Cheesy movie. Click. Infomercial. Click. 

JC ran through the channels twice, staring at the television without seeing anything. As was often the case after a show, his adrenaline was pumping and endorphins were still flooding his system. Following a performance he was almost always hyped up. Being onstage was a bigger, better, and longer lasting high than any illicit drug. He was almost vibrating with energy. It was late, and although he was vaguely tired, sleep was not happening anytime soon.

He had come back to the hotel and swam a few laps in the pool. When that didn't settle him, he tried sitting in the hot tub for a bit. After fifteen minutes he was hot and just as wired as he had been before climbing in. After coming back to his room and showering, he flipped on the TV hoping to find something that would either hold his attention or lull him to sleep. But so far, nothing doing. But as hyper as he was physically, it did not help that his thoughts were whirring at lightspeed. 

Everyone else had gone out to a local club; normally that was his speed when he was a in a mood like this. Some liquor, some music, and dancing with the right kind of girl. Depending on how things went, there was maybe even the possibility of bringing her back to his hotel room after. And that almost always guaranteed him a good night's rest. But that evening there was really only one girl he was even semi-remotely interested in bringing back to his hotel, and the possibility of that happening was exactly zero percent. So he had excused himself from the unofficial after party by claiming exhaustion. Joey had looked at him funny, but to his credit he didn't press the issue. Or call JC out on what was almost completely a lie. 

Well, not completely. Because Casey was going to be there and being around her was most definitely exhausting. And he really wasn't in the mood. 

With her boyfriend--ex-boyfriend--gone, JC realized pretty quickly that Casey liked to party. Or maybe she liked to party because he was gone. Either way, she was giving Joey a run for his money. He'd come along a couple of times, with everyone else, when they hit a club after an evening's show. But he also realized, even more quickly maybe, that he didn't like to watch her party. 

For one, Casey drank a lot, which was interesting considering the fact that she wasn't yet twenty-one. He'd seen her drinking before, while her ex had still been around, but she really seemed to ramp up after he'd gone. JC felt kind of hypocritical when he counted how many drinks she had when she was out; he'd been in a similar situation when he'd been her age. He had definitely consumed his fair share of alcoholic drinks while he was underage. And it wasn't like she was drinking so much that she was falling over. But he still couldn't help how he felt watching her get drunk. 

Her drinking, however, bothered him far less than her dancing. It wasn't as a big of a deal to him when she was with Justin, or Joey. Even though things still had a tendency to get kind of raunchy, and even though it made him a little jealous by how comfortable she was with them, he knew it was all in fun. But he'd watched her before with other guys, random strangers she danced with who stood way too close, and touched her way too much. It made JC uncomfortable in ways he wasn't interested in examining too closely because ultimately he knew it didn't matter. But after the last time they'd all gone out together, when she'd actually left with some stranger who'd been practically groping her on the dancefloor, he decided he didn't want to see anymore of her doing that, ever again. 

It wasn't fair, he knew, that he was judging her for doing something he'd done plenty of himself. She was young, beautiful, and free of a relationship that had clearly been bad news from start to finish; she had every right to celebrate that in whatever way she wanted to--and with whom. Had she been anyone else he would've been completely OK with it. But it wasn't that simple with Casey. Because despite the fact that he hadn't known her long, nothing had been simple with her from the beginning. 

JC got along with virtually everyone. It was kind of a point of pride with him. He liked people, related to them, connected with them. And they, in turn, liked him. The only people who had an issue with him were the people who didn't know him. Because once people got to know him, his overwhelming likeability was obvious. 

Usually.

So maybe it was his fault in the beginning kind of, even though it all happened accidentally. He didn't handle drama well, and frankly, aside from being painfully awkward, that first encounter was ridiculously dramatic. So maybe he didn't handle the after part so well. But he tried. And besides, the second time was all on her. 

She'd been polite but aloof. Not quite cold, but definitely chilly. It was the polar opposite of how Justin and Lance said she'd been when they met her. They described her as warm and friendly, energetic and high spirited. That was not, however, what he got when he met her. 

He had been excited as anyone about Casey's arrival on the tour; he liked her music and had heard nothing but great things about her. He'd been genuinely excited to meet her, but the incident, that first unfortunate meeting, set the tone for all their future interactions. And as much as it frustrated him, he didn't know how to get passed it. 

Second to all of that, and perhaps more frustrating, was the fact that he was maybe a little bit attracted to her. Or maybe it was a lot. 

He'd thought she was cute from the first time he'd seen her. They were on the same label and he'd seen pictures and caught some footage of her performing. She was also talented, and the fact that she wasn't just a pretty face had made her all the more appealing to him. She was a vocal powerhouse and a terrific dancer. But he was drawn to more than her talent or looks. She was energy and magnetism personified onstage. About five feet of pure effervescence. And her charisma and charm didn't diminish offstage; if anything her presence was larger as it wasn't as tightly focused. She wasn't loud or particularly flamboyant, but it was almost as if her very aura drew people in effortlessly. 

Casey fascinated him. He watched her sometimes when he was sure no one else was paying attention. The way her eyes danced and her hands moved endlessly when she talked about something that excited her. The way her intensity seemed laser pointed on whomever she was speaking to in a way that made them feel like the most important person in the room. The way she walked into a space and just commanded it, without any sort of show or pretension.  

She was the kind of girl that most guys would fall all over themselves to be close to. She was definitely the kind of girl he could picture himself being very close to in all kinds of different ways. But that just fueled his frustration. He wasn't in the mood to watch her get close to, or potentially hook up with, random guys. 

And there was still that pesky little thing between them. That thing that was mostly her ex-boyfriend. That thing that, maybe, wasn't so little after all. And he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do about it. So he did what he did best when things were tense and uncomfortable and stressful. He did absolutely nothing.  

He's coming back from the bathroom and hears what sounds like muffled arguing coming from around the corner. He follows the hallway around the curve past the restrooms, and sure enough, there are people arguing. At first he can only see the man from behind; he can tell he's holding on to someone smaller, and by the voice he knows it's a woman. He's holding her, possibly by the arms, and shaking her. He can't hear everything that's being said at first, but he hears very clearly when she tells him that he's hurting her. He moves closer, but neither of them notice.  He recognizes the man as Tony Brown, whom he was introduced to earlier. And then he recognizes her. 

"Is everything OK here?" he asks. 

Casey Whitaker looks up, her face stricken with a mixture of embarrassment, anger and recognition. Her cheeks are wet and she has very obviously been crying. Just as quickly as he catches her eye, she looks away. 

Tony barely inclines his head toward JC. "We're fine, bro. Private conversation." He waves his hand dismissively.

JC sees her wince, and he realizes that Tony is squeezing the hell out of her upper arms. "Are you sure?" His question is directed to her. . 

She won't look up at him again but he hopes she knows he's talking to her. When she doesn't answer he continues. "Because it looks like--" Before he can express his thought, Tony cuts him off rudely.

"Let's go, Casey!" He grabs Casey's hand and drags her down the hallway. 

As they pass him she meets his eyes again, and he can't quite read the expression on her face. 

When Tony had joined Casey on tour, JC made the conscious decision to steer clear of both of them. And after Tony was gone, it was a pattern that was easy to remain in. He wanted things to be different, but he couldn't figure out how to make it happen. She was going to be there for another six months, and he wasn't sure he could handle another half year of avoiding her, but he didn't know what the alternative was. 

With a groan, JC leaned back against the headboard and cycled through the television channels again. 

***

Forty minutes later Casey was showered, lotioned, and sitting at the foot of her hotel bed wrapped in a bathrobe. She had run the blow dryer through her hair for a few minutes and, although not completely dry, her thick, shoulder-length curls were no longer dripping wet. After smoothing some product through it, she wound it up in a loose bun on top of her head. 

"Fucking Orlando," she muttered. 

It was the first time she'd met JC and the uncomfortable, embarrassing encounter played in her mind on an endless loop. 

Casey'd been an *NSYNC fan before she became their opening act, and quiet as she kept it, she had been a JC fan for even longer than that. JC Chasez was her favorite performer and her celebrity crush. She admired him professionally; he was an extraordinarily gifted singer and a fantastic songwriter, as well as a multi-instrumentalist. As a performer, his charisma and energy onstage were unmatched. She also knew that he was very much into the behind-the-scenes process of recording, and knew his way around a console. Even before touring with him Casey had hopes that there would be a possibility, eventually, of working with him. 

On the other side of that coin was the fact that she found him wholly aesthetically pleasing. She had an unvoiced fantasy that maybe a musical meeting of their minds might lead to an eventual physical meeting of their bodies. He was, Casey thought, sexy as fuck. On top of all that, by all accounts he was also a genuinely nice guy. She couldn't wait to meet him. Until she did.

"Ow, Tony! You're hurting me! Let go!" She tries to wrench away from him but he only tightens his grip on her upper arms.  

"I asked you what the hell you think you're doing?" Tony sneers down at Casey. He is easily a foot taller than her, and at least eighty pounds of pure muscle larger. The pressure he's exerting on her arms is in direct correlation to the amount of rage being leveled at her from his brown eyes. "I'm across the room and you're dry fucking him like I don't even exist. You're making me look like a fucking chump with a slut for a girlfriend." 

He never raises his voice, but the tone in it still causes the hair on the back of her neck to stand up on end. She knows he won't do anything while they're inside; even though they are in a relatively private corner, it's still a public place. There are lots of people here tonight that Tony wants to impress and eventually someone will walk by. Besides, she also knows that Tony is mostly bark with no bite. Mostly.

"We were just dancing, Tony. Please let go of my arms." Hot tears prickle the corners of Casey's eyes but don't yet spill down. He's squeezing her tighter, and she fleetingly wonders if he can break her arm with his bare hands. She's also already anticipating having to hide the bruises that will surely have formed by tomorrow. It's warm in Orlando, but, she thinks, she'll most certainly be wearing long sleeves. In that moment she hates him, but not nearly as much as she hates herself.  

He shakes her, quick but hard. Her head snaps back and her top teeth knock against the bottom ones. On top of everything else, she's going to have one hell of a headache. The tears in her eyes are now spilling down her cheeks.  

"Bullshit. That wasn't just dancing. He had his hands all over you and if I hadn't come back when I did you probably would've--"

"Is everything OK here?"

A vaguely familiar voice interrupts their exchange and when Casey looks up, her stomach drops to her feet; JC Chasez is standing a couple of feet from them. 

Tony barely glances at him. "We're fine, bro. Private conversation."

JC steps closer. "Are you sure?" 

Though she won't meet his eyes, the weight of his gaze on her is nearly palpable.

"Because it looks like--" he begins.

"Let's go, Casey!" Tony snaps. He snatches her hand and all but drags her down the hallway.

As they pass JC, Casey briefly catches his eye before looking away and hurrying off with Tony. 

Tony wanted to leave after that, and she told everyone that she wasn't feeling well--which wasn't actually untrue. They returned to their hotel and he passed out almost as soon as they got into the room, and never mentioned what had happened when he woke up the next morning. Casey, however, couldn't get the look on JC's face out of her mind.

Tony's inclusion on the tour had put a damper on all of her high JC-related hopes, and she had resigned herself to the fact that there would likely never be anything personal or professional between the two of them. And then there was the final incident. Whereas Tony's exit should've made things easier to deal with, it had actually made JC's presence somehow become bigger and a lot more difficult to ignore; she guessed it was the fact that she was no longer distracted. Or maybe it just became a little bit more difficult to avoid him. She didn't even care so much that he wasn't attracted to her; considering their first meeting, she could fully understand that. But she was vexed by the fact that her very existence seemed to aggravate him.

She had already been on tour with them for over two months and in that time things with JC seemed to get weirder and more awkward. Early on she had tried to engage him a few times, wanting, but not quite knowing how, to address their first meeting in Orlando. It was difficult then because Tony was almost always lurking around in her shadow, and JC had made it abundantly clear, in his own quiet way, that he had no intention of interacting with him at all. 

After Tony's abrupt and dramatic exit from the tour and, blessedly, her life, JC had been even more impenetrable and she gave up. More time passed with her assuming he didn't like her, and so, admittedly childishly, she had made up her mind not to like him. Feeling as if he was ignoring her, she started ignoring him first. And as stupid as she knew it was, she couldn't figure out how else to handle it. 

She glanced at the clock; it was just about one-thirty and she knew that at this rate she wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon. Her intoxication was a distant memory and she was feeling slightly hungry, but the hotel was the sort that didn't have vending on all floors. After rummaging through her luggage, she pulled on a bra and tank top. She also slid on a pair of nylon track pants. After lacing up her sneakers, she grabbed the ice bucket and shoved a couple of dollars and her keycard into a pocket and headed down the hall.

***

JC sighed heavily and pushed up off of the bed. He'd gone through every channel three times and nothing was holding his attention. He grabbed a Coke from the minibar and decided he wanted a snack to go with it. He slid his feet into a nearby pair of flip flops and, after grabbing his keycard and ice bucket, headed out to find vending. 

***

As Casey followed the signs to ice and vending, Orlando and JC were still on her mind, and she was becoming more and more agitated with each passing minute. She was trudging down the hallway, head down and deep in thought, when a door to the right flew open and someone walked out and almost directly into her. 

"Sorry." She stumbled backward and it took her a split second to look up to see who was in front of her.

Considering he was currently on her mind in the worst way, Casey was surprised and dismayed to see the familiar blue eyes looking down at her. As was the case whenever JC was around, her stomach twisted into an intricate knot. 

He looked good as always. His plain black tee clung to his slim frame attractively and she picked up the faint, clean smell of soap and musky, spicy scent of shampoo that clung to him. Even his smell was sexy. Trying not to think about that, she looked away.

"‘Scuse me," he mumbled, stepping back out of the way. 

"No, my bad." Walking past him, she reached the small vending area which was recessed into a vestibule in the hallway.

With hands that weren't quite steady, she put her bucket into the ice machine and depressed the button, while simultaneously browsing the options in the snack machine next to it. She could feel JC's presence in the the doorway behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see that he was also holding his ice bucket. 

"I'll be done in a sec," she mumbled faintly. 

He replied with something that she didn't quite catch, and subsequently chose to ignore.

This was, she thought, the stupidest thing ever. She was under contract to tour with *NSYNC for the next six months, with the possibility of extending her contract for the winter leg. The thought of enduring what was essentially a cold war for several more months made her literally feel sick to her stomach. 

Dreading the thought of the countless weeks ahead of her, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and turned around to face him. She put her hands on her hips and stared up at him. "Listen, JC, I know you don't like me."

"Come again?" His eyebrows raised and he tilted his head to the side. 

She rolled her eyes. "We met under...really awkward circumstances, I know. But Tony's gone now, OK? So he's like, a non-issue. But I'm going to be here for at least the next six months and all of this...whatever this is between us is just...it's stupid!" Inside she was a nervous wreck, and she knew her words tumbled out in one breath.  "You don't have to pretend to like me or anything, but..." She threw her hands up. "Can you just tell me what your problem with me is, so we can get past it?"

For a moment he simply stared down at her, and it felt like his blue eyes were burning a hole in her brown ones.  

Looking up, she was suddenly intimidated. She never would've described JC as particularly imposing, but at five-feet tall she was about eye level with his shoulder and suddenly very aware of his physical presence. More often than not the expression he wore when she was around wavered between benign disinterest and vague weariness, but something about the way he was staring down at her, unblinking blue eyes blazing brightly, unnerved her. 

When he finally spoke his voice was soft but terse. "I don't have a problem with you." 

Casey practically snorted. "Bullshit."

He stared back at her in silence for long enough that she began feeling ridiculous. She didn't know what she was supposed to say now that he was looking at her so intently. And maybe, she thought, he was right anyway. Maybe he didn't have the problem. He literally seemed to get along with just about everyone else; apparently, she was the problem.

She let out a breath. "Why do you hate me?" She managed not to whine, but just barely. "Is it because of...of Orlando?"

His blue eyes were suddenly guarded and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. Several more seconds of silence ticked by and she wished she hadn't said anything. "Never mind," she said quietly, turning back to the ice. "I'll get out of your way."

"I don't hate you." 

She turned in surprise, and he was looking at her with an expression she could only describe as being deeply weary. 

He sighed and shook his head. "I just wanna get my ice, Casey."

His change in demeanor left her feeling confused, but she also felt stupid as hell for confronting him in the first place. "Fine." She turned to pick up her ice bucket. "Have a good night or whatever." As she was grabbing the bucket she felt his hand on her upper arm. Leaving the bucket in the machine, she turned back to him.

"I don't hate you, OK?"

She looked down at his hand still on her arm, and back up at him. "You already said that."

He cleared his throat and let go of her. "I just think..." he trailed off and looked down at his feet as she eyed him suspiciously.

JC took a deep breath and, gripping his ice bucket in one hand, rubbed his other across his face. "I just would've thought that after everything with...that guy...you would maybe slow down a little, is all."

She detected a note of obvious disgust in his voice and she wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "What do you mean I need to slow down? From what?"

He was now the one looking as uncomfortable as she'd been feeling moments before. "I'm just saying, I get that you're going through a stressful time or whatever, but maybe you should slow down on the partying. I mean, you're out pretty much every night and, you know, you don't want to burn out before you even get a real chance to get started."

He cleared his throat. "Not to mention, after everything that happened you should probably be more careful about the guys you...hang out with." 

She gaped at him in open-mouthed shock. Casey had fully expected him to say that he thought she was stupid for staying with Tony when he'd clearly been an asshole; she was prepared for that. But apparently, in addition to being an idiot, he thought she was an unprofessional partygirl . And if she read between the lines as well as she thought she had, he also thought she was a slut. Suddenly she was no longer nervous; she was pissed as hell.

Despite her embarrassment, what he'd seen in Orlando didn't define her. Who the hell was he to judge her for ten seconds of something that he saw that he didn't even understand. She was dismayed to realize that JC was a judgmental asshole. 

"How dare you," she began, her voice low, eyes narrowed into angry slits. "When I'm offstage what I do, and with whom I do it, is absolutely nobody's business--least of all yours. But thanks so much for the concern." She smiled sarcastically.

He looked at her blankly for another moment before nodding. "You're right; it's none of my business. Sorry I said anything," he mumbled. Still holding his empty ice bucket, he exited the vending vestibule and headed back the short distance to his room.

"Is it heavy, JC?" she called, following after him. 

He had unlocked the door and pushed it open, but he turned to find her looking at him from less than a foot away. "Is what heavy?" Agitation and confusion were etched on his face in equal parts. He propped the door open with one foot. 

"The judgment you obviously carry around." She gestured toward him. "Being holier-than-thou must get rough, what with everything else you have going on."

Again, he rolled his eyes.  "Whatever, Casey." He turned to walk back to his room again, and, not one to be dismissed, she grabbed his arm. 

"Oh no you don't. You don't get to insult me and then walk away." She chuckled angrily. "You know, I thought you had this whole super mature, quiet wisdom thing going on. But you're really just sitting back looking down your nose at everyone else, huh? You're really just a judgmental asshole." She took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest, smirking up at him. 

JC's eyes were hard. "You don't know anything about me."

"My point exactly." Casey nodded. "You don't know anything about me. I mean, we've barely had an actual conversation. But based off of one thing you saw-what you think you saw--you made up your mind about who I am, didn't you?"

He groaned. "This isn't..." He shook his head and turned around. "I shouldn't have said anything, Casey. I'm going to bed; we've got an early morning."

Before the door to his room closed fully, she pushed it back and followed him inside. Part of her wanted to tell him that he obviously had no clue how wrong he was about her, but that wasn't even the point. "It's funny you mention the guys I hang out with, because what about the, uh, ladies you hang out with? Despite what Tiger Beat may print about you absolutely loving your sleep after a show, we both know there've been plenty of nights that sleeping is the last thing going on in your bed after a show."

Casey felt only slightly wrong for bringing that up; truthfully, in the time she'd been on tour with *NSYNC, she'd only witnessed JC taking women back to his room a couple of times. And only in the first couple of months of the tour. 

JC shook his head slowly. "How would you know? Your head is too far up your own ass to even see anyone else around you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're an asshole," she whispered, pointing at him. "Really. I gave you the benefit of the doubt because...because of what you saw in Orlando. But you're just an asshole. Plain and simple."

He closed his eyes, covering his face with one hand, and took a deep breath. "Casey," he began, "I shouldn't have said--"

"Fuck you." She was hot, literally and figuratively, but her voice was steady, calm.  She stuck up both of her middle fingers in his face. "Fuck what you think you know about me and just... Fuck. You." Heartbeat racing wildly, Casey turned on her heel and grabbed the door handle.

Before she could register what was happening, JC grabbed her arm, spinning her around to him. Without so much as a word, his lips were pressed against hers.