Justin was grateful to be in bed, even if it was kind of lumpy and almost damp. He hated Europe, mostly because it seemed like full nights of sleep were few and far between. They all shared rooms, and he wasn't used to it, not that level of closeness. It was mostly okay, he thought, but sometimes Joey snored or JC talked in his sleep.

Lance was sharing his room tonight, though, and Justin was relieved. Lance was always tired from trying too hard, and he slept quietly and didn't flip around so loudly that he made the covers snap. Justin thought about talking to Lance when he got in from his shower, telling him that he was getting better, not to worry so much, but the bed was softer than he expected and he'd remembered to bring his own pillow from the bus.

The pillowcase was flannel and soft beneath his cheek, and he tucked an arm beneath his pillow, breathing the scent of fabric softener and what was probably stale sweat but it really just smelled like him. When nothing else seemed familiar, like ever, he thought that it was okay if stupid things were comforting.

Justin's eyes were drifting closed as he breathed deeply, the sound of Lance coming in from the shower not as annoying as it should have been, especially since he was facing away from the door and the brief flash of light didn't even register. Lance said his name softly, and he thought about saying something, but he was drifty and actually warm for what felt like the first time in forever, and it was just too much effort.

The room was silent then, and Justin was ready to close his eyes and run choreography in his head. It put him to sleep, and he was just thinking about the opening to Tearing Up My Heart when he heard Lance inhale too sharply. Lance cried sometimes, they all knew it, frustrated and what Justin's mom called overtired, but Justin never knew what to do.

He turned around, ready to really wake up and talk it over, forced his eyes open, scrunched his face into sympathy. When he focused on Lance, though, it wasn't quite that simple. Lance wasn't crying, not at all, in fact he looked just as happy as Justin could possibly imagine, snuggled down under the covers, apparently mostly naked and enjoying that fact.

His hand was moving, and he was biting his lip, eyes closed and head thrown back. Justin thought that he should have been offended or maybe just indifferent, but this wasn't like the time he walked in on Joey in the bathroom, screamed "Eww, gross, dude, Joey's choking the chicken" and ran back out.

What he could see of Lance was pale and dusted with shadows and he was making little groaning noises, deep noises from someone so delicate and Justin didn't understand what he wanted right then. He wasn't sleepy any more, thought it wouldn't matter if he never slept again.

Justin thought that maybe it was written on his face when Lance opened his eyes, and saw Justin staring. He was going to flip back over, try to forget, but Lance smiled, and his face looked older in the dim light, oddly beautiful, and Justin hated him a little, didn't understand what he wanted and it was wrong that Lance seemed to.

He snapped out, "Jesus Christ, Lance. We've got bathrooms for that sort of thing."

The questioning look faded and Lance was just a kid again, especially when he just said "It was so cold in there." He was shifting under the covers, and Justin knew that he wouldn't touch himself now, not the way Chris or Joey would have done it anyway just to be a dick.

That made the weird feeling worse, especially when Lance said "I'm sorry." and looked ashamed, just a little.

He flipped over, rubbing his cheek against the pillow again, "Nah, don't worry about it, yo." and he heard Lance sigh.

~end~