The young man entered the in-hotel restaurant flanked by a bald-headed black man several times larger than himself, and paused. His head swiveled nervously from side to side as he glanced about the area for a place where he might be able to sit and remain relatively undisturbed, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare of sunlight flooding the well-lit room. At the larger man's suggestion, he lagged behind as he was led to a sparsely populated corner, and took a seat with his back to the majority of the occupants in the room.

The sunglasses came off as he perused the menu before him, and he self-consciously turned the ring he wore constantly, the plain gold band inside now facing outward. He spoke softly with his companion as the two waited to be served, his ears perking at any hint of a raised female voice. His time here would be as brief as possible; as soon as he could finish eating enough to get him through the next few hours, they would make a most speedy exit. That was, if he wasn't recognized before then.

He knew that his appearance was not quite nondescript enough; he'd carelessly slicked some gel through his thick, unruly hair, and it had come out looking fashionably messy, the way it always did. He supposed he could have worn a hat, but that probably would have drawn as much attention to him as his natural hairstyle. He wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place; room service was the norm du jour for people like him. "But sometimes a guy has to get out, right? Sometimes?" he'd asked his companion plaintively earlier that morning, and the burly man had grudgingly agreed.

He smiled cheerfully at the waitress who brought them their breakfast and thanked her for the service before returning to their conversation. He was the first one of his friends to be up and about this morning; he had had several calls to make, and he'd needed to pick out the first single for a young woman whose career he desperately wanted to see flourish under his guidance. He softly sang a verse of one of her songs -- his favourite -- to the man sitting across from him, seeking his informal and untrained opinion. The song was met with approval, and upon hearing that, he found it a bit difficult to wipe the small grin from his face as he attempted to make a dent in the food before him.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, he's busy right now."

The small, uncertain voice just behind his left shoulder, followed by the stern voice of his companion, brought his head up in surprise, and he instinctively turned to see who had approached him. He did so knowing fully that not only would he now end up doing whatever the stranger asked of him, but that he would also open himself up for further encounters. He'd been spotted, and now breakfast would be over. He wasn't even half finished, either, he lamented. But he would put her first.

The girl was no more than eleven, a thin little thing with long brown hair that hung straight about her shoulders. She clutched in her hands a booklet of loose sheafs and a pen, held out shyly towards him, but at the larger man's words she pulled her arms in slightly and her face fell. "Oh." She opened her mouth to apologize, but he cut her off.

"Nah, it's okay, hi," he said warmly, disregarding his companion's glare as he took the booklet and pen from her. I can't say no to her, his posture screamed, and he hoped that the other man would get the message. She liked him and wanted to meet him, and he would not -- could not -- begrudge her that. He uncapped the pen as he held her gaze. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

She began to blush profusely at his affectionate term, but managed to compose herself enough to respond. "Robin."

He scrawled her name and his loosely on the booklet's front with flowing lines, suddenly aware of how awkward the front of his ring felt as it pressed against the inside of his hand. It affected his script only slightly, and he recovered quickly, handing the girl the booklet and pen with another bright smile. "There ya go," he finished.

She positively beamed at him, but hung behind as if expecting more, so he leaned forward and, inching up from his seat slightly, embraced her, releasing her before the other man could intervene. She squealed into his ear as he unwrapped his arms from around her, and he tried not to flinch at the small stab of pain. When she finally backed away and departed, he turned back to the table to find his companion already on his feet.

"Let's go."

He nodded, pushing himself away from the table as he repositioned his sunglasses... not that they would do him much good now.

They made it to the elevator without any further interruptions, and as the doors closed in front of them, he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes in defeat.

"You still hungry?" the large man asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"We'll get room service," he was consoled.

"Yeah," he said, nodding again. He wasn't sure why, but suddenly he wasn't feeling too well.

He closed his hotel room door and slumped against it, hitting it with the back of his head and holding on to the doorknob for support. His breath came in hiccups, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage, and his jade eyes filled with tears as he slid slowly down the door until he rested on the floor.

All I ask is one moment to myself... is that too much to ask? What is wrong with me? he wondered, amazed at his own reaction. He'd signed thousands... no, millions of autographs, it seemed... he'd been spotted countless times... he'd been mobbed, grabbed at, photographed both with his consent and without it... this was nothing new. This morning was just like any other morning.

Get a grip.

He gulped a few times, forcing air into his lungs and pressing his lips together tightly as he blinked back the wetness that had formed at the corners of his eyes. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair as a knock at the door brought him back to his feet. A short pause to bring the cheer back to the surface... then he opened the door to a uniformed man with a rolling table, accompanied by the ever-present security.

"Room service for Lance Bass?"

He had to force the grin, but once it was in place it stayed naturally.
"That's me! Thanks; come on in."

Author's Notes: This arose out of a particularly fierce evening of self-loathing as a fan, combined with writer's block on my ongoing fic, "Where Fate Leads Us". I had been thinking about what Lance said on the WalMart broadcast about being "onstage" 24/7, and was suddenly struck with a vision of how frustrating it must be to never have a moment where they can just be free to be themselves without looking over their shoulders. Thus, the hotel room scene came to me first, even though I wrote the story in a linear fashion from beginning to end.

Initially, I was going to make him hungover, hence the sunglasses. But as I wrote, I thought the glasses served well enough as a disguise, and figured the story would still be potent enough, although shorter, if I left any allusion to hard partying unspoken.

I'd like to know: When did you know the "young man" in question was Lance? I'm very interested in hearing who figured it out from the get-go and who was left surprised at the end. I deliberately left my descriptions vague at the beginning, and dropped my hints slowly (incidentally, I have no idea if Lance turns his ring or even takes it off when he doesn't want to be recognized. All I know is that it would be a pretty big giveaway if I ever saw a guy I suspected might be him). This is not Lance's story; it could be any of the guys. This is their story.

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