It had been a long day. Nick pocketed his sunglasses, removed his hat and tossed his leather jacket across the back of his couch. He stretched, glancing towards the kitchen. Was he hungry? A little... A yawn escaped, and the decision was made for him. He turned off the lights and headed into his bedroom.

The room was small, ten times more cluttered than the rest of the apartment, currently illuminated by only the desk lamp. Nick picked his way across the floor and sank onto the straight-backed chair at the desk. He stripped off his turtleneck, letting it fall to the floor before he turned on his monitor.

Nick retrieved his glasses from their perch on top of the monitor, blinking as the screen swam into focus. A quick check of his inbox revealed something from Ceili about Sunday's rehearsal, a digest from the Astronomy class discussion list and a note from Chris.

As usual, Chris' email made Nick grin. He hadn't seen Chris since New Year's - a year-end report on MTV had stirred up interest in exactly what he was up to during his time off and he'd decided to spend the rest of his vacation around people who weren't used to thinking of him as Nick Carter, Backstreet Boy - but they had kept in touch through phone and e-mail.

Chris was easy-going about the whole thing, content to let things develop at their own pace and Nick wasn't willing to push. It would just make it harder on both of them, and he knew his tendency to fall hard and fast had scared people away in the past. What he'd learned over a month of quick e-mails and short phone calls reassured him that his instincts had been right. He and Chris had a lot in common. Plus, it was nice to have someone from "out there" to tell about his days.

Less tired now, he settled in to type up a reply.

Hey Chris

Thanks for the e-card, I think! I mean, I already knew I wished me a Happy Birthday! Couldn't you find NSYNC ones? That Timberlake guy, he's pretty cute! (j/k)

You wanted to know how it went - pretty quiet, honestly. Darcy's roommate Katie made devil's food cake - so good! - and we just hung out at their place. Phil brought over his Playstation. Carter kicked my ass at a couple of games before Darcy made us switch to "You Don't Know Jack". She gets really into it. All us guys just sat back and watched when she and Katie went at it. They had this academic trash talkin' thing going on. Grad students. Whatever.

> after Thursday? You're always talking about THURSDAY. Before Thursday.
> After Thursday. Thank God it's not Thursday... what's up with that?

What I am ready for is my bed. I put Backstreet Boy Nick Carter back into the closet,(Um, yeah. Funny. Actually, he's sort of all over the floor.) and it's time for Nick the college guy to call it a day. Don't wipe yourself out too much in rehearsals okay man?
Later
Nick

Nick groaned and slapped at the alarm.

Three rounds of snooze later, he stumbled out of bed and hurried to the shower. As usual, the water heated up about five minutes before Nick was finished. He came out shivering, but alert enough to remember to put the kettle on before trying to figure out what he'd be wearing that day.

He passed over the turtleneck on the floor -- part of yesterday's Backstreet ensemble -- and grabbed a paint-splattered t-shirt, a navy sweatshirt and some well-worn jeans instead. The sight of the turtleneck reminded Nick to check his ears. Sure enough, he'd slept with the diamond studs in again. He left those on his desk.

The kettle was whistling merrily when Nick reemerged. He'd bought the kettle mainly because it whistled. The oddly cheerful sound every morning made him feel more domestic, the apartment less empty. He didn't waste too much time thinking about the reasons behind that - glad he only needed the one sound to keep him company. Since he'd started at Columbia, he'd made friends with silence -- a big accomplishment, nearly as important as the 82% he'd gotten in English last term.

With no time for deep thoughts, Nick grabbed his knapsack, checked he had the right tools, shoved in a thermos of coffee and bolted out the door. The only thing that saved him from missing the bus was the number of people waiting to get on. He showed his student pass and squeezed onboard.

Nick sat in class, playing with a remnant of clay he'd found stuck to his tabletop. They were critiquing last week's work, discussing the final piece. Nick had already had his say. He was only half listening now, watching snowflakes swirl down onto 125th Street and enjoying the feel of the warm, malleable clay in his left hand.

Nick loved the feel of things. It was one of the reasons he figured he was really going to like the Sculpture class. The other was that it was a six-hour class. The concept made his friends gape but Nick found his Fridays more relaxing than his three-class Mondays or his three-classes-after-a-night-class Wednesdays. There was no rushing from building to building, and the class did have a lunch break.

Of course, it looked as though the small class was going to make a habit of eating together too. It meant Nick had a whole day in an art class. As with his Intro Drawing class in first semester, it was his break from words and terms, a place where shaping the air as he talked didn't lose him any respect. He could be creative and expect honest criticism. Best of all, instead of spending all of his time listening, Nick felt he had something to contribute in art class.

Fridays were definitely his favourite day of the week this semester.

After class, Nick said goodbye to his classmates and jogged down to the middle of campus to pick Darcy up at the library.

Darcy and Nick were part of a cover band that played around campus. Nick had been sort of dragged into it when his friend Carter had become their new rhythm guitarist. He'd found out that once in a blue moon the band needed a backup drummer, and suggested Nick.

Apart from being the band's keyboardist and one of the two vocalists, Darcy O'Connor was a Masters student in English. She made time to help out her fellow bandmates and sharpen her own editing skills when they needed a hand with essays. Nick took her up on the offer at least twice a month. He had an Art History essay due on Monday and had promised to make a late lunch, early dinner while she worked. Carter had an English paper due on Wednesday morning and had promised to make an appearance as well.

As usual, Darcy was late coming out.

"Did you guys get out early or is my watch fucked up again?" she asked, squinting at her wrist.

Nick shook his head. "You need a new battery, Darce. Didn't you say you were gonna pick one up on Monday?"

"Yeah, but I forgot I needed to do laundry. And then Tuesday I had dinner with my advisor. Wednesday is the night class..."

"And Wednesday *day*?" he teased.

"Marking."

"You're something else, Darce."

"The word is 'procrastinator', Nickolas."

He laughed.

"And if we don't quit procrastinating we're gonna miss the bus! Hey!" They dashed for the stop, managing to squeeze on just in time.

"That year-end thing was on MTV again the other night," Darcy remarked, fishing for a pen.

"Fuck." Nick grumbled, bringing the knife down hard into the block of cheddar. MTV had talked about the Backstreet hiatus in its year-end special, including "Where are they now?" reports on all five. They had become the first media outlet to realize that no one really knew what he was up to, and the fact that they seemed to be repeating it twice a week made Nick alternately annoyed and nervous.

"Watch it! Last thing you want as a headline is "IDIOT BOYBANDER CUTS OFF OWN HAND"."

"Not quite last," Nick muttered. Darcy either didn't hear or chose to ignore the comment.

"I don't think it's made much difference, really."

"It makes a difference to me!" he shot back. "I'm back to being paranoid off-campus."

"It's February tomorrow. They'll drop it," she soothed, her tone becoming absent-minded as she returned her focus to his paper. "Besides, NSYNC are coming out with an album this month."

A knock on the door brought a welcome distraction in the form of Carter's arrival.

"Y'all didn't wait for me," he accused as Nick opened the door for him. "I'm hurt. I am deeply offended. I..."

"Have you finished your paper, Mr. Johnson?" Darcy inquired without looking up.

"Well, no." he conceded with a grin. "But I could have!"

Nick and Darcy both laughed.

"So what's for dinner?" he asked good-naturedly, clearing a space for himself and his books on Nick's floor.

"Grilled cheese. How many d'you want?"

"Maybe if you starve him I won't get a frantic call at eleven on Tuesday night," Darcy suggested. "Nick, spell checker is your friend, yes, but do you ever *read* what you print out?"

About an hour and a half later, Darcy stood up and tossed Nick's essay to the ground. "That's me. You're doing better Nick, I might even be learning some Art History here. Carter, if you want my help you can't get me on Tuesday."

"You're not coming to watch the hoops game?" Carter asked, surprised.

"Even if I was, I wouldn't be marking your paper during it Carter, so forget it."

"I thought Phil said he was going to be there." Nick put in.

"He's my boyfriend, not my siamese twin. We're having a girls' night at Keogh's."

"Ceili's uncle's pub?"

"Yeah. There's been a slump on Friday nights, Ceili's afraid her uncle's going to fire the band."

"Oh, that sucks." Carter sympathised.

"Want to come along?"

"It's a *Pistons* game, Darce," he responded.

"Nick?"

"I'm not a girl?"

"You guys suck. Ceili makes more in the band than she does waitressing the rest of the week. If she loses this..."

"Next week," Nick soothed.

"Hey yeah, we could bring the whole band next week." Carter suggested, sitting up.

"I'm gonna tell Ceili," Darcy warned.

"Yes Mom," the guys chorused.

"See you at rehearsal."

The Pistons-Knicks game was the highlight of the evening at the frat house where Carter and Phil lived. Nick was a well-known visitor by this time, welcome into the betting pool and even into a few of the house in-jokes. But all in all, it's the most tiring part of his day. Watching basketball made him a little homesick.

He got home around midnight, nowhere near as tired, but a lot more lonely than he'd felt the night before. It was the manly rituals that did him in. The hanging out that was supposed to be bonding but just wasn't the same as it was on the road. Being crowded into one TV room with twenty other men, jockeying for space, laughing and yelling at each other wasn't the same as curling up all on one bed laughing at jokes that hadn't been said aloud, mussing each other's hair with more affection than intent to annoy, climbing over each other for the remote, forgetting that there was such a thing as personal space. Nights like this one left Nick aching for just one real hug.

Tonight there was no reply from Chris. Nick hadn't expected it -- Chris didn't usually manage daily contact, especially now he was in the middle of rehearsals for the next tour. But Nick needed something to assuage the loneliness. He picked up the phone.

It was nice to hear the sound of Chris' voice, but neither of his voicemail messages were quite as good as the real thing. Frustrated but resigned, Nick tucked himself in.
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