Chris winced as the tape played back his most recent take. His bandmates watched him in sympathetic puzzlement.

"You feelin' okay, Chris?" Joey inquired.

"You've been off all morning," J.C. complained. He came out of his impatient, perfectionist studio persona for a moment to admit, "This isn't like you."

Chris shrugged. "Maybe I am sick. I was hallucinating last night, that's for sure."

"Yeah? What'd you see?" Justin demanded, always ready to be Chris' straight man for a joke.

"Nick Carter, at the bar of the Winter Garden."

Justin hooted. Even Lance cracked a smile. "That's why you were almost late coming back from intermission? I thought you said you found a hot girl."

"Lance, you broke him!" Joey shoved his friend. "He overdosed on Abba and went crazy!"

"He was already crazy," J.C. put in, sounding cranky again. "He can stay crazy, I just need him to sing!"

"Hey, maybe we can get him to think he *is* Nick Carter." Justin suggested.

"You want me here for another fifteen takes, Infant?" Chris laughed, swatting Justin affectionately. He stood. "I'll be okay. Let's try it again."

With his big secret off his chest, Chris nailed the next take and they broke for lunch.

He hadn't really expected anyone to believe him. The Backstreet Boys had declared a hiatus and Nick hadn't been seen since. At first the idea hadn't seemed really unusual - everyone needed a break from the public eye once in a while. But one month stretched into two, and when Chris caught Aaron Carter on TRL sending a "shout-out to my bro. Hope you're havin' fun, wherever you are." his curiosity was piqued.

At the next industry function, he'd cornered A.J.McLean for the whole story.

"He's just gone," A.J. had informed him, seeming unconcerned. "He calls sometimes, he's even turned up a couple places to say hi, but never the same place twice."

"What do you mean?"

"Lessee..." he had ticked off the occurrences on long fingers. "Howie had lunch with him in Toronto. He took Kevin and Kristen out to dinner in Paris. He stayed a weekend with the Littrells - oh I lie, he was there for the twins' baptism too. I'm going to the Bahamas next week to shoot a video. Think I'm gonna call him up and invite him to go sailing with me."

"Think he'll come?"

"Probably. It's a game, to him. Keeping us all guessing. One big fuckin' prank. Kind of fun, actually."

"What's he doing the rest of the time?" Chris had demanded.

"Keeping out of the tabloids?" A.J. had shrugged. "He's happy, that's good enough for me."

So Chris had started keeping an eye on the tabloids. It was a little hard to believe that one of the biggest pop idols in the world could disappear off the face of the earth, but six months had passed without a peep. Of course, it was even harder to believe that Nick Carter could show up at a Broadway musical with a couple of friends without drawing any press. But it had happened.

A loud laugh had drawn his eye to the small group of college-aged kids just down the bar from him. They were just another cluster of people discussing the first act, out for a night on the town. A petite redhead, a taller brunette - the one who had laughed, a pair of guys not quite dressed for the occasion, and a taller, broader guy. Chris appreciated nice, broad shoulders. These were covered by a light jacket and turtleneck. Their owner had an easy grin, short, light brown hair, earrings in both ears, small wire-rimmed glasses framing light coloured eyes that met Chris'... and holy shit it was Nick Carter.

Nick had waved casually and winked at him before going back to his conversation as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. Intermission had ended before Chris could figure out what to do next.

So here he sat at lunch, playing with his phone, wondering what to do with this new piece of information. The guys didn't believe him. He wasn't sure he wanted them to. Nick obviously didn't want the whole world knowing where he was, shouldn't he be left in peace?

Chris wasn't very good at leaving people in peace. He hit 35 on his speed dial.

Ring....

Not that Nick was going to answer.

Ring...

He was screening his calls. A.J. had told Chris so.

Ring...

Which made a lot of sense. After all...

"Yo."

This was just getting weird.

"You're not afraid I might tell somebody?"

"Is that a threat?" Nick sounded... distracted. "Ow. Stupid toaster oven." Toaster oven?

"Yes." Chris declared. "If you don't tell me what the fuck is going on with you, I'm going to tell..." He searched his mind for someone appropriately threatening and came up with a scowling pretty face. "Britney."

Britney Spears had never forgiven Nick for embarrassing her on Florida radio. Chris knew she'd jump at the chance to leak a little information that would make Nick squirm without tarnishing her nice girl image. Nick knew a little something about women with grudges, so it wasn't that much of a surprise when he sighed into the phone.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes." And then, because this was going well, "The whole story."

"Are you bringing Joey's camcorder?"

"I was thinking the TRL crew."

Nick chuckled. "I'm kind of busy today, but... you're in the studio, right?"

"There's no equality in this conversation," Chris complained. "You're stalking me and I don't even know where you are."

"521 West 111th street. Come by when you're done. I'll be home." The phone went dead. Chris blinked. It was that easy? Maybe he was hallucinating.

With the extra motivation, Chris got his parts for the day over with fairly quickly. Around seven o'clock he found himself looking at a directory board where the line reading "CARTER, N" was only the second most interesting sight. It was the University of Columbia logo at the head of the board which raised the most questions. Nick Carter was living in university housing? Nick Carter was going to Columbia? It was obviously some colossal prank. He pressed the buzzer anyway.

"Yo."

"You need a new opening line."

"Here already? Well...c'mon up."

Nick answered the apartment door, still wearing those glasses. Chris wondered if Nick was pretending to be Clark Kent and this was his Fortress of Solitude. Wait, wouldn't that make him Superman? 'Cause Clark Kent... Chris had to stop listening to Joey.

"Hey, c'mon in. I'm workin' on something, but y'know.. make yourself at home. I'll be done soon."

Chris was torn between impressed and offended. Sure, it was well known that Nick was a bit of a hermit when he was allowed to be, but what was this exactly? Some kind of "I'm a normal person" game? An attempt to prove something? With a few minutes to himself, he began to inspect the apartment, looking for clues.

It was a small one-bedroom, with a tiny kitchen tucked into one corner. The main living area was sparsely decorated, apart from the shoes, clothing and various stuff scattered around it. It was fairly typical of any student's living space, if they came from a somewhat well-to do family.

The most expensive piece of furnishing, aside from the silent drum kit which Chris was willing to let pass because he'd seen Nick drum and knew better than to think the kid would live someplace without drums, looked to be a pair of floor lamps. Currently off, they had the potential to make the apartment far brighter than the two hundred-watt ceiling lights could ever hope to. The rest was a combination of Goodwill purchases - the beat-up couch - and things probably from Nick's house - the comfy-looking pair of beanbag chairs.

The TV was another Goodwill find - a fifteen inch deal that worked better than Chris thought it would. He let it play on randomly as he took in the decor. A couple of posters - one being an old Who poster Chris would give his right arm for - stuck up with blue tack. One large charcoal sketch of someone looking at the Alice statue from Central Park, signed NicK!'02. An easel by the fire escape displayed a half-done watercolour of a pretty typical bowl-of-fruit still-life. The bowl of fruit in question sat across the room on the kitchen counter, where Chris found the toaster oven Nick had cursed at earlier. But no microwave. How could a college student raised on bus cooking survive without a microwave? Chris delved into the cupboards, half expecting to find a stack of delivery menus instead of food.

Nick's emergence from his bedroom coincided with the one discovery that made everything all right by Chris. He turned away from the cupboards, waving the rectangular plastic package at Nick. "Someone got you addicted to ramen!"

Nick grinned sheepishly, "I keep wondering what the guys are gonna say when I want to add it to the rider."

"You're really doing this. You mean it." Chris repeated, shaking his head.

"Yeah," Nick nodded seriously. He didn't seem offended at the idea that he might not have meant it. "I really am."

"So." Chris tossed the ramen onto the counter and crossed his arms. "I get why someone would want to disappear from the fishbowl. No surprise there. But university? You?"

"Thanks!" Nick frowned.

"I..."

"No, don't worry." He waved off Chris' embarrassment. "That's partly why I decided to do it. Nobody expected me to go academic. All I have to do is act like I belong on campus and most of the people who would normally say "Hey, there's Nick Carter!" say "Hey, that poser looks like he's trying to be Nick Carter.". It's kind of fun." He grinned a little. "But if you imply I bought my way in, I'm gonna take it personally."

"Hey man. I would never..."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

"How's it going?"

"Pretty good. I'm not an "A" student - no surprise - but I'm passing. I have friends, go to parties... it's as close to normal as I could get."

"Which was the point?"

"Uh huh."

"Lemme get this straight." Chris moved away from the counter, towards Nick. "I came here expecting some huge story. With drama and angst and possibly a little sex scandal. And it all boils down to "trying to have a normal life"?"

Nick attempted to hide his smile. "Yeah."

He had searched six... well, closer to three... months for this? "I can't sell that to Behind the Music!"

"Sorry?" he offered, eyes dancing.

"You better be." Chris thew himself onto the couch. "All right. Show me how normal people do this." He grabbed the remote and started flicking.

"Get your shoes the hell off my couch."

"Is that rule one?" Chris asked innocently. "There really is nothing on TV on a Saturday night, is there?"

"No idea what you're not missing when you're onstage," Nick agreed. "I have a pile of videos around somewhere."

Chris watched him rummage through a milk crate for a moment before he finally decided to ask. "Why me?"

Nick stopped, turning around to look at him. "Why you what?"

"You're telling me, showing me stuff that you've hidden from the whole world for almost six months. We don't even know each other that well, Nick. What the fuck?"

"Oh." Nick sank into a beanbag chair. His forehead creased in thought as he tried to express himself. "I... it was spur of the moment, I guess. When I saw you the other night... well. I always thought that if someone from... the pop scene, Jive... whatever. I thought if I got caught... there would be like, sirens and flashing lights and big bodyguard-sized guys dragging me back to Orlando. Or something."

"Uh huh," Chris patted his pockets, pretending to search. "I knew I forgot something. Where's that pesky siren?"

"Funny." Nick rolled his eyes. "But, yeah. I saw you last night and it was like, "Hey there's someone I know!" It made me happy, actually."

"You're supposed to fear me. I am the Great Kirkpatrick!"

"I fear you, I fear you. I let you in the door, didn't I?"

Pretending to be mollified by this, Chris indicated that Nick should continue.

"I thought about it later. I guess... out here, I'm kinda lonely. I mean, my friends are great. Hell, they even all made drunken promises one night not to sell me out for anything less than a year's tuition."

"Good to know. Nice to have reliable friends."

"Right." Nick sighed. "I guess, as much as I hate it, I miss some stuff about the scene. This apartment's small but it's bigger than a bus, and it's just me. It's *quiet* at night. And, like... I miss.. well, the boyband code. "Thou shalt forget personal space with thy friends." These guys will hand me a beer to cheer me up, not give me a hug. I got a funny look once for patting somebody on the back without a good reason. I used to have fifteen minute tickling matches with Brian. The last time I saw Howie I played with his hair for an hour. I can't do that kind of thing here. Not without somebody accusing me of being gay. Which, I mean, yeah."

He looked over at Chris. "Don't even."

Chris halted his attempt to look surprised and let Nick continue.

"I know you know. The scene's like that, full of stuff that's common knowledge, even if no one ever says it. You don't know me well, Chris, but you know more about me than they do. You understand more. At industry parties, I could hang off whoever I wanted to -- no one was going to say anything. Everyone's got their own secrets. But "Nick Carter Comes Out" might be worth more than a year's tuition, in the long run."

Chris nodded sympathetically.

"So I guess I've been... hiding myself even more than usual. And... I... fuck, am I making any sense?"

Actually, Nick was making a world of sense. He was definitely proving to be a smarter cookie than he usually let on. Hiding effectively from the media meant having to stay on the down-low, even with people he wanted to trust. Not saying certain things, not pissing off certain people, keeping his mouth shut more than ever. Doing what he wanted, sure, but always haunted by the fact that, even temporarily out of the media, Nick was a celebrity. "I get it."

"There's um... more." Nick was less certain now. "If it had been, like, Justin or somebody... I wouldn't have picked up the phone. I know a lot of them would laugh at this, or pity me." He looked at the floor. "I uh.. figured you knew better. No offense."

Chris sat back, surveying the apartment again, this time with Justin "Who you callin' a diva, yo?" Timberlake's eyes. It definitely wasn't the Ritz Carlton. But Chris had seen worse. Lived in worse. Nick wasn't humbling himself or anything, just living. "None taken."

Nick seemed to have run out of things to say, and Chris turned his attention to the TV. Touched by an Angel had started, and Chris mouthed along with the theme song.

"Chris?" He looked over into timid blue eyes that had become very young. "Could you, um, sit with me?"

Chris was taken aback at first. But what Nick had said went through his mind again. Suddenly, Chris wondered what it would be like to go six months without the constant physical presence of the other guys. They couldn't go a month without seeing each other. Six months was a hell of a long time. Of course Nick was lonely.

So he got off the couch and sat, not on Nick (because boyband code or not, this wasn't a member of his boyband), but on the floor in front of him. Nick moved his legs so that Chris could lean against the chair a little, sitting between his feet.

The adventures of Monica, Tess, Andrew and that new angel Chris still didn't know the name of continued onscreen. By the second set of commercials, Nick had gathered up enough courage to reach out tentatively and pet Chris.

Chris hadn't been petted by anyone in quite a while. Usually it was J.C., at the times when Chris was so full of cabin fever he was even driving Justin nuts. J.C. would sit looking out the window with Chris' head in his lap, running his fingers gently through his hair. J.C. had long, dexterous fingers. It was nice.

Nick had long fingers too. Bigger than J.C.'s. His touch was equally gentle, but more focused. This was no absent-minded stroking. Nick explored Chris' scalp, combed through his hair, massaging, stroking, scratching softly. Very nice.

Chris let his eyes close, wondering if Nick would mind if he fell asleep right there. He sighed contentedly and let his head lean against Nick's thigh. The hands stilled gradually until it was just Nick's thumbs working slow circles through Chris' hair. He felt Nick's body shift a little, coming closer. Lips pressed gently into his hair.

Chris tipped his head back to look questioningly upwards. He was met with another kiss against his forehead. Still sleepy, Chris felt a tingle begin inside him. The tingle became a full fledged thrill when Nick slid onto the floor, keeping Chris between his legs. Chris was boneless and unprotesting when strong arms encircled his waist to pull him right back against Nick's chest. Fleetingly, he wondered if any sound would send Nick skittering away. He decided not to question or push.

They sat in silence, Chris feeling the rise and fall of Nick's slow breathing. Nick didn't seem anxious to go any farther. Maybe all he wanted was someone to hold for a while. Chris could be that, although he was able to picture more. He sat quietly, surrounded by Nick's large, comfortable body.

"Chris?"

"Mmmm?"

"Want to order a pizza?"

Was that Nick-speak for "Want to stay the night?"? Chris had no idea what was going through the kid's head anymore. "You sick of ramen?"

Nick chuckled, the laugh vibrating through Chris. "No, but I haven't done dishes today. Don't make me clean, man."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"Cool." A warm tongue moved swiftly up Chris' cheek, setting him alight. Then Nick was gone in search of the phone. Chris fell over, as much from surprise as from the loss of his support.

"Carter!" he barked, pushing himself off the floor.

"Yeah?" Nick paused, phone in hand.

"*Licking* is not in the boyband code!" His cheek was still tingling.

"It's not?" Nick shrugged. "Sorry. It is in mine."

"Yeah, well I stopped trying to understand Backstreet Boys a long time..." Chris was on his feet again when the image hit him. "You spend your time licking one another?"

"Uh..." Nick considered this. "No. Just me, I guess." He still seemed completely unconcerned."What do you want on your pizza?"

As he attempted to formulate a response, Chris' cell phone rang. "Should I get that?"

Nick looked at him funny and Chris realized it had taken him less than a day to get far too into the idea of secrecy. The idea of a secret affair.. he stopped himself and checked the display. "Right. It's Lance. I probably should."

"Chris..." Lance had the uncanny ability to convey complete and total disappointment in his *very* dear friends with just one word. Chris thought he'd picked it up from his mother.

"Hi Lance, what's up?"

"It's almost nine o'clock."

"I have a watch, man. What vital part of today's schedule did I forget?" he rolled his eyes at Nick, who grinned, but put the phone back, expecting the inevitable.

"You promised to deejay..."

He smacked his forehead. "Right. Happy Place party. That's tonight?"

"Doors open at ten."

"Shit. Okay. I'll... uh..." Nick waved off his apologetic look. "I'll be there."

"And how come you don't have a bodyguard with you? Lonnie's going nuts..."

"I'll *be* there." Chris shut his phone, ending the conversation.

"Duty calls?"

"Yeah." Was there a hint of disappointment in those eyes or just glare off the lenses? "Guess you'll be ordering a small pizza."

"Looks like it."

Chris felt the earlier comfort between them dissolve into an awkward pause. Nick shuffled his feet a bit. Chris moved towards the door.

"Thanks for coming."

"Hey man, I invited myself."

"Yeah but..." Nick seemed to make a decision. He walked over and wrapped his arms around Chris. "...I needed you."


next
table of contents