In a hotel room on the 28th floor, in the heart of a snow-filled city, in the kind of solitude you can only get when no one knows where you are, Chris was performing.

He was doing impressions and silly walks and pulling out his best one-liners, spending all afternoon just being a general nutbar, because it was so encouraging to be with someone who just laughed at everything he said. He would make some comment about someone's dress at some awards show, not even meaning for it to be a joke, and Howie would laugh or giggle or snicker. And he could make jokes about anything, or bitch about anyone, because he knew it wouldn't leave the room.

They got together maybe once a year, always using the guise of "hey, buddy, haven't seen you in awhile," and they locked themselves in a room, maybe because being in closed quarters was the only way to rebuild a friendship fast enough for a one or two day visit. It was Howie's idea the first time, to order pizza and watch movies and spend an entire day not going outside. Now it was an unspoken tradition.

"Where's Justin?" Howie asked casually, folded up at the head of Chris's bed, flipping casually through Chris's ChildFind brochure.

"I don't know." Chris shot a little Nerf ball through the hoop he'd stuck to the wall. "Somewhere concentrating on letting his afro grow back."

Howie snickered.

"He's been such a prima donna lately," Chris said. "The other day he freaked because a photographer took a photo of him from the left side instead of the right."

"Sounds like Nick," Howie said. "Nick complained the other day that he's always in the background in the pictures lately."

"That's because his ass would take up half the...."

Howie grabbed the nearest weapon, a rolled up pair of socks on the bed next to him, and chucked them at Chris. "That is so not nice."

"I know." Chris flopped on the bed, laid on his back, wiggled his feet a little. "I guess I just get a little tired of it. Of kids who have been in the spotlight their whole lives and develop all kinds of issues and we end up having to deal with them."

Howie reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a little orange sucker, unwrapping it and carefully placing the wrapper on the night table. "Want one?"

"Sure."

Howie found a purple one in his pocket and tossed it at Chris. Chris put it in his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully, watching the ceiling for a little longer before he sat up and faced his visitor. "Say something in Spanish."

Howie looked up. "Huh?"

"It sounds sexy."

"No! I hate it when you do that."

"Come on," Chris urged. "Just a little. Como esta and all that jazz."

Howie grabbed the pillow next to him and threw it, hitting Chris in the chest. Chris gave his best "I've been shot" look and slid off the end of the bed. Laying on the floor, he felt yet another pillow hit him, then another, and finally Howie himself land on him like a professional wrestler.

They kicked and fought and giggled for a couple of minutes, scrambling across the floor trying out their best WWF moves. Chris finally grabbed Howie's left leg and managed to get him on his back, doing a belly flop on him, one of the pillows separating them at the stomach.

He held Howie in place, both of them trying to catch their breath, lying at an awkward wrestling-style angle as Chris studied Howie's face from up close. Everything about him was made from different shades of brown - chestnut hair, coffee-colored eyes, beach sand skin, lips that reminded Chris of the burnt sienna crayon he'd had as a kid that he'd used nonstop until it broke in half. He leaned down and kissed Howie lightly. When he pulled back Howie grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it in the direction of Chris's face. "Get off me, you freak."

Chris rolled over on his back, laying on the floor next to Howie. He pulled the pillow onto his stomach and ran his hands over the soft cotton.

"Is that the only reason you wanted me to visit you?" Howie asked, but his tone was light.

"Yeah, baby. It's all about the sex."

Howie sighed. "I feel so used."

They laid quietly for a moment looking at the ceiling, too lazy to get up.

"Hey, you remember when Michael Jackson's Thriller video came out?" Howie asked.

"Yeah," Chris said. "I watched it on Friday Night Videos. It scared the shit out of me."

"Me too! At the end, when he's walking away with his girlfriend and he turns to the camera and he has those eyes..."

"And all the zombies crawl out of fresh graves and they all know the dance moves."

Howie snickered. "Yeah. With Olga Ray. And she'd posed for Playboy and it was this big scandal that Michael used someone who had posed for Playboy. My sister was freaked out because she thought Michael and that girl were dating. And it was the longest video ever."

"Fourteen minutes," Chris agreed.

"And I remember watching it and thinking it was the most exciting thing ever." Howie's voice slowed a little, got more reflective. He tossed the pillow in the air once and caught it. "And I thought 'God, I just want to create something like that. Just once before I die.' You know, something that people will be talking about 15 years from now. Something great. And I haven't yet."

"Maybe you will," Chris said.

"Yeah." Howie sighed deeply and hugged the pillow. Chris rolled on his side and watched him. Howie's hair was back, away from his face. His eyes were dark and the depth in them went on forever. Chris wished he'd saved his kissing chance for now.

"Are you getting hungry yet?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, I could eat."

"Pizza?"

"Okay." Howie sat up and crawled across the floor, grabbing the yellow pages and flopping them in front of him. Chris crawled over too, looking over Howie's shoulder as Howie flipped to "P."

"Any preferences where we order from?" Chris asked.

"I don't know. I always like to find the ad that looks like it's some Mom and Pop place that people come from all around to eat at."

"One of those best kept secrets things."

"Yeah." Howie flipped the page and pointed at an ad of a little cartoon chef taking a pizza out of a brick oven. "Luigi's. How about there?"

"Sounds good."

"No pineapple," Howie said quickly.

"Come on...."

"No way. Not after last time."

Two hours later they laid on their stomachs on the bed, bellies full of pizza, picking off the toppings they liked from what was left over.

"My sister had three New Kids on the Block dolls," Chris said. "I remember I colored on Donnie Wahlberg with Magic Marker and she cried for about a week."

"That's so mean."

"I know." Chris shrugged. "But it was my big brotherly duty to be mean."

"Yeah, and someone's out there right now coloring on your doll." Howie extended his tongue and caught a piece of pepperoni. "I had a Jordan doll."

Chris laughed. "Why? Weren't you, like, 12 or something when those came out?"

Howie tried to shrug it off but Chris thought he saw Howie's cheeks flush a little. "I just liked him."

"Liked him in what way?"

Now he was sure Howie was blushing. "He was cute, all right?"

"I can just imagine what you did with the doll."

Chris wasn't even surprised when he got hit with another pillow.

Another two hours passed and Howie and Chris were laying on the bed, side by side, hands folded on their respective stomachs, sock feet dangling off the end.

"Whatever happened to Martika?" Howie asked out of the blue.

"Didn't she do the voice of Jem?"

"Yeah." Howie sighed a little. "Martika ruled, man. I had such a crush on her when she was on Kids Incorporated."

"Her and Jordan Knight? That's an ecclectic mix."

"Hey, I can't help these things."

"I think you just like anything with dark hair," Chris said.

"No, because then I'd like you."

Chris rolled his head sideways and looked at Howie. "Don't you?" He tried to keep his tone light, to sound like he was only kidding.

"Maybe a little."

Chris's heart sputtered for a second and resumed its normal rhythm. "Can I kiss you now?"

Howie squinted like he was thinking hard about it. "Not yet. Wait until it gets dark."

"You are such a weird little man, Dorough."

Howie closed his eyes slowly like he just wanted to go to sleep. "I know," he said with a little smile.

In another two hours the sun had gone down. They lay on the bed facing each other, arms bent at the elbows, hands propping up heads.

"Marilyn Monroe," Chris said.

"That's easy," Howie replied. "Marilyn Monroe was in Some Like It Hot with Jack Lemmon, who was in Grumpier Old Men with Kevin Pollack, who was in A Few Good Men with Kevin Bacon."

Chris nodded appreciatively. "A three stepper. You are way too good at this for it to be normal."

Howie laughed. "Okay, your turn. Lance Bass."

Chris bit his lip, turning it over in his head. Had *NSYNC been in any movies? Not yet. At least not with people Chris knew from anything else. What about the Saturday Night Live appearance?

"Come on," Howie said. "That one's actually pretty easy."

"Okay, smart guy, you do it."

"Lance Bass was on an episode of Seventh Heaven with Barry Watson, who was in Teaching Mrs. Tingle with Katie Holmes, who was in Wonder Boys with Michael Douglas, who was in Disclosure with Demi Moore, who was in A Few Good Men with Kevin Bacon."

"That's pretty long," Chris protested.

"That's five steps. It's called Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon." Howie bit his lip. "Wait. Isn't Kevin Bacon in My Big Fat Greek Wedding?"

"Ha. I don't think so." Chris ran his finger along the flower pattern of the bedspread, tracing the lily down to the stem. "Want me to hit you again?"

"No. My head hurts now." Howie let his head drop on the pillow. "Think anyone knows I'm here?"

"I told them," Chris said. "And it's two days off. I can do whatever I want with them. They're not going to come up and boot you out for being in a rival boy band or anything."

"Good," Howie said quietly. "Because I need this."

Chris looked up from the bedspread. Howie lay there peacefully, fingering a loose thread on the pillow, wearing the same little smirk he always did when he was in a good mood.

"Me too," Chris said. "You make me feel sane." He let his head drop on the pillow so they were still lying in the same positions, except now their faces were level. Howie smiled calmly and Chris smiled back.

"Can I kiss you now?" Chris asked.

Howie closed his eyes. "Please."

Chris squirmed closer, leaning in, smelling the dark sandalwood cologne Howie was wearing and feeling the warmth generated by his body. Their lips touched and parted, tongues meeting timidly, hands moving up each other's arms until they reached the backs of necks and pulled each other closer.

"Why do you make me wait for this?" Chris asked, his lips brushing against Howie's as he spoke. "We could have been doing this all day."

"Because every year I tell myself I'm not going to do this. And I keep trying to talk myself out of it."

Chris pulled away a little, meeting Howie's eyes in extreme close up. "Why?"

"Because it hurts."

"I can be gentler," Chris said. "I mean...."

Howie put his finger over Chris's lips. "I don't mean physically. I mean in here." He patted the left side of his chest with two fingers.

Just hearing him say that made Chris kind of feel the same way, but he could only repeat his previous question, maybe because he wanted to hear the perfect answer. "Why?"

"Because every year I come here and I think I'd like you as a boyfriend. Then when I leave I realize I'd never want you as a boyfriend."

Chris's stomach clenched. That was the best and the worst thing about Howie. If a thought popped into his mind, it came out in words, completely unfiltered, so he always said what he meant even when Chris would rather not hear it.

Chris tried to smile a little. "Because I suck?"

"Because I never see you," he said. "The only reason I see you once a year is because we plan it months in advance."

"Absense makes the heart grow fonder," Chris said, realizing how lame it sounded.

Howie let out a cold, two-second laugh. "Yeah, well, whoever said that probably had a girlfriend who was cheating on him."

Chris furrowed his brow. "That's probably the most cynical thing I've ever heard you say."

Howie didn't reply. He just focused on the loose pillow thread, pulling it until it lengthened and twisting it around his index finger. His knuckles brushed against Chris's chest as he did it.

"Besides, you already have a girlfriend," Howie said, looking like he was talking to the string.

"Yeah but...." Chris took his hand off Howie's arm and rested it between them, wanting to squeeze Howie's with it but a little apprehensive now. "She's cool but...you know, it's easier to have a girlfriend. Especially when you're in this business." As soon as he said it, he knew what was coming.

"I don't have a girlfriend," Howie said simply.

"But that's the difference between you and me," Chris said. "It's like...it's like you don't need one. You're just out there. It's like you don't do anything you don't mean wholeheartedly. You just do your thing." Chris let out a frustrated sigh. He knew he wasn't explaining himself very well.

"Does your girlfriend know you're not with her wholeheartedly?"

Chris turned that question over in his head. Normally he would have automatically said yes, but there was something about Howie that made it impossible to bullshit. "No," he said, and it was more of a revelation to him. Howie already knew the answer.

Howie didn't say anything. He wound the thread around his finger again, watching the tip turn dark pink and letting go.

"Look, I just don't want to think about it right now." Chris slid his arm under Howie's, wrapping it around Howie's body and pulling him closer. "We don't have to do anything. I just like shooting the shit with you. I like talking to you about New Kids dolls and Michael Jackson videos and Kevin Bacon." He pulled Howie even closer, until their chests were touching, and kissed him on the forehead. "I don't care if all we do is talk once a year."

Howie's head nuzzled under Chris's, his forehead pressing against Chris's shoulder. "And order pizza."

"And talk shit about Nick."

"And Justin."

Howie's arm slid around Chris and pulled him tighter until they were wrapped in a hug. "I want you," Howie said against Chris's neck.

"Are you going to pretend I'm Martika?"

He felt Howie's chest jerk against his in laughter. "No. Jordan Knight."

"And I'll pretend you're Olga Ray," Chris said, and he had to wait until Howie had stopped giggling to kiss him again.

Three hours later they lay under the warm blankets of Chris's bed, naked but not having sex because they couldn't stop talking about Michael Jackson's career and why it had gone on such a downward spiral. Howie blamed the plastic surgery, and Chris said that if he had just had cats and dogs like everyone else, he wouldn't have a problem. Howie burst into a fit of laughter that didn't stop until Chris put his arm around him and pulled him close, holding his body against him, listening to Howie's uneven breathing in his ear as Chris stroked him to orgasm. It was barely over when Howie put his arm around Chris's shoulder and pulled him in, Chris's face buried in the curve of Howie's neck and whimpering when Howie did the same for him. Then they laid back, catching their breath in the darkness, eyes closing slowly until they were both asleep and their day together was over.

Chris opened his eyes and came face to face with the alarm clock. 4:23 a.m. Howie would be leaving in about two hours, getting on a plane and going back to his group, his recording, his tour. And then another year would go by, and things would change, and maybe Howie wouldn't even want to come back. He could meet someone, or lose interest, because he was right about the absense thing. Absense just made people forget. It had never occurred to him any other year that it might be the last time, but something in Howie's eyes said that he thought it would be. And Howie was usually right about these things.

The room was dark and still. Chris rolled over onto his other side and saw Howie lying on his back, breathing deeply, one hand resting lightly on his stomach and the other at his side. Chris reached over tentatively and rested his hand on Howie's, feeling the warm skin and the slender fingers. He leaned closer to kiss Howie's cheek and Howie slowly opened his eyes.

Chris expected Howie to say something like "hey," but he didn't. Instead Howie rolled towards him, pulling him into a deep kiss, his hands running along Chris's body as if to memorize it. Chris rolled over on top of him and kissed down his body, pulling the blanket down with him. Howie raised his knees, made an "uh" sound when Chris moved between his legs, moved his hips slowly when Chris started using his flickering tongue.

He looked at the clock again at 4:46, then closed his eyes as he pushed all the way inside Howie. Howie was hot and tight, and Chris wondered how long it had been since Howie had done this. Then he realized that unless it was a year ago, he didn't really want to know.

He started a slow rhythm and Howie moaned quietly, moving his hips to meet Chris's thrusts. Howie ran his hands up Chris's back and then dragged them down again, this time making an invisible trail with his fingernails. Chris felt his insides twitch. "Oh fuck," he moaned. "Keep doing that."

Howie did it again, this time harder. Everyone Chris knew had fingernails that were bitten down to the skin, and he'd never noticed that Howie's weren't. He opened his eyes and saw Howie's head back, his eyes closed and his jaw gone slack, his body jerking in time with Chris's thrusts. Howie mumbled something that wasn't in English and Chris realized for the first time that it wasn't accidental. Howie knew exactly how to push his buttons, and he did it so outright that Chris had overlooked it. Everything that he had ever said turned him on, Howie filed away in his head and used later.

"Are you having fun?" Chris panted.

"Fuck yeah."

It was over way too soon. When Chris came he pressed his forehead against Howie's chest, and Howie ran the palms of his hands along Chris's shuddering back. Chris stroked Howie to orgasm, rolling off him and lying next to him so he could watch Howie's head jerk back into the pillow, and his eyes squeeze shut, and his jaw twitch when he made a series of "ah" noises. He finished with a long groan.

Chris laid back for a second, wanting to enjoy the afterglow but also wanting to dispose of the condom. "I'll be right back," he said, climbing out of bed and going into the bathroom. When he came out Howie was still on his back, the sheet pulled up around his stomach.

Chris flopped down in bed next to him, rolling over to give him a long, sated kiss. When it ended Howie sighed deeply. "I guess I should shower."

"Okay."

Howie got up, grabbing his clothes off the floor and tucking them under one arm. He grabbed his shoulder bag and closed the bathroom door behind him, leaving Chris in darkness again.

Chris stayed in bed, listening to Howie shower and shave on the other side of the door. Howie reemerged fully clothed with his hair combed and the smile back on his face.

"Can I turn this on?" he asked, motioning to the desk lamp.

"Go for it."

Howie flicked on the light, sending a faint golden glow around the room. He grabbed his money and keys and assorted pieces of paper off the desk and shoved them back in his jacket pocket. Chris studied Howie as he walked around the room, looking for anything he could have forgotten to throw in his suitcase. When he was satisfied, he went over and zipped up his luggage, pulling it off the chair and setting it by the door.

"Well, Chris, I'll see you later."

Chris smiled. "Come here. You're not getting away that easy."

Howie walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, letting Chris sit up before he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "Thanks for a great time," Howie said.

"Another great time." Chris pulled back and kissed him. Now Howie tasted like toothpaste and smelled like aftershave. He was back to the real world Howie.

Howie pulled away and stood up. "Well, my car's probably waiting so...."

"Yeah. See you around."

"See ya." Howie lifted his suitcase and opened the door, giving one more big smile before he shut it behind him and Chris was alone again.

Chris laid there for a moment, picturing Howie walking down the hall, heading past the ice machine and the maid cart, nearing the elevator. Chris rolled sideways suddenly and ran his hand across the papers on the night table, his search getting more frantic by the second. Finally, under the lamp, he found a lupus charity flier. He flipped it over and saw Howie's cell number, written in black pen in Howie's handwriting.

He picked up the hotel phone and dialed the number. Howie was probably in the elevator now, getting ready to go through the lobby. When he reached the car, a guy in a black suit and cap would take his bag, open the door for him, call him "Sir" and then zip him off the airport.

"Hello?" Howie answered, cheery as usual. Chris could hear street sounds in the backgroud.

"Howie, I just wanted to tell you...." Chris wound the phone cord around his finger, searching for the right words. "I just wanted to tell you that you're my Thriller video."

There was a long pause. Chris heard traffic in the distance.

"Did you hear me? I said...."

"I heard you," Howie said quietly. "Thank you."

"And I'll see you next year," Chris said.

"Yeah."

"You promise?" Chris tried to sound chipper but he knew he hadn't managed it.

"Chris." Howie's voice was soft and something about it made Chris want to burst into tears. "Of course I promise."

"Okay. Have a safe flight."

"I will." Chris heard Howie take a deep breath. "Bye."

By the time Chris said "bye" there was already a dial tone. He hung up the phone slowly, laying back and looking at the ceiling, wondering what he should do with his day.