if you smile at me, I will understand, 'cause that is
something everybody everywhere does in the same language-- Crosby, Stills & Nash
Justin doesn't really want to cry until the doctor asks him to sing.
Dr. McNamara is holding his tongue down with a piece of gauze, pressing a dentist's mirror to the back of his throat, so Justin can't say no or even shake his head. He blinks in the hot glare of the doctor's headlamp and tries to pretend it's just a stage light set up at the wrong angle.
"Sing something high," the doctor says. "Say eeee on a high note." Justin wants to swallow but the spray Dr. McNamara used has made the back of his throat feel puffy and dead, how it's been pretty much the whole week since he got his tonsils out. "It's just so I can see how your vocal chords stretch," the doctor says, laying a hand on Justin's shoulder.
Justin thinks, so this is what stage fright feels like. He closes his eyes and in his head he hits a note from For the Girl, even if it just sounds like a vocal exercise, and not even one done very well.
"Good, good," the doctor says. "Now a low ahhhh." That's from More Than a Feeling and Justin doesn't cry because he's not thinking at all about what it would be like if he can't ever sing again. Sixteen years old and he's sung his butt off to get where he is, a gold record and screaming girls and the best friends in the world.
Better than best friends. Lance borrowed his mom's car and is driving up as soon as he gets done helping his sister pick out bridesmaid dresses. He should be there soon.
Justin doesn't cry, but either he doesn't look so good or the back of his throat doesn't because the doctor says, "There you go, son, you're all done," in a voice thick with concern.
Being sick in Germany seriously sucked. At first, his mom thought it was just because they never got to sleep and every minute they weren't performing they were at some talk show or radio station, talking talking talking. "Can't you just try being quiet when you don't have to work?" she asked once. Chris thought that was pretty funny. Chris dared Justin to stay quiet as long as he could, but even Chris could only last about ten seconds, and once Justin had won he didn't quite see the point of not talking.
Then he got tonsillitis for the third time in two months, and the antibiotics didn't seem to do any good at all except to make him get this weird rash on one arm. He knew his momma was gonna make him go to a specialist when they got home. She actually laughed when he tried to go out to a club the night before they left to go back to the States. "But --"
"No way, buddy," she said.
"But --"
"Justin," she said, soft and serious. "Won't do you any good, all this work, all these years, if you can't sing. Alright?"
Justin put his head down and sighed. He nodded. He hoped no one tried to tell him he had to miss any shows or anything like that, because not even being sick and knowing he sounded like crap was enough to keep him off a stage.
"You got me?"
He looked up. "Thought I wasn't 'sposed to talk."
She smiled and pulled him into a hug. "You behave and I'll let you have half a beer in the room."
Justin shook his head. His mom was cool but it wasn't the same. "I'm just. I'm just gonna get some rest."
"Alright," she said. "You know where I am if you decide you need me."
Lance was watching soccer, sprawled on the bed on his stomach. "Why'nt you --" Justin nodded back out towards the hallway.
Lance shrugged. "I told 'em it wasn't fair to leave you here, but, you know." He muted the TV.
"Yeah," Justin said. Chris and Joey kind of swept JC into their must-party, must-find-girls thing. Justin didn't really get what the big deal was. There were bars in America.
"You wanna drink?" Lance asked, scooting forward and reaching under the bed. "I made Chris pay for it, to make up for being an ass."
"Chris isn't an ass," Justin said. But he grabbed Coke out of the food box they'd balanced on the luggage rack and poured the can into two glasses from the bathroom. Lance splashed Jack Daniels on top, looked at Justin and then added another shot to each. "I really shouldn't," Justin said, touching his throat.
"They have to take them out anyway," Lance said, taking a sip. "It's not like there's really something wrong with you, y'just got some bad tonsils."
"I know," Justin said miserably. "I just." He sighed and took a drink.
"C'mere," Lance said, waving him to the bed with a floppy arm.
Justin wondered if Lance had been drinking before he got there. Lance got started on everything before Justin got there. Out of all of them Justin had thought maybe it would be Lance who had the most catching up to do. But even Lance had laughed when Justin said he'd only ever gotten as far as feeling a girl up, not down. Justin pulled his knees up on the thin comforter and took another sip.
Lance draped his arm around Justin's hip. "What's goin' on, I mean really."
Justin sighed. "My mom, I heard her talking to Lou about how they think maybe it's more than just the tonsils. That they might, like, have to." He drank half the glass in one gulp just like it was milk, burping into his sleeve.
"What," Lance asked quietly, thumb pressing into Justin's skin right above his jeans.
"I dunno," Justin admitted. "They didn't, I didn't hear all of it. But I think they're worried it'll fuck up my voice. I mean, worse. Even worse."
"You sound fine," Lance said.
"No I don't." Justin didn't think he was just feeling sorry for himself. He didn't need to have his mom handing him lozenges and cups of hot tea every other hour to know something was wrong. His voice wasn't a gift. It wasn't a luxury. It was his living and he knew a lot of people would be mad or disappointed if he let it get ruined. Justin swallowed the last of the drink and wiped his mouth.
Lance tightened his arm around Justin's waist and ran a soft, smooth nail in tiny circles under Justin's ribs. "You sound fine to me," Lance said. He took the glass out of Justin's hand and set it with his on the carpet, then tugged Justin down so they were lying face to face. "You've got, your voice is..." Lance swallowed and his Adam's apple moved up and down.
Justin pressed his thumb to it and when Lance chuckled, sounding kind of nervous, he could feel vibrations resonate up his forearm.
"Your voice is beautiful," Lance murmured, and Justin felt it in his knees.
Lance ducked his smile into his own shoulder and Justin moved his hand down across Lance's collarbone. Lance put his arm around Justin's waist again, this time so they were pressed up close against each other. Lance smelled sweet like whiskey and also a little sweaty because it was warm in the room. Really warm. Justin wondered if he had a fever still. It didn't feel like a fever.
Lance bent his neck so their foreheads were tilted together and Justin said, "We shouldn't," even though he wasn't really sure what they shouldn't do or why. He wasn't even entirely sure he knew what there was to do in the first place.
Maybe they should have another drink. Maybe he should stop thinking so much. Chris always said that he thought too much and it was probably true, because even with Lance's lips near his ear he was thinking about having drinks and his momma and how much he hated going to the doctor. Chris told him once that the coolest thing about sex was that you just stopped paying attention to anything around you, that it was like floating in the middle of a big, warm ocean.
Lance smiled knowingly and Justin could feel himself blush. Maybe Chris had told Lance that story, too. Lance said, "I don't think I can catch bad tonsils, Justin."
"No, I know," Justin said, automatically, and Lance's fingers were soft on the back of his neck. Justin closed his eyes and for a minute Lance didn't move and he felt really, incredibly, mind-numbingly stupid. He opened his eyes and Lance was staring right at him. He closed his eyes again and thank God Lance finally kissed him.
Kissing Lance wasn't anything like kissing girls, and Justin was very grateful for that, because he didn't exactly get kissing, not before. Justin had said once that he thought kissing was overrated, and Chris had laughed until Justin thought he was going to either cry or throw up. Then Chris had felt bad and told him about how blowjobs were the best thing in the world and how the kissing would get better, too.
Kissing Lance was like falling, like flying through some video world where the earth just melted away. Better than Superman. Better than anything the guys had ever said about sex, ever. Justin pushed against Lance, wanting to be closer, closer, and Lance broke away and moaned and Justin thought for a second that he was going to come in his pants. He laid back on the bed, breathing hard like they'd rehearsed for an hour with no break. He didn't even know how long they'd been kissing, but he didn't think it was an hour.
Lance smoothed his hand up Justin's stomach, under the shirt. Justin tried not to but he wound up giggling like a girl. Lance tickled, and then when Lance stretched out his tongue to lap at Justin's ear, it tickled even more. Justin stopped laughing when Lance kissed him again.
Justin thought probably at some point they were supposed to move past kissing to some actual groping. Or maybe even actual sex, but when he put his hand on Lance's butt, Lance just sighed into Justin's mouth and moved it back to his waist.
Then it seemed like maybe Lance was getting tired, or else he was just kissing slower. Justin didn't want Lance to stop kissing. Justin didn't want to stop kissing, like, ever. He didn't really care if everyone just left them there, if they all went back to the States and he missed out on seeing old friends and doctors and getting his driver's license. Lance kissed Justin's neck and Justin moaned, pushing against Lance's thigh, trying to move them, like, forward, towards something more, but Lance's lips were sleepy and slow and finally stopped altogether.
"Lance," Justin said, and he heard himself whining. He said it again, softer and sweeter. "Lance."
"Mmm." Lance fit his leg between Justin's but it was more like a snuggle than him making any progress in the groping department.
"Lance, we're going home tomorrow."
"Today," Lance said.
"Okay, today. We're going home and I won't even. I have to see doctors and you'll be home and --"
"I know," Lance said. "I know." He touched Justin's cheek, chilled hands against a fiery face. "You're gonna be fine," he said.
Justin sighed. "Yeah. I don't, I'm not even sure they're going to let me talk for a few weeks."
"How will you ever manage," Lance drawled.
Justin said seriously, "I have no idea." He'd been making money and friends with his voice since he was a little kid.
"Here," Lance said, and slid his fingers between Justin's. "You can -- you don't have to talk."
Justin blinked and looked down at their hands hooked together on his chest.
"I'll teach you," Lance said. "Like, how to say simple things, how to ask for things. Spell your name." He bent Justin's fingers and swooped them in a J-shape. "Like that."
Justin tugged away. "It's not the same as singing," he said. "I'm not, I'm not auditioning for Helen Keller movies here."
They were going home for three months, all home apart from each other except Joey and Chris would still be in Orlando and JC said he was just going to hang out there, too, so actually it was just him and Lance who had to be alone. And they still wouldn't have gotten past second base and Justin was going to spend the whole time writing notes to ask for juice and Kleenex like he was some kind of little kid.
"Stop it," Lance said. "Stop worrying so much. You've got this, like, gift from God, Justin, and you're gonna be fine. You'll find a good doctor and they'll do what they have to and when you come back you're gonna sound even better than you did to start off with."
Justin didn't mean to but he maybe sniffled a little.
"You wanna learn to spell my name?" Lance asked, and Justin nodded and settled into the crook of Lance's arm. He was kind of tired, too. Lance's name was easier, and their hands looked really almost pretty together, and for a minute Justin forgot about having to go home.
Then Lance slid their linked hands down, letting go to undo Justin's jeans, and Justin forgot every song he'd ever learned. When Lance wrapped a hand around him, Justin gasped so hard it made his throat hurt. Lance quieted him with a kiss on the cheek.
"Shh," Lance said. "Shh, baby."
Justin smiled and arched into Lance's hands. "God," he said, "Lance, it's --" Justin tossed his head back and forth on the pillow, swallowing moans as Lance jerked harder and faster. He came and breathed out Lance's name again, choppy and torn.
"Shhh," Lance said again. He licked a river of sweat off Justin's throat and petted his stomach. "C'mon." Lance smiled. "You're 'sposed to be saving your voice."
Justin licks his lips as soon as the doctor takes the mirror out. His throat feels achy and swollen.
"Don't try to talk if it hurts," Dr. McNamara says, and so Justin merely raises his eyebrows as high as he can. A year in Germany and he's gotten used to communicating without words. He's been practicing, and Lance is on his way. Even if Justin can't talk, he can touch Lance. He can make Lance say his name, maybe. The doctor pats Justin's knee and says, "Let's get your folks in here."
Justin sits in his thin little hospital robe and doesn't make a noise until his mom and dad come back. Then he swallows hard and listens to them talk about blood clots and minor surgery and "we won't be able to tell until we can get a better look."
He spells Lance's name with stiff, shaking fingers against the side of his thigh. He doesn't cry. He's gonna be fine.
END.
.
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Credits: For STO(k)'s birthday, right back where we started: hurt/comfort, baby lambs, soccer on TV and lost little first kisses that count. Thanks to Kel and Younger for beta and Jamie and Willa for the lost canon. This also meets some strange self-challenge I apparently have to use every song on CSN's self-titled album for a fic.
Special notes for canon(k): So there's all this footage of Justin in Germany in '96 and '97, and he's sick, and there are concerts where he can barely hit any of the right notes. And it turns out it wasn't just tonsils but either a blood clot or a polyp, and somehow the way he told Elton his voice was his most prized possession had new meaning. That, and when you have a laryngoscopy, they make you sing.