Spencer has met enough of the people he danced to--lived to--in his formative years to know the difference between a representation and a reality, so it's a little bit of shock when Nick Carter approaches him at some after-party, says, "Your new album is awesome as fucking fire, man," and has the exact, exact same smile he has in his interviews when one of the guys makes him happy.
Spencer says, "We like it, thanks," and tries to keep his smile contained to polite and somewhat affected. He figures if he puts in the effort, he won't come off as a complete kid.
Nick laughs, "Yeah, it's hard, isn't it, knowing what to say. I mean, you want to claim it, because it's yours and it is fucking awesome, but there's that whole thing about being chill and not a complete asshat."
Spencer's laughing too by the end of this statement, he can't help it. He says, "Open bar, but I'll get you a drink, by way of thanks."
"Are they really serving that?"
Nick nods happily. "They never do man, never, but I always ask, because root beer is the best, and this time they actually did!"
Spencer sort of loves root beer. "Be right back."
He returns with their plunder and Nick says, "Thanks, I was seriously dreading having to dive back into that mess."
"I'm small," Spencer admits, like Nick may not have noticed he's roughly a foot taller than Spencer, "and have no fear of stepping on toes."
Nick laughs. "The guys used to send me in when I was thirteen for that reason."
"Yeah, okay, way to make me feel awesome about myself."
Nick smirks. "Good things, man, small packages."
Spencer rolls his eyes. Nick asks, "You planning on hanging around for a while?"
"Well, I did just get this root beer for myself and someone else."
"Hurry it up, Smith," Nick says, and it's a suggestion, but it's not. Even were it, Spencer isn't wont to take it that way. He takes a long pull from his cup, enjoys the way the root beer, which is pretty smooth, bubbles, burns a little in his throat. Nick laughs again. Spencer flips him off.