Zac

Dave offered me a smile. Something about the way my heart was beating - it just - it was unfamiliar, scary and strange, and yet there was a ringing sweetness to it at the same time that made me uncomfortable. Not with Dave, but with myself. Abruptly, I jerked my hand back and shot Dave a paranoid glance.

He'd turned back and had suddenly found the opposite wall crawling with interesting aspects. For a moment, all we could hear was our own breathing. The sound of my heart was drowning out the sound of my own breathing, but I could hear his. It was nervous and rapid. Maybe he got scared, too, I reasoned.

We both looked up at the door as we heard them begin to sing the old Partridge Family song,

"I'm afraid what I'm not sure of, a love there is no cure for!"

They were snickering. Having fun. I leapt up. I was shaking. I don't know why, but I was. My brain was swarming with new information, and all of it was getting lost. I couldn't store it - somehow, it didn't belong in my normal thought pattern.

"You okay?" Dave's whisper cut through my thoughts. I grasped the counter and turned around to face him. His glassy, clear brown eyes gazed up at me, and obviously, he thought he'd done something wrong.

It's me, my mind rambled desperately. I'm wrong. All wrong. You're so right.

"I -"

I stopped, opened the bathroom door, and stalked out. Dave audibly gasped behind me. Apparently, Taylor and Scott didn't hear Dave's gasp or me yanking the door open, because they were still singing.

"-- Isn't that what life is made of?"

"You two sing entirely too much," I snapped, walking around the corner from the bathroom.

Our brothers' smiles dropped off their faces, and a look of pure panic flashed across their faces. They remained still for a second before abruptly stepping away from each other and looking towards me. I raised my eyebrows and smirked at them.

Taylor was about to hyperventilate, but Scott just stared straight back at me, stony-faced, his eyes piercing. He had Dave's boyish, charming good looks - in fact, he looked more like Dave than Clint and Bob did. He stood there in an almost skin-tight black T-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans. He even wore a belt. Like Tay, my brain noted. I swallowed and looked at him firmly.

"How long have you been there, Zac? . . . You scared us." Scott's last sentence was a lame tack-on to the casual inquiry.

My gaze fluttered from Scott's unmoving face to Taylor's. The only thing I could pry from his expression was the unspoken fear that was mounting in his blue eyes. He stared at me as if he was helplessly trapped in a burning building and he knew no one could save him. Before I could stop myself, I was beseeching,

"Tay, don't get your panties in a knot!"

Taylor flushed crimson in anger and tore his eyes from mine, choosing instead to stare at those oh-so-interesting features of the cheap painting on the wall of the hotel.

"Zac, shut up!" Scott snapped. "What the hell makes you say that kind of stuff?! To your own--"

Scott stopped. I looked over my shoulder where his eyes had suddenly become transfixed. On Dave. Dave had one hand on the back of his neck, seeming more apologetic than I felt about bursting in and shooting down the cute scene before us. He stared at Scott almost as if he didn't know him anymore - or hadn't seen him in a long time. Investigating the newly-revealed part of Scott that he'd never seen before.

"Brother," finished Scott quietly, taking on Taylor's expression.

For a moment, we were all silent, looking at each other, taking in the situation.

"How long have you been there?" Scott repeated softly, suddenly not looking directly at us. I knew he wasn't afraid to face me, but there is something about losing face in front of your own brother that changes things.

Taylor

"Not long. Two seconds," Zac replied.

My heavily beating heart suddenly blossomed a little, and I gazed at Scott. He was breathing just as heavily as I was. I was almost shaking, I was so scared. I don't even know if we'd exactly been caught being so affectionate and close, but just the prospect of it and how close we were cutting it was enough to smack us both around.

"But we've been in the bathroom the whole time," Zac added.

Suddenly, there came a sharp rap on the door.

"Hello?! Scott?! Dave??! You get out here now!" Clint's voice nearly screamed.

"Oh, fuck!" Scott whispered. "The concert. Oh God. We're going to be so fucking late. I-"

"Come on," Dave commanded. "We can talk about all of this stupid shit later!"

My worst fears were suddenly realized. I was going to be alone with Zac, who now knew about the homosexuality that he'd always hassled me about. I was either going to really get an earful of squawks about God and Christianity and the band and what I thought I was doing and what was wrong with me, or Zac was going to treat me to silence.

Before I knew it, Dave had opened the door to an extremely pissed Clint, who dragged them both out the doorway. I caught one, final, quick flash of an apologetic look from Scott before he was dragged away down the hall. They didn't shut the door behind them. I heard Clint raging about where they'd been and how late they were going to be.

I was still standing with my back against the desk, where Scott had backed me as his hands were busy exploring my body for the first real time. I could almost still feel his hands on me. Maybe . . . it was only Zac's eyes.

We didn't speak for a minute. Zac looked like he did when Ike and I used to con him into playing a game called Fifty-Two Pick-Up. Or like he had the time Mom crumpled up the thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle he'd been working on for weeks because she needed the card-table. The look where you could tell he was trying to pick up the tiny, splintered pieces two a broken vase that he didn't break in the first place. Thoughtful and saddened at the same time.

I almost scrambled behind the desk as he turned his head and investigated me as once investigates a rat in a cage. I really did feel like an animal in a zoo. Like I wasn't as good as him. I wasn't as pure.

"So, um." Zac's voice came out squeaky. He coughed. "You have fun at Scott's?"

I coughed, too. I didn't know what to tell him! What was I supposed to say?! Why doesn't life come with instruction manuals for things like this?! I shifted uncomfortably and watched him from the corner of my eye, as he gingerly sat down on the bed farthest from me. He looked utterly confused.

Maybe he really doesn't know what we were doing, I realized, my brain bursting with a thousand electronic impulses all at once.

"Listen, Tay . . ." Zac paused. I slowly looked over at him. My eyebrows perked as I noticed something I hadn't before. His hair was purple in front. I was shocked. What the hell was that? Dad was going to kill Zac for not asking him first before he did anything with the blonde hair Hanson fans, critics, and record company execs were so intent on preserving. It was the first time I was really starting to notice things now that my mind wasn't frozen in shock. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just some long shorts. Hell, even Dave had only been wearing pajama pants and T-shirt.

They've been here the entire time. Why didn't we notice the bathroom? Why didn't we pay attention?

Zac slid back on the twisted, tangled comforter.

We were too busy paying to each other, I answered myself, in all honesty.

Zac spoke then, his eyes kept on the floor. "I didn't see anything, but I know what you were doing."

Scott

Clint dragged us both by the sleeves down the hotel hallway to the elevator Taylor and I had stepped out of minutes before.

"You don't have time to shower," he was bitching at Dave. Dave was still in his gray, limp old sweatpants, whose elastic was ripped out of the ankle cuffs so they hung more like loose pants. Dave kept his head down. It was almost like he was afraid to face me.

I was confused as to exactly what made Dave act like this - was he shocked, or scared, or angry, or did he even know what was going on?

"Dave."

I reached out and nudged him as Clint paced back and forth in the elevator, calming himself down. (I kinda had to smile. Clint was acting just like I normally would, taking on the role of leader since I was absent from it at the time. Normally, I'm the one who gets all bossy and stressed out.)

"Scott, shh." Dave clenched both his fists up in his effort not to screw up what he had to say. "You know I respect you a lot as an older brother, as a musician, as a person. I frankly don't care what you decide you wanna do with your spare time." He stopped and swallowed, and I mused over his choice of words. "I just - I didn't - I didn't know you were like that-"

"I'm not," I protested. "I'm not - like that."

We carefully selected our language, seeing as how Clint didn't know what was going on and it appeared that neither of us exactly wanted him to find out. He was too busy steaming anyway, halfway ignoring us, but just in case. The elevator door opened and we followed him out again, power-walking back to our room.

"Well, um, obviously, you and - uh - anyway, I know it was crappy of us to eavesdrop, but - Scott - I mean - I don't really care if you want to do that. You know how I am, I really don't think a person should be labeled as anything. I'm just - just a little surprised. And . . . confused."

Dave sighed as Clint opened the door.

Dad was standing there. "Okay, boys, I don't give a flying squirrel why you took twenty minutes, but you are, and we just called and said we'd be late, but that doesn't mean you can dawdle. We need to go NOW! I don't care if Dave performs the whole thing shirtless and in pajamas! We're going right NOW!"

Bob rushed out the door with some clothes in his arms - probably for Dave - and Dad slammed it behind us all. We took back off down the hall and back to the elevator. Three times in a half hour for me. Up and down. Dave put his shirt on in the elevator. As we were stepping off, he rewarded my sore heart with a genuine grin and said, "Don't look so sick, Scott. Everything will work out okay."

I nodded, gripping firmly my spirit, to make sure I got through this concert okay.

"It's okay, we're not mad at you," Bob explained, "it's just that we seriously thought you were going to not show up at all."

I nodded at Bob. Clint had taken a chill pill on the way over and stood there silently.

We were all waiting anxiously backstage, while the announcer at the mall talked up the already screaming crowd of teenaged girls. We peeked through the doorway of the back of the makeshift stage, looking at the teeming masses of teenies in baby tees and pigtails with sparkly glitter stuff on their faces and signs that proclaimed undying love to us or at least one or two of us.

"Look at all those girls," Dave remarked. "You think someday there might actually be a guy out in our audience?"

"A gay one," replied Clint.

I swallowed and remembered when Taylor was joking about that last night. God, why did everything have to remind me of him?! Elevators always would, that's for sure.

Zac

Taylor looked as if the only thing he could comprehend was puppets acting out my words.

"What?" His voice was blank.

"I didn't see anything, but I heard some stuff," I repeated softly. "And Tay, I knew anyway."

He sucked in a breath, again, not knowing what to say. I actually looked at Taylor then. He was wearing an open button-up, dark-red shirt, and a pair of knee-length, charcoal-gray shorts that didn't fit him quite right. I peered. "Tay, you wearing . . . are you wearing some of Scott's clothes?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Why do you think you know, Zac? What do you think you know?" Taylor pressed. I wondered if he was trying to prove his false innocence or was trying to actually grasp what was going on.

"Taylor," I chuckled softly. "Come on. I'm your brother. I know you better than anybody. I know - I know the look that passed over your face when you were talking to Scott on the plane yesterday. I can see that - that look in your eyes. I mean, I'm not stupid. You can't hide what is fairly obvious."

"And what is that?!" Tay shouted.

I shouted back, "Taylor, I know you like Scott! Okay?! It's no big deal!"

"Then why do you act like it is??! Why do you have to be so hateful about it? I'm not like you seem to think I am! I don't like all guys! Just like you don't like every girl you see!"

Taylor's voice barked at me, trying to make me understand his point of view. I sat there, stunned that he was finally talking (well . . . yelling) about it. About what he tried to hard to hide from me - me and everyone else.

His voice squeaked, breaking into a million little painful pieces. "It's just a phase, anyway! I read somewhere that all guys go through it!! And Scott - Scott . . ."

"Scott's cool with me, Tay," I murmured. "I'm telling you, I don't care! But what I do care about," I continued, before he could interrupt me, "is you! Tay! You don't seriously think that any of this is going to work out!"

"What is? What do you think is going on? I'm just - I just - I need someone who understands, Zac!! I don't care how bad this is. You have got to understand how bad - how bad I need him."

Taylor cut himself off, before he revealed his feelings any further.

"No," I said slowly. "I do understand. More than you'd know."

My brother stared at me with a smoldering pair of blue eyes. "Zac, I just don't get what side you're on, here. One minute you are being a total piss-ant and the next you're being all understanding and shit and I don't know what to think!"

"Throw me a freakin' bone, here!" I yelped. "You didn't want to admit that you're gay to me, and I didn't want to admit it to myself!! I thought that if you were, maybe it meant I was, too!"

We both stopped, and sucked in large breaths.

"Zac, that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life!" Tay practically screamed.

"Well, my God, I'm so sorry! If you think you're the only guy who's ever laid awake at night till four in the morning wondering exactly why you thought some guy was hot, then you're completely insipid! You're just a moron, Taylor! If you think you're the only person who's ever had impure thoughts about their same sex, you're - you're - my fucking God, you're an idiot!"

Taylor stared. "Zac, I have no clue what you're talking about."

"You're such a fucking blonde," I snorted.

He groaned. "Cut the crap, little brother. You're just as blond as I am - blonder, even."

"Ahem." I pointed to my hair. "Half-blond. Half-purple. And I'm not as homophobic as you think I am. I don't know what to think about myself sometimes. And you're no help."