|
pull you through
|
|
|
Pull You Through
Lately, JC had perfected an expression of uneasy and resentful appreciation, which he directed mostly at Justin. And mostly when the subject of songs came up. So, a lot of the time. He put all his energy into the singing, and the planning, and everything else having to do with the tour, and seemed satisfied with that, but every once in awhile, when Justin was around, there would be a glimmer of something else. He didn't seem too happy with Wade, either. *** Justin took it hard. "I didn't fucking *do* anything to him! And he treats me like I fucking stabbed him in the fucking back." Chris shrugged and gave up on ever actually starting the game. Setting his controller aside, he let his head fall back on the sofa and stared at Justin. "It's his thing, you know?" "I don't know," Justin snapped. "His *thing*." Chris sighed. "Lance and I have the companies. Joey's getting his acting thing together. And JC... he writes songs. That's what he had to himself." "You and Lance have bonded over business plenty. Joey and Lance managed to make an entire fucking movie together without killing each other. And maybe writing is my thing, too. Don't I get a thing?" "Of course you get a thing," Chris said, and he was tired of talking about it so he pulled Justin over to kiss, to shut him up. And it worked, with Justin squirming into his arms and Chris sort of guiltily wishing that Justin would consider *this* his thing and be done with it, but he pushed that away and sucked on Justin's neck and whispered, "They're good songs," into his ear, and "he'll get over it," and "fuck, do that again." *** It always worked, that way of shutting Justin up. Partly because Justin didn't really like himself much when he was sullen and moody, and partly because Justin liked himself a lot when he was curled around Chris and hearing noises that ranged from breathy to desperate to just plain demanding. Chris told him to do things and he did them, happily, and sometimes when he was stickily glued to Chris and falling asleep he thought he never liked himself better than on his knees, with Chris's fists grappling at his ears. *** They were white boys who didn't get their props, it was true; Justin didn't know how to joke about things like that, but he did know when to make it a joke, when to backtrack and lie and laugh himself out of an angry corner. And because he couldnąt say it out loud and say, "I'm serious," at the same time, he wrote it into the songs and people liked them. They said he was good where they had said JC was attached to his keyboard, and they said he'd done well where they had said JC was kind of a freak. They said, yeah, these boys have grown up and are making their music grow with them, and it was okay that JC was the one writing for other singers and being thought of as "the writer" because what Justin had needed was to do it, to have it be done and have it be *something*. When he dreamed, he dreamed in black and white images of Chris, whispering that he'd done it well, and just for them. *** When they played a certain game, a hypothetical "what comes after us?" game, JC always said he would keep singing, and every solo album would be for them. He could be a huge sap like that, and Joey always laughed and clapped him on the back. Lately, Joey's answer had changed. Not too much, but while he still said he wanted to act and sing and have gobs of money and women, he started mentioning more and more that he wanted to be a good father. Lance wanted a family, and Chris wanted to roller skate on the moon, except for the time he got drunk and quiet and said, "I want something just for me. A house. A driveway. Someone-- something permanent." That night, Justin had leaned into Chris's ear when Chris was half passed out and said softly, "I'll be as permanent as you want," but he didn't think Chris had heard him. None of it mattered, really, because his answer was always that he wanted to sing, however he had to do it. And everyone believed him enough that they didn't need to press. Which relieved Justin, because the truth was closer to JC's, and he was sick and tired of sharing everything in life with JC. So he made it different, and while JC gave all his songs to the group, or to others, and said he'd write for himself later, Justin showed Chris a notebook with scribbles and plans and vague ideas on every page, and he mumbled softly, "This is what I want." Chris looked at it and nodded. "Yeah, I figured. You want it now, don't you?" "Sort of. But not for the right reasons." "What's a wrong reason to want the rest of your life?" "To want it before JC does it first." "Oh." And Chris kissed right near his ear. "So it'd be *your* life." "Yeah. and, I don't always want it to be after. I don't want it to be on my own-- solo doesn't have to mean alone, right?" "Think the OED might fight you on that one." "Chris." "Jup. Hey, maybe you and JC should get married. You'd be the dynamic duo of soloing!" "Chris!" "Joke, joke!" Chris cried, kissing him again. "Hey. Whatever and whenever you do it, I'm the other half of your duo, kid. If you're still okay with being my permanent?" Justin smiled and pulled him closer, happy because he'd heard, after all. He should have known; Chris was the one always listening. **end** |