wrong?" Chris says, taking one look at his disheveled pajamas and the slope of his shoulders. Lance opens his mouth but nothing comes out. "Is it Justin?"
Lance nods quickly, mechanically. He puts a couple fingers through Chris's left hand and leads him to their room. Chris feels his pulse through his skin and shivers with the sudden cold. Lance releases his hand and Chris finds himself in their room, right in front of the bathroom door with the empty, dark room behind him and Lance's worried eyes peering over his shoulders. He raps twice.
"Go away," says a sharp voice. Chris winces and looks back at Lance, who shrugs and begins pacing.
"Justin, it's Chris." Chris presses his ear to the door and sinks down to his knees. He hears nothing beside the door, only a little intense breathing. "Open the door."
"No."
"Justin, come on." The door is cold on Chris's cheek and his ankles shiver. "I won't laugh, I promise."
"I won't open it!" he yells. "You can't make me."
"I could bang it down if you like." Chris's face flushes with annoyance and he sits tight on his haunches. He's sure this will be a long wait. Justin can be so unreasonably stubborn sometimes. Occasionally it is a strangely endearing quality of his, but not at times like this.
"You wouldn't go through the trouble," Justin shouts back. "Leave me alone, I'm working on something."
"You're not wanking off again?" Chris scowls and tries to make himself more comfortable.
"Shut up about that!" There's unexpected force behind Justin's voice, and Chris jerks back in surprise. "I'm busy. Leave me alone."
"Lance is worried about you. He's standing here right now, pacing back and forth. He'll wear out the damn carpet." Chris feels like a negotiator in a hostage situation. He rocks back on his heels and splays his fingers across the carpet. Lance snorts behind him, apparently unamused at the reference. He's not pacing anymore, but instead sitting on the bed and dangling his legs off the edge.
"I don't care if Lance is worried."
"Your mom's worried, told me so herself. So's Joey. And JC is too, somewhere in that messed up head of his."
"I don't care about them. Stop talking. You're breaking my concentration, and I gotta concentrate."
Lance says Chris's name softly and leaves the bed to poke Chris in the spine. Chris winces, pushes Lance's hand away, and mouths something that gets Lance pacing for real again. Chris groans. The seconds tick into minutes. He pounds on the door with his fist.
"Why won't you go the fuck away, Chris?" yells Justin, so loud that Lance jerks his hands over his ears.
"Come on, Justin. I could be really annoying. I promise I could. Justin, Justin, Juuustiiiiinnn," whines Chris in the most irritating little-girl voice he can manage.
Beside him, Lance scowls. "Say it!" he hisses sharply between clenched teeth. "He'll let you in if you say it!"
More seconds tick by. There's a crash and a tinkle of glass behind the door. Lance whips a hard glare at Chris. Finally Chris says so quietly, it's almost a squeak: "I'm worried about you."
Lance stalks over to Chris and kicks him hard in the shins. Chris lets out a tiny "Ow!", rubs his jeans, and crosses his arms. "I'm worried about you!" he repeats, sharply this time. And he really is worried, he realizes with a sudden jolt. Lance allows a smirk that Chris just barely sees.
A few more moments pass. The floor creaks. Chris's throat catches and he shifts forward now. He wants to get past that door. Needs to, for the both of them.
"Okay, fine. You can come in. But Lance can't see."
Chris's eyes flash wider. That was quicker than he was expecting.
He nods at Lance. Lance clenches his teeth and balls his hands into fists, but he nods back and leaves the room.
"He's gone," Chris says.
"'Kay, come in." The lock snaps open and Chris crawls into the bathroom on his knees. Justin's hand flashes out and slams the door shut once Chris is fully inside. The lock clicks into place with a solid snap. Justin huddles by the toilet, arms wrapped firmly around strong thighs, frozen in the center of the tiles. Sweat runs down his shoulders and his fingers shake more than Chris has seen them so far. But his lip pouts defiantly and his eyes are clear. There's something like a splint fashioned out of hotel spoons and white bandages lying near his feet. Chris picks it up, examines it, then drops it.
Chris releases a sharp breath and waddles toward him next. Justin resists at first, tries to pull back, but Chris pulls his hands hard from his knees and grabs the knuckles tight. Skin on skin, roughly touching and kneading. Justin's lips part and his breath quivers. The moonlight coming through the window is hazy with dust motes and the windowpanes are drenched with dirt and brown streaks. The tiles underneath Justin's bare feet are slimy and cracked. Dull patterns of color line the bathtub beside him and the shower curtain with pink ducks on it has torn ends.
The itch purrs lazily in Chris's chest, but he bites hard on his lower lip and stretches long arms around Justin's shoulders. The boy's glistening and shiny even in the brown cracked light. Chris's stomach clenches at the misplaced beauty of it all. Justin shakes for a long time and puts his face on his chest. Chris strokes his bright curls with long fingers and holds him tight, holds him until he stops.
Justin looks up at him with something like awe making his face glow even more. He leans up close to Chris and puts his mouth on Chris's neck. Chris knows he shouldn't and a voice somewhere whispers frantically, "Sixteen! Sixteen!" but he hushes it anyway and lets Justin nuzzle his shoulders with wet lips. A little thrill runs up his spine as he puts his mouth on Justin's face and licks the glow from his skin. It is too easy to do that, too easy to make him sigh like that and flex his fingers just so over Chris's wrists. Chris places small kisses in a line up his face, soft lips, traces of sweat and saliva.
Justin's fingers tighten and Chris whispers into his skin, "Are you okay?" Justin nods urgently, attaches his waist to the curve of Chris's hips. Chris forgets about the rain drumming on the broken windowpane, the sliver of water running down the crack and trickling into the old sink. He forgets the way his nose tingles with the mothball stench of the place and the way his feet shift over the floor to avoid the sloped tiles. Air kisses; he didn't know Justin knew how to do that, suckle his neck just so with tiny bites until heat flared between his thighs.
Just as Chris's fingers reach inside Justin's waistband and dull nails scrape sensitive skin, there's a knock at the door. Justin's hands curl into fists 每 the fingers tremble again.
"Chris, I brought Lynn," Lance says, as if his face is tight against the door. "She's waiting outside in the hall. I didn't know what to do; you guys were there a really long-"
"It's okay," Chris chokes between hitched breaths. "He's okay. You can tell her to leave, all right?"
"Fine," Lance says, and Chris hears the irritation flicker in his voice. "Fine. I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."
"I know, Lance." Justin presses his head against Chris's shoulders, licks a spot on his chest with delicate swivels of tongue. Chris shivers as if there's a new chill in the stale air. "Thanks."
"Yeah, fine," says Lance, and his shuffling footsteps head away from the bathroom.
"You're sure you're okay?" Chris asks, though the question seems a little superfluous with his hand around Justin's young manhood and his fingers working fast. Justin nods sharply and a little breathlessly, squeezes his eyes closed and puts his head on Chris's chest. His breathing quickens and heats Chris's skin as Chris's hand flexes faster and probes gently. Justin's fingers aren't shaking, and he splays them across Chris's face to prove it. A smile spreads across his face when he raises his eyes to Chris's. Then his mouth parts a little and a sharp whimper emerges from his lips. Warm come spreads thick over Chris's hand and he rubs his thumb to catch the last of it. Justin's waist shakes a bit with the pressure and Chris drags one arm across his back to steady him.
"Now you," he whispers fixedly onto Chris's shoulder. Chris smiles into his baby kisses and puts his clean hand through his tight curls, presses close.
"Not tonight," Chris says quietly, surprised at himself. He grabs the clean washcloth that hangs off the edge of the sink and wipes his fingers with it after withdrawing them from Justin's pants. Justin licks his forehead until his skin tingles red. Chris rinses the washcloth with the trickle from the broken faucet and lowers Justin's pants over his knees. He wipes clean and smooth until Justin's skin has a damp sheen to it. The itch jumps in his pants but he silences it by pressing his mouth to Justin's. Justin pulls up his boxers and the tips of his fingers tremble just a bit with the sharp tug. The little voice keeps crying, "Sixteen!" in the bottom of his chest, but Justin's tongue on his earlobe stills it considerably.
"Guys, she's gone. I wanna sleep now, okay?" Lance calls from the room, voice muffled by what sounds like a pillow. Chris sits up with a jerk and Justin falls on his thighs.
"Goodnight," Chris whispers.
Justin leans forward to put his mouth on Chris's lips, but Chris shudders instead and rises to his feet. He stretches a hand out to help Justin up, but he grabs the toilet seat and raises himself slowly instead. He's still shaky. Chris blinks fast, but Justin's hands still vibrate as he clenches them to his palms. Justin turns his head to the window. Chris opens the bathroom door and walks away.
"Goodnight," Justin whispers at Chris's back when Chris is all the way in the room. Chris doesn't need to turn around to know Justin's eyes darken around the edges.
That night he only gets an hour or two of sleep, and it is filled with restless dreams of trembling, slender torsos and angry blue eyes.
15.
Lynn sits in a chair next to Lou's and watches rehearsal in the morning, fingers stretched taut across knuckles and eyes bright as she watches Chris and Justin. Jamie's placed them next to each other, and Justin keeps flicking anxious glances at Chris's waist that Chris ignores. Once Justin stretches a hand out too far for a move and his fingertips graze Chris's sweaty hips. He flinches and jumps back when he's not supposed to. Jamie gets red in the face.
During a break, Joey puts a hand over Chris's shoulder as Chris downs a bottle of water. "Lance told me something happened last night," he says quietly. Chris feels Lynn's eyes burn holes into his back. "Is Justin-"
"He's fine," Chris says gruffly, throwing off his hand because his fingers dug into his shoulder. "Everything's fine."
Joey shakes his head and puts a nervous hand through his hair. "Okay, because Lance said-"
"Nothing happened," Chris says between clenched teeth. "Okay?"
"Fine. Okay. Subject's closed," Joey says glumly. Chris tears around the room in a breathless rush of energy, knocking over JC and brushing past Lance, just to get Joey's eyes off his spine. In his corner, Justin laughs 每 first time Chris has seen those bright teeth in days 每 and Lynn turns to Lou with a deep smile. He sneaks a glance at Justin's face in the middle of his whirlwind, and something warms in his chest at the way Justin's eyes fold into laugh lines.
At that moment, he rushes into Justin, tackling him with arms and legs wrapped tight around skin, and as they both fall over he smells his mistake on Justin's hot breath. Justin laughs sharp and long, but he doesn't notice how Chris stiffens when he shoves his thigh playfully at his waist and places long fingers on flushed skin. Chris detaches himself and rolls away. Joey's eyes once more burn into his skin when Chris dusts himself off and rises to his feet. But Jamie calls them back to work and it's too late to talk about it even though Joey steps close and touches his neck.
16.
Joey and JC will be late getting back from the club, Chris figures as he sits at the edge of the bed with his legs swinging. The television's positioned on HBO and he's watching some late-night talk thing. He's got rented video games piled beside the television just in case, but he's pretty sure he'll be alone tonight. He downs a shot of Jaegermeister and stretches back across the bed to put the glass back on the table. He slides hot fingers down his boxers and presses sharp, tugging firm and gentle with easy touches.
A knock interrupts him, and he jerks his hand free impatiently and pulls up his pants on his way to the door. When he opens it, Justin stands in front of him, half naked in the dull light and head bowed just slightly. Chris shuts the door behind him and walks back to the bed. Justin puts one of the video games in the system and fiddles with the remote control. Chris licks the rum from his lips and crosses his legs, waiting.
Then, before he has a chance to say something or even to react, Justin leans over Chris so their chests touch and twists his tongue through his wet mouth. Chris parts his lips and kisses back. Chris is already half-hard and though the voices in his head sing to him in slow whispers, he lets Justin's shaky fingers tug his boxers down his legs. He bites hard on Justin's lips as Justin wraps long hands around foreskin, gingerly rubbing and prodding until Chris strains against his touch. Justin smiles big and tastes the snivel from Chris's throat. The bed creaks when he leans back and he chokes on Justin's tongue. Justin chuckles around Chris's thumb and he tightens his fingers in all the right places.
"My turn," he says, his breath hot on Chris's neck. His hands still for just a moment as Chris comes too quickly. The sticky wetness coats Justin's unresisting fingers and he traces a tongue along his index finger. Chris gasps and suddenly remembers himself 每 the dirty room, the dim light, the broken bedsprings; Justin's too-bright eyes and the way his curls glisten in the dark. He pushes him away with a hand pressed flat on his chest and turns over. Justin catches himself on the edge of the bed before he falls, and he yelps in protest.
"Chris-what-" Justin gasps, leaning over to lick the rest of Chris's fingers clean in quick swipes of pink tongue. Chris shudders next to him.
"I can't do this," Chris says. His hands tremble a bit but he clenches his fingers together, away from Justin's small mouth. He breathes deeply. "You're too young. I can't take advantage-"
"You can," Justin whimpers, crawling closer to Chris. "It's not taking advantage-" He licks Chris's chin until his lips are flat against Chris's mouth. Chris pulls back and flinches.
"Justin. I'm sorry," Chris says. "It's just that. I didn't mean it. I don't know why I started-"
Justin blinks fast as if to take away the sting of tears, and Chris turns his head. "It's just that, my hands. They didn't really shake when you- when you did those things."
"They didn't?" Chris gasps a little, but keeps his eyes turned.
"I mean, I like it. I know what I like. It's not taking advantage." Justin wipes his eyes with his wrist. "And they- my hands- they don't shake."
Chris tilts his head to catch Justin at the edge of his vision. His hands do tremble a bit, but mostly they are still. He pulls Justin closer and puts his mouth on his, tastes boy kisses from his lips. Gentle. Easy and gentle. Justin's fingers shake wetly on his neck. He trails kisses lower, until his mouth feels hot skin and his teeth tighten, making red circles between Justin's thighs. Justin squirms and shivers, wriggles into Chris's mouth. Chris licks and sucks until he freezes with the weight of his shivers and angles back his head.
He cries a little, as if it hurts him, and Chris whispers around his balls, "Okay?"
An agreement is hissed between pressed teeth, and Justin presses his legs around Chris's waist. Pulls him down. Chris licks up his thighs. "This is what it's like, okay?" He slides two fingers down Justin's waist, finding smooth round skin. Justin's hips prickle in his arms and he shudders. Gentle, easy and gentle. Then he pulls back his hand and jerks upright, leaving Justin shaken and cold.
"What is it?" Justin asks, his breath wobbling over the words.
"I can't do it," says Chris darkly. He turns away, blinks quickly. "Not tonight I can't. 'M sorry, Justin."
Justin jerks his head away and frees his fingers from Chris's hands. He stands and tugs his boxers back up over his hips. He takes Chris's worst-worn sheet and wraps it around his chest. He does not cry, and his hands do not shake. The fingers tremble just a little, but they're mostly still. He sets his jaw firmly, the thirty year old back in his eyes.
"Still friends, though?" Justin asks. It`s a firm question, though Chris thinks it sounds like he`s shouting it into his ear from the hills of Mars.
"Best friends," Chris says, and he puts a hand on Justin`s belly. Justin squirms away, but his smile is genuine and then slips away after only a moment. They stay like that for a while, in the dark, and then Justin says goodnight in a tight voice and leaves the room. Chris tries to sleep with his eyes open after the door closes.
The bed creaks when he leans back on it and the sound of the water dripping steadily into the moldy sink in the bathroom is like the beating of his heart. He sighs and closes his eyes, remembers how the stepfathers threw their fists on his face and his mother in a yellow frock scrubbing tables and singing low and sweet with her mouth open. That seems so long ago now, like dull echoes in his head.
The stench of used mothballs wafts through his nostrils but he pictures Justin's bright mouth on his shoulder instead. Suddenly, as if a rush of hot air hits his face, he stops caring about the hand-me-down nightshirt he's wearing and Lou's loud voice yelling at them that afternoon and McDonald`s breakfasts at two in the morning. He smiles a little, folds his hands underneath his head and tightens his eyes. He turns off the television. The silence surrounds him, but it is not a heavy silence. It is easy and gentle like his fingers on Justin's skin.
Joey tries to talk to him when he and JC get back from the club, but JC's grabbing his wrists and trying to dance with him, and the words come out all jumbled and twisted through his laughter. Chris is pretty sure he knows what Joey intends to say anyway, so he puts his pillow over his head and pretends to sleep.
In the morning he'll talk to them about drinking too much, about spacing that stuff out some more. Joey will nod and say he's right, yeah, they should stop, as if he's anticipated that speech the whole time. JC will mumble over his toothbrush and say that's probably a good idea.
His dreams that night are of winter departures, and long stretches of empty roads and bright stars above his head. He can't tell if he's on a motorcycle, but he knows he's flying because the sharp wind on his face makes his eyes hurt. 17.
Chris thinks only briefly of his motorcycle when he sees Justin on stage, swiveling his hips and stretching his arms high like wings.
Justin steps closer to the girls reaching for his waist. He slides across the stage and wriggles his hips. He knows what's expected of him. His eyes are closed but when they flash open, he doesn't look sixteen. Just old and tired and there's some darkness smudged around the lids.
One of the girls pushes at his waist, but he twists away and flashes a quick, eager smile at Chris. Natural. He`s always been a natural, Chris thinks a bit disjointedly. He will always think of this later as the winter before they were famous, the February before everything started.
His hand is clenched tight in a fist but when he splays his fingers out, his knuckles are still and unmoving . . .natural, but...frozen. Healed.
Chris thinks there are probably some things more important than money when he remembers to breathe.
Justin's smile is brighter than ever once it's his turn to sing.