As the 757 circled Heathrow’s outer perimeter again and again, slowly and gradually descending and preparing to land, JC pulled the baseball cap down further over his face and huddled against the vibrating wall beside him. Disoriented because he’d finally fallen asleep during the overnight transatlantic flight and just awakened now to the pilot’s voice, he stared out the tiny oval window into a dense, swirling, gloom-thick atmosphere and wondered if they were still cloud-bound or if this was part of the infamous dreary London fog. Or if he might actually be gazing at a reflection of how he felt inside. The cap he wore he’d chosen specifically. Because……….well……….it was Justin’s. One that Justin would never wear again. But Justin *had* worn it, and, therefore, JC kept it. And wore it himself. Because it had been Justin’s. Exactly as *he* had been. Once. Truth be told, he’d kept all of the belongings Justin had left at his house after that day the happiness unraveled. He simply hadn’t been able to “torch the fuckers” as Justin had gracefully snarled into the phone the last time he’d been asked if he wanted any of it returned to him. No. JC couldn’t do that. Couldn’t get rid of the stuff. It was, truth be told, all he had left. All he could cling to. All there was to remind him of Justin, as he alone knew him. He’d practically worn out the Radiohead and Coldplay CDs even though he didn’t really “dig” their music. Justin had dug it. And that was the point. So he’d listened to them over and over again. And he’d rescued all the shirts from the laundry hamper where Justin had yanked them off with that masculine, spirited style of his and tossed them in like a cool three-pointer from mid-court. Yeah, sometimes, truth be told, JC would sit in the middle of his huge bed or in the floor by the closet with those shirts crumpled all around him and press each one to his face until the sweet, familiar scent from the fabric split open that aching crack in his heart that would send the hot waterfall of regret and sadness to his eyes. *I’m sorry……….I’m so very sorry, sweets……….Christ, I miss you……….and I’m sorry* ~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ “Okay. Well, um, could you look and act MORE like walking death, JC? I’m guessing, um, NO.” With great effort, JC grunted and opened his eyelids to slits from where he lay sprawled across the end of one of the double beds in Lance’s West End hotel room. “I thought I was……….walking sex,” he mumbled. “What?” “Nothing. Moot point now.” “You want a drink or something? Wake the hell up, JC. You’re pathetic,” Lance chided in a tone that was more distracted than annoyed as he searched through the array of clothes folded neatly in his luggage opened and flayed on the other bed. “We’re going to dinner and then hitting some clubs. I’ve waited like crazy for this weekend. I so need it.” Behind him, JC twisted his hips on the mattress and let out a small wince. Then, in a low grumble, he answered. “I’m tired. I’ll do a nap in lieu of dinner. ‘Kay?” “No. NOT okay,” Lance scoffed without turning from his chore. “Get off your ass. You didn’t come all the way to London to sleep, damnit.” “Shut up, Lance. I don’t sleep at home.” “Hmm. Lemme guess why.” Lance rolled his shiny eyes and diligently kept at his hunt for the evening’s perfect shirt. “Guilt much?” “Shut up.” “JC……….Get up. And don’t even *think* about wearing that lame redneck hat. Which damn dollar store did you get that from anyway? I swear. If you could see yourself…….” Silently but quickly, JC rolled over and curled up into a human ball, defensively covering his head with his arms. “Fuck you.” Lance straightened up, dropped the silk garment in his hands, pivoted around to watch his dejected friend, and sighed heavily. “JC.” No response at all from the clenched mass of flesh. “JC.” “Go away.” “Go away, shit. This is MY room, man. You can hike on back to your own.” More of the isolating coldness from the living being on the other bed. Lance’s face softened, and he let his shoulders slump as he stepped over and lay down next to JC. Lightly, soothingly, he rubbed his palm up and down the curved outline of JC’s body. “Josh, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice it was *his* hat……….Wear it if you want. I didn’t mean to upset you.” “Fine.” “Is he talking to you again yet?” “No. Unless you count screaming at me when I can get him to answer the fucking phone.” “He’s still angry.” “He’s hurt, Lance. Demolished inside and hurting. He’s just acting out.” JC shifted his half-circle length but didn’t unfold the bodily cocoon. “Well, that’s how folks usually react when their boyfriends cheat on ‘em, sweetheart. You know? Girlfriends too, I’d imagine. That kinda behavior is, like, the norm.” “He’s not the norm, Lance. He’s better,” came JC’s muffled reply. “I know, I know.” “Not as well as *I* do.” Lance brushed the bunched muscles of JC’s arm. “So you wanna talk about it? I’m here. I’ll listen. You know that,” he whispered in his deep tone. “I had to do it,” JC murmured from beneath him. “I love him, Lance, but I had to do it.” “Okay. I trust you, man.” Slowly, JC moved the shroud of limbs from around his face and peered up at Lance. “You’ve talked to him?” Lance sighed. “Yes. I told you I’ve talked to him. He calls to check on me sometimes. He’s my friend same as you’re my friend, JC. I’m here for both of you. But I’m not picking sides in this thing. I’ll do what I can, but I refuse to get in the middle of it.” JC flung himself backward on the bed, stretched out languidly, and groaned. “Middle of WHAT? It’s over.” “Is it?” “Yes.” “Because *you* said so?” Lance raised an eyebrow at him. “Lance, dude, does he despise me? You can leak that fucking much. C’mon, man.” “He’ll never despise you, Josh. Everybody knows how much he loves you.” “Loved.” “No. Loves. He can’t just turn it off like a faucet……….And neither can you.” “I’ve tried to. I need to.” Lance snorted and rolled his lustrous green eyes again. “What you *need* is to get laid. And so do I……….And there’s plenty of that to be had in *this* town. So get yo butt up and get ta steppin’.” “Don’t try to sound like him, Lance. You suck at it.” “Yeah. Whatever. Get up anyway, JC. Time’s slipping by, man. The British gentlemen await us.” “No.” “No?” Lance smirked quizzically. “No. I don’t want anybody……….but him.” “Okay, JC. Whatever you say. We’ll play by your rules.” Lance patted JC’s firm thigh next to him. “But just put a little life in it, babe. Okay? Let’s try and have some fun.” “Lance?” “What?” Lance had been about to slide off the bed and stand up again, but he stopped and turned his head. “I’m still here. You okay?” “I’m sorry.” “For what?” “For dragging my dead ass over here in the pretense of befriending you when you finally get a break from Siberian space camp and instead end up mooching off your kindness and bending your good heart……….I suck as a friend. I’m sorry.” Once more, Lance reached over and touched his arm. Comfortingly. “Josh, it’s cool. I don’t mind. I’m feeling ya, babe. And I’m glad you’re here. I missed you. I missed all this……….And if I can help out in the meantime while I’m around, then I’m up for that too. Deal?” JC sighed tiredly and tried to smile. “Thanks, man. I’m glad I’m here too.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now get your skinny ass up. For the last fucking time. I’ll find ya something stunning to sling on.” ~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ Well. Damn. It’s hot in here, isn’t it? And hazy. Or misty. No, not misty. Fuzzy, maybe. Yeah, fuzzy. Or could that be just in my head? Fuzzy up in there?……….Um, wait. What was that? What did I say then? “Or could that be……….*just in*……….my head.” Fuck. His name. Fuck. No. I didn’t say it out loud, but I heard it. Ringing merrily in the ol’ subconscious down there. Loud as hell. Even over this louder-than-hell weird noise. Or hold up. Music. They call it music over here. Techno-pop drivel or something. Bad fucking recycled ‘80s disco crap if you ask me. But, hey. They’re British. If that stuff’s their cup of tea and crumpets……….Haha. I’m cracking myself up. Inhibitions? Who needs inhibitions? Not me. Besides, I think mine passed out about, oh, say, an hour or two ago……….somewhere around that third bottle of Cristal. Yeah, they whispered to me softly, “That’s enough for us! Sorry. We can’t keep up. So goodnight. You’re on your own, chump. See ya!” And that’s cool too ‘cause they were, like, constantly nagging on me and telling me I shouldn’t be enjoying myself here in this place like this……….as if I really *am*. Losers, those inhibitions. And damnit, where’s Lance? He’s brought me to this weird-ass club and then gone and snuck off again. He keeps doing that to me. Damn him. Probably with that slimy-looking Italian dude this time. The one he’s so hot for tonight. Yeah, I remember now. How Lance came up to me and told me on the DL over this droning thump of “music” that the slick-haired perv has a schlong that hangs half-way down to his knees — even when it’s still soft! Yeah, according to Lance. Whatever. I asked him if that Italian sausage would be the sweet or hot variety. Haha. And he rolled his eyes. Typical. And then I informed him that he was getting way past TMI limits and that I could really give a damn and that I didn’t even have a condom to offer him ‘cause, see, I didn’t bring any with me, not figuring I’d ever need them again and all, you see. He smirked and rolled his eyes again. And shook his head like I was about 12. He thinks he’s cute when he does that. And so does most of the known world. But you know. Whatever. If he really wants to get shagged tonight, he’ll have it. He’s determined. So who am I to stand in his way? He’d probably just push me down or something — and Lord knows he certainly *could* right now……….very easily — so he can get himself a piece of that spicy Italian ass. Haha. I just want to know where the hell the little fuck is. He better not have taken off with Guido and left me here. I’ll hurt him. I will. He’s gonna help me pay this bar tab. Hell, yes, he is. How much “poundage” is $350 anyway? Times *three*? Or is this four I’m working on now? Haha. Oh, wait. It’s all euros over here now, isn’t it? Well. Shit. I hope I’ve got enough euros on my Amex black to cover this crap. And I also hope I can still walk when I get ready to undock myself from the counter of this bar here. I hope like hell. If Carlos were here, he’d take care of all this, man. He’d watch out for me. He’d know how close I am to the edge of unstable. On the outside and inside. He wouldn’t let me run up an alcohol bill of 47 queerzillion euros. Haha. And he wouldn’t skip out on me like senorita Bass either. Oh, no. I did it again. “Senorita.” Fuck. Please. Somebody. Just kill me now. I’m wallowing in the crime of painful thought association. I should be mercifully shot. Please. Okay, wait. Hold up. This cat next to me keeps touching me. And I mean on purpose too. With intentions, if you know what I mean. Like swiftly sliding the back of his hand down my chest and occasionally dipping his index finger into the gash of my open shirt and grazing my skin. Like nonchalantly running his palm over my hip that’s jutting out a little from the way I’m leaning here at the bar. Like eating me up with those dark, hungry eyes and that dancing, flashy grin. Who *is* this? Does he even know who the fuck I am? Um, wait a sec. It’s coming back to me now. He *does* know. I danced with him, didn’t I? Fuck. Yes, I did. I remember now. How he ground himself against me out there in that sweaty, gyrating mass of people. How I could barely make out what he growled in my ear when he reached down and grabbed my arse. Haha. “I’ve always wanted to know how tight that sexy ass of yours feels when I watch you move it like you do, luv.” Isn’t *that* what he’d hissed? Um, I think so. Kind of lame and crude, eh? Yep. And not, well, romantic in the least bit. And we all know — don’t we? — what a sucker I am for some romance, especially since I’m so accustomed to it and all that……….candles, roses, getting-your-slow-freak-on music………. Okay, stop. Enough of that crap. Why do I keep doing that? Do I need *more* of this bubbly to shut all that up sufficiently? Probably. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. This bloke trying to mack on me. Why in the hell am I still standing here talking to him now? Because I’m afraid I might fall flat on my face if I move off this sturdy prop of the bar? Or because he *is* sort of attractive? What did he say his name is? Nathanial? Nolan? No, hold up. Wait. I’ll get it……….Nigel. That’s it. How, um, common. Haha. But he *is* a little bit cute, isn’t he? In that odd, European way. And at least he doesn’t look anything like………. Well, his hair is blond and wavy over his ears — not brownish-auburn and close-cropped scruffy……….probably not soft and silky when your fingers brush through it. And the bone structure of his face doesn’t consist of nature’s most perfect curves and protrusions that come together elegantly and move like a fluid piece of artwork to take your breath completely away. And his lips don’t possess that unearthly magic to rivet your eyes to their slick, red fullness that you *know* will taste as sweet as they look. And he doesn’t smell sexy-delicious like that Armani Mania cologne you’d special-ordered from the manufacturer for a very special Valentine’s Day gift months ago. And his shoulders and upper arms aren’t magnificently broad and muscled enough to make you ache to be held by them and rocked gently until everything felt good again. Um, no. He wasn’t even on the same b-ball court as………. Damn. I’m such a loser. And I can prove it. I lost the world’s most *everything* boy. I lost my fire. I lost the mate to my soul. HOLD UP!!!! Holy bloody hell?? What the crap did dude here just say to me? Is he for real? Or did I even hear him correctly? Yikes! What a way to yank me out of the fog in my head back into reality! A comment about — of all freaky fucking things — an *anus* piercing? WTF? Did he seriously just say he has one? What the hell would that feel like? What would it look like? Do I even want to know? And is he *bragging* about it? Is that little claim supposed to make me want him MORE? Further advance the wooing progression to get me to his flat? And then get *me* flat? Haha. God, help these whack British cats, man. Nigel here is scaring me. I’m serious as hell. I should tell him to bugger off. Or to take his bollocks somewhere else. Haha. This is a little too weird for my blood. Jesus. Fuck. I’m probably staring at him like a hillbilly mofo right now. And he’s probably getting wood and thinking I dig him or something. Damn. I didn’t just say “dig” out loud, did I? Please tell me I didn’t. Where the hell’s my shirt that says “LOSER”? Or, wait. How about the one that says “GULLIBLE FOOL”? Yeah, I must be wearing that one, like, right now. To hell with letting Lance dress me again. Um, no way. He can bugger off too. Haha. Why couldn’t I be curled up on a nice, soft couch somewhere with a charming Tennessee homeboy, listening to his ghetto-in-falsetto ramblings and feeling his warm heartbeat under my cheek. Why?……….Oh. I remember now. I’m the crowned prince of loserness. Yeah. That’s me. Oh, check it out. There’s Lance. Finally. He’s headed this way through the crowd. And look. He does NOT appear to be very happy right now. He’s practically shoving people out of his way. Alfredo must have had a tiny pecker after all. Haha. I don’t even want to know. I’m serious as hell. Yuck. I’m feeling a little — No. A LOT — dizzy too. Did the room just start spinning? Maybe now would be a good time to get a butthole piercing. Or maybe not. Yuck. Lance is pissed at me. I can tell. I wonder what the hell I did now. ~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~ “I’m not pissed at you, JC. Stop saying that.” “Then why’d you make me leave? I was talking to Nathan, or whatever the hell his name was.” “You weren’t just talking to him. You were letting him maul you right there in front of everybody watching.” “Was not. Shut up.” JC pouted and rested his head on Lance’s shoulder in the back of the limo as it sped them through the London streets to their hotel. “Were too. It was lewd and disgusting. Not to mention embarrassing. Pawing you, rubbing all against you, chewing on your ear……….Slut.” “Oh, and since when did YOU become the moral pillar of the community, Mr. We-Need-To-Get-Laid? Huh? I was just talking to the guy. Or more like listening to him.” “JC, five more minutes and he would prob’bly have bent you over that bar and rammed the hell outta you.” “You don’t know that, Lance. And besides, you said to lose my inhibitions and have fun.” Lance leaned his head back on the seat and sighed. “Not with a sleazy tool like that.” “And how was he a sleazy tool? Just ‘cause he called you a ‘wanker’ for jerking me outta there like you did?” “Jesus. Everybody could see he was a low-life, JC. A scumbag male ho. And if you weren’t so drunk off your ass that you can’t see straight, you would’ve picked up on it too.” JC giggled. “‘See straight.’ Funny as hell, Lance. I haven’t seen straight in years. Haha.” Lance chuckled along with him. “Yeah, me either. In, like, 23, to be exact.” “Dude had an earring in his ass, Lance. Does that make it an ‘ass-ring’?” Turning and glancing downward, Lance furrowed his brow. “What?” “The sleazy male ho. He said his anus was pierced. Can you believe that shit? How does that work anyway?” JC’s voice came out sounding shrill and exhausted. “What’d I tell ya? Trash.” “I’ll bet the guy who does that kinda piercing gets a lotta ass.” JC cackled at his own joke. Lance laid his head back down and closed his eyes. “You’re strange, Josh. You should get out more.” “Thanks for rescuing me, Lance. My knight in shining armor.” “Oh, brother. Don’t start.” Silently, JC laughed again, his upper body shaking against Lance’s arm. “Did you pay the tab?” “Yes. And you so owe me, man. Did you *have* to guzzle the most expensive stuff?” “Hey. Ju never complained.” It was spoken and out in the limo’s atmosphere before JC realized it, and he stiffened at the casual mention of the name. Lance felt the tension too and squinted his eyes again to watch JC. “Yes, he did. Just not to you.” Lance snickered, attempting to add some lightness around them. JC’s frame shook again now, but not from racking laugher. “I miss him, Lance. I can’t remember what it was like before him. And I’m so empty now……….It’s so ungodly lonely.” Lance shifted his arm to embrace JC’s shoulders. “Here, babe. Lay down in my lap. It’ll be okay.” Lifelessly, JC fell to Lance’s thighs and rested, drawing his arms up close to him almost fetally. “No, it won’t. He was the sun in my sky. Now, everything around me is nothing but dank and dismal……….like this damn city.” “I’m sorry I chose London, Josh. I didn’t mean to make you feel worse than you already do. My fault……….But I think if you give Justin some time to heal, things will get better. He’ll get over being screwed around on. Sure it was a big blow to him, but he’ll live. He’s not one to hold grudges, ya know.” Lance smoothed his hand over JC’s tightly-wound arm and brushed dark curls off his forehead. His fingers trailed through the warm wetness of the tears that trickled down JC’s cheeks. “I……….didn’t……….screw around……….on him……….Not really.” Lance leaned in closer, unsure he’d understood the small, pitiful whispers from JC’s quivering mouth. “What do you mean? Is this some kind of weird Chasez logic that only *you* understand? Talk to me, Josh. I’m here for you, man.” A sob shuddered through the reclining figure in the dark. “I staged it……….made it look like I had been with somebody else……….but it was all fake……….make-believe……….done purely for effect……….It wasn’t real.” “Why?” “Because I knew that was the one thing that would cripple him the most, the thing he wouldn’t be able to forgive.” Lance swiped away more of the flowing tears from the chiseled face. “And why did you want to damage him so utterly?” “Because……….” “I’m here, Josh. I’ll never hate you, no matter what your reasons were. And if you talk about it, you might feel better.” “I’ll never feel better, Lance. Never. I thought I would. I thought it was the best thing to do. But I *don’t* feel better. I feel like shit. And he won’t even speak to me……….I’ve fucked up, Lance. I’ve ruined everything. Just like he said. Nothing will ever be the same again……….not even close……….I’ve really fucked up.” “Tell me why, Josh. Why you did it.” “I had to make him run from me *somehow*. Don’t you get it?” In the awkward position, Lance tried to hold him, tried to comfort him. “No, I don’t. Make him run from you? Why?” “Because he will eventually anyway. In the future. When he gets really big. He’ll shrug me off and run……….Like he did to Britney……….Like he said he’d do to me too, Lance,” JC cried softly. “When did he say he’d do that to you? When, Josh? That doesn’t sound like Justin at all.” “In a dream I had. Right after he started recording the CD……….In it, he said pretty soon he wouldn’t have room for me in his life anymore……….exactly what he said about Brit.” “Josh, you need to stop with the Brit comparisons. Your relationship with him was, like, worlds away from his relationship with her. Yours was *real*, babe. You two had love, real love. And if you ended that because of a fucked-up dream you had, I’m gonna seriously go into shock……….Tell me that’s not what you did.” “I had to set him free, Lance. He’s like an angel flying too close to the ground. I had to let him go. I had to.” “Shhhh. Not finding the proper words in his head to handle this intense situation, Lance closed his embrace around his drunken friend and rocked him peacefully until they arrived back at the hotel’s rear entrance. Sluggishly and slowly, he eased JC from the limo and half-carried, half-walked the almost-unconscious body through the quiet hallways until he reached their connecting rooms. Not wanting to risk JC waking up alone and confused about his surrounding, Lance brought him inside his own room, undressed him, and put him in the queen-sized bed he’d been sprawled across earlier in the day. Lance watched with a tinge of sadness as JC instinctively rolled over on his side and reached for the pillow next to him, which he hugged tightly to his chest and clung to. As if once again dreaming of Justin.