Chris is used to photographers with their artistic visions, doesn’t blink an eye at the gold paint, or motorcycles or even dressing up in costumes so outlandish that even JC would double-take. He’ll happily glare or smile, be the good boybander and play nice for the cameras, but the line has to be drawn somewhere, and Chris has just drawn it.
The room seems to be made of glass, floor to ceiling windows cover three walls and as Chris looks down he sees part of the floor is glass -- the balcony part -- the part that gives a perfect view of the ground multiple stories below.
JC is lying on the glass part of the floor, arms outstretched, face down. He’s talking about flying, laughing in delight and looks up, gesturing to the others to try it and soon Joey, Lance and Justin are lying side by side, mimicking JC’s pose. The photographer loves it and starts to pull out his camera, then scowls when he realises he’s a boybander down.
“Go lie on the right, next to the brunette.” he says and waves his hand toward JC.
Chris gulps and looks at JC, then looks at the glass and knows there’s no way he’s going to leave the safety of the wall.
“No.” Says Chris, and looks defiantly at the photographer. “It’ll make a stupid picture, we’ve gone past all this novelty bullshit.”
“Leave the artistic stuff to me, eh.” The photographer doesn’t even look up. “You go take your pretty ass over there and let me do my job.”
Chris narrows his eyes, he wants to get in the assholes face, tell him what he can do to his pretty ass, and he will, if he can ever prise his hands from the doorframe he’s holding.
“Oh, for gods sake.” The photographer says, looking up at last. “I thought this fear of heights thing was a publicity stunt. I’ve seen you use a zip line over the audience, you didn’t look frightened then.”
Chris doesn’t reply, he’s not going to explain how much he shakes as he’s strapped into his harness each night. Or how often he’s wanted to hurl as he’s lowered on the zip line, it’s embarrassing enough that the crew know.
“Look, just close your eyes, walk over there and I’ll take a few quick groups shots. It’s not hard.” The contempt is obvious in his voice and Chris takes a deep breathe, he can do this for the group. He can, really he can, if his feet ever move again.
“Stay there, Chris.” Justin says, jumping up from flat on his belly to his feet in one fluid movement. “I didn’t think.”
Joey, Lance and JC stand too, moving until they block Chris’ view of all the glass. Chris blushes as they look at him, voices jumbling together as they apologise.
“It’s nothing.” Chris says and shrugs, then relaxes when Justin loops an arm over his shoulder. Chris leans against him, and finally feels safe enough to let go of the doorframe. “Give me a minute, I can do this.”
“I know you can.” Justin says, and squeezes Chris against him. “But the point is you don’t have to.”
The photographer splutters. “He does have to, the shoot, you’ll look fantastic against the sky. He said he’ll do it, what’s your problem?”
“The problem is you’re an asshole.” Justin replies before walking out of the door, arm still draped over Chris’ shoulder. The others follow, and Chris smiles as he hears each one curse at the photographer as they walk past. He’s got the best friends, even if they are idiots who like to pretend they can fly.
no subject
~*~*~*~*~
Chris is used to photographers with their artistic visions, doesn’t blink an eye at the gold paint, or motorcycles or even dressing up in costumes so outlandish that even JC would double-take. He’ll happily glare or smile, be the good boybander and play nice for the cameras, but the line has to be drawn somewhere, and Chris has just drawn it.
The room seems to be made of glass, floor to ceiling windows cover three walls and as Chris looks down he sees part of the floor is glass -- the balcony part -- the part that gives a perfect view of the ground multiple stories below.
JC is lying on the glass part of the floor, arms outstretched, face down. He’s talking about flying, laughing in delight and looks up, gesturing to the others to try it and soon Joey, Lance and Justin are lying side by side, mimicking JC’s pose. The photographer loves it and starts to pull out his camera, then scowls when he realises he’s a boybander down.
“Go lie on the right, next to the brunette.” he says and waves his hand toward JC.
Chris gulps and looks at JC, then looks at the glass and knows there’s no way he’s going to leave the safety of the wall.
“No.” Says Chris, and looks defiantly at the photographer. “It’ll make a stupid picture, we’ve gone past all this novelty bullshit.”
“Leave the artistic stuff to me, eh.” The photographer doesn’t even look up. “You go take your pretty ass over there and let me do my job.”
Chris narrows his eyes, he wants to get in the assholes face, tell him what he can do to his pretty ass, and he will, if he can ever prise his hands from the doorframe he’s holding.
“Oh, for gods sake.” The photographer says, looking up at last. “I thought this fear of heights thing was a publicity stunt. I’ve seen you use a zip line over the audience, you didn’t look frightened then.”
Chris doesn’t reply, he’s not going to explain how much he shakes as he’s strapped into his harness each night. Or how often he’s wanted to hurl as he’s lowered on the zip line, it’s embarrassing enough that the crew know.
“Look, just close your eyes, walk over there and I’ll take a few quick groups shots. It’s not hard.” The contempt is obvious in his voice and Chris takes a deep breathe, he can do this for the group. He can, really he can, if his feet ever move again.
“Stay there, Chris.” Justin says, jumping up from flat on his belly to his feet in one fluid movement. “I didn’t think.”
Joey, Lance and JC stand too, moving until they block Chris’ view of all the glass. Chris blushes as they look at him, voices jumbling together as they apologise.
“It’s nothing.” Chris says and shrugs, then relaxes when Justin loops an arm over his shoulder. Chris leans against him, and finally feels safe enough to let go of the doorframe. “Give me a minute, I can do this.”
“I know you can.” Justin says, and squeezes Chris against him. “But the point is you don’t have to.”
The photographer splutters. “He does have to, the shoot, you’ll look fantastic against the sky. He said he’ll do it, what’s your problem?”
“The problem is you’re an asshole.” Justin replies before walking out of the door, arm still draped over Chris’ shoulder. The others follow, and Chris smiles as he hears each one curse at the photographer as they walk past. He’s got the best friends, even if they are idiots who like to pretend they can fly.