On the periphery of his consciousness, JC catches the faintest hint of mint. A low, deep, whisper of minty fresh breathe against his cheek. “Jayce, you awake…man, come on, wake your ass up.”

Oh no, no, no. It’s not time to wake up, JC thinks. His body clock was a gift bestowed upon his internal system to just know when he’d gotten enough sleep, and he most definitely has not gotten enough yet. And so a slow hand reaches out from under the blankets and palms the face of the bearer of the sweet, minty breath. Smooth face, warm, and yet JC still pushes Lance back. “Go away.”

If patience is a virtue, then Lance is the devil incarnate.

“You can come willingly or I will personally haul your sorry ass out of this bed—“

JC opens one eye, yet another gift, and peeks at the red numbers that light his alarm clock. “4-fucking AM? Are you insane?”

“Yes, completely, now up you go!”

And that’s about the time that Lance pulls the bottom sheet out from underneath him and JC goes crashing to the floor in a violent thud. “Son of a bitch!” JC growls, hand instinctively reaching around to rub his ass. “What the fuck, Lance?”

JC’s eyes are fully open now and he stares petulantly at Lance. Lance, who is showered, fully dressed, and looking fresh as the morning dew. Sometimes JC thinks in song, even if it is a corny song.

“You have to trust me,” is all Lance says.

“Yeah, not in this lifetime, man. And fuck, there’s a bruise purpling my ass right now, you bastard.”

“I’ll kiss it better later, promise. Just come on, C. We have to go now if we’re going to make it in time.”

“Go where? Christ,” and Lance frowns, but JC continues. “It’s four o’clock in the morning, we’re in New fucking Jersey, and we’ve got a show in—“

“In eighteen hours. We can spare ourselves five. Now let’s go.”

“Where?”

“I’m going to show you one of life’s fundamental truths.”

“I’ve seen it before, try again.” JC grins and Lance snorts. “What truth would that be?”

“The sunrise you asshole, now let’s go.”

“Dude, you’re a poet and I didn’t know it. Maybe you should start pulling your weight around here and write some songs.”

Lance blanches slightly but keeps his gaze heavily set on JC’s face.

“A fundamental truth is that I’m probably going to have a bruise the size of Texas on my ass and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch at the worst possible moment tonight when thousands of-“

“Stop being such a queen, Jayce,” Lance is fluid motion now, at JC’s suitcase, pulling out clothing. “And get dressed.” He wings a pair of jeans and before JC can get his hands in the air, a cuff smacks him on the cheek.

“This is not a good start to my day.”

“It’ll get better and I swear, I’ll make it up to you. You just have to trust me…”

~

As it turns out, trusting Lance involves the service elevator, an empty floor of the parking garage and a purple Dodge Caravan. And JC does trust Lance enough to know that Lance did have this all figured out, right down to the map they’d need to get to whatever this mystical place was.

“Barnegat Light,” Lance says as they pull out of the parking deck, looking through lightly tinted windows at the throngs of people waiting outside the hotel.

“And you’re sure about this?” JC is still skeptical and more than a little tired. “I mean, not bringing anyone and—“

“It’s all good. Give me a coupla minutes and I’ll have us on the, uh, hey, grab the map from the backpack.”

“You mean you don’t have it all memorized and learned,” JC gropes behind him for the backpack Lance had probably had ready for them before they got off the bus when they first arrived in Jersey the day before.

“It’s the Parkway. Garden State Parkway. And woo, look, there’s signs. This won’t be a problem at all.”

JC looks around as his blindly placed the map on the console between them. “What a fucking stupid nickname for a state like this. The Garden State, look at this place.” Urban, smoggy, and almost… dirty. JC crunches his nose up before turning his attention to the dark road before them. “I can’t imagine where this place is, to watch the sunrise?”

“Would you just trust me?”

“Have you seen the sunrise here in the ‘Garden State’?”

Lance glances over at him quickly, frowning. “No, but I found this place on the Internet. Apparently, once we hit a certain point on the Parkway, you’re in a totally different world.”

“Right, I’m sure.”

“Come on, C, you’re here, you may as well enjoy it.”

“It’s dark.”

“Hence the whole watching the sunrise thing.”

“I should be sleeping.”

“Then sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

JC can hear a touch of disappointment in Lance’s voice and he sighs. “I’m sorry, man. I’m just tired. Show last night, one tonight. Not sure where I’m gonna find the energy to—“

“You’ll be fine, just like you always are.”

JC groans, just a little. “I hate that you’re so fucking pretty in the morning.”

Lance looks over again, this time smiling, mouth closed, but smiling all the same. “This is the stuff they write songs about, you know. Maybe you’ll be inspired.”

“I’m inspired everyday.” And it sounds corny, but JC doesn’t much care. This is a new thing, Lance and him, and it’s a strange combination of hide and seek, away from the lights, towards something kind of like a fundamental truth. And sometimes he thinks he loves Lance. Like now, staring at him while he drives their purple Dodge Caravan down a fairly empty Garden State Parkway.

“So, why a minivan? You know I really wouldn’t want to be caught driving one of these.”

“Exactly,” Lance keeps his eyes on the road and JC just watches him, the strong line of his jaw, soft lips, the smooth slope of his throat, and the ever-prominent Adams apple.

“How’d you land leather?”

“It was a must,” Lance is smiling and JC waits for what’s going to follow. “Your ass is too precious for anything but.”

JC laughs, deep in this throat, and he feels almost completely awake.

__

JC follows Lance from the car when Lance is satisfied that they’ve arrived. A large brick lighthouse stands tall before them and Lance snags the backpack and slings it over his shoulder. He takes hold of JC’s hand and leads him towards the towering building.

“Is this place open?” JC asks, lumbering across the walkway until they reached the concrete promenade jutting out along the bay and towards the ocean.

“It’s as open as we want it to be. Don’t think we’ll be climbing the lighthouse but, that’s kind of a distraction. Look,” he points out to the horizon, where the sky’s started changing colors. The black is running into shades of purple, lighter and lighter. And it really is beautiful and he asks aloud if they’re still in Jersey.

“Yeah,” Lance says and starts down the promenade. “We’re still in Jersey. Not so bad, huh?”

“It’s really—yeah.” He can’t help himself to agree and he follows behind Lance as he reaches the end of the promenade but then climbs over the bars to the jetty that reaches the ocean. Lance waits for JC, offers a hand over the bars, and then walks beside him until they reach the end of smooth rock.

Lance has got one of the hotel towels, white and smelling of bleach, in the backpack. He sets it on the rock, and it’s not very big but it’s enough so that they don’t scrape their elbows on the rock as they recline back to watch the purples fade to reds and oranges. There’s Evian in the bag and Danishes from the hotel kitchen. But JC isn’t hungry. And he looks over at Lance and watches the coming light dance over his face. There’s a slight breeze and it’s crisp and clean and cool like a morning breeze should be. And JC just keeps watching Lance.

Lance looks softer than usual; the stiffness in his posture relaxed that much more. His knees are bent and he just seems to be breathing so easily, smoothly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. JC knows these moments are rare, more so now for Lance, with everything he’s taking on in addition to the band, than maybe any of them. And it’s strange, when JC acknowledges his own unwillingness, now that they’re here, to leave.

Five hours. Two to get there. Two to get back. And the one he spends watching Lance watch the sky. Lance tells him that this is what songs are made of. Colors and peace and the honesty in contact. JC looks between them where their hands are clasped and fingers lace together. JC thinks he’s inspired all the time. But he knows it’s never been quite like this.

~end~