Lance planned his days out in carefully measured blocks of time.  His schedule didn't allow for things like sleeping in, so he was justifiably annoyed when the phone rang a full twenty minutes before his alarm was set to go off.  Annoyed or not, he still managed to keep the snarl out of his voice when he answered. 

"Hello?" 

"Lance? Sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you about something.  Seth Sherman, he's, he needs your help."

"Stephanie." He sighed and scratched his fingers through his sleep-flattened blonde hair.  He could hear his roommate, Joey, snoring from the other room.  "Please.  It's not even six yet." 

"I know.  Which is how I knew I'd be able to catch you.  You never have your cell phone on."  Her pout came through the line loud and clear, and Lance resigned himself to hearing her out.

"Fine.  About Seth?" 

"Right.  He's been different lately…everyone's noticed it.  The first night back to school, he was drunk, and he didn't even care if we knew it.  He's out of control, and someone needs to do something." 

Lance sat up in bed.  He didn't know Seth very well, but he knew where she was going with this. 

"You need to talk to him, straighten him out.  He's supposed to be heading up the witnessing program this semester.  How can he actually lead people to Christ if he's living like that?  It reflects badly on all of us, Lance." 

She was right, it did reflect badly on them if one of their leaders was living in an ungodly manner, but Lance's schedule was filled. 

"And it has to be me, why?" 

"Because people listen to you.  They look up to you, and…"  She trailed off uneasily, giving her claims a little more credibility.  "…the rest of us all have our own little…shortcomings.  You're the only one who can really correct someone, because you're the only one beyond reproach." 

"I'm not,"  Lance protested, but at that point they both knew he'd be doing it.  He always did.  

***

 He decided to talk to Seth after writing class, where he took the third seat back, just like always.  The window seat.  Writing held far less interest for him than his other business-oriented classes, and he liked to watch the people outside when he got bored.   There were two girls having a heated argument on the lawn, and he watched them toss their hair about and scowl at one another until he heard the teacher say something that drew his attention back into the classroom. 

"…into pairs, and you'll draw a predetermined topic to write about." 

This was the thing he hated most about Professor Bartling: his fondness for assigning group work.  Lance's experience with assignments like this had soured him on it completely; he either ended up doing most of the work or cringing when he saw the other students' shoddy efforts that would bear his name, as well. 

"Andrews and Artlett, Bass and Chasez…"

Lance kept his face neutral as he turned his head to find his partner.  Joshua Chasez.  It could be worse, he thought, looking at the gangly brunette with whom he'd been paired.  Josh seemed a little spacey, but he was into writing and Lance knew he usually got A's in this class.  His eyes traveled down to Josh's red converse tennis shoes, which Lance could've sworn were glittering with sparkles, and when he looked back up, Josh was smiling, gesturing for him to come over.  The room fell into chaos for a few minutes while everyone change seats and dragged their desks together.  Lance did the same, and pushed a desk up next to Josh's. 

"Hi," he said, smiling politely.  He could see by looking into Josh's unzipped backpack that everything was lined up, tidy and organized.  That was a good sign, and his smile became a little less forced.  Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. 

"Hi," Josh replied.  His eyes flickered over Lance's face before he looked away shyly.  He seemed uncomfortable, Lance realized, but couldn't think of a reason why he would be. 

"Not a fan of the group effort?" he asked, and Josh looked blank for a second before laughing and shrugging it off. 

"It's okay," he said.  "Although, the last time, that girl over there- Amy…" he nodded with his chin over to a redhead who was speaking loudly to her new partner.  "God.  I was praying I wouldn't get her again.  She wrote 'dramatic' instead of 'traumatic', and when I tried to correct her, she insisted that they were the same thing.  When I tried to get her to change it- because my name's on the paper, too, you know…she just freaked out."  He shuddered, but his eyes were smiling when he looked at Lance.  "She threw her notebook at me and said that since I knew everything, I could just be in charge of writing." 

"So, what did you do?"

"I wrote."  Josh grinned widely and tapped his pencil on the desk.  "I was afraid to refuse." 

Lance chuckled at this.  He  had a lot of extracurricular activities with Amy and because of her volatile temper, she was used to getting her way.  "I promise not to throw anything at you," he said solemnly, just as Professor Bartling approached them with a handful of index cards. 

Lance chose one and read it aloud for Josh. 

"Argue the benefits of legalizing same-sex marriage."  His face twisted into a frown because now he was going to have to argue for something that he was fundamentally opposed to on every level.  He'd been hoping for something with the death penalty, welfare, or politics.

JC sat perfectly still for a moment, before nodding slowly.  "Okay," he said, his expression unreadable. 

Lance looked down at Josh's shoes and winced.  Those were sparkles. 

***

Justin burst through the door to JC's apartment and announced, "I'm starving!  Please tell me that you losers have food!" 

"We've got food," JC said, barely looking up from his laptop, which was set up at the kitchen table.  "Chris did the shopping, though, so I can't promise that it'll be anything edible." 

"I heard that!" a voice growled from the living room.  "I am right here, you know." 

"You told me not to talk to you."  JC replied patiently, clicking at his mouse.  "You told me that you wouldn't hear me, that you were in a creative place far, far away." 

Justin laughed and closed the door behind him.  JC was obviously involved in homework so he stepped into the living room.  Newspaper crinkled softly under his feet, and judging by the expression on JC's roommate's face, he was not in that creative place that he'd hoped for. 

"Fuck off!" Chris yelled, even though the kitchen is only a few feet away.  "I just totally fucked my landscape, and I need to be over half done by now."  Chris, an art major, hated landscapes with a passion.  He'd rather paint people, or abstract works where he had more creative freedom.  Justin took a look at what Chris had so far, and thought that most of Chris' problem was being too critical of his own work

"Chris, these are amazing."  Justin shook his head in disbelief.  "You need to take a break or something." 

Chris stripped off his dirty smock and ran stained, yellow fingers over his face.  "I know.  I need to just…start over," he said, disgusted.   

"By the way, someone's coming over in a little while," JC said finally looking up from his computer.  "Bartling has me working on a paper with this kid, Lance, and he said he'd be here at six."  He pulled a face, and Justin laughed before sticking his head in the refrigerator. 

"What's wrong with him?" he asked.  "How old is this yogurt?"

"Read the expiration date."  JC stretched his legs under the table, sighing.  "Nothing's wrong with him, exactly…  He's just, he's Vice-President of Student Government and President of the BSU.  We're writing about why same-sex marriage should be legalized.  You should've seen the look on his face." 

Chris laughed manically from the living room. 

"What's BSU?" Justin asked, and sat down with JC at the table. 

"The Baptist Student Union."  Chris had his brush in hand again, and was making tentative strokes across the canvas.  He worked better in a busy environment, which was probably why he'd been having trouble before with only JC sitting silently in the other room.  "They're all about Jesus." 

"Hooo, boy," Justin whistled, and licked the yogurt from his fingers.  "Does he know you're gay?" 

JC shrugged.  "I don't know.  I doubt it.  He's never really talked to me before.  Anyways, he's nice.  He was nice to me." 

"That blonde kid?"  Chris said, and added some more white to his sky. 

"You know him?"

"Yeah, right.  Like our paths would ever cross.  I've seen him around.  Smooth, preppy, nice ass."

"That's him.  He-"  JC was about to say more, but the doorbell rang and Justin jumped up, delighted.  Chris smirked from behind his easel. 

***

Lance took care of business with Seth Sherman in less than twenty minutes.  It wasn't as big a deal as Steph had worried.  He'd just explained to Seth why his behavior was unacceptable, and laid down the consequences for him.  Seth had turned remorseful almost immediately, and why wouldn't he?  No one wanted to mess up their own life.

In the car, in Josh's parking lot, Lance opened his organizer and drew a dark line through Seth's name with satisfaction. He stared at the next words- Josh Chasez 6PM- before slamming the book shut.  Just another block of time. 

The door was thrown open by a tall, curly haired boy with eyes nearly as blue as Josh's.  "Hi!" he said eagerly, and gestured Lance inside.  "Lance, right?" 

"Right," he replied.  Josh's apartment was twice as large as Lance's, and twice as cluttered.  The walls couldn't possibly fit any more paintings on them; not just paintings, but pencil drawings and charcoals as well.  The living room had been transformed into an art studio; everything covered with newspaper, every available surface covered with cups, brushes, tubes and things that Lance didn't even recognize.  It smelled a little like turpentine, but mostly incense, which was probably the point. 

"Hi." Josh motioned for Lance to put his stuff down in the kitchen.  "Lance, this is Justin.  We grew up together." 

"Nice to meet you," Lance said, and took Justin's offered hand.  "Freshman?" 

"Yup.  Music major, like JC.  We're gonna be famous."  He flashed Lance his most winning smile, and Josh rolled his eyes at Justin's young arrogance.  Justin felt the need to charm every person that he came in contact with, and apparently Lance was no exception.  

"And that's Chris Kirkpatrick, my roommate," he interrupted, pointing into the living room.  "He's a senior.  Art major."

 Lance stepped cautiously into Chris' area and received a sharp look from the guy at the easel, a young man with a bandanna tied around his head.  A mop of tiny black braids stuck out from underneath, and when Chris finally gave a clipped, "Hi.  Nice to meet you," Lance could see the glint of something silver in his tongue.  His ears both held multiple piercings. 

"Yeah," Lance replied stiffly, and stepped back slowly.

"Wanna get started?" Josh asked from the kitchen, and Lance joined him at the table.  Justin seemed to be fascinated with what they were doing, judging from the way he just stood slumped against the counter, watching them while he drank his soda.  Josh didn't seem to mind, and Justin seemed like a good kid. 

"So, did you write down some reasons we can use?" Josh asked, and Lance reluctantly slid his piece of paper across the table.  They read over one another's notes while Justin watched them.  Josh's notes were extensive, and he didn't seem to have any problem finding good reasons to support same-sex marriage.  Lance had only thought of one, and he wasn't even sure that it was a good one. 

"I'm- usually better at this," Lance murmured, embarrassed.  "I just couldn't…" 

"It's okay," Josh assured him.  "The more we read up on it, the more reasons we'll be able to come up with.  And, I think you're onto something with your idea about how it'll save money in the legal system.  You're a business major, huh?" 

Lance nodded and stared down at Josh's neat handwriting.

Josh printed out articles while Lance chatted with Justin.  Justin was like Joey, wanting to talk about music all the time, and Lance was more than happy to engage him.  Lance loved to sing, but if he didn't live with Joey, he'd probably never get the chance.  Joey loved to drag him into the music, but he drew the line at joining in with the choreography, which Joey was forever practicing.  He described some of this to Justin, who found it hilarious, especially the time he'd tricked Lance, who can't dance, into auditioning with him. 

"I was so pissed," Lance remembered, shaking his head.  "And then he told everyone I was recovering from hip surgery." 

JC smiled over the top of his computer. 

"I can't hear you!" Chris called when they started working again, taking notes from the articles.  "I can't work like this…distract me."   

JC gave Lance an apologetic shrug.  "Sorry.  He works better with a lot going on.  As you can imagine, this place is usually pretty crazy.  Sorry we're boring you!" he called back. 

"It's okay.  I'm about to take a break, anyhow," he said, and carried some brushes to the sink.  His black combat boots stomped obnoxiously across the linoleum, making it impossible for Lance to concentrate.  How did JC manage to keep his grades up, with studying conditions like this?  He tracked the sound of Chris' boots out of the kitchen, then back in.  He was carrying something this time; a framed canvas. 

"Check it out, C.  I got my project back today.  A plus."  He flipped the painting over, and Josh gasped into his hands. 

"Ohmygod, Chris!" he squealed.  "It's…it's so, I have no words." 

Lance agreed.  He had no words, either, for a painting that was most definitely a nude Josh, from the waist up.  Chris had perfectly captured the pale, curving expanse of his back, and given a glowing, ethereal quality to his subject.  The expression on Josh's face as he looks over his shoulder at the artist is solemn…and faintly, inexplicably sexual. 

"It rocks!" Justin exclaimed, and hopped up on the counter. 

Chris barely acknowledged Justin's comment, but braced his hand on the table near Lance.  "What do you think, Bass?  Ever seen anything like it?"  His tone was quietly mocking, and Josh uttered a, "Chris," in warning. 

"Um." 

"I knew you'd like it." Chris winked and propped the painting up against the refrigerator.  "Now, where shall we hang this fine masterpiece?" 

Lance decided to ignore him.  He'd been harassed plenty in high school by jerks like Chris, and the only method that had ever worked was to pretend they didn't bother him.  "So, Josh," Lance began, only to have Chris interrupt, hooting,

"Yeah, Josh, better get back to work." 

Josh blushed faintly, and wrote something in his notebook.  "Um, yeah.  You can call me JC, Lance.  It's what everybody calls me." 

"Oh.  Okay.  I didn't know."  He wished that Chris would quit breathing down their necks, would leave so they could get back to work.  The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get out of here.

"Well, you did know that JC's a big, flaming, homosexual, right?" he asks offhandedly, all the way in the living room again.  Justin and JC protested the comment loudly with groans and reprimands, and Lance felt his face burn even though he was pretty sure Chris didn't expect an answer.    

"Wanna get back to work?" JC asked.

"I think that's best," Lance replied.  He glared at Chris, who was blatantly staring from the other room.   

"Yeah, better get back to work.  You don't want to be late for your Bible study, or something," he hollered. 

"What is your problem?" Lance asked coolly, and slammed his essay book closed.  He wasn't going to get anything done here.  "You've been on my case ever since I got here.  I do have a Bible Study tonight, actually.  Why?  Did you want to come?" 

"Hell, no!"  Chris scowled and pulled off his bandanna, scratched at his braids.  "I just really don't like the idea of you sitting here with my friend JC when you and your group spent last semester boycotting Jeremy Landry's exhibit in gallery A." 

"Ah."  Lance nodded carefully.  "I see.  But for your information, my group is the BSU.  The group that boycotted your friend's show was the Campus Crusade for Christ." 

Chris' momentary expression of confusion was worth the awkwardness. "Whatever." 

"But to be honest, we have pretty much the same beliefs.  And I didn't go see the exhibit because I find the subject matter offensive."      

"Chris, back off."  JC was clearly unhappy with his roommate.  "Even I found a lot of those pictures offensive, so don't even."  He gave Chris a long, hard look and even Justin seemed reproachful when he suggested that he and Chris go get something to eat, despite the fact that he'd been eating since Lance arrived.

Fed up, Lance rose and put his papers in order. "I'd better get going.  Maybe next time we can meet at my place.  My roommate doesn't have a personality disorder." 

JC's forehead crinkled up in concern, which Lance didn't like to see, but there was nothing he could do.  "You have a roommate?" 

"Yeah."  Lance tugged at the stuck zipper on his book bag.  "The theater major, remember? Joey Fatone." 

"Joey Fatone is your roommate?" Chris' voice merged with JC's in a single expression of shock.

"Yes." 

"But he's so…"  JC looked up at Lance with a surprised innocence that Lance wouldn't have expected from someone who liked to sleep with men.  Even in the painting, which Lance had tried not to look at for too long, JC's face had held that same kind of earnest wholesomeness. 

"Yes?"  Lance quirked an eyebrow.  He would be amused if he didn't have so much to do and weren't in such a hurry to get out of there. 

"Um, uh, nothing. I just mean, he's just.  So…" He trailed off, then took a deep breath.  "I just, I know him.  He's cool, really cool.  I'm sorry, Lance." 

"It's okay.  Justin, it was nice to meet you.  JC, give me a call and we'll work something out."   

He'd never been so glad to get out of somewhere in his life. 

***

"…so, then, he practically accuses me of being a bigot, and I'm sorry Joe, but I'm sitting there trying to write a paper on why same-sex marriage is good for the country." 

"Whoa.  But, yeah.  That sounds about like the Chris Kirkpatrick that I know."  Joey did four last pushups and collapsed onto the floor.  Lance handed him a towel and Joey sat up, wiping at his neck. 

"JC's nice enough," Lance sighed.  He reclined across the couch and wiggled his sock feet, tired, but too stressed out to sleep.  "You should've seen, though.  Chris showed me this painting that he did of JC, and it was…I dunno.  Very subtly sexual, I guess.  He was naked, but it didn't show anything.  It was obvious that Chris was just trying to freak me out." 

"Sounds like it worked." 

"Of course not."  His head hurt, and he hadn't gotten any of his paper written. 

"Uh huh."  Joey slapped a large, sweaty hand down on Lance's thigh before getting up.  "You're not freaked out at all.  I've gotta shower." 

He wasn't.  Lance Bass was one hundred percent unflappable. 

***

Bartling gave them a quiz in class on Wednesday, and Lance thought that maybe he'd gotten a reprieve from working on the doomed project but when everyone was finished, the professor told them to get with their partners and take a library day for their papers.  

He took his time getting his things together until he and JC were among the last few people in the classroom.  They hadn't spoken since the other night. 

"Hey," JC murmured.  His hands were shoved into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the floor.  "So, sorry about the other night.  Chris is just an ass sometimes, and I know it didn't seem like it, but that was coming from a good place, at least.  He worries about me."

"He hates me." Lance said flatly, and noticed that JC was carrying a girl's backpack.  It had Snoopy on the pocket, with Woodstock hovering around the top zipper.  "He hates me because of what I am, which is ironic, because that's exactly what he wants to accuse me of doing.  Look, it's no big deal, but I have some things to do, so maybe we could just get together later."

"Sure, okay.  I'll catch you later."   

Lance headed for the Grove, an on campus coffee house where he could work one of his many other projects; projects that he could actually get behind. Projects that made sense.  He ordered some coffee, sat down and got to work.

"So, the paper's giving you a hard time?"

Lance looked up at JC, who was still carrying his Snoopy backpack.  His expression wasn't malicious, only curious as he blew on his coffee and waited for an answer.  Lance sighed.  He hadn't meant to be so obvious. 

"A little," he admitted.  "I'm sorry.  It's nothing personal.  It's just hard to see it any other way than how I've seen it my whole life." 

"Yeah."  JC shrugged.  "That's why Chris gave you such a hard time.  He's pretty sensitive about people judging him…although, I think he hated you long before you even met." 

"Why- Chris is gay?"

JC shrugged and wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve even though he had a napkin in his hand.  "Mostly, yeah.  He hasn't dated any girls since his freshman year, when he got dumped." 

"How'd you hook up with him, anyhow?"  he asked, and instantly regretted asking.  His skin prickled with paranoia, as though JC might be able to tell just by looking at him how much Chris had gotten to him. 

JC sat down across from Lance and let his backpack drop onto the ground.  Lance tried not to look at it. 

"Um, Chris."  That shy smile was back.  "We were in chorus together last year, but he never talked to me.  We went to the same clubs and parties and stuff, but we weren't friends.  I guess because I was a freshman, I dunno.  But there was this guy who was always giving me kind of a hard time.  With the rest of his friends."  He looked up from his coffee, more serious than Lance had ever seen him.  "They were…pretty mean." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah.  Chris saw them messing with me one night…he went nuts on them, beat the crap out of the worst one- Randy Thatcher- and they've left me alone ever since." 

"Randy- Chris was the one who did that?"  Lance remembered Randy's broken nose, his broken face, how terrible he'd looked afterwards.  How he'd said that some punks had jumped him in the parking lot. 

"A friend of yours?" JC grimaced. 

"No, no.  I know him, though.  I always thought he was an okay guy." 

"Sure.  If you're you, he's an okay guy.  If you're me, he's a nightmare.  Anyhow, after that, I hooked up with Chris."

"Who's a nightmare if you're me," Lance pointed out, making JC grin in spite of himself.

"Exactly!  I really am sorry about the other night, you know.  I guess you don't have that problem with a roommate like Joey."

"Um.  You'd think."  Lance said wryly.  "One time, I brought this girl home to tutor her, and Joey yelled from the bathroom that he needed me to come help him shave his legs.  And I'm completely mortified until he actually comes out from the hall in his underwear, and there's shaving cream all over his legs, he's all…oh, God."  He broke up into laughter.  "It was so embarrassing." 

JC laughed so hard that his eyes watered.

**

"Lance!" 

Lance turned his head slightly, not wanting to give away that he'd heard his name until he'd made sure it was someone he felt like talking to.  Before he could catch a glimpse, a figure bounded into his line of sight. 

"Lance, hey!  I didn't think you heard me."  Justin slapped him on the back and hopped around in excitement.  Lance couldn't help smiling back at Justin's young, unrestrained enthusiasm.  Justin would make a good candidate for student government, he thought, and made a note to ask him about it later. 

They chatted for a few minutes until Justin looked at his watch and said, "Whoa, I've gotta go.  Can you do me a favor?  You have class with JC in a little bit, right?" 

"Yes..." 

Justin dropped his backpack to the ground and knelt next to it, unzipping and rummaging around inside until he found what he was looking for.  "Here," he said, squinting up against bright morning light and holding up a tiny glass pyramid.  The sun caught the multitude of prisms inside the pyramid and put out a thousand tiny rainbows.  "Can you give this to JC when you see him?  Do you think he'll like it?  He loves stuff like this." 

Lance took it from him and rotated it around, watching the glimmering magic inside.  "Sure," he said, and gave an absent wave as Justin ran off. 

He began walking toward the English building, weighing the pyramid in one hand while weighing the meaning of it in his head.

Lance knew what a gift like this meant.  He remembered the first time his sister had come home with a bracelet from a boy, how starry-eyed she had been and how his parents had frowned at the implications.   Being responsible for bringing that sentiment between two men wasn't exactly the kind of thing that Lance was proud of, but he knew as he looked at the collection of light in his hand that JC would probably laugh with happiness.  It seemed worth it. 

***

"I can't believe you're going out with JC Chasez." Joey laughed at Lance for the millionth time as he rubbed gel into his bright red hair. 

"I'm not going out with him; you and Justin are coming, too.  It sounds fun.  I had no idea there was a drive-in around here." 

Joey smirked at his own reflection.  "That's because half the people there are doing something illegal, and all your future-senator friends wouldn't risk the scandal." 

Lance ignored him and pulled on a blue t-shirt.  He stood in front of his closet.  "Jeans?" 

"Yeah." Joey reached over and mussed Lance's hair with a slick hand until the blonde spikes stood up in an acceptable way. 

"I can do my own hair," Lance complained, but let him do what he wanted.  Joey had never steered him wrong. 

It had been a hot day, Indian summer, and when they pulled up at the drive-in it was still a half-hour till sunset, still hot and muggy.  The theater was almost out of city limits, and the truck stirred up a cloud of dust on the long dirt road.  At the end, Lance could see that everything was contained inside a clearing surrounded by trees.  The admission booth was old and run-down, but already the lot was nearly full, so there must've been some draw to it.  An old man with a money box sat in a folding chair next to the booth. He sat perfectly motionless, eyes closed, and Lance exchanged a look with Joey just before someone bounded out of the booth and up to the window.  There was a flurry of motion at the driver's window, and a face that Lance recognized peeked in.  Chris. 

"Hello boys," Chris said, and craned his neck to peek at Lance and Joey. 

"Chris!" Justin hollered, and they slapped hands before Chris delivered a peck to JC's cheek and said, "Twelve bucks."  JC handed him the money.  "Chris works here," JC explained before they pulled through to the bumpy road to find an empty space.

Lance was amused by Justin's instructions on finding the perfect spot and how to perfectly angle the truck once they've found it.  "Now, a little more forward…no, way too much!  More to the left.  Left, JC!" he bossed until JC got tired of it and jumped out so that Justin could do it himself. 

"We do this every time," he muttered to Lance, as Justin moved the truck exactly two millimeters before declaring it perfect.  "Fucking perfectionist." 

JC and Justin seemed to have a well-practiced routine down.  JC climbed into the back of the suburban and put down the seats so that Justin could pile pillows and blankets in the back.  Next, JC set up a couple of lawn chairs while Justin did something in the front seat that had Lance wondering until Justin crawled back through the truck on hands and knees and smugly announced, "Bar's open."  Joey peeked in the passenger window and whooped with approval at the bottles lined up on the floor. 

"Can I get you a drink?" Justin asked Lance. 

"I don't drink."  

"He doesn't," Joey affirmed, as though no one might otherwise be able to believe it.  He rested his elbows on the open window while Justin surreptitiously and skillfully mixed the drinks.

"Joey drinks enough to make up for it, though," Lance said, perched on the edge of the truck with JC.   He fought the need to remind them that they were all underage.  The air still hung thick with humidity, but now that the sun had almost set it wasn't too hot for them to throw a ball around for a while until the movie started.  When the horns started blaring, Lance settled into the back of the truck with JC. 

At the end of the first movie, there was a brief intermission.  JC laid back, kicked his shoes off and let them fall onto the dewy grass. 

"I'm hungry."  Joey climbed awkwardly into the back with them, his limbs heavy with alcohol, and lay his head on Lance's shoulder.  He batted his eyelashes imploringly.

"I don't have any food." 

"There's a snack bar right over there." 

Lance squinted in the direction that Joey had pointed.  "That concrete hovel with blacked out windows?" 

"Yup." 

Lance wasn't sure that he'd want to eat anything prepared in the dirty, cracked building that he'd seen on the way in, but JC didn't say anything so he figured it must be safe.  It was a cloudy night, so dark that he tripped twice on the way, and when he pulled the heavy metal door open, it took several seconds to adjust his eyes under the fluorescent lights.  The air was heavy with the scent of popcorn, buttery and hot, but there wasn't any air conditioning so it wasn't appetizing, just stifling.

Quickly, he scanned the overhead menu for the items that he'd been instructed to bring, but half the letters have fallen off so he gave up and browsed what was right in front of him; hot dogs rotating on the grill, red and blue slushies churning in their container, an oversized jar of gigantic pickles.  

"Can I help you?" 

Lance blinked under the harsh lighting.  "Chris." 

"None other," Chris said smoothly.  "Can I interest you in some fine, deep-fried cuisine?" 

It wasn't being put off by Chris that made Lance hesitate before answering.  It was just that he looked so out of place behind that snack counter, and Lance just didn't get what Chris' deal was.  The black t-shirt and baggy army fatigues that hung from his hips made him look like something from a rock video, not to mention the wild braids and the hoop earrings that someone like Lance could never, ever get away with.  Just looking at Chris made his stomach tighten uncomfortably. 

"I need a corn dog, nachos, cotton candy, and a pickle." 

Chris unscrewed the lid to the enormous pickle jar.  "What, nothing to drink?  I guess Justin's got that covered, huh?" he grinned wickedly. 

"Yeah.  I think that's why they sent me to get the food.  They'd never make it back."  Lance wanted to grin back, but something about Chris kept him off-kilter and too suspicious to let his guard down.  He watched Chris preparing the food, watched the way the chains hooked on his pants swung as he walked. 

When Lance gave Chris the money, Chris arched an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "Dude, this food is for my friends," he said, and a lot of things about Chris were an enigma to Lance but it was obvious that right now, he was offended.  There wasn't much he could do besides thank Chris and try to make it back to JC's truck without falling and spilling all of the free food. 

Joey and Justin were loudly cheering when Lance got back, but not for the food.  JC sat on the edge of the truck, feet dangling in the air, throwing back shots of something from a paper cup while his friends yelled encouragement.  He gave Lance a loopy smile. 

"Hi," he slurred sweetly.  "I'm winning." 

"You are so not, C!" Justin laughed, and stumbled into Joey.  They all piled into the truck, but there was plenty room if no one minded someone else's feet draped across their legs. 

"Chris was working the snack bar," Lance told JC, who giggled with a hand over his mouth. 

"Oh, yeah.  He practically runs this place.  Did you see the old guy when we first drove up?  He owns it, but I mean, he's about to drop dead any minute.  Chris gets it, you know." 

"The whole drive-in?"  Joey asked, and Justin snorted.  

"Yes, this whole entire piece of crap establishment." 

Before Lance could reply, the radio crackled and a familiar voice came through the speakers.  "Our last feature is now beginning.  Please be considerate and turn off your engines, lights, and if anyone leaves their garbage on the ground, I will personally kick their ass.  Especially glass bottles, Justin."  The radio crackled again, and the sound of the preview playing onscreen came through the speakers. 

"Justin!  The dumpster's only twenty feet away," JC scolded, but Justin shushed him under the pretense of watching the movie. 

By the time the second movie was over, Joey and Justin were passed out in the corner, drooling on JC's pillows.  JC looked over through the darkness to Lance.  "They're drunk," he whispered loudly and clucked reproachfully, as though  his own cheeks weren't flushed with alcohol.  His hand reached down to pet Justin's wilted curls.  "He's so pretty," he murmured, but it wasn't at all how Lance had imagined it might be when a man looked at another man in that way.  JC's mouth quirked into a half smile, his eyes soft and affectionate as he watched Justin sleep.  

"Um.  Listen, JC.  Why don't you just give me your keys and I'll drive us home?" 

JC gave up the keys easily enough, which was a relief because Lance usually had to wrestle Joey for his.  He closed up the back of the truck and took all the garbage to the dumpster.  By the time he finished, all the other cars had gone and only Chris remained, leaning against the Suburban. 

"Hey.  They all passed out back there?" 

Lance nodded and fingered JC's keys uneasily. "I, uh.  Don't really know how to drive a stick." 

"What the fuck?" he asked, his dark eyebrows pulled together in a frown.  "I thought you were from Mississippi." 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Lance asked crossly.  He wiped his sweaty face on his t-shirt, then tugged it back down quickly when he saw Chris eyeing his bare torso.

"Well," Chris said slowly, bringing his eyes back up to Lance's.  "You know.  Tractors, and stuff." 

Lance groaned loudly.  "For your information, I have never driven a tractor or any kind of farm equipment.

Chris held out his hand and Lance tossed him the keys, which he caught in outstretched fingers.  When the truck started moving, JC began to sing drunkenly from the back. 

"Jayce, watch singing back there?" Chris asked.  Lance watched the way his hands effortlessly operated the gearshift, bringing them out of the darkness and onto the main road.  It was an ordinary, everyday action but for some reason that Lance couldn't comprehend, it made him think of the time he'd walked in on Joey with a girl, Joey's hand up her skirt, moving methodically.  Skillfully. 

"A love song," JC replied, and sang a few bars.  "…jump up, oooh jump back, well I think you've got the knack…now that you can do it, let's make it shake now.  C'mon, baby, do the locomotion…"

"Dude!  In what fucked up universe is that a love song?" Chris demanded.  "That's not even funny, your taste in music is completely fucked when you're drunk."

While Chris slowed for a winding section of road, Lance  watched him again.  Chris, he thought, was the opposite of himself in every way.

"What?" Chris snapped, bringing Lance out of his thoughts.  He'd been staring.  "See something you don't like?" 

"No.  Sorry.  I was just…" 

"I know what you were doing, Bible boy. 

"You don't," Lance insisted, but he knew a losing argument when he saw one.

"Whatever.  Don't fucking look at me," Chris muttered, and turned the radio all the way up.  

***

"Thanks for totally wussing out last night," Chris murmured, barely looking up from his textbook.  JC took a seat next to him at the table that Chris had staked out in the library. 

"Sorry."  His grin said that he was anything but sorry.  "Joey was…persuasive.  It seemed rude not to drink." 

"Which forced me to socialize with Bass.  God, JC, why do you hang around with that guy?  He's so…"

JC's shoulders straightened defensively.  He was tired of hearing about this.  "So what, Chris?" he demanded.  "So polite, smart, interesting?  Because he's all of those things, and you won't give him a break." 

JC and Chris had been friends for a while, so Chris knew to back off when JC got worked up over something, which wasn't often.  "Whatever.  Sorry."  He went back to the report that he was supposed to be writing, and was just scribbling his name at the top corner of the page when JC came out with a soft, reproachful,

"You shouldn't be.  Thinking about it." 

Chris' hand slowed on the paper, but he kept his eyes fixed on the loops and angles of his writing.  "What?"

"Lance isn't like that," JC said, determined to make his point even if it made Chris go all quiet and strange like he was now.  "He's.  He likes girls." 

"I know."  Chris closed his eyes and leaned his head onto JC's shoulder.  The braids tickled against JC's neck, but not in an unpleasant way. 

"Hey," he said, and slid his arm around Chris' shoulder, feeling an unnatural heat.  "Are you coming down with something?" 

***

"I'm just dropping off this disk." Lance looked past Chris into JC's apartment.  Chris didn't give him any insults, though, just retreated back into the living room, to his nest of blankets on the couch.  He looked pretty bad, even worse than the time that Joey had been sent to the hospital with pneumonia. 

"Are you all right?" Lance shut the door behind him and ventured through the kitchen.

"Fine," Chris muttered, and wiped at his face.  There was something endearingly non-threatening about him like this, with his watery eyes ringed with dark smudges of fatigue.   For the first time since he'd met Chris, Lance didn't feel the need to pick a fight.

The living room was a living room once again, and Lance entered with caution. "Do you need anything?"

"The angel of death would be nice."  Chris' fever burned brightly on his cheeks.  It hurt looking at him.  Lance nodded. 

"I'm on my way to my Bible study," he told Chris.  "I-we'll pray for you."

"Don't bother," Chris replied.  Above his head hung a mostly black canvas that rippled gradually into grey and finally to a hazy shade of white.  Lance found it intriguing. It was different; striking, and mature.  Chris' paintings seemed to hold more admirable qualities than the artist himself.

"What's this?" He pointed at the piece.

"Ah, post-breakup painting." Chris sighed wetly and reclined against a red, overstuffed pillow.  "I call it Nuclear Winter." 

"I like it," Lance said, finally.  A breakup. It was hard for him to picture Chris with anyone, romantically.  What kind of girl would date someone like Chris?  He seemed too antagonistic to attract anyone, except he wasn't like that toward JC and Justin.  With them, he was affectionate, protective.  "It must've been a hard breakup." 

"Yeah, well."  Chris shrugged.  "She dumped me so she could date some guy in button down shirts and well-pressed khakis." 

Lance looked down at himself, at the clothing that Chris had described.  "I-"

"Yeah.  So, you know where the door is." 

Chris didn't open his eyes until after Lance was gone. 

***

Lance got a lot out of his Wednesday night Bible studies.  It was more than getting a chance to learn more about the God to whom he'd devoted his life, although that was a big part of it.  He liked the order of everything, the circle of people turning pages, taking turns and sharing similar thoughts. 

He needed this time to regroup, needed some quiet time to listen because he'd been praying for answers lately.  He had so many questions.  Lance knew that wisdom would be granted to those who asked for it, but he was short on patience these days.  These days, he felt short on just about everything. 

"Hey, Lance."  Amy touched his shoulder and interrupted his quiet thoughts.  She didn't bother keeping her voice down; it was meant for everyone to hear.  "I've seen who you've been hanging out with."

"I hang out with everyone." 

"More like anyone." 

"Amy!" Mark cut in, and threw an apologetic look in Lance's direction.  "Jesus was persecuted for hanging out with prostitutes and tax collectors.  He was just trying to reach them, and Lance was probably doing the same thing." 

"I doubt even Jesus would've associated with Chris Kirkpatrick."

"Can you please stop comparing me to Jesus?"  Lance's words were useless, drowned out by twenty people haranguing Amy for daring to take a swing at him.  It was nice to be liked, but the blind respect sometimes made Lance uneasy.  He was fairly certain he didn't deserve it.

Amy was right about one thing, though.  JC wasn't just his study partner any more; he was a friend.  It also wasn't uncommon for Lance to come home and find Justin, who had hit it off with Joey, sprawled on the couch, eating their food or watching Joey rehearse. As for Chris…Lance wasn't sure what Chris was to him.  Chris was more like a wild animal, circling warily, uncertain whether it's about to attack or be attacked. 

And it had certainly never occurred to Lance to try and minister to Chris. 

Amy was partially right, but she made Lance wary, having taken to outright attacks in the past few weeks.  She'd always been a good friend until Lance had been chosen to be the Adelle University representative at the George Simmons Crusade in January.  The privilege entailed a breakfast prayer meeting with the famous evangelist George Simmons himself, and Amy had been bitter about losing out on the opportunity. 

Lance, on the other hand, was so excited that sometimes he could hardly stand it. 

***

"What the fuck is with those people?" 

Lance didn't need to follow the direction of Chris' nod.  He'd spotted Amy and Mark a few minutes ago, parked across the row, a few cars down with a few of Lance's other friends.  As soon as they'd seen Lance, their loud revelry had dropped into tense whispering. 

"They're my friends," he replied, and picked glumly at his styrofoam cup that was full of soda of course, it was always only soda because anything stronger would be a weakness; something to make him less of a role model.  It had never occurred to him to be anything else. 

"They seem real friendly." 

"They're mad at me," he said.  Onscreen, the previews were beginning to play, and he settled back into the pillows.  "They wanted me to speak at the Sex Can Wait workshop next weekend." 

"Sex can wait," Chris repeated.

"It's for the teenagers," Lance explained.  "Youth groups come from all over the state to participate.  And it's a good program.  I just…"  he trailed off and pretended to watch the movie.

Chris was quiet for a few seconds.  "Ohhh, I get it."  He shot Lance an inscrutable look.  "It's a great program but you and your girlfriend got all hot and heavy, and you can't do it now that you've violated your vow of abstinence, or whatever." 

"You know I don't have a girlfriend.  And no, I didn't- I haven't…no.  But…it's something like that." 

It was something like that, but Lance couldn't say what.  Lately, he hardly knew his own thoughts. 

If someone were to ask him what had him so turned around with such vague, deep, wanting, he wouldn't have been able to reply.  He wasn't even sure exactly what it was he wanted, but the maddening ache in his gut was a constant reminder that if the opportunity ever presented itself, he would not be the pillar of restraint that everyone seemed to think he was. 

"Hey, if you don't wanna do it, you don't wanna do it."  Chris stretched back next to Lance and offered a rare, genuine smile.  "But don't hide back here.  You don't owe them anything."

"I'm not hiding," Lance protested.  He could only see the bright gleam of Chris' eyes in the darkness, and the pale skin of his face in the moonlight.  Other than that, the back of JC's truck was dark; the perfect hiding place.

Maybe he was hiding. 

"I just don't know how to deal with them right now.  They have their idea of what I am, which is why they're angry--I didn't live up to it.  It's to the point where I feel like I'm not allowed to have any flaws.  Which, of course, I do." 

"So why do you do all that stuff, if you hate it so much?" 

"That's just it."  The sound of JC and Justin's rowdy laughter carried from outside, and Lance's eyes flickered briefly to the movie screen.  The movie held little interest for him, but talking to Chris was inexplicably appealing.  Chris' advice was sometimes a little blunt, but it was always a fresh, honest viewpoint, and Lance had found himself seeking it out more and more often.  "I don't hate it.  I care about this stuff, about studying the Bible and doing what God wants me to do.  I can honestly say that I'm personally committed to every cause  I'm a part of." 

"Oh.  Whoa.  So you're really, I mean…about the Sex Can Wait thing.  You, you're, um." 

"Yes, Chris."  Lance exhaled with a loud sigh, and pulled a red flannel blanket up over his legs.  The weather had cooled and the drive-in would be closing soon for the season.  "Can we not talk about it?" He shivered in the damp chill. 

Chris noticed and moved closer, tugged his own blanket over Lance.  "Only a couple more weekends," he said softly.  "We'll close up till spring."  He sounded sad.

"You'll miss it."  

"Eh.  Winter is when I paint." 

Lance thought about this.  He didn't have anything like painting; the numbers and statistics that he lived by were available year-round.  He would miss it.

***

"…and when the terrorists were just dangling there, I was all, whoa that's gonna be messy!"  JC and Justin talked about the movie all the way up to the apartment and continued to do so as they cleaned up the kitchen. 

"I know!" JC agreed, nodding eagerly.  "And when-"

"-Lance is a virgin," Chris blurted. 

JC put down the stack of plates he'd been holding.  "Huh?" 

"I know," Justin said, nodding at Chris.  "I knew that."  Justin liked to know things about people, and he loved to learn secrets.  He just wasn't very good at keeping them.

JC wiped his wet hands on a dishtowel and shook his head.  "It's really none of our business.  I don't think we should be talking about it," he added nervously.

Chris ignored him and sat down at the kitchen table.  He found this topic fascinating, and wanted to discuss it in great detail, right now.  "How the fuck does a guy who looks like that get to be twenty years old without someone getting into his pants?  And that means nothing for them, you know.  Everything counts.  Hand jobs, blow jobs, everything."  

Justin nodded seriously in agreement.  After having spent his entire teenage years waiting for one specific person to notice him, he couldn't imagine someone purposely denying themselves something that they could have anytime they wanted.  He was still waiting.

"Chris," JC warned.  "We talked about this." 

"I know," Chris growled, and dropped his forehead onto the table.  "I know," he repeated mournfully, his voice muffled.  

"Talked about what?" Justin demanded. 

"About Lance.  God, where do I start?" JC asked, and resumed filling the sink with dirty dishes.  "He's straight, he's celibate, he's my friend, Chris, so don't fuck with his head." 

"I'm not!  I just…"  Chris sighed, defeated, into the cool surface of the table.   There wasn't really any defense for what he was thinking.  It was lucky that JC knew him well enough to read his mind and intervene when necessary.  It'd saved him more times than he could count.

Still, every time he pictured Lance, Chris marveled the fact that he'd never been touched.  And the worst part was, Chris knew that no matter how much he wanted it, he would never be the one to touch him.

JC was right.  He really shouldn't even be thinking about it. 

***

JC added his and Lance's name to the cover page of their paper.  "I think it's done," he said.  "Finally." 

Lance looked at the computer screen from over JC's shoulder.  "Looks good.  I actually learned a lot." 

"What do you mean?"  JC tipped his head up to look at Lance.  He'd been curious from the beginning about Lance's feelings on the subject, but Lance was too reserved to ever show any personal opinions on JC's lifestyle.  Their budding friendship depended heavily on both of them making allowances for the other, but something about it just worked. 

Lance blushed, a tiny smile playing at his lips.  "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that," he chuckled.  "It means…I think I understand why two people of the same sex would want to get married, and it's definitely cast doubt for me on whether or not the existing laws are fair.  Because, I've always just blindly assumed that anything preventing people like, um, that…"

"People like that," JC repeated dryly.  "People like me."

Lance sighed.  The last thing he wanted to do was damage the friendship he'd built with JC.  "The research isn't what changed my mind, JC.  That was part of it, but seeing you and Justin together…it isn't how I thought it was between men." 

"Justin?"  JC turned around in his chair and narrowed his eyes on Lance.  "Me and Justin?"

He looked so flustered that Lance was brought up short.  "I…yeah.  I mean, seeing you showed me that this kind of love isn't ugly and…why are you looking at me like that?" 

"Justin and I aren't like that, Lance.  We're not together." 

Lance couldn't see the truth in that statement, but there was no reason for JC to lie about it, either.  He couldn't help picturing the way that Justin always had some small gift for JC when he came over, offerings that Lance had perhaps assumed too much about. 

"You said he was pretty," he said, unable to let go of his notion. "That first night at the drive-in." 

JC stood and walked to the window.  This was a topic that even Chris steered clear of.  "I didn't mean to say it," he lied.  He remembered the moment vividly, how freeing it been to say what he'd said.  At the time, Lance had been enough of a stranger that it hadn't mattered. 

"But you still meant it." 

"I meant it."  JC said, and leaned his forehead against the nearly invisible glass.  Lance kept a clean house, and JC could almost believe that there was nothing separating him from the gray, heavy sky.  "Justin and I have been friends since grade school," he began slowly.  "We've been through everything together.  He used to talk about girls when we were younger, and then all of a sudden in high school, he just- stopped.  He never says a word.  As far as I know, he's never really liked anyone.  At least, no one that he mentions to me.  And I'm too embarrassed to ask because I think he'll know why I'm asking.  What I'm…wishing." 

"He doesn't date?" 

"Not seriously.  Some dances in high school, that kind of stuff.  And here's the other thing.  He's seventeen." 

"No way." 

"Yeah, there are three years between us, but he was put ahead in school.  He's always been…" 

Lance pictured Justin's serious, worldly eyes and the well-defined body that had Chris forever bitching for him to put a shirt on.  "Mature?" he suggested, smirking at JC. 

"Yes," JC sighed, and Lance was pretty sure that JC was picturing the same thing.  "Sometimes I imagine myself like, kissing him or something, but it seems manipulative, like I have too much influence over him.  His mom's already pissed that he followed me here, out of state.  If we ever became something more than friends she would never forgive me." 

"You should say something to him."  

JC didn't reply.  Lance was right.  He'd wanted Justin for so long that he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't, which couldn't be right because he'd known Justin as a child.

"I'm sorry," Lance said, taking JC's silence for anger.  "I shouldn't have- look, I don't know anything about relationships.  The only important relationships I have in my life are with my family, God, and Joey.  Not exactly a lot of room for romance in there." 

"No, it's okay."  JC turned around to face Lance.   "You're probably right.  I just don't want to mess things up." 

"Then, don't.  But seriously, JC.  You should talk to him." 

***

"How about this?"  Joey held up a jewelry box.  Every drawer boasted a knob fashioned from large, fake jewels.  Lance cringed. 

"Seriously?"  Lance would never give his mother or sister anything remotely resembling this piece of garbage, but he had met Joey's family, and their tastes ran toward the whimsical.  Still, he couldn't in good conscience allow Joey to send this home to his mom for her birthday.  "Let's keep looking." 

Joey had been dragging Lance to the monthly flea market ever since they'd first met.  The gaudy disarray of the tables and haggling vendors had slowly grown on him.  He especially loved going in the fall when they burned bonfires on the edge of the massive lot, which smelled like the best of autumn memories to Lance.

"Check this out," Joey called from across the table, and held up an ornate, gothic cross.  "In case you run into a vampire."  Lance rolled his eyes, but walked around the table to Joey's side. 

"Can I see that?"  He took the cross from Joey and felt the weight of it, cold and heavy in his hand.  It looked old, but in an elegant way, like an antique. 

"Oh, hey, you could give that to the famous Billy Graham when you meet him if you're not too busy groveling at his feet."  Joey's words held a note of mocking, but Lance didn't mind. 

"A guy like that can't have enough crosses, right?" Joey asked.  He was probably serious.

"I think it looks like Chris," Lance murmured, running his fingers over the surface of the design.  It was a little scary for his liking, but Chris' bedroom was full of things like this.  He closed his hand around the cross, his fingers barely meeting around the wide base.

Joey headed for a table of records, making Lance grab his arm and steer him toward the jewelry section.  "Your mom first, then you,"  he instructed. When he was certain that Joey was focused on the task at hand, he stood beside him, still holding the cross.  "Joe?" 

"Yeah?"  Joey sifted through some bead necklaces. 

"Um.  Did you think that JC and Justin were together, like, a couple?"

Joey looked up sharply over the tops of his sunglasses, but Lance pretended to be busy searching for the perfect gift. 

"I used to," he said.  "But, they're not." 

"How did you find out they weren't?" Lance pressed. 

"Lance," Joey smiled widely, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "They're two hot, young guys.  I know JC is all gentlemanly and shit, but if Justin were willing, trust me, you and I would've gotten more than an eyeful by now." 

There were women's scarves two for a dollar across the aisle, and Lance watched a gust of wind carry them gently to the ground.  "Oh."  He didn't want to think about what that meant. 

***

Lance scooted over to make room when Chris clambered into the back of the truck..  "Not working tonight?"

"Nah."  Chris settled himself between Justin and Lance.  JC preferred to sit outside, in spite of the cooling weather.  "Geezer's here, and Fat Guy with a Van's running the snack stand," he explained, and Lance chuckled low in his throat.

When Chris rose up and reached back with one arm to grab a beer, Lance remembered what was in his pocket.  He waited until Chris was settled back in again before dipping his hand into his jacket pocket and wrapping his fingers around the cross, warm from his body heat.  He'd brought it tonight because the old man--or as Chris referred to him, Geezer-- had told him that Chris tended to get melancholy on the last night of the season.

"I…"  In his mind, he'd brought the trinket over to the apartment and casually handed it over, Chris saying something like "Cool, thanks," but now that he was actually giving it over, it was more difficult than that.  A bigger deal.

 "I got you something.  Actually, it's nothing," he added, when Chris perked up with interest.  "Just a.  I thought you might like it."  He surrendered the cross to Chris. 

"You got this for me," Chris said, turning it over in his hand and shooting Lance a baffled look. 

"Yeah, just…at the flea market." 

Chris ran his fingers over all of the designs before nodding slightly.  His eyes were smiling. "Cool," he said.  "A present.  Thanks, Bass."