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A.N.: Here's more y'all! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Only own story idea. Kevin, & A.J. own themselves, as does the rest of BSB. Thank-you.

Dedication: sweet18_2003



Kevin’s view:

I watch as A.J. starts to look slightly uncomfortable, and wonder if he feels that for some other reason than being caught. I try not to laugh as he nervously shifts from one foot to the other, and picks at his fingers. I know from experience over the past few months we’ve been together that those are his nervous habits.

“Do you care to explain why you went in my room?” I question.

“Not really,” he answers, as if almost unsure of himself.

Now, there’s a first. A.J. unsure of himself. I never thought I’d see the day where that kid wasn’t sure of himself. He’s always been the spontaneous, almost rebellious one with a big heart.

“Fine,” I say. “Then do you care to explain why you took my shaving cream and razor?”

He looks down then, absolutely silent, and shakes his head.

Okay. Something’s definitely up. A.J. is never quiet! Ever! Him, Nick, and my cousin, Brian, are the noisiest of us five. Howie, the second oldest, and I are the quiet ones, only goofing off when we feel necessary.

“Is something wrong Alex?” I asked, now concerned.

I watch him shake his head. It’s then that I see a lone tear fall to the floor.

A.J.? Crying? Now, that alone in itself is really weird. The kid never cries, not even when homesick (partially because his Mom’s with us most the time) and makes fun of Nick when he cries.

“Alex,” I repeat softly, lifting his chin up with my hand. “What’s wrong Buddy?”

Instead of answering my question, he flings himself at me and hugs me tightly. Yet another shocker coming from crazy Alexander James McLean. I swear, if I didn’t know any better, at this very moment, I’d think he were a mere six-year-old child.

I hug him in return and rub his back to try and comfort him. Obviously something’s bothering him if he’s this upset. I happen to look over his shoulder and spot my razor floating around in the toilet (actually, it mostly sunk, but you know what I mean). It dawned on me then, just what the problem might be, seeing as he’s still going through the whole puberty thing.

I pull back a little to look at him. “Bud,” I begin. “Do you know how to shave?”

He looks at me with miserable, ashamed eyes, and shakes his head, fresh tears slowly sneaking up on him.

“Didn’t you ever ask someone how?” I query. “Your Grandfather or an Uncle or someone?”

Now, if you’re wondering why I never said ‘father’, it’s because his parents divorced when he was four, and he hasn’t heard from the man since. I know well enough that by mentioning his father, he probably would’ve became even more upset than he already was.

“I never needed to before now,” he answers quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring at the floor.

“Well, the first rule is, the razor doesn’t go in the toilet,” I chuckle.

I see him glance at the toilet, and look sheepish a moment, before letting out a nervous laugh.