"God damnit Fatone!"

The cries rang out in the empty room where the five members of NSYNC gathered practicing the choreography for their newest song, ‘It's Gonna Be Me' which was off the new album set to be released next month.

"Jesus Christ, I'd like to go home sometime tonight."

"No shit, I'd like to get at least some sleep before we are doing this tomorrow."

Joey ignored the words. He just wiped his face with the towel and returned to the starting point so they could run through the dance moves once more. They weren't complicated at all, but his feet kept fumbling, tripping him up. He did feel bad about keeping the guys at rehearsal longer than anticipated. But he was trying the best he could.

"Again." The choreographer called, watching the guys get back in their positions. The laughing and joking had long since stopped; around the time the light faded into darkness. He crossed his arms as the guys went through the routine. Their voices hoarse from singing so much throughout the day. He wasn't worried about that; he knew their voices were tired.

He kept his eyes trained on the one individual who was holding up their progress. And even during that run through, his movements were sluggish, his feet slowly. Every move her did was about a half second off the guys. It wasn't much but when they were all dancing together, it was obvious.

When Joey missed his spot again, he waved his hands. The music immediately stopped. The guys stood in their spots, hands on hips, breathing heavily. He knew they were beat. It briefly crossed his mind to tell them to run through it again, but he knew it was no use. He would have better luck sending them home for the rest of the night and starting fresh tomorrow.

"We'll pick this up again tomorrow," He told them, seeing their shoulders slump with relief. "Come prepared," he said. "We aren't leaving until it's right."

"God," Chris groaned as he drank greedily from the cold bottle of water.

"What's going on?" Justin asked coming to stand next to Joey.

"Yeah, you're never this bad." Lance watched his best friend for a sign.

"Nothing," Joey said as he accepted the water from JC. He took a long drink before capping it. He grabbed his phone, looking at the screen before stuffing it in his pocket.

"Like we're gonna believe that, Dawg," Justin told him.

"Don't care what you believe," Joey clipped picking up his bag. He shouldered it and walked through the door, leaving the guys staring after him.

"Something is definitely wrong," Lance said watching as the door closed after his best friend.

*~*~*~*~*

The house was dark and quiet when he returned home. Joey dropped his bag on the floor inside the door. His keys hit the counter, sliding across it and dropping to the floor on the other side. He didn't even blink. In the kitchen he pulled out a bottle of beer twisting the top off, tossing the cap into the sink. The cap pinged against the sides before sliding to a rest on the bottom.

He spared the object no glance as he walked from the room. He didn't even turn on a light. From memory he made his way up the stair case and down the hall. His steps faltered as he neared the door at the end of the hall; firmly shut. He came to a stop in front of the door and took a long swig from his bottle. The alcohol moving down his throat working to numb everything it touched. He knew eventually beer would cease to be what he needed and in an hour or two, he'd move to something harder.

Because he wasn't numb enough, he turned from the door and moved away. There wasn't enough alcohol in his system to deal with what lay beyond that door. As he walked into the kitchen again, he finished off the last of the beer in the bottle. He didn't remember drinking the rest of it. Sitting it on the counter next to the fridge, he grabbed another from the fridge.

There was a voice in the back of his mind telling him he shouldn't get hammered. It was joined by another voice promising bodily harm if he fucked up again tomorrow. They both sounded suspiciously like his friends. He stifled the voices by taking a long swallow. The last thing he wanted while he was trying to drink the pain away was to hear his friends. Why did his conscious have to sound like JC? It was then he realized it could have bee worse. He could have Chris in his head constantly. But he figured, Chris wouldn't have been much of a conscious. He'd be talking him into trouble instead of trying to make him stop and think about it.

‘Maybe that wouldn't be so bad,' Joey thought; to go through life, damning the consequences of his decisions. Who cares if he drank all night and overslept in the morning? Who cares if he was so hung-over and miserable the following day that he wouldn't be able to dance half as good as he did today. Who cares if he walked out of practice after hearing enough complaints? Who cares if he came home tomorrow and picked up where he left off? What did it matter anymore?

Taking another bottle from the fridge, Joey held both the opened and unopened bottles between his fingers and pulled open the sliding door off his kitchen with his free hand. Once outside on his deck, he sat in his lounger chair, placing the unopened bottle on the deck.

He lay back staring up at the night sky. Few stars littered the cloudless sky. The moon casted off a dull light. His mood cheered the desolate sky. The only thing better would be a storm. But even then, a storm would be too exciting. But he would settle for rain; a cold, misting rain not enough for the residents in the middle of a drought to cheer but enough to mess up everyone's happy plans. And the happier the plans, the better.

The empty beer bottle in his grasp was quickly replaced with the full one on the deck. The top was twisted up and dropped forgotten on the ground. It would be found later. ‘With my luck, it will probably be with the bottom of my bare foot,' Joey thought even as he stared at his feet, clad in shoes.

A whopperwhill broke the silence of the night. It's sad, lonely cry finding its way to Joey. The sound wrapped around his desolate heart, clinging to the dark corners.

He sat outside listening to the bird cry long after his beer had run empty. An echoing cry never returned and before long, the bird fell silent. And he wondered, in the silence of the night, what happened to its mate; if he were all alone too.

It was then a tear formed, filling his eyes before trickling down his cheek. And he cried. For the first time in days, he cried.