Fic: When the Music Stops, Part 8/?
Title: When the Music Stops
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Romance
Pairings: Logan/Kendall
Details: Slash, AU
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Adult situations (i.e. smut) at some point, mild angst, swearing
Status: WIP
Word Count: ~5000
Summary: An accident keeps Logan and his parents from moving to Minnesota. When Kendall and Logan meet years later, Kendall hears clear as a bell. Logan doesn't. "Sitting on a speaker instead of a drummer's throne, Logan turns up the bass, pounding out any bitterness he had let fester in his heart. He won't leave himself to rot, not anymore."
Masterlist
-L-
Somehow, Logan makes it through the afternoon with Kendall. How cruel life can be, reminding Logan for the millionth time just how badly he's screwed everything up. It seems he can do nothing but break Kendall's heart, as unintentional as it might be. He's so ashamed that he can't muster the courage to say to Kendall I was that little boy. I hurt you before I even knew you. He does apologize, although Kendall merely takes it as a general one, as someone announcing their sympathy.
As soon as he can, he flees Kendall's presence as though escaping a crime scene.
He has trouble going to sleep, the campus unnaturally still with so few students around for the holidays. He switches on his desk lamp when the dark suffocates him, attempting to cut off one of his few remaining senses. He needs everything in his arsenal to work past this, come to a resolution that he's comfortable with while also coming clean about the secrets he's quickly compiling.
The whole thing, this whole would-be relationship with Kendall has Logan regressing, retreating back to that quiet spot in the recesses of his mind where he's scared and longing and confused. He can't do that, had promised himself once he'd fought his way out he wouldn't let himself go back ever again. He can't do it, to himself or to Kendall.
But how can Logan tell Kendall all he needs to know? Logan forgets himself when Kendall gets close to him, loses all resolve in the curve of a smile.
Logan wishes he could get into one of the practice rooms, solve his problems with the rattle of a snare and boom of the bass drum. This late at night, though, all the practice rooms are locked, so he does the next best thing.
Most musicians use their computers anymore to compose. Logan does on most occasions, the notes and strikes like flurries in his head, but times like these, where he has a huge block to work past, he prefers the use of paper and pencil. Sometimes his thoughts are a droning bassline, sometimes arpeggiated chords, sometimes they are scales that go up and up and up, tapering off at a note so high, Logan thinks no one could hear it.
If only his thoughts were soundwaves and he wouldn't have to say a word to communicate them, wouldn't have to watch Kendall's face fall before realization sets in and the inevitable hate twists his smile into something more like a snarl.
Logan is drawing circles and stems, filling in quarters and hollowing out whole notes. He doesn't know why, but he's bracketed two rows of staves, writing the treble along with the bass. There are these happy eighth notes flitting between chords, and he wonders what lyrics Kendall would write to make this mess of lines a song.
In the space between the staves, the space for the words, the space that Logan always leaves blank, he writes I can't hear you.
Logan crumples the whole thing, tosses it in the garbage. He begins again with a similar formula. Small things, Logan, he thinks. Start small. He does want Kendall to know him, all of him, but Logan is just warming to the idea, finding the way.
He really sucks at talking about himself, giving away pieces of himself that could be used against him.
So in the empty place for lyrics, Logan writes, I started taking drum lessons when I was eleven. My favorite color is green. I used to want to be a doctor. He writes and writes humdrum facts about himself until he has pages full of words embraced and carried by music, deep and steady bass. His ridiculous words are safe and wound within and around what Logan knows best. Once he's written down the small things, he tries something harder, faster tempo, double forte. I didn't have any friends growing up. The other kids made fun of me. I was alone a lot. I never wanted to admit I was missing something.
Logan thought of Kendall too, in the years after his accident, the years he gave in to hopelessness. He ached and yearned for a friend, someone fierce yet compassionate, strong-willed and kind. Someone who didn't hide away when other kids teased him. Logan waited and waited for him, letting himself be walked all over, until he realized no one was coming to save him. That was when Logan decided he didn't need anyone.
He'd never considered the idea that his champion had been waiting on him.
Logan finishes the composition with the most difficult thing of all, the words surrounded by sixteenth notes before the music stops all together. He finds some scissors and cuts the paper into sections, each sentence and measure separated until Logan has dozens of rectangles and squares.
Putting the first few pieces of paper in a plastic baggie, Logan seals it up tight and puts the other pieces in his desk drawer. He picks up his cell phone and sends a text.
I need your help with something.
-K-
Kendall is thinking about Logan and pouring his cereal when he notices a folded slip of paper come out along with the cocoa puffs. His brow furrows, and he looks around the room skeptically.
He will injure anyone who messes with his favorite breakfast.
The piece of paper is horribly out of place amongst his delicious cereal, but he's wary of picking it up. It could have herpes on it or something. Which would mean his cocoa puffs now have herpes. He's getting less suspicious and more pissed when he finally decides to just unfold the paper and see who the fuck would dare sully his food.
There are two measures of music - lines perfectly straight and notes perfectly spherical - along with words written in neat, cursive script between the staves.
Kendall doesn't have to recognize the handwriting to know who penned the note.
Small things, right? My birthday is September 14th. I'm expecting soda and cereal with marshmallows.
Kendall smiles until his face hurts.
He still eats the cereal.
-K-
Later, when Kendall puts on his beanie as he's leaving for work, he notices something that keeps poking him in the head. He thinks it's the tag, until he's on the bus and remembers his beanie totally doesn't have a tag. He takes the thing off his head and looks inside.
There's another piece of paper, folded into even quarters. Kendall laughs to himself, running his index finger along the perfect edges, presses his lips to the paper as though it were the man who wrote it.
Kendall opens the note and reads: My mother didn't sing me to sleep. She hummed.
A soft grin on his face, Kendall takes his time refolding the note - ensuring it remains as immaculate as when delivered - and carefully slides it into his shirt pocket.
Kendall didn't miss the slow chords composed around the words.
And it's like he feels the note, the words, the music thrumhumming over his chest all night at work, and he's never been so aware of the beat of his heart.
-K-
In two weeks, Kendall finds out exactly thirty-two random facts about Logan. Even the tiniest, most seemingly mundane things Logan reveals, Kendall holds as a treasure. He keeps each and every slip of paper, the notes Logan composed around the words telling him even more about the guy who wrote them. Kendall can almost see Logan rolling his eyes as he wrote My parents still call me Logie Bear or gritting his teeth when he wrote When I first wanted to learn drums, I was refused by two instructors before I found mine. Kendall ponders the last one for a moment, wondering about the rest of the story, deciding if it's important, Logan will reveal it to him in time.
It's like a grand egg hunt, and Kendall can't get enough of it. He's giddy, thrilled and triumphant. Because Logan is finally cracking.
At practice, the changes are so subtle any random onlookers wouldn't notice, but Kendall does. The unnecessary touches linger even longer now; the flirtatious grins and eyes blown wide are less covert.
To answer Logan's notes, Kendall begins some of his own. He unabashedly shoves them in Logan's pockets or stuffs them down the front of his shirt. Any excuse to touch him.
Kendall tells Logan how he'd wanted to play hockey forever, how his love for music snuck up on him. He tells Logan about Katie and his mom and about his neighbor, Mrs. Magicowski. He tells Logan about his appendix scar, his fear of wide open, empty spaces.
He tells Logan how he feels like they've known each other forever.
He tells Logan that he is the rhythm of his days, the cadence of his footsteps. Kendall tells Logan he hears him even when he's not around: the wind howling through the tall buildings downtown is a bass drum, the roll of tires on pavement are the snare, the metallic clang of the old cash register at work is the cymbal. He is the underlying staccato hiss of a wired drum brush when it rains.
Before he knows it, Kendall realizes he's not even telling about himself anymore.
-K-
"Logan looks great, doesn't he?" Carlos asks, arm propped on Kendall's shoulder.
Kendall acts like he wasn't just staring at Logan assembling his drum kit and shrugs. "Does he? I hadn't noticed." He's quickly shifted his attention to unrolling the mic chord.
James, who happens by and hears Kendall's reply, stops dead in his tracks and calls him out. "You owe me, big time," he says. "Logan let me dress him and I picked those super tight pants just for you."
"James, dude, shut the fuck up. He might hear you," Kendall hisses.
"I saw you checking out his ass," James continues, volume only rising.
"I swear, James, one more word and -"
"Try not to pop a boner while we're playing -"
Kendall drops the cord and leaps at James, slapping a hand over his mouth as he struggles. Kendall can feel James' smile against his palm, and Carlos is laughing like a hyena. James eventually slips from Kendall's grasp after licking the blond's hand, exchanging a fist bump with Carlos as they both cackle.
Despite being embarrassed, Kendall snorts at his friends' antics while casting a sly glance at Logan. He does look really great tonight, and it doesn't seem like he overheard James' ribbing, so Kendall lets himself stare (not like he ever, ever stops himself anyway). Kendall can tell Logan is a little nervous, his jacket shrugged off and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Kendall loves watching Logan doing anything at all with the drums. He's so confident and sure of himself and his hands are steady and fuck Kendall is losing it.
The more he learns about Logan, the harder it gets to remain a gentleman. His mother raised him right, raised him not to be pushy, raised him to keep his hands to himself. But dammit if he doesn't want to grope Logan. Just a little grope. Nothing too invasive. Kendall is blaming James for this, completely.
It's Christmas Eve, and their very first gig. They're not getting paid much, and aren't expecting much of a crowd but none of it tamps down their excitement. They can say now they've officially started, launched themselves forward, and Kendall just knows, just feels it in his gut that this is really something.
He's even more sure when they begin to play. Surprisingly, there are more people at a bar on Christmas Eve than expected, and it's a great, responsive crowd. They play some old and new songs, only two originals. Kendall's favorite is when they do "Smells Like Teen Spirit" because Logan is amazing with it. It's not the best cover of the song, because, come on, James can't come close to Kurt Cobain's rasping, cool voice, but Logan annihilates it every single time they practice it. He doesn't disappoint tonight.
Logan closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip, both his knees bouncing in time like there's no part of himself he can hold still. The lights are low, but not so low that Kendall can't see Logan sweating, drops of perspiration rolling down his temples, beading on his forehead, his crazy head of hair even crazier as he moves. Logan is not usually one to showboat, Kendall knows that, but when he finally opens his eyes again to see Kendall staring at him, he fucking winks, and twirls a drumstick through his fingers before he comes back in full force on the toms.
Then it's like this play for power between the two of them, Kendall giving Logan a look loaded with want and challenge and lust and playful abandon. Logan quirks a brow, and Kendall mouths out, Cocky bastard.
Logan only returns with what Kendall thinks are the words, Try to keep up.
The only thing Kendall can do about it is wail harder on his guitar, bend the strings and ring out this awesome, cacophonous noise that somehow works because he's frustrated and feeling and soaring and Logan winked at him and they're flirting in a very flirty way and he's happy as fuck. It's like the other guys pick up on the surge too, and James is singing his goddamn heart out, the veins in his neck straining, and Carlos is bending his knees and moving in time with the beat.
When it's over and the applause and catcalls and whistles have died out, James thanks the crowd. There are some girls who blow them kisses, and James and Carlos revel in it.
Kendall can only look at Logan, panting and red-faced and flying high from the music. Kendall thinks he might be imagining it, but he swears he sees some longing in Logan's expression along with the elation. Carlos and James congratulate themselves and talk to the crowd, but Logan and Kendall just move closer to each other. When he gets close enough, Kendall sees himself in Logan's wide pupils, his face surrounded by a thin circle of brown.
"You're really great at this," Logan says, and Kendall can barely hear him over the bustle of the crowd, the pre-recorded music that has begun playing.
Kendall shakes his head. "I'm nothing compared to you."
Logan smiles - disbelieving, boyish, beautiful - and says, "I mean all of this." He gestures to the stage, the crowd. "Everyone will love you someday."
Kendall scoffs at the comment, shuffles forward until he playfully bumps Logan's shoulder with his own. He leans in to Logan, lips close to his ear and whispers, "I wasn't playing for everyone, and I really only care what you think of me." Kendall lingers a moment, soaking in the heat rolling from Logan's exerted flesh, breathing in the scent of soap and sweat and a tiny bit of cologne and Logan. It would be so easy to lean in and press his lips against Logan's throat, feel the booming of Logan's pulse right against his mouth.
Logan moves before Kendall has a chance to do anything dumb. He looks at Kendall, mere inches away, and asks, "Did you say something?"
Kendall laughs, but it's not exactly a happy sound. "Nevermind."
Logan's expression shifts from absolute joy to inexplicable dejection in a snap. "No, tell me. I'm sorry, Ken, I just didn't hear you. I'm not ignoring you, I swear."
"Logan, it's okay. I was just being dumb. It's not important."
Logan's mouth opens like he's going to say something else, but James and Carlos interrupt, shouting about how great they were, how everyone thought they were awesome. Kendall and Logan can't help but get caught up in their jubilation.
Kendall thinks Logan has forgotten what he didn't hear, but as they're loading their equipment into the rental van, Logan says, "Could we talk later? I need to tell you something."
Kendall only nods.
-K-
Logan and Kendall ride back to the house behind the van driven by James and Carlos. Logan doesn't say a word, but Kendall can feel Logan's eyes all over him, not even trying to hide his stare. Kendall catches his eyes in his peripheral from time to time, sometimes looks at him fully for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the road. Logan doesn't shy away once.
Kendall wants to reach over, move his hand from the steering wheel and rest it on Logan's knee. Maybe Logan would take his hand, weave their fingers together, twine them tightly as the scarves his mother used to knit when he was small.
But Kendall has sworn to let Logan make the first move. There's no hiding the fact Logan is scared of something, and Kendall won't be the one to push him.
They're unloading at home, not really trying to be quiet even though it's close to midnight. Logan begins meticulously setting his kit back up once they are inside, and Kendall knows he's stalling.
Carlos and James announce they're going to sleep, Carlos insisting they have to be in bed before the clock turns twelve or Santa might not come. Kendall affectionately ruffles his hair as he and James leave the room. Kendall turns toward Logan, who has stopped working on the drums and is absentmindedly tapping the cymbal with an index finger.
"Do you want to go into the living room?" Kendall asks.
Logan quickly darts his eyes to Kendall's mouth. "Sorry. What?"
Kendall sighs, lets out a tired chuckle. "Do you want to go into the living room? You wanted to talk, right?"
Logan nods quickly, sitting up straight. He knocks the drumsticks off the snare and they clatter to the floor. Lurching to reach for them, he knocks over the cymbal, one of the toms crashing to the ground with a loud clatter. Logan scrambles trying to right everything, and Kendall walks over to help.
"Just leave it," Logan says, exasperated and fidgeting like a five-year-old. "Let's go sit."
"Okay," Kendall replies, unable to hamper the laughter bubbling out at Logan's bumbling.
"You're laughing at me," Logan observes.
"No, I'm not."
Logan cocks his head to the side, a crooked smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Yes, you are."
"Okay, maybe I am." It sounds dumb in his head, cheesy, but Kendall adds, "You just make me happy, is all."
There's shock and something else on Logan's face at Kendall's statement. Relief? Logan seems to really think it over a moment, a hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing, eyes on his shoes before they move back to Kendall. "You make me afraid," Logan says, finally.
Kendall feels sick. So he really does creep Logan out. Great.
"No, Kendall, stop. It's not like it sounds. Being around you makes me feel a lot of things. Things I'm scared of because -"
Logan's words are drowned out by the ringing of Kendall's phone. "Shit, sorry," Kendall says, pulling his phone from his pocket, the time display showing it's just past midnight above a number Kendall doesn't recognize, but it's a Minnesota area code.
Kendall answers with a wary, "Hello?"
And it's his goddamn piece of shit dad, telling him Merry Fucking Christmas.
-L-
Logan isn't sure who's calling Kendall, the blond turning around abruptly after answering. Logan politely leaves the room, finds his way into the living area and collapses into one of the bean bag chairs. He's exhausted, drained, his arms like jelly and his emotions like a ten ton weight.
He really wishes he could just tell Kendall how much the other guy has come to mean to him. It's the dumbest most nonsensical thing, but Logan becomes more and more unsettled the less he is around Kendall. It's like he feels jumpy and nervous, balanced on the edge of a knife. He's antsy and finds himself pacing, counting down the minutes until he can be in Kendall's presence again. And when Logan sees him, the first glance is a balm, a long drink of water, the memory of sung lullabies.
Then there are the things Kendall has been writing him, tiny strips of paper with doodles of smiley faces and flowers and taxi cabs and light posts along with whatever thoughts might be crossing Kendall's mind. Logan has never felt wanted before, never felt he was desired so much as he was a burden.
If only Logan could stop being such a coward, open his mouth and tell Kendall everything. They're at an impasse until he does. Logan is thinking and thinking and thinking, and he doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep until Kendall is gently waking him.
"What time is it?" Logan asks.
"A little after one," Kendall answers, falling into the bean bag next to Logan and rubbing his face. Even in the low light, Logan can tell Kendall's eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks blotchy.
"You okay?" Logan asks. He wants to slap himself in the face. Obviously, Kendall is not okay.
Kendall doesn't answer, doesn't look at Logan. The corners of his mouth are downturned and trembling, and Logan can tell he's biting the inside of his mouth.
"It's okay," Logan says. "You don't have to talk-"
"He said I'm an idiot," Kendall interrupts. "He said I should've taken that hockey scholarship. He says I'm wasting my talent." He's still staring at his hands, his fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans until his knuckles are white.
Logan doesn't have to ask who he is. It isn't hard to guess. There's this swell of anger in Logan, crashing over him with the force of a tsunami. Nobody should be allowed to make Kendall look the way he is now: broken, sad, a reflection a little boy abandoned. Logan can't bear to think of how he's been the source of that heartbreak.
"He's the fucking idiot," Logan seethes. "Because you're right where you need to be, and you're amazing and smart and funny and kind and a kickass guitar player. I'm sure you're fucking fantastic at hockey, but you belong here. With me." Logan stops and clears his throat. "I mean with us. Me and James and Carlos."
Kendall's head snaps up. An almost-smile, a sad kind of watery smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, and he says, "I don't think I've ever heard you say the word fuckbefore." Then his shoulders start to shake and Logan thinks maybe Kendall is laughing until he hides his face in his hands. Logan just sits there a moment, doesn't know what the hell to do because he really, really is not good at people.
But he really, really wants to be good at Kendall.
So he struggles his way out of the chair, crawls on his knees the two feet separating them and wraps his arms around Kendall's shoulders, squeezes him close to stop his shaking. It's not even three seconds before Kendall's arms go around Logan's chest, and he buries his face in the crook of Logan's neck, the brunet's t-shirt quickly becoming wet.
And Kendall is either sobbing or mumbling, but, of course, Logan can't tell which, so he only holds him tighter, whispers comforting words and promises of how everything will be okay, tells him how perfect he is and brilliant and more than any parent could ever ask for.
When Kendall eventually calms, he reluctantly moves his face from Logan's neck, but leaves his arms firmly around the brunet's middle. They're just sitting in the low light, Logan aware of Kendall's warm shoulders against his forearms, and he brings his fingertips to Kendall's cheeks, tentatively wiping away the shiny trails of tears. He stops the movement of his hands, fingers splayed on Kendall's cheeks and lets himself get lost for a moment in the heat of Kendall's gaze.
"Stay with me tonight," Kendall says, the warmth of his words reaching out and caressing Logan's lips, the promise of a kiss making them throb. "I won't do anything creepy, I promise."
What if I wanted you to? Logan thinks. Instead he just says, "Okay."
So they unwind themselves and Logan follows Kendall into the bedroom. The others are sound asleep. Kendall slides under the covers of his tiny bed and doesn't hesitate to open his arms to Logan. Logan forgets his hesitations, as well, eagerly climbing into the bed and slotting himself next to Kendall, facing him, their legs twining together.
Before he lets the warmth and comfort soothe him to sleep, Logan reaches out, slides the fingers of his left hand with Kendall's right until their palms are flush, resting on Kendall's hip. There is a steady thump thump in their hands that Logan can clearly feel.
So Logan falls asleep, already having memorized the cadence of Kendall's heart.
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Romance
Pairings: Logan/Kendall
Details: Slash, AU
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Adult situations (i.e. smut) at some point, mild angst, swearing
Status: WIP
Word Count: ~5000
Summary: An accident keeps Logan and his parents from moving to Minnesota. When Kendall and Logan meet years later, Kendall hears clear as a bell. Logan doesn't. "Sitting on a speaker instead of a drummer's throne, Logan turns up the bass, pounding out any bitterness he had let fester in his heart. He won't leave himself to rot, not anymore."
Masterlist
-L-
Somehow, Logan makes it through the afternoon with Kendall. How cruel life can be, reminding Logan for the millionth time just how badly he's screwed everything up. It seems he can do nothing but break Kendall's heart, as unintentional as it might be. He's so ashamed that he can't muster the courage to say to Kendall I was that little boy. I hurt you before I even knew you. He does apologize, although Kendall merely takes it as a general one, as someone announcing their sympathy.
As soon as he can, he flees Kendall's presence as though escaping a crime scene.
He has trouble going to sleep, the campus unnaturally still with so few students around for the holidays. He switches on his desk lamp when the dark suffocates him, attempting to cut off one of his few remaining senses. He needs everything in his arsenal to work past this, come to a resolution that he's comfortable with while also coming clean about the secrets he's quickly compiling.
The whole thing, this whole would-be relationship with Kendall has Logan regressing, retreating back to that quiet spot in the recesses of his mind where he's scared and longing and confused. He can't do that, had promised himself once he'd fought his way out he wouldn't let himself go back ever again. He can't do it, to himself or to Kendall.
But how can Logan tell Kendall all he needs to know? Logan forgets himself when Kendall gets close to him, loses all resolve in the curve of a smile.
Logan wishes he could get into one of the practice rooms, solve his problems with the rattle of a snare and boom of the bass drum. This late at night, though, all the practice rooms are locked, so he does the next best thing.
Most musicians use their computers anymore to compose. Logan does on most occasions, the notes and strikes like flurries in his head, but times like these, where he has a huge block to work past, he prefers the use of paper and pencil. Sometimes his thoughts are a droning bassline, sometimes arpeggiated chords, sometimes they are scales that go up and up and up, tapering off at a note so high, Logan thinks no one could hear it.
If only his thoughts were soundwaves and he wouldn't have to say a word to communicate them, wouldn't have to watch Kendall's face fall before realization sets in and the inevitable hate twists his smile into something more like a snarl.
Logan is drawing circles and stems, filling in quarters and hollowing out whole notes. He doesn't know why, but he's bracketed two rows of staves, writing the treble along with the bass. There are these happy eighth notes flitting between chords, and he wonders what lyrics Kendall would write to make this mess of lines a song.
In the space between the staves, the space for the words, the space that Logan always leaves blank, he writes I can't hear you.
Logan crumples the whole thing, tosses it in the garbage. He begins again with a similar formula. Small things, Logan, he thinks. Start small. He does want Kendall to know him, all of him, but Logan is just warming to the idea, finding the way.
He really sucks at talking about himself, giving away pieces of himself that could be used against him.
So in the empty place for lyrics, Logan writes, I started taking drum lessons when I was eleven. My favorite color is green. I used to want to be a doctor. He writes and writes humdrum facts about himself until he has pages full of words embraced and carried by music, deep and steady bass. His ridiculous words are safe and wound within and around what Logan knows best. Once he's written down the small things, he tries something harder, faster tempo, double forte. I didn't have any friends growing up. The other kids made fun of me. I was alone a lot. I never wanted to admit I was missing something.
Logan thought of Kendall too, in the years after his accident, the years he gave in to hopelessness. He ached and yearned for a friend, someone fierce yet compassionate, strong-willed and kind. Someone who didn't hide away when other kids teased him. Logan waited and waited for him, letting himself be walked all over, until he realized no one was coming to save him. That was when Logan decided he didn't need anyone.
He'd never considered the idea that his champion had been waiting on him.
Logan finishes the composition with the most difficult thing of all, the words surrounded by sixteenth notes before the music stops all together. He finds some scissors and cuts the paper into sections, each sentence and measure separated until Logan has dozens of rectangles and squares.
Putting the first few pieces of paper in a plastic baggie, Logan seals it up tight and puts the other pieces in his desk drawer. He picks up his cell phone and sends a text.
I need your help with something.
-K-
Kendall is thinking about Logan and pouring his cereal when he notices a folded slip of paper come out along with the cocoa puffs. His brow furrows, and he looks around the room skeptically.
He will injure anyone who messes with his favorite breakfast.
The piece of paper is horribly out of place amongst his delicious cereal, but he's wary of picking it up. It could have herpes on it or something. Which would mean his cocoa puffs now have herpes. He's getting less suspicious and more pissed when he finally decides to just unfold the paper and see who the fuck would dare sully his food.
There are two measures of music - lines perfectly straight and notes perfectly spherical - along with words written in neat, cursive script between the staves.
Kendall doesn't have to recognize the handwriting to know who penned the note.
Small things, right? My birthday is September 14th. I'm expecting soda and cereal with marshmallows.
Kendall smiles until his face hurts.
He still eats the cereal.
-K-
Later, when Kendall puts on his beanie as he's leaving for work, he notices something that keeps poking him in the head. He thinks it's the tag, until he's on the bus and remembers his beanie totally doesn't have a tag. He takes the thing off his head and looks inside.
There's another piece of paper, folded into even quarters. Kendall laughs to himself, running his index finger along the perfect edges, presses his lips to the paper as though it were the man who wrote it.
Kendall opens the note and reads: My mother didn't sing me to sleep. She hummed.
A soft grin on his face, Kendall takes his time refolding the note - ensuring it remains as immaculate as when delivered - and carefully slides it into his shirt pocket.
Kendall didn't miss the slow chords composed around the words.
And it's like he feels the note, the words, the music thrumhumming over his chest all night at work, and he's never been so aware of the beat of his heart.
-K-
In two weeks, Kendall finds out exactly thirty-two random facts about Logan. Even the tiniest, most seemingly mundane things Logan reveals, Kendall holds as a treasure. He keeps each and every slip of paper, the notes Logan composed around the words telling him even more about the guy who wrote them. Kendall can almost see Logan rolling his eyes as he wrote My parents still call me Logie Bear or gritting his teeth when he wrote When I first wanted to learn drums, I was refused by two instructors before I found mine. Kendall ponders the last one for a moment, wondering about the rest of the story, deciding if it's important, Logan will reveal it to him in time.
It's like a grand egg hunt, and Kendall can't get enough of it. He's giddy, thrilled and triumphant. Because Logan is finally cracking.
At practice, the changes are so subtle any random onlookers wouldn't notice, but Kendall does. The unnecessary touches linger even longer now; the flirtatious grins and eyes blown wide are less covert.
To answer Logan's notes, Kendall begins some of his own. He unabashedly shoves them in Logan's pockets or stuffs them down the front of his shirt. Any excuse to touch him.
Kendall tells Logan how he'd wanted to play hockey forever, how his love for music snuck up on him. He tells Logan about Katie and his mom and about his neighbor, Mrs. Magicowski. He tells Logan about his appendix scar, his fear of wide open, empty spaces.
He tells Logan how he feels like they've known each other forever.
He tells Logan that he is the rhythm of his days, the cadence of his footsteps. Kendall tells Logan he hears him even when he's not around: the wind howling through the tall buildings downtown is a bass drum, the roll of tires on pavement are the snare, the metallic clang of the old cash register at work is the cymbal. He is the underlying staccato hiss of a wired drum brush when it rains.
Before he knows it, Kendall realizes he's not even telling about himself anymore.
-K-
"Logan looks great, doesn't he?" Carlos asks, arm propped on Kendall's shoulder.
Kendall acts like he wasn't just staring at Logan assembling his drum kit and shrugs. "Does he? I hadn't noticed." He's quickly shifted his attention to unrolling the mic chord.
James, who happens by and hears Kendall's reply, stops dead in his tracks and calls him out. "You owe me, big time," he says. "Logan let me dress him and I picked those super tight pants just for you."
"James, dude, shut the fuck up. He might hear you," Kendall hisses.
"I saw you checking out his ass," James continues, volume only rising.
"I swear, James, one more word and -"
"Try not to pop a boner while we're playing -"
Kendall drops the cord and leaps at James, slapping a hand over his mouth as he struggles. Kendall can feel James' smile against his palm, and Carlos is laughing like a hyena. James eventually slips from Kendall's grasp after licking the blond's hand, exchanging a fist bump with Carlos as they both cackle.
Despite being embarrassed, Kendall snorts at his friends' antics while casting a sly glance at Logan. He does look really great tonight, and it doesn't seem like he overheard James' ribbing, so Kendall lets himself stare (not like he ever, ever stops himself anyway). Kendall can tell Logan is a little nervous, his jacket shrugged off and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Kendall loves watching Logan doing anything at all with the drums. He's so confident and sure of himself and his hands are steady and fuck Kendall is losing it.
The more he learns about Logan, the harder it gets to remain a gentleman. His mother raised him right, raised him not to be pushy, raised him to keep his hands to himself. But dammit if he doesn't want to grope Logan. Just a little grope. Nothing too invasive. Kendall is blaming James for this, completely.
It's Christmas Eve, and their very first gig. They're not getting paid much, and aren't expecting much of a crowd but none of it tamps down their excitement. They can say now they've officially started, launched themselves forward, and Kendall just knows, just feels it in his gut that this is really something.
He's even more sure when they begin to play. Surprisingly, there are more people at a bar on Christmas Eve than expected, and it's a great, responsive crowd. They play some old and new songs, only two originals. Kendall's favorite is when they do "Smells Like Teen Spirit" because Logan is amazing with it. It's not the best cover of the song, because, come on, James can't come close to Kurt Cobain's rasping, cool voice, but Logan annihilates it every single time they practice it. He doesn't disappoint tonight.
Logan closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip, both his knees bouncing in time like there's no part of himself he can hold still. The lights are low, but not so low that Kendall can't see Logan sweating, drops of perspiration rolling down his temples, beading on his forehead, his crazy head of hair even crazier as he moves. Logan is not usually one to showboat, Kendall knows that, but when he finally opens his eyes again to see Kendall staring at him, he fucking winks, and twirls a drumstick through his fingers before he comes back in full force on the toms.
Then it's like this play for power between the two of them, Kendall giving Logan a look loaded with want and challenge and lust and playful abandon. Logan quirks a brow, and Kendall mouths out, Cocky bastard.
Logan only returns with what Kendall thinks are the words, Try to keep up.
The only thing Kendall can do about it is wail harder on his guitar, bend the strings and ring out this awesome, cacophonous noise that somehow works because he's frustrated and feeling and soaring and Logan winked at him and they're flirting in a very flirty way and he's happy as fuck. It's like the other guys pick up on the surge too, and James is singing his goddamn heart out, the veins in his neck straining, and Carlos is bending his knees and moving in time with the beat.
When it's over and the applause and catcalls and whistles have died out, James thanks the crowd. There are some girls who blow them kisses, and James and Carlos revel in it.
Kendall can only look at Logan, panting and red-faced and flying high from the music. Kendall thinks he might be imagining it, but he swears he sees some longing in Logan's expression along with the elation. Carlos and James congratulate themselves and talk to the crowd, but Logan and Kendall just move closer to each other. When he gets close enough, Kendall sees himself in Logan's wide pupils, his face surrounded by a thin circle of brown.
"You're really great at this," Logan says, and Kendall can barely hear him over the bustle of the crowd, the pre-recorded music that has begun playing.
Kendall shakes his head. "I'm nothing compared to you."
Logan smiles - disbelieving, boyish, beautiful - and says, "I mean all of this." He gestures to the stage, the crowd. "Everyone will love you someday."
Kendall scoffs at the comment, shuffles forward until he playfully bumps Logan's shoulder with his own. He leans in to Logan, lips close to his ear and whispers, "I wasn't playing for everyone, and I really only care what you think of me." Kendall lingers a moment, soaking in the heat rolling from Logan's exerted flesh, breathing in the scent of soap and sweat and a tiny bit of cologne and Logan. It would be so easy to lean in and press his lips against Logan's throat, feel the booming of Logan's pulse right against his mouth.
Logan moves before Kendall has a chance to do anything dumb. He looks at Kendall, mere inches away, and asks, "Did you say something?"
Kendall laughs, but it's not exactly a happy sound. "Nevermind."
Logan's expression shifts from absolute joy to inexplicable dejection in a snap. "No, tell me. I'm sorry, Ken, I just didn't hear you. I'm not ignoring you, I swear."
"Logan, it's okay. I was just being dumb. It's not important."
Logan's mouth opens like he's going to say something else, but James and Carlos interrupt, shouting about how great they were, how everyone thought they were awesome. Kendall and Logan can't help but get caught up in their jubilation.
Kendall thinks Logan has forgotten what he didn't hear, but as they're loading their equipment into the rental van, Logan says, "Could we talk later? I need to tell you something."
Kendall only nods.
-K-
Logan and Kendall ride back to the house behind the van driven by James and Carlos. Logan doesn't say a word, but Kendall can feel Logan's eyes all over him, not even trying to hide his stare. Kendall catches his eyes in his peripheral from time to time, sometimes looks at him fully for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the road. Logan doesn't shy away once.
Kendall wants to reach over, move his hand from the steering wheel and rest it on Logan's knee. Maybe Logan would take his hand, weave their fingers together, twine them tightly as the scarves his mother used to knit when he was small.
But Kendall has sworn to let Logan make the first move. There's no hiding the fact Logan is scared of something, and Kendall won't be the one to push him.
They're unloading at home, not really trying to be quiet even though it's close to midnight. Logan begins meticulously setting his kit back up once they are inside, and Kendall knows he's stalling.
Carlos and James announce they're going to sleep, Carlos insisting they have to be in bed before the clock turns twelve or Santa might not come. Kendall affectionately ruffles his hair as he and James leave the room. Kendall turns toward Logan, who has stopped working on the drums and is absentmindedly tapping the cymbal with an index finger.
"Do you want to go into the living room?" Kendall asks.
Logan quickly darts his eyes to Kendall's mouth. "Sorry. What?"
Kendall sighs, lets out a tired chuckle. "Do you want to go into the living room? You wanted to talk, right?"
Logan nods quickly, sitting up straight. He knocks the drumsticks off the snare and they clatter to the floor. Lurching to reach for them, he knocks over the cymbal, one of the toms crashing to the ground with a loud clatter. Logan scrambles trying to right everything, and Kendall walks over to help.
"Just leave it," Logan says, exasperated and fidgeting like a five-year-old. "Let's go sit."
"Okay," Kendall replies, unable to hamper the laughter bubbling out at Logan's bumbling.
"You're laughing at me," Logan observes.
"No, I'm not."
Logan cocks his head to the side, a crooked smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Yes, you are."
"Okay, maybe I am." It sounds dumb in his head, cheesy, but Kendall adds, "You just make me happy, is all."
There's shock and something else on Logan's face at Kendall's statement. Relief? Logan seems to really think it over a moment, a hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing, eyes on his shoes before they move back to Kendall. "You make me afraid," Logan says, finally.
Kendall feels sick. So he really does creep Logan out. Great.
"No, Kendall, stop. It's not like it sounds. Being around you makes me feel a lot of things. Things I'm scared of because -"
Logan's words are drowned out by the ringing of Kendall's phone. "Shit, sorry," Kendall says, pulling his phone from his pocket, the time display showing it's just past midnight above a number Kendall doesn't recognize, but it's a Minnesota area code.
Kendall answers with a wary, "Hello?"
And it's his goddamn piece of shit dad, telling him Merry Fucking Christmas.
-L-
Logan isn't sure who's calling Kendall, the blond turning around abruptly after answering. Logan politely leaves the room, finds his way into the living area and collapses into one of the bean bag chairs. He's exhausted, drained, his arms like jelly and his emotions like a ten ton weight.
He really wishes he could just tell Kendall how much the other guy has come to mean to him. It's the dumbest most nonsensical thing, but Logan becomes more and more unsettled the less he is around Kendall. It's like he feels jumpy and nervous, balanced on the edge of a knife. He's antsy and finds himself pacing, counting down the minutes until he can be in Kendall's presence again. And when Logan sees him, the first glance is a balm, a long drink of water, the memory of sung lullabies.
Then there are the things Kendall has been writing him, tiny strips of paper with doodles of smiley faces and flowers and taxi cabs and light posts along with whatever thoughts might be crossing Kendall's mind. Logan has never felt wanted before, never felt he was desired so much as he was a burden.
If only Logan could stop being such a coward, open his mouth and tell Kendall everything. They're at an impasse until he does. Logan is thinking and thinking and thinking, and he doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep until Kendall is gently waking him.
"What time is it?" Logan asks.
"A little after one," Kendall answers, falling into the bean bag next to Logan and rubbing his face. Even in the low light, Logan can tell Kendall's eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks blotchy.
"You okay?" Logan asks. He wants to slap himself in the face. Obviously, Kendall is not okay.
Kendall doesn't answer, doesn't look at Logan. The corners of his mouth are downturned and trembling, and Logan can tell he's biting the inside of his mouth.
"It's okay," Logan says. "You don't have to talk-"
"He said I'm an idiot," Kendall interrupts. "He said I should've taken that hockey scholarship. He says I'm wasting my talent." He's still staring at his hands, his fingers gripping the fabric of his jeans until his knuckles are white.
Logan doesn't have to ask who he is. It isn't hard to guess. There's this swell of anger in Logan, crashing over him with the force of a tsunami. Nobody should be allowed to make Kendall look the way he is now: broken, sad, a reflection a little boy abandoned. Logan can't bear to think of how he's been the source of that heartbreak.
"He's the fucking idiot," Logan seethes. "Because you're right where you need to be, and you're amazing and smart and funny and kind and a kickass guitar player. I'm sure you're fucking fantastic at hockey, but you belong here. With me." Logan stops and clears his throat. "I mean with us. Me and James and Carlos."
Kendall's head snaps up. An almost-smile, a sad kind of watery smile twitches at the corners of his mouth, and he says, "I don't think I've ever heard you say the word fuckbefore." Then his shoulders start to shake and Logan thinks maybe Kendall is laughing until he hides his face in his hands. Logan just sits there a moment, doesn't know what the hell to do because he really, really is not good at people.
But he really, really wants to be good at Kendall.
So he struggles his way out of the chair, crawls on his knees the two feet separating them and wraps his arms around Kendall's shoulders, squeezes him close to stop his shaking. It's not even three seconds before Kendall's arms go around Logan's chest, and he buries his face in the crook of Logan's neck, the brunet's t-shirt quickly becoming wet.
And Kendall is either sobbing or mumbling, but, of course, Logan can't tell which, so he only holds him tighter, whispers comforting words and promises of how everything will be okay, tells him how perfect he is and brilliant and more than any parent could ever ask for.
When Kendall eventually calms, he reluctantly moves his face from Logan's neck, but leaves his arms firmly around the brunet's middle. They're just sitting in the low light, Logan aware of Kendall's warm shoulders against his forearms, and he brings his fingertips to Kendall's cheeks, tentatively wiping away the shiny trails of tears. He stops the movement of his hands, fingers splayed on Kendall's cheeks and lets himself get lost for a moment in the heat of Kendall's gaze.
"Stay with me tonight," Kendall says, the warmth of his words reaching out and caressing Logan's lips, the promise of a kiss making them throb. "I won't do anything creepy, I promise."
What if I wanted you to? Logan thinks. Instead he just says, "Okay."
So they unwind themselves and Logan follows Kendall into the bedroom. The others are sound asleep. Kendall slides under the covers of his tiny bed and doesn't hesitate to open his arms to Logan. Logan forgets his hesitations, as well, eagerly climbing into the bed and slotting himself next to Kendall, facing him, their legs twining together.
Before he lets the warmth and comfort soothe him to sleep, Logan reaches out, slides the fingers of his left hand with Kendall's right until their palms are flush, resting on Kendall's hip. There is a steady thump thump in their hands that Logan can clearly feel.
So Logan falls asleep, already having memorized the cadence of Kendall's heart.