Crazy For You
by Marion

~..~

I'm waiting for the phone to ring
And all the wonder love should bring
All the things, darling, I left behind
Please give me a sign

~..~

Growing up, Chris had thought his life couldn't get any more difficult. He came out of it okay though, and praying for a better life - kneeling on the floor at night and talking to The Big Guy - had paid off. It had been a bit of a roller coaster ride, but Chris had learned a lot and was proud that he had made it so far without losing his mind.

Now, unfortunately, he was losing his mind, and he was sure that his life was still difficult, just on different level.

Chris's problem was JC, who he wanted to wake up next to for the rest of his life and cook dinner for and write sappy love songs about. He was already doing that, in a sense, especially when they were touring, but Chris wanted there to be more. He wanted JC.

He wasn't going to tell JC though, simply because Chris didn't know how. He wasn't comfortable sharing his feelings on a normal basis (though he tried), and somehow his closeness to JC made it harder. He just couldn't do it. Not this time.

So Chris kept his cool around JC, and whenever JC was looking so cute as to be snuggle-able, Chris just looked the other way, or left the room, or, sometimes, he would just pounce on JC and try to be as close to him as possible, without making it obvious and just tickle him a little and maybe muss up JC's hair. JC would smile at him and when Chris tried to move away again, JC would protest and keep him close. He was a cuddler. Chris never made a move though.

The Big Break was into its fourth week and Chris was beyond bored out of his mind. He finally had decided to put Fuman on hold for a while, or at least until they could find new places to sell his stuff. Nordstrom, apparently, hadn't been such a good choice, but besides a few others, had been the only store who had agreed to a contract. Who shops at Nordstrom anyways, Chris thought. Possibly not his demographic.

He had talked to his mom every other day for the last few weeks, but Chris had to cut the conversations short every time, because his mom kept reminding him of his age and his relationship status, or lack thereof. He couldn't remember his mom ever not talking about it, except for maybe when Dani was still around, but that was ages ago.

Justin wasn't at home. Chris had tried earlier, but only got the machine. Since the tour had ended Justin was always out, making nice with other musicians and trying to sign a few of them for his solo project. Joey wasn't available either. Unlike Chris, he was well on his way to become the first married guy in *Nsync. Lucky bastard. And Lance was in Russia.

JC would be home, Chris knew. The day of Lance's farewell party, JC had said to Chris, "don't be stranger, you know. I know Justin won't be home all the time, and Joey's gonna spend a lot of time with his girls. And with Lance gone, too, you know. Just because everybody's off doing their own thing doesn't mean we have to stay away from each other." JC had smiled then, warm and comfortable, and when Chris had left later that evening JC had reminded him again to call "whenever."

Chris had been cleaning all day, finally unpacking all his bags. It was something he delayed for as long as he could, because it would mean that the fun was over for real and he had to go back to living a somewhat normal life. He got as far as the laundry room, piling his dirty clothes in the small space, and filling an empty basket with things that belonged to either Justin or JC, things like CDs, books, and clothes that had ended up in his bunk somehow and then in his luggage.

Later, while watching late night TV, he decided that he was going to have to stop pining for JC, because if JC wasn't going to make the first move, he didn't see how this was going to work. "Who're you kidding, moron," he said to himself. And truly, who was he kidding. It wasn't the first time he'd sworn to himself that exact same thing, only to find himself falling again when it was time to work with the group again.

He had tried other relationships, mostly in between touring, because, yeah, there just wasn't time while working all day and sleeping on a bus and with one after-party after another. And if he'd tell himself that for long enough he would actually believe it. Fucking JC. The pretty boy manipulated Chris's sex life merely by existing - damn pretty boy, who was probably at home right now, maybe just as bored as Chris himself was. Fuck, Chris decided, he should look if JC was okay. He hadn't talked to him in a while and maybe something had happened. He grabbed JC's stuff from the laundry room and headed out the door.

It was almost midnight, when Chris killed the engine in JC's driveway and got out of his car. He tried knocking first, and when he didn't get a response from inside the house, he rang the bell. The thing was so loud that Chris tried to avoid it whenever he visited JC. After a moment JC opened the door, and stepped aside immediately to let Chris in.

"What's up, everything okay?" JC asked with a smile as he closed the door and turned around to face Chris. JC looked tired, but happy to see Chris.

JC lead the way in the kitchen and Chris followed. "Yeah, just came over to see how you were," Chris said, and leaned against the wall next to the fridge.

"Could've called," JC said. "But I'm glad you came by." He smiled a squinty smile at Chris that made his heart flip-flop.

"Yeah, and I brought your stuff." Chris added quickly, because it was already midnight and he really could have called.

JC smirked. "Game face," he muttered to himself, but Chris could still hear it. He turned on the faucet to wash his hands and dried them on a dirty rag he had in the pocket of his jeans.

"What?" Chris asked, sitting down with JC at the table. "Game, what?"

JC chuckled again and said, "nothing. You want something to drink?" He walked to the fridge and turned around again, waiting for Chris's answer. "Soda?"

"Got anything stronger?" Chris asked. JC looked as if he'd been painting, his jeans and shirt were speckled with colors. "What were you doing before I came over?"

JC sat down again, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses in his hand. "Nothing. Like, I was trying to get these pictures in my head down on the canvas," he paused to yawn, "but it just won't happen." He sipped on his whiskey and sat the glass down again, "At least not tonight, anyway."

JC and the pictures in his head. Boy, that must be some hugely weird painting, Chris thought. "Can I see?" he asked, after taking a sip from the whiskey. "I mean, if you don't mind."

JC got up and said, "Sure, come on. But I told you there's like nothing done." Chris got up, too and followed JC to one of his smaller bedrooms in the back of the house.

And JC was right; it didn't look like anything Chris would assume to be finished. Only a few dark lines in an array on white canvas. "Yeah," he said and looked at JC with a smile. JC was frowning though and wiped his hands on his t-shirt.

"I think I need a break, or something. Maybe I'm all out of patience." JC picked up a brush and plugged out a stray hair. "How's your stuff doing?" He asked as he put the brush back at its place and turned around to clean up the paints and dirty rags.

"On break," Chris said. "We're waiting." He chuckled. "For a miracle. Or for Macy to agree to our offer. Or whatever comes first." He took the dirty towels out of JC's hand and said, "I don't think you're running out of patience here." He looked at JC and continued, "maybe you're just trying too hard."

"Trying too hard?" JC asked, running his hand through his hair. He'd probably never been told that before, Chris realized.

"I don't know," Chris said, "Maybe. Why don't you try something else? Like, I don't mean some other hobby, just. Lose all those fancy paints and brushes." He walked to JC's desk in the corner of the room and picked up a pencil, "and use this." He turned around and held it up. "You used to draw a lot on the bus. Everyone thought you were writing songs all the time, but I knew you were drawing stuff." Chris laughed a little and cocked his head at JC. "Why'd you ever stop doing that? All these oils and acrylic paints, that's nice and stuff, but. I don't know. Just a suggestion."

JC took the pencil from Chris's hand and smiled down at it. He lifted his head and looked at Chris. As if in thought, he nodded slowly and walked out if the room. He returned a moment later with a few sheet of white paper, sat down on a recliner and started drawing. It seemed to work, because JC didn't look up again and Chris let himself out of the house.

The doorbell rang very early the next morning and Chris cursed as he got up to answer it. A courier was standing at the door with a smile on his face. He said, "Sign here, please" and handed Chris an envelope. Chris thanked the man and shut the door with his foot, while opening the envelope. He unfolded the piece of paper and thought, damn.

He walked into his kitchen and sat down, spread the folded piece of paper out in front of him on the table and stared at it for some time. He slowly brushed his thumb across the right bottom of the drawing, where JC had put his initials. He looked at the drawing again and couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. JC's head, huh, he thought. He held it up in front of his face. It looked sort of like a battlefield, maybe, or something like that. It was very blurred out, and all Chris could see were people with unrealistically large heads. Huh.

He got up to make coffee all the while glancing back at the table. Maybe he had to look at it from a different angle. Maybe he had to look at it upside down. After trying out various hypotheses, he still couldn't see what JC had been drawing.

Later that day he got a second envelope from a courier knocking on his door. He looked at the letter, confused, then at the man at his door. He shrugged, signed the pad and took the envelope. The front of the envelope had the same scrawly handwriting on it as the one he got this morning - JC's.

After closing the door, he put the envelope down on his phone table in the hall, picked up the phone and dialed JC's number. JC's voicemail answered and Chris hung up. He left the letter in the hall and went back into the laundry room to finish his wash.

JC's first drawing was taped on the wall of the laundry room for Chris to look at, and whenever he saw it he tilted his head in a different direction. He had been looking at it all day. He had put some double-sided tape on the back of it and had hung it up wherever he went. By noon, Chris decided he needed a life.

On his way upstairs to get more dirty laundry, he walked by the phone table and the letter was still there. He dropped the laundry basket and ripped the envelope open. As Chris expected, it was another drawing. This one was a head, too. But only one. And it was blurred out, just like the first drawing JC had sent. He picked up the phone and dialed JC's number again.

"Chris." JC said simply.

"Hey, umm. How you doing?" Chris asked. He was suddenly nervous, and he didn't really know why.

"Good. What's up?"

"Nothing, just saying hey. And, uh, thanks for the mail." Chris didn't have a clue about what those drawings meant to JC and what they were supposed to mean for Chris, but asking JC directly wasn't the way to go.

"Just a sign," JC stopped suddenly, then said, "Like, to show you that I'm following your suggestion, and that I actually did something. You know?"

"Yeah, something." Chris sighed, and contemplated his next words carefully.

"So," JC said and sighed. "Did you like the pictures? I mean."

"Yeah, JC. I didn't frame them or anything. But they're nice." Chris may be a man, but he could still appreciate a gift in form of a drawing from his friend.

There was silence again, then JC said casually, "Chris, I worry about you, you know?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know you better than you think I do. I spend eleven and a half months out of the year with you." JC sighed. "Like, we're on a break now, Chris. You should allow yourself to have a break, too."

"Huh. Um…" Chris muttered into the phone. He wasn't being very articulate today, it seemed. "Uh-"

"Listen for a minute," JC interrupted. "Just, try to relax for a while, and don't take everything as a challenge. And I mean everything. Like," JC sighed, "like, you fought your whole life for what you believe in, and you became someone important in the lives of so many people. In ours." JC paused, then said, almost whispering, "In mine. Just. You know, you mean a lot to me, to all of us. We'll love you no matter what."

"Huh," Chris said again. And that was all he could say. There was silence again. Chris could hear JC's breathing over the phone. "Thank you," Chris whispered, and hung up.

Trying to relax was easier said than done and Chris found himself once more staring at JC's drawing. He put the second paper next to the first one in the laundry room, looked at it for a while, trying to find out if there was maybe a connection between them, but all he saw was a head on one picture and a lot of heads on the other. JC was definitely screwing with Chris's.

By the time the sun went down, Chris's laundry was done. The pictures gave him a severe headache, so he locked the door of the laundry room from outside and threw the key away. He went out on his back porch and swung his arm as hard as he could, almost hurting himself, and after a few seconds he heard the key splashing in his pool.

The next morning, Chris went straight to JC's house, using his spare key to let himself in. JC was sitting in the kitchen, eating breakfast.

"Hey," was all Chris said. He had planned it out so nicely before going to bed the night before: he would just go over to JC's place and demand an explanation. Now, all he could do is was to help himself to a cup of coffee and then sit down across from JC, who was looking unbearably adorable in his pajamas.

"Hey," JC said and took another bite of his toast. "Are you hungry?" He offered him another slice of toast from his own plate. Chris took it and stared at it for a moment. He could have sworn the cinnamon on it made out the shape of a head.

"I didn't know you were able feed yourself without supervision," Chris said after he swallowed. "I'm impressed." He looked at JC, who was sipping on his coffee. JC laughed and got up to refill his cup. Chris didn't think he was being funny.

"That's why you came over, right? To check up on my eating habits." JC said as he put down his own mug and a bowl of sugar cubes for Chris. Chris didn't say anything. "You want more toast?"

"No, thanks," Chris answered and dropped six sugar cubes in his coffee. "And I didn't come over to check up on you, okay?"

"Okay. So, you came over to hang out?" JC asked and Chris nodded once. JC chuckled. "Game face," he mumbled and put his plate in the dishwasher.

Oh, I'll show you game face, Chris thought, annoyed, and stirred his coffee.

JC was playing with his head. That, maybe, was the reason JC wasn't in his 'clique', Chris reasoned. With Justin, Chris was safe. Justin was normal and fun and Chris got all of his jokes. JC, on the other hand, was just too damn complicated, and of course Chris had tried to figure him out, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around the many wonders of JC Chasez.

Earlier, Chris had been standing in his backyard for a good fifteen minutes, dressed in shorts and contemplating jumping in the pool to get the key or just ramming the door to the laundry room. After checking the water temperature with his toes, he had gone back inside and called the locksmith.

Now he was back to square one, because he'd chickened out admitting to JC that these drawings were screwing with his mind. He hadn't even mentioned them the entire time he spent at JC's place. Neither had JC. He took the drawings from the wall and put them on his fridge, holding them down with magnets, because the double-sided tape was losing it's adhesive from being overused.

He fell asleep in front of the TV and when he got up around six that night, he dragged himself into the kitchen, looking for food. Five minutes later, the doorbell rang and he went to answer it with a sandwich in his hands.

JC could just drive the ten minutes and deliver this himself, Chris thought as he signed the pad. He took the letter, thanked the delivery guy and closed the door. He stopped in front of his trashcan and almost threw the letter away, because he had had enough headaches in the last few days. But Chris opened it anyway; he could still throw it away later, when he ran out of Tylenol. Without thinking twice, he fastened the drawing on the fridge, next to the other two and stepped back.

Whoa, Chris thought. This wasn't something JC had just been doing, this was an old drawing. And Chris remembered when JC had been drawing it.

About six months ago, JC had asked Chris to come with him to Martha's Vinyard, because, as JC had said, "it's real quiet and no one's gonna care if we're there, or who we are." Chris had wanted to say no but he went anyway because JC wasn't asking, he was telling Chris to relax, and the best place to relax was, in JC's opinion, to come with him to Martha's Vinyard. One morning JC had already left the house by the time Chris woke up. Looking out the window he saw JC sitting in the sand at the top of a small hill. Chris had gone out and sat down beside JC, watching him as he drew. JC had turned to him then and said, "I'm glad you came with me. Not only because I didn't want to come alone, but also because of you." Chris had looked at him then, a questioning look on his face. "You don't realize it," JC had continued, "but you're a different person when you're away from everything. You're just you, and," JC had bent over and kissed Chris's cheek, "and, I like that." Chris had managed to avoid washing his left cheek for two days, feeling like a stupid teenie the whole time.

The picture JC had been drawing that day was the one Chris was looking at now - a drawing of the house they had been staying at.

Chris wasn't sure which of the pictures messed with his head more. The first two were definitely something different, something Chris was supposed to figure out. The picture from the trip was something familiar, but still made him think. A lot.

Chris had enjoyed this trip even though there hadn't been much to do for him and he had been bored most of the time. To get away, even if only for a few days, had helped him to cool down a little. Chris had needed that. And spending time with JC had been nice too, of course.

Still, he couldn't stop staring at the other pictures and he felt a headache starting in the back of his head. There was something going on with JC and those drawings, Chris thought. JC's problem had definitely somewhat to do with heads. Or not. Or whatever. Chris got tired of this game. He went upstairs to get dressed, took his keys, and on his way out the door he paused for a second, laughed to himself and changed the security code of his house to jcwantshead. He scribbled it down on a piece of paper, put it in his pocket and set the alarm.

"If I tell Leno you spent money on a damn courier service instead of saving it up, he'll have a field day," Chris said and walked past JC.

"Leno can go fuck himself for all I care," JC said and closed the door. "And it's nice to see you too."

Chris smiled, walked into JC's living room and sat down on his favorite spot on the couch, flipping off his shoes, because JC hated whenever someone propped up their dirty sneakers on his furniture. He put up his legs on the coffee table and looked at JC. "So. Did you get your head clear? Or can I expect more drawings?"

"Depends," JC said and sat down too.

"Depends on what?"

"Depends on if you need more pictures." Chris turned his head and looked at JC with raised eyebrows. JC was looking at him with an intense expression.

"No, thanks. Although, they look nice on my fridge." Chris said, smirking to hide his edginess.

JC smiled and looked at Chris, making eye contact and mouthed, 'game face'.

"Oh, fuck you, man. What's with the game face shit?" Chris asked and watched JC lean back against the cushions. He thought for a moment about pouncing on JC until he gave away his evil plan. "And what's with the pictures anyway? If that's the inside of your head you've been drawing," Chris said, "then seriously, you need to get some help."

"No," JC said. "You're the one who needs help here, man. You come in here and play all cool about it, but I bet you've had sleepless nights about the drawings. You thought you'd have to figure it out, figure me out, why I was drawing that," JC sighed, "and of course you didn't figure it out, because you focused on the wrong damn thing." JC sat up and leaned forward, looking into Chris's eyes. "You always think too much, you think everybody and everything is a riddle and you just have to figure it out, because if you don't, it might come back and bite you in the ass."

Chris crossed his arms in front of his chest and didn't say anything. He looked down at his lap, thinking, and then up again, meeting JC's eyes. He waved one arm for JC to continue.

"You're never honest anymore, honest to yourself. You always think you have to put on your game face, where you just crack jokes and play the cool, tough smart-ass and think you're the coolest shit when Eminem writes a song about kicking your ass." JC paused again, breathing hard and rubbing his hands over his face. "And you played that role for the last four years and everyone bought it."

Chris still didn't say anything. What did JC know anyway? Smart little fucker, being all calm and serious and stuff all the time. Whatever, Chris thought. JC was quiet now and shifting uncomfortably on his own couch.

"You know," Chris said, "if you know me so much, why'd you do this shit? Like, sending these pictures."

"Why do you think I did it?" JC asked quietly.

"To fuck with my head, which, by the way, worked." Chris chuckled now, but just barely. "What was that anyway? Do you have some sort of complex about heads?"

"Heads?" JC asked.

"Yeah, like, on one there were too many heads to count and on the other there was a head, too."

JC chuckled. "Oh, Christopher," he said mockingly and giggled again. "The first one was a game of chess. A game. And the second one was a head. A face actually." JC looked at Chris and raised his eyebrow in question.

"I still don't get it," Chris said after thinking about it for a second. JC didn't say anything. "Oh, hey. Yeah, a game and a face, game face. Very deep, JC." Chris rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable by laying down. "Why'd you send me the drawing from the trip?" Chris asked then, suddenly feeling a bit brave.

"Oh, just because. No meaning. You said you liked it, and I was cleaning out and found it and sent it over." JC said.

"No meaning? Yeah, right. You don't do stuff just because." Chris was going to show him game face, hah! "Everything you ever did had a meaning for you, otherwise you wouldn't waste your time on it." JC closed his eyes and groaned. Ah! Chris thought, gotcha.

"Whatever, man." JC said.

Chris closed his eyes and thought, yeah, whatever.

He must've fallen asleep, because the next thing Chris knew was opening his eyes and staring directly in JC's. Chris closed his eyes and opened them again. JC was still there. "What-" he looked around. It was much later, and Chris could see that it had gotten dark outside. "What is it?"

"You've been talking in your sleep. That was weird. I just had to see if you're okay." JC said. He didn't move away from Chris's face though. Instead, he kneeled down in front of the couch.

Yeah, right, Chris thought. "I don't talk in my sleep. And you say you know me, huh? I'm a light sleeper, and I wake up when anyone starts talking, even me." Chris moved his head back against the pillow and smiled at JC. He raised his eyebrows mockingly and mouthed, 'game face'.

JC laughed. "Whatever," he said and then grew serious again. Chris smiled. "You know," JC said then, "about what I said before. About you and your game face. I meant that." JC laid his head down on the arm of the couch and continued, "like, you're such a head case all the time, all jokes and stuff. You used to be more about yourself, like, about what you really felt when people said shit about us. The group." He looked down at his hands, which rested on the couch, close to Chris's chest. "I remember the first time you got really angry because those producers called us a bunch of pussies behind our backs and you felt bad about it. We all felt bad about it. But, yeah, back then, you weren't ignoring your feelings, you were showing them."

Chris sighed. He looked at JC and tried to listen, for the first time in what seemed like forever, to what JC was really talking about. JC was right, Chris knew. Part of him always tried to shut out everything that hit too close to home, but when you're working your ass off, trying to impress some producers and all they can say is that you're too inexperienced and come off as softies, you just lose it sometimes. Chris grew up hating all those people who thought they were better than him, and by shutting all of that out, he sometimes shut out his friends, too. He just kept his feelings to himself, hoping they would go away. Being Chris, he took it a step further, started to have fun with it, make it look as if nothing could bother him.

JC looked back up in Chris's eyes. "Sending you the old picture was a sign, from me," JC said, then paused. "I don't know. I was just going through my stuff and I remembered that you said you liked that one, and it reminded me of you. Like, the other two pictures were just for you to open your eyes about yourself, because you had to stop thinking with your ass and start thinking with your head." JC cleared his throat and took Chris's hand in his. "A sign," he whispered and leaned down to kiss Chris.

The kiss was delicate and teasing and as Chris closed his eyes he could feel JC's breath against his face, could feel JC's hand squeeze his own. He felt his heart speed up and his palms started to sweat. Everything was about feeling at that moment, feeling JC's lips, feeling JC lean over him, his chest brushing against JC's as he breathed deeply.

Chris kept his eyes closed as JC pulled slowly away. He wasn't ready for the kiss to be over, but JC was clearing his throat and Chris looked at him. JC smiled and said, "A sign."

Chris loosened his grip on JC's hand and scooted back against the cushions, making room for JC. But JC didn't move, so Chris put his hands on JC's waist and tugged him closer until he was laying half on top of Chris. "Thanks," Chris said and smiled. JC leaned his head on Chris's chest.

And finally Chris figured it out. All the little things JC had done had been signs. All the extra time JC had spent with him, just sitting together until three in the morning, even though JC had been tired and was yawning all the time, but Chris hadn't been feeling well so JC had stayed up with him. And how JC had tagged along so many times when Chris had gone out to those clubs that played music he knew JC didn't like. And whenever Chris had stayed on the bus, sleeping, and the others had gone to eat at a rest stop, JC had always brought back an extra sandwich for Chris. And everything else that went on. Whenever JC had done something that had been especially for Chris, even though Chris had avoided JC so many times. All that time JC had wanted to be with Chris, just to spend time together. And Chris had always run away, had avoided JC, because he was scared of what might happen. Afraid that he might lose control over himself and show his feelings.

Chris tightened his grip on JC and closed his eyes.

"You're doing it again," JC said.

Chris asked, "What?" and then shifted when JC lifted his head and looked up at him.

"You're focusing on the wrong thing." JC rested his head against Chris's neck and kissed Chris's jaw. "You're thinking of how stupid you were the whole time, even though you have a hot boy laying on top of you." JC kissed him again. "Pay attention to the hot boy here. S'all I'm saying."

"You know," Chris said after they kissed for a while. "I wasn't too far off though. With the other pictures."

"How's that," JC asked.

"I had a feeling about them," Chris said. "I guess I should tell you, just in case you were going to come over to my house unannounced some time, which, of course, I wouldn't mind." JC lifted his head and raised his eyebrows. Chris laughed. "I changed my security code before I came over here." Chris twisted and turned until he could reach his jeans pocket and pulled out a little piece of paper. He gave it to JC.

JC stared at it. Then suddenly, he balled it up and said, "How's that for a sign?" and stuffed it in Chris's mouth.

Chris turned his head to spit it out and said, "You're giving me another headache, JC."

JC laughed and leaned up to kiss Chris again.