For giogio: Trickyfish. "I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel / you were famous, your heart was a legend. / You told me again you preferred handsome men / but for me you would make an exception."

It took them nearly a week to realize that Lance had turned off his cell phone and stopped answering email, because they were all trying to give him as much space as possible. Joey was the one to finally realize, but Chris was the one to find him.

"Brendan Behan," he said in disgust when Lance finally opened the door for him. "Brendan fucking Behan?"

Lance was shirtless and swaying slightly in a breeze that only he could feel, and he smelled like whiskey and sweat. He blinked owlishly at Chris. "I was looking for an alias that you wouldn't find me under. Obviously it didn't work."

"Getting drunk and hiding in a hotel in Manhattan is not going to help you get over it," Chris said. It was gentler than he might have otherwise made it, because there was a world full of things in Lance's eyes and most of them were hurting.

"No," Lance said. "But it's looking like a really viable short-term goal. Did you have a point to showing up here, or are you just the designated messenger to make sure that I haven't slit my wrists in the bathtub?"

Chris looked Lance up and down. "Don't have to worry about that, you look like you haven't seen the bathtub in days. Come on, let's get you showered and go out and feed you with something solid."

"Chris," Lance said, and then his fingers closed around Chris's bicep. "I'm thinking that a rebound fuck would be pretty stupid right about now."

"Probably," Chris said. He didn't like the tone to Lance's voice.

"Which is why I'm thinking that it sounds like an excellent idea."

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