Justin wakes up on his side, Lance asleep next to him. Lance is almost beautiful when he's asleep, his face in profile and the light on him coming in from the window. And, fuck, this is again and again turning out to be a bad idea. Justin's been there, he knows what all this leads to.

He loved Britney like she was breath and water, that essential and perfect. He fucked it up, he totally fucked it up. He catted around and told himself it was okay, it didn't matter because it was only guys and of course, Britney didn't agree. Now she's dating some rigger on the tour, some guy who's always there and stupid as box of rocks. Justin used to be able to call her whenever and blow off steam about JC and Joey's latest shit and Chris's ragging on Lance and Lance not being there. Now he still calls and half the time she's got some thing with Fred. Fred is an inherently stupid name.

Justin's stomach is sticky and kinda gross. This is almost probably a horrible idea, not just the first time but then coming back last night. He has a flash of it always being like this, hot and wild at night and every morning one of them is sure it was a mistake, it's like the Dread Pirate Roberts telling Westley he'll most likely kill him in the morning. He wonders if something about who they are has rendered all of them incapable of a decent relationship. Maybe Dani and Brit and Harper had the right idea in getting out while they could.

Lance turns in his sleep, a little closer to Justin. Justin thinks, when Lance wakes up, don't mention Harper, don't fuck this up this time. Harper and sometimes Harp and he's repeating the name which is another bad idea because then he'll just say it.

Harp worked for Jive and they all met him when they started the negotiations and meetings to sign there. All that time ago. Justin thinks Lance started going out with Harp two days after that first meeting. They were together forever, for two years but neither of them, none of them expected what happened and streets blocked off and 2.4 million in one week. And then it was so big and Harp was just another guy standing outside the bubble that envelops the five of them. And ever since, Lance is only half there, even in the bubble. So Justin isn't gonna mention Harp when Lance wakes up.

If Lance wakes up, because he's sleeping very soundly. Then an alarm starts buzzing, Lance's travel clock on the bedstand. Lance wakes with a start and sits up. He rubs his stomach and grunts something like eww. Justin says, "Good morning."

Lance shakes his head and rubs his eyes. He says, "I gotta. Run." He gets out of the bed and starts putting on his track pants, finding a t-shirt from the drawers. Lance unpacked everything and put it away even though it's just seven days.

Justin says, "I'll just wait for you here."

Lance says, "Don't."

Justin says, "Look. Lance --"

Lance turns around, pulls on a plain orange t-shirt. He says, "There's nothing. Nothing's changed from yesterday. Seriously. I shouldn't let you in here." Lance pauses and rubs his face again. His hair is a mess. Lance says, "You can't fuck me into agreeing with you about the tracks, okay?"

"That wasn't --" Justin can't even find the words to describe how much that hurt. "Fuck you. That's not it."

Justin doesn't really think everything would be better on his own, he doesn't. He saw Brit alone all the time or surrounded by people who were just okay, but it's the not the same when they're on the payroll. He doesn't want to be alone, but sometimes, sometimes when they're all being like this, he thinks maybe he does.

Lance sits back against the dresser. He holds up his hands, palms facing Justin. "You're right, I'm sorry. But yeah, don't wait here. Don't come back tonight, okay?"

Justin nods and starts rooting around the floor for his clothes. Lance leaves without saying anything else.

---

Justin goes back to his room and goes back to sleep, cause why the hell not, they're fucked regardless and he apparently only makes things worse every time he talks to other people. Day four, best of seven, hump day, he thinks, on the fourth day God created pop music and boybands and fucking fickle twelve-year-olds who don't want anything to change even when they do. They get tits and boyfriends or girlfriends and the world spins on and on and somehow they all know that what they definitely do not want is whatever they did a year before. He thinks maybe twelve-year-olds know exactly how the fucking world works and the five of them fell in love with being in a band, with being famous, and if that's not a cult he doesn't know what is.

Everyone's gone out for walks among the rattlesnakes or whatever and come back in a better mood, so he takes a big bottle of water and sets out toward a lumpy rock that looks like the moon man statue. An hour or two of hard hiking and his head is clearer, maybe a little too clear and he wonders what elevation they're at. Fucking high-endurance training just to take a walk around the block and he trudges back down toward the cult house. He stops maybe twenty yards out and sits on a smooth rock.

There are miles and miles of telephone poles stretched out across the horizon. Miles of wire against layers of mountains that look like construction paper cutouts, like a kindergarten art project. Justin imagines all the voices crackling through them like a gospel choir, rising and falling all in a hum. He wonders if any of them are talking about the group, if some girl in Reno is telling her cousin in Vegas that she heard on MTV that 'N Sync is breaking up.

Chris finds Justin there and says, "What's hanging, kiddo? Hear from the fuckheads you're banging Lance. And you know, good for you. He's been an ass since Harp skedaddled."

Justin thinks, you've been an ass since Dani left. He thinks, it's not like Lance hasn't been getting laid since Harp left so sex is hardly the cure for what ails Lance or any of them. He says, "Twice. And never again. So, whatever."

Chris says, "Isn't he good in bed? I always assumed he was good in bed." Chris sits down on the ground and leans back to squint up at Justin. "I mean, in general, I think your average never had to work for it famous person at a young age is bad in bed. Cause when you can make someone come just by breathing on them, you never do learn how to be any good. But Lance had two years of a real relationship and Harpy was never impressed with us, so I just figured Lance would have to work it."

Justin kicks sand or dirt or whatever the ground is made of at Chris. "That wasn't it, and frankly, he is good in bed and so am I. Speaking as a never had to work for it famous person at a young age."

"How do you know," Chris says, still squinting. Justin whips off his sunglasses and jams them on Chris's face.

"God, Chris, because I do." Justin cracks his neck. "Anyway, he keeps kicking me out." Justin grins.

"So maybe you're not good enough for Poofu. You know, Harpy probably spoiled him for the likes of you. Latin lovers and all that." Chris is looking at the endless horizon. There's so much sky, it's almost surreal. It's like looking at the ocean but thinking if you tried hard enough you could walk to the other side.

"I think you're supposed to call them Latino and that's a kind of prejudiced thing to say, man." Harp was half-Latino, he always looked like he had the most perfect tan and he couldn't speak Spanish. He bitched at Justin when Justin asked him something about the b-side of "This I Promise You." Harp was never overly impressed with any of them. Justin thinks that's why they all liked him, that and the upfront way he treated Lance. Like Brit and Dani.

"Oh, report me to the police. Take me down to the secret cult bunker, feed me kool-aid." Chris says it half-heartedly, he's already tired of this.

"Why don't you just go inside and get stoned again, okay?" Justin rubs his eyes and wishes he had his sunglasses back. Fucking Selima shades don't come cheap either.

"Oh, will do, great leader of us all." Chris marches inside and doesn't give the sunglasses to Justin before he leaves.

---

Lance and Joey on KP this time, cooking steaks and fettucine alfredo, and JC puts the White Album on the big stereo. Justin bites his tongue and doesn't make their usual who gets to be Stuart Sutcliffe jokes. Everybody's pretty quiet, Chris gets them going for a while going round trying to name cult leaders alphabetically and they get to Koresh and then Lance says Lou and they get derailed arguing if that counts or if you have to be both charismatic and likable. "You gotta be likable, on some level, to be charismatic," Lance says.

Justin's almost too full and the CD's on "Blackbird" so he hums along like his mom would when he was a crybaby. JC comes in on the second verse and everyone piles on after that and by the end it's nothing like stripped-down acoustics but it's fucking beautiful and Justin looks down and sniffs more loudly in the gap between tracks than he'd meant to.

"I always loved that song," Lance says, and Justin smiles gratefully. And then JC's talking about how Paul supposedly got it from an actual blackbird in India, like the bird sung to him or something, and Chris is squawking around and Joey just pushes back against the table so two feet of the chair are off the floor. Joey spreads his arms out like wings, one hand on JC's neck, one on Justin's chair, not quite touching but close. Not like close counts for shit, not unless it's horseshoes or nuclear war, his dad said once. He guesses they're in the right state for nuclear war, but anyway close doesn't count so he gets up and clears the table. Dishes stacked by the sink and behind him Chris says, "I'll get those," so Justin just says thanks and goes to his room.

Lance is sitting on Justin's bed, picking at the crease in his jeans. They're in the middle of the desert and his jeans are creased. Justin thinks maybe it's not such a good idea anyway, and then Lance says, "I was a real prick." Lance never actually forgave him so Justin decides not to either, just kicks off his shoes and drops clothes on the floor as he crosses to the bed.

"Stand up," Justin says, and Lance does, and Justin lays back on the bed, flips on the light there and watches Lance undress, like what's gonna happen next is a given even if they haven't so much as kissed yet tonight. "You think I got enough charisma to lead a cult?" Justin asks, drumming on his bare stomach, and Lance laughs.

"I'd say that's, yeah, probably, Timberlake," and he says that like it means "baby," so Justin just grins. "I think, probably people might sign over the free world to you without blinking twice." Lance drapes his pants over a chair and Justin tosses a small pillow at him. Lance catches the pillow and hurls it back and misses by a mile.

"Get over here," Justin says, reaching for the lamp. "Come fuck me like you mean it."

In the dead of night, Justin traces the shallow curve of Lance's hip and thinks Lance is pretty convincing when he wants to be. Justin presses his lips to Lance's shoulder and sings against warm skin, "you were only waiting for this moment to arise," and Lance shifts in his sleep but doesn't wake.