"Hey man...I just wanted...no. Nevermind, it's not..." There was a long silence before Nick sighed heavily and murmured, "I miss you." Chris hung up before the recorded voice could complete its obligatory "Next saved message..."

Chris hadn't thought as far ahead as "I miss you". They had never discussed commitment. So far it had been a thing between fuck-buddies, a safe way for Nick to get some of the physical affection he was denying himself. Chris got to participate in the biggest "fuck you " to the media in a long time. And the sex wasn't bad either.

Sure, they'd started keeping in touch, becoming much better friends in the process. But it was all very casual. No pressure to be on the other end of the phone when Nick called. No questions about the rumours of NSYNC wild nights the tabloids liked to print.

Nick had no right to sound that... defeated. And Chris didn't feel at all lonely, listening to the soft words whenever he had a moment. He just... needed to get laid. That was all. He hadn't had decent sex since... New Year's Day. At Nick's house. Almost a month and a half ago. Since then they'd been rehearsing and promoting simultaneously, and really when Chris got home all he wanted to do was sleep.

Although that didn't explain why he was sitting in his hotel room justifying things to himself instead of enjoying the New York nightlife with Lance and Justin. Nor did it tell him why his first impulse on hitting town had been to call Nick, and why he had been disappointed when the answering machine picked up. He had opened his mouth to leave a message, but turned his phone off fast when the only thing that came to mind was Nick's message to him.

Action. Chris needed to do *something*. He knocked on the connecting door.

JC pulled it open. "Thought you were hitting the town with Justin and Lance?" he asked. "Something up?"

"Nah," Chris lied, knowing JC could tell but wouldn't push. "I wanna do somethin', but not, y'know..."

"With whipped cream and strippers?" JC finished with a wink.

"Right," Chris laughed. "You got any plans?"

"Well," JC frowned. "I don't think it's exactly your scene, man."

"You *are* going somewhere. Take me, take me, take me!"

"Chill!" JC laughed, squirming away. "It's a coffee house Tony knows. And if you're gonna be all crack-addled, I'm not taking you."

"Caffiene!" Chris cackled, just to freak C out a little more. "I'm kidding, I'll be good. I promise."

Chris poked at the decaf non-fat latte JC had ordered for him. It was essentially warm milk. "I bet they serve this at nursing homes. With prunes."

"Shh..." As usual, JC was already immersing himself in the experience.

Chris sighed and tried to settle into the overly-plump purple armchair. Oh well. At least the music was good.

A throaty-voiced young woman sat at the piano, backed by two saxaphone players, a trumpeter, a trombone player, a woman on double-bass, a guitarist and, tucked into the far corner, a drummer. They looked like your average swing/jazz/blues ensemble. It wasn't until Chris started really listening that he realized they had worked out a rendition of Vanessa Carlton's "Thousand Miles", with horns in place of strings and muted drums. He gave them points for creativity and joined in the polite applause at the end of the song.

One of the saxaphone players, a stocky Asian guy, stepped up to a mic.

"Thank you. Welcome to our second set of the night here at "A Latte Night Music"," he paused for snickers and groans. "Hey, we didn't name the place. Anyway, this is the point of the evening where I get to talk and you get to meet the band. On piano and lead vocals, as usual, the lovely Miss Darcy O'Connor."

Chris forgot to applaud, staring at the pianist.
New York City, check.
Singer, check.
Piano, check.
Brown hair, check.
Darcy O'Connor, check.

Which added up to *Nick's* Darcy O'Connor. With a drummer who was really far back in that very dark corner.

He tuned back just in time to hear the saxaphonist conclude "...and I'm Phil Jee. Enjoy the evening, keep the waitstaff busy, and if you like what you're hearing, Darcy's got a basket on top of her piano."

As they swung into "Me and My Shadow", Phil duetting with Darcy, Chris tugged JC's arm urgently. "Hey, did they name the drummer?"

"Naw man. Must've forgot. Or maybe he doesn't know. Like, somebody sitting in for the night."

Which was a good point. Nick sat in regularly with that pop/rock cover band, why wouldn't he do other favours for Darcy or Phil when they needed him?

So much for not thinking about Nick tonight.

As the set went on, Chris became increasingly frustrated. He knew Nick was the near-invisible drummer, knew he couldn't have missed the entrance of two celebrities and their bodyguard in the tiny club. Would Nick come over, even with JC here?

JC was pretty oblivious but didn't think inside the box. He wouldn't dismiss a Nick Carter look-alike because he didn't expect Nick to be somewhere. Heck, to JC, music was music. It probably wouldn't occur to him that "A Latte Night Music" wasn't one of Nick's normal hang-outs.

A large hand caught Chris' shoulder.

"Wanna go for a walk?" the tone was passive, but Chris knew it was bodyguardese for "Quit fidgeting!" He shook his head and sat on his hands.

When the set finally ended, he watched the drummer step off the stage and into a hall lit with two signs - "Washrooms" and "EXIT". Chris knew a cue when he saw one.

He found Nick waiting for him outside, back against the concrete wall. It was dark, but the flickering neon light above the exit showed Chris more than he'd been able to see outside. Nick's glasses glinted in the unsteady light, his hair slicked back somewhat, the heat and movement of two sets having loosened the gel's hold. Shirt open at the neck, two buttons undone and thin tie dangling, but Nick's issues held - he wore a white t-shirt underneath. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up - Chris couldn't help but admire his toned forearms. Grey slacks completed the outfit, and all Nick needed was a cigarette dangling from his fingers to be the epitome of swinger cool.

"Chris." His name was greeting and observation in one. "Stalking me?"

The words brought to mind the stack of tabloids in Chris' living room. Justin had noticed his little obsession with them, if not the reason behind it, and bought him a pile for Christmas. Briefly he wondered if AJ had ever told Nick about the time Chris had interrogated him.

"I came with JC. Tony told him about the place," he shrugged. "I'm innocent on this one."

Nick laughed. "Just fate, huh?"

"Can't get away from you."

"Do you want to?" The teasing tone was gone. Nick wasn't oblivous -- and Chris hadn't emailed him in almost two weeks.

"I..."

Nick waited quietly, but his eyes strayed to his watch. The last set was fast approaching. Chris grabbed at the lifeline.

"Can we talk after?"

Nick frowned, but nodded. "JC'll shut the place down with or without you?"

"Usually."

"When Darcy starts up "Ain't Nobody Here but Us Chickens", tell Chasez you're leaving and grab a cab out," he instructed. "Get out a block early and walk the rest."

Chris nodded. Nick turned to go, his body language tense, maybe a little hurt. Chris couldn't help catching Nick's wrist. He didn't know what to say to reassure Nick, wasn't sure what he might end up saying later would be reassuring. Instead, he stood stroking Nick's wrist, watching Nick's clouded eyes. Finally, Nick broke the moment, ducking in quickly to brush his lips lightly across Chris' cheek.

"Later" he said, then pulled away, disappearing back into the club.

A little dazed, Chris made his way back to JC.

"Hey did you fall in, man? Ready to send out a search party," JC joked. Chris looked at him, managing a smile.

"Yeah, maybe I did."

The secret agent routine wasn't as exciting this time around, partly because escaping from JC while he was listening to music required no effort. On top of that, Chris had no idea what he was going to say to Nick. Frankly, putting him off till after two in the morning had been a stupid idea. He still wasn't sure what was going on, or what he wanted to be going on. Plus, it had been a long day and Chris was simply too old and too tired for this.

When he arrived at Nick's building, no one answered the buzzer. Which made sense -- of course Nick wasn't going to beat him home. But Chris hadn't been thinking and he was almost tired, cranky and cold enough to call another cab and head back to the hotel. 115th Street was nowhere for an old boybander to be standing around at 2:45 on a February Friday morning.

The memory of Nick, tense, dismissive, poised to leave him alone behind the club stopped Chris from giving in to his mood. He'd suggested this meeting, and whatever babbling was going to come out of his mouth, Nick probably wouldn't listen to any of it later if Chris skipped out on him now. Chris wasn't up to losing a friend tonight.

Phil's somewhat dented, pea-soup coloured van pulled up outside Nick's building around three in the morning. The growl of the side door opening echoed Nick's mood as he stumbled out. It was just his bad luck he'd be among the last to be dropped off.

"Night, guys," he said, sliding the door closed.

"Hey Nick?" Darcy leaned out of the passenger side window. "I'm sorry about them." Marcus was asleep in the back, but she wasn't taking chances. Nick appreciated that, as much as the apology amused him. "If I'd known they'd be in town early."

"Nothin' happened, right?" He shrugged easily. "No harm, no foul."

"If you say so."

"See you round."

Nick made his way to the residence door. He found Chris half slumped against the wall opposite the call box, asleep. "What, Chasez wouldn't let you have caffeine?"

At the sound of a voice, Chris roused himself, nearly falling over.

"You drunk, Kirkpatrick?" Nick asked, steadying him with one hand as he unlocked the door. He didn't *smell* drunk, but there were tricks for that.

"Decaf... uh.." Chris blinked. "Warm milk."

"Smart move," Nick rolled his eyes. "C'mon," he half pulled Chris through the door.

"Be okay," Chris responded, rubbing his eyes. "Need coffee or somethin'"

"I wonder how much your guys would hate me if I gave you coffee at... 3:10 in the morning. Damn. Didn't think it would take 'em that long to drop me off. No wonder you passed out."

"I'm fine," Chris insisted.

"Look, I know we need to talk but maybe I should just call you a cab. I've got class in less than seven hours, I gotta have a shower before I do *anything* else, and if you make me cranky tonight, I'm gonna be useless in Sculpture tomorrow."

"Have your shower, I'll make coffee," Chris told him, following Nick into the apartment. "I didn't stand out there in the cold for an hour to just get sent back to the hotel."

They stared at each other for a moment, arms folded, glaring just a little. Nick blinked first. "Kettle's over there," he sighed. "Coffee's in that cabinet, you can see the sink." He turned towards his bedroom, then paused. "Oh and don't use the milk. I don't want NSYNC suing my ass for food poisoning."

Chris nodded, not even cracking a smile. Nick wondered if it was a symptom of exhaustion or of the seriousness of whatever was going through Chris' head. He didn't bother asking. Instead, he grabbed his towel from the bedroom and went for a shower.

Aware of how little time he had for sleep and that Chris needed rest at least as badly as he did, Nick moved quickly. However, when he emerged the kettle was whistling fit to wake the dead and Chris was crashed out on the couch. Nick couldn't help smiling at the sight. He silenced the kettle, removed Chris' shoes and fetched him a blanket. There was nothing Chris had to say that couldn't wait . Especially "You're freaking me out, step off." Nick bestowed a gentle kiss on Chris forehead and went to bed.

His last thought before sleep was "I hope to God his phone's on."
next
table of contents