Lance came to you one afternoon with an idea. You knew you weren’t the first he’d talked to, that he’d probably talked to Joey about whatever it was first, because he and Joey were like that. He came to you second, probably, because you and he were like that.

He stood in front of you, almost twitching, looking for all the world like he was going to tell you that he had only 24 hours to live.

“You know how I’ve always said that I wanted to be an astronaut?”

You nod.

“Well, I’ve got this opportunity. I’ve been talking to MirCorp for a while and have asked them…”

He trails off. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

You shake your head. You have no idea, but you can tell it’s important to him.

“I’m going to outer space.”

And for a moment, though you desperately want to say something, all you can do is stare.

“Outer space, as in, out of the atmosphere outer space. As in, space. Where there’s no oxygen and stuff?”

You see his hands clench because he’s still standing over you instead of sitting next to you and they’re in your line of vision.

“Yes, outer space.”

“You’re going to outer space?” Your mind tries to fit itself into this new paradigm, into a world in which its okay, even possible for pop stars to go to outer space. You think of Lance then, sitting in the quiet room or staying behind in the hotel while the rest of you went to a club, tapping at his laptop or muttering into his cell phone. You didn’t think the Russians would let him take those into space.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“After the second leg.”

You nod and while you hope he has fun and you hope this is a rewarding experience for him and that he learns all it is he never could learn while standing on the Earth, you can’t help but find the whole situation a little funny.

It was only after Lance told you about his space station idea that Justin came to you with the idea of a solo album. The fact that he wanted to do one didn’t surprise you. You knew from the moment you met him years ago on the set of the Mickey Mouse Club that even if he wasn’t destined for great things, he was the sort that would go out and grab great things for himself. Wrestle great things to the ground and claim them for his own. That’s the type of person he was.

It would take Lance six months of training before he’d be allowed to go to space. He’d spend a month there, and then come back. Justin decided that the hiatus would be the perfect time to record his new album.

He came to you first, told you first, because you and he were like that, had always been.

“Six years, C. I’ve been doing this group thing for six years.”

“It’s not like it hasn’t been good for you.”

You watch him crumple, sort of, anticipating something awful that you weren’t going to do to him. He doesn’t know that, it seems.

“I know, it’s just… I’ve never tried anything on my own. And I do, I really want to.”

You nod, and the smile on your face is answered by one on his, one of his teeth baring grins that always manages to elicit screams from his adoring fans.

“Don’t, you know, apologize for it. It’s who you are.”

“It’s who I am,” he says and you realize that you have just given him his catch phrase, what he’ll throw at the public when they ask him about this venture. “It’s who I am, the music.”

He laughs and hugs you and for a few moments you can pretend it doesn’t feel like things are falling apart.

Joey’s reaction surprised you. You aren’t sure what you were expecting from him, but you are sure it isn’t the quiet, defeated man standing in front of you. He’d come to you third, after he went to Lance and Chris. You and he were like that.

“I don’t want him to go. Not really,” he says, slumped into the couch next to you.

You pull him into your arms because you and he are like that, unafraid to show your affection through physical contact, and you know that sometimes, when he’s so lost in himself that he can’t find his way out again, he needs it. He leans over against your chest and you put your chin on his head and squeeze.

“What are you going to do?” you ask.

Because he’s pressed against you, you can feel the full-bodied shrug. “Go home, I guess. I need to spend more time with Brianna, and this is a good opportunity.”

You nod and because his head is under your chin, he can feel it.

You realize, later, that he was going to miss Lance a lot more than he let on. Probably more than he was willing to admit to himself. Seven months is a long time, you reason. Long enough for Joey to come to terms with his questions, or long enough to come up with more excuses to bury any true feelings he might have.

You figure you know Lance’s thoughts on the subject. While you don’t think that he is going to space to force Joey into some sort of decision, you wouldn’t put it past him.

After Lance left and Justin holed himself up in a studio to record and Joey went to Orlando to be a dad to Brianna for seven months, you wheedled Chris into taking a trip with you.

"Like touring isn't a trip?"

You shook your head. "No, I mean, we'll drive this time. And we'll stop and do... you know... everything we always wanted to do before. Everything we were never able to do."

Chris's eyes lit up, and you knew you had him. "Like screaming into the Grand Canyon?"

You nod.

"And the Hoover Dam?"

You nod again.

"And…"

"Yes, Chris. We can do it."

“Okay, but I’ll only go if you get rid of the mullet.”

“Only if you cut off the horns.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He smiles and you watch the light in his eyes grow brighter, bright enough to encompass you both, and you begin to wonder whether you'll survive the trip.

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