Nate Grey knocked on his brother's door repeatedly to no avail. On the other side there was loud music playing coupled with off-key singing. Nathan's never been much of a singer, and he lacked the natural talent. A trait he inherited from his father that neither can live down whenever the conversation comes up.

Giving up, Nate just forces the door over with telekinesis and helps himself inside. "Goddammit Nathan, what're you doing?" Nate had asked aloud but Nathan couldn't hear him. He actually hadn't noticed his older brother enter. The boy was prancing around, using a handheld gun as his make believe microphone.

"Each night I aaa-sk the st-aars up above… why must I be a teen-aager in lo—" Nathan cut himself short once he spun around and saw Nate standing in the doorway. "Dude," Nathan started, giving a bewildered expression. "Doesn't anybody knock in this house?"

Nate crosses his arms. "I did… I was worried about you. I thought I heard screaming."

Nathan promptly turns off the music. "No…" he says. "That was me… singing."

"You can't sing."

Nathan rolled his eyes and put the gun away. "I know."

"So," Nate flew over and planted himself onto Nathan's bed. "Who's the lucky girl?" he asked. Or unlucky for that matter, he said to himself.

"What?" Nathan's face flushed. "Girl? Who did anything about a girl?"

"You're listening to corny love songs from the fifties, there's got to be a girl." Nate presses. He leans back on his elbows, waiting for Nathan's reply.

"There is no girl." Nathan bites back.

"Or—"

"There are girls."

Nate knit his brows together in a frown. "The hell did you just say to me right now?"

"The Stepford Cuckoos." Nathan specifies, as if it makes a difference.

"Emma's girls?" Nate looked sick and briefly panicked. He was going to call out for mom when Nathan stopped him.

"Wait, I know that this sounds bad… but hear me out…" Nathan opens his mouth to explain himself but he didn't have anything valid to say. Unfortunately, Nate caught wind of his thoughts.

"Because they're hot." Nate supplies.

"Yes."

Curse the teenage libido.

"Why them?" Nate asked. "Why all of them?"

Nathan dodges the question and goes about feeding Fishclops. "I don't tell you how to live your life," he defends. "If I did, I'd tell you to put on a shirt."

Slightly offended Nate tugs on his jacket to cover a bit of his bare chest. "That's different. When did this even happen anyway?"

"Well wouldn't you like to know?" Nathan retorts. Not once has he looked at his brother to give a response.

"Uh, yeah," Nate rolled his non-sparkling eye. "That's why I asked." He then proceeded to spit some knowledge. One could tell because he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Look, I get that having five girls is like a wet dream, but you're playing yourself if you say you love all of them. Possibly, even playing them."

"They're a hive mind," Nathan points out. "They're practically the same person."

Even Nate had to flinch at that. "Ouch…. Do you even know them by name?"

Nathan looked hurt and finally turned to meet his brother's gaze. "Sure I do!"

Nate raised his eyebrows, prompting for Nathan to follow through.

"There's… Sophie— the one that Quire used to like, Phoebe, Irma… who likes to be called Mindee… Celeste, and…" Nathan sighed blissfully. "Esme."

"Yo…"

Nathan begins to set his brow in a worried expression.

"I just realized… Their names spell SPICE. They're the Spice Girls." Nate said, causing Nathan to almost facepalm.

"Alright, alright," Nate clucked his tongue. "Do you know which one is which?"

"... Yes."

"That's awfully reassuring."

Nathan threw his hands up in defeat, turning on his heel. "They're quintuplets! They dress the same! What do you want me to do about it?"

"Don't know." Nate shrugged in response. "Save one for me."

Nathan blinks, taken aback. "Um… ew."

"You're ew."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to kick your ass and not feel bad about it." Nate retorts. He flew up from the bed and made his way back to the door.

"What does that even mean?" asked a confused Nathan, trailing Nate with his eyes.

Nate softly shook his head, letting his empty threat drop. "Seriously though, tell Esme how you feel. Seems to me that you really just like her."

Nathan began to nod in understanding. "Wait— have you ever even had a girlfriend before?"

"Sorry bro," Nate winks. "Coach doesn't play the game." He briefly disappeared behind the door frame before poking his head out again. "Also don't tell Jean just yet because she'll freak once she hears you like one of Emma's kids."

Nate disappeared once more, leaving Nathan with his thoughts.

He was right. How was he gonna tell mom?