What Makes You Different (Makes You Beautiful)
By Lois

I know sometimes you feel
Like you don't fit in
And this world doesn't know
What you have within...
-

There was a girl in Howie's room, and as soon as AJ opened the door without knocking she squealed and jumped out of his bed, running for the bathroom. She only had on a pair of boxers, Howie's boxers, the ones he'd gone to bed in last night.

AJ set down the bagels and coffee he'd brought up from downstairs and knocked gently on the bathroom door. He could hear sniffling on the other side.

"Go away," replied a breathy voice, and it made the hair on the back of AJ's neck stand up because despite the higher register, it was familiar. "Please, AJ, go away."

Hearing his name made him shove the door wide open, and he found her standing in front of the sink staring at herself in the mirror. She tugged at long, tangled brown hair, and tears poured down a thin, tan face. She looked a lot like Howie's sister.

"The fuck-" AJ began, but she turned toward him with big watery brown eyes, and he knew. "Howie?"

"Help me, A..." Howie gestured toward his hair, his naked chest where two rather nice breasts swung free. "I don't know when it happened. Why? I'm. Fuck!" He slammed his hands - smaller, with longer fingers - down on the counter. "Is this some kind of fucking joke?"

AJ stepped forward, put a hand on Howie's shoulder. It was more rounded than before. "Hey, man-"

"Woman." Howie snorted. "I'm a goddamn woman, McLean."

"Shut up." AJ grabbed him and shook him, a little. "Whatever it is, it's got to be temporary, y'know? I mean. Yeah, it's just temporary." He ran his hands up and down Howie's arms, mostly to reassure him but also to make sure that the skin there was as soft as it looked. That Howie really was a girl. "We should see what Kevin says."

Wordlessly, Howie reached behind AJ and plucked the hotel bathrobe off the back of the door. He shrugged it on, pulling it tight around him and tying it shut. It was too big for him, he swam in it, and his knotted hair made him look cheap and pathetic. AJ turned him around toward the mirror, and picked up one of the many combs Howie had in his arsenal.

"What are you doing?" Howie asked, but AJ just nudged him in the back with his elbow.

"Hush," he said, quietly, and he brushed the tangles out of his best friend's hair.

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," was what Kevin said, when Howie came in and AJ explained the situation as best as he could. Brian eyeballed him from a safe distance, and Nick just stared. "Jesus Christ, man."

"You really a girl?" Nick asked, leering slightly, and Howie nodded. "Like, with tits and everything?"

Howie frowned, untied his robe and flashed Nick an eyeful. "Do these pass muster, sir?" he asked, snidely.

"Yikes," said Brian, eyes fluttering toward the ceiling, lips moving in a silent prayer. Nick's mouth fell open, a little, and Howie shut his robe.

"I don't want anyone to know," he said, gravely. "It's bad enough, you know, that I had to pretend to turn into a woman in that fucking 'Call' video. Last thing I need is for the world to think I actually DID."

"How can we keep this quiet, though?" Kevin asked, looking thoughtful. "We'd need some pretty heavy PR for that kind of thing. A story, an excuse why you're not on tour with us, anymore."

Howie's face fell. "You're sending me away?" he asked, in a tiny voice. "Um."

"No," said AJ, sternly. "You'll stay on tour with us. You're just not performing."

"Okay." Howie looked at the floor. "I don't want to go home. I don't. Um." He shivered. "I mean, what would my mom say?"

"Don't sweat it, you're not going back to Orlando." AJ poked him. "You can be, like, Howie's cousin, or something. Interning out of college."

Kevin nodded, appreciatively. "That's good," he said. "But we need something really strong, waterproof, that we can sell to the media." He frowned for a moment, then asked Nick to toss him his cell phone. He had to snap his fingers a few times to get Nick's attention, because he was ogling Howie's legs.

"Who are you calling?" AJ asked, as Kevin dialed. He held up a hand and waited for whoever it was on the other end to pick up.

"Lance?" he said, and the other four breathed a collective intake of breath. "Hey, Kevin, Backstreet. Yeah, man, listen - can you give me the number of your PR people?" He listened. "No, not that, I mean -your- PR. Yeah, that. Uh-huh." He motioned for pen and paper. "Wait, lemme write this down... Theresa... Uh huh, don't call before 7am. Right..."

Howie squeezed his eyes shut, tuning Kevin's voice out and concentrating fully on the press of AJ's hand against his back, and wondered if anything would ever be okay, again.

Theresa was exactly how Lance described her. She spent the first fifteen minutes of the meeting asking AJ what the fuck he was thinking when he wore a sparkly black half-shirt on the Video Music Awards two years ago.

"Your publicist quit after that, right?" she asked. "I would have. Fuck, that was brutal, you know." AJ didn't answer. He didn't much like her, mostly because she was right. "Still," she added. "You pulled it off without looking too flaming. Not a lot of men can do that. Nobody I work for can. Fucking Chasez."

"Theresa," said Kevin, meekly. "Um. Howie?"

"Right." She stared at the small, waif-like creature cowering beside AJ, dressed in someone's ill-fitting shorts and a Journey t-shirt. "She's cute."

"Fuck," mumbled Howie, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, it's good. You want to be cute, Howard. It distracts people. Okay. You are in Puerto Rico, bonding with your people and promoting literacy in small rural villages."

Howie blinked. "Come again?" he asked, but Theresa didn't seem to be listening. She was discussing something with Kevin, who nodded gravely at everything she said, so Howie turned to AJ. "Is she, um. Insane?"

"I think so," AJ mumbled back. "But Kevin said she came highly recommended."

"By who? Lance Bass? What the fuck ever, man."

AJ just shrugged. "Remember that story about Lance and that 'business meeting' he had at Emeril's on CityWalk?"

"Yeah."

"He was on a date with that guy from Dawson's Creek."

Howie stared at him. "No." AJ nodded. "Damn." He looked at Theresa with grudging admiration. "She IS good."

"I'm the fucking best," said Theresa, who'd been listening the entire time.

Howie wasn't at all interested in being a girl. It was boring. It was sitting around listening to people talk about him like he wasn't there. It was letting Theresa haul him out into Nick's backyard, where the tropical plants were thick and green, and take grainy pictures of him in his old peasant shirts and khakis, squatting and looking pensive, as if surrounded by tin-roofed shacks, anxious native children and bald chickens. He stopped talking to her after that, though he had to admit that the grainy footage that showed up on MTV two days later looked remarkably legitimate. The world was convinced he was out of the country, doing a good man's work.

The fans reacted accordingly to Howie's disappearance, with righteous indignation. Girls with signs picketed outside the management offices, singing songs that, ironically, Howie had no solos in. Nevertheless, AJ said, it was a positive gesture.

"See?" AJ said, pointing out the window at a big pink sign that spelled out "I MISS YOU HOWIE" in blue sparkle-pen. "It's not like nobody's noticed."

Howie picked at the corner of the sign, absently. He was dressed in green shorts and a black tank top, part of the emergency wardrobe Theresa had ordered from the Gap. "Yeah," he said, blandly. "It's cool, I guess."

Sighing, AJ knelt beside him, touching his wrist gently. "Come on, man," he said. "Don't be this way. I mean, it's all good, you still have us. You've got me, too." AJ's hand wrapped around Howie's, squeezing tightly. "It's not like you're even gone."

"But I am gone," Howie said, looking up. His eyes were shallow and dark. "I'm useless, like. I just sit here and pretend to be someone I'm not. It's like there's two of me - and one has to live inside the other and pretend that everything people see is real. It's like...um."

"Like being a Backstreet Boy," said Nick, giving them a small smile as he passed by.

Howie saw his point, but he thought maybe there was so much more to being a girl. More than having to learn to wear different clothes and applying eyeliner and fixing your hair. Those were things he'd already had to learn to do when he became famous, and had to sparkle more, and stand around while people painted his face, and fucking having to iron his damn hair every day because their stylist was a bitch-dog from hell, and said straight hair made him look 'dreamy'. That was fine, though it felt more like a fucking nightmare.

The big deal about being a girl was that the world around you felt like it was made for other people who weren't girls. Things like watching what you wore, that you didn't show too much skin even though it was Florida, and May, and fucking hotter than hell, and making sure he didn't smile at strangers because it was asking for trouble, and having to lock the bathroom door because suddenly you weren't around your four best friends, but rather four men, and you felt oddly small, and exposed.

Nick was right. Being a girl was a little like being a famous pop sensation. The only difference was how a celebrity could pin the bullshit on other people. A girl really had no one to blame.

The song never did explain what it feels like for a girl, but Howie thought maybe it was something like defeat.

Everyone told him he was a really pretty girl. Nick said it constantly. Kevin said it whenever he thought Howie needed to hear it, and they all knew it was something he'd learned from marriage. AJ said it all the time, but he also said Nick was pretty, so it didn't mean very much. The only one who never said it was Brian, and that was because Howie's mere presence went against everything he believed in. He pretended Howie didn't exist, and Howie pretended it didn't hurt.

Eventually, Howie figured out that he looked a little like Jennifer Lopez, with no makeup, and not quite so voluptuous. He skulked around in AJ's jeans and Nick's old t-shirts, and sandals that Kevin had swiped from Kirsten but were still too big for Howie's feet.

"Is it too much to ask," AJ said, finally, when Howie showed up one morning in shorts, a Journey shirt and unshaven legs. "That you go to a goddamn mall and buy some fucking clothes, already?"

Howie glared at him. "Fuck you, man," he said, but the truth was that he felt grubby and uncomfortable, because even AJ's clothes were way too big on him. He looked down and sighed. "I guess I could use, like, some new stuff," he said, glumly.

AJ nodded. "We could do it over the Internet," he suggested, knowing Howie was still not too cool with going out in public, yet. "Like, mail-order."

"Nah," Howie said, shaking his head. "Let's just, y'know. Get it over with."

The Florida Mall was nearly empty, because it was a weekday morning, so they could shop with only the minimal risk of being recognized. Howie suddenly realized that he didn't have to worry at all, and it felt strange to be able to walk into a public place without a disguise, like AJ's baseball cap and sunglasses.

"This is pretty cool," he said out loud, watching his reflection in a window as they walked by. "I don't look like me at all."

"Huh," said AJ. "Your eyes are the same."

"They are." Howie blinked. "But it's not like anyone ever looks that closely, anyway."

AJ nodded. "Right." They passed Hot Topic, and AJ said something about Howie needing to 'sexy up' his image.

"I don't need to be sexed up, Alexander," Howie grumbled when AJ picked out a pair of black vinyl girl's pants. "I just want, you know. Jeans and stuff, okay?"

AJ peered at him over his sunglasses. "You have to be kidding me, right? With your body-"

"Forget about my body, okay? I want stuff that fits and doesn't fall off or smell like Nick's been sleeping in it for seventeen years. That's it."

They walked around the mall, stopping at tasteful places like Sears and Saks Fifth Avenue, and Howie picked through plain blouses and even some skirts, but by noon the only thing he'd found was a pair of slacks that reminded AJ of something his third grade teacher might have worn. He said so. Howie ignored him.

"Look," Howie said, as they passed the Rave. He ducked inside and touched a sparkly camouflage off-the-shoulder top. "All that's missing is body glitter and 'NICK IS HOT' written across my forehead."

"This ain't your style, man," AJ said. "You're too old for this crap."

"This is cute," a salesgirl said, holding up a frilly red sundress. She held it up against Howie's body, smoothing it along his hips. "It makes your cheeks more pink. Pretty."

He ended up buying the dress, because the girl was right, it did make him look pretty and he liked how the fishtail skirt made his legs look longer, and he figured something like that would get AJ off his back about being sexy. He got a couple of other things, as well, some little tops that would be cool while they toured in the late summer.

He finished up at Old Navy, where he stocked up on t-shirts and jeans. On a whim he stopped at Sephora while AJ went out for a smoke. He cruised the aisles, picking at jars and tubes, curious about the stuff girls put on their faces.

"Can I help you?" asked a saleswoman, and Howie looked up, guiltily. She smiled at him, and he thought she looked a little like Martha Quinn. "Is there something you're looking for?"

"I, um." He hesitated. "I've never worn this stuff, and. Some of my, uh, friends. Think I need to, um." He rolled his eyes, and mentally cursed AJ. "'Sexy up' my image. Or something." He was probably blushing. Fuck.

The saleswoman didn't seem to notice that he was uncomfortable. She smiled and took his chin in her hand. "You have a warm complexion," she said, turning and studying his face with a professional frown. "Pretty eyes, you should play those up. We have some rose shades that would do that."

She turned and picked up a little container of something glittery, and opened it. "This would really bring out your eyes," she said, holding it out to him. "It's called Crash, and it's a wonderful, vibrant plum shade. Do you like purple?"

Howie grinned at her. He loved purple.

"You're too good at that," AJ said, when Howie walked across the room and back in heels. Howie just turned and gave him a look.

"I'm five feet, four inches tall, AJ," he said. "That much hasn't changed."

He stayed with AJ, because his brother was always at his house and he didn't want to have to explain anything to him, or worse, fend him off. So he took over one of the guest rooms, grateful that AJ's on-again, off-again girlfriend was, for the moment, off-again and at her mother's. While AJ and the other guys rehearsed, Howie pawed through Amanda's closet, picking out the few tasteful items he could wear, since she and he were roughly the same size. He fed the dogs, and swam a few laps in the pool, skinny-dipping because he couldn't bring himself to wear one of her bikinis.

AJ's house was in a quiet little community on the south side of Orlando that served as a sort of Mecca for members of boybands. The infamous O-Town house was a couple of blocks away, and Chris Kirkpatrick lived a couple of houses down, so Howie didn't go outside very much. He knew Chris, how he liked to fuck around with his front lawn and play water games with the neighborhood kids, and he couldn't risk being spotted and having to explain himself.

Especially not to Chris. It was bad enough, that he had those pretty brown eyes and the infectious laugh that Howie remembered filling their old rehearsal room back in the college choir. The crush was ten years old but still pretty potent, and the only thing keeping Howie off of Chris was his being a boy.

That excuse was no longer valid, so Howie stayed inside all the time. He watched a lot of Oprah.

Though once NSync's tour started up he figured it was safe to go out onto the porch with a beer and half a pack of AJ's cigarettes. He watched the kids playing in the street, getting as much sun as they could before the next ten-minute Orlando thunderstorm arrived.

Suddenly there was a commotion, and the door to Chris' house flew open. A short, disheveled figure ran barefoot down the front steps, two bags slung over his shoulder and a small dog under one arm. There was an airport taxi parked out front, the driver was leaning on the horn.

"Fuck off, I'm COMING!" Chris hollered, but about halfway down the walk he froze. At first, Howie thought he'd dropped something, but he hadn't. He was staring at him.

"Shit," Howie said, and he jumped up, spilling his beer. As he reached for the door he heard shouting behind him.

"Hey! Wait!" He turned and saw Chris waving his hand. He'd taken off his sunglasses, to get a better look, and his eyes seemed to sparkle even from two yards away. "Hello?"

Feeling guilty, Howie wagged his fingers back, feebly, then darted inside and slammed the door, leaning against it. The airport cab honked its horn again.

"Alright already," screamed Chris, a door slammed, and Howie exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Nick found Howie sitting by AJ's pool one afternoon, reading 'Cosmo' and underlining things with a Crayola marker. He was drinking a margarita, with condensation beading on the outside of the glass. He tried not to stare when Howie raised the drink, took a sip and then set it down again, and licked the water and salt from his fingers.

"Um," Nick said, and Howie turned sharply, startled. "Sorry, but. AJ asked me to come get you."

"Why?"

"Rehearsals," he said, jingling his keys in his pocket. "He says you still need to do it, in case you, um." Nick gestured vaguely toward Howie. "Change back, while we're out on the road."

Howie shrugged. "Whatever," he said, and he got up. Nick took a step back, swallowing nervously. Howie's hair was down, messy around his face, and he had on a tank top and shorts. "What?" he asked, and Nick realized he'd been staring.

"Uh," he said. "It's just, y'know. You're, um." He took his keys out and seemed fascinated by them. "You're really pretty," he said, and Howie sighed.

"Sure, okay," he replied. He tried to smile. "Thanks, man."

He passed by, so closely that Nick could smell the almond-flavored shampoo Howie liked to use, and without thinking he reached out and grabbed Howie's arm.

"Hey," he said, and he tugged him closer until their noses almost collided. On instinct, Howie reached up and gripped Nick's shoulders, staring at his soft, pink mouth coming toward his own. "I'm sorry," Nick breathed, an odd prelude Howie thought, and their lips touched.

Howie thought he should enjoy it, being kissed like that. Nick had stopped for coffee on the way over, apparently, the sweet tang of it still caught on his teeth. It was a fun kiss, because Nick used his hands to pet Howie along his back, and play with the ends of his stringy hair, and hitched his fingers in the waistband of his shorts. Howie clung to him, trying to tell himself that it was okay, because he was a girl, now, and Nick always kissed the girls.

Then he broke away, pushing as hard as he could and almost falling backwards into the pool. Nick grabbed him at the last minute, but as soon as he had sure footing again on the patio Howie shook his hand off, ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"I can't," Howie said. "I'm. Um, Nick. You're not, you know." He rubbed at his eyes, not caring if he smeared his makeup. "You're not wired like me, Nick. I can't let you, y'know. Do that."

"Why not?" Nick asked, but it was a feeble question because the realization had just hit him, as well. He'd kissed what looked like a girl, sounded like a girl, maybe even acted like a girl. But Howie's eyes belonged to a boy he'd known since he was thirteen, that he'd never thought about kissing. "Um, oh. Okay," he said, meekly. "I'm sorry, Howie."

"It's okay, babe," Howie said, and he put his arms around Nick, hugging him fiercely. "I mean, it's fine. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Nick squeezed him back so hard that Howie might have snapped in half had he not squeaked in protest. Nick backed off, but didn't let go. Instead, he buried his face in Howie's neck, snuffling gently.

"Miss you," he said, and Howie sighed, because he missed him, too.

It didn't seem like Howie's mood could get much worse than it was before the tour began. Rehearsals gave him a false sense of security, that everything was fine and normal and once the tour started he'd be out there with his brothers, performing. That wasn't the case, and after the first concert, which Howie spent sitting in the dressing room with a bottle of vodka to drown out the sound of the crowed, he decided that he was definitely more miserable than he ever had been, before.

His mood continued through to the next show, in Tampa, and it was after he shattered a window with one of Brian's shoes that Nick proclaimed he didn't want to be stuck on a tour bus with a 'crazy Latina bitch,' and that someone needed to do something.

"He needs to get laid," Kevin said. "Think about it, all that frustration over this whole thing, that he can't control? He's losing it." He smiled, a little. "He needs to, you know. Let it out. Release the energy," Kevin said, rolling his hands away from his body as he spoke. AJ made a face.

"That's kind of sexist, isn't it?" he asked, and Kevin looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Hardly. I'd say the same about Nick, if he were acting like a big pussy over something."

"Hey!"

AJ laughed, but at the same time he felt a little uneasy about what Kevin was suggesting. "So, um. About Howie..."

"I think you should take care of it," Kevin said, idly, and at AJ's startled look he snorted and rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, dude. You've known him the longest, and he trusts you. What, you want me to set Nick loose on him?"

"No way, man," Nick said, a little too quickly. He was blushing, and AJ frowned at him, suspiciously. "Um, I mean. He looks like a girl, but he's still Howie. He's, you know, a guy inside."

Kevin nodded, and looked back to AJ again. "I know you haven't got a problem with that, McLean," he said, gently. AJ shrugged. "Look, it'd probably help him feel better, so. Whatever, dude. Up to you. Just, like. Something has to give, and I'd rather it be something like that than, you know. Another window."

AJ thought about it, as the bus wound its way back toward Orlando. They had a day at home before they left on tour for good, and he was grateful for that brief respite of normalcy. Because if he were really going to do it, he didn't want it to be in some random hotel room in, like, Tulsa. He would rather be at home.

When he got there, however, and followed the sounds of the television into the living room, and found Howie sitting there, already in pajamas with a tall glass of milk and some Oreos, he froze in the doorway watching him. When the program on TV - a nature show about meerkats - went to commercial, Howie looked up and their eyes met.

"Hi," Howie said, in a little voice. "How was the show?"

"Fine," AJ said. He waved a hand, dismissively. "Yeah, um. Fun, y'know."

Howie looked away. "I don't know." He had a box of cereal in his lap, and he dug his hand into it, chomping at Alpha-Bits with more gusto than necessary.

"Howie, look, um." AJ crossed the room and sat down, on the arm of the couch, and Howie watched him out of the corner of his eye. "Listen, can we, um. I was wondering if you..."

"Yeah?" Howie put the cereal box down and picked up the remote, since the meerkat show was over. "What's up, Bone?"

There was a long silence, then AJ swore under his breath and got up. "Get some clothes on," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be in the car."

Confused, Howie went and put some jeans on, then went out to find AJ chain-smoking in his Chevy. He got in and shut the door, and AJ was backing out of the driveway before he'd even bucked his seatbelt.

"Whoa, cowboy," he said, holding on to the door as AJ sped through the gate and pulled out onto the road, going way over the speed limit. "Where are we going? Aren't you tired?"

"Nah, I'm cool," AJ said, his eyes on the tail lights of the car in front of him. He passed and ducked back into the right lane. "We're going for a drive."

"At-" Howie glanced at the dashboard clock. "12:34am?"

AJ didn't reply, so Howie sunk down in his seat and gazed out of the window at the houses flying past. AJ said nothing, and barely moved except to change the radio station or light another cigarette.

When they turned onto Orange Blossom Trail, and the neighborhood went from tourist to seedy, Howie became nervous. "Man, where ARE we going?" he asked, after the fifth hooker waved at him. "C'mon, talk to me."

"Fairvilla," AJ said, and Howie stared at him.

"Why in God's name are we going to Fairvilla?" he asked. "Dude, what the fuck-"

AJ tossed the rest of his cigarette out of the window and rolled it back up. "Kevin thinks you need to get laid."

Howie's jaw dropped. "He thinks WHAT?"

"Look," AJ said, and Howie could tell he was as uncomfortable about the conversation as he was. "You've been walking around like a goddamn corpse for the last month. Nobody can say shit to you without you fucking blowing up at them. You look like your dog just died, man, and it's scaring the hell out of Nick."

"Now, wait-"

"And the fuck, Howie? Breaking a window?" AJ glanced at him. "Dude, you're starting to scare ME."

"You try turning into a fucking girl overnight!" Howie shouted. "You see how well YOU handle it."

"I know, man, I know." AJ reached over, tried to pat Howie's knee, but he'd curled up defensively against the passenger door. "It's rough, it fucking sucks, I know. But see, you've got to let it out, somehow, and. Um, I don't think you should really go around breaking windows, so-"

"Kevin asked you to fuck me," Howie said, and AJ sighed.

"He left it up to me," he replied. "But, um. Howie, I-"

"What?" Howie's shoulders drooped. "What's wrong with me, now?"

AJ was grateful for a red light, so he could stop and look Howie in the eye. "You want me to fuck you?"

"No," Howie said, in a meek little voice. "Um. I don't- No, but." He picked at the upholstery. "I kind of, you know. You could want to, y'know."

The light turned green and AJ put the truck in gear, and they drove in silence for a couple of blocks before AJ said, softly, "I'd be honored, Howard."

"But."

"But." The neon sign for Fairvilla came into view, and AJ turned into the parking lot. "I can't. I just, you know."

Howie nodded. "Because I'm not really a girl," he said, sadly, but AJ grunted.

"That makes no difference to me," he said. He shut the car off and unbuckled, turning toward Howie and taking off his sunglasses. Howie was amazed AJ could see well enough though them to drive at night. "Who you are is who you are, and *that's* where the problem is."

"Okay," Howie said. He understood, actually, what AJ was getting at. "It would be kind of, y'know. Incestuous."

"Known you too long, boy," AJ smiled. "You're like, um. A little sister."

"Fuck you," Howie said. "I'm older than you."

"You're shorter, though," AJ said, getting out of the car. "And I could beat you up."

"You'd never hit a girl," Howie grinned. "I've known YOU too long, McLean." He got out and shut the door, and looked up at the Fairvilla facade. "So, why are we here?"

"You still need to get laid," AJ said, pulling out his wallet and fishing for his ID. "So I'm, um. Let's just go in, okay?"

Howie followed him inside, meekly showing the fake ID Theresa had gotten him. To the Fairvilla staff he was Dora Howard, which wasn't very imaginative, but Theresa had said "If you want creativity, don't call me at seven-fucking-am and give me at least two weeks' notice before you turn into a damn girl." AJ led him past the display of pornographic books and magazines and the shelves of videos, and they went upstairs.

"Oh my God," Howie said aloud, when he saw the first huge row of dildos. "You're fucking kidding me."

AJ shrugged. "You gotta know how a woman's body works," AJ said. "So, um. It's kind of different than what you're used to." He bypassed a section that seemed to cater mostly to gay men, and size queens, and headed toward the back where the implements took on a more futuristic, complicated quality. They had tubes and wires, and little springy things that attached to remote controls. Howie was amazed.

"Wild," he said, picking up a vibrator shaped like a rabbit. "This works?"

"That one?" AJ shrugged. "I don't know, but. Um. Okay, this one." He picked up something hot pink that, on first inspection, looked like your basic dildo, except that it had a little rubbery finger on it. "Women are wired different y'know, and- Have you even had sex with a woman?"

Howie shrugged. "I've kissed a few, and I went down on one, once. In college. On a bet." He made a face. "She had fun, but. I didn't really feel like doing it again. Ever." Howie smiled. "So, I didn't."

AJ nodded. "Okay, well. Different women get off on different stuff, so. You kinda got to experiment and figure out what works for you."

"You're the expert," Howie said, throwing up his hands in defeat. "So why don't you just. Y'know, see how well you really do know me." He smiled, and AJ rolled his eyes.

"Chicken," he said, but he rose to the challenge and wandered around the section, pointing at different devices and explaining the pros and cons of each one. Finally, he picked up one that looked fairly tame, and Howie said okay, because it meant they were done and could go home and forget that they'd ever shopped for vibrators together.

Back in the car, AJ handed him the bag and Howie saw that he'd also thrown in a copy of Anais Nin's Delta of Venus. "What's this?" he asked, turning it over in his hand and squinting at the blurb on the back.

"Bedtime stories," AJ said, grinning. "Fuckin' awesome stuff, man. You might not need anything else, actually."

"Hmm," was all Howie said. "Um, I can't do this tonight, you know."

AJ signaled for a lane change. "Why not?"

"Not when you're HOME, dude!" Howie felt his face flush. He took the vibrator out of the bag and looked over the packaging. "I bet this thing is about as quiet as the Space Shuttle."

"You only got tonight, man," said AJ. "Before you're stuck on a bus with me and Nick, and you can say goodbye to any kind of private time." He smiled at him, a little. "It's cool, man. I have headphones."

"Ah, fuck," Howie groaned, and he bumped his head against the window. Wordlessly, AJ reached over and patted his thigh.

He couldn't do it. He managed to get the dildo out of the box and put the batteries in, but all he could do was stare at it. When he finally turned it on it sounded like a goddamn chainsaw, so he turned it off, quickly, and left it sitting on the bureau across the room. It was just too fucking weird.

The book, though, was pretty good. Flowery prose that made him feel like he wasn't reading smut, and then actual smut. Lesbian smut, which was kind of fun, and some straight stuff that was surprisingly hot. Perhaps it came with being a girl, and feeling like he was no longer excluded from what the characters in the book were doing.

By four in the morning he lay in bed completely naked, halfway through the book, with his hand tucked between his thighs. With two fingers - and eventually a third - he brought himself off twice, then once more as the sun came up, shivering for what felt like hours. The book fell from his hand and he was exhausted, the pads of his fingers beginning to prune and his skin covered in sweat. He felt hot and sticky and so relaxed that he slept right through his alarm.

"Howie?" AJ called through the door, knocking timidly. "C'mon man, we got to go."

When Howie opened the door he was wrapped in a loose robe, and he threw his arms around AJ and kissed him on the lips with a loud smack. AJ looked into his sparkling eyes, then past him at the disheveled bed, and the dog-eared book lying on the floor. He laughed.

"Congratulations," AJ said, picking Howie up and swinging him around and around until he squealed. He set him on the floor, gently, and kissed his forehead.

"Thank you," Howie giggled, because the whole thing felt like the missing masturbation scene from 'Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret'."

They were only a few shows into the tour when they landed in Virginia, playing an amphitheater just outside Washington, D.C., and Kevin was excited because they got there early, and U2 was playing that night.

"Think management could get us in?" he asked Brian. Brian shrugged, picked up his cell phone and made a couple of calls. A couple of hours later he reported back saying they all had passes.

"Right on," said Kevin, punching the air for emphasis. "Y'all going?"

"It's fuckin' U2, man," said AJ, looking up from the paper. "I'm there."

"Me too," chirped Nick.

Howie shrugged. "I guess," he said. AJ shot him a look. "Yeah, I'll go."

"Good girl," said Kevin, then he ducked his head. "Um. Sorry, man." Howie smiled.

"It's okay," he said, and he went back to reading 'Backlash.'

U2 fucking rocks, Howie thought, and nobody's dancing but me. He looked around at the other VIPs in the soundbooth, standing around holding drinks and yelling into each other's ears over the music. It was pathetic, the way people treated concerts as social events, something he'd noticed at their own shows as well. It pissed him off, and when U2 tore into "New Year's Day" and no one moved, it only made him dance harder.

So it figured that, eventually, he'd bump into someone. What he didn't expect was that it would be Chris.

"Ouch," he said, but he was smiling. "Watch yourself, there."

"Sorry," Howie said, staggering backwards and gripping the railing for support. "I didn't, um, see you. Hi."

"Hi." Chris stepped up behind him and didn't say anything else, and Howie barely heard the rest of the concert because he was constantly aware of Chris' presence. He bobbed his head in time with the music, and Howie could hear him singing along with almost every song, in that high, clear voice that soared over the crowd noise. When a few of the VIPs glanced appreciatively in their direction, Howie realized he was singing, too.

Chris leaned close, during a break between songs. "Nice voice," he said.

"Thanks," replied Howie. Chris backed off again, hooting suddenly when the band launched into a new song. He started dancing, and Howie couldn't help it, and before long they were dancing together, laughing hysterically and all but screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

It was the most fun Howie thought he'd ever had at a concert that wasn't one of his own.

Afterward, they made their way backstage, flashing passes at the security guards and following the signs toward Hospitality, where Howie found Nick, AJ nursing beers, and Kevin talking animatedly to The Edge.

"Hey," Howie said, bouncing up and punching AJ playfully in the arm. "How was it on the floor?"

"You're a chickenshit," he said, smirking. "It wasn't so bad. You should have come down, but-" He looked up, nodded at Chris. "I guess you had company. Hey, Kirkpatrick."

"Yo," Chris said, raising his beer glass in greeting. "Last place I expected to run into you guys."

"I could say the same." AJ offered him a cigarette, and he took it, lighting it off the end of AJ's. "You guys in town, or something?"

"We played Philly last night." Chris exhaled smoke rings toward Howie, who giggled and batted them away. "So did U2, the night before us. I saw them there. Fuckin' awesome, man. I stuck around so I could see 'em again."

AJ nodded. "Cool, man. You hear about the afterparty?"

"Where's it at?"

"Some club, we got directions from one of the bodyguards, I could ask him to-"

"-Or you could ride with us," Howie said, quickly. Chris looked over and smiled.

"That'd be cool," he said. "Okay with you guys if I tag along? I'm a boy without a band, here. Don't want to be lonely."

Howie wondered if Chris had stepped a little closer, saying that, or if it were just his imagination. Judging by the way AJ's eyes narrowed, he thought maybe it might have been the first one.

"I don't mind," Nick shrugged. "We got room in the van."

"Sure," AJ said, finally. "You can ride with us."

Chris smiled. "Thanks," he said, and when AJ turned to say something to Nick he winked at Howie. Then his face changed, and he seemed to be studying him, intently.

"What?" Howie asked.

"I've met you before," Chris stated. "Or seen you. Um, where the fuck was it?" He scratched at his beard with one finger. "God, I swear, I've seen you before."

"Um." Howie tugged at the hem of his dress, nervously. "I, um. You live by AJ, and I was, like, at his house a few weeks back, and-"

Chris snapped his fingers. "You were on the porch! You ran in the house when I said hi." He snickered. "What, you afraid of me, or something?"

"It's a phobia," Howie said, and Chris burst out laughing.

"Oh, honey," he said, lifting his beer in a salute. "You and I are going to get along just fine." He took a drink, set the empty bottle down on a nearby table, and stuck out his hand. "You obviously know who I am, but lemme ask you, what's your name?"

Howie winced. "Dora," he said. He hated his alias, hated saying it because it sounded stupid. Chris didn't seem to notice though, and his hand was cold and wet, but soft against Howie's, and suddenly his name didn't seem to matter very much, because Chris was still holding his hand, and smiling.

"You want to get out of here?" Chris' breath was hot against Howie's ear, his voice loud over the music of the club. "Go get some coffee, sober up a little?"

Howie did want to leave, because they'd been there for what felt like hours, and he was tired, and then there was Chris, who danced up against him for most of the night, bought him a drink and held his hand when they crossed the dance floor to talk to Kevin and Bono, at one point. Chris, whose presence meant AJ had been watching them both like a hawk all night, and Howie was sick of it, and wanted to get out from under it, for a while.

He could feel AJ's eyes on him from across the bar, and when he looked up and caught his gaze he sighed. "Just a second," Howie said, to Chris. "I need to tell someone where I'm going."

He slipped away from Chris and made his way toward AJ. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning. Howie nodded over his shoulder.

"He wants to go," he replied, simply. "I'm tired of this place, anyway. It's too loud."

"Dude." AJ grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, so he couldn't be overheard. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Howie knew what the tone of AJ's question meant. He wrenched free and stepped back, rested his hands on his hips. He liked that he could do that, now, without being teased for looking 'femmy'.

"Alex," he said, with a hard stare. "There's only one thing I didn't have to learn about being a girl, and that was how to like boys."

AJ didn't flinch, but his expression softened. "What about Chris," he asked, quietly. "I mean. You're not a girl, Howie, and he's..." His voice trailed off, and Howie sighed. He glanced over his shoulder to where Chris was. He was watching them, and when he caught Howie's eye, he smiled.

"Worth it," Howie said, almost too softly to be heard over the music. "He's worth it." He turned back toward AJ. "Okay, man?"

"Okay." AJ studied him for a moment, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. "Be careful, baby."

Howie took one of AJ's hands in his, squeezing before he let go and went back to Chris. "I'm ready," he said, touching his arm lightly. He saw Chris look over his shoulder.

"AJ give you a hard time?" he asked. Howie shrugged.

"He's kind of, you know." He shivered when one of Chris' arms snaked around his waist, hand resting on his hip. "Big brother complex."

"It's cool." Chris looked back again, and Howie turned to see AJ salute them with his beer. Chris nodded back. "I think we're good to go, though, so." He looked at Howie. "Where to?"

"Anywhere," he said, leaning in close enough to smell the alcohol on Chris' breath. "I'll leave it up to you."

They ended up in a diner about three blocks from the club, sipping coffee and telling stories so funny that the waitress had to ask them three times to keep it down, or be thrown out. Chris snorted into his hand, while Howie finished telling him about the time Kevin found a rubber duck in his bed.

"So," he said, waving his hands around for emphasis, the red polish on his nails glinting in the harsh fluorescent lighting. "It's the middle of the night and we're all, like, trying to sleep, when this voice calls out, 'Thar's a DUCK in mah bed!'"

Chris' hand fell away and he howled, ducking his head when the waitress shot them a stern look. He chortled into a napkin that he used later to wipe his eyes. "My God," he said, exhaling and slumping down in his seat. "That's funny."

"Yeah," Howie said. He picked up a French fry and dipped it in mayonnaise before gnawing on it. "What?" he asked, when he noticed Chris watching him, closely.

"You've been to Europe," he said. He pointed at the plate they shared. "Fries and mayo. I got that in Europe."

Howie felt his face become flushed. "Um," he said, hunting for an excuse. "You know, I've never been to Germany, or anything. I just, like, picked it up from hanging out with the guys. Howard." It felt odd to say his own name, refer to himself as if he weren't even there. It reminded him that, to Chris, he wasn't, and he sighed.

Chris reached out and touched his hand, and he resisted the urge to jerk away. "What's wrong?" he asked, lacing his fingers with Howie's. "Tired?"

"Yeah," Howie lied. "Um. I've been up since, like, six this morning or something." He faked a yawn. "I probably should start thinking about getting back. Y'know, to the hotel."

"Okay," Chris said. He waved the waitress over, who seemed only too happy to give them their check. He fished a credit card out of his wallet and handed it to her, and she scurried away. "Where you staying?" he asked, once she was gone.

"Four Seasons," he said. "By the White House. You?"

Chris shrugged. "I'm supposed to be in Philadelphia right now," he said, with a chuckle. "I thought I could sneak out and see one more U2 show and then go back, but." He squeezed Howie's hand. "I got sidetracked."

"You're not, um." Howie looked down at their hands, entwined together. "You're not going to try and go back tonight, are you? Because, like." He shifted, a little, as his stomach wove itself into tight knots. "You could, you know. Stay with me, tonight. If you wanted to."

He looked up, and Chris was staring at him. "I have a FuMan thing in Chicago tomorrow afternoon," he said, but his voice was low and searching. Howie took a deep breath.

"You could call someone," he whispered. "Maybe they could, like, pack up your stuff."

"I could change my flight and leave out of Dulles," Chris replied, under his breath.

"You could." Howie met his gaze, and licked his lips without thinking. "Um. You know. If you wanted to."

Chris leaned forward. "I want to," he murmured, so quietly that Howie thought it sounded more like "I want you," and then he realized that Chris was saying just that, over and over, and kissing his hand. "I want you."

"Okay," Howie said, shivering at the touch of Chris' lips to his skin, and he thought maybe there was definitely more to what it felt like for a girl.

--
What makes you different
Makes you beautiful...
--

Chris kissed him on the mouth in the cab, his bearded chin scratchy against Howie's smooth one. It was strange, he thought, to be on the other side of it, to be kissed the way a girl would be. It was gentle, almost like a request for permission, with Chris licking at the corner of his lips before sliding his tongue between them to meet Howie's. They kissed until the driver cleared his throat to discreetly announce their arrival at the hotel, and they broke apart to pay him, with sheepish grins.

Upstairs, Howie barely got the door open before Chris turned him around and kissed him again, pushing him backwards until they stood in the foyer of the suite, and he could kick the door shut with the back of his foot. He let go long enough to lock it and then slid his hands along Howie's arms, dropping kisses along his jaw, down his neck.

"Chris..." Howie breathed, reaching up and threading his fingers through thick, dark hair. "We should - ahh! - move to the, um." He almost choked on Chris' tongue as it worked into his throat. "The bed, Chris," he gasped, when he could talk again. "The bed."

"Okay," Chris answered, panting slightly. Howie turned and led him by the hand toward the bedroom, letting go so Chris could shrug off his jacket and unbutton the collar of his shirt. "You too," he said, grabbing for the zipper on the back of Howie's dress.

Suddenly, Howie panicked and spun around, batting Chris' hands away. "Um," he said. "No, it's fine. I'll do it."

He reached back and pulled the zipper down, slowly, using his other hand to clutch the fabric to his chest as it started to fall away.

"Are you shy?" Chris asked, and Howie nodded, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment. "Honey, it's okay. C'mere, let me..." His voice had become soft and kind, and he tugged gently at Howie's hand until he let go of the dress, and it fell to the floor.

Chris' breath hitched, and Howie looked up right into Chris' eyes. They were warm and black, bright even in the dim light of the room, and despite the dress pooled at his feel and the chilly air conditioning against his skin, Howie felt completely covered under Chris' gaze.

"You're still beautiful," Chris said, and he lifted a hand to stroke Howie's cheek. He leaned in and kissed him, sucking at his bottom lip with soft, wet sounds. "Still, you're still beautiful," he repeated, and he pulled Howie across the room, down onto the bed.

When Chris was naked, too, he settled over Howie, a lot heavier than he looked. It was hot, and they were sweating and sliding across each other with every movement. Chris licked down the length of Howie's body, burying his face between his legs, making Howie arch up against him and cry out, scratching at the bedsheets.

"God, Chris," he crooned, because his voice had suddenly dropped an octave, settling somewhere deep in his chest. "Good God."

"Y'like that?" Chris mumbled, and his mouth buzzed against Howie's skin and made him writhe upwards again. "I guess so," he laughed, and that was even better.

"Fuck." Howie raised a leg and Chris grabbed it by the thigh, pushing it up higher, exposing him even more. "I never thought- I never, ahh," Howie tensed when he felt a single, exploratory finger poking inside him, but not where he normally expected it. "Oh my- Fuck!"

When he came, it rattled his body and curled his toes, and somewhere in the middle he heard Chris laughing gently, hands and mouth withdrawing slowly. He managed to open his eyes halfway, and saw Chris sitting back on his haunches, watching him.

"Fun, huh?" Chris giggled, crawling up over him and kissing him, and Howie tasted himself on Chris' lips. He was surprised that it wasn't much different than before, and he licked at the inside of Chris' mouth, feeling slightly kinky doing it, but liking it all the same.

"My turn," he whispered, rolling over so that Chris was beneath him, and he straddled him slick across his stomach. He started kissing, traveling down over his chest, pausing to worry a nipple between his teeth before continuing on. When he reached Chris' dick he licked at it, took it in his hand and smiled.

This, he thought, was the only thing about being a girl that wasn't a mystery to him, at all. He sucked Chris into his mouth and delighted at the low, guttural moan that came from above.

"Holy fuck," Chris sighed, bucking his hips. Howie backed off, then descended again, running the flat of his tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking gently at the very tip. Chris exhaled, hands roaming through Howie's hair, fingers tickling under his earlobes. "You, ah. Who taught you that?"

Howie didn't answer. His hands began to roam, one up through the curly black hair at the base of Chris' belly toward his navel, the other dipping low between Chris' legs with one gentle finger.

"Hey," Chris panted. "What're you doing?"

Howie didn't answer. He slid his finger down further and gently poked it carefully up inside.

"Jesus-" Chris' eyes flew open and his legs came up and apart, kicking out blindly at the air. Howie caught one and held it firmly to one side, and in one fluid motion took Chris as deep into his throat as he could.

He might have been calling out for God, or Howie's name, but instead Chris' voice became little more than a strangled whisper as he came. Beneath Howie's hand his body was rigid as stone, and he could feel the ripple of his racing heart. He clenched around Howie's fingers and poured into his throat, and Howie swallowed, eagerly.

"My God," Chris said, when he could talk again, and looked down to see Howie licking his lips, and smiling. He reached down and pulled Howie up, kissing him hard. He seemed to want to taste every part of Howie's skin, sucking at his neck and shoulder, palming his breasts.

"Good?" Howie asked, closing his eyes when Chris' mouth met a nipple, suckling gently.

"Where," Chris paused, licked and bit and made Howie's eyes roll back. "Did you learn to do that?"

Howie giggled. "Um. From a friend of mine," he replied, letting Chris lean him back into the pillows and kiss his mouth. "Gay man," he mumbled against Chris' lips.

"Tell him I'm very impressed," Chris said, chuckling. "Tell him I'll buy him a fucking car, for teaching you that."

"He'll love the compliment." Howie tangled his fingers in Chris' hair. "He might even teach me some other things."

"Let me," Chris breathed, into his ear. "Let me."

They kissed until the sun began to turn the room from darkness into light and gray shadows, until Howie was pinned beneath Chris, legs hooked around his back, guiding him in deeper and deeper. They weren't talking, only breathing into each other, kissing occasionally when their mouths collided. Chris' hands were at Howie's hips, in his hair, and Howie held Chris' face, touched his neck, and gripped his shoulders when he came.

During Chris' orgasm a minute later, Howie closed his eyes and listened to the word that fell from Chris' mouth, and realized that it wasn't for God, and it wasn't his false name or even his real one. It was "beautiful," over and over, like a psalm or a mantra, mumbled into his ear with hot, ragged breath.

Suddenly, the girl he was metamorphosed into a woman, and Chris' arms Howie felt, for the first time, completely comfortable as one.

He wasn't surprised that Chris was gone the next morning, because he knew he had to fly to Chicago. There was a note on the bedside table, addressed to "Beautiful," that included a cell phone number and an invitation to call, whenever he woke up.

He got out of bed and winced when his muscles protested, loudly. A shower helped, and afterwards he put on his robe and went down to the common room - Kevin's, this time - taking care to tuck Chris' note into his pocket.

"Someone got laid," Nick remarked, when Howie walked in. He looked him up and down with a grin that turned to surprise when Howie flopped down on the sofa beside him, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Morning," he said, smiling.

Nick blinked. "Jesus," he said. "You got really laid."

"Who was it?" Kevin asked. He was in an armchair, clipping at a hangnail. "Which one of you deflowered our little girl?"

"Fuck off," Howie snapped, lightly. "It wasn't any of you ugly fuckers. I've got better taste than that." He winked at AJ, who smirked back. "And I'm a lady, so I don't kiss-and-tell. Brian, can I borrow your cell? I forgot to charge mine."

He locked himself in Kevin's bedroom and dialed the number on Chris' note. It rang twice, then half again before a groggy voice answered. "Hullo?"

"I woke you up," Howie whispered. "Go back to sleep, I'm sorry."

"Hey, no," Chris said, quickly, already sounding more awake. "I'm in a cab, I fell asleep on the plane and I think I just dozed off again." There was a woman's voice in the background. "That's Dani, she says hi."

Howie swallowed, hard. "You told her about me?"

"Yeah." There was a rustling noise, like Chris was switching ears. "Well, okay. I got to the airport this morning looking like crap, and walking like John Wayne, and, y'know." He laughed. "She said I was glowing."

"Glowing," Howie echoed, with a giggle. "The first thing Nick said when I came in this morning was that I'd gotten laid."

"Nick has all the tact of a Detroit teamster," Chris snorted. "But yeah, I bet you look beautiful, right now."

"Oh. I'm real pretty." Howie fingered his hair, drying in snarls because he'd forgotten to comb it. "You should see me, I'm-"

"-Beautiful," Chris' voice dropped an octave. "Listen, where are you guys at, next? I'm in Chicago for, like, the next week, so. Um, if you get a chance to, y'know, get away, you could..."

Howie smiled. "I could, I guess. Talk to Miranda - she's head of wardrobe. See if I can get a couple of days off?"

"That would, as the poet said, rock hardcore." Chris grunted. "We're at the hotel, so I have to be all coherent now, so I'm going to go. Call you tonight, after the show?"

"Sure," Howie said, quietly. "I'll be up."

"Okay. See ya, Beautiful."

"Bye." Howie hung up, and fell backwards against the blankets, feeling giddy and warm all over. After a couple of minutes, someone knocked on the door. "Yeah?" Howie called out, and AJ let himself in, quietly. "Hey."

"Was waiting for you to get off the phone," he said, sitting down beside him. "That Chris?"

"Yup." Howie frowned. "What now?"

"Nothing," AJ said, quickly. "I just, y'know. How was it, last night?"

"AJ..."

"I won't tell anyone. I just want to know that you're okay."

Howie sighed. "I'm fine," he said. "Really. Chris was, he was. Fine."

AJ grinned. "Fine. Yeah."

"He was fuckin' hot, okay?" Howie giggled. "He wants to see me again, he asked me to come up to Chicago."

"You want to go?"

"Yeah," Howie said. "I really do. I like him a lot, AJ."

AJ squeezed his shoulder. "Then go. You have freedom, kiddo. You should use it, and go have a good time."

Howie studied him, carefully. "You sure? You okay, with all this?"

"It's, y'know, weird." AJ paused to take out a cigarette and light it. "But you said before, this isn't anything new. Y'know, liking guys."

"Yeah." Howie stared at his hands. "It's not, so. We'd have had to deal with it, eventually, when I was a guy, so. It should be easier now, I guess?"

"And I know you've always liked Chris, like that." AJ exhaled, a thin plume of smoke that vanished in a halo around his head. "This is your chance."

Howie picked at his cuticles. "I might not turn back, you know."

"Don't you want to?"

"I, um." Howie shook his head. "Yeah, I mean. Sure, I miss it."

"But you'll miss Chris." AJ offered him the cigarette and was surprised when Howie accepted and took a practiced drag. "You're gonna change back, Howie."

"I know."

"Is he still worth it?"

Howie took another hit off the cigarette and passed it back to AJ. He exhaled slowly, concentrating on the narrow column of smoke that swirled up toward the ceiling. To AJ, he looked less thoughtful, and more like he were already in mourning.

"We'll see," Howie said, finally.

Howie went to Chicago, got a hotel room and didn't spend a single night in it. He stayed with Chris, hanging out and watching whatever was on Pay-Per-View, ordering room service that they hardly touched, and had sex for hours. Howie thought he might as well have not packed at all, and said as much to Chris, after they'd had sex the third time.

"No kidding," he said, rolling over and pinching Howie's toes with his longer ones. "You came in with that bag and I was like, 'Dude, did I forget to say that clothes were optional this week?'."

Howie giggled. "Should we have a ceremonial burning by the lakeside?" he asked, picking at the coarse hair sprinkled across his chest. "Or is arson not on our to-do list?"

"Forgive me for the cheese," Chris said. "But the only thing on my to-do list is you, okay?"

"Oh, the fromage," Howie groaned. "Wait, I need crackers, and wine."

Chris laughed, slid a hand up over Howie's bare back and pulled him closer for a kiss. Howie rolled over, pulling Chris over him and sucking his tongue into his mouth.

"Come to the show tonight?" Chris asked, licking at Howie's lips. "The other guys think I made you up in my head, or something, so. I want to show you - ahh! - off."

Chris gasped because Howie's hands had slipped beneath the covers, and his legs. "I don't know," he mumbled, squeezing gently. "I think I should just hang out here. I'd be in the way, and stuff."

"You wouldn't be in the way," Chris said, inhaling sharply at the motion of Howie's hands. "Please?"

Howie avoided the question by shimmying down Chris' body and swallowing him deep, but later, when they were both showered and dressed and making out on the couch while waiting for security to come and fetch Chris for soundcheck, he asked again.

"Come to the show," Chris whined, and when a large black man arrived Chris tugged Howie into the hall with them, and he had no choice but to follow them downstairs into the lobby. A shriek went up, and suddenly they were bathed in flashbulbs. Howie gripped Chris' hand without thinking, but Chris only squeezed back.

"Relax," he whispered. "You should be used to this." He let go of his hand long enough to sign a couple of autographs and grab some outstretched fingers, before taking Howie's arm and running with him toward the courtesy van. They jumped in, sank into the plush seats and sighed with relief when the door shut, and the screams were silenced.

"Yo, man," said Joey, who Howie realized was sitting behind them, with Lance and a woman who he realized with horror was Theresa. Her eyes registered the same shock, and he waited for her to explode, but mercifully she remained quiet, her mouth drawn into a cold, thin line.

"Is this her?" Lance asked, excitedly, pointing at Howie. Nodding, Chris draped an arm around Howie's neck and beamed at his groupmates.

"This is her," he said. "See? Told you, she exists."

"She's hot," Joey said, smiling over at him. "Hi, nice to finally meet you." He held out his hand and Howie shook it, amused by how much bigger Joey's hand seemed around his, now.

"Same here," said Howie, leaning against Chris when the van took a sharp left turn. "Um. Hope you don't mind me hanging out."

Theresa snorted. "You'll be fine, DORA," she said, pointedly, and Howie swallowed, and said nothing for the rest of the way to the stadium. Joey, Chris and Lance were talking a mile-a-minute anyway, and Theresa was now muttering incoherently into a cell phone, so it didn't really matter that he was quiet. No one noticed, or so he thought.

Then Chris' hand found his in the darkness between their seats, and squeezed. He gripped back.

Theresa cornered him in the Toy Room while Chris was onstage for a soundcheck meet-and-greet.

"What are you doing, Dorough?"

"Nothing," Howie said. Theresa was circling him like a hyena, and he thought that if he could see the hair on the back of her neck, it would probably be raised like hackles. "I'm not doing anything, okay? I'm just here as a, um. Guest."

"You're fucking Kirkpatrick," she snapped. "And you're going to make my job a living nightmare. It's not like I don't ALREADY have enough trouble with Lance wanting to blow everybody in Hollywood, or Fatone's wonder sperm, or Chasez and his complete inability to coordinate an outfit without a fucking intervention-"

Howie snorted. "So, what do you have against Chris having a transgendered girlfriend?" he asked, batting his eyes innocently. Theresa glowered.

"Right now? Nothing. 'Cause you're all girl, and that's good, and we'll just let everybody think that, okay? But when you turn back into a boy, and my Chris gets his heart broken AGAIN..." She trailed off into vague four-letter words and mutterings, and Howie sighed.

"Save it, Theresa," he said, quietly. "I mean, what could you possibly do to hurt me more than I'm going to hurt myself?"

When he looked at her it was with naked pain in his eyes, and she backed off, literally crossing the room and leaning against the arm of a chair with a grumpy look on her face, softened by maybe an ounce of sympathy. The door swung suddenly open, then, and Chris strolled in, whistling.

"Hey, Beautiful," he said, sidling up to Howie and planting a kiss on his lips. "Wanna grab something to eat in Catering? I hear they make a mean grilled cheese. I'll even buy you a Coke."

"Hm," said Howie, and he let him take his hand. It was then that Chris noticed Theresa simmering in the background. "What's with her?" he asked, and when Theresa looked up Howie was at once frozen by the fear that she might say something.

"Timberlake," she said, through clenched teeth. "He, you know." She went for the door. "I have to go and, um. Yeah."

It was the quickest exit she could have made, and Howie was grateful. He caught her eye before she shut the door, and she gave him a look that said, quite plainly, "You owe me SO big, Dorough, that I'm going to make you do my laundry for a fucking year."

Howie smiled up at Chris, kissed him behind the ear, and made a mental note to buy Downy in bulk the next time he was out shopping.

"Howie has a boy-friend," Nick said, in a sing-song voice. Another bouquet of flowers had arrived, addressed to "Beautiful," and Howie set them on top of the TV in the dressing room. He shot Nick a pained look.

"Shut up, dickhead," he said, fingering the petals of a bright yellow sunflower. "You're just jealous."

Nick snorted. "Jealous? You're dating the old, weird one."

"He's cute, shut up."

"Justin is cute," Kevin said, with the dry tone of a history teacher. "Lance is even cute, in a butch sort of way. And JC-"

"-is positively dreamy," sighed Nick, draping himself over the arm of the sofa. He batted his eyes at Howie. "He'd write you a pretty song, instead of sending you dead weeds."

"Fuck OFF, Carter," Howie said, but he was giggling because Nick had started wailing 'Space Cowboy,' and thumping his pelvis against the sofa cushions. "You're retarded."

"Howie has a boy-friend," Nick sang again, and he reached up and tickled his chin. "Howie's dating the Hob-bit."

"Stop!" Howie cried. "Okay, enough. He's not the Hobbit, he's taller than me."

Kevin giggled. "God, imagine if you two could breed," he said. "You'd have little pixie babies. They'd probably have wings."

Nick fell off the couch, laughing hysterically. "Wings!" he gasped. "And pointy little ears!"

"Fuckers." Howie tried to look menacing, but it didn't last long, and he giggled. He didn't mind the teasing, because it felt kind of good, to have their attention focused on something else about him, for the first time in months. They weren't talking about the show, either, and that was nice because it was still a sore subject, with Howie, that he couldn't perform with them anymore.

Chris was a great distraction from that. He called every night, and they talked for hours about stupid shit no one else cared about. Like whatever Jon Stewart had talked about on the Daily Show, or how Joey's daughter had spit up all over Justin's costume the other day, sending wardrobe into a panic. Howie liked to let Chris talk, because the way he told stories put pictures in his head, and it was like dreaming while you were still awake.

Sometimes, if it were really late and they were both tired, they'd have half-assed phone sex that usually dissolved into off-key renditions of 'Digital Getdown,' and hysterical laughter.

He sent presents, as well, from wherever they happened to be. Cheesy tourist souvenirs, like ships in bottles and little vials of sand labeled "Beach Front Property," and backscratchers shaped like Elvis. Once a big box arrived full of FuMan Skeeto clothes from the spring line, dresses and jeans and t-shirts emblazoned with the kanji logo.

"Dani picked out some of them," said the note. "Because I suck, and have no idea what a girl wants. Some fashion guru, huh?"

He wore one of the green t-shirts Chris had picked out the next time he went to see him, in San Francisco.

"That looks so good on you," he said, picking him up and swinging him around in the hotel lobby. "I missed you."

"Missed you, too," Howie said, burying his face in his neck and breathing in, deeply. He tried to memorize Chris' smell. Just in case.

It was like waiting for a bomb to go off, he thought sometimes. He wondered if he'd have any kind of warning, before he changed back. Considering he hadn't before, he doubted it, and that made him cling just a little harder to Chris, hug him a little more tightly, kiss him for that extra second longer. Every moment counted, and one night Chris seemed to understand that, because he surprised Howie with their first, real date ever.

"Dinner," he said, shaving while Howie showered. "Then we're going to go see Moulin Rouge because JC won't shut the fuck up about it. Then I thought we'd come back here and, you know. Play chess."

"Naked chess?" Howie giggled, scrubbing shampoo into his hair.

"Pervert," Chris replied. "Here I want to do something intellectually stimulating, and all you ever want to do is fuck me."

Howie couldn't answer until he'd rinsed. "That could be intellectually stimulating, though," he said, reaching for the conditioner. "Like, if I gave you a blowjob? You could ponder higher number theory, or something."

Chris laughed, and the sound ricocheted off the tiled bathroom walls. "Honey, during your blowjobs I'm lucky if I can remember to blink."

"But we'll never get into Mensa that way," chirped Howie. He shut the water off and pushed the shower curtain aside. "Towel me, boy."

Chris turned and leered at Howie's wet, naked form. "I'll towel you when I'm good and ready, wench," he said, sliding an arm around Howie's waist and lifting him out of the tub. He kissed him, tasting like toothpaste and Listerine. "You smell like almonds."

"I like to hang around nuts." Howie poked him in the nose. "Lemme go, our reservations are at eight, aren't they?"

"They can wait," Chris growled, pinning Howie against the bathroom door and biting at his neck. "How about a nice game of chess?"

"I'm hungry," Howie said, reaching for the popcorn box in Chris' lap. "Fuck you, for making us miss our reservations. Couldn't we have at least stopped at McDonald's on the way here?"

"It's been forever since I've had McD's," Chris replied, a little wistfully. "And get your own popcorn!" He yanked the box away, spilling a few kernels on the person beside them. "Um. Sorry."

"Give me that," Howie said, and he took the box away. "I can't take you anywhere, fuckin' retard."

"Such a dirty mouth." Chris leaned across the seat and kissed him. "You're a dirty girl."

"With a dirty boyfriend," Howie said, and he felt instantly a little embarrassed. "Um."

"Shh," Chris said, looping an arm across Howie's shoulders. "Movie's starting." He pulled him closer, until he was practically in his lap. Howie could feel Chris' breath against his hair, so hypnotizing that he almost missed the first few minutes of the movie, concentrating on it.

It happened during the scene on the elephant rooftop, when Christian is trying to convince Satine that they could be lovers. Howie giggled when Ewan started singing a line from U2's "Pride."

"Who knew Obi-Wan could sing?" he whispered. Chris looked at him, and smiled.

"I love you," he replied.

"You're quiet," Chris said, as they walked out of the theatre. He held Howie's hand, squeezing when he didn't answer. "Hey, Beautiful?"

"What? Oh. Hi," Howie smiled, sheepishly. "I kind of spaced out there, for a second."

Chris let go of his hand and put his arm around him, pushing the door open and stepping out into the chilly evening air. "You okay?" he asked.

In one swift motion Howie turned Chris around and pulled him down for a heart-stopping kiss. When he let go, Chris licked the wetness from the corner of his lips and staggered back, a little. He was panting, and he had a lopsided grin on his face.

"What was THAT for?" he asked, looking around. People were staring.

"Just because," Howie replied, smiling without mirth. "I just wanted to, you know. Kiss you, where everybody could see." He looked down at the ground, kicked pebbles with the toe of his shoe. "In case, you know. I never got the chance to, again."

Chris frowned. "That's kind of, y'know." He reached for Howie's hand. "Morbid?"

"Maybe," Howie said, looking into Chris' eyes and seeing himself in the browns and grays, there. "I was making sure you were really, y'know. Here. With me."

"Okay..."

"Chris?"

"Hm?"

"I love you, too."

Three days later, somewhere in Ohio, Howie turned back into a boy.

He was dozing in the bathtub when his body suddenly felt like it had gone numb, a thousand little pin-pricks on the surface of his skin. When he opened his eyes his hips were gone, his chest flat with a light dusting of hair, and the usual male plumbing protruding from between his thighs. He exhaled, slowly. He thought of Chris.

He'd never gotten a chance to say goodbye.

The first person he called was AJ, because it was only fair. He came in looking solemn and appraising, looking Howie up and down once, as he stood at the window in nothing but a towel. "Welcome back," AJ said, touching his shoulder lightly, but Howie didn't respond. He stared at the city. He wanted to cry.

His girl-clothes were packed up, some sent to his sister but most of it donated to a women's shelter. He kept a couple of the FuMan shirts, though he could never wear them again. They were the ones Chris said he'd picked out of the showroom himself.

"The green," he'd said, when Howie modeled them for him. "Makes your eyes all sparkly."

Howie put them in a shoebox, lined with tissue paper, along with the ticket stubs from their movie dates, and his Pop Odyssey pass. He taped it shut and shipped it back to his apartment in Florida, hoping his brother didn't get nosy about the note attached that said to put it, unopened, under the bed.

It was weird being a boy again because he'd suddenly become a Backstreet Boy, as well, and had to go out on stage a few nights later. He still remembered all the routines and the words to the songs, and the apeshit roar of the crowd when they realized he was back made his ego about three sizes bigger. It didn't take long for him to fall back into the same concert-induced giddiness, and forget about stuff for a couple of hours.

It was afterwards, though, when he sat in the dressing room in a white robe, listening to the other guys cuss and burp and fart, and talk about this girl's cleavage and that one's ass, that he felt alien. Even before, when he was a gay man among straight ones, he was still able to join in, substituting guys for girls and maybe cutting down on the bodily functions aspect of it. Now though, his heart just wasn't in it, anymore, because it was pretty much broken.

"Dude," AJ said, one night, sitting down next to him and rubbing his damp hair with a towel. "You've got to lighten up, man. I mean, it's back to normal, y'know? You gotta just, like. I don't know, forget about it maybe?"

Howie just shook his head. "It's not that easy," he said, softly, and he hoped AJ would understand, somehow, without him having to explain that he wasn't just mourning the loss of one person, but two.

"You miss her?"

"You could say that," he replied "Yeah, a little."

AJ nodded, and dropped his voice to barely a whisper. "You miss him?"

Howie turned and folded himself against AJ, buried his face in his neck with a long, shuddering sigh.

"Like a son of a bitch," he said. He started to cry, and AJ stroked his back and let him.

Chris tried calling, but Howie canceled his cell phone and got a new one. He didn't go out after shows, not because he didn't feel like it but because he didn't trust Chris not to just show up at whatever club the guys had decided on. He stuck to the venues and the hotel, keeping a low profile until the tour finally ended, and he could go home.

His apartment was pretty much as he'd left it, though his brother had seemed to eat him out of house and home. He went shopping, stocked up the pantry and the fridge, and bought a few DVDs of movies he had missed while on the road, along with a couple that he'd seen with Chris and liked. He thought it might be nice to just remember.

It wasn't the best idea, because by the middle of the first one he was sobbing uncontrollably, at a comedy. He turned it off and watched his fish tank until the pain in his chest turned to a dull ache that would probably allow him to take a nap. It was the middle of the afternoon, and Howie'd had a full eight hours' rest the night before, and he was exhausted.

He hadn't done laundry, yet, so he stripped down and got into bed naked. Howie lay there for almost half an hour, watching sun and shadow dance across the ceiling. He shifted from one side to the other, kicked his legs out and curled them back in. He tucked a pillow under his head, then a second.

A moment later, he sat up and swore.

"Fuck," he said, and he got up. He went for his duffel bag, yanked something out of it, put it on and got back into bed. He closed his eyes and breathed in, deeply.

AJ found him a few hours later, having let himself in so he could check on him. Howie was sprawled across his bed, fast asleep and wearing one of Chris' t-shirts.

AJ took him jet skiing that weekend, just the two of them, but after a nasty fall Howie decided to take it easy and just watch the people on the water. He lay in the shade of a nearby tree, a book in his hand that he wasn't reading. He watched the sun flicker across the water and thought of the oceanic expanse of Lake Michigan.

"Hey," said a voice, and Howie looked up. Chris stood over him, hands tucked into his jeans and sunglasses shielding his eyes. He had a big box tucked under one arm. "Mind if I sit?"

Howie's voice was caught in his throat. "Um, sure," he said, and he scooted over to make room for Chris in the shade. Chris sank into the grass and leaned back on his hands, the box in his lap. "You guys back, already?" Howie asked, staring at something just beyond Chris' face.

"Yeah," Chris said. "Just got back. Fun, this time. We'll probably go back out in the fall." He nodded at Howie. "You guys?"

"Probably the same." Howie eyed Chris, warily. "Been a while, since I've seen you," he lied.

"Hmm." Chris nodded, vaguely. "Not that long."

"Long enough," Howie said. "What's up?"

"Um. I brought you something," Chris said, thrusting the box at him before he could say anything. "I saw it in the showroom and, uh. Y'know, I thought it might suit you."

Howie opened the box with shaky hands. Inside was a FuMan Skeeto shirt, with letters that looked like the kind on a ransom note. It was from the men's line, and it was forest green. He lifted it out and held it up. "It's really cool," he said, hoarsely.

"Good," Chris said. He wasn't looking at Howie, but picking at grass blades and pinching them between his fingers. "The green, you know. Makes your eyes sparkly."

"Um," Howie said, dropping the shirt and staring at Chris. He looked up, then, and he saw that Chris' eyes were round, watery and very, very black. "Um -"

Chris reached out and touched his knee, lightly. "Hey, Beautiful," he whispered, and Howie flinched.

"You knew," he said, in a flat voice. Chris nodded. "God, Chris. How-"

He snorted. "Kevin called Lance looking for Theresa, about the same time you 'went to Puerto Rico'," Chris said, sarcastically, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers. "So I knew that something was up, 'cause. Theresa's the fucking best at covering shit up."

"Yeah, um-"

"And these," Chris said, and he reached up and stroked the skin just under Howie's eyes, with his thumbs. "I wasn't sure, until I got you into the light, and I could see your eyes." He ran a finger down Howie's cheek. "They don't hide nothing, man. I could, like, see right into to you." His voice became so soft it was almost lost on the breeze. "I knew you were in there, the whole time."

"Goddamn it," Howie bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Chris-"

"How-"

"-I just, like. I saw a chance, you know? You liked me because I was a girl, and it was, like, my only shot at it, and I've liked you for-fucking-ever, and. Um, it wasn't fair."

Chris grabbed one of his hands, but Howie pulled away. "So that's it?" he demanded. "You'll just, you know. Fuck off and leave me because you're not a girl anymore?"

"You'd want me like this?" Howie said, gesturing toward himself. "I'm a guy, Chris, and you're not, um." He blinked. "Are you?"

"I'm in love, is what I am," Chris stated, firmly. "Gay, bi, what-the-fuck-ever. I fell hard for you, asshole, and I can't let some little thing like a dick get in the way."

Howie smirked. "Ain't no little thing, Kirkpatrick," he said, softly. "It's quite a big deal, to me."

"You can't be with me 'cause you're a guy?" Chris made a face. "If it weren't for Lance you'd be the biggest fairy of us all, Howard, so don't give me that shit."

Howie sighed and got to his feet. "I just. You know why, Chris," he said. "Same reason I never tried with you before. How in the world would - could! - we do it?"

Chris frowned. "Do you love me?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter-"

"Do you, though?" Chris' voice rose, slightly pleading. "Love me? You said you did. Did you mean it?"

Howie turned away and stared at the lake for a long time. "Yeah," he said, finally. "I did."

"I miss you."

"You miss her."

"If you had come to me as a boy, I would miss him, too," Chris said. "I miss YOU, and your laugh and your bad taste in music and your unhealthy attachment to hot sauce."

Chris reached out and took his hand, held it pressed between both of his. "None of that's gone just because your outside's different," he said. "You always had all that stuff, and other stuff that I liked. You just, y'know."

"Then why didn't we hook up before?" Howie asked. "Before all the girl shit happened?"

Chris shrugged. "No clue. Maybe we just needed something, like, get us together long enough to figure out that we could, y'know. Work out, survive anything?"

"Maybe," Howie said.

He looked down at their hands together. A perfect fit.

"I don't have bad taste in music," he mumbled. Chris grinned.

"What about Jon Secada?" he asked.

"Fuck you." Howie smiled. "You have Neil Diamond albums."

Laughing, Chris pulled him back down into the grass and they sat together, stretched out in the shade and keeping their entwined fingers hidden between them.

"You were pretty cute, though," Chris said, after a while. "For a girl."

"Yeah?" Howie sighed and watched AJ race across the surface of the water, after a bikini-clad girl on water-skis. "Not anymore, huh?"

Chris gripped his hand, tightly, then leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth, right there in public. "No," he said. "But you'll always be Beautiful to me."

Howie smiled.

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