**author's note**
okay, so i've read and written stories about the guys dealing with their stardom. a great many of them seem so heavy, one of them is depressed or jaded, they don't understand us as fans. i would like to think that none of that is true so that's why i wrote this story, to show the other side of hte fame, the side i hope they're enjoying.
pEaCe AnD lOvE...lucie

.he.had.no.regrets.

He listened to the screams carefully, trying to decipher each girl's voice. He vaguely heard Taylor talking through the ear monitors something about "Gimme Some Lovin", it didn't really matter. He had control now, things were up to him, and right now all that mattered were the girls screaming his name. Then he heard Isaac, they were ready to go. He knew he had to start before he girls went insane from anticipation.

And his fists tightened around his sticks, they were warm and fast in his steady grasp. Those exact sticks were special: his lucky set, he always opened shows with them. He smiled as he realized: those 2 sticks, among so many others, had spent so much time, so many years, tight in his hands. Those sticks were an extension of his body and heart and soul, they were so much a part of his life.

His heart tattooed a distant beat, the rhythm his hands itched to pound out. And his throat ached, it was so tight with anticipation, he could feel the bittersweet words he needed to sing. Still the girls screamed, egging him on yet tempting him to just sit and listen. To bask in their voices and fill himself with their praise. He wanted to listen until he could almost picture each screaming girl, identify her by the sound of her voice. But he wanted to play.

He drew from their energy and counted out a beat, the rhythm that was in their voices and deep in his heart. The song began and the house lights flared, for a moment he could see them. For but a moment they were real to him, more than a sea of hysterical voices, and he wanted to bottle that moment in a bottle that moment and save it for all time. Yet he played on and again, giving the girls what they needed and doing what he loved. And he was happy.

Song after song and set after set he played, never tiring. He drew strength from the girls, as they did from him, the flow was continuous. And the lights went out as their last note rolled from the speakers, now it was done.

Backstage there were girls, all alike but none the same. He greeted and smiled and signed autographs. His tired sweaty hand fell into another girl's frantic clasp. Still he pushed through the exhaustion, no complaints to be heard, the girls were his life his career and his love.

And then there was one last girl about his age, petite and smiling dreams in her eyes. He took her hand, trembling with joy, and smiled again, and she told him her story. He listened with patience, nodding along the way, and he gave her a hug at the end. She smiled and cried faintly but she had to go away, he smiled and sighed, but didn't turn his face. She was nothing special, no different from the crowd, but he'd remember her somehow and he knew she'd always have him.

They boarded the bus and Zac fell asleep, more happy than tired, his heart still pounding that beat. No matter how tough the going seemed to get, each day seeming shorter but longer than the next, his smile never faded, his attitude never fell apart. It mirrored and reflected the joy in his heart. This was they way things were and he had no regrets.