Dave

Our "stage" was a small rise in the food court. It wasn't a completely huge crowd, but lots of bouncy little girls in baby tees were screaming and reaching for us, which was a little scary, because they were only five or so feet of distance between us. But, it was kinda cool, also. Exhilarating, even. We all got the natural performing highs, and the rushes when people in the audience knew the words to our songs and almost overpowered our own voices because theirs were so loudly screaming our lyrics.

"MONDAY MORNING CAME TOO SOON!" they all screamed along with Scott. I could almost see his hair being blown back by the force of the thousand voices singing with us.

The only thing that went kinda wrong, was that we were supposed to play six songs, and they cut it down to four because the crowd was getting feisty. Our stagehands and bodyguards eventually had to climb down and move some girls back so we could get off the stage. The girls and parents of the crowd exploded with a deafening roar as we waved and said our unheard good-byes and thanks. Scott handed his guitar to the stagehand and we all rushed offstage, sweating and triumphant, glowing with the success of a perfect performance. Even though I suspected that our eldest, blondest brother was functioning on worn emotions and three hours of sleep, we'd pulled it off without a hitch. Scott always performed well under pressure. And Clint felt a lot better about everything. Even Dad seemed to have forgotten this morning's small mishap.

I grabbed Scott's sweaty elbow. He looked at me.

" You, me, Zac, and Taylor need to talk," I told him, seriously. "Really. I - have a feeling that Zac is completely mixed-up by all of this. I mean, he is still thirteen. He's so mature I forget there's an age difference between us. I know I'm only like a year and a half older, or something, but - but - that can make a difference sometimes."

"You know," I remarked, "we haven't even known them for a day yet."

"Hum?" I asked. The Hansons were life-long old friends, weren't they? At least, that's how it seemed, now that our two separate lives were entwined so tightly, I didn't see how we could just leave them after a week.

"Yeah. Our flight was at five-thirty New York time. New York time, it's three-thirty right now," Scott testified, nodding and smiling a little.

"How weird," I muttered. "Jeez, I feel like we've known them for ages."

"Same," Scott nodded again. I shook my head, smiling dumbly. Impossible. We had to have known each other in past lives or something!

"Guys, let's get back to the DoubleTree, grab some lunch, and get to rehearsal for the premiere concert day after tomorrow," suggested Bob.

"Food, yum," agreed Clint.

"You only ate an hour ago."

"Two," Clint miffed.

"Three," I corrected, putting my hand over my stomach.

Scott suddenly turned and whispered, "Dave. Idea. Let's steal Zac and Tay and walk down to the Hardrock Cafe." My brother smiled brilliantly. I couldn't help but agree with the idea. Scott has passing moments of brilliancy every once in a while.

The taxi-ride home over the stretching highways of Los Angeles eventually left us all quiet, listening to the radio that the driver, Miles, was playing. Grumpy Clint fell asleep and was drooling on the seat, and Bob was tying his shoelaces together, giggling mindlessly.

Scott was sitting, playing with his own fingers and all the bracelets and watches on his wrists, escaping into the emotional, creative, private dream world that had always been so important to him. My mind, of course, turned to this morning, which seemed like forever and a day ago. My sudden closeness to Zac was unexplainable, and had left me feeling like I owned an alliance with him. We were both the youngest (even though I was just by four minutes) and probably the craziest, and though we didn't know each other, we did.

Scott

When we got to the hotel, I didn't stick around for long. I immediately told Dad I'd be right back and departed, heading my merry way to the Hanson suite to see if they were there. They weren't - at least, nobody answered my knocks on the door.

I strolled back down to the information desk, where a brunette receptionist in a forest green sweater was standing over her work. I headed her way.

"Did Hanson go somewhere?" I politely asked.

She smiled kindly, but replied, "Sorry, dearie. We're not allowed to give out that information." My face fell. "But I'm their friend," I explained. "I'm Scott Moffatt. I'm staying here in room 734. You can check. Please? Will you please tell me? I just want to know if they're here or not."

"Honey, I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to tell you -" She leaned forward and whispered to me, "-That Hanson is rehearsing in Conference Room Two."

I grinned widely, overjoyed, feeling like I could've reached forward and kissed the receptionist.

She held up her hand. "I hope you understand!" she said as if she didn't ever tell me where they were.

I trembled with excitement at seeing Taylor, and nodded.

"Thanks!"

I rushed off and to the elevator yet again, and took it up to the second floor. As soon as I stepped out again, I could hear the faint sounds of drums and bass coming from Conference Room Two, which was just down the hall from the elevators. Then, I realized that there was a tall, burly bald guy in a black T-shirt standing in front of the double-doors, looking dutiful.

"Shit," I muttered to myself. Would I have to try to get past that guy like some teeny? Ugh! But, I clenched my jaw straight and headed over there anyway. When the guard realized I was heading towards him, he stepped forward and said,

"Sorry, son. Closed conference."

"Um, yes, I know. Uh, hi. Can I please see Taylor Hanson just for a moment?"

"Taylor Hanson? I'm sorry. I can't let you through."

The man stood, unflinching, unhesitant towards me. I didn't give up yet.

"Please? Tay spent the night last night . . . I just wanted to . . . tell him . . . his swimsuit is still in our room." There, that was true, and it was a good excuse, too.

The guard looked at me as if I were some lunatic raving about the end of the world.

"Please?" I blurted.

"Nope. Sorry. I have orders not to let anyone through but authorized personnel." I sighed, frustrated, not knowing what else I could possibly say. After all, I'm sure many people claimed they knew Hanson so they could get a sneaky-peek. I suddenly decided maybe I'd go leave a message on his door or something. That way as soon as he was done, he could call our room, and we could arrange a get-together. As I was about to turn away, the elevator opened, and Dave came rushing out.

"Hey, Scott," he called as he spotted me. "I thought maybe Taylor would want his boxers and trunks back."

He was carrying them. I looked back at the guard, who was squinting his eyes at Taylor's swimsuit. I raised my eyebrows hopefully.

"At least," Dave was muttering as he walked towards us, "I think they're Taylor's. I'm only assuming, since it has the 't' right there on the tag in indelible marker."

Dave waved the boxers a little in the air. I stifled a giggle. It wasn't every day your underwear got waved around in front of a security guard.

And apparently, the bald guy didn't know what to think about it, now. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but couldn't think of a word to say.

"Will you please let us return Tay's underwear to him?" I asked pointedly.

The guy noted that I called him "Tay," and I guess, that made him relent.

"Tell you what, stay right here and I'll tell him you're here. How about that?"

"That's fine," I approved.

The bald guy turned around and opened one of the doors a crack.

This this guy for real?! Dave mouthed to me, a grin taking over his full lips. I snickered and nodded. Dave giggled a little.

"Here, you can hold Taylor's unmentionables," he said, exaggerating, and handed them to me. I smiled a little. Our Mom calls underwear "unmentionables."

The man looked back at us.

"Taylor said he'd been waiting."

I smirked. I mean, I couldn't help myself. "Thanks."

Dave followed me in through the double-doors. This was a surprisingly large conference room - more like an auditorium for large business meetings or something! I saw a great set; Ike on his red guitar, Zac sitting there at a drum kit, Taylor standing tall and lean in front of his double keyboards, and a few back-up musicians I didn't know behind them.

Taylor looked up at me and the delight was obvious in his grin. He had changed from my clothing, and was wearing a black button-up shirt over a white T-shirt, and his legs were clad in black leather pants. I felt a shudder go down my spine. He looked so sexy in black. Even sexier were the fly-aways coming out of his ponytail and the excited twinkle in his blue eyes. I could see that same rush in him that I got when I was performing, or even just playing.

"Took you long enough," he called out.

"Yo Dave!" Zac shouted out from his drums, raising his arm up in the air, clutching his drumstick.

"Yo drummer!" Dave shouted back.

"Hi, guys," Walker Hanson said, where he was sitting at a table in a corner, on a laptop computer.

"Hey!" we said in unison.

"Hey," Isaac said, riffing his guitar just a little. It screamed out its beautiful voice. I flew by the seat of my pants over to him - or rather, over to his guitar.

"Beautiful," I remarked. "Can I play it?"

Isaac actually smiled at me for the first time, shaking that long, wavy light brown mane out of his face. He was wearing a blue and black design button-up shirt, a wife-beater under that, and a worn-out pair of blue Levi's. His red guitar was a Les Paul Gibson, and obviously well taken-care of. It had white detailing on one side, and the strap Isaac used was sort of a hippie, Hindu print, beige and white.

"'Course."

He lifted the strap over his head and handed me the guitar, and I promptly put it on. Dave watched me, and then said,

"Hey. Play 'em 'Song 2.'"

I grinned and fingered the key I needed, and the guitar screeched with life as I began the chords to the ever-popular Blur Song.

"WOO HOO!" Zac fairly screamed, recognizing the song, and playing a beat along. Taylor cracked up.

"Can I borrow your keyboards?" Dave turned to Taylor.

Taylor stepped aside. Dave quickly leapt up behind them, found his place, adjusted the settings, and began to jam along. We all found ourselves swept away with the impromptu jam session. The background musicians seemed a little stunned of us two crazy Moffatts busting in, stealing Ike and Tay's instruments, and suddenly being able to blare out a heavy song.

Taylor

I went over and joined Scott at his microphone. I could feel the energy radiating off of him as he played. Then, we both stepped up to the mike.

"I got my head checked!" we screeched.

The guard at the double doors peeped back in at us, interest flickering on his face. Taylor and I saw it and cracked up, ruining the song, and all of us busting up with laughter for some reason.

Bam, said Zac's bass drum, and he stood up.

"What brings y'all 'round these here parts?" he asked, in a thick hillbilly accent. Isaac groaned with delight at Zac's Billy Bob-style voice.

Scott looked a little horrified.

"Can we please sound a little more hickish!" Dave giggled.

Zac laughed. "Can you just sound a little more Canadian!"

"You hoser," Scott blurted, and sent us all rolling again. Dave leapt at the opportunity, too.

"Can I BORE-row your CD? I'll give it back to you to-MORE-ow!"

Isaac couldn't stay quiet, and edged in the hick voice which he had become so famous for, "Y'all done sound like y'all ain't from 'round here. Y'all from yonder up north!"

"I'm SORE-ry!" Scott cracked.

"That just ain't right," I shook my head, grinning.

"Hey, Tay, can we BORE-row you and Zac?" he shot back.

I snickered. "For what purpose?"

"Lunch," he replied, reminding me of earlier.

"Yeah, I'm starving!" Zac crowed.

"Sure," I smiled at Scott. I was rewarded with a secretive, loving smile back. The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up straight at the sight of those lips curling that way. Zac appeared behind me and poked me in the back.

"No goo goo eyes," he whispered in a commanding tone.

I frowned and looked at my dad. "Dad, me and Zac are gonna go with Dave and Scott to grab something to eat."

"We were thinking of walking down to the Hard Rock," Dave added in, running a hand through his brown hair, sticking it all up erratically. Instant bed-head.

"Sounds cool," I commented.

"Can we, Dad?" Zac asked.

Walker Hanson looked up. "Uhh, sure, just be back in a reasonable amount of time."

"Kick ass," Scott approved. "Let's go, then. Oh, here. Thanks." He gave Ike back his Les Paul. "Let's go."

Soon enough, we were all seated at a table next to Lenny Kravitz's toothbrush and Jimmy Stewart's tie he wore in Vertigo. Dave and Zac manned one side of the booth, while Scott and I scooted into the other side.

"I really am ravenous," Zac was saying. "I didn't eat breakfast!"

"Me neither!" Dave said.

Scott and I exchanged looks, memories slipping in and out of consciousness, about that morning. He grinned at me. I put one hand underneath the table and searched for his leg. Finding it, I slipped my hand over his knee. He moved his leg over and pressed it against mine, under the security of the table.

"I want beef. And lots of it," Zac remarked, taking his menu and slapping the table with it.

"Your entire brain is compromised of beef," Dave teased, looking at his own menu.

Scott

Zac pointed to his head. "Beef and Kool-Aid."

"Why did you do that, Zac?" Taylor asked his brother.

"It's a change from our monotonous existence, Taylor." Zac leafed through his menu. He had put on an orange T-shirt with a skater logo on the chest, and was wearing a pair of long jean shorts. His hair was back in a ponytail, which caused his purple streaks to be even more apparent in the front of his head. He perused the menu in the way one studies a classical novel. "You should try branching out. I've got three packages of Kool Aid left. Wanna go green? Blue?"

"I think Taylor's done his share of branching out lately," Dave replied. Taylor's hand on my thigh squeezed my muscles a little. I squirmed. It was all I could do to keep from crunching him into my arms and giving him a nice thorough tonguing.

"You act like that's a bad thing," Taylor dismissed.

"Well, it's just . . . weird," Zac shrugged.

"It's not weird," I argued. "What's weird about it?"

"Well, first of all I think the fact that you are two guys is weird enough. It would be one thing if you were fooling around just to get off, and for no other reason, but you act more affectionate than that. What is going on between you guys, anyway? I'm still just not exactly sure!"

"Say that a little louder, Zac," muttered Taylor. "Just blow everything for all of us."

"Sorry." Zac lowered his voice to a loud whisper.

"So are you two in love or something?" Dave asked. "Sorry, it sounds really blunt. But are you?"

I bit my lip. I completely hadn't expected such a probing, personal question. Apparently, Taylor hadn't either, and we both remained silent. I put my hand on Tay's - the one on my leg, not the hand resting on the table, tapping its fingers nervously on the table.

Dave and Zac shared a glance, then looked back at us.

"Well, you kiss," Zac hissed. Taylor blushed, and I half-grinned. "Doesn't that account as some form of affection? It's a more emotional thing than just groping each other."

Dave giggled.

"You make it sound nasty," Taylor said, wrinkling his nose.

"Isn't it?" Dave asked.

"No," Taylor and I retorted in unison.

"You wouldn't know, so don't assume," I added.

"This is too weird." Dave sat back. Then, our waitress came up. Taylor ordered the chicken salad, I ordered a spaghetti platter, and Dave and Zac ordered cheeseburgers.

"Anyway, back to what we were talking about," Zac said, waving his hand. "The wedding. Who's gonna wear the frilly white dress?"

Taylor kicked Zac under the table. I said, "Me. All the way. That and a veil."

Tay smiled a little and squeezed my hand again. I squeezed back. He squeezed back harder, and it inadvertently turned into a match of strength. I gritted me teeth, grinning, and Taylor growled at me. It was a sexy growl, and I returned it. Zac and Dave's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"What are you t-two doing?!" Zac stuttered, shooting Dave an alarmed look. Dave leaned over and peeked under the table, and saw our hands in their death grip.

"They're trying to break each other's fingers off," he reported to Zac, sitting back up straight.

"How cute." Zac rolled his eyes. "Get a room."

"We got one," I cracked.

"I forget."

"I remember all to clearly," Dave quipped.

I ducked my other hand underneath the table and poked Taylor in the side. He let out a shriek and slapped me away. Then, he writhed out of my firm grasp and craftily slid his hand right over my crotch, finding my dick through my jeans and giving it a squeeze. I inhaled sharply, forgetting about Dave and Zac's presence and shooting Taylor a lust-filled glance.

"Tay won," Zac said.

Taylor laughed, and began gently stroking my half-erect penis beneath my jeans. I wanted to slap his hand away . . . and I also wanted to grab it and keep it pressed against me. I sat there, stupefied, feeling my body react to his touch and my breath quicken.

I shot a look at Zac and Dave, who didn't notice anything. Zac was pointing out a pair of Kid Rock's sunglasses, that were in a little display case nearby. I moved my hand on top of his and squeezed his fingers.

"Mmm," I growled to him as he managed to get a grip on my cock even through the thick jeans and give me a nice, hard squeeze.

"Okay, whatever you two are doing, really, quit it. We're in public," Dave snapped.

"Mmmph," I retorted to him.