"No, honestly, does 'cheat' rhyme with 'underneath'? 'Cause it does in my head but maybe there's too many syllables?"

"JC, that line already has too many for the beat, I told you--"

"I'm serious, Just, I can make it work, I just..." JC trailed off and started bouncing his pencil on the side of the keyboard to the rhythm of the music in his head. Justin automatically picked up the beat and started bobbing his head in time with the pencil. Soon, they were humming together and it sounded just about perfect.

Chris sighed and looked at the legal pad on his lap. No way were they going to get around to his songs today. He'd debated not showing up at all for this meeting for this very reason, but Wade had made such a big deal about how he'd helped so much on the newest Wawa/Juju collaboration that his ego had got the best of his reason and he'd decided to make an appearance 'just in case' he could offer something useful. And maybe they'd get around to looking over his stuff eventually. He really should've known better than to think he could keep up with Justin and JC when they got into their creative zone. And now that he thought about it, his 'help' on that one song was really more along the lines of agreeing with the ideas that Wade and Justin threw out as possibilities.

He wondered if they'd notice if he stood up and left.

He decided to try it.

Nope.

Tossing his notepad into the back seat of his Cruiser, Chris peeled out of the parking lot. He decided that tonight he needed to go to a place where he could unwind and forget about work for awhile. A place where he could be invisible but cool, not like the ignored, extraneous presence that he'd felt all evening in the studio. A place where pop music would never dare to show its face, but Chris went regularly. A place where he could try and forget that lately he's been so lonely that even his teeth hurt. A place where he always felt like he knew what he was doing and there was no way that a 20-year-old dance boy could do it better.

Not that he was bitter.

Well, not much anyway, and he knew this petty feeling would pass in a few hours. Tomorrow, Justin would roar up his driveway on an expensive motorcycle and practically prance around his living room in eagerness to share another brilliant creation. And Chris would get just as excited as Justin when he listened to it, already planning how to ad lib his harmonies, and he'd praise Justin until Justin glowed just that one little bit brighter, that extra glow that only came from getting compliments from his best friend. And they'd be happy and go out for Taco Bell and Justin would borrow his phone to call Britney and maybe they'd go swimming later and Chris would feel included because at least Justin needed him for this.

But tonight he'd wallow in stupid, pointless envy of people who things came easy to and who'd never really, truly appreciate what it meant to struggle, or to be alone, or to want something so badly that it made you cry even though you are a real man, dammit, and you just know that you'll never, ever have it. And maybe get a little drunk, but that hadn't been decided yet.

Chris found parking only two blocks away from the entrance to The Handbasket, his favorite underground club. It was 10pm, which was late, but still early. The place wouldn't really get packed until around midnight, though packed for this place wasn’t anything like the clubs he frequented with his boys. Those places would get so crowded that Chris could hardly breathe or move and certainly couldn't talk and expect to be heard. It was fun some of the time, to get lost in grinding beats and bodies and to dance with his friends and occasionally with fans and to order plastic cups full of whatever drink was popular this month.

Other times, he came to places like this.

He always came alone and hung out near the bar, appreciating the mellow, but slightly dangerous, vibe that permeated everything. But most of all, he appreciated the music that only got played in places like The Handbasket, underground clubs known for being unknown. It was good music, very good music, just not on the same planet of popular where 'NSYNC resided. Which was perfectly fine with everyone there. The entire underground music scene would probably slit its collective throat if Tiger Beat ever dared to print anything about it.

Chris trudged down the stairs, hands in pockets and head bowed a little, and got waved right in by the inconspicuous bouncer watching the door.

"Thanks, Marty," he said with a half-smile. He handed over the cover and slunk through the non-descript door. The Handbasket was not the sort of place to draw attention to itself. Chris had only found out about it when he made friends with a clerk at the store where he bought all his vinyl records. A person just walking by would never have been able to tell that a music club was nearby.

His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light inside and he sighed with relieved happiness as he moved into the dingy room. The place was bigger inside than you would think from the exterior, but there wasn't much in it. A stage at the far end with a large open space in front of it, the bar in the middle of the room, dirty booths lined the wall and a few tall tables were scattered around the floor. Lighting came from plain lamps that hung from cords in the ceiling. That was it. He caught the sound of the music being filtered in through the house speakers and bobbed his head as he recognized a song by The Strokes. Tonight's band hadn't gone onstage yet so Chris still had time to get a seat at the bar and order a drink.

He threaded through the small crowd, nodding at a few people. He didn't exactly have friends here, but most of the people were cool when they realized that he knew the music and didn't want anything from them. They were a mixed crowd of people mostly in their twenties, a little older than the crowds at the more "popular" clubs, many of them wearing laid-back clothes in black or dark colors, sometimes with layers or offbeat patterns. A couple of the shirts he spotted had offensive sayings on them that would make Joey pant in envy.

He finally got to the bar and grinned when the bartender handed him a beer without being asked.

"Hey, thanks, man."

The bartender squinted at him. "You looked like you needed it."

He nodded and drank. "Maybe. Probably just throwing myself a pity party, but beer is good for that."

The bartender shrugged. "Whatever. Good night for you to come by. Shane scoped out a new band and they'll be on in twenty."

Chris smiled and drank some more. The bartender wandered off to serve some customers and came back a few minutes later.

"Friend of yours?" he asked, pointing at the door.

Chris looked up in surprise and nearly dropped his beer. "Shit," he breathed. The absolute last person in the world he expected to find in an underground club had just walked through the door, looking puzzled and very, very out of place.

He briefly debated hiding and then realized that his curiosity would probably eat him alive in about two minutes flat. So, instead he waved for another beer and then wandered over to say, "Hey."

Brian Littrell looked amusingly relieved to see him. "Hi! Chris!" he said with a tad too much enthusiasm. Chris handed him the new beer. "Wow, thanks." Brian grabbed the beer like a lifeline and grinned.

Chris stared at him for a quiet moment and then couldn't take it. "I just have to ask," he blurted. "I'm not trying to be rude. Well, not really. Not usually, anyway, sometimes I...but come on. What are...What the hell? I mean--"

"What am I doing here?" Brian said with another grin and sipped gingerly at the beer.

"Well, yeah." Chris pinched his lips together. "Sorry. It's sort of like finding Britney at a leather bar." He thought about that. "Well, actually. Maybe more like finding Mandy Moore at a bar, period--"

"Chris," Brian broke in, "It's ok. I'm a little surprised myself."

"Uh-huh."

"Not that I'd mind seeing Britney at a leather bar." He gave a surprisingly lewd grin and then quickly ducked his head and took another sip of his beer.

"Uh-huh."

"Um, don't tell her I said that, ok?"

Chris shrugged and looked away. When he looked back, Brian was giving him an exasperated smile. Chris chuckled into his beer. "To be honest, I probably will tell her but nobody will believe me." They both laughed a little. "I mean, you're..."

"Wholesome."

"God Boy." Chris chewed his lip, wondering if he'd gone too far. Hurling himself over that fine, socially-acceptable line was his specialty, after all.

Brian looked surprised, but not offended. "Well, I do love my faith, that's true. But really, I'm not so..." he thought for a moment, "...pure, I guess, as most people seem to think. I sin. I have fun. I probably just spend more time trying to atone than the average person in the music industry."

"Which means, of course, any time at all."

"Of course."

"You remind me of Lance."

"Thanks." It was Chris's turn to look surprised. "No, really. I like Lance. He's a good guy."

Chris, who really hadn't wanted to think about Lance at all tonight if he could help it, which apparently he couldn't, nodded anyway and said quietly, "He really is." Brian stared at him for a moment and they smiled awkwardly at each other. Chris coughed and took a gulp of beer.

"Anyway, I didn't really know what this place," Brian waved his beer to encompass the room, "was when I heard about it today."

"No kidding," Chris said deadpan.

"I have a friend that does all my tattoo art and I saw him today. He said I looked tired and I told him that I just really needed to get away, get out and do something different. He asked what I meant and when I said that I was just sick to death of pop music, he laughed at me."

Chris laughed.

"Yeah, just like that."

"Most people are, at this point."

Brian grinned evilly. "Not most people. Backstreet still has plenty of fans, thank you very much."

"Hey!" Chris felt the sudden need to smack somebody, but he really didn't know Brian that well, yet. Where was Justin when he needed him?

Brian chuckled and drank more beer. "Anyway, he told me--"

Chris cut him off. "'NSYNC has way more fans than Backstreet could ever hope to know!"

"Chris--"

"We are raking them in. Raking. I mean, arena concerts ain't no place for amateurs."

"Chris--"

"I don't want any BSB to just run around thinking that 'NSYNC is hurting for love, you know what I'm saying?"

"I know."

"In fact, I could give lessons on how to let fans adore me. Of course, I'm no Justin Timberlake. But then again, who'd want to be that wiggly-hipped freak anyway?" He glanced sharply at Brian. "But he still has way more fans than Georgia has peaches, and don't you forget it!"

"Are you done?"

Chris took mental stock. "I think so."

"Georgia peaches?"

"It was the first thing that came to me. Oh, and FYI, only I'm allowed to bag on any of my boys."

"Duly noted. And, uh, ditto."

Chris thought about that. "Well, I've known Howie longer than you, so he's fair game."

"But I know him better."

"Ah, but do you know him biblically?"

"Do you?!"

Chris held up his hands, one still holding a mostly empty cup, and said, "Hey, take it easy. It was just a question. And, by the way, you can finish your story now."

Brian stared at him appraisingly, obviously noting that Chris was being difficult on purpose. Chris drank the last of his beer innocently. "I forget where I was."

"I seem to have that affect on people. I wonder why that is?" He shook his head. "Doesn’t matter. Your tattoo artist was giving you advice on how to have fun without pop music. Wait, did you get new ink today?"

Brian sighed. "I'll show you later." Chris nodded happily, mostly out of his earlier bad mood. He wondered if it was due to Brian showing up and distracting him.

"Thank you."

Brian, once again thrown, rolled his eyes. "For what?"

"I was in a shitty mood, and now I'm pretty much not. Since this beer is pretty gross I figure that you're the one I should be thanking. So I did."

"You're welcome." Brian smiled and then visibly girded his loins. "Ok, now I'm going to finish my story. And I feel like an idiot because there's really not that much more to tell. Anyway, Scotty, my tattoo guy, told me that he knew the perfect place where I could go and be guaranteed to spend a cool evening and never once think about my pop life. He didn't tell me ahead of time exactly what it was. He just made a call and then handed me the address. I figured, eh, I trust him enough to draw things on me with needles and he's not about to get me killed, so, voila, here I am. End of story." Brian took another sip of beer and then set the cup down on a nearby table. "Though I guess Scotty was wrong."

"How so?"

"I saw you, didn't I? And you mentioned Justin the Timberlake. And there was that whole...fan...thing. I've thought about pop three times tonight, at least."

"Ah, but not in the bad way."

"How can you be sure?"

Chris looked him up and down. "You said that you were tired before. And to be honest, right now you look great."

Brian's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He looked to be shocked, but not upset. In fact, he looked pleased more than anything.

Chris smirked and went to get them two more beers.

While he was waiting for the drinks, he pondered his reaction to this unexpected development. He was having fun with Brian. A lot of fun. He didn't know what that meant, exactly, but as far as he could tell, Brian was having fun with him, too. This was better, he decided, than wallowing alone, thinking about people who weren't so eager to be out having fun with him.

When he got back, he handed over the beer and said, "I think that tonight's band is just about ready to go on. If you want to keep talking, we should go try to get one of those far booths. It should be quieter over there, but we could still watch, if we wanted."

"Sounds good." Brian nodded and let Chris lead the way.

Chris found an empty booth that had a good view of the bar from one side and the stage from another. Chris suggested that Brian get the side that could watch the stage but Brian insisted that he wouldn't appreciate it nearly as much as Chris and then settled onto the cracked leather bench on the other side. Chris shrugged and sat down, absently trying to wipe the dirty table with his drink napkin before giving up and tossing it aside.

"Hey, I just realized something," Brian said.

Chris looked up at Brian, noting that it was darker over here than it had been near the door, but he could still clearly see Brian's wide blue eyes. Uh-oh. "What?" he asked, probably too abruptly.

Brian didn't seem to notice Chris's gruffness and was smiling. "You've bought me two drinks so far tonight, but I haven't really done anything for you, yet. I feel like we're on a date."

Chris grinned widely. "Would that be so bad?" Oh, dear lord, now he was flirting. Well, flirting more obviously.

Brian stared at him. "Maybe not." He leaned back in his seat. "Just don’t expect me to put out just because you're trying to get me drunk."

Chris's jaw dropped. "I would not need to get you drunk for that!"

"Oh really?" Brian cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're very confident."

"I'd want you fully sober to truly appreciate the Kirkpatrick experience."

"Now I know you're flirting with me."

"You mean, you couldn’t tell before?"

"I'm a little slow sometimes."

"Eh, that's all right. Next time I'll smack you first so you don’t miss anything." Chris tried not to notice that he had basically just said that there'd be a next time. He felt almost helpless here. He wasn't sure why he was throwing himself at Brian, but he suspected that it had to do with the fact that he was trying to escape a certain other person who wasn't here and would probably get pissed and refuse to speak to him if he flirted like this. And Brian was such a nice guy with soft-looking hair and a great ass. Not that he'd been looking.

Brian took a drink and then carefully set his cup on the table before looking up at Chris and saying, "You have pretty eyes."

Right then, the house lights lowered even more, the stage lit up and the band came out to start their set. Chris missed all of this because he was staring off into space, in shock. When he came back to earth, Brian was happily bobbing his head to the music and sipping his beer, not seeming to notice Chris's preoccupation.

"You're sneaky." Brian glanced at him and shrugged. "You're a sneaky flirter. You just snuck that in there with no warning whatsoever."

"Next time I'll smack you so you don't miss anything," Brian said and then laughed.

"Oh, man. That's no fair. See, I was basically flirting all evening, so that's ok. You just...are a sneak. You should be punished for not playing fair."

Brian's eyes widened. "Oh, you think so?"

"Yup." Chris calmly dipped his fingers into his beer and then flicked them so droplets fell onto Brian's face. Brian blinked and then licked slowly all around his mouth before using his sleeve to wipe the rest off. Chris's breathing hitched. "Was that too obvious?" Brian asked innocently. They both laughed at that. A lot.

As they were calming down, Brian wiped at his eyes and then froze. "Oh shit."

Chris had slumped back in his seat and he sat up at that. "What?"

Brian was staring over at the bar. He shook himself and then asked casually, "Why didn't you tell me that you were meeting Lance here tonight?"

"What?!" Chris whipped his head around and craned out of the booth, looking all around the bar area. Sure enough, leaning casually against the bar, looking cool and unconcerned that he stuck out like a sore thumb, was Lance. Chris stared at him for a moment, taking in the fact that he was dressed in white pants and jacket with a green shirt, the outfit perfect for his coloring. He looked like a gorgeous reject from Miami Vice. Chris tore his eyes away and saw the bartender looking at him. The bartender raised his eyebrows, tilting his head at Lance. Chris shook his head frantically. No, he did not want Lance to be sent over here, thanks very much. He dropped back into the booth, breathing, "Son of a bitch."

Brian was studying him with concerned eyes. "So, I take it that you weren't expecting him?"

Chris chuckled. "Not really, no." He looked all around, everywhere but at Brian.

Brian reached over and touched his arm. "What's wrong, Chris? Why didn't you want Lance over here? Is it because of me?"

"Not sure. Not sure. And maybe." Chris chewed at his lip.

Pulling his hand back, Brian offered, "I can go."

"No! No, that's ok." Chris reached out and touched Brian's hand, briefly, before pulling back again. "I'm sorry. It's just. Lance is...part of the reason that I was in a pissy mood earlier today."

Brian looked like he suddenly understood. "Ooooh. Did you guys have a fight?" he asked sympathetically. "We do that all the time. We bicker and run off for awhile. Things always seem to fix themselves, though. Or else Kevin handcuffs us together so we can't run away until we work it out."

Chris blinked. "Kinky! I never knew Kevin was into that or I would've made a much bigger effort to get to know him in Europe."

Brian laughed a little. "Nah. It'd probably never occur to him to use the handcuffs like that. He learned that technique at a seminar on how to be an effective leader. Apparently, the speaker said that a good leader didn't give his charges a chance to escape their problems and Kevin took that literally."

Chris grinned slightly and nodded. "Yeah, I guess I knew that Kevin would rule with an iron fist. Myself, I rule with a fist full of gummy worms. It's more subtle, less bondage-y and my subjects love me."

"You lie. You don't rule at all. Lance is the one who keeps y'all in line. I read that in Teen People so it must be true." Brian chuckled.

"Lance." Chris's mind wandered a bit and he missed the joke. "Hey, what's he doing right now? Has he gotten his ass kicked, yet?" Chris tried to sound nonchalant as he watched the band up on the stage. They were good, a little reminiscent of Midnight Oil.

Brian tried to subtly check out the action at the bar. He sat back with a surprised look on his face. "He's...great, actually. He's surrounded by girls."

"What?!" For the second time that evening, Chris whipped around and leaned out of the booth. He remembered himself enough to try and not be noticed as he stared over at Lance. Brian was right; Lance was doing just fine. He had a drink held loosely in one hand and was mostly surrounded by women who were hanging on his every word. He was chatting and laughing and looking like the star of a Coors Light commercial, flashing white teeth and sparkling eyes. One girl, wearing a shirt with "You can lay me by the hour" written across the front and "Exile in Guyville" across the back, was leaning into Lance, her hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. Chris sat down. "Bastard," he muttered.

"Chris, what is wrong?" Brian was staring at him now.

Chris shrugged and pushed his beer away, watching the band again.

"You know what? I don't get you, Chris. I really don't." Brian sounded pissed and Chris slumped lower in his seat. Just great. So much for a fun evening. "I mean, I show up here totally not knowing what to expect and I see you right when I was about to run home scared. You were so cool to me and I was so relieved to run into you and you treated me like a friend and gave me beer, which was perfect. And we had a fun, albeit bizarre, conversation and I was really happy just being here with you, even if you did remind me of pop music."

His tone softened a little and Chris slumped lower. Brian was entirely too perceptive. "And then you just about gave me a heart attack when I realized that you were flirting with me. I mean, I didn't think anyone knew that I...Anyway, after I got over the shock, I was thrilled. I always liked you, Chris."

Chris slumped even lower. Brian, cute Brian with the blue eyes, liked him. He wanted to cry. "I like you. A lot." Brian took a deep breath. "And then Lance showed up and I was confused. It didn't seem like something that you were expecting and you didn't look happy about it. But now, you have totally closed yourself off. You stopped flirting completely, which really sucks by the way, and you look pissed. And..." Brian leaned closer and Chris stared harder at the band. "...and miserable. I know this has something to do with Lance, you told me that, but--"

Brian sat back so hard that there was an audible thump when he hit the back of the seat. "Oh my God." Chris winced. "You're...you're in love with him."

Chris tore his gaze away from the stage, sat up and glared at Brian. "Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

Brian laughed, which startled them both. "Are too." He glanced over Chris's shoulder. "And he's looking this way." Chris's head jerked, but he refrained from turning around. "You know what, Chris? I'm going to make a quiet exit now."

"No!" Chris almost shouted. "Don't leave me! I mean--"

"You have succeeded in distracting me for the evening, so thank you for that. But I think that you have bigger problems than I do right now and I want to give you plenty of room to figure them out." Chris slumped forward and rested his head in his hands. Brian stood up. "Also, I think that you have a very good chance of finding what you're looking for tonight and I am the last person to be standing in the way of that."

Brian was silent for a moment but Chris could still feel his presence so he knew that Brian hadn't left. A folded drink napkin appeared in Chris's line of sight on the table in front of him. "I may be a big person for leaving right now, but I'm not big enough to not want you to call me if everything...doesn't go the way I think it will. My number's written on that. Don't be afraid to use it. Take care of yourself, and good luck." Chris felt a warm hand land on his shoulder and Brian leaned over to whisper in his ear. "By the way, I would show you my new tattoo but I'd have to take my pants off to do it. Keep that in mind if you ever do give me a call. And I still think you have gorgeous eyes." And then Brian was gone before Chris could even blush.

Chris leaned forward and banged his head on the table a few times before sitting up and palming the napkin. He was putting it into his pocket when he felt a presence over his shoulder again. "That really wasn't a nice thing to do, man, teasing me about your tattoo like that," he said without looking.

"My tattoo? What about my tattoo?" said a voice that clearly wasn't Brian's.

Chris almost leaped out of his seat. "Lance!" he shrieked.

"Woah, nice welcome," Lance said, grinning down at Chris. Chris took a deep breath and tried to slow his heartbeat. "Can I sit down? Or are you expecting someone else?"

Chris ducked his head and studied his fingernails. "Nah, I think he just left. Go ahead."

"Yeah, I saw Brian on his way out. He said the strangest thing to me. What was he doing here, anyway? Did you guys come here together? I didn't know you knew each other that well."

"What are you doing here?" Chris muttered under his breath. Louder, he asked, "What did he say to you?"

"He came up to me at the bar, stared at me for a second and then wished me luck and said, 'Don't screw up.' Weird."

"Yeah, Brian's a strange guy. I ran into him here randomly. He found this place when his tattoo artist recommended it, if you can believe that." Chris dared to raise his head and look across at Lance. He studied Lance's perfect, clear features and mentally cursed Brian. "For that matter, how did you find this place? I've never seen you here before. Come to think of it, I haven't seen you in days. You avoiding me, Bass?" He attempted a smile, trying not to betray what he felt about that last question.

Lance shifted and shrugged. "Not really. You've been busy with Justin. I heard you were at the studio again today."

Chris scratched at an eyebrow, considering. He had been clinging to Justin a lot lately, but that was only because Justin seemed happy to have him around whereas Lance always seemed to be just as happy to let him go do other things. "I thought..." he trailed off.

Lance leaned forward a little. "What?"

Chris dropped his eyes and bit at a thumbnail. "Nothing." Lance leaned back. "What are you doing here, Bass?"

"I heard they had good beer." He looked at the two mostly full cups sitting on the table. "I guess I heard wrong."

Chris snorted. "That's for sure." He looked up at the stage again. The band, which he realized now he never got the name of, seemed to be wrapping up their set. "Did you come here to listen to this band? They're pretty good, though not what I thought FreeLance would be looking for."

Lance looked over his shoulder. "I guess they are pretty good. Honestly, I didn't know there would be live music here. I could probably find them a deal if I tried, but I don't know if I want to take on another project right now. I kind of have my plate full." They both nodded. Lance chuckled suddenly. "I think they've been watching too much television."

"What do you mean?"

"Their name." Chris shrugged, clueless. Lance pointed at the sign over the bar announcing the week's events. "Fear Factor. You know, like that tv show where people do things that are supposed to terrify them."

"Yeah, I know the show, Lance." He smiled a little. "Those people are all a bunch of freaking idiots. Why on earth would you do something to yourself like that? Being scared on purpose just doesn't seem very smart to me."

"To be honest, I kind of admire them. It seems smart to plan out confronting a weakness in yourself. Maybe then, afterwards, you'll be a stronger, better person."

Chris should've known that Lance would feel that way. Lance was all about improving himself, becoming more perfect with every year that went by. Chris was afraid that soon Lance would be so perfect that he'd float right up to heaven, leaving the rest of them to wallow in their earthly toil. It was one of the many things about Lance that made Chris sad, mostly because Chris would never have a chance to tell Lance how truly incredible he thought they were. "What are you doing here, Bass?"

Lance ignored him. "It's kind of like you with heights. You have your own little Fear Factor episode at every single concert. I don't know if I've ever told you how incredible I think that is." Lance smiled and Chris stared. He wondered if he was hearing things again. The doctor had promised that it was very unlikely that Chris would have any more flashbacks.

He faintly heard Lance saying, "Hello? Chris? Are you ok, buddy?"

He shook himself. "Yeah. Lance, sorry, spaced out there for a second."

"No problem. I'm used to you guys tuning me out." Lance smiled faintly, his eyes unreadable.

"No! Lance! I didn't...I heard you, I just. Lance." Lance met his eyes and Chris had to remember to breathe. "Lance. What are you doing here, Lance?"

Lance answered without looking away. "I was looking for you."

They sat in silence for several minutes before Chris dared to say, "I've missed you."

It was Lance's turn to duck his head. "Yeah, I missed you, too. You've been spending your days off with Justin and I didn't want to get in the way of that. But Joey said that Justin's been spending most nights over at Britney's so I wasn’t sure...and Joey told me that you liked to go listen to 'weird ass music' sometimes so...anyway, this place was last on my list. I was about to give up ever finding you."

"You've been bar hopping? Lance, you big stud." Chris flashed a small grin and Lance blushed. "Why didn't you call me and just ask?"

Lance glanced back up and then looked away. "For a lot of reasons. What if you were busy with some of your other friends? What if you were happy getting away from us most evenings? I had to see for myself if you were happier doing your own thing. Also, just flat out asking isn't what we do, you and I. Is it?" Chris had to admit that it wasn't.

Chris took a deep breath and set his hand on the table near Lance's. "Ok. Asking. Just go ahead and ask. Asking straight out. I can do that." Lance smiled again and Chris studied him very seriously. "Lance Bass, may I hold your--"

Before he could finish, Lance had reached over and grabbed his hand. "Sure!" They both laughed. Chris sat and basked in feeling Lance's slender fingers twist between his stubbier ones. Lance reached up with his free hand and brushed a finger down Chris's cheek. "I love your smile. I don't know if I've ever said that to you before, but I think about it almost every day."

"Wow, that's a lot," Chris said, his voice a little squeaky.

"Yes, it is."

"'K, I'm going to ask you now if I can walk you to your car."

"You're getting good at this asking thing."

"I guess it just takes practice. I'll probably ask you a lot of questions from now on."

"Cool."

"Well?" Chris asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It depends. Are we leaving together?"

Chris pretended to really think about it, rubbing at his goatee with his free hand and scrunching up his face. "Mm, sure. I can do that. Hey, you learned how to ask, too!"

"Somehow, it just wasn’t so scary once I watched you do it."

Chris gazed at Lance's happy face and remembered all the different ways he had been miserable lately and how he had managed to solve so many of his problems tonight, thanks in no small part to Brian's verbal kick in the ass. He remembered Brian's vehement, 'you're in love with him!' and his own shocked, terrified response, 'am not!'

It really wasn't so scary after all to admit the truth.

He pulled on Lance's hand and they got up and walked to the door, leaving The Handbasket together.

~end~