He thought about telling JC, but knew it would only result in a befuddled stare and lots of blinking, and an offer of milk. Because to JC, everything was fixed with a glass of milk.

He almost told Lance, on the bus. Lance was bare-chested, sitting at the small table with a four day old copy of the Wall Street Journal in one hand and his cell phone in the other, shouting at some hapless employee out in California. Chris wondered if Lance knew that his accent thickened when he was angry and he sounded about half as intelligent as he really was. Then Chris thought maybe Lance knew exactly what he sounded like, and knew he couldn't tell Lance that he was bored. Lance was too busy with other things to understand bored.

Never in a billion fucking years would Chris dream of telling Justin that he was bored of singing and dancing and being sparkly and fun. Justin was made of those things, and Chris thought that Justin might spontaneously implode at the thought of someone being bored of thousands of people shouting for them. Chris saying he was bored of the tour was like saying he was bored of Justin, and that just wouldn't be good for anybody. So he played Delta Force II with Justin instead, and didn't end up telling anyone he was bored.

When Joey started watching him like he knew ... well, something, Chris tried to act like whatever was the opposite of bored. He laughed loudly in interviews, hung on JC, and jumped around excitedly at any mention of TRL. He threw himself into their next performance in San Francisco and then went out after the show and didn't come in till four a.m. He signed autographs and posed for pictures and picked up tall blonde models, until he didn't feel Joey's eyes on him anymore.

***

The tour continued, and after four months Chris was still bored. Only now in a painful, dangerous kind of way that didn't disappear. He tried alleviating the boredom by switching busses. Except JC's incense gave him a headache and there wasn't anything good to eat in the refrigerator, and at least Justin would wrestle with him when he reached out a hand to trip his ankle. JC just fell onto the floor and looked like he might cry. Chris understood now why JC shared a bus with Lance, and he switched back.

"Good to see you, man," Joey commented, when he threw his duffel back onto the bus. Chris gave him the finger. Justin yelped with happiness and bashed him with a pillow.

"Lance doesn't play," Justin said seriously. "And he got mad when I took his paper."

Chris nodded in understanding and avoided Joey's eyes.

***

It was past midnight when Chris broke his blurry gaze from the darkness outside the bus window. He closed his eyes and still saw streetlights rushing past, only they were white against the darkness of his eyelids. Kinda cool, he mused, how it looked like the negative of a photo.

When he opened them again, he thought they still might be closed, because there was a white shape outlined against the darkness of the narrow hallway. Then he realized it was the glow of Joey's t-shirt and he squinted. "'Sup, Joe," he murmured.

Joey balanced on the arm of the sofa and Chris couldn't see his face, but felt the stare. He wished Joey would say something, because Joey always said something, but this time was different and Chris felt himself getting mad.

"Quit it," he tried, testing to see if it would work and knowing it wouldn't. Joey was sort of tenacious in a pit-bull way. Chris liked that, when it wasn't about him.

"Anything you wanna talk about?" Joey asked, and Chris wondered why he sounded so gentle. Chris didn't like it because it made the backs of his eyes hurt. Sort of like there was something in them that was making them water.

"You ate the last Pop-Tart."

"You don't like the chocolate ones," Joey pointed out, which was true except Chris wanted to argue so that Joey would get mad and go away.

"I fucking love the chocolate ones, asshole," Chris griped, and turned away so that maybe his eyes would stop stinging for just a minute and he could remember why he'd been so damn bored for four months.

The cushions dipped and Chris slid against warmth, even though he tried to lever himself away. Joey wrapped an arm around him and hauled Chris up against his side. "Stop with the show already," he said calmly. "I ain't Justin. You don't gotta be Mr. Entertainment, you know?"

"I'm bored," Chris burst out, and then realized that what he had been mistaking for boredom was actually homesickness, and the burning behind his eyes stopped burning and started flowing instead. He scrubbed angrily at his cheeks and wanted to be mad at Joey for this little journey of self-exploration, but was too tired.

"S'all right, baby," Joey whispered, and kissed him. Chris laid his head on the softness of Joey's chest and felt slightly less bored.

~End