"Could you at least pretend to be excited right now?"

Jason slumped down and prodded Tyler with his boot. She was lying down lifelessly on the group of subway bench seats across the aisle.

"It's 5:30 in the morning. I'm not going to be excited about anything other than the inside of my eyelids."

Currently, Tyler and Jason were on their way to Port Authority to load onto the buses that they would call home for the next couple months of their lives. They had spent the entirety of the previous night above Generation Records packing and loading equipment into cases and then hiking it out to the transport vans in order to leave for the tour the next morning. They hadn't finished until about 2am with an order to be at Port Authority ready to head out at 6am. Tyler was currently focusing on not sliding off the subway bench and leering at the homeless man who was giving her lecherous looks from two seats away. She felt like a zombie.

It was a little over a week ago that she had embarassed herself in front of her new boss and signed away her life for the next couple months to work the Backstreet Boys US tour. Luckily Jason had been able to chalk up her coffee-spewing behavior to her being hungover from the previous evening's after-gig festivities and had been able to keep a muzzle on her until they got home.

"A boy band?! Are you kidding me?! What the fuck?!" Tyler stormed into the loft and kicked her docs across the carpet.

Rolling his eyes Jason dropped his bag to the floor. "What is your problem? I thought this was your dream career, why are you biting my head off?"

"It is!" She yelled from the bathroom, where Jason head bottles being knocked over. "I joined this business for the sake of Rock and fucking Roll, not bubblegum pop tart music!"

"Well excuse me, Miss punk as fuck, as someone who believes in the music business, I would think you wouldn't be so judgemental."

Tyler returned to the room carrying an open bottle of wine. "I do. I'm someone who believes in the underdog and something different and how true musical talent is being swept under the rug due to the corporations that create these mass produced pop stars."

"For someone who supposedly believes in 'something different' I'd assume you'd be really down to give this a shot instead of listening to the same three chords all the friggen time."

"You're missing the point."

Jason crossed his arms about his chest. "Oh really and what would the point be? That you're being a pretentious bitch? You can't tell me you never listen to pop music, Mistress of the Underground. You like Michael Jackson, so what's the difference?"

She couldn't deny that, considering her Thriller poster hung crookedly on the wall behind her. "That is completely different. Michael Jackson is the freaking King of Pop aka no comparison."

"Yeah, and everyone had to get their start somewhere. AKA listening to the Spice Girls like I know you did. You need to relax. They are a group of talented and nice guys. Don't even deny it. You liked them at one point, you're a nineties kid, don't even play me."

Tyler shrugged as she swallowed her mouthful of wine. "Um, yeah, in like, middle school or something. God."

"Well, how appropriate because that's about how old you're acting now." Jason gave Tyler a meaningful glance. "Look, I'm not asking you to worship in the church of BSB or anything, just be polite okay? Seriously."

"I'm going to spend the entirety of this tour wasted off my ass, I can feel it..." She grumbled.

Jason scoffed. "As if that's news."

Finally D-Day had arrived and the two made their way to a secluded bus terminal away from the major transit lines looking ready and raring to go. Raring to go for Tyler being dragging her bag of luggage and stuffed purse along in a trance-like state before slumping against the side of the black tour bus and pulling out her pack of American Spirits.

She sighed in exasperation as she opened the pack to find that it was empty and she let her head clunk back against the side of the bus. "Great."

"Here. Happy first official tour gig out of college." Jason was suddenly standing next to her offering her an unopened pack of Djarum Blacks.

"My favorite fucking expensive cigarettes ever? what?!"

Jason shrugged, smirking at bit. "Cigars actually. The cigarettes are illegal now, but you know, the next best thing."

Tyler's eyes lit up as she dropped her luggage to eagerly tear off the paper. "What happened to you trying to get me to quit, hmm? All that 'oh, that shit will kill you' and whatnot?"

"Yeah, but the way you were chainsmoking on the walk to the subway and then the walk to the terminal and after we finished packing last night. I figured the only thing that was worse was having to listen to you after you'd run out asking the driver to make a pit stop every twelve seconds. Now that shit will kill me."

Pulling a cigar out of the package Tyler opened her mouth to retort as she spotted the sleek white limousine pulling up in front of the second (and somewhat noticably nicer) tour bus. The driver got out to open the door but was beaten to the punch by one of the car's occupants. A dusty blonde guy, who was a bit on the short side, climbed out and clapped the driver on the shoulder jovially.
"It's all good, Dave. I got hands," Brian said as his bandmates climbed out of the car. "You've done enough for us my man. Thank you."

Tyler scoffed, not really being close enough to hear the exchange. "Of course they would arrive in a limo...and get the better bus."

Shaking his head, Jason chuckled at her. "Envy isn't really the best color for you. You work for them, bro. Remember that. Besides, lookit you," He gestured toward her torn jeans that were still stained with wine and her midriff baring t-shirt. "They don't want that shit in a limo. God."

She watched him saunter away with her bag covering his mouth to hide his amusement at his own dig. Asshole. She'd get him back later.

Tyler stuck a cigarette in mouth and fumbled around in her purse for her favorite white lighter. Most people laughed at her or actually looked at her in fear when they saw it but she always found the ironic and the unlucky to be sources of amusement.

There was a myth that came along with white lighters being bad luck since crack addicts used them in order to make sure their lighters didn't become stained with the residue of the drug. And of course her real reason for carrying one was that Kurt Cobain had died with a white bic in his pocket. She loved spooky stories like that.

She found the bic and held it up to her Djarum, grimacing when the stupid thing only sparked.

"Are you shitting me?" The girl grumbled to herself as she proceeded to search her pockets and her purse for a spare. Of course there wasn't one to be found. This morning only kept getting better. Leaning her head back against the bus, Tyler sighed and let the cigarette hang limply between her lips. It was too friggen early for this shit.

"You need a light?"

"No, I'm just chewing on this for shits and..." She looked up in the direction of the voice and fumbled to catch her Djarum as it fell from her lips. Tyler caught the thing in her hand nearly squashing it as she gazed at the owner of the voice. Attractive and tall, a guy with piercing blue eyes and neatly spiked blonde hair offered her his dark green bic. Nick Carter stood there with a look of amusement on his face as he waited for the girl to take it.

"You don't wanna use that one anyway. It's bad luck." He chuckled and Tyler closed her mouth, pressing her lips and taking the lighter.

"Thanks."

Nick shrugged and pointed to Tyler's shirt as she took a deep inhale of her clove. "I dig the shirt."

She looked down at herself forgetting what she had on and remembering she had on a cropped shirt she snorted. "Yeah. Uh huh. Thanks."

"I uh...meant the band." He smirked, running a hand through his hair, looking embarassed for Tyler's assumption that he was checking her out.

She took another drag and pointedly blew the smoke out in his direction. "Nirvana?" She rolled her eyes. "They don't really quite seem like your style. No offense."

At this proclamation Nick laughed sarcastically and shook his head. "Oh...oh okay. Well then. I should probably be heading to the bus." He pocketed the lighter as she handed it back to him. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's Tyler."

He nodded, hiding a smirk of amusement. "Alright then, Tyler. It was uh..nice to meet you." Nick turned with a snicker and headed in the direction of his bus.

"Yep." Tyler continued to smoke her cigarette, shaking her head. Like he actually listened to Nirvana. What a player. Despite that he wasn't terrible to look at, Tyler thought, giving his backside an appreciative once over.

"Oh hey, Tyler?" Nick called over his shoulder, watching as the girl regarded him with disinterest. "I don't have the passion anymore, and so remember, it's better to burn out than to fade away."

Nick chuckled as he watched this Tyler character nearly choke on her cigarette smoke. Quoting the last line of Kurt Cobain's suicide note was definitely the last thing she'd expected from him. Little did she know they were one his favorite childhood bands. Nick headed onto the bus where the rest of the boys were waiting.

Jason hopped down the steps from the roadie's bus to find Tyler gagging. "It's really too early in the game for you to be dying, you alright?" He asked as Tyler diverted her gaze from the Backstreet Boy's tour bus.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Jason took her cigarette and staunched it out beneath his boot. "Good. Oh and Tyler? You got a little something right there..." He touched the side of his own bottom lip insuating she was drooling and sprinted back into the bus.

Tyler growled and follwed him up the steps. "Shut the hell up."