A Love Story
by Jenn
(website :: livejournal)

You've always hated Fridays and one of your only memories of school was getting teased and pushed on a playground because you liked to sing and dance like a girl. You know it was a Friday because after the teacher ran on the playground and broke it up, your Mom took you to McDonald's. In your house, getting McDonald's on Friday nights was the only treat of the week, since it was too expensive to take a family of seven out to a real restaurant on the sometimes truck driver salary your Dad brought home. You remember looking up at you Mom, shyly asking if maybe you could take a break from all of the singing, maybe play baseball like your friend Brent did. Your Mom clucked her tongue at you and glared, forced your eyes right back down. You ate slowly as she went on about how you were going to be famous one day and those kids would be eating their words. How you'd show them all. You'd nodded over and over, blinking back tears as you stared down at your hamburger and french fries. Your nose hurt and your palms were scraped, but food going down your throat and into your belly filled you with something warm and that was better than looking up at the cold, hard stare sitting across the table.

The worst audition of your life happened on a Friday. Your voice cracked and you tripped over your feet when you tried to dance. You can still remember the smirk of the man sitting behind the oblong table with two fat women flanking his sides, the word "next" spitting out of his mouth without emotion. You'd felt like a failure as you walked out of the hall, your own body betraying you by growing without your permission. And you'd felt worse when you looked out the car window as your Mom drove home, a red handprint on your cheek and silent tears running down over your heated skin.

Aaron had wanted McDonald's but apparently you weren't pulling your weight with the family income and you were all stuck eating Spaghettios for dinner that night. Aaron pouted, said that he hated you, and you couldn't blame him. You'd hated you, too.

It wasn't long after that when you'd found yourself suddenly part of a group, even though the line up kept changing. First to go was Sam, he didn't work out because the choreographer said Sam couldn't find rhythm even if he had a magnifying glass. After him Charlie had left too and you had been glad about that. You never liked him because he thought he could do no wrong when in reality his voice had sounded like nails on a chalkboard. It was so annoying. You worried that Lou would find out that you really couldn't dance either, and sometimes your voice cracked, too. You knew you weren't as good as A.J., and they needed Howie to sing the higher parts. You'd wondered where your place was, you were afraid that with Howie's voice there already they wouldn't need you, too. When you'd finally gotten up enough courage to ask Lou about it, his belly jiggled a bit as he stood there laughing. Lou had scratched your chin before leaning down and cupping it, said, "With that face kid, we'll work on the singing and dancing." You hadn't known what that meant at the time but your Mom was smiling, so you'd just agreed and tried your best after that, every single time you had practice. You didn't want to be the next guy to get the ax.

Once Kevin had come into the picture, things were better. You all worked harder and sounded good. Kevin was older and more focused. You could tell that AJ had liked Kevin right away, and of course, wherever AJ went Howie followed. You'd decided to play it smart, tried to lay low and look "cute kid, you're so fucking pretty," while waiting for them to find that missing piece they insisted the group needed.

That missing piece ended up being Brian, Kevin's cousin. You knew it the second he walked into the room, before he even sang or danced or anything. He'd smiled, said, "Hi ya'll," and you knew, knew he was the one somehow. The fact that he sang like an angel was just an added bonus. He came over and sat next to you, started talking about basketball. Kevin ruffled your hair, said Brian would be good to have around, you'd need a big brother who was actually a good influence. Brian was really funny and made you laugh. You'd liked him right away. How could you not? He was so nice.

You worked long and hard in Europe. Every day you sang and danced for hours and hours and then when you thought that you couldn't stand up for another second, you had homework to do, too. It should have sucked, but it didn't. It was like that saying, from that book your tutor made you read. You'd never actually read it though, and you only knew the quote because Brian used to walk around the bus, bellowing in this deep voice, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Or vice-versa. Whatever. You'd loved those times. It was the first time you'd ever felt like you belonged somewhere.

It was a lot of work, sure, but it was a lot of fun, too. You'd traveled around the world with your four best friends, being silly and goofy and amazed at seeing things, big foreign things, for the very first time. You loved singing so much, always wanted to give it your all. You loved the sound of five voices more than your own; together you seemed perfect. You just loved performing, and even the dancing grew on you. You loved the rush of the crowds, and even the sometimes-hysteria of the fans, once you were recognizable enough to experience it. You loved the adrenaline rush of it all.

You also loved Brian.

He was funny and silly and smart at the same time. You loved the way he grinned, how his eyes got really small when he smiled. He never treated you like a kid; he treated you like his friend, his equal. You were his best friend, he'd called you that over and over. You even had a nickname, the two of you, because you were so inseparable. You wouldn't have wanted it any other way. He was nice and funny and you looked up to him in every way, and he never looked down on you in return, except only literally. He assured you that you'd grow into your body too, just as you were growing into your voice. You always believed everything he said.

The first time that you realized you wanted Brian, it shook you. Not the idea that you might be gay; you'd already been thinking about boys for years by then, even managed to steal a Playgirl magazine without anyone ever discovering you. It shook you because it was Brian. Brian, your best friend, your accomplice in playing tricks on the guys, your confidant in everything. You were at a club, one of the few you actually went to in those days. Usually Howie and Kevin snuck out, and mostly brought AJ along with them too, even though he was underage. He, somehow, according to Howie and Kevin, could pass as old enough to get in. He wore glasses and a swagger and he just seemed...older. You, on the other hand, looked like a baby. You would have been upset, maybe, but Brian didn't really like clubs and always happily opted to stay behind with you. You never thought you were missing out on anything with the others, you had Brian right by your side, the two of you horsing around or talking to each other late into the night. Some of the best times in Europe were spent laying in some random bed; watching Brian's face move as he talked, thinking over and over again how beautiful he was as his words ran all over your skin. It was the only time that he was all yours, and you savored it.

Once in a great while though, when the five of you were bouncing off the walls and itching to get away, they'd drag you out and along the streets of Germany with them. Brian refused to leave you in a hotel by yourself. You loved him even more for that.

So, it was in a club, five beers in you and you were rocking against the wall, planted firmly in your spot that you were "absolutely not allowed to leave, Nick, I mean it. Stay here." and you were watching Brian dance with a girl across the room. She was no one, some stranger that had sidled her way up to Brian over the last hour. You stared at Brian's hips gyrating with hers, her arms around his neck, his hands over her ass, grinding their bodies together. You were envious in that moment. Not of Brian, you didn't want that girl--any girl, really--and not because Brian was probably hard and leaking against her, close to getting off. You were envious because you wanted to be that girl, be the one who was making Brian bite his lip and throw his head back. You wanted to be the one who got to bite on the side of his neck and lick inside of his mouth, tasting him.

For months after that night, whenever you'd jerk off, the fantasy in your mind was what you saw at the club. Except you were the girl and he was whispering in your ear, and you'd always moan as you spilled over on to your stomach, thinking, "Brian, Brian, Brian." and wishing it were the truth.

Doing a big tour in America for the first time was amazing. You were home, and you were popular, and you were really, really in love. You'd wanted to tell him how you felt; it'd been forever since you'd known, but you waited. You knew Brian pretty well, you thought, but not about everything.

You'd tried to be subtle about it, but sometimes, a lot of the time, you'd felt like an ass. It didn't stop you though, you still tried. You did stupid things, like yawning and putting your hand on the back of the couch behind him. Or tracing patterns into your jeans so that your hand would slide left and brush against his. Feigning tired so he'd let you curl up against him, thinking you were exhausted. Anything you could think of to get just a little bit closer, to steal a touch here and there. You'd planned your days around them in fact, along with all of the insanity of touring and talk shows and rehearsals. It was the most important thing on your schedule. Obviously, you had priorities.

You knew that you had more feelings than Brian did about the situation going on between the two of you, but it wasn't like all of the touching and closeness was only brought on by you alone. He was one to snuggle too, often leaning against you or scooting up behind you on the bus couch to nap by your side. Those were the best days, when Brian would give you attention all on his own, without your prompting. You knew that sometimes you acted like an idiot with all of your high school romance antics, but on the days when it was reciprocated, you thought it was all worth it. It was.

When Brian met Leighanne, you weren't phased at all. You'd had girls by then, he'd had girls. Plenty of them. It was just sex; tension and release and it easily covered up parts of your identity that Lou wasn't so keen to know about. You knew that Brian loved you like you loved him with every fiber of your body. He had to. The two of you would be so good together, and you were just waiting for Brian to realize it, too. She didn't scare you, because what you and Brian had was so much more. You knew that, you were sure.

You'd spent the entire tour trying to tell him, but you never did, never could. You were happy with what you had though; a shared room every night where you still talked until all hours of the morning, hanging out and goofing off all day, performing every evening and feeling your heart drop every time he sang his parts of Anywhere for You.

It was dumb and idealistic, and you'd acted like a teenager in love, but it was all okay because that's exactly what you were, after all.

The last half of 1999 was surreal. It went by in a flash, a flash of lights and music and screaming. You were on top of the world, the five of you, and nothing could touch you. You went everywhere together, all around Europe and the US. It was the best time of everything, the five of you happy and comfortable and free of Lou. You had each other, and more importantly, you had Brian. Everything was so perfect, better than it had ever been, and you'd thought in those moments, this is it. This is what we we've been striving for. You held on to it tight, you knew you were lucky.

Brian was never happier than in that time, and neither were you. All any of you could do was smile and laugh and enjoy it. Sometimes, sometimes you'd thought that Brian might be pulling away a little. Not much, but just enough to notice, just enough that he wasn't constantly with you like before, so you fought harder to make him stay. Being successful meant that the two of you didn't need to share a room anymore, but more times than not, you'd arranged it so that you'd fall asleep in his room anyway. During the day you'd suggest basketball or watching movies or shopping; whatever you thought Brian would go for, and even if he looked tired, and you knew he was tired, he'd always look at you and give in. You'd stand next to him at a photo shoot and not be able to resist, had to kiss him. A quick peck to the temple and he'd smile at you and you'd chant in your head, happy, happy, happy. You had it all.

The night before the tour ended, the five of you'd decided to throw yourselves an end-of-the-tour party. It was a big shebang, a bunch of roadies and dancers and hangers-on around, but after a few hours the five of you'd managed to trickle out of the catering hall at the hotel and make it back to Brian's room.

You'd drank and reminisced about the tour, and then about a bunch of things from the beginning days, too. It hadn't ended until Howie had fallen asleep across AJ's lap, snoring lightly. AJ and Kevin hauled him out, drunkenly stumbling down the hall, and you and Brian had laughed and laughed. You were so happy.

When both of you'd finally settled down with only small giggles leaking out here and there, you'd laid your head across his chest, looking up into his face. The two of you kept on, sharing memories that had happened just between the two of you and laughing some more, until you made Brian snort and giggle until he was tearing.

When he was done, head against the pillow and sighing, refusing to look at you because he'd start in again, you were working yourself up for the big moment. You'd dreamt about it forever and it just seemed so perfect to do it then, you were ready and it felt right, even if you were both a little drunk. This was the moment.

You'd reached out your hand to his jaw, rubbing your fingers over it for a moment before turning his face back to look at you. You remember the look in his eyes; questioning but sparkling too, maybe waiting for your next joke. But you weren't laughing when you leaned forward, lips lightly pressing against his, moving open and shut against his bottom lip. You brought your hands up, smoothing your fingertips over his cheekbones and kissed him a little firmer, licked the bottom lip you'd been caressing with your mouth.

He was shocked, you knew it, so you'd pulled back a few inches, looking into his eyes. He hadn't said anything and neither did you, but it was only a second or two before your lips were crushing against each other's again. This time he was kissing you too. You tasted him--chicken fingers and beer and something that was just Brian--and when you'd sucked on his mouth for long enough, your tongue slipped inside to explore even more.

In that moment he'd pulled back, shaking his head a little, and you were almost relieved, wanting to catch your breath. You'd always known it would be unbelievable, but you could never have been ready for the things that it had made you feel inside. It was like you were on fire. Your heart had beat in your chest so loudly it was all you could hear in those moments and you'd been shaking, just a little, as Brian put his forehead against yours. You remember him whispering, "No, Nick, no" but nothing after that. You'd always assumed you fell asleep from the rush of it all.

The next morning the two of you were woken by security pounding on the door, and it was all you could do to untangle from each other, both fully dressed and on top of the bedspread, each holding the sides of your heads and moaning in pain. You'd rushed around that morning, late to get on the bus already. You'd both needed to shower in ten minutes or they were "leaving without you," so you'd put on your sneakers to go to your own room and hurry the process. Before you walked out the door you'd looked back at Brian, and blushed something fierce when he grinned back. You'd thought that everything was going to be just perfect after that.

But then it was last minute tour wrap stuff, and going to the airport where you had long goodbyes with everyone and screwing around with the fellas to do, and before you knew it you were on a plane home after a hard year's work. You went back to the house that you shared with a girl you didn't even love, didn't even like, really, and decided that you needed a new plan of action. That next time you all got together, you were really going to have to make the moves on Brian. Do it sober and tell him everything you felt about him; how much you loved him, how much you needed him. Make sure it stuck. You felt like you had to do it soon, before it was too late. It seemed like time was running out, but you couldn't figure out exactly why. You just felt it. You were going to spend your entire break figuring out exactly how to do it.

When AJ called you a few days after Christmas, it was he who'd broken the news; fucking AJ, not Brian, told you that Brian had proposed to Leighanne, that they were getting married sometime the following year.

You'd waited too long.

You dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom, threw up three times in a row. You sat there for a long time, on your knees in front of the bowl, watching you tears splash into the bile.

You'd woken up on September 2nd and decided that you hated this day, more than any day in all of your life. You'd spent the whole morning acting like a complete bastard and by the time you got to the church, no one would talk to you. You didn't care. You'd sat through the entire ceremony studying the back of Brian's head while gnawing a hole on the inside of your cheek and when Howie looked at you midway through, giving you a smile as he patted the top of your knee, you'd had to force yourself to fight back the tears that were trying to spill out.

The reception was an even bigger nightmare because Brian was smiling and happy and cuddly and it made your stomach hurt so badly you felt like you couldn't breathe. You'd drank until you had the strength to go up to Brian and tell him congratulations, which ended up taking you a few hours and a lot of vodka. You'd cried when you said it, finally letting the tears that had been behind your eyes since you'd woken up on that day fall. He'd thought you were emotional and drunk and laughed at you, then said he loved you while squeezing his arms around your waist and back. You told him you loved him too, more than he knew, and that was when Howie pulled you away, said, "let me congratulate him too" and you were grateful that Howie was smart enough to know when to cut you off.

When you were so drunk that you teetered when you walked--the after effects of the two glasses of straight vodka you'd had during Brian's emotional song for Leighanne--Howie had grabbed you by the waist and said it was time to go. You'd kissed him, right there in front of everyone, because you were so grateful. AJ laughed at you and Howie blushed, and you could barely feel Brian's arms around your shoulders when you said goodbye because Howie's hand on the small of your back was burning your skin instead.

Later, when you were on top of Howie, inside him, the burning was almost overwhelming. Every single nerve on your body was alert and all you could feel was a buzz from it and the tight-hot-tight that was around you. You cried when you came, falling onto Howie's chest and sobbing. His fingertips running along your spine were the last things you'd felt before falling asleep.

When you woke up the following morning and rolled over, you felt like shit. Not from the massive hangover--although that was a problem for the rest of the day, you'll never forget that—but because that was exactly what you were, a shit. You were an emotional fucking mess because you looked at Howie and instantly started crying again. You said you were an asshole and he didn't reply, so you'd thought he probably agreed. He'd hugged you though, his body pressed against yours holding you tight, and in that moment it wasn't sexual at all. It was comfort. Howie felt like comfort and home and safety, and you'd spent an hour intermittently sniffling into his shoulder and scrubbing at your face, talking about how much you'd loved Brian and how nothing in your life had ever hurt that bad. He'd said he understood what you meant, that sometimes you loved people who could never feel the same and that it was nothing that you did, or didn't do, it was just the way things were. You couldn't help who you fell in love with, the only thing you could do is try and make it to a place where you could live with the reality. He'd said that Brian loved you in his own way, but it just wasn't the same way that you'd loved him. You'd nodded, head buried into the crook of his neck, and in the back of your mind you'd had a flash of the night before. You couldn't remember if you'd taken care of Howie or not, most likely not, you thought, since you'd been crying all over him and fell asleep still buried inside. Then you knew you were an asshole.

So you were an asshole, and a shameless one at that, because you'd begged Howie to make your excuses at the Littrell day-after-the-wedding brunch and took a taxi to the airport instead. It wasn't until you were flying home, eyes squinted behind dark sunglasses with your head pressed against the little plane window, that it finally occurred to you why Howie knew so much about unrequited love.

It was a pretty long break in between Millennium and Black and Blue what with the weddings and everything, and that was a good thing. You wanted to start over, a clean slate in your life since it was obvious that what you were once so sure of no longer existed. You'd gotten rid of Mandy like you were cleaning house, and didn't care what she took with her. You'd decided you weren't playing that game anymore, you were going to do what you wanted to do. You'd hated her for so long anyway, even on good days, and it was a relief that she was out of your life. You don't remember ever spending one minute missing her, either.

Once you and the guys were all back together and recording you eventually were able to get into the groove again, even if it was strained at first. The writing trip had helped because it was a chance for just the five of you to be together, to reconnect. Howie proved to be a better friend than you deserved because he never mentioned anything about Brian's wedding or afterwards, and he still acted like the same Howie around you. You were grateful for that.

So things had been okay, except it wasn't the same alliances as before because it seemed like Kevin and Brian were on the same team now; older, married, understood each other's situations, and you didn't fit in at all. You became closer to AJ instead, and in turn Howie, and although everyone was getting along fine, the inner pairings of the group just shifted. You weren't thinking consciously about it then, but afterwards you were pretty sure it was intentional.

It was different than it had been in the past because there were no more late-night talks with Brian, no more goofing around with the Playstation. It was just wake up, travel, soundcheck, show, the old people went and called their wives before bed, and you and AJ--and if you could convince him, Howie--hit the bars. You'd spent the last six or seven years so wrapped up in Brian and you hadn't realized how much fun you'd been missing out on. Every night you partied and it was awesome.

You spent that tour drinking more than you ever had, smoking and sniffing more than you ever had, and sleeping with more women than you had over all of the years combined. You were having the time of your life. It was such a great time that you didn't realize how out of control it was getting.

You were lucky, you thought, you and Howie. The two of you could drink until you were on the floor and still make it the next day. AJ was not so lucky. He had low tolerance, or something. You'd thought he needed to eat more, but he never listened. So yeah, hungover a lot, but okay, you were still functioning. But let's face it, you couldn't go out every night like he did, so you tried to make it every two nights or so. It was still a fuck of a lot more partying than you'd ever done.

Kevin and Brian and Howie, they'd decided when enough was enough. They confronted AJ when he'd missed one too many soundchecks, one too many appearances. You were never consulted. They cornered him and screamed and yelled, and you were angry, so angry you hit the wall and fractured your hand. You spat at Brian about his holier than thou attitude, and if he thought he was going to gang up against your friend without a fight, then he could go fuck himself. They all could. You'd told him that you hated him, and you meant it. Brian had looked at you and he was hurt, you could tell, but you hadn't cared. You were going to stand by AJ, no matter what, because he was your friend. You wouldn't judge him and demand him to do things and act like you were his fucking mother, like they thought they were. You'd cried, and AJ cried, Kevin yelled some more and Brian left. Howie took you to the hospital to see about your wrist.

When AJ had decided the guys were right, that he needed help, real help and not the crap he'd been avoiding with the doctor on tour, you were hurt. You felt abandoned, like he was leaving you with the four of them, your new partner in crime gone. But you knew deep down that you were just being a selfish asshole, again, and that he was more important. You were scared for him, but scared for yourself too, and you knew that just added onto to the list of things that made you the biggest asshole in the world.

Rehab and post-rehab was the hardest time of your life. You went with Howie and visited AJ while he was getting better, and you felt sorry for him, even though you'd never say that. Howie was with you and that made things better. He made you feel less empty when he was inside of you back at the hotel after your visit, and when he let you fall asleep in his arms without having to say a word. You never spoke about it afterward, just like you never spoke about the time before. The next morning you'd both gotten on the plane and went back home, him going his way and you lost again in your boredom, not knowing what the hell you were doing in this world. It sucked more than anything ever had.

Eventually the tour had started back up again and that was when you'd felt truly out of place, like everything was so clinical and all of you were just doing what you were supposed to. Nothing felt good, felt passionate anymore, and every time you and the guys talked to the press, it only felt like lies. The tour sucked, you were sure, because every night you'd gotten up there and just went through the motions, hadn't felt anything at all. Everyone was on edge, even Howie wasn't speaking to you as often, but you knew you probably deserved that. AJ was quiet and Brian was non-existent. Howie and Kevin would go out and have dinner maybe, or a movie, but you'd just stayed around whatever hotel you were in at the time and moped. You'd counted the days until it was over, marked them off on a mini calendar that was in your backpack. After the last show in Japan the five of you got on the plane to go home without saying a word, and got off in LA not saying goodbye.

After that last tour, you were home and angry about everything. None of the guys called you, and you didn't bother to call them either. You were lost and you had nothing to do. Restless, that was what your Mom had said, but you'd hung up on her during her lecture, not wanting to hear her shit either. You didn't want to hear anything from anyone, you'd just wanted to be left alone.

You went through spurts of drinking, hitting the bars for three or four nights straight until you couldn't even get out of bed after your binge. You'd rest for a day or two but then you'd get that feeling again. You had to get out, had to get away from the walls that were closing in around you. You'd call up some of your old friends and they'd all tag along, a whole gang of you. They were just using you, you were sure, but you didn't care once you were out and having fun. You'd just wanted to feel good for a change, instead of miserable and unhappy.

Getting arrested was a nightmare. It was embarrassing, sure, but more than that it was scary. Your temper had gotten out of control--it sometimes does when you drink--and you guess that yelling at that cop probably wasn't the best idea. He'd called you an arrogant little rich fuck, and you'd cursed at him even more because once you knew that he recognized you, it was all over. You knew he wanted a show.

He got one too, because the local news went crazy and then it was all over MTV too, every hour on the hour. All of it was just the exact opposite of what you'd wanted, which was to be left alone. You were forced to make nice and you'd hated it, hated that you had to get on the phone with Carson fucking Daly and explain yourself like it was anyone else's business or that they'd even understand at all. But you did it, you did it because Kevin screamed at you for a half an hour about being responsible and an adult and a public figure, and you did it because somewhere in the back of your mind you were glad that he still cared enough to call. Even if he was yelling.

Howie and AJ had called you on three way after the TRL thing, making jokes about jail and sodomy and how those two go together for pretty blonde boys like you. Then AJ'd said you'd probably like that, and they were both laughing, and you'd really wanted to hang up on them but it'd felt so good to hear something positive in that nightmare of a week. It was the first time the three of you'd talked since Japan and even though they were harassing you and making fun of you and calling for the worst reason ever, it was still nice in spite of it all.

Brian's call, three days later, hadn't been so nice. You were pissy, and he was pissy, and as soon as you'd said hello, both of you were already yelling. He'd said his usual shit; the same things he'd said on tour. It was the same lecture Kevin had given you from jail and you were sick of it, sick of being told what to do. You'd told Brian that he didn't have the right to do that anymore, the two of you weren't even friends. You knew it as well as he did. He'd been silent for a minute and you'd thought, good, shut the fuck up already. You'd nearly hung up to prove it until he'd started his long speech, voice all soft and shaky and you couldn't help yourself, you had to listen.

He'd said that he felt like the Big Bad Wolf and you were Little Red Riding Hood or something, that he was this terrible monster who'd led you astray by playing along with you and letting you think things that could never be true, thinking it was just a crush and you'd move on, no harm done. He went on about how people change, and life changes, and he could see that you were changing for the worse, not for the better. He'd said that he wanted to help you find your way back again, back to the old Nick that he knew; the old Nick that was his best friend, the Nick that he loved. He knew that you thought he'd ruined your life, and that you hated him, hated him for what he couldn't give to you, what he never intended to give to you. He'd said he was sorry.

You told him to fuck off and hung up.

Afterwards, you'd gone into the laundry room of your house and kicked the washer. Kicked it until it was all dented in the front, and then started in on the dryer too. You were pissed beyond belief, and you hadn't really known why, but didn't really care either. When you were spent, panting and tired and could barely see because your eyes were full of tears, you'd finally sat on top of the washer and let them flow. It'd hurt so much because it was true. Because it was over. He could never be what you wanted and you hated him for it, he was right. Deep down, you really did.

You'd wanted him to stop fighting you about it, wanted him to give in. You'd wanted him to remember the times when he loved you, like you knew that he did. You'd do anything he asked, no matter what it was, to have him to look at you the way you saw him. He was all you ever wanted but you knew you weren't going to get him anyway, so everything that you'd wanted, well, it really didn't matter, did it?

You'd found a spiral notebook in one of your desk drawers and sat down and wrote it all out. You knew you couldn't go on living like you had been because it was killing you, and you had to express that. Over and over like a man possessed, you couldn't stop. Everything that you wanted to say, everything that you were feeling, it was all right there, pouring out of you. Still feeling the rush, you called a couple of producers you knew and begged studio time. It took you two hours to sing it clearly, because you'd gotten choked up a hundred times in a bunch of different places. But you got it done and they helped you with the music, and before you knew it you had this beautiful song that conveyed exactly what you meant.

You'd cried all night, thinking about it, but the next day you'd felt better. Rejuvenated. Josh dared you to send the track to Barry over at Jive and you did, because what the fuck, it couldn't hurt. It was a good song and you knew it. They'd know it too.

One song sparked a hundred, it seemed, and before you knew it you'd spent months recording an album. It had helped you in a lot of ways but it'd hurt in a lot of ways, too, writing songs so personal to you. Some of them you knew would never make it to the album, but Brian's would, the first song you wrote to kick the project off would have to be on there.

Promotion had been a whirlwind, but it was fun. You couldn't remember the last time it had actually been fun before that because the last three years or so really hadn't. But that time it was all about you. You'd liked being a low-key guy, going around without all of the hoopla that had been before. You liked getting up on stage and proving that you could play, that you could sing on your own, that you could answer questions even if you did it stupidly. It was you, for all of who you were, and you liked being alone. You liked knowing that you could do it.

The guys rarely called, which had hurt a lot. More so in the beginning, but you became used to it after a while. You talked to Howie the most, and then Kevin, but neither of them all that much. AJ had his own shit to deal with and you understood, but Brian was just simply ignoring you and that you didn't understand at all. You'd never thought that fight would end such a long friendship, but you'd also never thought you'd be doing a solo record either. Things in life change, that was what Brian had said, and it was a lesson you learned every day with each and every new turn. You were doing your best to adjust with it all.

In interviews you'd assured everyone that Backstreet wasn't going anywhere even though you had no idea if that was the truth. You were constantly asked about whether the five of you were still good friends and you always said yes, only remembering the good times as you answered, and that way it was never a lie.

The album came out and Kevin, Howie and AJ all called; all heard it and sent their congratulations. It was three conversations of uneasiness, but you were happy they'd made the effort, that they were at least paying attention. You'd never heard from Brian, not once, but Kevin assured you he'd thought it was great. You didn't believe him and when you'd gotten word of Brian at some radio station thing where he didn't sound too pleased about the whole idea at all, you'd decided that you didn't care. Or, more accurately, you did care but refused to let yourself think about it.

You shot the video, but it rarely played, even on TRL. You were secretly happier that way because although you thought it was a great video, and your favorite song on the album, some things were meant to stay close to the heart and not blown all over the public. It was your secret break up song and you didn't need a huge fantastic video to show for it, you'd leave that to others. You knew what it meant to you.

The best part of having the new album was the touring, and you did it over and over again for nearly a year; small venues, fairs, festivals, you didn't care. Every night you sang the song you wrote for Brian and it got a little easier, went from being something so emotionally binding to just a song in the set. You'd poured your heart out when you belted the ending and each time it was therapeutic, finally letting all of your emotions out that you'd kept bottled up inside. Letting all of the feelings that had been trampled on by the person you'd loved most in the world go.

On the last night of the final leg of the tour, you'd sung the last note and it'd felt like something broke inside of you as you did it. Afterwards you'd thought to yourself, good. All that was left to do now was heal and maybe you'd eventually learn how to let go of something you finally realized you'd never really had, anyway.

You haven't seen them, any of them, in months. You fly to LA for a meeting, a meeting to decide the fate of the band, of your friendship, of everything. You throw up in the bathroom stall of the plane on the way there. You know what's coming.

It's awful, sitting in that plush swivel chair in some business office, forearms resting against the wood table as you listen to everyone talk. No one, save you, you think, wants to continue on as a band. Kevin is too tired, and too married, and too looking forward to having his own family--now that he's had a taste of Brian's--to think about going on the road again. He'd rather be behind the scenes, he says, and you can tell that he and Brian have discussed it at length already. You don't say a word.

AJ is clearly not well enough to be living the madness again. He needs to, you think, needs to get back to performing and doing something he loves, not sitting around all cooped up and driving himself crazy. In your mind, boredom has driven him to this; drinking again, catting around, fighting with his family. If he had something to do, he'd have less time to get in trouble. But then you remember the pressures of the road, and how he just couldn't handle that either, not to a point where it was controllable. He's upset over Sarah and his Mom, and just generally, admittedly, not in a healthy place right now. And that's progress, you think, watching AJ tell you all of this. At least he's able to see what he can and can't do now, he can judge for himself. He's learned that. You don't want him to struggle, you want him to be a success story. He says he needs to get his life worked out first, even though he loves each and every one of you and misses the group terribly, but. By the end of his speech you decide that you really don't know what's best for him at all, but you're glad that he does. So you still don't say a word, lips pressed together in a tight line, fingers drumming on the table.

Brian doesn't want to miss out on Baylee. On being a husband. He hates the music business, has hated it for years and never hid that, he reminds all of you. He stayed for the group, for the fans, for the love of performing. But none of them mean as much to him as being at home with his family; his wife, his son, his dogs. In his mind, it's just not a contest anymore, or a question of balance. Being a public figure and an entertainer just don't equate with the importance of being a father and a husband. He says he'll still sing, maybe, wants to do a gospel album or something, but in general he really just doesn't care. His only goal in life was to be a good husband, a good father, and nothing else that's going on, when you look at it through his eyes, matters at all. He'd rather spend the next years of his life striving to be those things than the top of any chart. You don't speak then either, just silently nod, acknowledging.

When Howie starts to talk, you get scared. The three of them--Kevin, AJ, and Brian--have already said their piece. You wonder if Howie will go against them now, and say he wants to stay in the game, because you suddenly have no idea how you're going to vote. You were going to say yes, at first, because you feel like it's your fault that the group has gotten so far from where it used to be because you went out on your own. So you'd woken up this morning and thought, no matter what, I won't be the reason we break up. I want to stay together. Even if you really had enjoyed being by yourself this last year or so, and wanted to do it again. You'd already decided to put them first. But now, watching Howie's mouth move, seeing him trying to figure out what to say, you want him to agree with the others. A clean sweep, and it'll be over. Even though it hurts, even though you love them. You just can't imagine, with all of the things that the five of you have gone through these last three years--both individually and together--you can't imagine it ever being the same as it used to be. And you don't really want it to; you like the old memories the way they are.

Howie likes the anonymity his life has become. Not totally, obviously, but he likes living his life. No bodyguards, no one following him, likes that he can go out to a club, date, have a relationship. You wonder who he means, because you have no idea if there is someone in his life, no idea if it's a boy or a girl, or if he's just being general. He's spent the last few months recording, a little pop, a little salsa, and he's proud of it, thinks it's good. He says he wants to go the route that you did, tour a little, promote a little, but nothing big, nothing fancy. It's just for fun and he likes having a semi-normal life these days. He likes being able to be who he is and not lie about it; most of the time, anyway. You think, oh, a boy then, and wished he'd just been talking in general after all.

When it's your turn, you pick at your cuticles for a long time before you finally muster up the courage to say that everyone is on the same page here, and that you love them all too, but you agree, it's time. You don't say much after that, you've never been one for grand impassioned speeches like the rest of the clan. They laugh and tease you a little about your magic with words, but then take turns saying how proud they are of you, how you've really grown up this last year, and how all of them are sort of amazed over it. Kevin takes all of the credit, of course, and they laugh at you while you blush, thinking better late than never, and then now or never, and how it all just seems to work out in the end, even when you thought things never would. It isn't until Howie and Kevin and AJ are bickering over food that Brian reaches over, touches your cheek and says, "the album was fantastic, Nick, even if I was an asshole about it." that you finally feel, even with everything you've done on your own, that you've actually accomplished something. Approval, maybe, like the only approval you needed all along is sitting right in this room.

Afterwards, the five of you go out for steak. It's the same place you always go to when you're in LA, and you order the same entree you always do, but it feels different. Kevin is bitching that his NY Strip is too rare, Howie is asking the waiter for hot sauce for his vegetables, AJ burps after the first sip of his coke, and Brian is holding his lobster in mid-air, giving it a voice and a personality and making you laugh like an idiot. All of that is the same, the same as it used to be back when things used to be good, but still, sitting at that table, it feels different.

You wonder if all of the shit of the past few years has been leading up to this moment; the moment where everyone is consciously going their separate ways for a while, on good terms this time, leaving as friends and not pissed and tired and aggravated like before. Then you decide to stop living in your head because, a.) you're not that deep, and b.) you'd rather eat your baked potato and enjoy yourself with the guys, for the first time in a long time, instead of sitting there thinking about it. You do.

On the ride back to the hotel, AJ is smoking a cigarette out the window while Howie is asleep against your side, head back on the bench seat. Brian is whispering into his phone and smiling and when he looks back at you, you smile too. It's not even fake. Kevin is babbling to the driver about something or other, you're not paying attention, as usual. You feel comfortable, at ease. It's been years, literally, since this sensation has been the prominent one with these guys. You have that feeling running through you as you sit there, the one you get when you're onstage. You call it happiness. Only you're not performing right now, you're just being you sitting there sprawled across the bench seat, and that's what makes it even better. You're happy just being you.

Your mind drifts away and you think about yesterday, when you were sitting in your house watching TV. Stand By Me was on TBS, and you made yourself popcorn and settled down to watch. You love that movie. At the end, when Richard Dreyfuss was giving his final speech, you cried. You've never made friends again like the ones you had when you were twelve either, and yeah, you've all gone your separate ways now too, but you're luckier than Gordy, you think, because here it is more than ten years later and they're still here. There's still something left, if you want it. If you try.

AJ flicks his cigarette out the window at the same time Brian snaps his phone closed, and Kevin has finally shut up. It's silent for a moment, a nice, comforting silence. You slide down further into the seat and it shifts Howie, making him lean against you a little more, his head falling on your shoulder. You put your arm around his neck, listen to Brian and AJ start talking about golf. The van stops and Kevin starts complaining about the overcrowded highways in LA, how overpopulated the area is. You smile and close your eyes when he starts bitching about smog, because really. This just feels so good, so normal. You snuggle Howie closer and don't wake up until AJ flicks you in the ear when you're finally there.

You don't know it now, but in eight months you'll be at Brian and Leighanne's for Thanksgiving and the three of you will watch Baylee walk across the entire living room for the first time all by himself. Brian and Leighanne will be crying, squeezing their baby so tight as they look at him with pride, and you'll be amazed, just for a second, about the miracle of life. Brian will smile across the room at you while he wipes his eyes and then he'll pick Baylee up, handing him over as he says, "here you go, Uncle Nick." You'll bounce the happy kid in your lap, making the same goofy faces at him that Brian used to do to you when you were twelve and in the studio, your voice cracking over the same part in a song you'd been trying to lay down for an hour. Full circle, you'll think, and play with Baylee and laugh like you haven't in a long time. You'll watch Brian and Leighanne hug across the room over Baylee's head and in that moment, it'll hit you. You will always, always love Brian. You'll feel it deep in your heart, but it won't hurt exactly. It'll just feel like truth. And you'll be okay with that.

Later on, while Leighanne is upstairs getting Baylee ready for bed, you and Brian will sit out on his back deck. The two of you will be looking at the stars, beers in your hands. You'll talk about the old days and it will be comforting this time, not nagging or hurting or painful. You'll get pleasantly drunk and giggle a lot, and after an hour or so of goofing around--when you're sure Leighanne is doing nothing upstairs but giving the two of you time to be together--you'll decide to call it a night. You'll wave to Leighanne at the top of the stairs as you say goodbye, and Brian will hug you at the front door, ruffle your hair like he has a million times since you first met him. You'll smile, say you love him. You'll mean it, too, because you do. It's different, now, but it's still love. It'll be the first time you'll ever understand that.

Before you go to bed you'll spend a half hour trying to figure out what time it is in South America but you'll still be a little drunk, and really, you've never paid attention to time zones anyway. You won't be able to sleep though, not until you've heard his voice, so you'll dial the numbers on his itinerary and hope against hope that he picks up.

"Hey, baby." You'll smile. He will have been sleeping, his voice gravelly--as gravelly as it gets for Howie, anyway--and he won't care that you woke him up at all. He'll softly ask, "How did it go with Brian?" and you'll let out a breath you hadn't known you were holding as you start talking.

You'll tell him about your day, every detail but one. He doesn't need to know that some part of you will always be Brian's, even if do you love Howie a lot, more than you've loved anyone else in a long time. He'll be honestly happy for you and that will make you tear up because he'll love you enough to trust you, even though you know you don't really deserve a second chance, after everything. You'll cough a little, cover up the quiver in your voice enough so he doesn't notice. You'll joke about phone sex for a few minutes and then be serious about how many days left he has on tour until he's home. He'll tell you that he's coming home two weeks from then, on a Friday, and you'll think it's a sign, a sign of bad omens now changing to good. You'll promise that you're counting the days until then and you will be. You'll know he needs this solo tour like you'd needed yours, and you'll hope it helps him find himself and let go, because that's what going solo did for you. You'll hang up, and then stupidly kiss the phone as you put it on the pillow next to yours, pretending it's him. You won't mind waiting because you'll understand.

Right before you go to sleep you'll turn over, face crushing into the pillow, and you'll absently mutter, "It's gonna be okay," a clip from something going on somewhere in your thoughts between sleep and wake.

You'll be right.