Lance knew he was a liar. It seemed to be something he was born with, so he didn't worry himself over his untruthful tendencies too much. Also, he had a terrible memory, which certainly didn't help matters. Though he couldn't remember details of any importance, he did recall his locker combination from all three years of high school and every capital city in the world sphere, but things like dates and numbers were slippery. He resigned himself to be known as the liar, even when the rest of the guys were just as guilty.

Lance also understood the difference between good lying and bad lying. Back before they were famous and could afford takeout, Lance used his abilities to get free food. No pizza man could doubt a young, strange-looking boy who claimed with all sincerity that the time guarantee had been breached. Lance considered that to be bad lying.

But way back when, Chris had occasionally relied on Lance to get him enough pizza to last the week, so he wouldn't have to admit he was hungry. Of course, that wasn't why Chris said he did it -- he claimed they were cheating the system and keeping the Man down -- but Lance knew better. Lance had thought he should feel guilty about it, but very early on, he realised he would do just about anything for the four of them. Lying to feed Chris seemed like a good idea.

And it wasn't as if Lance simply didn't know things. He knew a lot, too much he sometimes thought. If he didn't know anything then he'd simply be ignorant, but the lies were conscious and therefore stained him with a mark dishonesty. Of course, he'd been a liar all his life, so he was pretty used to it by now. It was just something he was exceptionally good at.

There was a lot of inter-group lying. Sometimes, Lance marvelled at how much they didn't say to each other, but he also realised it was a sign of how close they were. They all knew, anyway, on some level or another, but out of respect and love, didn't speak about the unmentionables. Lance was sure, at some point, everything was going to come tumbling out. He had a feeling it was going to happen a lot sooner than anyone imagined.

Chris had a secret. Lance was sure at this early point in the game that he, as the professional liar, was the only one who saw it. Lance wasn't sure, of course, it was too soon for that, but Lance knew something was wrong. Chris had a fierce grip on the truth, second only to Lance in his ability to control himself, but it was warped and dangerous, too. Chris came from a different world than Lance and lied for different reasons.

Lance knew he had to say something. Chris was weighed down by the lies, a darkness to him that was slowly beginning to spread, and Lance wouldn't have it, not when he could do something about it. So Lance, like the good Southern boy his momma raised him to be, took matters into his own hands and decided to tell the truth.

"Eric?" Lance said. Eric opened his eyes, half asleep with his head across Lance's lap, and Lance stroked his fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. "I have to help Chris get out of trouble. It might take a while, and I need to go soon."

"Okay," Eric said and sat up, stretching his arms over his head, and Lance hugged him around the waist, tugging him close. They'd been together for almost three years and living under the same roof for two, and Lance was absurdly proud of that fact. Eric kissed him softly. "You go take care of him. If you need help, just call."

"I will," Lance promised, and went to pack his bag.

~~~

Chris's house was tucked away in a safely gated community, newly built but modest. Inside, it was white and plain, bare save for a few pieces of hand-me-down furniture. Chris bought his mother a whole new house and took the old stuff for himself. Lance didn't understand it, but then he'd never asked to be enlightened. Lance was still a bit wary of Chris's past, like they all were, like Chris was. It wasn't something they talked about often.

Lance didn't know how long the plan would take, so he'd brought Dirk along with him, who screeched the entire way there, hating to be caged. Dirk was a very confused ferret; he thought he was a dog, and Lance treated him as such. As a result, though, Chris's dogs loved him and welcomed him happily. Chris said it was because they were great big balls of love; Lance suspected they just weren't smart enough to tell the difference.

Lance let himself in, knowing Chris wasn't home. Where he was, Lance didn't know. He'd return eventually, if not there then to somebody else's house, and Lance would be alerted. They couldn't stay apart for too long; it started to feel weird and ugly after a while.

The place was a mess. Chris was normally a slob but not this badly. There were pizza boxes stacked high on the kitchen counter and two cases of empty beer bottles. Busta and Korea were shut in the pantry, barking at the sound of an intruder, so Lance let them out into the backyard and kept the door propped open so they could get back in. The smell of the place was rancid, so Lance went around opening windows then set to cleaning the kitchen.

They'd only been back home for a few weeks, the No Strings tour happily wrapped up. Chris seemed off, and he'd said something about breaking up with Dani, though he'd said it so low and so quickly that Lance wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. JC had been claiming it for weeks, so Lance tended to believe it. Lance liked Dani, they all did, but Lance knew eventually she'd stop being Chris's girlfriend. Lance knew the type and could tell a beard a mile away.

Chris was gay, though he'd never said anything, but Lance's gaydar was finely tuned and always correct. Chris was better at hiding it than Lance was, who barely attempted to cover up his own sexuality. Everyone knew, just like everyone knew every other secret. They just didn't talk about it. It was hard enough lying for themselves, but to be responsible for four others? They knew their limits, and it was too much to ask of one another. Lance trusted them all with his life, but he knew not all of them were as comfortable with lying as he was. Lance couldn't risk the wrong people finding out about him.

Busta and Korea scurried back inside, jumping around, so Lance got them some fresh water and food. Once the door was closed, Lance finally let Dirk out of his carrying case, and he inserted himself between the pugs, eating heartily. They let him.

It took Lance nearly three hours to clean the kitchen then he set to the living room, vacuuming as the dogs barked and Dirk hissed, and he chased them all around for a few minutes until they ran off, probably to sleep. Lance finished up the bottom floor then moved on.

It was dank and musty upstairs, with Chris's bed stripped down to the just the mattress. The drawers were empty and hanging open, most of the clothes strewn across the floor. Lance folded and put everything away then got fresh sheets and made up the bed. He vacuumed and opened windows and worked hard to get the smell out of the house.

The bathroom floor was covered with damp towels, so Lance picked them up and hung them over the shower rod to dry, refusing to look too closely at the various stains. He scrubbed the toilet clean then the tub and wiped down the mirror until the glass was clear. He also replaced the toilet paper, which was on its last square, and Chris was notorious for avoiding changing rolls at all costs.

Then Lance sat down on the couch, and he waited.

~~~

Chris came home the next day. Lance was in his bed, just waking. He sat up, legs tangled in the sheets, and ignored the sense of triumph in his own belly as it was quickly overcome by something akin to uneasiness. Chris's left eye was swollen and purple, and he didn't say anything as Lance stared at him, but really, what was there to say when you were caught in your own lie?

"What are you doing here?" Chris finally asked, and Lance could see his fists clenching and unclenching, tucked behind his back. The knuckles looked swollen and raw. Glancing up, Lance saw the traces of a bloodied nose. A bar fight, Chris would claim, but Lance wouldn't believe him, not this time.

Lance stood and heaved his sweatpants higher on his hips, cracking his back. He was still disoriented from sleep but was trying to recover quickly. The speech he planned wasn't coming out of his mouth. He was saying stupid things like, "I cleaned your house."

"I noticed. Why?"

"I think we need to talk," Lance said simply, crossing his arms over his chest. The problem with Chris was that he was the same height as Lance was, but heavier set and physically stronger. Lance was big-boned, shaped more like a woman than a man, it seemed, and he was more flexible. They'd never fought like that. Lance couldn't begin to guess how it would turn out. Of course, Lance wasn't stupid enough to use violence against him, not in this situation.

Chris smirked. "I don't think so, Lance."

Lance could be stubborn for as long as Chris could be, and if Chris wanted a battle of wills, then he was going to get it. Lance protected his friends, and if Chris wasn't going to help himself, Lance was going to do it for him. "I know what's going on."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chris said, and to a stranger, he was telling the truth, but Lance knew what to look for, the twitch of his eyebrows, the way he licked the front of his teeth. Lance knew a liar to see one. It was like looking in the mirror. "I got into a bar fight. Some fuck --"

"Some fuck is lying to me," Lance said. It came out cold, controlled, which is what Lance wanted. Chris knew how to use sympathy to further his own purposes. Lance was careful to keep his voice calm, though, or Chris would get even more angry. Right now, he was simmering. One false move, and there would be yelling. "Let me take care of your face."

"You can go home," Chris said. "Thanks for cleaning up."

"Stop lying to me," Lance said, and he kept his voice low. When he reached out to touch Chris's face, Chris pulled away, but it was merely a distraction. Lance grabbed his hand and didn't let go, not even when Chris yanked his arm back. "Chris, please. I know we have this weird code of silence between us, but you have to know this isn't healthy."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chris repeated.

"Just let me get you some ice," Lance said and led him downstairs. Busta, Korea and Dirk were sleeping in a tangle on Chris's ragged old ottoman, and they didn't so much as look up when Lance forced Chris down to the couch. "Stay there."

Lance got a bag of frozen green beans, which looked to be years old, and Lance wasn't surprised. Chris wasn't big on vegetables. Lance also picked up a bag of peas, equally aged, and walked back into the living room. Chris was exactly where Lance left him.

"Here," Lance said and put the beans over his eye, the peas across his hand. Chris's breath came evenly though Lance could hear his teeth grinding, but Lance couldn't help his anger. Lance would probably be angry, too. "Are you okay?"

"It was just a bar fight," Chris muttered.

"The fourth one in a month?" Lance replied, and Chris opened his eye, the other one still buried by the bag of string beans. It was easy to count how often it happened, and Lance would admit he believed Chris the first two times. The third time, no, and the fourth time, never. "Are you sure you didn't fall down the downstairs? Or walk into a door?"

"Lance," Chris said. His voice sounded wary but not entirely angry anymore.

Lance stood up to get a cloth from the kitchen and wet it under the tap, wringing the excess water off, and he came back to find Chris sitting, the bag still held to his face. "You have blood on your nose," Lance said quietly and gently dabbed it away.

They didn't talk for a long time. With the prodding, Chris's nose started bleeding again, so Lance held the towel to his face for him, his chin tipped back in Lance's palm. There was a bruise on his collarbone, but it looked old, the purplish flesh ringed by dabs of yellow and brown.

"It's not what it looks like," Chris finally said.

"Is he hitting you?" Lance asked and dropped the pretences. Chris twitched at the pronoun but didn't try to deny it. He couldn't, of course, without lying directly to Lance's face, and it was a lot harder to spout shit when making eye contact.

"I hit him back," Chris said.

"Does he hit you first?"

"It isn't like that," Chris tried again, and his tongue slicked out to lick at his upper lip, which was dabbled with a trickle of bright red blood. Lance sighed deeply and wiped it clean, feeling quiet inside. Somehow, hearing the truth, didn't make it any better.

~~~

Later, after Lance cooked Chris a real meal and made him eat it, he put Chris to bed. The afternoon had been spent in mutual silence, the television blaring in the background. Busta and Korea curled up on Chris's lap, and they had to make room for Dirk, who laid himself across Chris's belly. Lance could see a line of purple where the shirt rode up.

JC phoned shortly before midnight, and Lance lied to him. JC wasn't as spacey as he let on, but he wasn't the most attuned person, either. He did, however, understand the rule about silence and accepted Lance's lie with good grace. JC promised to tell everyone else that Chris was sick with a flu and wouldn't be around, and they weren't allowed to visit since it seemed pretty contagious. Lance, of course, was already exposed.

The next day, Lance and Chris went to Chris's boyfriend's house to get Chris's stuff. Lance was thankful that Chris suggested it, but Chris wouldn't leave the house until enough makeup had been applied to his face to hide the heavy bruising. Lance, who used to fall on his head a lot during those first few months of dancing, knew how to apply it perfectly.

Chris's boyfriend was, Lance discovered, a multi-millionaire who actually lived like one. He lived in a huge mansion, white columns surrounding the entranceway, and inside, the floors were all dark hardwood and ceramic tiles. Chris knew the code for the security system and had several keys on his key chain for the house. Lance made a mental note to replace the locks at Chris's place and reprogram his alarm.

Lance helped Chris pack his clothes then went around picking up anything he recognised as Chris's, including the bear he had when he was a kid with the missing legs and the one mangled eye. Lance hadn't seen it for years, since Chris was private about it and didn't like to talk about why he felt uneasy when it wasn't there, and Lance realised, perhaps for the first time, that he'd almost waited too long.

Chris's boyfriend came home at five just as they were leaving. Lance stared at him, stepping back in shock. Lance wasn't big on basketball, not like Chris or Justin, but he recognised famous faces easily. His name, Mark or Mike or something, escaped Lance, but Lance knew who he was. Lance had known, of course, that he was gay.

Chris's boyfriend didn't talk, but he looked over to the table in the front hall where Chris's keys sat, returned. Lance felt nervous with this behemoth of a man hovering over him, at least a foot taller than Chris with broad shoulders and arms like steel. The anxiety quickly morphed into anger. This man was a mountain, stronger than Chris and taller than Chris, and though Chris could be vicious in a fight, he never willingly took on men bigger than him.

Lance wasn't used to seeing Chris afraid of anyone, but Chris stayed behind him as they walked out the door, the box clutched in his arms. Lance kept himself between Chris and the basketball player, not knowing what good he would do except as a stepping stone. Eventually, they made it to the car, and Lance locked the doors.

Chris didn't talk, so neither did he.

~~~

Lance grabbed the dogs and Dirk and tossed them into the backseat with a bag of dog chow then headed over to Justin's house, since he was out of town visiting Britney. If anyone didn't know what was going on, it was Justin, so Lance was relieved the house was empty. Lance could tell Justin missed most of the lies but didn't have the heart to enlighten him. Added to that, there was a strange undercurrent happening between Justin and JC, and Lance didn't want to be put into the middle of that.

Chris went right to sleep in one of Justin's guest rooms. Lance wanted to touch him, almost needed to hug him, but Chris was moving like a broken man, shoulders slumped, eyes kept to the ground. It was sad, probably the saddest thing Lance had seen in a long time, so he stayed away, letting Chris work through it on his own, at least for a little while.

Lance set the pugs and Dirk up downstairs, food and water in Justin's laundry room, and closed them in for the night then watched television until the news came on. He dozed off. He woke again when the television started beeping, the channel ending its run for the night. Wearily, Lance stood up and walked upstairs. Light shone into the hallway from under Chris's door, and Lance knocked lightly, his ear to the wood.

"Can I come in?" Lance asked.

Chris opened the door, dressed in one of Justin's many bathrobes, and Lance stepped inside. Justin kept his guest rooms meticulous or, rather, his maid did, but the walls were all white and undecorated. To Lance, it felt sterile. With Chris in it, it was even worse.

"This arrangement we have, you won't say anything to the other guys?"

Lance looked at him but nodded. They weren't ready to know everything, not yet, not when they were just about to break into an even bigger realm of fame. No Strings Attached was the best album they could have made at the time, but Lance knew what Justin and JC were creating behind closed doors. Their celebrity was going to change; Lance suspected they were going to be bigger than even they realised.

Chris walked into the bathroom then poked his head out the door and waved Lance in. Lance went, of course, and stopped in the doorway. Chris untied the belt of his robe and opened it, and Lance looked down. Oh, he thought as he stared at Chris's cock, the head swollen and red, a small spot of greenish pus seeping from the tip. Absurdly, Lance wanted to cradle it in his hand; it looked so small and wounded.

"I was clean," Chris muttered, and Lance closed the robe and retied the belt as Chris kept his arms hanging limply at his sides. "And he was, too. I made him get tested. Six months, Bass, six fucking months, and this is all I have to show for it. This and a body full of -- fuck."

Lance sat down on the toilet seat. "I'm sorry I didn't say something sooner."

Chris thumped his head against the bathroom wall then crossed his arms over his chest. "You weren't supposed to say anything at all. Fuck. Do you understand how humiliated I am here, Bass? How much I don't want you to know all this shit? This is my life, and you are not supposed to be here, not this deeply. I don't want this to be on your shoulders, too."

"I knew what I was doing, Chris. I'm a grown man, and I made my decision to get involved. I'm your friend, and I'm going to start acting like it. Besides," Lance added, "I know how to lie better than all of you combined. A couple more isn't going to hurt me."

"You dishonest bastard," Chris said, but it sounded almost affectionate. Lance smiled at him and clasped him on the shoulder with the intention of heading off to bed. He promised to go with Chris to the doctor the next morning to get antibiotics to clear up the infection. Lance gave him a chaste kiss on the lips and said goodnight.

Later, Lance didn't know why he did that, and chose not to think about it at all.

~~~

The antibiotics made Chris very, very sick. He managed to get every side effect possible, and he was miserable. On the bright side, it was only gonorrhea, which Lance pointed out was easily curable, but Chris called him an insensitive fuck and told him to go away. Lance, instead, went over to Chris's house to change the locks and reprogram the alarm.

When he returned, Chris was unconscious on the couch, looking pale and clammy, and instead of his usual sprawl, he was curled into a ball, knees tucked against his chest. Lance urged him to rise and ended up supporting Chris up the stairs, moving slowly as not to agitate his unsteady stomach. Chris kept his eyes closed.

Lance hadn't quite seen anyone react that badly to antibiotics. He checked the Internet, though, and it said it happened, sometimes, which slightly eased his worry. But after spending half an hour trying to fall asleep, Lance gave up and grabbed his pillow. He snuck into the guest room where Chris was and climbed into bed with him.

The next morning, Lance woke to Chris lying across the bathroom floor, white and shaking. Chris was awake, and he hissed at Lance when he tried to get close, but Lance ignored him and tugged him to the bed. "Stay there," Lance said, and jogged downstairs to let the dogs out and to make Chris some breakfast.

"I can't eat that," Chris muttered when Lance came back. Dirk was sprawled on his lap with Busta and Korea sharing a pillow, Lance's pillow, beside him.

"It'll make the antibiotics easier to take," Lance said.

Chris ate as Lance read through the morning paper. What Chris didn't finish, Lance did, a habit they'd all gotten into early, food an entirely communal commodity. Chris curled back into the fetal position later, and Lance rubbed his back idly, watching bad movies on the television. Chris said very little, and Lance was comfortable with the silence so didn't try to ruin it.

"JC and Justin," Chris said at one point. "Fucking, or no?"

"Not yet," Lance replied. "But eventually. Within the next year, probably."

"I don't think Justin even realises he's bi," Chris muttered, and Lance nodded, his hand smoothing over Chris shoulders then tracing down the dip of his spine. Chris sighed and sounded defeated. Lance stopped moving his hand. Lifting his head, Chris looked back over his shoulder. "You're gay, right?"

"Yep," Lance said. Chris put his head back down on the pillow and slept.

~~~

They stayed in bed the next day, though Lance made them both shower. Lance, who hadn't particularly thought anything of nudity before and especially not around the guys, waited naked on top of the bed as Chris went first. When he came out, Lance was still sprawled, an idle hand resting on his belly. Chris was in a pair of Justin's sweats but hadn't put on a shirt. His chest was mottled with faded bruises, most of them over his belly.

Lance could almost understand, he thought, the way Chris's mind worked. There were parts of the way he functioned that even Lance couldn't figure out, but Chris's history led certain things to be assumed, bits of half-told stories that kept the worst of it as only suspicion. Lance still remembered the time they'd been shopping, and they'd seen a man hit his son. Chris had screamed at him, in the middle of the mall, while everyone watched for fifteen minutes. This was before they were famous; Chris was more careful with his secrets now.

Chris didn't need to say anything, really. The words they were exchanging now were useless, since both of them walked around with open eyes. They weren't like Justin, or JC, or even Joey. Chris was the realist; Lance was the pragmatist. It was why, generally, they had very little to do with each other on any deep or meaningful level. The dreamer, the artist, and the optimist were much easier to take in the world. Chris just reminded Lance of how unfair and cruel life could be.

"I dated JC for a year," Lance said suddenly, in the middle of the third movie of the day. Chris looked at him and nodded, not surprised in the least bit. Lance shrugged and chewed on his nails. "We don't really talk about it, either, but it's not like it ended badly. It was just never more than sex and friendship with us."

"I was Joey's first guy," Chris offered, and Lance nodded. That, he hadn't known, but it made sense. Lance was also sure JC had, at some point, slept with Joey, long before they'd started anything. JC hadn't said anything, of course, but Lance understood JC's way of relating to old lovers, and he treated Lance and Joey exactly the same. "It was entirely sex."

"It happens," Lance said and smiled. They lapsed into comfortable silence again, with Chris slowly but surely turning to lie on his back. He still looked pale and nauseous, but his eyes weren't glazed over quite so badly anymore. He feel asleep mid-afternoon, and Lance tumbled after him. When Lance woke up, they were sharing the same pillow, and the pinkies of their touching hands were hooked together.

Lance ordered pizza, hoping to keep Chris eating. He went downstairs to wait and phone Eric but got the machine. Lance left a message about how he wasn't sure when he'd be back and kept his comments vague and imprecise. When Lance came up with the pizza, Chris was awake but barely, his eyes half-closed.

Later, when the pizza was finished, and Lance felt sated and full, having eaten most of it himself since Chris was only nibbling, they turned off the television and listened to music. Chris talked about college, things he had learned with his art degree and feared he'd never use before Nsync, and Lance listened. It wasn't often Chris admitted to fear. To hear him speak about failing, it comforted Lance somehow.

So Lance told him about JC, and how he felt at the time and how it was now. When they'd first parted, Lance had felt like a failure, like he hadn't been strong enough to love such a great guy, but he realised it wasn't about that. JC had been good for Lance, who had spent too much of his life wishing he wasn't gay, and Lance knew he needed that time. It helped him get with Eric, who was at exactly the same point in his own life when they first met.

"I've had six boyfriends in the last two years," Chris confessed when it was late, the sun hours gone and the world outside very, very quiet. Chris was on his side, a hand held to his unsteady stomach, and Lance stayed reclined on his back, an arm behind his head. Chris's voice was rough as he muttered, "I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong."

Lance looked over at him and touched a cautious hand to his back.

"It felt so good, to be able to hit him back," Chris whispered, inching his knees closer to his chest. Lance stayed silent. "One of my stepfathers." Chris stopped, and Lance rolled over, pressing his mouth to Chris's shoulder. Chris tipped his head back, so Lance buried his face against his neck and held him. Chris cried quietly until he fell asleep in Lance's arms, and Lance was afraid to let him go, so he didn't until morning came.

Since Chris was feeling better, Lance dropped Chris off at his house the next day then drove home, Dirk wailing mournfully in his cage. Lance let him out at the first red light and pet him while he drove, returning home with an odd feeling hanging over his shoulders. Eric was waiting for him at the front door, and Lance went to him. Eric was his boyfriend, after all.

Lance thought he would do well to remember that.

~~~

A few days later, after Justin came back, Lance headed over to Joey's house for a night of male bonding. Chris was already there when he arrived, so Lance tugged him aside to enquire about the gonorrhea, knowing how Chris felt about having it. Ashamed, uncomfortable, ruined, like he was damaged goods, and Lance had tried to explain that it happened to everyone eventually. Not him, he admitted, but Joey, Lance was pretty sure. But Chris had never had a good relationship with his own body. To him, it was a betrayal that Lance couldn't understand.

"It's gone," Chris muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground, and Lance hugged him tightly, eyes closed as he squeezed. Chris was rigid at first, muscles tight and uneasy, but he relaxed and felt good in Lance's arms. Pulling back, Chris looked up. "Thanks, Bass."

"Anytime," Lance said and let him go only reluctantly. Chris's hand hovered on his shoulder long after they'd parted, and Lance opened his mouth to speak but had nothing to say. Instead, he closed it and let Chris return to Joey and the beer.

JC and Justin arrived together, JC's arm slung over Justin's shoulders as they walked. Lance watched them then shook his head. If they refused to acknowledge it then he wasn't going to make them. Lance understood Justin was with Britney, and he knew they were happy, but there just seemed to be more with JC. It was bound to happen, even Lance could admit that, and he didn't believe in destiny at all.

Lance got pleasantly drunk on homemade margaritas, spread out on the loveseat as Justin and JC hogged the couch, Joey squished in the corner. Chris was on the floor, listening to Joey tell stories, and smiling. Lance was happy in a way that he felt it over his skin; it moved across his shoulders and spread down his back then pooled in his chest. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Lance wasn't entirely convinced that was it.

Justin and JC passed out in a tangle on the couch, legs twisted together. Lance got up and brought the empty glasses into the kitchen then stood at the counter as the room wobbled. Joey was still talking, and Chris's laughter mixed with it. Lance washed the glasses in the sink, the warm, soapy water pruning his fingers.

Lance didn't know when it grew quiet, but by the time he was drying his hands, all the noise was long gone. Lance looked up to see Chris in the doorway, and Lance smiled at him. "Hey," Lance said and kept his voice low. "Want to help me put these away?"

"Sure," Chris said, and they managed to put all the glasses back in only two trips. Lance put the final four into the cabinet then turned to find Chris looking at him. Inside his chest, Lance's heart flip-flopped. Cautiously, Lance reached out and hooked a finger in Chris's shirt, pulling it away from his body. His collarbone was yellowed, but the bruise was almost gone. Chris touched his own fingers to it then Lance put his over them and held them against Chris's skin.

"Is this okay?" Chris asked, and Lance nodded. Later, he would want to blame the alcohol, but he wasn't drunk. No, when Chris's mouth touched his, Lance knew exactly what he was doing and why he was doing it. They kissed for a long time in Joey's dining room, the lights off and the room dimly lit from the streetlights outside. When their legs began to buckle, they snuck upstairs. Lance didn't bother to lie to himself; the time for lies was long gone.

Lance couldn't help but think: finally.

~~~

Lance woke up hours before Chris ever stirred. He got up to pee but otherwise didn't move, just stayed with the blankets pulled across his hips and his back pressed against the wall. Chris kept an arm over Lance's leg, face burrowed into Lance's hip, and Lance wasn't sure what to feel. Happy, relieved, guilty, sad. They were all options.

Chris woke up around ten, his dark eyes flickering open. Lance touched his hand to his brow when it furrowed, smoothing the skin. In that moment, Lance just felt happy. Chris smiled at him then disappeared into the washroom. When he came out, he sat next to Lance and said, "hey."

"Hi," Lance replied and put his hand on Chris's thigh, fingers dipped between his legs where the skin was soft and damp. Lance realised that now he'd slept with four men in his life: Chris, JC, Eric and Paul, one of his showstopping buddies who had entered into therapy at age sixteen and come out straight. Sometimes, Lance didn't even count him, even if he had been the first. It seemed like a waste somehow.

"Are you regretting?" Chris asked, "because you look like you are."

It was hard to explain just what exactly Lance was regretting. Not sleeping with Chris, that he was sure he wasn't unhappy about at all, but everything else, Eric, throwing away three years, inserting himself too soon into Chris's life after everything. They should have waited; Lance should have broken up with Eric first. A little bit of the truth, Lance thought wryly, and it all falls down. His morals, his sense of obligation, his understanding of rightness, all of it had ceased to matter the minute Chris stopped lying to him.

"I have a boyfriend," Lance confessed, his eyelids flickering shut.

"Eric," Chris said, and Lance nodded. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and glanced over at Chris, who looked bleak and guilty. Lance squeezed his thigh, but Chris pushed his hand off, shaking his head. "Fuck, Lance. I asked, and you said it was okay. You should have told me."

"If I told you, you wouldn't have slept with me," Lance replied. It came out sharp and brutally honest, and that was the crux of the matter, really. Lance had willingly told Chris everything but that, and Lance knew why, had known from the beginning and had wanted to pretend he didn't. Eric was the one thing Chris didn't want to see, that Lance didn't want to be seen. "It's over. I cheated, Chris. You didn't. I didn't tell you."

"I like Eric," Chris muttered, pushing his hand across his face.

"So do I. Just not enough, I guess." Lance got up and sorted through the mess of clothing on the ground. He slid on his boxers then his jeans. Chris watched him from the bed, the sheet covering one leg, the other bent and bare. Lance stopped moving, holding his shirt in his hands. "I don't regret you, Chris. I wanted it to happen."

"And what if I don't want anything else from you?" Chris asked quietly.

"Then I'll wake up tomorrow alone. I'm not going to default to Eric simply because you're no longer an option." Lance slid on his shirt, hands shaking as he pulled it down his body. Lance grabbed his wallet from the floor and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Chris, I'm not that type of man, not normally, but I'm not going to beg, either. You make your own decision, and I'll make mine. I'll see you later."

Lance walked away, and later, wouldn't know how he'd found the strength.

~~~

Eric was at his desk, studying, when Lance walked in. He looked up and took off his glasses, and only then did Lance really understand what he'd done. He meant what he said to Chris; he wasn't that type of man, not normally. But right then it was exactly who he was. A liar and a cheater. Wearily, Lance sat down on the couch.

"We have to talk," Lance said, and Eric knew. Lance could tell by now, after three years, when Eric understood without hearing the words. They wouldn't have lasted so long if he couldn't. Lance's truth was so wildly different from everybody else's, save for four other people who lied just like him. "Eric, I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry."

"Chris," Eric said, and Lance nodded. Eric dropped his head and took a deep breath. Lance knew he wasn't allowed to offer comfort, not anymore. Instead, he folded his hands together and pressed them to his mouth, forcing the words to stay inside. Eric stood. "I'll be gone by tomorrow, but I think I need you not to be here for that."

"I'll go," Lance said and offered one last, "I'm so sorry," before grabbing Dirk under his arm and walking out the door. Twice in one day, and Lance thought, maybe, he really was that type of guy after all and just hadn't recognised himself until now.

~~~

Lance drove around for hours before settling in the Target parking lot, listening to country music on an AM station that barely came through. Dirk was sleeping in the back, curled up in a greasy old towel. A security guard came over and kicked him out, though, so he drove around until he barely had any gas and parked in front of Chris's house. There was no where else to go; Lance didn't think he could lie his way into a good excuse.

It started raining ten minutes before midnight. Apt, Lance thought, and pressed his finger to the glass. Right then, Lance selfishly wished he'd never said anything then felt guilty for thinking about that. He'd done what he'd intended to do, and that was help Chris out of a bad situation. So he'd opened his big mouth and now he was stuck living with the consequences. One shot of truth, and it all fell down, everything, the whole world. Lance vowed to keep lying until the end of his life if it saved him all this grief.

Lance opened his glove compartment and rooted around, hunting for a pack of cigarettes he kept around for Eric, who smoked only when stressed. He found four condoms, a sock and a stick of beef jerky, but no smokes. He sat back and sighed.

Lance shrieked when Chris pounded on the window, and Lance unlocked the door. Chris slid in, drenched to the bone and hair pressed flat against his forehead. He looked young, younger than Lance had ever known him to be, and Lance admitted, even with all he knew, he couldn't imagine Chris as a child. Chris had just always defied age.

"I know you're not like that," Chris said, lifting a hand to push his hair back. Lance looked over at him, head back against the chair, and raised his hand to do it instead. Chris's forehead was damp but warm, his hair thick against Lance's fingers. "You want to come in before my neighbours call the cops?"

"Do we know what we're doing?" Lance asked. "Are we ready for the truth?"

Chris shrugged. "It was going to happen eventually, right? We had a ticking time bomb in our laps. Someone, someday, was going to say something, and it happened to be you, Bass." Chris leaned over and kissed the corner of Lance's mouth. "I appreciate it. That took balls, man." Chris slapped his hand down on Lance's thigh. "Now, come in. I changed the sheets."

"You fucking romantic," Lance said fondly, and Chris grinned as Lance leaned over to kiss him again, the windows in the car now efficiently fogged. They stayed there for a little bit, hidden in the world, as it all fell down around them. It wasn't that bad, this shimmering of truth, Lance thought. It wasn't that bad at all.

Fin.

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