NOTES AND DISCLAIMERS: All made up, completely fictional. Nod of the cap to REM's Country Feedback. Happy Birthday to Katieness. Thanks to kel, Missy and Younger.

GHETTO WISDOM

Chris reached out until his hand hit the cold window. He pressed his fingertips against the window, tried to leech the cold into his body. "Do you ever wonder why we're together?"

The car lurched a little and then Chris could tell Justin shifted gears. "No. I don't. This has been a good year, why, why are we talking about this?"

"Cause of Dawson's Creek. Cause that chick back at the party talking on and on about Dawson's Creek and then, you know. I mean, what's wrong with Dawson and Joey getting together? Why does being all about Pacey and Jen make you good people?"

"Oh, holy fuck." Justin didn't say anything for two whole songs on the radio. Chris opened his eyes.

Justin was just driving, his eyes on the road, his hands clenched. Justin said, "Is this a prelude to something? Are we having an argument?"

"No. But we're Dawson and Joey. Best friends forever and then they fall in love. But she picked Pacey."

"Who's Pacey here? What the fuck, you're all talking like we're not. Okay, I'm happy. And I think you are. With me." Justin inhaled and Chris could see the breath in Justin's shoulders. Justin said, "I don't think parallels work between you and me and some television show." Justin's voice was low and choked. "Jesus Christ. Would you, how about this. You tell me whether you think we should break up or something and I'll keep having this conversation."

"I don't want to break up with you." Chris sighed. Justin, who was incredibly insecure once a month and mostly open to just shooting the shit, but this was the once a month when Chris should have kept his mouth shut. Because Justin was freaking out and Chris had really just been thinking about Dawson's Creek mostly. Now it was a thing.

Justin exhaled and Chris could see that in his shoulders too. "Okay, then what are we talking about? Because, you know what? Parallels don't work. Like Romeo and Juliet, that's just them. And King Arthur. I mean, how does that work? Does that make, like, Wade Lancelot?"

"That's a scary image. Are we going with the version where Galahad is Lancelot's kid and finds the Holy Grail? Who's Elaine here?"

Justin laughed, but it was nervous and high. "There are so many versions of that story. But they keep the basics the same. So I think that part must be true. Somewhere there was this King Arthur and his wife cheated on him with his best friend. Which, really, is sort of Dawson's Creek, too. You know, Pacey and Joey and Dawson. And the reason people who like Dawson and Joey are bad people is because Dawson's a motherfucking asshole. It's not a soul mates, best friends thing, it's a Dawson Leery is a complete idiot thing. And neither of us are, so we're not like them at all. Also, Joey kinda sucks sometimes, too. Joey Potter, I mean, because Joey Fatone, you know, different kettle of fish or something."

Chris hmmed. "Yeah. I just think, you know, here, it's been a year. And I can't believe you don't ever wonder."

"Nope. Good things happen to me, I let them happen and be happy."

Chris smiled. "You're such a liar. You analyze. You wonder."

"But not about us."

*

Chris wondered. If Britney hadn't cheated and Justin hadn't been sad and Lance hadn't gone to Russia. Not that Lance had much to do with it, but he'd been hanging out with Justin when the break-up happened, so who knew in the end. Butterflies in the Andes caused tornados or something, any number of factors that happened that if they hadn't, Justin wouldn't be waking up with Chris as many days a week as they could manage. Which wasn't many, given Justin's schedule.

So this was the holding pattern of putting time together until they were back to being NSYNC again and their schedule would be the same.

Justin sat on the hotel bed and said, "Wasn't, there was some guy from the Rolling Stones who did a sketch of like, every hotel room he was ever in? Like, I bet that book is incredibly long and way repetitive. Even if they were all really nice hotels."

Chris stretched out on the bed, his toes pushing against Justin's hip. "Maybe. But don't you think, I mean, it's sort of self-indulgent. Who else gets to spend more than half their lives in hotel rooms? Rock stars, traveling salesman."

"Are there actually traveling salesman anymore? Do you actually know any?"

Chris rolled over and looked at Justin's back. "Okay, if there aren't, it's still self-indulgent."

"You know, it's not like we don't work --"

"I'm very much not working now." Chris laughed.

"But you know what I mean. People all being waah, waah, what do you have to complain about? You're so rich. But it's like, fine, I got these things I worked for and just because it's really good doesn't mean it's perfect. And it's sort of annoying that because you work and succeed, you're not allowed to complain. Or you get ridiculed for complaining." Justin flopped back down and put his fist over his eyes.

"Can I make fun of you now?"

"Whatever," Justin said. Chris scooted closer to Justin and nudged him with his thigh. Justin added, "I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah, me, too. Let's talk more about how you want to complain." Chris grinned.

"Yeah, fine. I'm tired. And I'm still sort of pissed at you about that party thing last week." Justin didn't move his hand.

"Maybe you should have mentioned that the many times we've talked on the phone since then."

"Maybe." Justin was quiet for two minutes. Chris watched the time display above the TV to get an exact length. "But it would just come back to me at weird points in the day when we weren't talking, you know, like in the middle of a photo shoot or something? God, those pictures are gonna suck." Justin clenched his jaw. "Because I know you said it wasn't, but being all, 'hey, why are we even together,' struck me as being pretty negative."

Chris rubbed his face and put his hand on his stomach. "It wasn't. Do we have to do this? You're tired and pissy, I'm just plain pissy and we're just like some fucked up soap opera now."

"Yeah, because let's not just talk about anything unless we're fucking or in a really good mood."

"And apparently those things happen once in a blue moon." Chris stood up and walked off the bed, jumped to the floor.

Justin sat up and glared at him. "What the fuck happened to us? I used to enjoy spending time with you."

"I think you still do, just not right now. You're "projecting" your bad mood onto me." Chris patted his pockets and couldn't find anything, not even his wallet. His wallet, he found looking around, was on the table by the bed. He walked over and grabbed it.

"What's in there, happy pills?"

Chris rolled his eyes. " Yes, government certified and guaranteed happy pills, sorry you don't get any."

Justin yawned and lay back on the bed. "I bet I could afford them."

"Maybe." Chris watched Justin roll on his side and thought about whiplash and mood swings.

"Huh. Okay. Then you're coming to bed?"

"Sure. You didn't want to fight some more about how our relationship sucks?"

Justin shrugged. "Maybe in the morning."

Chris thought that was the best solution, really, so he took his pill and got in bed.

*

"Which is to say, you're fighting." Lance shaded his eyes and looked at the golf course. "You dragged me out here to play golf with you so you could complain about Justin. To me."

Chris shrugged. "Hell, and I like playing with a really shitty golfer. You said yes, buttmunch."

Lance made a crappy shot. He frowned. "So, right, you're fighting. What about? Don't you have women to talk about this with?"

"Sure, but you're better. You know Justin, you know me, I think your loyalties to the two of us are about the same. And hey, I never see you anymore."

Chris made a better shot, but still crappy. They both walked down the green. Lance said, "I live right near you."

"And you're never home. And I'm home when you're not."

"And JC is too busy and Joey's out of the country. Dude, I get this by default?" Lance smiled. "Fine, fine. Gosh, let's talk about Justin."

"I don't know, he's got a bug up his butt."

Lance laughed and poked Chris's shin with his golf club. "And that bug is named you."

"I didn't mean that as some sexual entendre." Chris skipped ahead and stopped by Lance's ball. "I just mean, he's in a bad mood."

"He doesn't seem like he's in a bad mood when I see him. Maybe you just bring it out in him. Which would be, like, so weird. Because usually you make him all happy."

"How often do you see him?" Chris watched Lance halfheartedly hit his ball. It didn't go very far.

"Often enough." Lance shrugged. "You know, it's Justin. He calls, I call, I'm in town, he's in town."

"Okay, pretend I'm taking a statistical survey. You interact with Justin once a week, twice a week, once a month ... Gimme a guideline here."

"Oh, god." Lance sauntered ahead, walking like there were photographers even though there weren't. Lance looked over his shoulder at Chris and squinted. "Once a week, is that good enough for you? I think you put him in a bad mood. Cause, like, JC and Joey, they interact with him slightly less or slightly more or something, and why are we using the word interact? You make him sound like a specimen or a chemistry experiment. Anyway, you're the only one saying he's in a bad mood and Justin isn't putting on a face for us."

Chris sighed. Lance was a few yards ahead and he made another bad swing. Chris hated few things in life more than Lance maybe being right. He hit himself in the shin with his golf club.

*

"Do I put you in a bad mood?"

Justin sighed, distorted over the phone line. "Not particularly."

"Just recently?"

"Um. Seriously, this is not a good time for this. I'm like, in a car, I'll be somewhere in about three minutes and I definitely can't talk and seriously, I'm sorry but."

"Okay then. When can we talk?"

Justin was quiet and then he said, "Call me tonight."

*

Chris decided not to call. It seemed like a really bad idea to take him shooting the shit and Justin being in a bad mood and letting it all spiral into something big enough that Chris was almost turning to Lance for relationship advice. Lance's mom, she gave good relationship advice but Lance didn't because he believed everything would work out in the end. Lance was too optimistic. Also, all of Lance's exes sucked.

Chris was driving around, but he corrected himself out loud anyway. "Not suck, per se, though some did actually suck, but just, I'm saying, he's no Dr. Ruth. Or Dr. Drew." Chris looked over at the empty passenger seat and wished he'd brought Kariya because then he could pretend to be talking to someone. Now he was just some nutball talking to himself in the car.

Plus, if Chris let things spiral into something, then maybe he and Justin would break up. And that would suck like Lance's golf game, it would be that sucky. It would suck like Joey's feet stank in the morning after a show or like, like something.

Chris felt cold and decided not to think about it.

He called JC instead. No more relationship advice, because that shit just made everything big when it didn't need to be. Instead he said, "Dude, you remember that time Joey punched Lance in the face? And Lance punched Justin in the arm and you kicked me?"

"Those were three separate times, man, you make it sound like we had a brawl on WWF or something." JC snorted. "Joey punched Lance in the face in, like, 1996, and Lance punched Justin in 1998 and I kicked you in 1999."

"So, clearly, it was all Lou's fault, because we haven't had any bust-ups since then."

JC said, "Now we don't throw punches, sure." JC laughed. "Okay, I don't even remember why I kicked you."

"You kicked me because me and you went to that bar and you snaked like two different girls from me and then ditched 'em so I picked up that blonde and you tried for her but I'd told her you had genital warts and didn't like to wear condoms so she ditched me and dissed you and then we got back to the bus, you kicked me because Joey told you about the genital warts thing. You didn't kick very hard."

"Dude, that was still low. You don't tell people shit like that because then it's all over the internet and then some stupid blind item in Page Six." JC spoke in his hushed voice. "Which boybander has been playing around too much and now has the warts to show for it?" Back to JC's normal, late night gravelly voice. "I should've kicked you harder. I should have tackled you like, taken you right out."

"You'da missed me. After you got over your genital warts."

"I'm hanging up. This has been fun." JC laughed again, though, so Chris just steered onto the highway.

"So now we don't hit, man. No more hitting. Not that I wouldn't have just shrugged off some tackle from little old you, but no hitting."

"Oh, there's hitting it now, just not that kind."

Chris said, "Oh, I'm hitting it right now, hitting it in my pretty car, talking to myself, I'm really hitting it." Chris sighed. "See, Lance hit Justin, but how come the rest of us never kicked him in the ass?"

"Lance punched him in the arm. And come on, man, it's Justin. He doesn't make, he's not like, like you. You everyone wants to punch every once in a while, but like, Justin isn't that kind of annoying." JC paused. "Like a puppy, except not, because, you know, Justin's not a puppy and all fluffy, but he's like. He's Justin, he apologizes and he's all smiley and --"

"So you're saying Lance is a psychopath for hitting Justin? Because who would do that?" Chris grinned.

"No, dude, Justin deserved more than a punch in the arm for that one. For, wait, that was the time he was poking Lance for like, two hours? And he took his CD player and beat him in Halo like, four times in a row and like, gloated? He was being a fucking two year old. He deserved it." JC was probably nodding, wherever he was. "So, I'm just saying. Like, no one ever hit Joey. Or me. But I think that's because we all get fooled and think Joey would hit back hard and I'd break in half or some such shit. Which is not true."

"You're very chatty tonight."

"Well, you never call." JC made a sound, like a lipsmack. "And now you've called and I feel like I have all this group talk all bottled up. We should have a conference call. Because we haven't even talked about why Joey hit Lance, man."

"Well, that's a whole nother kettle of fish." Then Chris said something about getting to where he was going, which was a lie, and they said goodbye for two minutes in the good way, where no one wanted to get off the phone and they finally hung up and Chris pulled into the parking lot of a Taco Bell and decided he wasn't hungry. He tried to call Joey but there was no answer.

*

The thing about dating your best friend was that, for Chris, all the good stuff of being friends all those years blended into all the good things of dating, except with a lot more sex. More sex and more intensity. It wasn't the same. It just felt like it. Sort of.

Chris thought about Justin at 17, imitating Chris's walk almost unconsciously and Chris noticing so he walked like he had a stick pushing out his knees and his walk got more and more exaggerated and Justin's did, too, while Justin grinned and grinned at him and then they were practically waddling down the hall until Joey looked back and Justin fell on the floor laughing. It didn't stop being funny, except they stopped walking, Justin would just walk a little bowlegged and look over at Chris. It was funnier every time.

Or like, one time when Chris was craving chicken and he kept talking about it and talking about it and even Chris could admit he'd been on the verge of being obnoxious. At 3 a.m., Justin woke up Chris and dragged him by his jacket into a 24-hour Safeway or something. He didn't let go until they got the meat section. "Buy your own fucking chicken and stop talking about it." Then Chris cracked up and bought three roasted chickens right then and there. Three years later Justin still said, "buy your own fucking chicken" when Chris went on about something too long.

All of that and 8 million things more before they even kissed. Justin said later he'd had plans, maybe, but instead they were drunk and Justin said, "I have to go to Virginia Beach tomorrow" and he repeated it so many times that Chris kissed him to shut him up and fucked him because he really really wanted to and cooked him chicken in the morning because it was funny. No plan would have been that good, anyway.

Chris didn't think it was wrong to wonder, why Justin talking about Virginia Beach with a drunken slur 18 hundred times pushed vague lust and unbreakable friendship over the edge to something else. It wasn't what Virginia Beach represented; Chris had been jazzed and excited about Justin's solo album since Justin brought it up after Destin. He thought, he had thought it was a good idea. He knew Justin. Chris wondered, Justin analyzed, and suddenly they had this shitstorm.

Screw it, Chris thought.

*

Justin walked into the hotel room and frowned. He wanted to smile, Chris could tell, but then he frowned. Justin took off his baseball cap and laid it carefully on the bureau by the door. "You don't score any points for showing up in person, you know." Justin didn't move from where he stood.

"I'm happy to see you, too." Chris crossed his legs and sat forward on the bed. He waved at the room service trays on the table. "I ordered food for you and everything. Chicken, and stuff."

"You said you'd call and you didn't. You actually didn't talk to me for, like, almost two days. That's not cool."

"Nope. It's not. But it feels like, man, maybe we were talking too much. Making mountains out of molehills."

Justin shrugged. "Maybe. But I think it would make more sense to say that than, you know, just ignore each other. Like, you know, someone here should be an adult and talk."

"And here I am." Chris pressed his lips together and waited.

Justin sighed. He leaned against the wall and said, "You wear me out. Like, shouldn't this be easier and not guessing if you're upset about something or if you're trying to say something you're not really saying and it's not just one thing, it's not like, oh, we had this weird conversation after some party and maybe you're just tired, but it still wears me out. You're important to me. But it's tiring, man. It's tiring."

"Well, you wear me out sometimes, too. Like, people who matter do that. You're the one who's all confusing and always tired or all high on life and whatever. And I'm glad I'm important to you but sometimes it's hard to tell." Chris scratched his head. "What the fuck are we talking about anyway? I don't want to break up with you, I'm not mad at you about anything. I just feel like I'm fucking up."

Justin pushed off the wall and sat at the table. He looked at the plate and picked at the chicken. "Well, that's how I feel. So I get that you're all paranoid about over-talking but it sounds like we have something to talk about."

Chris wasn't hungry at all so he stayed on the bed. "What are we talking about?"

"We're talking about us." Justin stared at the food. Not a good sign, Chris thought.

"I think, okay, I'm here because, you know, not breaking up. Don't want to break up. Me. With you. To be very clear." Chris tried a smile.

Justin just shrugged. "I don't wanna break up with you either. But. We should actually talk at this point."

"I just wanted to start from a good place. You know, a place of man, you're the best, I can't live without you. Stuff like that. And from there, you know, we're both tired or something and maybe taking each other for granted? Does that work?" Chris was pretty sure he managed a much better smile this time.

"It's not." Justin covered his mouth but Chris could tell he was almost grinning. "Okay, you don't get to just dismiss a solid month plus of bad shit with taking each other for granted and being tired and say nice things and think it's okay."

"You're my soul mate. You're the, uh, Pacey to my Joey." Chris got up and rested against Justin's back. Justin's shoulders were tense but not that tense. This close, everything smelled like spicy chicken and sweat. Tangy and nice, Chris thought.

"Can we can the Dawson's Creek's metaphors? The show's over, man." Shoulders untensing, Chris noted. Slightly.

"You know, sometimes easy is best. Like, let's just say, hey, we resolved to communicate, we got over this hard spot in our exciting sex filled relationship." Chris leaned back and little and rubbed Justin's neck.

Justin snorted. "You know, maybe it's not that easy. Man, it shouldn't be."

"Of course it should be. It's us. Next time you feel all tense, you just, you know, bitch me out and throw something. Or something. Just tell me or whatever you didn't do this time. And like, I'll do the same. Which, you know, we've been doing, I swear. We just hit a little snag." Chris pinched Justin's neck. "Dude, just remember, we're soul mates. Remember it, like, always." Chris smirked. He kissed the top of Justin's head.

"I know." Justin laughed. "Pharrell told me that once, man. He thinks you're perfect for me."

"He's so right." Chris paused. "So we're really okay? All this actually worked?"

"You dazzled me with your neck rubs or something. I dunno, mostly, you wear me out and I just give in. Plus, you know, you're here. It's hard to be pissy when you're here."

"Thank god. I had nothing after the food and the Dawson's Creek jokes."

Justin laughed again. "I knew it, man." He turned around in his seat and grabbed Chris's ear. "You hear me? I had you figured out."

"Kiss me, man, let's move on to the sex." Justin agreed.

THE END!

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