He first began to suspect that they were planning to surprise him when Chris shushed Joey.
Chris shushed Justin all the time--when he could be bothered to hear anyone else above the sound of his own voice--and he'd been known to actually sit on JC, but Joey didn't need shushing. He was blessed with rare ease when he spoke, a steady sense of cadence that matched his dancing, and he knew the value of sound and silence that eluded the rest of them.
So there was this moment, when a vaguely familiar roadie offered Joey a mug of coffee and flashed him a newspaper and said "Whaddaya think of that?" and Joey's eyes hardened like they did when Johnny was trying to cheap them out of something he wanted in the show and he folded his arms and said "I think it's about fuck--" and Chris rocketed up out of nowhere and landed on his back, and the rest was second degree burns and a general loss of dignity.
But Lance noticed. He always did.
And later, Justin danced for almost eight hours solid, til his face was gloved in a gleaming caul, and Joey said stiffly, "Jup, we're not on tour. Relax. Christ." And Justin replied, between heaves, with a smile like nothing Lance remembered in the last six years. Incandescent. Unkillable. Hugged Joey, sweat and all, taking special care to smear it everywhere, and frolicked to the shower.
"What's with him, huh?" Joey muttered, wiping his face with his shirt. "Gross."
"I don't know," Lance said. "Maybe he got laid or something."
"At this point, I don't think that's anything special," Joey snorted, and whipped the shirt over his head in disgust. Stopped, then, just holding it in his hands, and the look on his face made Lance's stomach clench for a second in a way Joey, comfortable Joey, never did. He breathed through it, waiting. "Look...Lance, how're you doing in that department? Met anyone or...how's it going?"
Lance blinked cautiously. "I work too much for that, Joe. You know."
"Don't give me that press-sheet shit." Joey flopped beside him, his head on his arm, so close, and God how he cherished it. That Joey knew...well, not everything, but so many things...and didn't withhold any part of himself. "You're lonely. Right? Right?"
Lance laughed uncomfortably, looked at his crossed arms. "Okay, did you lose a bet over who gets to make me feel like crap on my anniversary?"
Joey's reaction was the tell. Broad laugh, stubble scruff, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Anniversary?"
"Yeah. Of my acceptance into the group. It's Friday. And don't try to tell me you forgot, because you have the shittiest poker face on this planet."
Joey gave in, leaning his head on the back of the couch. "Yeah, I'm not the liar in the bunch." His hand, freed, arched up to snag in Lance's hair, stroking it back from his forehead in thoughtless affection. His mouth worked, and that scared Lance. Joey never struggled for words. "But man...I just wanted you to...I want to let you know that it's over. I mean, pretty soon, maybe. And then you'll be able to..."
"What are we talking about, boys?" Chris said, and slithered down between them on his elbows. "If it's me, I'm available for autographs between ten and noon only. If it's not, tell me which tabloid to call."
"It's not you. It's my love life," Lance said. "Needless to say, a short conversation." He stood, stretching so that the hem of his shirt pulled out of his waistband, and Chris leaned forward and blowfished his belly, and Joey sat on him and pinned his hands while he was tickled.
He was fine for almost a half hour afterward, sitting on his bed and opening e-mail. When he threw up, it was neat and quiet, like always. He rinsed with unflavored wash, because the stuff that foamed made him gag, and slowly forgot the rushed hammer of his heart when they held him down.
******
They went their own ways sometimes when they weren't touring, so it wasn't til Thursday that Lance divided the days by the number of calls he'd made and concluded that JC was missing. Had been missing for two days, in fact.
He called Chris and got voicemail. He called Joey and got a machine. He ran Justin down in the locker room of the gym he liked to frequent and got a head-toss and a wink, and put it together. "JC taking off is part of the surprise, right?"
"What surprise?"
Justin was a worse liar than Joey, disdained it for raw charm most of the time, but he almost looked frightened now. Fright and...glee, sharp and stabbing excitement stronger than mere happiness, and what the hell could they be planning that would have Justin wetting his pants for days? "I don't really like surprises much, Jup, so spill it. Tell the guys I held your Abercrombie jeans over open flame til you talked. They know you suck at this stuff anyway."
Justin pressed his lips together, his arm trembling under Lance's hand, and then leaned forward and kissed him hard. Lance tasted bitter salt as it mostly missed his mouth. Justin's eyes were radiant. "Later, Bass. Later, promise."
"What the hell?" and his words echoed from the metal and tile when Justin walked away.
******
to be continued.