You hate your job, some days, and the morning stop at Starbucks is the only reason to get up. The lines are long and the people at the counter seem as tired as you feel, but you're only three people away from fucking caffeine and the smell of coffee is definitely good. You'll only be a little late today.

There's a commotion behind you, people laughing and snappy, but you don't really care. You're concentrating on the decision between raspberry mocha and a regular mocha. The frappuchinos are saved for later in the day. One of the guys behind you jostles you hard and you could just ignore him because it was probably an accident, but it really does seem like a good idea to turn and glare.

You wish you hadn't, when you realize that he towers over you. Lots of people do, but this guy looks like he's been lifting since he was ten. He folds his arms over his chest and stares back impassively and you skim your eyes to the people behind him so you can roll your eyes.

There's no sympathy coming your way, and the reason for the big guy being there is apparent now. You know they live here, but who the hell expects Chris Kirkpatrick and JC Chasez to be in line behind you at Starbucks? You're not above getting hoochied up, going clubbing and hoping for a sighting, but it's too early and this just feels vaguely surreal.

They're looking worried now, and you think that's dumb, because you're definitely not their target audience. They shouldn't think that you've got the potential to be dangerous, especially since you know that you're not exactly a bruiser. And suddenly someone's calling out "Excuse me, miss. Can I help you?"

You turn and say "Large Raspberry Mocha" and feel even crankier, because you've laughed and discussed and talked for over a year about what you'd do if you ever met them. You never figured you'd be waiting for a huge coffee and glaring at their bodyguard. It feels like a betrayal of the daydreams and you just know that people are gonna yell at you for not taking advantage of this situation.

Still, when you leave, you smile at them. They look relieved, and this time, because you're not in shock, you notice how they look scruffy and like they just rolled out of bed. The question "Whose bed? Whose bed?" is squashed immediately when JC smiles back. The grin looks even more adorable in person and you hurry to work so you can spread the word.

The teasing fades, and so does the envy and you keep taping television shows, and watching appearances. You're convinced, after the fact, that they were together like that, when everyone you're friends with dissects the incident. You want to believe it, and that's all that matters.

Their appearances don't dissuade you. JC smiles his pretty smile and touches Chris, and everyone squeals about how they're made for each other. "God save me from believers", you sometimes think, but TrickC is suddenly everyone's new favourite pairing and it makes you happy.

You go to that Starbucks sometimes, carefully not pathetic. It's only when you really want a Chai or a Latte or a Frappuchino, and you never really wait that long. You're mostly convinced that it was a once in a lifetime situation, and that pretty soon you'll start going to the Starbucks nearer to you, not the one on your way to work.

Then the appearances start feeling less happy. Chris and JC are seated on opposite sides and they don't touch anymore. Even though Chris makes his usual teasing remarks to everyone, his jokes about JC seem meaner now, and you're concerned. It feels dumb, caring about a relationship that might or might not exist, about people you don't know, but it's fandom, and that's the way it works.

You pretty much stop hanging out at that Starbucks.

Two months later, you're back there, and it's not pathetic, because you came straight from work. You didn't go out of your way, so it's okay, and the line that divides the stalking from the fannish seems blurry but you're absolutely certain that this is perfectly fine. You've got a half day from work, and you're going to sit and write for a couple hours, drink as much coffee as you want.

You're absorbed in the words which are flowing beautifully onto your notebook from your pretty NSYNC pen. It was a gift, but you're honest enough to admit that you'd probably have bought one if you hadn't gotten it as a present. You're momentarily blocked, thinking about word choice, and your eyes start scanning the seating area.

He's two tables away from you, but he might as well be next to you because at this time of day hardly anyone else is sitting. You think that someone less versed in the curve of his cheekbones or way he sits probably wouldn't recognize him. It's JC though, baseball cap, scruffy half beard and all, and he's staring into his cup of coffee like it holds the answer to the mysteries of the world. A notebook of his own sits unopened beside him, a cheap pen tucked into the spiral wire.

You scribble that down into your notebook, hands shaking a little because this, this is more like what your daydreams were about. No bodyguards, no glitter and now you're writing a livejournal entry to be transcribed later, because there's no way in hell that you could work on your story.

A minute or two later, you look up and he's looking at you, and you smile just a little like you would at a stranger, mind spinning off into possibilities while you keep writing. It's nonsense now, but you're determined to be cool. You're not a teenie, never have been and your pen is suddenly more embarrassing than you could ever comprehend.

You don't look up again, trying to figure out a way to talk, until a shadow falls over your page. You must not have looked that threatening because he's standing there, and your mind shuts down for a second, until all you can think is that you're suddenly living a teenie's stupid Mary Sue fic.

"Nice pen." His voice is lower than you'd have thought after watching interviews, and he sounds like he wants to laugh. You look up and you're glad to see that he doesn't look sad anymore.

"It was a gift." You're sure he knows that you're pretending that you don't know who he is, so you shrug. "They don't do you guys justice, y'know. You should take better control over your merchandising."

He blinks a little, and you think that it might be the weirdest thing that you've ever said. He's smiling then, and gesturing at the chair. You nod, and then look down at your notebook. Trick C fic is on the top of the page, and it's not something that you want him to read, so you flip it quickly.

"Lance takes care of that stuff."

You nod wisely, and this definitely isn't a Mary Sue fantasy, because if it were, you'd know what to say. The urge to smoke is stronger than it's ever been, and if you could, it's possible you'd install a nicotine IV.

He's smiling at you again, and this is the publicity smile, wide and plastic and you're scrabbling in your purse, and your cigarettes fall out. You're glad to see that even though you feel like you're shaking, your hands are steady.

JC looks over his shoulder and says happily, "Hey. You've got smokes. I'm not supposed to, y'know, but..." He looks confused then, like maybe girls offer him whatever he wants, and you should have asked him if he wanted one.

You shrug. "I was thinking about smoking before. Want one?"

There's the real smile again, and he's standing up, too fast, so that the chair skitters across the floor. "Thought you'd never ask." He looks at his stuff over on the other table. "I should bring..."

You notice that he loses the endings to sentences in real life too, and you wave dismissively at the stuff, yours and his combined. "Who's gonna steal paper and pens?"

It's like the idea floors him, and you realize that people probably would steal his stuff, in fact, you could probably get enough for his notebook on Ebay to pay your next 6 month's rent. It's dumb though, because there's hardly anyone in there and you'll just be outside, so you walk outside, not looking to see if he's following.

He does, and you hand him a cigarette. You smoke pretty much in silence for a few minutes, until he looks at you again. "Whatcha writing? You seemed pretty intent in there."

You can feel your cheeks blushing, and that's okay cause he won't know, that would just be entirely too weird. "Fairytales. I'm working on fairytales." It seems an apt enough description of fanfiction, and you think that that'll have to go in your livejournal too.

JC's smiling now and you guys do the obligatory small talk, even though it feels oddly stifled. He's mostly just asking you questions, because you already know everything about him except the personal stuff and you wouldn't exactly ask a stranger about their intimate details.

When you walk back inside, it's more comfortable, and he brings you another cup of coffee and you're talking more and more, telling him funny things about your job, and this girl that used to live with you. You both avoid the topic of NSYNC.

It's not for a while, but you realize that he's hitting on you. It's nice, exactly the way you'd think he would be, and that's probably why it's taken you that long to realize it. It shakes your worldview, and you have the sudden urge to tell him to go flirt with Chris, instead.

Still, he's asking you "So, um, you live alone?"

You're shaking your head. "No. But my roommate's working late today."

He looks uncomfortable now, but he's obviously steeling himself. "You wanna go back to your place?" It looks like maybe he's seen Joey or Lance do it enough times that it works. If you were that type of groupie, it probably would, because you truly think that he's a nice guy.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He's backpedaling now, suddenly flustered, "I'm not saying, um, not like that, because, because, um. I'm not..."

You can't help smiling, but when his cheeks turn pink and he's looking down into his coffee cup, you try to figure out what to say. "You're, uh, probably in a relationship, and I'm not that sort of person."

He shakes his head violently then. "I was but..."

You cut in, "Yeah, Bobbee, right?" You smile at him, wicked. "No one online knows how to spell her name."

He laughs. "We haven't been together for a while, though. I was, ah, involved with someone else til just a little bit ago. But, it just wasn't right."

It makes sense then, something happened with him and Chris and JC's decided to move on. That's not right though, and you could kick yourself for not taking this opportunity, but you've got the boyfriend and JC really does belong with Chris. You look around, checking to make sure that no one's listening. Time to take a chance. "Chris?"

He blinks and almost chokes on his last sip of coffee. "No no no, not like that, no." He's floored, doesn't know that you like them that way.

You wait, and he looks at you. "You're from the National Enquirer aren't you?" It's the clearest sentence he's said, and he looks terrified.

"Calm the fuck down, dude." You're grinning now, because you know that you were right and it's the best feeling ever. You pat his hand, and it's the first time you touched him, you've been careful not to paw at him or even bump him. He gets enough of that, you think.

He looks down and sighs. "Yeah." And he's talking and you absolutely cannot believe that he's telling you these things, and part of you wishes that you could just write it all over livejournal. You won't, because this is private and personal.

Fiction with sobbing boys has never seemed particularly realistic, but he looks like he just might feel like crying as he finishes talking about how Chris was afraid of fucking things up, and getting caught. He ends the story with how he just thought that maybe a nice normal girl could make him forget. "Worked for Lance, didn't it?"

You should maybe feel insulted, but it's obvious he never meant to use you, would probably have dated you and called you. You bet JC sends flowers and chocolates; he's obviously a romantic, and you want that for a moment, fiercely, hotly. "You need to fix this, you know. You can. It's obvious that he likes you, cares about you."

JC looks at you. "He loves me. Not like he'd ever say it. He's just too fucked up to deal. "

You nod, "But it's worth it to work shit out. He's worth it, I bet."

"Yeah. He is."

You tell him about your boyfriend then, the one you've loved since high school, and how there's things that you hate. There's stuff you've hidden and secrets you kept, and he listens to it. You feel like you can actually fix his life if you can just make him realize that he needs to tell Chris how he feels. You bet there's not much communicating going on.

You want to sit here like this, talking to him like he's not a superstar, like he couldn't buy and sell you a million times, but it's already gone on longer than you thought it would. Sooner rather than later, a teenie is going to walk through the door and he's going to have to run and hide. You suddenly don't envy him at all. "You should be talking to him, not me, y'know."

He leans over and kisses you on the cheek, and it's like a thousand dreams all rolled into one. He stands up, then, stretches, and the muscles you can see make you faint with wanting, but you did right. You know it, and it feels good, whether he asks for your phone number or not, whether he remembers you if you meet again.

~end~