"So, who's the biggest liar?" - Jay Leno, July 23, 2001

JC was the one that always gave in, so sweetly that no one ever felt bad for him except Lance. Tonight, for example, Chris and Joey were so intent on another random glossy club, with the latest techno and the very prettiest shiny girls, that they wouldn't even entertain JC's tentative suggestion of a club recommended to him by one of the roadies that he really wanted to try.

Lance watched JC's face fall, as he said that it didn't matter, and Chris and Joey had scampered out of the room, Joey not even looking back. Lance missed watching movies with Joey, hating his new taste for slutty clothes and trendy clubs. JC was moving toward his suitcase, and something in the slump of his back spurred Lance.

"You wanna go there? Go to that club Brad mentioned?"

JC didn't turn around, rummaging and discarding.

"You heard them, man, they don't care about the music, the good old school stuff, they just want the attention and the pretty girls and the free drinks."

JC faced Lance then, raking an eye down his ensemble, raising an eyebrow at the rhinestones and splashes of color that slipped down his jeans. "You're not exactly dressed right."

Lance shrugged, "I don't care about that shit. Let's go?" He didn't intend to really lie, and it wasn't like JC didn't know that Lance never really turned down attention, but right then, making JC shine and bounce and look excited was the most important thing, far more important than girls in glittery halters and stoned smiles, all shiny with wanting them.

"You can dress me."

Lance shifted, tight black leather creaking and clinging a little tighter than clothes he wore anywhere but on stage, and peered through the smoke haze. He shouldn't have let JC dress him, shouldn't have let him smudge black eyeliner around his eyes, "makin' sure no one's gonna recognize you", and he more than regretted telling JC that he secretly liked this music.

"You like the Cure, man? I mean, I can't really picture a little blonde boy in Mississippi sneakin' Smiths cd's and listening to Depeche Mode."

Lance had racked his brain, desperate to back up his claim, and unwilling to quench the interest in JC's eyes. "Friday, I'm in love?"

He was certain that the song was by one of those people, vaguely remembering a dark video, something with an androgynous lead singer that all of his friends had made fun of for wearing make up.

"Yeah. Huh. Guess you learn something new everyday." JC finished the coat of mascara, and Lance hadn't recognized himself. Of course, he wouldn't have known JC either. He didn't know if it was because of the pale skin and kohl rimmed eyes or the odd glint of camaraderie and excitement that JC's sleepy eyes rarely held.

"Got a whole bunch of their cd's. Just didn't know what y'all would say. And dude, it's not like Justin gives the rest of us a chance to play music." JC laughed and made him promise to play 'something good' the next time he had a chance. Lance smiled and nodded and thought about when he'd have the chance to buy a new stack of CD's.

This was his punishment for the lie, a dark smokey club and shit beer. Lance sipped and watched from a sticky chair, on the edge of the dance floor. It really wasn't much of a punishment, whizzing past a bedazzled and bemused Justin, who only had time to gape before JC's arm clutched his and they were in a taxi, JC talking without seeming to take a breath.

Lance chugged down the rest of his beer when JC waved at him and yelled something kinda like, "Get your ass out here" just as a new song came on and he started moving again, dancing like it was a joy, not the work that their perfectly choreographed and synchronized concerts were.

The floor was crowded, and no one was making eye contact or whispering. Lance watched JC's arms moving fluidly, and he couldn't believe that Chris and Joey would pass up the ability to know JC like this, alive and sparkling and most importantly, unique. Moving onto the floor, he was close enough to hear JC just wailing out the song, and miracle of miracles, no one was gaping, all openmouthed and wanting to touch.

JC smiled at him through squinted eyes, all wrinkly around the edges with smoke and happiness. Lance relaxed and let the music flow through him, moving his feet and arms, trying to mimic JC without being obvious and it must have been working because JC spun around, and the girl next to Lance smiled at him, not barracuda bright and calculating, just friendly, and as her eyes skimmed over him, he smiled at JC again.

The next day, he wore black, a color that they all usually saved for Chris, and JC smiled a little bit at him, and Lance didn't mind being hungover.

Three days and two different clubs later, Lance finally had the chance to go cd shopping without JC. That day's interviewer had unapologetically wanted only Justin and JC, and Johnny had shrugged and agreed, something that hadn't sat too well with Chris and Joey.

"Yeah, well, we wouldn't want to take face time away from our two little stars, right, Joe?" Chris put his soda down hard enough to make a hollow thunking sound, but not so hard as to be accused of a temper tantrum and stalked away toward the television.

Joey had followed, and while they were arguing about what to watch, Lance considered feeling lonely for Joey and for the simplicity of watching movies. Even if he didn't know a movie, he could watch it, forcing himself to pay attention and he'd get it when it was talked about later.

But when JC waved goodbye to him, and stopped to whisper in his ear that he had a good lead on someplace "interesting" for that night, Lance didn't care that he was faking it again, and if he could talk Lonnie into a shopping trip, he'd finally know what to say.

The night before, when they were sitting down, eye makeup streaking from sweat, and dark grey lipstick making smudges on the their beer bottles, JC had sung along to another song that Lance really didn't know, even if it was starting to sound familiar, and said that he'd love to hear Lance sing it.

"I dunno, C. Not thinking they'd like us to sing the Smiths on our new cd, dude." Lance knew he'd made a misstep when JC's eyes had narrowed in confusion. "Except, uh, this is Depeche Mode."

And he'd blessed Chris's Human League cd when he knew the next song. "Dude. They're playing Fascination. C'mon." Lance grabbed JC's hand, and he barely heard JC mumble that he'd really wanted him to sing along with "Blasphemous Rumors."

So it was time for a shopping trip. Grabbing sunglasses and Lonnie, Lance waved goodbye to Joey and Chris as they left. He pretended like it didn't even matter, when Chris just gave him an offhand wave, and Joey raised an eyebrow at his black long sleeved t-shirt.

Lance had a harder time pretending like it didn't matter when he got back from shopping and JC was rummaging through his cd case with a puzzled look on his face. Dropping his bags on the table, Lance walked over, and tapped JC on the shoulder.

"Whatcha lookin' for?"

JC spun around, and gestured toward the case. "Thought you said you had good stuff in there. It's all, like Garth and Patsy and some weird chicks I've never even heard of."

"Yeah, well, I realized that I must have left those cds at home last time, and I went out and bought 'em all again." Lance opened his eyes wide, and tried really hard to look innocent and like he was telling the truth. "What's the point of selling millions of records if you can't have two sets of cds, huh?"

JC nodded slowly. "Yeah. I was just telling Justin on the way home from our interview that you'd sound awesome singing Depeche Mode, and I wanted to play him like, "Somebody" or "Blasphemous Rumors", just so he'd get it."

Lance brightened. "I've got that right here." He scrabbled through the bags, pulling out the stack of cd's. He started looking at the backs of the cases, frantically hoping to find the right songs, when JC reached over, and grabbed a cd.

"Uh. Here it is. Gonna go play it for Justin now."

He looked at Lance again, hard this time and walked out of the room. Lance started unwrapping the CD's, filing them alphabetically in the new case he'd bought. He caught Joey's eye through the doorway to the other room, and smiled a little bit, reassured when Joey smiled back, like maybe Lance was doing okay this time around.

He was fine, in fact, until that night when Justin, hyped on the whole Depeche Mode 101 double set decided that they were all going to go out with JC and Lance.

Lance admitted that it was kind of fun to make Justin wear simple clothes, all black and not a rhinestone in sight. Joey had flat out refused makeup, but Chris had gotten into the whole thing with an ease that suggested an easy familiarity.

Lance thought that Chris in black makeup, all dramatic eyes and nearly pale skin was nothing short of beautiful. Chris handed around a small brown bottle that smelled like one girl that Lance had danced with, a couple nights ago.

"Patchouli, dude." When JC had looked inquisitively at Chris, he'd shrugged. "I used to wear it all the time, until I realized that smelling like a stoner wasn't endearing me to big music."

Lance just dabbed some on, and laughed at Justin's antics, ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. When Justin refused the oil, dousing himself in whatever the latest trendy cologne was, JC rolled his eyes and Lance told himself that everything would be fine.

Justin chattered too much in the car on the way there, laughing at them all for wearing makeup until Joey pointed out that he was the only one not actually wearing the makeup, and that Justin was technically a hypocrite. So Justin switched to asking questions.

"JC, man, are the chicks here hot, or are they all witchy and shit?"

Lance sighed, and sunk back into the car seat.

"Hey Lance. When'd you start liking this stuff?"

Thankfully, they were at the club before Lance had to answer that question. JC had no reason not to trust him, but he'd caught Joey and Justin being more careful about his answers when they asked him questions. Chris just watched him, eyes bright and not really seeming to care.

But they were walking in, and Lance didn't want to think about the heavy questions and when he'd decided to become a chameleon. He just wanted to dance and drink and watch JC come alive again and really, to feel alive himself. He felt real here, as ironic as it was, hiding behind makeup and dark clothes. He could forget about the screaming groupies, about the need to censor himself.

Everything was going well, until a cheesy song came on, and Chris looked disgusted and went to sit down. On other nights, Lance thought that he and JC would have just danced it through, but JC was concerned that the others weren't enjoying themselves. JC was sweet like that.

So they sat and drank while Justin made faces at his beer and Joey looked confused that no one seemed to be interested in being groped in a convenient dark corner. Lance let himself get lost in the music, swaying in his chair, thinking how much better this was than some dramatically lit VIP lounge, with generically homogenized pop rap lyrics pounding out the same boring techno beat.

Justin was poking him after the next song came on.

"Dude. Who's this?"

"Uh, it's on the tip of my tongue." Lance frantically looked around the table, hoping that JC wasn't paying attention.

Chris leaned in. "It's Depeche Mode, Jup. "Strangelove"."

"Oh."

Quiet reigned again, and Lance relaxed.

Justin did it again, on the dance floor this time. Lance wondered why he didn't ask JC or Chris, but Justin kept dancing by him, his stylized jerky movements looking odd next to JC's fluid grace.

"Lance, dude. Who's this?"

"Depeche Mode, Infant." Lance thought that maybe he sounded too snappy.

"But what's the name of the song? It's kinda cool, yo."

Lance had to shrug, and JC leaned in. "It's "How Soon is Now." By the Smiths." JC met his eyes, and suddenly Lance wished that he'd never pretended that he'd known all this stuff. Justin was asking questions, and it was okay.

JC didn't look happy, not like anyone else could tell, because he was still being sweet, making sure that Joey had beers, and encouraging Chris to go and talk to the person over in the corner that was staring at him with interest. He just looked shut down, none of the usual enthusiasm and when Justin demanded that they sit down again, nobody protested.

They were getting ready to leave when a song that Lance had danced to the last night with JC came on. JC leaned in, his smile returning and happiness in his eyes.

"You know this one, right, Lance?"

Trapped, Lance nodded.

"What is it, yo? I gotta borrow some of those cd's from you tomorrow."

JC waited for Lance to answer Justin's question. Lance squirmed.

"The Cure, Justin." JC smiled at him, so Lance knew he was right. "Um, Just like Heaven." He was pleased, sure that he was right, until JC shook his head.

"Friday, I'm in Love."

Lance didn't meet JC's eyes once, on the way home. Chris reminesced about his college days, and a divey bar they used to go to, and Joey whined about not finding anyone who was interested in a little afterparty. Justin wanted to do it again, sometime, but JC just nodded noncommitally.

When they got back, JC mumbled something about being tired and went straight to bed, not even taking the time to wipe off the streaks of makeup. He didn't act any different the next day, and Lance thought that maybe everything was okay.

The next chance they had to go out, Lance waited for JC to come to him with promises of a new dive club, and ask if they could take his cd's to listen to in the car. Instead, a different JC turned up, dressed in brown leather pants and a glittery shirt, flanked by Joey in his favourite red shirt and plain old jeans.

Lance said that he wasn't in the mood to go out, knowing that if he went, all the pastels and bright colours would hurt his eyes, and people would know him and coo at him and it would all be a big mistake.

He wound up falling asleep with his discman on, Disintegration on repeat and the alarming lush vocals of "Last Dance" trickling through his earphones. He thought that maybe JC would want to go out with him tomorrow.

~end~