game

Game
by Molly
irreelle@mac.com
March 2001

***

Game

It started as a game. A game about Justin. They were on the bus, planning to hit St. Paul and go out that night, and Justin said, when Chris didn't seem to into it, that he needed to just find a fucking girl, already.

And Chris got kind of quiet for a minute, and then started in with a weird lecture that wanted to be profound but just wasn't, because it was Chris, and he couldn't help but let it dissolve into a joke after a minute.

"It's not like," he was saying, "it's not like just anything goes. Some people-- yes, hold your applause, I'm referring to people like me-- need a spark."

"And some people wanna get laid more than once every other year," Justin said, a little snottily but a little innocently, a strange tone that came out sometimes and made everyone who noticed it, and they all did at times, realize that Justin was still perpetually lost in a fuzzy afterhaze of being a teenage heartthrob.

Chris just rolled his eyes this time. "Yeah, Justin, and then some people grow the fuck up. Just wait. You won't be hot forever. None of us will be."

"Who said you were hot now?" Joey asked, looking up from Zelda for half a second to grin.

"Shut up. I am. Right, Justin?"

Justin sputtered on a spoonful of soup. "I don't think you're hot."

"You do. Admit it, Just. You only like me for my pretty face and gorgeous body." Chris waggled his eyebrows and leered obscenely at Justin; Lance snickered from behind a book.

"Fuck you. No way."

***

It started, and went on for awhile. Chris moped about being old, and Justin just agreed, calling him a wrinkly fart who wasn't, and never would be, hot.

Chris took it in stride. He touched Justin a lot, and Justin always jumped a bit and shrugged away, usually muttering, "You're not, Chris."

They all watched it. Joey and Lance were amused, and one day after Justin smacked Chris on the side of the head for grabbing his ass, Joey looked at Lance and asked, "Do you think I'm hot?"

"Sure," Lance said. Late that night, on the bus, JC got up to use the bathroom and there they were, curled around each other on the sofa, muttering quietly and kissing roughly. In the morning, nothing seemed different, and he wondered how long it had been going on.

***

Sometimes they fought. Over little things, and big things, and Chris said once, a little too wistfully, that one day it would all be over.

JC listened to Justin and Joey yell about leaving the game controllers out, so anyone would trip over the cords, and he thought maybe it was because they could. They wouldn't crack under the strain of sloppy habits, like they could have under the cloud of the lawsuit.

It was safe to let themselves be human again. JC hoped it was, at least. He tried not to get into arguments, anyway.

***

The tour ended three shows early because Justin fell down some stairs and broke his ankle. And JC noticed, on the flight back to Orlando, that Chris was fawning, a little bit. Every so often, he would make sure Justin was comfortable, and then he would flirt with a flight attendant, and then he would get Justin a drink, and then he would crack some sort of joke. A lot of those ended up being about Joey, who just nodded as he laughed and shook a fist at Chris, every time.

Things felt good, JC thought. They were taking two weeks off and then heading into the studio, and Justin kept saying he was going "fucking stir-crazy already, so let's just work on some songs," all throughout the flight. Chris hit him with a magazine and said children his age shouldn't curse, and Justin kicked him with his good foot.

That night they all got drunk in Chris's apartment, because it was the end of another tour and they just felt like it. JC picked Justin up and drove him over, and before they got out of the car, Justin reached out and touched JC's arm. "C, man. We're all okay, right?"

"Of course we are. What are you talking about?"

"Nothing." Justin shook his head. "You're right."

***

Justin cried a little when he was drunk. He rubbed a shaky hand through his curls and looked at JC, and then his eyes were wet, and he said, "My fucking ankle hurts."

Justin drunk, in private, was a nice person. He didn't get angry, or bitter, or lash out. He made sure everyone knew how much he loved them, and he worried a lot, like he thought they were all humoring him with their friendship. He stretched out on the couch after JC helped him hobble over, his foot propped up, and he looked up at JC and sighed a little and mumbled, "it's not for real, okay?"

JC knelt down next to him, feeling wobbly. "What's not for real?"

"None of it, when I'm being me-- Chris!" Justin hollered, and Chris stumbled out of the kitchen, holding a can of creamed corn.

"Just, dude, you gotta look at this," he said. He nearly tripped over Joey, who was examining the texture of the carpet with Lance, saying something that sounded suspiciously like "rugburn." Chris just kicked them both, gently, and sat on the floor and leaned against JC while he held up the can with so much reverence it seemed he might build a shrine. "I have corn in my kitchen. How did that happen?"

"Dunno," Justin said. "Chris. Chris, I gotta tell you something."

"Is it serious? I don't do serious. Serious and corn don't mix well, okay?"

"Okay. Not serious." And Justin closed his eyes and breathed slowly, sleepily, and he didn't sound entirely awake when he mumbled, "Chris, man, you're hot."

***

JC woke up tangled in the ends of Chris's curtains, curled on the floor under the window. He sat up and looked around, the sunlight of high noon shafting its way in as the curtain twisted around his body and pulled. One beam slanted across Chris's forehead, where he sprawled on the couch with Justin's head on his thigh, fingers splayed through short curls. Chris slid his eyes over to JC and he nodded slightly.

Joey and Lance were still huddled together on the floor. Justin mumbled in his sleep. And JC watched them all and he couldnšt nod back; he knew what that nod had meant to say.

***

Justin bitched his way through being injured and the first few days of re-familiarizing themselves with the studio routine. He yelled pretty often, and only Joey yelled back. Lance seemed off in some other world, and ChrisŠ JC watched Chris, and Chris was just watching Justin. Like holding his breath, waiting for something that was supposed to happen and should, should happen any day now.

It wasn't happening. But Justin settled down, and even though Chris kept watching him, JC thought, this is better. They sang and goofed off and did so many interviews he had to wonder if half of them ever made it to print.

And then he thought, of course they do. Because people will buy us saying what we're told to say.

He didn't know where thoughts like that came from. He didn't know if he wanted to.

***

In Orlando, sun was like the stench of sweat in a club: you couldn't get away. But Justin liked it. His cast came off and he winced not at the weakened muscle or the sheer nasty appearance of his damn foot, but at the way his tan had gotten darker over the last eight weeks, so many of them spent in lazy afternoons of sitting around in backyards. Pale, dry flesh, easing up in tone because the sunlight had hit near the edge of the cast, but not so much when Justin had turned this way, or that, and a shadow had been cast.

So Justin's skin smoothed its way from wan and pale to stronger and golden bronze, and Chris had gone with him to get the cast removed. They got to Joey's and Justin was yelling something about physical therapy and how godawful fucked his leg looked, and he poured a coke and hobbled out onto the patio, where he pulled his pants leg up so only the paler area would be exposed.

JC put a little rum in Chris's coke, and Chris nodded weakly, grateful. "Little bastard," he muttered.

"You gonna tell him?"

"He knows," Chris said shortly. "He's always known, I think."

And then Lance and Joey came in, both smelling like the same soap, and JC kept quiet. Justin was in a better mood when they all joined him; he was sitting by the pool and when Chris got too close he splashed water up in the palm of one hand. It spattered across Chris's chest and face.

Chris shoved Justin in the pool and said he was going home.

***

He walked in on Joey and Lance making out in a bathroom at the studio one day, and after that he didn't feel like quietly pretending nothing was going on. Not like he could talk to them, though; Joey just *didn't* and Lance looked like he might be willing, but the only time JC got near to broaching the subject, Lance started turning red pretty early on.

But he didn't act like he was oblivious anymore. It felt good, after a few weeks, to roll his eyes when Joey left a room and a few minutes later Lance followed. Comfortable. Like it felt good to bring donuts to Joey's early on a Saturday before they had an interview and be able to see Lance there, looking rumpled, and just silently acknowledge it.

It felt good, having this one out in the open.

Justin and Chris fought a lot. Didn't feel so good. JC started wondering, too, when it would all be over.

***

His fist hurt. His knuckles were bleeding on one hand from missing and hitting a concrete wall, and the blood on the other was from Chris's lip. And his cheek, and forehead, where JC's ring had ripped the skin.

Justin was slumped on the floor, swollen-lipped and watching them with huge eyes like he was totally alert but content to sit it out; then his head lolled a bit and he blinked slowly and whispered, "I might throw up."

Chris barely looked at him with the one eye that could still open. "Bathroom's right behind you, Just. Aim for one of the big white bowls behind the little swinging doors."

Justin crawled away. Chris climbed slowly to his feet, and he stood there breathing hard and fast, leaning over a little. A drop of blood hit the floor, another his shoe, and he hit JC hard. Once, twice, then Lance appeared and was between them and it all felt sort of surreal.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Chris finally shrieked. It was a small hallway and barely lit, just filled with the deafening background vibrations of too many New York clubs in one night. Nobody would come see them; nobody cared, here.

And Joey was next to Lance now, peering into Chris's face, then JC's, and then he said, "Where the fuck is Justin?"

Chris pointed to the bathroom. "Sick. Make sure he didn't catch a fist, will you?" He said it calmly, he was talking to Joey, and then to Lance he said, "You can let me go."

Lance did and Chris was still, but he looked at JC and started yelling again. "You've gone fucking nuts, you twisted little shit!"

"I'm nuts? He's halfway to fucking passed out drunk, Chris!"

"So?"

"You know how he is when he's drunk! I thought you gave enough of a shit to let him choose."

Chris got quiet and stared at him hard, and JC knew something was about to let loose. It was obvious, really, and had been in the past year. Since Dani, Chris would sometimes get a vicious gleam in his eye, a gleam that said he wasn't keeping secrets anymore just to protect people. So he said it. He said, "Who said he didn't, *C*? Who said it was the first time?"

JC swung. He might have hit Lance, but he didn't stay long enough to notice.

***

He spent three days thinking about MMC. One day when Justin was still new he'd sat down next to JC during a lunch break and said, "It's kind of strange, isn't it?"

And JC looked at him and shrugged. "What is?"

"I dunno. Everything. Never mind."

Sometimes Justin would want to hang out with him and tell him stupid jokes, and sometimes it was annoying, because Justin was only twelve, but then usually it was okay, because Justin was a good kid. Justin loved to laugh. JC loved making him laugh.

***

The plane seemed strangely quiet when they left New York to return to Orlando. Joey slept the entire time and Lance just read. Justin stared silently out the window. Chris stared off into space, his face dotted with two tiny bandages.

Nobody really looked at JC. He couldn't look at them.

***

"It's gimicky," Chris said irritably, drawing an annoyed look from Johnny.

"All of it's gimick, Chris. This started bothering you when?"

"Maybe it's time we fucking stopped with the antics," Chris snapped. "Got our self-respect back."

Johnny shook his head wearily. "The antics pay the bills. We don't have to decide this now, anyway. Just give it some thought, all of you."

"I've given it some-- " Chris started angrily, and then Justin looked straight at him. "Chris," he said. "Later."

And Chris shut up, sitting back and scratching lightly around the nearly-healed cuts on his face. Johnny looked at all of them, frowning, and finally asked, "Anyone want to tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing," Justin muttered, staring at JC. "We'll work it out."

"Make sure you do. Looks, guys, I know it's rough, not getting a good chunk of time off this year, but you're in high demand. Don't ruin it. Chris, leave your face alone or you'll scar."

Chris fixed a long glare on Johnny, then on JC. It was the first time he'd looked at JC in nearly a week. "Right. Wouldn't want that."

"Oh, ChristŠ go home, guys, okay? Monday morning, though, remember. We'll leave from here for the photo shoot." Johnny put his pen down and sighed. "I swear to God, you better at least look like friends by then, or I'll kill you all."

***

Lance showed up at midnight. Knocked and then just walked in, found JC sitting on the floor, battered notebooks all around him. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Writing. Something. I don't know."

"You have to talk to Chris and Justin," Lance said. His tone didn't leave room for argument, but JC raised his eyes in a blank stare. "You have to, JC. This is fucking everything up."

JC shrugged. "More, you mean."

"What?"

"Fucking it up more. And you know damn well what I'm saying, so don't ask."

"Yeah, I know." Lance sat down on the couch and picked at his fingernails. "You're jealous?"

"No."

"Pissed that we paired up? Nobody ever made it a big deal, JC."

"It has nothing to do with that. I didn't give a fuck about you and Joey, did I?"

"Then you're jealous."

"I'm not." JC said it dully, not protesting, just saying. "Everything's a game to him. You and Joey both knew exactly what you were doing."

"This time it isn't a game. And Justin knows, JC. He's not twelve, anymore."

"No," and JC really wanted to cry for the first time since it had all started. "But he's still Justin."

***

Chris let it go, in the end. He mellowed in attitude and his energy soared again, and there was a night in a club when he slung a drunken arm around JC's shoulders and said, "There's this chick by the bar that just described to me, in detail, what she'd do if she had twenty minutes with you in a small, dark place of your choice."

"Yeah?" JC laughed and took the drink Chris finally offered. "Lay 'em on me, man. Details."

And Chris scratched his head and frowned for a second. "There were scarves involved, I remember. She's cute. Brunette, yellow top and black skirt. I'm sure the bathroom counts as small and dark."

"You're a lunatic."

"But a hot one, right?"

"Fuck off."

"Nice, C, original. Seen Justin? He slipped his leash somehow."

"Try the bathroom. He looked a bit green, last I saw him." JC watched Chris for a second, then smiled lightly. "I think I'll go talk to her."

So he did, and on the way he saw Lance wrapped around a girl in a back corner, mouthing her earlobe and looking pretty carefree. And JC knew he could probably find Joey, somewhere, doing the same, and he finally realized who had just been having fun, all along.

**end**