He never thought he would be jealous of them, but he is, and not just a little but a whole fucking lot. It's all he can think about tonight. Things are slowing down for his group but speeding up for them, and he watches Nsync together, remembering when it used to be like that for the Backstreet Boys, before the five separate busses and inter-group politics.
Before Nick Carter grew up.
Nick watches Nsync from across the room, arms crossed over his chest, the only one besides Howie to show up for the after-party, and Howie is quietly talking with some up-and-coming young singer in the corner, always the shy guy.
Once upon a time, Nick used to be the cute one. He remembers it well, when his face was baby-soft and pretty, his body was lean and lithe, his hair was a pale and pure blond. For a time, Nick thought he was actually beautiful.
And then he grew up.
Nick understands it was a gamble. Recruited at twelve, an international superstar by sixteen, the one with the baby-face and sweet grin, the one the girls fawned over. They didn't know that one day, at twenty, Nick would wake up a man.
He would look in the mirror and understand the gamble failed. Nick wasn't pretty, wasn't handsome, wasn't beautiful; Nick woke up and saw this big body and understood he lost his place, would never be his group's Justin Timberlake. It didn't have to be a death knell, but in the fickle industry of pop music, Nick knows it was.
This is Nick Carter, all grown up.
~~~
Nick drinks too much at the party and finds himself wandering away from it, ignoring the looks of people waiting for him to fall, to admit defeat. AJ's rehab stint was only the beginning; they're all waiting for Nick Carter to realise he's next. Well, Nick isn't going to give them that satisfaction. Nick is going to be just fine.
Nick hates them, in a petty and childish way. He doesn't think he's ugly, just average, just an ordinary man in a boyband that took its fame for granted and is now being left behind. Drunk, Nick feels the dark spirals of jealousy twist through his body even tighter. For a second, Nick wishes he was someone different.
He doesn't know who he'd be, just someone who was beautiful and fit and who the fans still wanted, someone like Justin Timberlake and not this thick-limbed, harsh-faced man who's so drunk that he's lost in the building and wondering if anyone will even notice if he doesn't come back.
But someone does, Nick realises, looking back.
Someone's following him.
~~~
Nick purses his lips and furrows his brow, trying to remember if they've ever actually talked to each other. Nick's traded jibs with Justin, talked the trade with Lance, joked with Joey, and even discussed writing with JC, but Nick is pretty sure he's never spoken with Chris, is absolutely convinced they have no common ground at all.
Funny, isn't it, that Chris is the one standing in the hall, watching Nick stumble along. Nick puts his drink down on the ground and straightens his shoulders, unwilling to admit he needs help, hoping Chris will just go away and forget about him, like everyone else has.
"Come on," Chris says, tilting his head.
"No," Nick says, stubborn.
"Fuck it, kid, come on," Chris repeats, and starts to walk without looking back, so Nick follows, because it's not like he has anything else to do, it's not like he has anyone else to follow. Chris goes into the stairwell, starts walking up, and Nick goes, too.
Nick just doesn't want to be alone.
~~~
On the roof, Chris sits down in the centre of it all, not near the edge, and Nick thinks -- "phobia" -- and doesn't bother to laugh. Nick bets Chris knows just how lame it is to have the entire world know there's something to fear in life.
Nick is so afraid of being cast away and forgotten.
"Listen, Carter, I'm not going to talk to you if you aren't going to sit down, and I sure as hell won't help you if you walk that drunken ass of yours anywhere near the edge. Sit down, or I'm going to make you go back to that party and make a fool of yourself."
Nick scoffs -- "why do you care?" -- but sits down, practically falling to his knees, too big, too heavy, as usual. Chris reaches out, steadies him with a small hand, and Nick stares at it, head spinning in rabid circles behind his eyes. "I don't feel so great."
"If you gotta puke, don't go near that fucking edge," Chris says.
Nick nods and ignores that Chris is shrugging off his jacket until Chris folds it up into a plush square and puts it down on the tarred roof, and that steady hand is back on Nick's shoulder, pushing him to the pillow. Nick doesn't have the will to fight.
"Sober up," Chris says, and looks at the stars.
Nick looks at Chris.
~~~
"Why are you here?" Nick asks, when his head is still again.
Chris smirks. "Why not? We're friends."
Nick laughs. "Ha. No, we're not. We've never talked."
"Doesn't mean we're not friends," Chris replies, knees bent to his chest, arms crossed over them, "it just means you haven't given me a reason to hate your ass yet. The best type of friend, Carter, is the type you don't talk to, or the type you talk to so much that you don't mind the fact they're the biggest freaks ever. We've never talked, so. option one applies to you."
Nick smiles and feels flattered, a little bit pleased, believing Chris even though he shouldn't. Nick has heard about Chris, knows he fucks with heads every chance he gets, but doesn't think Chris is mean enough to do it now, when Nick is so obviously messed up already.
Nick looks at Chris, and thinks he's kind of hot.
Which makes Nick feel bad all over again.
~~~
Nick isn't gay. He likes girls, just not as much, and he's quiet about it. It's not like he's any man's dream, anyway, not with this body of his that just isn't the adorable one he used to have. There's always pressure to look a certain way, and it's worse for a guy who's queer. The men Nick's age won't even look at him, while the older men freak him out.
Nick looks at Chris, and mumbles, "am I ugly?"
"Not especially, no," Chris replies, not missing a beat.
"I haven't aged well," Nick says solemnly.
Chris laughs. "Fuck, Carter, you're twenty-one years old. Talk to me about aging when you're thirty, and maybe I won't think you're spouting bullshit. If this is what this is about, I recommend you get over it."
Nick knows he looks hurt, but he also knows Chris isn't responding to the crushed expression on Nick's face. Nick is still pretty drunk, which is screwing with his emotions, and he whispers, "you don't know what it's like, ruining your group because you look like I do."
"You aren't ruining anything," Chris says, softly now, like he's feeling bad for Nick, and Nick hopes so, because he's feeling pretty bad for himself. "And I know, Carter, don't kid yourself into thinking I don't. I'm the fat one, the old one, and the ugly one. Sometimes, you just have to get over it and make do with what you have."
Nick lifts his head to find Chris looking at him, and Nick feels guilty, like he needs to say something, like -- "you're not ugly" -- which gets him a forced smile from Chris as he turns away those dark gold eyes and stares across the city. "No, you really aren't."
"Carter," Chris says, a warning tone to his voice.
"Well, you're not," Nick says and looks away to pout, burying his face in Chris's jacket, breathing in deeply and catching Chris's scent. "Well, I'm all of that, too, anyway, except for being old. Older," Nick corrects, "and I'm also."
"Carter," Chris says again, and Nick bits his lip. "Careful what you say to me, kid, or you'll wake up tomorrow and regret I know. This business is mean as hell, and you shouldn't trust someone just because they're helping you out."
"Would you say anything?" Nick asks, suddenly scared.
"No, I wouldn't, but how are you supposed to know that?"
"Then I'm bi," Nick says.
Chris pauses then murmurs -- "you and me both" -- smiling to himself, and Nick grins back, laughing a little, deep in his belly. Chris shoves at him, playful, and Nick rolls away, giggling and drunk, coming to rest on his back, a hand on his soft stomach.
Chris turns back to the night, and watches the sky.
Nick is still watching Chris.
~~~
Nick decides Chris isn't that old, so he kisses him, right on the neck, and Chris looks at Nick, barely even surprised. Nick thinks he must be transparent, worries that maybe he is, but hopes, instead, that Chris just knows things, that he figured out what Nick's veiled looks mean.
This is Nick all grown up.
Chris mutters under his breath, too quickly for Nick to catch, so Nick pretends he didn't hear it at all, moving his mouth to Chris's lips, stealing a chaste kiss with his hand on Chris's waist, waiting for permission. Chris murmurs again, some warning, but his mouth opens, and Nick ignores the words, kisses him almost desperately.
Chris says, a little bit louder, "do you know what you're doing, Carter?"
"Yes," Nick replies, kissing him again, liking the warm taste of Chris's mouth.
"And you've done this before?" Chris asks, watching Nick's hand slide under his shirt, onto soft skin, and Nick smiles to himself, the skin familiar and plush beneath his hands, like his own is. When Chris grabs his wrist, Nick nods, and Chris says, "okay."
This is Nick being a man.
~~~
Nick is overly aware that anyone could come up to the roof and see them, that maybe there's another person sitting on top of a building nearby who's watching, but he's drunk, and needy, and desperate, so it doesn't matter.
What matters is the warmth of Chris's skin, the way his legs spread when Nick dips his hand between them, the way Chris swears at Nick when he does something right, and calls him a crazy bastard when he bumbles it up.
The truth is, Nick has done this only once before, but he was sober for it, remembers everything in a way that is startling and clear. It was a good night, with a close friend, so it counts as more, Nick thinks, and he's been with girls. It's all the same, somehow. Nick wants to pretend he knows what he's doing.
They don't get naked, don't even try it, but their hands roam under cloth, blindly finding their way, and Nick thinks it's even more sexy because of it, because of what they can't see. It's hot but not romantic, which is just what Nick needs.
Nick doesn't feel quite so ugly with Chris under him, tucking bold fingers down Nick's pants, touching and squeezing and whispering dirty comments in Nick's ear, trying to make him laugh. Doesn't feel quite so big, when Chris flips him over and sits on his knees, sucking him through his pants before moving to flesh, a hand under Nick's shirt and pressing into plush skin.
Doesn't feel quite so off, when there's still someone in this world who wants him.
~~~
It's quiet afterwards, and Nick is mostly sober. It's not uncomfortable, just contemplative, and Chris sits beside him, still ruffled, with well-kissed lips and a stain on his coat. Nick says, "do you think we should get back?"
"Do you want to go back?" Chris asks, scratching at his knee.
"Not yet, no," Nick admits, and leans against Chris, thinking he'll just stay awhile, comfortable in his own skin.
Fin.
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