chapter3: stolen moments
***
A week passed, and then another, and it was back to a gruelling work schedule for the members of *Nsync. Lance would never have admitted it, especially not to JC, but he missed work when they were given breaks. Of course, it was absolute heaven being with JC and no one else, but he never liked staying idle for long. Doing nothing every single day got boring fast--even if it was with the love of his life.
For the most part, JC loved touring. It was the only time any of them saw him get really crazy, when he was up on stage performing. He would jump around a lot, get all sweaty (Lance thought that was hot) and be thoroughly tired after the concert. So much so that he could barely do anything except climb into bed and sleep.
Which was the situation a few days after they'd gone back to work. It was midnight. The room was dark, except for the blue glow of the television as Lance watched a Late Night rerun. He loved this particular hotel suite, not just because it was nicely decorated but because this was where he and JC had first gotten together.
"JC, do you remember--" he began, turning his head slightly to look at JC, who was beside him in bed and whose eyelids were already drooping.
"'Course I remember, Lance," he said sleepily, hugging Lance around the middle and laying his head on Lance's chest. "How could I forget? That was the best night of my life."
Lance smiled--grinned actually--and kissed JC's hair softly. "Mine too, Jayce," he said, but JC was already asleep. "Mine too."
***
The next day found JC and Lance with barely any time alone. This was what they both hated most about touring--the complete lack of privacy, especially from the people closest to them.
"Heads up, Bass," Justin hit him on the head with a stuffed basketball and planted himself between the two of them on the couch, barely managing to squeeze into the slight space.
Lance groaned just as JC said, "Justin...hi. You don't have anywhere to, um, be right now?" He tried to keep his voice as casual as possible.
Justin looked from one to the other. Realization dawned on his face. "Ohh, I get it. So you two want to be alone, huh?"
They nodded their heads, hardly daring to believe he would get out that easily.
Justin paused for a moment. Then he spoke. "Too bad! I'm keeping you company till we have to leave for that interview at 4."
It wasn't long before the others joined them, first Chris, who was looking for Justin, then Joey, who was looking for Lance. "Guys, what are you doing in here?" Lance looked at the three of them furiously, with Justin practically on his and JC's laps and Chris and Joey engaged in a pillow fight on the bed.
"We don't want you two to get carried away all alone here, now do we?" Chris managed to reply between the muffled thuds of hotel pillows being used as weapons.
"We don't need to be babysat, thank you very much," JC said indignantly.
"Babysat? Is that even a word?" Justin turned away from the TV momentarily to give JC a questioning look.
"That'll be enough out of you, CHILD," JC muttered. Lance gave him a hopeless glance behind Justin's head, and he rolled his eyes in response. They were both thinking the same thing. Being in a relationship with three other people was bound to get on one's nerves.
***
The club was hot, dark except for millions of strobe lights dotting the ceiling. Lance could barely see two feet in front of him as he tugged at JC's hand, guiding him towards a likely-looking booth. The smoke stung his eyes and made them water; from behind him he could hear JC coughing uncontrollably. It was no use--they wouldn't be having much fun tonight unless they got out soon.
He stopped halfway towards the booth and turned around. Putting his mouth close to JC's ear, close enough to touch it, Lance said, "We should get out of here."
Lance's breath made the hairs on the back of his neck stand and he only nodded, pulling Lance towards the exit. The door was meters away when JC saw the same grey eyes, the same brown hair and sharp nose that had haunted his nightmares for almost a year. It made his heart jump painfully in his chest, just seeing those features and the person they belonged to.
Lance noticed him too, and all the hurt came back to him in waves that refused to stop coursing over his sweat-drenched skin. He let go of JC's hand abruptly and stepped back, unable to control the dull pain that was steadily rising above his stomach.
JC felt Lance let go, and he cursed softly, closing his eyes, wanting to forget that he'd ever done anything that would make Lance stop holding him. When he opened them again, the grey eyes were staring into his with what looked like hope. "JC?"
Fuck he thought, turning to look for Lance and not seeing him anywhere inside the club. Where the fuck was Lance? He turned back towards the young man in front of him, the person who was the biggest mistake he'd ever made in his life.
"Aaron. Didn't expect to see you...ever." He knew he sounded drunk, maybe even rude, but right now all he cared about was finding Lance. Hurt flashed on Aaron's face before he spoke.
"I...hoped I would, you know. See you I mean. Was that...?" He indicated the place where Lance had last stood.
Suddenly JC was angry, very angry, that he'd allowed himself to be distracted for this long. "What the hell do you care?" he said savagely, throwing the words at the man in front of him. "Yes, that was Lance, YES, we're still together, and YES, I'm going to go find him now." He pushed past Aaron, who looked stunned and teary, and stepped out on to the sidewalk. The cold air hit him like a fist to the face, but he ignored it, looking up and down the street before setting out in the direction of their hotel. That's where Lance would go, wasn't it?
He tapped the 43rd floor button in the elevator, willing it to go faster. He needed to find Lance, NOW, to speak to him, stop him crying and tell him for the thousandth time that Aaron had meant nothing--that he, JC, was just as in love with Lance as he'd ever been. He needed to say those things, maybe more for himself than for Lance, because right now he was sure the guilt was killing him slowly.
It was all he could do to unlock the door, and when he finally did he flung it open so hard he thought he'd cracked it in two. He opened it, however, to an empty room with only the desk lamp on just as he'd left it. There was no Lance in here, and here, therefore, was not where JC was supposed to be.
It was well past midnight and JC was still combing the streets for any sign of Lance. By this time he couldn't feel his feet or his hands, for that matter, and thoughts kept swarming in his head until it hurt almost as much as his chest. What he'd been fighting against ever since he'd seen Aaron again suddenly made its way up to his throat, and tears fell to the pavement as he stopped to catch his breath. Where was Lance, where could he have gone, was he hurt, was he angry, was he scared, frustrated, cold?
He didn't want to feel this anymore, not now at least, and as he hit the cold sidewalk his last thought was a cloudy "Maybe I'll have that nice dream again..."
***
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