We headed down to the TV room, walking as normally as our subsiding hardons would allow, passing Mr. Curruthers who gave us his "Do I really want to know what you've been up to?" look. We all just smiled cordially back which reassured him enough to know we hadn't committed anything very illegal, so he just carried on pottering around the dorms, making sure everyone was settling in OK and trying to resolve the inevitable "this is MY locker" style disputes.

We went into the TV room where the lights had been dimmed to find (unsurprisingly) that there was not a great amount on TV. "Try Channel Five," someone yelled to David Pantall, our House Captain, who was lounging in a knackered old recliner, remote balanced precariously on the arm. He jabbed the '5' key - nothing happened. He pulled the back off the remote and rolled the batteries around until they were "just so" then, lifting the contraption carefully with his left hand covering the battery compartment so as not to upset his hard work, gently massaged the button for the second time. Astonishingly the TV responded and leapt to channel five, displaying their gordy logo as they linked between programmes. Dave smiled smugly as, so far, everyone else in the house simply couldn't get the damned remote to work. As a consequence they had to get up to use the TV's manual controls and as soon as they did, promptly lost their seat.

In the mean time, Triv displaced three third formers from the two- seater couch and motioned for us all to sit down before some other gannet-eyed opportunist nicked them. We all squeezed on, me yelping as I managed to sit on my keys. The third formers seemed to buzz around like flies that'd just been wafted from a loaf of bread, circling and landing as close to their original positions as they could, namely the arms and sides of the sofa. On Five was one of their few home-brewed programmes, namely one that was supposed to compete with ITV's "Movies, Games and Videos" and the BBC's "The O-Zone". No chance. However as there was naff-all else to do (it was dark, cold and wet outside - something UK residents get quite accustomed to...) we reasoned we may as well watch it. It was hosted by this complete tosser who thought he was THE best host in the world as well as being unbearably attractive to the opposite sex. No such luck, mate. However, when he wasn't on screen, it proved to be relatively entertaining, them going over some of the more popular songs over the last year.

It proved to be even more interesting when Hanson was mentioned as being responsible for the most irritating / memorable / enjoyable song with MMMBop, last year it going to No Mercy with "Where Do You Go". As the video started to play Tay, who'd dropped off to sleep, suddenly woke up, eyes straining to focus on the TV.

"Man, I thought they'd stopped runnin' this thing like months ago! And I look so YOUNG there..."

He was right - I'd never had the chance to compare them before and hadn't really thought there was a difference. Now I could see Tay had filled out quite a bit since they made the Vid - most noticeably in his facial proportions and his shoulders.

The door to the TV room was at the opposite end to the TV itself and this, combined with the dim lighting, meant we'd entered practically un-noticed.

"What d'you mean 'I look so young'..." asked Dave, swiveling round in his recliner to face Tay. "Fuck me! Somebody hit the lights!"

As the lights were wound up, the look of disbelief on Dave's face could now be seen. "I do not belieeeeve it," he said, doing a rather kacky impression of Victor Meldrew from One Foot In The Grave. "A superstar in my house! How come I never get told these things? Pleased to meet you, Taylor! Taylor Hanson, meet the rest of the House..."

"Uh, hi..." said Tay, turning a quite impressive shade of crimson. Despite him being able to play infront of thousands of people, he was still one of the shyest people I knew, but as far as I was concerned, that just made him all the more sexy...

Of the fifteen or so people in the room, about nine looked mildly shocked, two seemed to fall into instant lust and the remaining four did their "hard bastard don't give a shit" response. Being the sort of school we are, we've had the Sultan of Brunei's nephew, and the son of the Pakistani Coca Cola bottling company (Pakola, for those who don't know) but never someone so openly in the media spotlight: you never saw the other two on TV at least every week, if at all. As such after the usual whys and wherefores involved with a notable person "gracing us with their presence", Tay was accepted as just another new face, with one exception.

"Stay there," yelled one of the third formers, of whom I knew fairly little except that he was called Jason Arnold and was a Hanson fan. Now, I'm the first to admit that Hanson's music is top rate, but its Hanson the people I like, not just Hanson the music. Jason was a Hanson the Merchandise sort of person - if it had Hanson on it in any way, shape or form, he had it. Mugs, T-shirts, all their albums and singles (CD and cassette, of course), key rings, posters, you name it. Thankfully, he'd only brought a small selection with him this term and all that, as well as him, came bursting through the TV room door a moment later much to the amusement of his peers.

"Uh, Taylor, d'you think I could have your autograph?"

"I didn't even know half of this stuff'd been made!" exclaimed Tay, rather taken aback at the range of mugs, T-shirts and other paraphernalia that'd been chucked on his lap. Jason chucked him a marker. "My name's Jason - could you start with Middle of Nowhere?"

"You just sign one thing," interrupted Dave, all house captain-like. "Jason, you'll have plenty of time to harass Taylor over the next couple of weeks, OK? If he gives you any problems, Tay, I'm sure Dean and Triv can give you a hand putting him right..."

Jason looked at me, immediately jumping to the typical "long hair / ripped jeans" stereotype and then looked at Triv, and jumped to the "buzz-cut / dog tags" stereotype (which in Triv's case was spot on) and decided not to argue, tactfully removing the strewn Hanson merchandise from our laps. Tay held on to the CD though and signed the inlay booklet:

"To Jason - the most obsessed fan on the planet! Taylor"

"There you go," he said, handing back the CD and marker.

"Wow, thanks!" said Jason, grinning from ear to ear.

After this small amount of comic relief, Tay decided to go to bed he was "beat" from the flight. Not wanting to be too clingy, I said I'd be down here watching the end of the programme.

Watching the end of the programme soon turned into the inevitable "So what did you get up to over the holidays?" routine between everyone. As usual, the responses were as diverse as ever from a "quiet family Christmas" through to surfing in Australia. All right for some, I suppose...

By the time we'd finished swapping anecdotes, the Fourth Form bedtime of 9:45 had rolled round, and Triv, Ash (who'd turned up looking suitably relieved) myself and the other fourth formers were packed off to bed by Dave. We brushed our teeth and went up to the dorm, finding the lights out. Not wanting to disturb the sleeping beauties, as Ash put it (he didn't know how right he was) we got changed by the pale light of Ash's new toy - one of those American police style MagLites - and got into bed.

My face was immersed in the eerie blue pool of light created by my IndiGlow watch. 11:47PM. I breathed out hard, turning over for the umpteenth time in a desperate attempt to go to sleep, the sounds of deep, regular breathing all round me making me envious. I wished Tay was awake to keep me company...

I shuffled around again so I was lying on my back, my eyes focusing on the invisible ceiling above me. The almost psychedelic pale reds and blues of nothingness danced infont of me as I squeezed my eyelids tightly closed, swirling into complete blackness as I let them drift open again.

Getting bored with the vague amusement this sense was providing, I turned to my hearing, listening in great detail to the sounds of unconsciousness my friends were providing. As I listened, I tried to match a breathing sound to a person, swiveling my head around to allow my audio centers a better chance of triangulating their positions.

I could hear three distinct rhythms, bar my own. Jamie's seemed faster than the others, ending in a slight snore each time he breathed in. Triv's was easy to distinguish as it was the only one four feet above the others, and Ash's seemed slightly odd to me as he'd breathe in very deeply and slowly, pause for a second and then exhale quickly and noisily, pausing for a further couple of seconds before repeating it again.

Tay's steady, quiet sound that I'd come to know quite well over weeks past was missing, however. Straining my eyes I looked over at him, the minute amount of light that was allowed in by the thick curtains from the streetlamps outside allowing me to vaguely make out the elegant curves created by his hips and waist as he lay on his side.

Looking out of the corner of my eyes (the periphery of your vision is far more sensitive to contrast and movement than the centre) I could make out the rise and fall of his chest, but it was too quick and controlled for sleep. I dismissed it and rolled over again, this time taking my aggression out on my pillow by giving it a damn good thrashing, trying to persuade the thin layer of artificial filling to provide some support.

"Dean, you awake?" whispered Tay.

"How d'you guess?"

"I can't sleep either. I'm tired but I guess my body's still on US time..."

"I can never sleep first night back. Just one of those quirks I have."

We fell quiet for a minute.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm lonely..."

That was all the invitation I needed. I threw back my duvet and slid under Tay's, letting my arm run over his T-shirt clad chest. I snuggled up close to him, our bodies molding together as if one and it felt so right. I leant over and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"Love you,"

"I love you too," he said, turning his head to face me. We kissed gently on the lips and both started to fall into the sleep we'd been searching for all evening, secure in each other's closeness.


On to Chapter Five

Back to Chapter Three

Chapter Index

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The Exchange is © 1999 by Dean Lidster. This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

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