3:17.

3:17 in the morning.

Lance had been laying awake in the bed that he shared with JC for over an hour now, fully clothed and on top of the covers. Normally he wasn't the one to get back to the hotel first in this relationship; but lately things hadn't been the same between them anyways. Normally he would go out with Joey to a club for a few hours and return to find JC already curled up asleep in their bed.

Normally.

Lately, however, he would return only to find JC making his own way down the hall from a late-night chat with his friend Lacy. All of this was fine with Lance; he loved Lacy almost like a sister and looked forward to the times when she was able to come on tour with the group. It was only when he began to have the uneasy feeling that there might be more than chatting going on during those late-night sessions that Lance had stopped wanting to be charitable. It was, after all, sort of ridiculous. JC simply didn't do things at three and four in the morning. Not on any regular basis, anyway.

He didn't know what signs he should be looking for, exactly; Lacy was a closer friend with JC than with any of the other guys, and JC was affectionate with just about everyone who crossed his path. And the thing was, Lance felt horrible even considering that JC would be unfaithful to him. Being in a relationship that they had to hide from everyone outside of their support crew afforded them a bond that Lance had never felt with anyone else. It was the two of them against the world, and as much as Lance hated having to live a lie outside the sanctity of their hotel room, it provided him with a strange sense of security as well.

He had started calling it a night earlier the past several days, hoping to at least be in bed by the time JC got back to the room; there was simply something about waking up in JC's arms that made him more than ready to face the day. And if he happened to be awake when JC arrived, then he figured it would be all the better. But after the first couple of times, he got the distinct impression that JC would rather he be asleep. And, his pride a little hurt, he started to make certain that he was asleep in the mornings when JC came to bed. Or, at least, that he appeared to be.

So he had noticed that JC had taken up showering at night, in a sneaky, secretive way that made Lance uncomfortable to even think about it. If JC got back to their room with Lance already in bed presumably asleep, he would stealthily make his way to the bathroom and have a shower -- only to shower again in the morning as though he hadn't just cleaned himself a few hours before.

It was little things like that that worried him -- needlessly, he hoped. It was things like that that kept him up, wide awake, staring into the darkness at... 3:30 in the morning, waiting for the man he thought he could love to come back to him.

I love you. JC said it all the time, with ease. Not in a nonchalant, meaningless way, either. He always put the force of his soul behind it, sent chills down Lance's spine whenever he uttered the words. He had a passion about their relationship, about everything -- about life, really -- that almost made Lance envious. Meanwhile, although Lance could profess his affection for the guys in the group in a platonic way, he found it difficult to address the more profound feelings that he possessed towards JC.

He could say it playfully, dropping a kiss on top of JC's head and wrapping his arms around his neck from behind as the older man tinkered on the piano during rest breaks. He could whisper it solemnly into the darkened hotel room as he lay with his head on JC's chest, just before sleep overtook them both. But as ashamed as he was to admit it, he didn't feel comfortable saying the words like that. He wasn't certain that he was in love, whatever "love" was.

He had his ideas of what love was, what it was supposed to be... and the notion terrified him. To Lance, love meant surrender; you surrendered your soul, you put your heart into another person's hands and trusted them to deal carefully with it. You opened yourself up to devestating pain and anguish and simply had to have faith that it would all work out in the end.

He didn't know if he could do it. He trusted JC. He had, in the past, trusted JC with his hopes and dreams, with his concerns and with his fears. He would trust JC with his career, with his money, with his life. God, how he trusted JC. But when it came to his heart... Lance simply could not manage to surrender control in this one instance.

And so, perhaps out of guilt, and perhaps out of a misplaced desire to protect himself, Lance could feel himself closing off. He had never been terribly open about his feelings with anyone really, but now he would speak even less. The less he spoke, the less JC questioned, and the more relief Lance felt from that creeping, nagging fear in the back of his mind. Joey's perpetually cheery moods were a wonderful distraction for anything that might be bothering him; he could party for a few hours to get his mind off of things, and then be too tired to reflect upon them by the time he made it back to the room he shared with JC.

A room in which he was spending far too much time alone, these days.

He had fallen in love with JC. He knew it now.

He knew because he was feeling the pain that had made him afraid of falling in the first place.

Silver-blue eyes peered out into the darkness of a hotel room that was not his own. JC wasn't supposed to be here. He had his own room; their own room. A room that he shared with the person he was supposed to be lying next to, instead of... yet another friend who had somehow become his lover. JC grimaced at the thought; not lover. 'Lover' was a word that implied love. He already had a lover.

How did he end up here, in this situation, spending hours in the bed of a woman who was only a friend as far as anybody was concerned, when the man he loved slept only two doors down?

He had known Lacy since high school, and they had intermittently kept in touch as he moved on from the Mickey Mouse Club and *NSYNC had grown in popularity. She was a true friend, and he believed in her; he knew that she wasn't there because of the fame or the glamour or the... anything... of it all. So when she had a week or so of vacation time left over, he would invite her to join the group on tour, and it wasn't long before fans started to identify her as a 'girlfriend'. Jive and their management had liked the idea of JC finally settling down and owning up to a relationship -- no matter that it was the wrong one -- so Lacy had found herself introduced as the latest woman to win over the elusive Chasez's heart.

Everyone in the know found it humourous; fan websites crowed with glee at how unsuccessful JC had been at keeping the relationship a secret, yet none of them knew that JC shared his bed with Lance, not Lacy. But the more intense his private relationship with Lance grew, the more publicity his public 'relationship' with Lacy seemed to garner. And something else was changing as well; Lance seemed to be withdrawing into himself as of late. The late night talks that would last for hours were not simply diminishing in frequency -- they had stopped altogether.

He had started visiting Lacy's room late at night when Lance had started staying out clubbing with Joey again. He knew he would normally be asleep by the time Lance returned, but he was bothered enough at how they couldn't even seem to spend their nights together to force himself to stay up... to spend a few hours with someone else. Usually he and Lacy would talk for a while and then he would conk out on her bed for a few hours before he awoke and crept back to the room he and Lance shared. But more recently, the more he felt shut out from Lance's life, the more he felt the need to get his emotions off his chest, and Lacy was a wonderful sounding board for that.

Then somewhere along the way, a line was crossed, and the emotional intimacy he shared with Lacy began to manifest itself in a physical sense. JC had been stunned and caught off guard when it happened, yet he felt a strange pleasure in it at the same time; he felt as though he and Lacy had somehow connected in a way he was no longer certain he and Lance did. He tried to keep things different between the two; he didn't so much 'make love' to Lacy as have sex with her, as clinical as that sounded, and he tried to compensate by being extremely gentle and attentive to Lance when they were together. He owed it to him, after all... no matter how distant he felt they were becoming, JC had not fooled himself into believing that his infidelity was somehow excusable.

He didn't know when or where it would all stop, and that worried him. He was beginning to think that Lance suspected something. He couldn't be sure -- and Lance was good with his secrets when he wanted to be -- but sometimes he would be awake when JC returned to their room, wanting some affection, and JC hated having to keep him at a distance before he'd had a chance to shower and wash away any evidence. And then of course he wouldn't be in the mood to make love, either, so the two of them would fall into a tense slumber. At times like those JC would try to make it worth Lance's while in the morning. But those mornings were becoming more frequent, which made JC wonder why Lance was opting to come back to the hotel earlier these days.

Part of him hoped to be caught; then the emotions would be laid out on the table, Lance could decide for them both whether the relationship was worth saving, and all the damned sneaking around and guilty lovemaking could be put to an end.

Another part of him knew, though, that if Lance decided to break up with him... JC didn't think that he could live without him.

It was 4 am now. He had to do something.

Lance waited until JC had slid his freshly-scoured body under the sheets next to him before he spoke. "Did you have a nice chat tonight?" he asked quietly.

He heard JC give a little yelp as he started in surprise. "Wow! Um... I didn't know you were up." He laughed nervously. "Did I wake you?"

Lance rolled over to face him, and JC couldn't make out his expression in the dark. "I was up. I'm always up. Every morning, I'm up," he said evenly. Then his voice sounded pained. "What do you do 'til four in the morning, JC? Don't tell me you talk 'til four in the morning; I know you. You can't stay up 'til four in the morning. Do you--what, do you sleep in her room? What do you do?"

He dropped his voice to a near whisper. "And why don't you spend that time with me?"

JC sighed and rolled over, turning on the little nightstand lamp. "Lance, Lacy and I have a lot to talk about. You know, we reminisce, we old-talk, she fills me in on gossip..." JC trailed off, noticing that Lance was shaking his head, his arm thrown over his eyes against the light. "What?"

"You guys old-talk and that's why you suddenly have the ability to stay up 'til four in the mornin'?"

"Oh, don't even start with me, Lance," JC said hotly, feeling an irrational need to squelch the conflict before it headed any further in this direction. "I mean, look at you. Up until what, a week -- two weeks ago, you were out all at the break of dawn, clubbing it up with Joey. I don't even know why you started coming back early, but it used to be me waiting here for you, you know.

"I mean, come on, Lance, how is that different?" JC threw a hand up in exasperation as he stared defensively at the younger man.

Lance turned his face to look at JC in disbelief, a moment before a wave of anger washed over him. "It's different because unlike you, I am not screwing someone else behind your back," he hissed. His eyes widened a little at the fact that he had made so bold an accusation right to JC's face, but it was too late to take the words back now. If he was wrong, he would feel absolutely horrible.

He hoped that he was wrong. He prayed that he was wrong.

Lance watched JC draw back as if struck, blue eyes glittering as he gazed harshly at the blond. "Lance, I'm not--"

"JC, please don't lie to me. You never have and I don't want you to start now." Lance had seen all that he needed to see in that reaction; not hurt, not shock or surprise, but horror. JC wore the expression of someone who had been caught. He felt as if his throat was closing up on him, and suddenly Lance needed to get out of that bed, needed to be away from JC altogether. He sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed, and grabbed his key card from the nightstand, wondering where he could possibly go alone at this hour in the morning.

"Lance!" JC cried, jumping to his feet and attempting to intercept him before he reached the door. "Don't you want to talk about this at least?" Even as the words left his mouth, JC knew how silly they must have sounded to Lance's ears. Why would Lance want to stick around while JC made excuses for himself? He threw his arms around Lance's neck in desperation and felt his eyes well up when Lance kept his arms at his sides, completely unresponsive to the gesture.

"You're just... you're so distant from me these days, baby," JC whispered plaintively. The words came out in a rush as he held on for dear life, kneading Lance's back as he buried his chin in the crook between the shorter man's neck and shoulder. "There's not a thing you don't know about me -- I tell you everything. You never tell me anything. Even if something's bugging you, you don't tell me." He pulled away, tears hanging from his eyelashes, and sniffled. "You always just go off to mope in a corner somewhere, or you go clubbing with Joey. But you never come to me to talk to me about it."

He sighed and turned away from Lance, fingering the bedspread distractedly as he spoke. "I can't make excuses for anything I've done, but Lacy... she makes me feel needed. When you never confide in me, when you never let me help you deal with a problem... it's like you don't need me. I can't help it; I can't stand needing you so much and feeling like you don't need me." He met Lance's gaze sadly once more. "I'm sorry, Lance. I really am."

Lance held his gaze with wide, unblinking eyes in that beautifully rare shade of green that had captivated him so long ago, and JC attempted to read the carefully neutral face. Was he angry? Hurt? There was a long moment of silence before Lance spoke again, licking his lips a bit nervously before he spoke.

"You want me to tell you how I feel," he began slowly, his gaze so intense as to hold JC immobile. All JC could do was nod in response. Lance glanced down, studying the carpeting in the hotel for another, unbearably long moment, before tossing his head and staring back at JC defiantly.

"I hurt when you cheat on me, JC," he said, calmly and deliberately, although JC could hear the tremors in his voice. Lance was already heading for the door before JC's numb limbs could react. "I'm gonna crash in Joey's room," Lance muttered, half to himself, throwing open the door. "I'll come get my things in the morning," he called over his shoulder as entered the hall and made his way to his group-mate's room.

As the door closed behind him, JC sank down onto the king-sized bed they shared and raised his hands to his face, feeling the warm wetness that was starting to flow more heavily over his cheekbones. For so long he had longed for Lance to open up to him, to let JC know that he really cared -- about all the mundane, messed up details of his life, about stupid stuff like his attempts to analyze every single dream he could remember, about where their relationship was heading -- just to let him in and express what he was feeling.

And now he had. Lance had spoken the most honest, heartfelt words JC could remember hearing from him.

And that, JC realized with a sinking feeling, only emphasized how badly Lance must be hurting.

Lance blinked as he stalked down the hallway to Joey's room, feeling the wetness that had gathered in his eyes begin to overflow. He allowed a few tears to escape before reaching up to staunch the flow, pinching the bridge of his nose and sniffling loudly. That was enough for now. He would not cry over this. Lance didn't know what would become of his and JC's relationship -- whether there would be a relationship when the dust settled -- and his chest ached with the weight of an unvoiced sob, but he would not cry.

That was JC's domain. And JC could fuck himself.

Or Lacy.

He refused to chastise himself for that last, bitter thought.

He passed his fingers over his eyes once more before reaching up to tentatively knock on Joey's door. "Joey? Can I come in?" he said to the wooden paneling, concentrating on the gnarled patterns while he awaited a response. After a momentary delay, the door swung open and Lance was met with Joey's yawning visage, busily rubbing his eyes with one hand while he held the doorknob with the other.

"Hey, Lance," he greeted, turning back towards his bed as the blond followed him in. "Come on in. What can I do you for?" Joey flopped down onto his bed and snatched up the previously discarded television remote. It was then that Joey looked up to make eye contact with his friend, and he paused, tucking his chin in with concern. Lance's eyes were dry but red-rimmed with more than mere exhaustion, the corners of his mouth turned down in a melancholy pout. "Lance? You okay? You and JC have a fight or something?" he asked, voice tense with alarm.

Lance nodded shortly as he briskly crossed the room, heading for the bathroom. "Is it okay if I stay here with you tonight?" he called when he was safely inside, leaving the door open for conversation -- but prepared to close the door if the conversation went in a direction he didn't wish to pursue.

"Yeah... yeah, man, you know I got no problem with you hanging out in here. Anytime."

"Thanks," was the muted reply from the bathroom, and Joey allowed Lance the silence that followed.

The toilet flushed and Joey watched as Lance shuffled back to the bed. "You wanna talk about it?"

"I wanna sleep," Lance answered matter-of-factly, turning down the covers on the unused side of Joey's bed and sliding underneath, curling himself into a ball with his back to his host.

Joey stared at Lance's form for several minutes while the television flickered and droned quietly, knowing full well that Lance would not sleep a wink as long as everything remained on to distract him.

"Want me to turn off the lights, Lance?" he finally asked.

"Could you please?" Lance murmured tiredly in response, talking into his pillow.

Joey shook his head in amusement, smiling slightly as he turned off the tv and reached over to flick off the lamp on his nightstand. He figured he might as well try to get some sleep too; no use staying up in the dark.

He was about to roll over, away from Lance, when he heard the other man speak softly again. "Thanks, Joe."

He turned on to his side. "Go to sleep. Thank me tomorrow."

Joey awoke to the sound of water running faintly in the bathroom. He glanced around the room quickly, trying to remember if he had brought anyone up with him, before he spotted Lance's shoes by the bed and recalled what had happened. And that reminded him -- he would have to ask Lance what was going on between him and JC when he got out of the bathroom.

Lance quietly opened the door and stepped out, toothbrush hanging from his mouth, as he buttoned up the jeans he had come in wearing hours earlier. Looking up, he noticed that Joey was awake and gave a startled jump, running back to the bathroom to spit. "'Morning," he greeted with a smile as he emerged from the bathroom once more, sticking his toothbrush back into his mouth and beginning to brush again.

"Good morning yourself," Joey stated, watching Lance cross the room to retrieve his shoes. "Any reason why you're up so early?" he asked, moving over on the bed so that Lance could sit to tie his shoelaces.

Lance reached up and moved the toothbrush into the pocket between his teeth and cheek to answer. "I figured I'd go back to JC's room before anyone got up so nobody's askin--shit," he muttered, as toothpaste dribbled out of his mouth and ran down his chin. Joey chuckled as Lance hobbled back to the bathroom, one shoe on, laces untied, with a hand held up to prevent toothpaste from dripping onto his shirt.

"So that's what this mood swing is all about? You don't want anyone to know you and JC had a fight or whatever?" Joey called out, while Lance finished brushing his teeth. Yawning, he glanced over and checked the clock, eyebrows raising in surprise. It was only 7 am; they didn't have anywhere to be until 10. Noon, if they decided to phone in for their interview.

Lance appeared in the bathroom doorway and knelt to finish tying his one shoe. "What do you mean, 'mood swing'?"

"I mean 'mood swing'. I mean you come in here all in a huff at four in the morning, and not three hours later you're like," Joey deepened his voice, yet still managed to sound cartoonish, "'Well, everything's hunky-dory and I'm gonna go back to JC's room now, so bye!' I mean that. Mood swing."

Lance sat back on his haunches, shrugging carelessly. "I just needed some time away to think about things. It's okay. Whatever we're going through, it's gonna be fine." He picked up his other shoe by the laces and slid it on, too aware that Joey was giving him his full attention. Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask, he prayed.

Joey eyed Lance carefully. "Are you sure about that? I mean, yeah, you're gonna have your little fights and disagreements and stuff, but..." he propped himself up on his elbow, turning to face Lance more fully. "I don't think I've seen you as upset as you were when you came by earlier. Sooo..." Joey slid over to the edge of the bed and set his feet on the floor before Lance. "What's up with you guys? Come on. Tell. Spill it. Uncle Joey wants to know." His voice took on that insistent tone that meant Lance wouldn't be able to get rid of him easily.

Lance couldn't prevent himself from clicking his tongue in annoyance. The entire reason he had come to Joey's room instead of, say, Justin's, was because he was fairly sure that Joey wouldn't grill him about what had gone down between him and JC. And he had hoped to be up and out of Joey's room before anybody knew about it. He didn't know what he would do when he had to face JC again, or when he would have to interact with him for interviews and photo-shoots, but he was willing to cross that bridge when he came to it.

But now Joey was staring at him expectantly, and Lance was too tired, too weary, and too hurt to make up something trite in explanation for showing up at his room near tears in the middle of the night. Suddenly, though, he wasn't sure if he would be able to put into words what he knew to be true. It drained him just to think of it. He chewed on his bottom lip, considering, feeling Joey's gaze upon him. "JC's... been..." he sighed, "sleeping with Lacy," he said finally, softly, his head down and his eyes focusing on his ring as he twisted and slid it back and forth over the knuckle.

There was a pause.

"Are you serious?" Joey breathed, amazed, then drew back as Lance glared at him in disbelief. "Okay! I didn't mean, 'are you serious', I meant..." he shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "Wow. I'm sorry. What a bast--he did that to yo--wow." He paused again. "Lacy?!"

Lance rolled his eyes and stood up, heading for the door. He didn't need a play-by-play. "Yeah," he spat bitterly. "'Yes' to everything, okay? And I didn't want to drag anyone into this. I don't even wanna talk about it. Nobody needs to know, let's just get on with our lives."

"Wai--no, Lance, wait, hang on," Joey called, jumping off the bed and jogging to catch up with him. He grabbed at Lance's arm and turned him back around. "I'm really sorry, man. JC is..." Joey shrugged. "I don't know what could have gotten into his head, but what you guys have... it's... it's gold. You'll work it out. Don't let this ruin you." Lance pursed his lips and Joey could see that his eyes were filling with tears, so he rushed to break the moment. "And if he doesn't shape up, just, you know, castrate him in the middle of the night or somethin'."

That drew a small smile, and Joey wrapped his arms around the shorter man, pulling him into a warm embrace, which Lance returned. When it ended, Lance pulled away and mouthed his thanks before turning back to the door and heading out of the room.

Joey wandered over to his bed in a daze and slid back under the covers, wondering how he would manage not to punch JC when he saw him later on in the morning.

"Good morning, Lacy!" Lance exclaimed with false cheer as he faced the brunette in the hotel lobby while they waited for their buses to arrive. "Sleep well last night?" he asked, arching an eyebrow with a pointed interest.

Lacy blinked back at the singer, at first puzzled, then fully cognizant of what she had done the night before. "Uh... I was up kinda late. Talking, you know. With JC," she stammered, avoiding his gaze and hoping that she sounded tired rather than guilty.

Lance nodded, pressing his lips together in a tense smile as he widened his eyes. "Oh, yeah. He keeps me up late at night too, sometimes. That JC is such a talker!" He made a comical face and moved past her to sit with Justin, Joey, and their bodyguards, and Lacy wondered if he had meant his comments sarcastically. She turned her attention to the next group member to step out of the elevator.

"JC."

"Oh, hey, Lacy," JC murmured, not really making eye contact as he stifled a yawn. Lacy was startled; he looked like hell. Mornings were not usually a pleasant time for him, it was true, but this particular morning he looked as though he hadn't slept at all. That, coupled with Lance's behavior, sent a wave of dread over her body. She wondered if he could possibly suspect; if something could possibly have given them away.

"Is Lance okay?" she asked, placing a hand on JC's arm in concern. They both knew that she was asking about more than that.

JC glanced down at her hand before giving her a stern look. "Yeah. Lance is just fine," he muttered, before moving past her as well, leaving her to stare blankly at nothing in particular. Chris's voice jolted her back to reality.

"Hey, if you're gonna be catatonic, wait 'til we get on the bus to do it. Only awake people are allowed to block the walkways here," he bellowed as he shuffled by her, duffel bag in tow.

Later, on the bus, Lacy turned to face the wall of her bunk and covered her face with her hands. It was altogether too possible that this short-lived affair with JC would come crashing down around them. Lance knew, she was certain. He knew! She had no idea what she would do, how she would face the others when the story broke. Because he would tell. He might be shocked and hurt now, but soon he would be angry, and he would let everyone know what she, what they -- after all, it took two -- had done to his and JC's relationship.

She found the idea of adultery, of cheating on someone, repulsive. She could not say that she was happy with what she had been doing. She did not harbour any fantasies of somehow winning JC's love so that he would end his relationship with Lance and choose to be with her instead. She knew that JC was still involved with Lance in a physical sense -- it was a disturbing awareness, but there nonetheless. Yet Lacy didn't mind; she would willingly share JC to have what little she possessed with him.

She had loved him for so long now that she could not remember when she realized it. He was one of the kindest, most generous and sincere souls she had had the pleasure of knowing. He was so genuinely unassuming and had a rare humility about him, even in the midst of all the praise of his talents. He never forgot a debt or a favour owed to a friend. And somewhere along the way, some day, some moment, it had hit her, and she had pined away without dropping a hint as to her feelings.

She had watched the group struggle through sparsely attended performances just to present each of the boys with a rose when it was over -- the first rose intended for JC, the others to make it seem impartial. She had eagerly answered the phone whenever it rang coming from him, be it 4 am when he called from Europe, or noon when he called from the Far East. She cherished his friendship and loved him from afar, and had thus far remained too terrified to act on it.

And then he and Lance had somehow realized that they had something special and had begun to date each other. Lacy liked Lance too much to be jealous of him. He was sweet, quick and intelligent with an air of innocence and naïveté -- and furthermore, she saw the way JC looked at him. To be envious would be a waste of resources; there was simply no questioning to whom JC's heart belonged.

Lacy had no idea why Lance had begun to pull away from JC as of late; she only saw the consequences when JC came to her room, frustrated and needing to talk to someone. She had meant to help, not to take advantage of a friend when he needed her. All she had intended to be was an ear to listen. Perhaps a shoulder to cry on.

So when she had placed a hand gently on his thigh, it was meant sincerely as a sympathetic gesture. And when she had brushed a kiss on his cheek, it had been to let him know that she cared. And when her lips had found their way to his, it was to express the deepness of her love for him. As for what had happened following that, however... she could not quite explain it. Still, JC was a grown man and had a mind of his own, and he could have stopped things at any time, but for whatever reason, he chose not to. And he had come back the following night and spent it with her again.

She found it nearly intolerable to face Lance daily without guilt consuming her. Lance, who was so deserving of JC's affection; Lance, who so clearly looked up to and admired JC as much as JC respected and loved him; Lance, who had been oblivious as to where and how JC was spending his nights.

Until today.

After the buses dropped the guys off at their hotel that evening, JC and Lance headed to their room in silence, and JC stepped back to give Lance a wide berth as he slid the key card into the door. Following him in, JC closed the door behind him and reached for his phone, sitting down on the bed. "You go ahead and use the bathroom, do whatever. I'm gonna call my mom." He felt a little as though he were giving Lance permission to breathe, since the blond was already halfway to the bathroom by the time he had spoken.

The conversation with his mother was brief, as it never took long to cover the basics: yes, they were fine; yes, he was trying to eat right; yes, he slept more than four hours a night. Lance freed up the bathroom just as JC was hanging up with her, so JC washed his face, brushed his teeth, and reflected on the day's events. Lance had been rather extroardinary in covering up how upset he must have been feeling. Their interview had been uneventful, and the only complaint anyone might have was that both Lance and JC had been even more quiet than usual. The show that evening had gone off without any mishaps other than the usual missed steps and broken notes; it was like everything was back to normal. He scoffed. Hardly.

After he finished in the bathroom, JC stepped back into the room and sighed wearily, scratching at his day-old stubble as his eyes took in his surroundings. Lance sat at the small table that could double as a desk when necessity called, chin in hand, absent-mindedly twirling a felt-tipped pen in his fingers as he struggled to make sense of a complex contractual detail or something equally confusing -- JC was never sure. He would often joke that Lance enjoyed torturing himself in this way, but Lance would only roll his eyes and give him a knowing grin. "I don't understand how you can sit in the studio for hours and move one dial an eighth of an inch and somehow hear a difference in the sound mix, but you love to do it, right?" he would ask, prompting a nod from JC. "Well, that's how I feel when I read a contract and some little business detail suddenly starts to make sense to me. I can't explain it any other way."

JC suddenly realized that he had been staring at Lance without saying anything for a long moment. He had no idea if Lance even knew that he was standing there. "Hey," he said softly, his voice coming out in somewhat of a hoarse croak. It was the first time that he had really had the opportunity to speak Lance alone that day; now that the five singers were no longer sharing a bus -- a wise pronouncement from management to keep suspicions at bay -- stolen moments between the two were rare.

Lance continued to twirl the pen, not looking up or otherwise acknowledging JC's presence, and he didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. On the one hand, if Lance didn't tense up or try to leave the room it meant that he likely felt little to no hostility towards JC; on the other hand, if he was going to be giving JC the cold shoulder it would make all of their jobs very, very difficult.

Padding softly over to where Lance sat, JC lowered himself gently to sit beside him. His knee brushed by Lance's inadvertently -- by habit, really -- but Lance didn't budge, not to make room, not to break contact... nothing. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, JC folded his hands in front of him and studied the floor, preparing his words in his mind. Only there were no words. There was no speech, no song, no Hallmark greeting to express what he knew he would have to say if he was going to have a chance to save this relationship. So he simply spoke what he was feeling.

"Lance, I don't even know what to say to you," he started, focusing his gaze on his shoelaces as he tapped his feet anxiously. "I am sorrier than I've ever been for anything I've ever done in my life up 'til now. I was so wrong, and quite frankly, if I were you I wouldn't even want to be in the same room with me right now.

"The thing that makes it worse is not that you found out," JC continued, still afraid to glance in Lance's direction, "the worst part is that I waited until you did find out to do anything about it." He swallowed; his throat was so dry. "So it might be too late to do anything about it, but I am gonna start trying to make things right from today.

"Lacy's leaving the tour. Tomorrow," he said bluntly, beginning to toy with one of his woven bracelets for lack of anything better to do. "I just checked it with Johnny and we're gonna start telling the press she and I broke up." JC finally glanced up and watched Lance carefully for a reaction. There was none; Lance's gaze was focused directly ahead of him, unblinking; he had stopped moving.

JC silently admired his lover's profile; the hair that swirled gently about his hairline, the slope of his nose, the outline of his ear... he longed to reach out and entwine his fingers in the light brown hair that graced the nape of Lance's neck... to caress his cheek, which had always seemed to fit perfectly in the curve of JC's palm, as though it belonged there. His heart ached at how near Lance was to him, yet he could do none of those things, and it was his own fault. He had messed things up, and now he would do whatever he could to fix them.

He sighed and stood, keeping his gaze upon the blond seated before him. Lance continued to sit stock still, although his eyes roamed constantly beneath their long lashes. The felt-tipped pen lay forgotten, hanging limply between Lance's middle and ring fingers and bleeding a small ink spot on the page.

"Well, I've said my piece then. I'll be in the lounge; I'll just leave you be for now," JC concluded, turning towards the door. Before he took a step, however, he spun back around and Lance's head snapped up in surprise before he averted his gaze again. On impulse, JC dropped to his knees before Lance, resting his arms on the table and fanning his hands out over the papers that lay scattered on its surface. "I just want you to know that I'm doing this because I love you more than anything, baby. I've done such a lousy job of showing it lately, but right now I'm layin' it all on the line. I'll do whatever it takes. Whatever happens, don't you forget that." Not trusting his voice any further, JC stood abruptly and exited the room.

After several minutes, JC saw two familiar feet approach, felt the cushions of the couch on which he was seated give slightly, and he glanced over as Lance's khaki-clad thigh settled into view. He waited, unsure of what exactly to expect; he knew that Lance couldn't have forgiven and forgotten so easily, so he braced himself for harsh words and waited out the silence.

Lance cleared his throat. "Are you gonna keep in touch with her?" he asked quietly.

JC felt his eyebrows raise in the middle of his forehead as he began to protest. "She's my friend, Lance. I mean, if you--" he fell silent for a moment, reminding himself of his priorities. Lacy for Lance. He would give her up for him, if he had to. He would never be able to make his wrongs right, but if he had to... he would give Lacy up if it meant he could have Lance back, the way things used to be.

He licked his lips and continued. "If you don't want me to, I won't." There was another pause, and JC knew that he had said the right thing.

"No," Lance said finally. "She's a friend. It's okay with me if you keep in touch." He nodded to himself, pleased that he had been able to take the high road, and rose to his feet. JC could hear Lance's knees pop softly as he stood; and then he was gone.

JC really felt too lucky to have him.

Weeks later, JC entered the double hotel room carrying a bag full of munchies, and caught Lance's eye when the latter turned at the sound. He cringed and mouthed a 'sorry' when he noticed that Lance was on the phone, standing in front of the nightstand while he spoke. Something business-related, no doubt, JC figured, setting the bag down as quietly as the rustling plastic would allow and tossing his jacket into a chair.

He watched Lance's back wistfully as Lance carried on his conversation. It would be like this all evening, as it had been for the past three weeks; he on one end of the room and Lance on the other. It wasn't so much that Lance avoided him as JC wanted to give him space. He didn't go out of his way not to come near... it was just that if there was a way to do something that didn't involve touching Lance, JC would try to find it. It was all right for photo shoots or whatnot, to touch each other, to hug or whatever the photographer called for, but JC knew that Lance wasn't into it, and he never wanted to hold Lance and feel like Lance didn't want to hold him back.

But, not for the first time over the past few weeks, JC felt like he needed to do something to get through to Lance. It really was the rather indifferent way in which Lance was treating him that stung. If Lance were repulsed by his mere presence, that would be one thing. To simply sit in silence and ignore him as he went about his daily business was quite another.

Lance had crossed his arm over himself and was toying with the fabric of his thin shirt at his waist, and JC felt a surge of longing go through him once again. If he could just.... Before he had even made a conscious decision he was already crossing the room, standing close enough behind Lance that he could feel his body heat.

He placed his hands lightly on Lance's shoulders and the younger man started slightly, whipping his head around with an expression that clearly demanded to know what JC was doing. JC raised a hand to placate him and mouthed the words 'Backrub. Come on', tilting his head and pleading with his eyes. Lance stared hard at him for a moment, carrying on the phone conversation as he did, before giving a little sigh and facing forward once more.

That's one small victory, JC thought as he began to knead Lance's muscles gently. He winced as he felt a large knot right at the base of Lance's neck; that had to be giving him headaches. He massaged the lump slowly with his thumbs and Lance instinctively tilted his head forward, leaning back into JC's hands, and he continued to work at it until Lance ended his conversation, flipping his phone shut. Pulling at Lance's shoulders slightly, JC walked backwards until he felt his legs hit the bed. He sat, scrambling back over the covers to make room for them both. "Sit, I need to work on this some more," he instructed, and was surprised when Lance actually obeyed.

He worked on the knot until he felt it that had receded a little and he could hear Lance's breath becoming slow and relaxed. Moving outwards to Lance's shoulder blades, he gave each of them a few minutes of attention before he backed up even further to knead his partner's mid to lower back. When he reached a spot a few inches above Lance's tailbone, his motions extracted a long sigh from the blond, and he smiled. Lance kept his head hung forward, not uttering a sound as JC worked over him; JC wasn't certain what the silence meant at this point, but he relished the physical contact that Lance was allowing him, so he refrained from speaking as well.

Nearly half an hour later, when he felt confident that he had loosened Lance's muscles up considerably, JC's hands slowed upon his back, loathe to let the moment end. They hadn't spoken yet, but if he closed his eyes and simply inhaled the scents that Lance carried on him -- his shampoo, his cologne, his deodorant, just... him -- JC could almost forget everything that had happened over the past two months. Almost pretend that things were the way they used to be.

He realized that his hands were toying with Lance's waistline and that the latter was not protesting. He traced a path up Lance's sides back up to his shoulders and brought them around to caress his upper arms before sliding them under his elbows, finally clasping them around his midsection. His chest was pressed up against Lance's back and he was sure that Lance would be able to feel his heart pounding in excitement and anticipation. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but he felt as though he'd finally broken through a wall somehow, and that maybe this was the first step to Lance letting him back into his life.

All at once Lance's breathing became hitched and he gripped JC's knees tightly, his fingers digging into the skin and rubbing it painfully against the bone. JC gritted his teeth through the discomfort, resting his cheek on Lance's shoulder, and waited. He was used to waiting, these days. Several minutes passed before Lance finally spoke.

"I hate you," Lance murmured softly, his voice wavering, and his shoulders shook slightly with a sob.

"You have a right to," JC said simply, refusing to remove his arms from around Lance's middle unless Lance demanded it of him.

Lance shook his head tersely. "No. No, I don't. You've been sleeping in a chair for three weeks, you don't go out anymore, you walk on eggshells around me when we're alone, and you let me act like everything's fine when we're with the guys. You've just been letting me take this all out on you, and you just..." he took a shuddering breath. "You just sit there and take it, just to prove I can trust you."

JC would not let Lance make himself into the wrong-doer here. "I have to prove you can trust me, babe," he pointed out. "I fucked up everything. I'm just so lucky you didn't decide to kick me to the curb."

Lance snorted a laugh, then sniffled. The tendons in his neck were standing out with the effort of stifling his sobs. "I could never," he admitted, shaking his head again. "You were right before, you know," he added suddenly, raising his right hand to run his sleeve under his nose. "I could've talked to you more, told you what I was feeling." He shrugged and hung his head once more. "I don't know why I didn't. I guess I was scared. Somethin'."

"What were you scared of?" All at once JC feared that he had put too much pressure on Lance in their relationship. Had he moved things too quickly? Had he influenced Lance to do things he wasn't comfortable with? Had he smothered him?

"Being hurt," Lance laughed humourlessly.

JC felt shame wash over him again, and he closed his eyes to fend off some of the agony. "I can never apologize enough for hurting you, Lance."

"And it was like," Lance continued as though JC had never spoken, "when I found out about..." he shook his head, "...everything... I realized I was gonna get hurt whether I admitted that I cared or not. And I realized that I didn't really know what I had 'til I thought about what it would be like to lose it." He reached up to unfold JC's hands from around his midsection and, holding JC's hands in his, turned to face the older man. His eyes were red and overflowing, tears streaking their way down his cheeks.

JC watched Lance roll his eyes slightly in terror, his eyebrows turned up in the middle of his forehead, and it was several moments before Lance could finally make eye contact. "I love you so much," he said simply, his voice breaking over the words.

JC closed his eyes, unable to hide his grin even as he felt tears slip from under his eyelids. Disengaging his hands from Lance's, he reached out blindly and pulled his boyfriend to him, crushing him to his chest. He felt Lance hesitate before slowly bringing his arms up and gripping the back of JC's shirt in his fists, and JC ran his fingers through the hair on the back of Lance's head over and over again. He pulled away only enough to bury his face in the crook of Lance's shoulder, pressing tender kisses to the soft skin above the collarbone, and Lance's contented sigh was music to his ears.

They still had the whole evening ahead of them. This was only a beginning.

Joey was poised to knock on Lance and JC's door again when it suddenly swung open. "Oh, hey, Joe, what's happenin'?" JC greeted him cheerfully, running a hand through his hair.

Joey grinned back, pleased to see his friend more upbeat than he'd been in a long while. "Me and the other guys were gonna go grab something to eat, and we were wondering if you and Lance wanted to come." Joey could chalk it up to *NSYNC's love of challenges. Although he was the only one who knew exactly why Lance and JC were estranged, the tension between the two had hardly gone unnoticed by the rest of the group and even select members of the crew. So the routine "group dinner" had come into fruition, mainly because the two would never turn down an invitation in their attempts to appear functional. The couple that ate together would stay together. Or something like that.

JC glanced over his shoulder into the room before responding. "Um, yeah, that sounds great. Uh..." he looked back into the room again. "We'll just throw on something presentable and what say we meet you in the lobby in a half hour?" Lance appeared behind him in the doorway, buttoning up his shirt.

"Hey, Joey," he called lightly, and met his gaze with a smile that carried a secret message. Joey received the message loud and clear, and his face split in a grin. It made him indescribably happy to see the sparkle return to Lance's eyes and to see him smiling genuinely for the first time in far too long. He noticed that the easy familiarity between the two men in the doorway had not yet returned, but the heavy tension had certainly been lifted.

"Okay, then," Joey said briskly, clapping his hands together and rubbing them quickly. "Thirty minutes. I'll pass it along to the guys." Spinning on his heel, he added, "Don't take too long with the foreplay," and sprinted down the hall, laughing.

It was good to have them back.

Author's Notes: I had never intended to write a "slash" fic, so to speak, but sometimes you just have the idea, ya know? LOL. I need to stop writing about Lance liking boys. I am just so fond of the notion of JC and Lance together, though. I know they're not "hittin' it" in real life, but... well, they should consider it, dammit! J/K.

I guess I wanted to do something different. I have read so many stories explaining how they ended up together, or how wonderful their relationship is going, or even how they have to deal with the public. But the idea of adultery popped into my head and away I went. I only hope that I did it justice.

Where were Justin and Chris in this fic? I made them into deaf-mutes or something, I guess. LOL. Hey, it's my story and I claim artistic license! :)

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