Lance starts it, but Joey follows.

It takes Joey a long time to climb the stairs and he favors his right leg, stops every so often and grips the handrail. He makes it to the top and collapses in the first chair of the last row, next to Lance. He stretches his leg out before him, hissing as the muscles flex.

Lance taps his thigh. “You shouldn’t be climbing on it.”

Joey eyes him as he rubs at his calf muscle. “I dance for two hours on it every night. A little climb can’t hurt.”

Lance frowns. His fingers brush over Joey‘s, tight around his calf. “Still…” he says, worry wrinkling his brow.

“Don’t worry about it.” Joey smiles, but Lance can see the beads of sweat on his upper lip, his temple. “I’m fine,” he says. Lance wishes it were true.

***

“These seats kind of suck,” Lance says, tipping his head back to look up at the clear blue sky. “We have a better view of the announcer’s box than the stage.”

Joey squints down at the field, identifying two ant-size dots he assumes are Justin and Chris, chasing each other around the sound equipment. Anthony will kill them if they break anything.

“Don’t they only pay, like, ten bucks for these seats?”

“Forty.”

Joey whistles, long and low. “Wow. They do suck.”

***

“Where are we again?”

Joey stands up on his seat, stretches up to see over the wall. He can see for miles, little roads and telephone lines stretch out, curving over the edge of the horizon. Clouds gather in the distance. “It’s flat,” he says. “Texas? Arkansas? Mississippi? Oklahoma?”

“E, none of the above?”

Joey shrugs.

“I’ll just check the dressing room wall,” Lance says.

***

Lance’s arm brushes against his, soft and warm, and Joey leans a little closer. “This sometimes reminds me of the movie.”

Lance looks around. “There were more people then.”

“Well. Yeah.”

“We were watching a game, not the Jumbotron.”

“Technically, we were watching the cameras and the director and all the director’s little henchman.”

“Way to ruin the mood.”

“What mood?” Joey glances at the big screen and laughs. “And we missed JC prancing,” he says, pointing. “Sad.”

Lance laughs. “You had that hot dog…”

“Do you eat meat?” Joey asks, pantomiming a bite. He stops laughing when Lance chokes on his breath. “Lance…”

“Beer! Popcorn! Ice cold coke!” Chris’s shrill voice breaks the silence and Joey whips around, twisting away from Lance.

“What?” he says, and hopes he doesn’t squeak.

Chris is at the end of their row, with a vendor’s tray at his waist. It’s empty but neither that nor the vacant seats deter Chris. “Hot dogs!” he says. “Four dollars!” He winks at Joey and walks back down the stairs, stopping to hand out imaginary drinks to imaginary people, taking imaginary money in return.

“We should get him checked out,” Joey says, turning to Lance, but Lance is gone.

***

Lance tips back his head and laughs and Joey stares at the long line of his neck. He licks his lips.

“Seriously,” he says. He puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder, thumb pressing up against his pulse. “It definitely happened.”

Lance tips his head forward, catches Joey’s eyes.

“I’ll ask Justin,” he whispers.

***

A raindrop falls on his arm, where it brushes against Lance’s. “This isn’t good,” he says, looking up at the dark gray sky. The pale light sifting through the clouds hurts his eyes, and the pounding behind them increases.

Lance nods. “I heard Anthony say we might have to cancel this show.”

“We can do pick ups later, right?”

“Maybe,” Lance says, shrugging. “It really sucks.”

Joey tries to agree but he coughs instead, his throat seizing and he can’t stop for what feels like eternity and might only have been five minutes.

Lance presses a cool hand to his forehead and Joey brushes it away. “I’m fine,” he rasps. “Fine.”

***

“About what he said…”

“Nothing, Joey. Forget it.” Lance turns away, toward the empty section behind them.

Wind whips his hair around, and he shoves it off his forehead. “Forget what?”

“Just. It doesn’t. It’s not…”

“True?” Joey stops to cough and Lance runs his hands down Joey’s back, trying to soothe the tensing muscles. “You telling me it’s not true?” Joey says. Lance pulls his hands away.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It doesn’t change anything.”

Joey lifts his hand to Lance’s cheek, leaves it there through another coughing spasm. “It changes everything,” he tries to say, but another spasm starts and he can’t. He thinks Lance might understand anyway.

***

Lance scoots down in the chair, places his feet on the seat in front him and stares up at the dark ceiling. He can hear Justin shouting at Chris far below him, Anthony calling orders to the work crew, Billy warming up on the drums.

He turns his head to the empty chair next to him. “Fucking San Antonio,” he says, and sighs.

***

“Should you be walking up all these stairs?” Lance asks as soon as Joey’s close enough.

Joey shrugs. “I’m fine, it’s cool.”

For once, Lance believes him.

“It was weird, not having you there,” he says when Joey sits.

“It was weird, being there when you guys were somewhere else.” Joey rubs at his eyes and props his head against the wall behind him. “Weird,” he sighs. “Especially when Chris called.”

“Yeah, JC was freaking out.”

“He does that.”

Lance twists his fingers in his lap, watching as the tips turn purple. “What do you guys talk about?” he asks without looking up.

Joey rolls his head around to look at Lance. “When?”

“Whenever,” Lance mumbles.

Joey reaches out and untangles Lance’s hands, threading their fingers together. “You, mostly,” he says. He smiles when Lance blushes.

***

Joey is already in a seat, leaning back with his eyes closed and Lance thinks he might be asleep. He tries to climb over him but Joey reaches up suddenly, and he inhales sharply but he’s not really startled. He might have known.

Joey tugs him down and Lance already has one leg over Joey’s, so he sits on Joey’s knees, facing him. He jumps up suddenly. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Joey pulls him back and Lance rests gingerly on his legs. “No, it’s okay.”

Lance nods. “Let me know if it starts to hurt, okay?”

Joey leans forward, brushes his mouth against Lance’s throat. “I don’t think I’ll notice,” he says. His hands run around Lance’s waist and Lance sighs, leaning into Joey’s touch.

“Probably not,” he says. He brushes his thumbs over Joey’s cheek, tilts his face upward. “Tell me anyway.” He presses his mouth against Joey’s, slides his tongue forward and licks along the crease of Joey’s lips until they open and Joey’s tongue meets his.

“Tell you what?” Joey breathes into the kiss.

“I forgot,” Lance whispers.

***

Lance gasps and clutches at Joey’s shoulders. He hits his head on the wall but he can’t tell if that’s what causes the stars, or if it’s just Joey. Just Joey… not just.

Joey pulls away and Lance moans. His hands slip down Joey’s neck, trying to pull him closer.

“Quiet,” Joey says, running his hands up Lance’s thighs. His palms cup Lance’s hips, his thumbs pressing in the crease between pelvis and thigh. Lance arches into his hands. “You’ll echo,” he says, lips grazing Lance’s flushed skin. “They’ll hear.”

He leans further forward, pressing Lance back into the seat as his lips engulf Lance again, drawing him deep. Lance slips his hand through the neck of Joey’s shirt, presses against the warm, sweaty skin as he bites his lip to keep them shut. He closes his eyes against the sight of Joey’s jaw working around him, on him, at the sight of Joey’s back stretched before him.

“I can’t,” he whispers, then shouts.

***

Joey tries to catch his hand but Lance pulls away, slides over a seat. The distance between them might as well have been the Grand Canyon, and Joey slips his hands in his pocket. He pinches his thigh but Lance is still there, still looking at his shoes and not at him.

“Where were you last night?” he asks.

“With JC. He and Bobbie are over.”

Lance slips his hands under his knees, hunching forward. Joey wants to reach out and touch him, but he can’t.

“Okay,” Lance says, but Joey knows it’s not.

***

Lance stares off at the clouds in the distance and Joey wonders if Lance sees him at all.

“I hope that holds off,” Lance says, eyes still on the horizon.

“Yeah. That would suck.” Joey sits several seats away, still looking at Lance who still looks away, unwilling or unable to meet his eyes.

Lance shifts his gaze, looking down into the stadium. He speaks, but at first he’s so quiet Joey can’t really hear him.

“What?”

A sigh. “I said double sided tape.”

“Repeating myself… what?”

“You’re like that double sided tape. You stick to everything, everyone. I’ve got one side of you now, maybe, but who will come along, after me, and grab the other side?”

Joey shakes his head, but Lance still can’t see him, still looks away. “I only stick to you. I’m more like that sticky tack gunk. The shit you can’t get off no matter how hard you try.”

Lance laughs, but it isn’t happy. He sounds defeated, and Joey wishes he could make Lance see. “The stuff that leaves the oily spots once it’s gone?”

Joey knows what he means, even if he won’t say it. He moves closer, lays his hand on Lance’s arm. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and Lance turns to meet him, lifts his eyes to Joey’s. A clear shaft of light breaks through the clouds, blinding him but he doesn’t need to see anymore, doesn’t need anything more than Joey’s hands clutching his, Joey’s lips pressed to his, Joey’s voice whispering in his ear, over and over, “Not anywhere, not anywhere, not without you.”