He eyes himself in the mirror, pulling at a few errant spikes that refused to stay put on top of his head. Running his hands in the sink, he tries again, hoping a little moisture would help. Sighing in frustration, he pulls out his Ray-Bans, slipping them on before glaring at his reflection again.

He looks at his watch, cursing late flights before exiting the restroom and walking out into the terminal. People brush passed him, too caught up in their own thoughts and reasons to even bother with him. He groans as he makes his way against the oncoming flow, ignoring apologies from the ones who got too close and bumped him. It didn't matter, he didn't care.

He stops at a small booth off to the side, purchasing bottled water before trudging onwards. He takes a swig as he nears the far side of the walkway, the point he can't go passed without a ticket and security pass. He sits on one of the uncomfortable plastic seats along the wall, watching the faces coming and going.

He takes another drink, reading the label absent-mindedly when a voice catches his attention. He lifts his gaze to two men walking through the gate, and though one has changed so much, he instantly knows who they are.

Daring not to interrupt them or their conversation, he gets up, falling into step a few paces behind them. Out of curiosity he decides to follow them, to find out if it is really true or not what he sees. They talk only to one another, whispering quietly back and forth before laughing. Their banter is contagious, forcing him to giggle under his breath as well.

Reaching the shops, he hears one almost squeal in delight, hopping and tugging on his companion's sleeve until he gives in. Hearing him sigh deeply, it is hard not to feel at least a tad bit sorry for him.

Following them in, he steps up to a rack of magazines, trying to hide his face in the latest issue of some guitarist's dream mag. For all the world, he was beginning to feel like some member of the paparazzi trying to catch a peek and snap a shot of the two.

He laughs as the taller grumbles about something, waggling a finger under the others nose until the hand is pushed away. The infamous pout comes quickly into play, fake-hurt written in his eyes. The taller shakes his head, rolling his eyes in disgust at the display. They would forever look like the two siblings bickering over every little thing that didn't agree.

Finally paying for their goods, they walk outside, leaving him alone again. Just as he turns to leave, the shop owner shouts at him, asking the familiar 'what do you think you are doing' style questions. Laying a bill on the counter, he takes the mag and marches back into the main walkway.

He finds the two in a little eatery, one drinking coffee while the other nurses a bottle of amber, rolling it slowly in his hands. They look more comfortable that way, unlike the last time he had seen them together. He had seen it fall apart, all of it, and deep inside he was happy that things seemed to be getting on again.

He finds a seat, uncapping his water as he thumbs through his magazine. He stops on a page, snorting in laughter as his own face smiles up at him from behind one of his favorite guitars. An older picture obviously because of the platinum spikes, but still a fond memory none the less.

He scans the article, scratching absently at his goatee before running the hand through his natural dark hair. Turning the page again, he sighs at the image of him along side the two other men he was watching. He shuts it, glancing up as he drinks the last of his water.

As he looks up, he could swear that the one with the alcohol was looking right at him, as if he knew deep in his mind, but couldn't make it surface for him. But as suddenly as the feeling is there, it is gone again, the two deep in a conversation as one digs around in his carryall. Both sets of eyes light up as he pulls a paper from his bag, placing it in the middle of the table.

He growls under his breath as he realizes that he is too far away to see what is on the paper. Getting up, he lets his curiosity take over for him, leading him close enough to see, but not close enough to be seen as anything more than a passerby.

It is nothing more than a sketch of the taller, an absolutely perfect sketch. He sits at a nearby table, ordering another water as he listens to them talk. As time goes by, he begins to feel like he's being let in on something he shouldn't have, stealing a moment from them.

Leaving a tip on the table, he begins to walk away, back towards the gates where he should have been waiting all along. Finding his seat again, he thinks about what time had let him see, two friends finding again what had been lost in one giant mistake. Remembering back, he too had lost something because of it, but his life had gone on as well as he could have expected, no regrets about things that couldn't be changed.

He finds the picture of the three of them again, tracing his fingers over it in thought. He looks back down the hall to where they were last sitting to find them gone again, most likely blissfully lost in banter and memories that could never be broken between them.

Sitting back, he begins to read again, not paying attention to anyone walking by. After a few moments, he hears someone in front of him clearing his throat, demanding attention.

"Ben, where have you been? I've been looking for you for almost an hour!"

He shrugs, closing the magazine and folding it into his back pocket.

"I found some people that I remembered from a while back. Just wanted to see how they were doing..."

"I know you Ben, it was probably just another one of your musical favs that you wanted to follow around. You don't need to lie to me about that..."

"Guess you're right Aaron...Can't put anything passed you, now can I?"

"Nope, never...Once a fan, always a fan, Benny boy..."