JC is older, but for so long it's felt as though he's running along behind Justin, retreading ground that Justin has already broken, that he forgets this fact until something calls his attention to it. These things have grown few and far between. He can't remember the last time he found one.

He twists his fingers in the phone cord and stares out over his back lawn, his eyes wide and unfocused. His mind is ticking over things he needs to do: unpack his clothes, call the girls and make sure that the label got in touch with them, call around and find something with which to fill his suddenly-empty days. He can go and spend some time with his family, go back to catching up on his sleep, let the muscles in his shoulder that he pulled on the last leg of the tour finally heal without being re-strained on a nightly basis. Sleep in his own bed, not in a tour bunk or a hotel room. Wake up every day in the same place, in a bed that isn't moving, and rest his head on the same pillow every night.

It doesn't help.

"I won't be out of the country for long," Justin says. The hiss of the trans-Pacific connection is loud in JC's ears. "We can hang out when I get back. Do something. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"It hasn't been that long," JC says. His mouth is on autopilot. "Just a little while."

"But it feels like so much longer." Justin covers the mouthpiece of the phone and shouts something to someone. Probably his tour manager, JC thinks. His own tour manager is probably in the process of calming down the IATSE guys and promising to honor their contracts.

"I know." JC wedges the phone against his shoulder and washes his hands. The water is cold and the soap smells like some kind of flower he can't identify. "Call me when you get back. We'll figure something out."

"Okay." Justin pauses, and when he comes back, his voice is soft and low, the kind of tone he only uses for JC's ears. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine," JC says. He isn't sure whether or not he's lying.

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