Another day, another meeting and the alarm clock is shrill. It's one of those days and Chris can't stand the thought of lifting the sheets off his body, untangling himself from the soft cotton and facing the day.
Chris tells himself that he's a machine. It helps, on the days when the sky is grey and the sun is dim, regardless of the rays of sunlight. If he looks down at his body and thinks of his joints as nothing but chrome and plastic, it's easier to make them move.
He's late as usual, forces a smile when his friends grin at him and joke. Pretense is the order of the day, and he's used to it. He smiles back and slumps into chairs, listens to a suit, someone younger than him, prattle on. He doesn't think the strategies matter anymore.
Nodding his head wisely, he thinks instead about costuming. Today's lecture is delivered by a kid, someone fresh out of university, dressed in a cheap charcoal suit, a knockoff of something he'd seen last season. He's never seen this kid before and it looks like he's nervous. Maybe it's his first pitch. Either way, he's trying to look confident and not really succeeding.
The clothes make the man. It's something he's picked up from their lives. It feels like every day is Halloween, and he scrabbles at his clothes when he's home alone, stripping them off and showering away the day's masquerade.
He doesn't think this guy has to do that, and the thought is sharp and bitter until Joey rubs a hand over his shoulder. Chris shifts and glares at the kid and watches him falter from his carefully mapped out pep talk. JC looks worried, and Chris watches Lance nod slightly at him. The wrinkles on JC's forehead smooth out and Chris remembers being that young.
He dreams of Germany when the night is kind to him. Everything is bright and cheerful, and he smiles into Joey, secret smiles and an entire language of nudges and nods. The night wraps them in shadows and they're softer together than they should be. Mornings after he dreams are more harsh than he could explain.
He looks at JC and Lance and thinks briefly, aimlessly about laughing in their faces and telling them stories about reality. He knows everyone's secrets, knows that this won't last, anymore than he and Joey did. He could lean in and tell them that they didn't discover anything, aren't fresh at all. It would be a relief, he thinks, to tell them that they'll end quietly, and they'll never know why.
They'll survive, smiles intact, just like he did. They're all survivors now, Chris knows, and JC will prance about in velvet rags and Lance will hook wire rimmed glasses onto his face and tap his confusion onto a keyboard. Maybe they'll even find peace, but he thinks it's unlikely, not when they shine like this together.
Justin's concentrating, and it's something that always amazes Chris, that the youngest of them is so practical, so old. Justin's older than he is, sometimes, and Chris still wants to shake him, remind him that he's not an adult yet. He's the only one that will be happy, and if Chris squints and lets his vision blur, he can see Justin when he's thirty.
Justin will be the same, except there'll be a gold band on his finger and a golden girl who loves him waiting at home with their kids. Chris laughs at the rumours of solo careers. When their roller coaster's derailed and everything else is a wreckage, Justin will fade away but he'll have something tangible to hold.
Chris blinks, wondering where the morning went, realizing that he's missed the big wrap up. The kid trails off, not familiar with the art of ending a meeting gracefully and they all move restlessly to their feet. As his knees crack, Chris thinks about being a machine and how Joey's eyes crinkle when he smiles.
He tags along when they go for lunch, thinking that even if it does feel like a train wreck, it's not very polite to avert his eyes. There'll be drinks at lunch and deep fried food and he's hungry. He hooks an arm around Joey's neck and thinks that this is more than most people have. He doesn't miss the marketing guy's look as the five of them walk out.
~end~