A History Lesson
Jun. 4th, 2008 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
randomlingWritten for The June Bug Challenge. Also submitted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100.
Summary: Justin's past is farther behind him than he thought.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ephemera_pop for beta.
A History Lesson
Justin sits outside in the car for a long time, thinking. Thinking, mostly, about whether he wants to go inside at all. He spoke to Joey on the phone yesterday, and it was all, sure, man, it'll be great to see you. They've been talking about meeting up for years, now, and never doing it, and Justin's always thought that it really would be great to see Joey; it's been so long. Right now, though, faced with it, Justin's not so sure.
His mom, neat and calm beside him, doesn't say anything about it, nothing at all, and it's long past the time when he could ask for her advice, anyway. He knows what he has to do, and it's a variation on the face the music theme: hang with Joey. Justin's not even sure how to talk to Joey any more, or what to talk about, now that they don't share a language. The language of work, and shared stress, and shared jokes, and shared everything; a shared life.
In a minute, he's going to get out of the car and go inside, and at some point during the evening he'll run into Joey, and Justin will flounder for something – anything – to say. Justin knows, because he's been through that with Lance before. Justin remembers when he and Joey could just talk, about nothing, for hours on end. He misses that.
Dwelling on it won't help. Justin turns to his mom and says, "Are you ready?"
"Of course I am," she says, smiling. "Are you?"
***
He finds himself avoiding Joey when he gets inside. He does pretty good at that for the first couple of hours, because there are plenty of people to greet, new people and acquaintances, and he can draw out almost any conversation pretty well by introducing his mom and letting her take over. The party's... well, it's pretty much a party. Justin's bored.
He dances with his mom some, and drinks a little but not too much, and thinks about doing a line or two but decides against it. Something tells him it's not going to be a wild night - not with his mom and Joey there.
It's coming up on midnight already when Joey finally appears beside him.
"Hey," Joey says, giving Justin an unpleasant jolt of surprise.
Justin takes a second to recover, but afterward he says, "Hey," quite normally.
Joey puts a friendly hand on Justin's shoulder, and Justin has to make an effort not to flinch. It's a little like being touched by a stranger, like Joey's one of those guys that thinks he knows Justin, knows one of Justin's friends, listens to the music, like, really listens - whatever - but doesn't actually know a damn thing. Justin has to remind himself that Joey's not one of those guys. He's in another category entirely, the one labelled used to know. "How's the family?" Justin says.
It's reflexive small talk, the kind of question he asks guys he golfs with. Justin kicks himself, because wasn't this man his brother, not so long ago? Maybe this is just the warm-up phase, and soon they'll be talking, like old friends should. "Good," Joey says. "How's, uh, Jessica? Not here tonight?"
"She's good too. Couldn't make it tonight."
Still small.
Joey glances across the room, and Justin follows his gaze to where his mom is talking to some guy Justin doesn't recognize. "So you brought your mom," Joey says dryly.
Justin glances at Joey. Joey's smirking, and Justin has to let himself smile. Some things don't fucking change, and at least it's not more small talk. "Shut up, dude."
"Just saying."
"Whatever." Justin shakes his head, still smiling, and Joey pats Justin's shoulder gently before taking his hand away. Justin kind of wishes, just for a second, that he'd put it back. "How's Lance?" Justin asks. Not because he's looking to stir up trouble, but because it's Joey, and that's the next question, like, how's your other wife.
Joey looks at Justin levelly for just a second too long. "He's good."
***
Things don't seem quite so easy after that. He and Joey talk small some more, and then they part ways, perfectly amicably, and boredom descends back over Justin like a cloud. It's not the same feeling at all, though - not the vague sense of being not-that-interested he had before, but another kind of boredom, itchy and hot. He doesn't want to be here at all. He's gotten used to all kinds of things over the past few years, but not Joey being mad at him.
Lance being mad, sure. Hell yes. But Joey was the peacemaker, always playing big brother to their childish spats.
If he told his mom, she'd say, Don't be silly, baby, Joey could never be mad at you. But he's not fucking stupid. He saw it in Joey's eyes. Joey's anger is rare and potent enough that Justin can spot it a mile off, always could.
He swills back a beer, way too quick, then another, and moves onto cocktails without further ado, not caring if he's mixing his drinks, letting his mother fend for herself. His fucking mother - and he stops himself there, because he knows things are bad if he's getting mad at her, it's the next step in a fucked-up progression that started with getting mad at himself. If he's not careful, an hour from now he'll be drunk-dialling Lance, begging for forgiveness, and Lance will sigh and hang up. Justin's made enough calls like that to last them both a lifetime.
Joey finds him again when he's just started on the tequila, satisfyingly bitter in his throat. Justin doesn't notice until Joey's hand appears on his shoulder, far more firmly than before. "C'mon, J," Joey says.
Justin blinks up at Joey. Nobody calls him that any more.
Joey's frowning. "I'm putting you to bed."
Sex with Joey: another blast from the distant past. Justin feels stupidly young and hopeful, though in this state, he's not even sure he could get it up. "Taking me to bed?" he asks, and Joey blows out a laugh.
"Tucking you up in bed, kid," Joey says indulgently, "so you can sleep it off."
Kid. Justin sags a little under Joey's hand, and Joey squeezes gently before hauling Justin up. Justin goes gratefully, leaning on Joey because his legs aren't doing a stellar job of holding him up. He glances across at his mom, embarrassed, but she doesn't even seem to have noticed, engrossed in conversation with some guy. The guy's back is to Justin; Justin can't see his face.
"C'mon, J," Joey says again. "Upstairs." The hand on Justin's shoulder moves to Justin's hand and tugs.
Justin glances back at his mom one last time, then follows Joey through the crowds. They walk along the deserted hallway, and away from the party noise. They don't say a word, and Justin figures it's for the best, because he can't see how he can talk to Joey without mentioning Lance, and he feels like if he mentions Lance's name again, Lance might suddenly appear.
He doesn't want that.
The house is cooler upstairs. Hand in hand with Joey, Justin finds he feels more exhausted than relaxed, his feet stumbling underneath him until finally his knees hit a bed and he falls gratefully forward onto his belly. He doesn't even to try to undress, just kicks his shoes off and shuffles up the bed.
When Joey smiles and closes the bedroom door behind them, Justin feels for a moment as if he's been transported back in time. He rolls over to look up at Joey, who's unceremoniously unzipping his fly.
When Joey's pants drop, Justin feels another hard twist of hope. Joey smiles at him warmly as he kicks the pants to the floor. “Don't get any ideas,” he says.
Justin puts his arm over his eyes.
Joey says, “Hey. Hey, it's okay.” But it's not. Joey's mad at Justin, and Lance hates him, and the weird, delicate thing they'd once had got busted up and kicked down the drain long ago. These days there's just Joey-and-Lance, no Justin; he's not part of that cozy three any more; and there's no group left, either. Right at this moment, Justin misses it ferociously.
The next thing he knows, the bed is shifting under him as Joey sits down. He's down to just T-shirt and boxers now, shoes and jewellery gone. Justin uncovers his eyes.
“Look, J,” Joey says. “You're drunk. And you're upset, I get that. But it's gonna be okay. C'mon, you'll feel better in the morning.”
It's a typical Joey platitude, but the thing about Joey is, he's always right when he says that shit. Justin shifts over on the bed, enough to let Joey lie down beside him, and Joey's arm goes around his waist.
“I miss you,” Justin murmurs, because it's late and he's drunk and almost asleep. He can pretend he doesn't remember tomorrow morning. “Both of you.”
Joey's arm squeezes briefly, and then stays there, reassuringly, exactly where Justin wants it. “Yeah,” he says. “We miss you, too.”
fanfic100.Summary: Justin's past is farther behind him than he thought.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Also: Thank you to
ephemera_pop for beta.A History Lesson
Justin sits outside in the car for a long time, thinking. Thinking, mostly, about whether he wants to go inside at all. He spoke to Joey on the phone yesterday, and it was all, sure, man, it'll be great to see you. They've been talking about meeting up for years, now, and never doing it, and Justin's always thought that it really would be great to see Joey; it's been so long. Right now, though, faced with it, Justin's not so sure.
His mom, neat and calm beside him, doesn't say anything about it, nothing at all, and it's long past the time when he could ask for her advice, anyway. He knows what he has to do, and it's a variation on the face the music theme: hang with Joey. Justin's not even sure how to talk to Joey any more, or what to talk about, now that they don't share a language. The language of work, and shared stress, and shared jokes, and shared everything; a shared life.
In a minute, he's going to get out of the car and go inside, and at some point during the evening he'll run into Joey, and Justin will flounder for something – anything – to say. Justin knows, because he's been through that with Lance before. Justin remembers when he and Joey could just talk, about nothing, for hours on end. He misses that.
Dwelling on it won't help. Justin turns to his mom and says, "Are you ready?"
"Of course I am," she says, smiling. "Are you?"
***
He finds himself avoiding Joey when he gets inside. He does pretty good at that for the first couple of hours, because there are plenty of people to greet, new people and acquaintances, and he can draw out almost any conversation pretty well by introducing his mom and letting her take over. The party's... well, it's pretty much a party. Justin's bored.
He dances with his mom some, and drinks a little but not too much, and thinks about doing a line or two but decides against it. Something tells him it's not going to be a wild night - not with his mom and Joey there.
It's coming up on midnight already when Joey finally appears beside him.
"Hey," Joey says, giving Justin an unpleasant jolt of surprise.
Justin takes a second to recover, but afterward he says, "Hey," quite normally.
Joey puts a friendly hand on Justin's shoulder, and Justin has to make an effort not to flinch. It's a little like being touched by a stranger, like Joey's one of those guys that thinks he knows Justin, knows one of Justin's friends, listens to the music, like, really listens - whatever - but doesn't actually know a damn thing. Justin has to remind himself that Joey's not one of those guys. He's in another category entirely, the one labelled used to know. "How's the family?" Justin says.
It's reflexive small talk, the kind of question he asks guys he golfs with. Justin kicks himself, because wasn't this man his brother, not so long ago? Maybe this is just the warm-up phase, and soon they'll be talking, like old friends should. "Good," Joey says. "How's, uh, Jessica? Not here tonight?"
"She's good too. Couldn't make it tonight."
Still small.
Joey glances across the room, and Justin follows his gaze to where his mom is talking to some guy Justin doesn't recognize. "So you brought your mom," Joey says dryly.
Justin glances at Joey. Joey's smirking, and Justin has to let himself smile. Some things don't fucking change, and at least it's not more small talk. "Shut up, dude."
"Just saying."
"Whatever." Justin shakes his head, still smiling, and Joey pats Justin's shoulder gently before taking his hand away. Justin kind of wishes, just for a second, that he'd put it back. "How's Lance?" Justin asks. Not because he's looking to stir up trouble, but because it's Joey, and that's the next question, like, how's your other wife.
Joey looks at Justin levelly for just a second too long. "He's good."
***
Things don't seem quite so easy after that. He and Joey talk small some more, and then they part ways, perfectly amicably, and boredom descends back over Justin like a cloud. It's not the same feeling at all, though - not the vague sense of being not-that-interested he had before, but another kind of boredom, itchy and hot. He doesn't want to be here at all. He's gotten used to all kinds of things over the past few years, but not Joey being mad at him.
Lance being mad, sure. Hell yes. But Joey was the peacemaker, always playing big brother to their childish spats.
If he told his mom, she'd say, Don't be silly, baby, Joey could never be mad at you. But he's not fucking stupid. He saw it in Joey's eyes. Joey's anger is rare and potent enough that Justin can spot it a mile off, always could.
He swills back a beer, way too quick, then another, and moves onto cocktails without further ado, not caring if he's mixing his drinks, letting his mother fend for herself. His fucking mother - and he stops himself there, because he knows things are bad if he's getting mad at her, it's the next step in a fucked-up progression that started with getting mad at himself. If he's not careful, an hour from now he'll be drunk-dialling Lance, begging for forgiveness, and Lance will sigh and hang up. Justin's made enough calls like that to last them both a lifetime.
Joey finds him again when he's just started on the tequila, satisfyingly bitter in his throat. Justin doesn't notice until Joey's hand appears on his shoulder, far more firmly than before. "C'mon, J," Joey says.
Justin blinks up at Joey. Nobody calls him that any more.
Joey's frowning. "I'm putting you to bed."
Sex with Joey: another blast from the distant past. Justin feels stupidly young and hopeful, though in this state, he's not even sure he could get it up. "Taking me to bed?" he asks, and Joey blows out a laugh.
"Tucking you up in bed, kid," Joey says indulgently, "so you can sleep it off."
Kid. Justin sags a little under Joey's hand, and Joey squeezes gently before hauling Justin up. Justin goes gratefully, leaning on Joey because his legs aren't doing a stellar job of holding him up. He glances across at his mom, embarrassed, but she doesn't even seem to have noticed, engrossed in conversation with some guy. The guy's back is to Justin; Justin can't see his face.
"C'mon, J," Joey says again. "Upstairs." The hand on Justin's shoulder moves to Justin's hand and tugs.
Justin glances back at his mom one last time, then follows Joey through the crowds. They walk along the deserted hallway, and away from the party noise. They don't say a word, and Justin figures it's for the best, because he can't see how he can talk to Joey without mentioning Lance, and he feels like if he mentions Lance's name again, Lance might suddenly appear.
He doesn't want that.
The house is cooler upstairs. Hand in hand with Joey, Justin finds he feels more exhausted than relaxed, his feet stumbling underneath him until finally his knees hit a bed and he falls gratefully forward onto his belly. He doesn't even to try to undress, just kicks his shoes off and shuffles up the bed.
When Joey smiles and closes the bedroom door behind them, Justin feels for a moment as if he's been transported back in time. He rolls over to look up at Joey, who's unceremoniously unzipping his fly.
When Joey's pants drop, Justin feels another hard twist of hope. Joey smiles at him warmly as he kicks the pants to the floor. “Don't get any ideas,” he says.
Justin puts his arm over his eyes.
Joey says, “Hey. Hey, it's okay.” But it's not. Joey's mad at Justin, and Lance hates him, and the weird, delicate thing they'd once had got busted up and kicked down the drain long ago. These days there's just Joey-and-Lance, no Justin; he's not part of that cozy three any more; and there's no group left, either. Right at this moment, Justin misses it ferociously.
The next thing he knows, the bed is shifting under him as Joey sits down. He's down to just T-shirt and boxers now, shoes and jewellery gone. Justin uncovers his eyes.
“Look, J,” Joey says. “You're drunk. And you're upset, I get that. But it's gonna be okay. C'mon, you'll feel better in the morning.”
It's a typical Joey platitude, but the thing about Joey is, he's always right when he says that shit. Justin shifts over on the bed, enough to let Joey lie down beside him, and Joey's arm goes around his waist.
“I miss you,” Justin murmurs, because it's late and he's drunk and almost asleep. He can pretend he doesn't remember tomorrow morning. “Both of you.”
Joey's arm squeezes briefly, and then stays there, reassuringly, exactly where Justin wants it. “Yeah,” he says. “We miss you, too.”
