He almost walks in, coming to ask about something he can’t remember anymore. JC is holding Joey’s shirt to his face, just breathing, and Joey stops at the door, hand on the frame. He almost doesn’t breathe, but he must have done something, made some movement, because JC lifts his head and turns toward the door.
“What?”
Joey lifts his hand, gestures toward the shirt. “What are you doing?”
JC shakes the shirt out. “Picking up.”
“Don’t,” Joey says. “They’re out because they’re the ones I use. I’ll lose my favorites if you clean.”
“But I can make a special spot for them…”
Joey takes his shirt, shakes his head. “It’s better this way,” he says. He doesn’t say for whom.
***
Joey pulls JC in for a kiss and can’t remember when this started feeling normal.
JC moans, his fingers pulling at Joey’s hair, and Joey thinks it might be something he can’t live without. It makes him angry.
He bites down hard on JC’s lip and he thinks it might make JC pull away but it doesn’t. The coppery taste of blood spreads through Joey’s mouth as JC presses closer, arching into him and Joey shoves him back against the wall and following, pushing up against him until JC is trapped but still he doesn’t give up, doesn’t cry out and Joey’s so mad he doesn’t think, doesn’t feel, doesn’t care.
He wonders why JC does.
***
“What’s this?” JC asks. Joey turns and JC’s holding a green toothbrush in his hand, like he’s never seen one before.
“I realize some of my gadgets are strange, C, but some of these things should be familiar…”
JC laughs softly, a quiet rumble of mirth. It makes Joey smile.
“No,” he says. “I mean, whose is it?”
“Yours.”
JC grins, lips spread across his face like a fool, and Joey turns away, ignoring the small knot of need curled in his belly.
***
He collapses onto JC’s back, still half-hard and panting, heart racing against his chest and he can feel JC’s heaving breaths underneath him.
“I love you,” JC gasps, not for the first time. Joey’s heart leaps in his chest, like every other time. His hands grip JC’s and he wishes he could say it back, could say anything, but he can’t. Not when fame is everything and fans are fickle and the others are at stake in the decisions he makes. They can pretend, play house, but love? They couldn’t, they shouldn’t. They won’t. Not if he has anything to do with it.
He doesn’t say anything and he can almost feel JC pulling away, steeling himself. He smoothes his hands over JC’s sides and thinks maybe JC is learning.
***
She presses up against him, the reflections of a million lights in her eyes, greed in her hands as the burrow under his shirt.
He lets her feel, touches back. Hopes to God someone is watching, someone who would care. She’s pretty, blue eyes, brown hair, and it’s almost easy to pretend.
She tugs on his hand and he lets her lead him away.
***
The lights are still on inside. JC’s waiting for him, Joey knows. He can still smell girl on himself and he hates that JC won’t care, won’t say anything about it. Will smile and kiss him and let him do whatever he wants because he doesn’t care. Joey would care, in his place, but JC doesn’t and it pisses him off.
He rests his head against the steering wheel. Bitter rage and hunger stir in his chest and he thinks that if he could come home, just once, and find his house empty he might be happy.
He knows he’s lying.