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Real
Clay Aiken/Rickey Smith, PG-13


Rickey wondered what it was like to feel really and truly loved.

The thought crossed his mind, and he immediately regretted it. Something about the tour had turned him into a big drama queen, and he hated every minute of it. He was normally pretty happy-go-lucky, satisfied to go with the flow, roll with life's punches, laugh off any problems that threatened to pull him down. But lately, that just wasn't working.

When he was on stage, things were generally okay. The crowds filled him with a buzzing energy that made his hands shake but his voice steady, and he slid and strutted across the stage like a pro. He felt in control and confident, and - dare he say it? - even sexy. It thrilled him to walk to the front of the stage and reach out his hand to the front row, small and sweaty hands touching and sliding against his. He felt like a star, and his voice rang out all the clearer for this knowledge.

But when he was done and he finally headed backstage, the buzz would slowly fade and he'd be left feeling slightly off-kilter and very much alone. There were usually a few quick smiles and rushed "Good job!"s whispered in his ear, but every night they began to feel less sincere and more routine. And just when he'd open his mouth to excitedly talk about the crowd, discuss whether their reaction seemed more or less favorable than the last city, he'd turn around to see that everyone had run off.

Like every other night, he'd shrug slowly, then walk off to his dressing room.

But that night, his usual solace was interrupted. He was quietly reading (just a magazine, he could never concentrate long enough to get into an actual book) when he heard the door slowly open. He looked up, putting the magazine down. Clay stood in the doorway, wiping sweat off of his forehead.

"Hey, can I come in?"

"Sure!" Rickey waved him in, patting the chair beside him. Clay walked in, shutting the door, and sat down. "What's going on?"

Clay shrugged. "Got too loud out there - figured I'd follow your lead, find some quiet." He laughed lightly. "You know Caldwell, she never shuts up."

Rickey laughed. "Isn't that the truth?" He chuckled for a moment longer, then fell silent.

Clay turned toward Rickey suddenly, grabbing both of his hands. "That's not the only reason I'm here."

Rickey was slightly taken aback. "What do you mean?"

Clay looked down at Rickey's hands, then looked up to meet his eyes. His voice dropped to a low whisper. "I know what it's like."

Rickey lowered his eyebrows, and turned away. "That's bullshit, Clay. Everyone's in love with you."

Clay gave an exasperated sigh. "It's...they're not in love with me. They're in love with...I don't even know who. But it's not real." He pursed his lips, then closed his eyes. "It's not real."

Rickey was silent for a moment, then squeezed Clay's hands. "Come here." He pulled Clay to him and hugged him tightly. Clay wrapped his arms around Rickey, rubbing his back.

After a few seconds, Rickey pulled back with a small smile. "Thanks, Clay."

Clay nodded, then patted Rickey's knee. He stood up and walked over to the door.

"Hey, Clay?"

Clay turned around. "Yeah?"

Rickey paused. "It's good to know I'm not alone."

Clay smiled. "You're never alone." He walked out of the room, closing the door with a quiet click.

Rickey sat for a long time, staring down at the open magazine.

---

The concert was almost over. They all emerged back on stage for the cavity-inducing finale of "God Bless America," teeth gritted inside their humbly patriotic smiles. Rickey stood beside Kimberly, laughing to see that she had already changed into her pajamas, loose flannel pants dragging over her flip-flops. She grinned at him, then turned to the audience, waving sporadically.

Rickey took a deep breath and sang loudly, squinting as the red, white and blue lights washed over him and spun slowly around the stage. And when he could finally open his eyes all the way, he saw that Clay had made his way across the stage to stand beside him.

Clay looked at Rickey and beamed, slipping an arm around his waist. Rickey reciprocated, pulling Clay close. Clay leaned forward until their foreheads touched, and Rickey closed his eyes for a moment, forgetting the song and feeling only the soft heat of Clay's body so near to his. Clay pulled away slightly as the song finished, looking out at the audience and making eye contact with a few breathless girls in the front row. Finally the applause began to fade, and they all turned to head backstage.

Clay pulled his arm away from Rickey's back, then reached down to take his hand, entwining their fingers.

Rickey looked at Clay and laughed softly, drawing close. "This is real," he whispered in Clay's ear.

As they rounded the corner out of sight of the audience, Clay turned his head and gently kissed Rickey. "I know it is."




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