Notes and disclaimers: All made up. Completely fictional. Fat kid loves cake is from a 50 Cent song and "I am 32 flavors" is an Ani DiFranco song. Thanks to Katie, kel, and Missy. Happy birthday, baby!

THE ONDAAJTE METHOD

JC said once he could imagine them all in some retirement home, wheeling into each other's room every day and causing trouble. Separate rooms, no one sharing at all. Chris pictures it differently.

He likes to think, when he's being stupid, that they'll have a huge house. That he'll wake up next to JC and complain about the scratchy sheets. Then JC will say they aren't scratchy and talk about how the sheets are super expensive but he got them on sale, and really, they were a bargain. Chris will have said it just to get JC talking.

He pictures gardens and light and JC with wrinkles, all of Joey's hair gone, Lance round around the middle and Justin somehow looking the same. Not exactly the same, but not as old as the rest of them look. They'd be eating around a table and still singing. There would be a pool and they would all swim, because it's good for old people. Exercise without the strain or something. Chris is sure it's a good idea.

He pictures it sometimes, and it's probably different from how JC imagines it. Chris thinks that difference matters and he chooses not to dwell on it. But the room together, that's the way Chris wants it.

*

"I love you like a fat kid loves cake." Chris grins as he says it, and JC laughs. Justin starts doing the whole damn song, rapping away like he'd never do in public. He bounces on the couch. Lance starts laughing at Justin and when Justin just keeps going Lance collapses into Justin's lap, tears coming out of his eyes.

Joey says, "Cake. Man, what kind of cake? Do you think the fat kid has a preference?"

Chris says, "He likes JC cake."

JC stands up by the couch where Justin and Lance are and shoves Lance's butt. He sings, "I am thirty-two flavors and then some."

*

They're playing Halo, Chris and Justin, in Justin's custom-made station. Chris's seat smells like Trace. Old Spice, Trace sweat, Cheetos. Chris thinks about bringing some Febreze or something next time. Justin is kicking his ass. "I blame the Trace smell, man."

"Please, he doesn't stink. It's not like some body odor thing."

Chris sits up on the edge of his seat so he can kick Justin. "You sit here, motherfucker. We both know he doesn't shower, like, ever."

"This is MY seat. That's my opponent's seat. I had this custom bui--"

"I know, dumbfuck. And then you had Trace stink this up so your opponents would be all holding their breath and at a disadvantage. Winner of this game has to sit in the Tracestink chair. I'm not fucking kidding."

Justin says, "Fuck you."

"I quit." Chris puts his controller down and gets out of the stinky chair.

"You FUCKTARD!" Justin leaps out of his chair and dives for Chris. They end up rolling around on the floor until Chris is sitting on Justin's legs and holding his arms.

"Who's the fucktard now? I'm gonna make you smell the chair. Smell the chair!" Chris gets up and drags Justin by his wrists to the chair. Justin is kicking but Chris just laughs. "Smell the chair! Smell the chair!"

Justin almost smacks him in the head when Chris lets go of his arms but Chris has a good angle and he shoves Justin's head into the chair. "Doesn't it smell?"

Justin sputters. "Jesus Christ, don't I have bodyguards?" Justin coughs. He wriggles out of Chris's grasp. "Actually, um, yeah, it has a distinct odor."

They're both panting. Justin says, "You know who always smells good? JC. And I don't mean that in some I'm attracted to him way. Because I'm not. And I'm not just saying that. I'm not sure why I'm even telling you, because you've smelled him, but. Fuck, I'm lost."

"Yes. I get it. JC smells good. You, while maybe gay, are not interested in JC but still want to point out how he smells. Okay."

Justin laughs so hard he has to hold his stomach. "Fine, fuck, I'm stupid."

Chris kicks Justin's foot. "JC does smell good, though, man."

*

Chris's sisters come visit and Chris lets them rent whatever they want. He stays up late with all of them piled on the couch watching women weep and cry and people die. Or they don't say a word about the right things and fall in love in the end anyway. Taylor says, "Why don't they ever tell? Like, he loves her, she loves him, if they just said something, this movie would be five minutes."

"Well, there you go. There has to be a story."

"I wouldn't be that stupid if it were me, movie or no movie."

Chris says, "Life works like that sometimes, too. Because, you know, mostly, it's not he loves her, she loves him, it's just he loves her. Or she just loves him. So people don't want to get shot down."

She shrugs. "Maybe. But how would you ever know?"

She falls asleep across his lap. He likes the way she looks when she sleeps, peaceful and happy. Chris has a picture of her in his wallet, just like that. Chris is really careful about the pictures he keeps there, in case someone steals them. He remembers Justin talking about when those kids broke into his place in Destin. "The cops were all, oh, yeah, we checked that it was the tape you described, watched the whole fucking thing. Like I'm gonna say, no, no, I meant the tape where I'm buttfucking Michael Jackson and Brit's eating out Madonna, oops! I misspoke." Justin sighed and sounded tired.

So Chris is careful what he puts in his wallet. His sisters and his mother are turned away or blurry because Chris knows what they look like and those pictures are real ones he took. A picture of Justin from the waist up, laughing, and only Chris knows Justin wasn't wearing any underwear or pants. Lance asleep on a couch in some quiet room and he looks like Taylor does now. Joey laughing, and only Chris knows that he's holding Briahna for the second time ever. Pictures that mean something to Chris but won't look bad showing up on Ebay.

He has a picture of JC, too, and his arms are around Chris, but Chris cut himself out of the print. He doesn't care that it looks weird. He just needs to see JC.

*

Joey does a cannonball into his pool, splashing all the way onto the patio. He pops up and shakes his head like a dog, more water everywhere. Chris shades his eyes and does a bigger cannonball.

"Beat you," Chris says and swims to the deep end.

"You always want it more." Joey pulls himself out of the pool and sits on the edge. "Anyway. You have a look about you."

"A hot, wet and sexy look, man." Chris flips onto his back and does the backstroke for two full lengths of the pool.

"I meant, like, a look of resolve. Tell me you've grown some balls, after all this time." Joey kicks, make ripples.

Chris floats on his back and grabs his balls. "Dude, they've always been right here. Wanna see? They're fucking huge."

"You know what I mean." Joey gets up and grabs a beer.

"Get me one, too, man. Come on!" Chris swims to the edge of the pool and sits on the edge.

Joey throws him a beer. Chris misses catching it by a foot and dives into the pool to get his beer. Joey laughs. "Dude, you suck."

"The important thing is that I now have a beer." Chris smirks and leans back as he opens his beer. It sprays for a foot but none of it gets on Chris. And there's still half a can left to drink.

"I think I see balls." Joey claps. "Is that cojones I spot?"

"Aren't you all rah rah go for it. Assuming we're speaking of what I think we're speaking of." The downside of getting drunk with Joey, he never forgets things you say at three a.m. Chris rests his arms on the edge of the pool. He takes a long drink of his beer. "I mean, you act like it's nothing. Like it's just some stupid second act in a movie."

"Mostly," Joey says, sitting next to Chris's hands. "Mostly, I got enough money to afford this fine pool and I think, I mostly care about you and other people being happy now."

"You're like Jesus, man." Chris laughs and puts his beer can down on the tile. He swims again.

"Okay, there you go, being all sacrilegious. It's not working!" Joey keeps talking but Chris isn't listening, he's just swimming and swimming. Not just floating, not drowning or anything, he's swimming.

*

JC answers the door and sways. Chris blinks. "JC, uh, you okay?"

"I'm super!" JC walks away so Chris comes in.

"Why are you so super? Because I came here with a purpose. And now I'm all concerned you ate, like, the bulk size of marijuana brownies and I'm worried that you won't be paying attention to me." Chris watches JC perch in a chair and then just sort of melt into it. "Dude, seriously, what did you take?"

JC shakes his head and then twitches. "You know, um, I have a thing today." JC whispers. "Insurance. I have to do this. So they gave me an Ativan."

"You have to go to the doctor's today and they made you take some kind of drug." Chris sighs. "Well, my timing sucks."

"Why? Dude, I'm right here. I'm in an amazing, like, mellow mood. You know I'm not normally like this. It's just, um, last time? I kicked the nurse. So they're super excited, dude, they're like, this is the way to go."

Chris sits on the couch next to JC's chair. "Should I get you something to eat? Take the edge off?"

"There is no edge. There is no spoon." JC laughs. "Um, I can't eat. Cholesterol thing with the stuff. I can't drink either. So this pill is hitting me strong." JC starts singing, something about not talking about Gene Hackman and then being tired of a cart. Chris is thinking about putting himself in a cart and pushing himself off a cliff. He gets distracted figuring out the mechanics of it and when he looks up JC is still singing and is now splayed out across the chair.

"Dude, promise me you're not driving."

"Oh, god, no. Dude, no. Man, I am not that stupid."

"Who's driving you?" Chris pokes JC's toe.

"I don't know. You want to? You know where we're going, right? It's that guy."

Chris says sure and goes into the kitchen. He bangs his head into the tile counter and it feels better, somehow. Then he looks on the refrigerator for the appointment notice. It's right in the middle under a magnet of a naked girl. They need to leave right now.

In the car over JC puts his feet up on the dashboard and plays with the radio. JC says, "I'm so about to fall asleep. Which is, like, so ideal. I'll sleep right through it. Wake up and it will be done."

"Yeah, wouldn't that be nice?"

"Also, dude, did you see Eric Crouch got drafted? Like, he decided to do football again, or you know, find a way to be a quarterback because he won't be anything else. Like, on some level, I'm all, okay, he quit because he didn't want to be what he wasn't. On another level, I'm like, dude, just because you can't be first soprano or quarterback or something, you don't get all pissy and say I'm going home." JC inhales deeply. "Does he deserve a second chance? I used to be fucking impressed with him."

Chris makes a turn and looks for the doctor's office. He finds it and parks carefully. When he starts to say "JC" he realizes JC's fallen asleep.

*

JC answers the door and grins. "So I'm not on drugs this time. What's up with you?"

Chris smiles. "Can I come in?"

"God, yes, dude." JC walks into his kitchen and Chris follows. Unlike last time when JC was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, today JC has on jeans with an appliqué of a flower on the ass and a long sleeved button down shirt. The shirt is burgundy, it looks amazing. Chris swallows. JC turns around after pouring a glass of water. "Do you want something to drink? I know you have a thing, right? I remember that. But then I have a whole list of things that are just pissing me off over here."

"Pissing you off? Eric Crouch?"

JC grins. "No, real shit." Chris leans against the counter. No mark where he banged his head last week. JC starts talking and swearing about some bullshit from Jive and some review he read of Justin's performance. Chris nods at "money grubbing shits" and grunts at JC's evisceration of someone who thought Justin lip-synched his whole show. JC is all cold fury and it's totally sexy, but mostly Chris thinks this is a bad preamble.

JC frowns. "Anyway, that's me. What about you?"

Chris presses his lips together and plays with his beard. "Well. And now for something completely different. See. Um, remember once you said that you thought some day we'd all be old and in the same retirement home and like, I dunno, we'd all be in wheelchairs, or something, I dunno. Wheeling into each other rooms, you said. And I think, you know, that's great. That's what I want. Except, a little different."

JC is looking in Chris's eyes so his head is slightly down, his hair is messed up and he looks so fucking earnest and beautiful. Chris takes a deep breath. "A little different."

JC says, "How different?"

Chris says, "I thought, in my head, you and me are sharing a room. You know, all those years from now."

JC blinks. He keeps staring at Chris and Chris stops himself from looking at his feet. He can look at JC. He wants to do it, he enjoys it. It's just that right now it's really kind of hard. He thinks he said everything wrong.

JC says, "So is this like a promise ring or something? A promise that maybe someday we'll do something more than this? You've sort of lost me."

"Well, it's not that important." Chris slaps the counter and leaves. He thinks JC calls for him as he walks out but Chris doesn't listen.

*

Justin is on the phone from the Midwest, maybe Iowa. "Dude, Christina's piercing? Down there? Kinda scares me."

"How are you seeing that up close? Dude." Chris is somewhere in Mexico. There's a beach and it's such an expensive place, Chris doesn't even want to think about it. It means the beach isn't much in use.

"She showed me. She was all drunk and her boyfriend was there, okay? Then Trace was an ass and she slapped him. Fucking hilarious. Her boyfriend's cool, man. I like him."

Chris grunts. He sips on his drink with its stupid umbrella. Justin says, "So, okay, that was my one thing. Oh, and I talked to Lance and he talked to JC and he said you're running away."

"JC or Lance?"

"Lance. JC's all busy with shit and album things and we haven't talked in a few weeks." Justin makes a popping noise. He must be chewing gum. Justin says, "So Lance thinks you're running away and then we had this weird almost argument about how I knew you better and someone who's never home can't be all claiming that just because they live across the street from each other or some such bullshit --"

"You were fighting over me?" Chris grins.

"We were fighting about something else and you were the convenient displacement. But you know, um, this running away thing? Are you?"

"Convenient displacement? What are you reading these days? Maybe I should come there and take you in hand."

"I don't need anyone to take me in hand." Justin sounds very serious.

Chris sits up in his chair and keeps smiling. "I know. And I should come to see the show."

"You've seen it three times. But it would be fun. And back to running away? Cause I feel like I'm missing something but Joey said he knew it from you or Lance said he knew it from Joey who knew it and then I was, like, dude, I know, too, sort of. And there seems to be, uh, a consensus that you are running away from something."

"Guy can't take a vacation?"

Justin snorts. "Okay, fine. We'll talk about this later. How's Mexico?"

"Good beer. I gotta go and you got things to do." Chris hangs up and puts his phone in his bag. He walks straight into the ocean and tries just floating for a bit.

*

His place in Mexico is a private cottage. Someone who stayed there before hung Christmas tree lights everywhere inside the house and Chris really loves that. It's festive and pretty and it makes him want to open presents every morning. It's beastly hot this time of year and Chris thinks he's leaving a stain of sweat on everything he touches and rests on, but there are lights, too, so it all evens out.

When he walks in from the beach, the TV's on. Chris came alone and he's been alone so he leans against the wall and grabs his hockey stick. It's borderline nuts to go to Mexico in the summer and bring a hockey stick but Chris thought he'd play some in the street, on his roller blades. It would be fun. He hasn't done it yet, so the hockey stick is now defense.

Then the person watching TV moves in the chair and it's JC's foot in flip-flops. Chris blinks. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

JC flinches and gets out of the chair. He backs away. "Um, could you put down the hockey stick first?"

"Oh, sure." Chris leans against the wall. "How did you find me?"

"I asked your mother."

Chris nods. "That's a good plan."

"It worked." JC nods this time. "I'm kinda starved for time."

"I was gonna say, aren't you insanely busy? Like, what's starved for time?"

"I took a personal day." JC sits back down in the chair and turns off the TV. "I really like this place. The lights, they're really pretty, like a bar or something. Or Christmas."

"They were already here." Chris walks around and sits down in front of JC. "What are you doing here?"

"I figured out what you were trying to say. It was confusing."

"I was running on impulse." Chris shrugs.

JC rubs his chin and then plays with his hair. It looks clean. "It was like, huh. Because you know, it's not like I haven't been living my life, but definitely, there were, like, times -- a lot of times -- when I wished you would say something like that."

Chris feels his leg shaking. He says, "Was that past tense? And you never said."

"And you never said. And you know what, dude? Between the two of us, let's just skip over the issues for now, okay? The sexuality issues, the other people, the group, the big organic mess of issues. Because it wasn't past tense. I mean, it's a constant thing."

"Well, now you tell me." Chris scoots closer to JC.

"Hey, boy." JC finally smiles. "I'm making this too easy for you. You should work more."

"I've worked for you." Chris tries a pout. It feels like JC's his present today, but he just can't open it all the way, can't get all the wrapping off.

"No, you babbled at me and ran away and now I came to you. I think I'm doing all the work. You should, um, prove it to me." JC almost laughs. "Prove it to me very quickly, because I have a plane to catch in like, three hours."

"I put down my hockey stick really quickly. I'd swim really far for you. Or float. Work against the tide, or um, take whatever comes. Promise." Chris sits up and puts his hands on JC's knees. "And I think we should have our room at the retirement home. We'll get really nice sheets."

JC says, "Fuck it, I've got no time at all." Chris doesn't have time to worry what that means because JC surges forward and kisses him.

*

The Christmas tree lights in the bedroom are all red, and half of them blink. It's like a really cheerful bordello or something. The sheets are white and the pillowcases are red and on the bedside table there's a red plastic star and a clear plastic crescent moon. Chris plans to steal them and put them in his house.

JC is red and sometimes even more red from the lights and he's naked. Chris holds onto JC's hips and opens his mouth wide as he can while JC's hands are gripping Chris's hair, like a head massage only more frenetic. More aggressive. And more dick down his throat in a really special and hot way. Chris really likes sex and he's liking sex with JC, this rushed red thing on his rented white sheets more than anything.

They lie together under red lights after and Chris says, "I meant that, man. Like a fat kid loves cake. You're my lake or something."

JC laughs. He stretches out his arms and wiggles his fingers. "I'm gonna be late. I'm so gonna be late and I'll never make my plane."

"There are lots of planes." Chris smiles.

"Yeah." JC reaches over and takes the crescent moon, presses it against his heart. "You steal the other one, we'll have a matched set. And I will so catch my plane."

"I planned to steal both."

JC kisses Chris on the tip of his nose and gets out of bed. "Well, sometimes you have to share."

*

JC misses his flight but he catches the next one. Chris sends him brochures for retirement homes and pictures of himself floating in the ocean. JC leaves voicemail messages at three different times of the day and all he's doing is laughing.

THE END.

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