[fic] We Could Take To The Highway --- Two
Title: We Could Take To The Highway
Author: garnetice
Chapter: Two of ???
Pairing: Kendall Knight/James Diamond
Rating: T-ish
Word Count: 5591
Warnings: This is me, so...swearing/drinking/acting like a sailor at fleet week. Takes place post-show, so possible spoilers for all aired episodes? I can't think of anything specific, but I'm throwing this in here just in case.
Summary: He'd been all over the world, but he hadn't, not really. Not when his memories were painted in the pearlescent blues, pinks, and whites of shampoo bottles, the turquoise of chlorinated pools, and a million different shades of Kendall, Logan, and Carlos.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author's Notes: Alriiiiight, so this is me, spamming your f-list again. Sorry!
Previous Chapters: 1
---
"Drive me? Uh, you do know I can take a plane?" Kendall shifted awkwardly, pajama bottoms low on his hips, his hoodie unzipped and exposing the long, tan lines of his chest. It was nearly four in the afternoon, and he still wasn't dressed. James became even more certain that this was a Good Idea.
Exasperated, he replied, "You could fly there, but dude, this will be so much better. We've never had a roadtrip before. It'll be fun."
"Fun," Kendall repeated dubiously, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth in a way that was really, really distracting, "Yeah. I guess."
"Your enthusiasm is killing me," James groaned, hamming it up to get Kendall to smile, to make him stop doing that thing with his mouth. It worked.
"Fine. D'you think," Kendall began, and then paused, mulling over his words before saying, "Should we tell Logan and Carlos to pack their stuff?"
Shit. Logan. Carlos. James had kind of forgotten about them. Which was weird, because every decision he'd made in the past decade, good or bad, had depended on approval from the two smaller boys and Kendall. They were his best friends, and they'd been with him every step of the way, no matter what.
Only, he didn't want them taking part in this decision. The way he saw it, Logan had already had his chance, and had chosen compounds and chemicals over Kendall's twenty four seven mope-age. Carlos; well, James hadn't really given him an opportunity to weigh in because Carlos and serious business didn't really mix, but he'd just started that new sitcom, and he was contractually obliged to do at least three episodes, and James didn't want to drag him away from that.
Or maybe James just didn't want to share the last few days Kendall spent between here and Minnesota with them. Maybe he wanted to keep Kendall all to himself.
Same diff.
"You know what? Let me break it to them."
"James, if I'm going to take up coach's offer, I've got to let them know," Kendall said shrewdly, like he could see inside James's brain right down to all his nefarious thoughts.
"Duh. I just- think that it might be easier for them to adjust if you let me talk to them first. You know, so you don't have to go through all the awkward arguments and-"
"You think there's going to be arguments?"
"Well…no. Just let me talk to them, would you? Please."
"Fine," Kendall shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fridge and biting into it, his lips molding to the shiny red skin. Hypnotized, James watched him chew, swallow, the bob of his Adam's apple and the twist of his mouth as he finished, "If it's that important to you."
---
"Please, please, please don't come!" James wailed, on his knees, clinging tightly to Logan's right leg and Carlos's left."Dude, no way. I love road trips," Carlos responded conversationally, snacking on a banana and completely unbothered by the fact that James had his thigh in a death grip.
"Anyway, we should all be there for Kendall," Logan added, trying to shake his ankle in hopes of forcing James off, "This can't have been an easy decision for him."
"Oh, now you care," James muttered darkly against Logan's denim clad knee.
"What's that supposed to mean? Of course I care. I've always cared!" Logan screeched indignantly, pounding his fist down on James's head in an attempt to make him let go. He hit like a girl, but James knew his hair was getting all sweaty and knotted. He was so going to regret this.
Still, he had to do it. He wouldn't release his hold on his two best friends, not until they gave him their word.
"Funny, 'cause when I came to talk to you about it, you were all, no James, I have an organic chemistry test at the community college."
"That? You're pissed about that? Geez, I thought you were making that shit up."
"I don't make things up, Logan," James countered, now the offended party. He squeezed the shorter boy's knee extra hard for emphasis.
"Pssh, yeah you do," Carlos snorted, "Remember that time you told me that the Sims twins only liked surfers, and I tried to learn how and practically drowned? And then it turned out they're scared of salt water?"
Logan piped in, "Or that time you told me our photo shoot for GQ was going to be in full hockey gear, so it would look manly, and I showed up in our old team's uniform and-"
"Okay, fine!" James interrupted, flushing, "Sometimes I make stuff up. But not about Kendall!"
"That's true, dude," Carlos agreed in a casual tone, "He is sporting a massive boner for Kendall."
"Excuse me?" James squeaked, completely mortified. How did he know? Not that James was, because he didn't even think about Kendall that way, because he wouldn't let himself- but if he had been, and if that had been affecting his cock in a certain way then- how the fuck did Carlos know?
"Ha," Carlos pounded the fist holding the banana in one hand and pointed at James, "Look at this fucker's face! I told you he did. You owe me twenty bucks."
Logan scowled, "Fine. Whatever."
James watched as Logan began digging around in his back pocket for his wallet, all the while stricken with this terrifying, intensely nauseating feeling, "You guys were- betting? On me?"
"No. We were betting on what gets your dick hard. Entirely different ballgame, man. We would never bet on just you. Too predictable."
Logan elbowed Carlos and pointed to James's face, which had turned an unattractive shade of red, "Stop it. Never antagonize someone's who's this close to your balls."
James considered biting one of them on the thigh because he had no free hands, but he figured it wouldn't help his 'I'm-not-gay-for-Kendall' plea, and besides, he was pretty sure Carlos had been wearing the same exact jeans for practically a week, and Logan might pull his hair, because he obviously didn't care if James went prematurely bald. Like that wouldn't affect their career as international pop stars.
"Look," he tried to ignore the fact that Logan was passing Carlos a crisp twenty, "I don't have a 'massive boner' for Kendall."
"You so do, dude."
"Carlos! God, no I don't!"
"You're protesting a lot," Logan observed, wiggling his ankle again, trying to escape.
"Do you not pay any attention to my life? I dated that supermodel for like, a year!"
Logan grinned, "And then you broke up with her when Kendall called her a bitch."
"I- that was not the reason."
"Except it really was."
"You guys are jerks."
"Eh," Carlos shrugged, "We've been called worse."
James decided it wasn't worth it trying to convince them that he wasn't gay. The last thing he needed to do was slip up and let on that he'd kissed Kendall back before their tour. Plus, if Carlos and Logan thought he had a valid reason for wanting to spend extra time with their friend, wouldn't it help his cause?
"Please don't come," he said again, his voice low and quiet. He loosened his hold on their knees, although he didn't let go altogether, "It's really, really important to me."
Carlos and Logan exchanged measured looks and chorused, "Fine."
"But we're having a going away party for him," Logan added.
"I don't get why he wants to leave anyway. Who would leave this for Minnesota?"
James released their legs and said scathingly, "You're right. I can't imagine anyone wanting to get away from you two."
In hindsight, that might have been the reason Carlos tackled him to the ground so Logan could launch into the longest tickling barrage any of them had seen in years.
---
Kendall's going away party should've been a huge affair. James prided himself on throwing the best Hollywood shindigs; blasting music, fantastic munchies, and the hottest girls. Usually, roping Carlos into party planning and inviting his myriad of freakish friends and attractive flirtations wasn't a problem, but for this, Logan had put his foot down."He's not going to want a huge party guys."
"It's Kendall. He loves parties," James protested, trying to make Logan see reason. What kind of international superstars would they be if they didn't have hella cool soirees?
"He does," Logan admitted, "But he's not going to want to make a big deal out of this. If we bring a ton of people-"
"A gazillion," Carlos interrupted, excited at the prospect of booze, babes, and miniature hotdogs, "We're going to invite a gazillion people."
"Gazillion isn't a number," Logan snapped, "It's fictitious."
"Dude, it is so a number."
"Is not."
"Guys!" James jumped in, "Get to the point before Kendall wakes up."
They were all crowded on the couch while the most beautiful television in the whole wide world blared a Dodgers game that none of them were paying attention to. They just kept it on because they liked the sound of all the cheering fans; it kept them amped up and creative.
"What I'm saying is if some random nobody leaks this to the press before Kendall's ready, he's going to have to answer a bunch of really uncomfortable questions. We can't do that to him."
Logan had a point. Which is why they ended up at some tiny, no-name hookah bar so far out of LA they might as well have been in San Dimas. James kept waiting for tumbleweeds to pass by. It wasn't glamorous, glitzy, home to celebrities or future-famous. Heck, it wasn't even home to people who even thought about being famous, except for that one girl in the corner who dressed like a burlesque dancer out on her dinner break.
They each had allowed themselves one guest each, because the more people they told, the harder the secret would be to keep. Kendall approved.
He brought Jo, who wore light brown cowboy boots and a silvery dress that clung to her figure like a wet swimsuit. She was breathtaking, and James knew Kendall would be watching her all night. Even if she hadn't been gorgeous, for Kendall, Jo was the One Who Got Away.
Logan brought Camille. Although they had tried dating a few years back and failed so miserably that Kendall, James, Carlos, and most of the record label had been required to stage an intervention, somehow the two had managed to overcome it and become close friends. James didn't mind; he liked Camille. She understood what it was like to be an artiste in a town full of people who thought acting involved little more than sleeping with the right casting couch director. She never compromised her integrity to get what she wanted, and she always made him laugh. He'd thought about dating her a few years ago, but then Logan had happened, and besides, James's type was taller. Blonder.
He dated a lot of supermodels.
None of them liked hockey.
This was a major character flaw. Plus, he hated when they had nicer hair than he did.
In his mind, his perfect girl had messy, sandy blond- er, blonde, hair and a mischievous smile. And okay, sometimes in his fantasies that smile had a chipped incisor, just barely noticeable, kind of like Kendall had all through freshman year of high school from a rough game. He'd gotten it fixed just before they'd been picked up by Rocque Records, but James had always liked the look on him. It made him seem…feral.
Not that he thought about Kendall's mouth a lot. Or ever.
Carlos had brought Kelly, because even though he had kind of, inexplicably metamorphosed from dorktastic daredevil to ladies' man overnight, he thought inviting the girl who'd helped them find fame would be a Nice Thing To Do.
Which had left James to invite Gustavo. Who had turned him down, because their record producer didn't support Kendall leaving for half a year or the band charring their lungs with smoke, and besides, why would he want to spend a perfectly good Friday night with dogs? So James had brought one of their backup dancers instead, a girl he'd made friends with on their last tour. She wasn't as pretty as James, but few people were.
Before they'd come, Carlos had tucked bottles of beer in James's messenger bag that clinked with every step he'd taken, making him nervous that somewhere along the cracked, pitted sidewalk he'd be stopped by a policeman who wouldn't care that he was an pop sensation.
He was just barely nineteen, and twenty one still felt miles, eons away.
Now, inside the smoky, enchanted bar he saw local college students who'd had the same idea Carlos had, clutching red cups in their hands so that the condensation made them look sweaty-palmed and covetous.
They ordered their hookahs, exotic flavors that rolled over James's throat and made his lungs feel sickly. Kelly was blowing rings, too practiced for any executive assistant that didn't have some secret bad girl past, but when they asked her about it, she just smiled.
"I can do that," Jo murmured to Kendall, and James leaned in to eavesdrop.
"Seriously?"
"Pie," she grinned.
"What?" Kendall asked.
Carlos jumped in, "There's pie?"
"There's no pie," Camille laughed.
"Then why'd she say there was?" Carlos whined.
"Pie," Camille repeated, "As in, easy as?"
"I don't get it," Carlos deadpanned. James stepped on his foot.
He liked hookah. More than smoking a cigarette, it made him feel like a dragon, like he could breathe fire or ice or color, give it a shape, like a song. But he couldn't do anything fancy. Jo breathed in and it seemed like every exhalation she took emerged in the form of a mystical creature, unicorns and dragons and griffins made of smoke, sphinxes with unfolded wings and sweet faced mermaids that looked like they might stick in his throat if he inhaled them, like they might sweetly asphyxiate them all. Kendall was hypnotized. She was a sorceress, demanding his attention with her magic spells and her too-prominent beauty.
James hated her a little for that, but the backup dancer at his side was warm and the smoke thick in his lungs made him feel like a carnival fire breather, invincible and burning, and the beer made everything sparkle. He'd let Jo have this small victory, he decided. She could work her magic one last night, whisper quiet, giggly incantations in Kendall's ear.
Every once in a while he would catch Carlos or Logan staring at him knowingly, like his barely concealed tolerance for Jo's presence was something tangible, an emotion they could see in the air, interlaced among the smoke-shapes. Mostly Logan, because he had a habit of being nosy.
James avoided getting pulled into a conversation with the smaller boy, because he also had a habit of being bossy.
Only, Camille insisted on being social. The bitch.
"Hey," she nudged James with her foot, "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing," he said. She caught him in her warm, slightly disapproving gaze and he faltered, "Everything."
"How d'you mean?" she smiled, encouraging, annoying. Like sticking her stupid face in his business was her prerogative or something. He could see Logan leaning in, slinging his arm around her shoulder in his peripheral vision, attempting to subtly eavesdrop.
He was so not subtle.
"It's just- change. I'm not so good with change."
"Understatement," Logan snorted, whispering in Camille's ear, "The last time they changed the ingredients in his designer hair gel he spazzed for an entire week."
"I did not," James replied clearly, making sure each word was coated with an icy edge.
Logan rolled his eyes, enunciating, "Did. Too."
"Before you two start bickering like toddlers, maybe we could just agree to disagree on this one?" Camille suggested, maintaining her bright, placid smile. James wasn't fooled. Her tone of voice suggested beneath the expression her teeth were gritted, which was really more her style.
Camille had a wicked temper, which was probably one of her more attractive traits. Girls with fire like that were few and far between.
Fear darted across Logan's face, and he immediately squeaked, "Uh, okay."
James shrugged noncommittally. He hadn't dated the girl for over a year, or allowed her to systematically castrate his man parts the way Logan had. Just because she was pissed, he wouldn't tuck his tail between his legs.
Although, better safe than sorry.
"I thought you supported the whole thing," she waved a hand vaguely in the smoky air, "Aren't you the one who gave Kendall the whole follow your dreams spiel? That's the way I heard it."
"Well, yeah."
"Care to elaborate?"
He frowned. If he wanted a therapist, he would dish out the cash for one. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it, "Not really. No."
This time no matter how much she glowered, he refused to care. Wasn't this a party? The backup dancer murmured something about Camille being pushy, something catty that made James snort in his drink and Logan choke on his double apple hookah. Camille looked like she wanted nothing more than to sink her claws into the rail thin girl; they 'd never gotten along very well.
Kendall, Carlos, and Jo were in their own little world, using the red cups and some soapy mixture to blow bubbles with smoke, like prisms filled with an oracular haze.
As the night teetered on toward the brink of dawn, Jo and Kendall got closer and closer. At one point James turned, and all he could see was the way they were almost touching, but not quite.
Suddenly, the party stopped being fun. He decided it was time to go home.
---
The next morning found James shoving suitcases in the back of his beat up old Saab. He had a whole garage full of nice automobiles, even a Maserati, but this was his baby. This was the car his parents had banded together to buy him when he first got his California license, despite the fact that they were dead broke and that after the divorce they barely even spoke. The car had sentimental value, more than any high priced sports car ever could.Plus he wasn't going to take the Maserati anywhere that require snow tires.
"All set to go?" Logan grinned at him from the garage.
"Yep. Kendall's finishing up breakfast and then we're hitting the road."
"I'm going to miss you guys!" Carlos popped out from behind Logan, his eyes larger than a puppy dog's. He barreled toward his taller friend and threw his arms around James's waist forcefully, pinning him into the metal of his car.
"Carlos- can't- breathe," James gasped, and Logan had to pry the smaller boy off of him. When he succeeded, they both saw that Carlos was close to tears.
"I haven't been away from you both for more than a week, ever," Carlos complained, sniffing.
"Me either," Logan said quietly, albeit more composed.
James was struck by such love for his friends then, the kind that made him feel too much, like he was overflowing, unable to stop, unsure if he wanted to. It hurt, and it was painful, but it was so, so good. Even if it was only for a little while, he was going to miss them.
Logan, who would wander out of their mansion's study after hours with a book looking like he'd just been ripped apart, like he'd never be whole again. He'd walk around for an entire day with this- soulless expression, liked what he'd just read had drained him dry and then poof! Normal Logan would return, sunshine and rainbows and a survivor. James loved that words could do that to his friend, even if James had never experienced it himself.
Carlos, who couldn't be left to his own devices for a day without building something from scratch, like he had this driving need to create skate ramps and outdoor Jacuzzis, anything and everything, all out of nothing. He would work and work and work and play, play, play only to scrap the whole project when he was done, like he had no choice but to destroy everything he made, because nothing would ever be good enough, solid enough, extreme enough. Because he knew everything he did always had the potential to be better, and Carlos wouldn't give up until it was. In the magazines, they never pinned Big Time Rush's resident comedian as a perfectionist, but James knew he was, and it made him love the smaller boy. It made him certain that he'd be driving along some distant highway past skeletal buildings of lumber and rust when Carlos would pop into his head, when he'd wonder what Carlos could make of all that decay.
He forced a smile and said, "Stop being melodramatic. I'm going to see you again soon. Two weeks, top."
They all ignored the irony of James telling them to quit with the melodrama.
Both boys gave him affectionate hugs and told him to drive safe, and eventually, after a few moments, Logan dragged Carlos back inside the house where they would say goodbye to Kendall.
James climbed into the driver's side of his car and sighed. Kendall.
He couldn't stop thinking about last night, with Jo, and the way Kendall's eyes seemed to shine at her presence. No girl had ever made James feel that way. Dating involved too much drama. Girls who thought they'd be together forever when James knew all they had in common was this one short summer fling. Girls who thought they were the center of his world, texting him things like 'You're dead to me now' and expecting it to have this crater-like impact on him. And then there were those girls who really did make James's life revolve around them, bent him to their every whim, left him pining and wanting and then took off like the wind, like sand sifting through his fingers.
The latest one, the supermodel, was a variation on the second and the third kind. She wanted to be this huge part of his life, to make his world narrow to only her, but at the same time she was constantly flitting off to Brazil and Tokyo and parts of the planet James had only seen in stadiums and hotel rooms and the occasional guided tour. Places that used to be nothing more than pictures in his father's ancient editions of National Geographic, a sunbeam caught falling over some distant city James swore would know his name someday. Places that once were mere points on a map, latitude and longitude lines overlapping exotic names. Some days, when all James could recall were tiny bars of soap and mini bars fully stocked with whiskey and thousands of screaming fans, he thought maybe nothing had changed.
He'd been all over the world, but he hadn't, not really. Not when his memories were painted in the pearlescent blues, pinks, and whites of shampoo bottles, the turquoise of chlorinated pools, and a million different shades of Kendall, Logan, and Carlos.
He'd been with too many girls, but the only person he'd ever looked at like Kendall had looked at Jo last night was…well.
"Start the trip without me? You look like you're a thousand miles away," Kendall joked, sliding onto the cracked leather passenger seat of the old junker with an ungraceful thud, startling James out of his reverie.
"I was just thinking about back home," James lied, not wanting to admit that he'd been mulling over a single image from the previous night, shadows, light, smoke and Jo and Kendall's faces so close together they might as well have been one person.
"I thought home was here," Kendall arched an eyebrow, his expression innocuous, but innocuous on Kendall made him look like some clever mischief was afoot, like the role of mildly-inquiring-friend was just another acting job he'd undertaken and really curiosity was just driving him mad. Kendall was a terrible actor.
James though maybe he took a piece of every place he'd ever lived with him, from the trailer park in Minnesota to the nonstop fun of the Palmwoods to the almost molasses-like feel of their mansion, the one place in their movingmovingmoving lives that seemed to stand stock still. But he wouldn't say so, not aloud, because philosophizing was Logan's thing and because it was a serious thought for someone who was supposed to be concerned with little more than his hair and girls and the way his voice sounded over the radio.
"Home is wherever you are, dude," James said instead, and after the words tumbled out of his mouth like an avalanche he realized that maybe what he'd just said was even more serious. Kendall's gaze flickered like a candle flame, and then he turned and looked out the window as James shifted the car into gear. He tore out of the driveway, silently berating himself. Kendall watched the mansion fade away, and the silence was so thick it was paralyzing.
"Is it really okay? My leaving?"
"I said it was. Duh. And it's not like you're going for a whole year."
"Six months is a long time," the mansion had fled behind them, but it's afterimage lingered on the back of James's eyelids, and when Kendall glanced toward him again he could feel the intensity of his best friend's gaze.
"Forever is a long time," James corrected, "Six months is barely a skip in a pond."
James knew all about ponds. There'd been one by the trailer park, filled with garbage and pollution and mutant three eyed fish. A stream leeched into it, and sometimes James had liked to walk the slippery stone pebble dirt path along the banks of that stream until it morphed into a river that raged, where the water turned clear and the fish had normal features and on low tide days it smelled like rotting marine life and the faintest scent of sea salt amongst the damp moss and heady pine. Sometimes James would catch the same scent at Venice Beach or Newport, except the salty air was oceanic and not from some saltwater pond that was barely larger than James's house and there was nothing organic about any of it. Wind and surf and sand with no hint of trees or snow or deep, dark shadows, all the way up the coastline until you hit Big Sur. Occasionally he'd drive all the way up there out of homesickness. That smell was his favorite. It was like home, and sometime she'd lean against the railing of Newport's pier and just inhale, when he didn't have the time to drive for five hours up north.
"What if I get picked up? What if I really am scouted, and I get on a college team and the Wild decides to recruit me and I have to make a choice," Kendall blurted.
"Then you make a choice," James shrugged, his fingers curling around the steering wheel a bit too tightly, the idea turning his stomach sour and his knuckles white, "We'll go on hiatus."
"You hate being on hiatus. Last time we thought the tour would be delayed you freaked out and told everyone your vocal chords were rusting."
"They were," James replied defensively, because he'd seriously been able to feel orange-red grit growing inside his lungs, lining his esophagus. Plus he'd actively imagined all his disappointed fans. How on earth would they survive without him? For a moment, panic rose inside him. Reliving the moment made his throat close up and his vision blur. He couldn't go through that again.
But Kendall's dreams were more important, he forced himself to remember. He couldn't do this halfway. He had to commit.
"So?" Kendall prompted, more out of morbid curiosity than any honest intention to do so. James could tell. Kendall wasn't panicking about the future yet; he wasn't absolutely convinced he'd get scouted or play for the Wild or break up the band. He was just theorizing, weighing his options, measuring James's reactions if that ever became a real possibility.
"I'll live," James answered dryly, trying to make it sound like it was No Big Deal.
"What if- what if I decide I can't balance playing professional hockey and the band? What happens then?"
Kendall was being the devil's advocate, and it kind of made James want to punch him in the face. What if the fucking sky turned green and the next ice age came? James had no idea what he'd do. He was a live-in-the-present kind of guy. Dreaming about the future was one thing.
Making contingency plans was a whole other matter.
"Carlos becomes an actor. Logan gets his PhD. I go solo," James flashed a quick, hopefully carefree grin, "It's not like we need you."
Which was ludicrous. Of course they needed him. Kendall was their glue, their fearless leader. He made them what they were.
But James was damned if he would tell Kendall that, "Anyway, shut up. Stop acting like you're never coming back."
"But-"
"Hush your mouth. I'm talking now."
"The world doesn't revolve around your ego, man. These are things I really need-"
"I said hush your face."
James knew his ego was inflated. He didn't need people to tell him that. Just like he didn't need people to tell him he was handsome or witty or had a rakish smile. He told himself, ever day, because more often than not, people wouldn't. Truth was, people were more likely to tell someone they looked like shit on a day they looked fine, or that they were stupid because they'd scored an eighty on a test when they could have gotten a hundred, or that their teeth were fucked up when their smile was so brilliant it was blinding. James had figured out at a young age that people were stingy with compliments and overzealous with insults, and it wreaked havoc with a person's self esteem.
Unless that person, namely him, built themselves up. If he built a wall so high no casual slight could knock it down, he would be invincible. So he did, and he was. He didn't know how everyone else fended off all the minor barbs thrown at them on a daily basis, but he let them bounce off like that old nursery rhyme, I'm-rubber-and-you're-glue. Maybe everyone else was born with self-confidence, with an innate belief that they were better than everyone else's opinions, so they could just laugh every offense off. But James had created his confidence, and if that made him vain, did it really matter? It was better than being reduced to a nervous wreck every time he had a bad hair day.
So really, the only times he took cruel words to heart was when they came from someone too close, someone who'd worked under the mirage of pretty and sarcastic and discovered the quivering, quaking being inside him that had no clue if he could handle this, any of it. Life. Living. The part of him that was terrified of everything, of being abandoned and rejected; the part of him that always seemed to be abandoned and rejected.
Every time someone got too close, they left, usually with some parting shots. One of his ex-girlfriends had told him he lived in a fantasy land, and the words hadn't made sense to him until after the fact, and now every time he thought of it he trembled inside, because he thought maybe it was true.
So yeah. James knew he was egotistical and narcissistic. He had to love himself. Nobody else would.
"Consider my face hushed," Kendall grinned, not taking his snappish tone offensively because he was James's polar opposite. He was loved, and he knew it, and he'd always known it. He'd always had his parents, and when his dad died, his mom had overcompensated like hell to make sure that he still had somebody. Plus there was Katie, and maybe being an older brother made a person more selfless, but James had never gotten the chance to find out, because his parents could barely stand being in the same room together, much less to procreate a second time. And then there were his friends; Kendall had so many friends James wasn't sure how he kept track of them, much less why he counted James among his favorites.
Basically, Kendall was the most fascinating person he'd ever met, and the one thing James feared most was that he'd figure out what a total fake James was and drop him. Kendall hated fakers.
"Good. Now tell me where you want your last meal."
Kendall's eyes screwed up in mock horror, and he snorted, "I knew it. You're taking me out to the desert to kill me so you'll be the pretty one."
It was like all the tension leaked out of the car at once. Indignant, James screeched, "I am the pretty one. Who thinks you're prettier than me? Wait, I am still the pretty one, right? Right, Kendall? What have you heard? Kendall!"
Kendall couldn't answer. He was too busy cracking up. Fine, James sulked. He was driving his best friend to North Bumblefuck, potentially breaking up their band for all eternity, the open windows were hell on his hair, and now he was being openly mocked.
None of which was even the worst part. The most terrible bit was…in the face of Kendall's smile, one of that seemed to even matter.
Three
Author: garnetice
Chapter: Two of ???
Pairing: Kendall Knight/James Diamond
Rating: T-ish
Word Count: 5591
Warnings: This is me, so...swearing/drinking/acting like a sailor at fleet week. Takes place post-show, so possible spoilers for all aired episodes? I can't think of anything specific, but I'm throwing this in here just in case.
Summary: He'd been all over the world, but he hadn't, not really. Not when his memories were painted in the pearlescent blues, pinks, and whites of shampoo bottles, the turquoise of chlorinated pools, and a million different shades of Kendall, Logan, and Carlos.
Disclaimer: BTR is not mine.
Author's Notes: Alriiiiight, so this is me, spamming your f-list again. Sorry!
Previous Chapters: 1
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"Drive me? Uh, you do know I can take a plane?" Kendall shifted awkwardly, pajama bottoms low on his hips, his hoodie unzipped and exposing the long, tan lines of his chest. It was nearly four in the afternoon, and he still wasn't dressed. James became even more certain that this was a Good Idea.
Exasperated, he replied, "You could fly there, but dude, this will be so much better. We've never had a roadtrip before. It'll be fun."
"Fun," Kendall repeated dubiously, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth in a way that was really, really distracting, "Yeah. I guess."
"Your enthusiasm is killing me," James groaned, hamming it up to get Kendall to smile, to make him stop doing that thing with his mouth. It worked.
"Fine. D'you think," Kendall began, and then paused, mulling over his words before saying, "Should we tell Logan and Carlos to pack their stuff?"
Shit. Logan. Carlos. James had kind of forgotten about them. Which was weird, because every decision he'd made in the past decade, good or bad, had depended on approval from the two smaller boys and Kendall. They were his best friends, and they'd been with him every step of the way, no matter what.
Only, he didn't want them taking part in this decision. The way he saw it, Logan had already had his chance, and had chosen compounds and chemicals over Kendall's twenty four seven mope-age. Carlos; well, James hadn't really given him an opportunity to weigh in because Carlos and serious business didn't really mix, but he'd just started that new sitcom, and he was contractually obliged to do at least three episodes, and James didn't want to drag him away from that.
Or maybe James just didn't want to share the last few days Kendall spent between here and Minnesota with them. Maybe he wanted to keep Kendall all to himself.
Same diff.
"You know what? Let me break it to them."
"James, if I'm going to take up coach's offer, I've got to let them know," Kendall said shrewdly, like he could see inside James's brain right down to all his nefarious thoughts.
"Duh. I just- think that it might be easier for them to adjust if you let me talk to them first. You know, so you don't have to go through all the awkward arguments and-"
"You think there's going to be arguments?"
"Well…no. Just let me talk to them, would you? Please."
"Fine," Kendall shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fridge and biting into it, his lips molding to the shiny red skin. Hypnotized, James watched him chew, swallow, the bob of his Adam's apple and the twist of his mouth as he finished, "If it's that important to you."
---
"Please, please, please don't come!" James wailed, on his knees, clinging tightly to Logan's right leg and Carlos's left."Dude, no way. I love road trips," Carlos responded conversationally, snacking on a banana and completely unbothered by the fact that James had his thigh in a death grip.
"Anyway, we should all be there for Kendall," Logan added, trying to shake his ankle in hopes of forcing James off, "This can't have been an easy decision for him."
"Oh, now you care," James muttered darkly against Logan's denim clad knee.
"What's that supposed to mean? Of course I care. I've always cared!" Logan screeched indignantly, pounding his fist down on James's head in an attempt to make him let go. He hit like a girl, but James knew his hair was getting all sweaty and knotted. He was so going to regret this.
Still, he had to do it. He wouldn't release his hold on his two best friends, not until they gave him their word.
"Funny, 'cause when I came to talk to you about it, you were all, no James, I have an organic chemistry test at the community college."
"That? You're pissed about that? Geez, I thought you were making that shit up."
"I don't make things up, Logan," James countered, now the offended party. He squeezed the shorter boy's knee extra hard for emphasis.
"Pssh, yeah you do," Carlos snorted, "Remember that time you told me that the Sims twins only liked surfers, and I tried to learn how and practically drowned? And then it turned out they're scared of salt water?"
Logan piped in, "Or that time you told me our photo shoot for GQ was going to be in full hockey gear, so it would look manly, and I showed up in our old team's uniform and-"
"Okay, fine!" James interrupted, flushing, "Sometimes I make stuff up. But not about Kendall!"
"That's true, dude," Carlos agreed in a casual tone, "He is sporting a massive boner for Kendall."
"Excuse me?" James squeaked, completely mortified. How did he know? Not that James was, because he didn't even think about Kendall that way, because he wouldn't let himself- but if he had been, and if that had been affecting his cock in a certain way then- how the fuck did Carlos know?
"Ha," Carlos pounded the fist holding the banana in one hand and pointed at James, "Look at this fucker's face! I told you he did. You owe me twenty bucks."
Logan scowled, "Fine. Whatever."
James watched as Logan began digging around in his back pocket for his wallet, all the while stricken with this terrifying, intensely nauseating feeling, "You guys were- betting? On me?"
"No. We were betting on what gets your dick hard. Entirely different ballgame, man. We would never bet on just you. Too predictable."
Logan elbowed Carlos and pointed to James's face, which had turned an unattractive shade of red, "Stop it. Never antagonize someone's who's this close to your balls."
James considered biting one of them on the thigh because he had no free hands, but he figured it wouldn't help his 'I'm-not-gay-for-Kendall' plea, and besides, he was pretty sure Carlos had been wearing the same exact jeans for practically a week, and Logan might pull his hair, because he obviously didn't care if James went prematurely bald. Like that wouldn't affect their career as international pop stars.
"Look," he tried to ignore the fact that Logan was passing Carlos a crisp twenty, "I don't have a 'massive boner' for Kendall."
"You so do, dude."
"Carlos! God, no I don't!"
"You're protesting a lot," Logan observed, wiggling his ankle again, trying to escape.
"Do you not pay any attention to my life? I dated that supermodel for like, a year!"
Logan grinned, "And then you broke up with her when Kendall called her a bitch."
"I- that was not the reason."
"Except it really was."
"You guys are jerks."
"Eh," Carlos shrugged, "We've been called worse."
James decided it wasn't worth it trying to convince them that he wasn't gay. The last thing he needed to do was slip up and let on that he'd kissed Kendall back before their tour. Plus, if Carlos and Logan thought he had a valid reason for wanting to spend extra time with their friend, wouldn't it help his cause?
"Please don't come," he said again, his voice low and quiet. He loosened his hold on their knees, although he didn't let go altogether, "It's really, really important to me."
Carlos and Logan exchanged measured looks and chorused, "Fine."
"But we're having a going away party for him," Logan added.
"I don't get why he wants to leave anyway. Who would leave this for Minnesota?"
James released their legs and said scathingly, "You're right. I can't imagine anyone wanting to get away from you two."
In hindsight, that might have been the reason Carlos tackled him to the ground so Logan could launch into the longest tickling barrage any of them had seen in years.
---
Kendall's going away party should've been a huge affair. James prided himself on throwing the best Hollywood shindigs; blasting music, fantastic munchies, and the hottest girls. Usually, roping Carlos into party planning and inviting his myriad of freakish friends and attractive flirtations wasn't a problem, but for this, Logan had put his foot down."He's not going to want a huge party guys."
"It's Kendall. He loves parties," James protested, trying to make Logan see reason. What kind of international superstars would they be if they didn't have hella cool soirees?
"He does," Logan admitted, "But he's not going to want to make a big deal out of this. If we bring a ton of people-"
"A gazillion," Carlos interrupted, excited at the prospect of booze, babes, and miniature hotdogs, "We're going to invite a gazillion people."
"Gazillion isn't a number," Logan snapped, "It's fictitious."
"Dude, it is so a number."
"Is not."
"Guys!" James jumped in, "Get to the point before Kendall wakes up."
They were all crowded on the couch while the most beautiful television in the whole wide world blared a Dodgers game that none of them were paying attention to. They just kept it on because they liked the sound of all the cheering fans; it kept them amped up and creative.
"What I'm saying is if some random nobody leaks this to the press before Kendall's ready, he's going to have to answer a bunch of really uncomfortable questions. We can't do that to him."
Logan had a point. Which is why they ended up at some tiny, no-name hookah bar so far out of LA they might as well have been in San Dimas. James kept waiting for tumbleweeds to pass by. It wasn't glamorous, glitzy, home to celebrities or future-famous. Heck, it wasn't even home to people who even thought about being famous, except for that one girl in the corner who dressed like a burlesque dancer out on her dinner break.
They each had allowed themselves one guest each, because the more people they told, the harder the secret would be to keep. Kendall approved.
He brought Jo, who wore light brown cowboy boots and a silvery dress that clung to her figure like a wet swimsuit. She was breathtaking, and James knew Kendall would be watching her all night. Even if she hadn't been gorgeous, for Kendall, Jo was the One Who Got Away.
Logan brought Camille. Although they had tried dating a few years back and failed so miserably that Kendall, James, Carlos, and most of the record label had been required to stage an intervention, somehow the two had managed to overcome it and become close friends. James didn't mind; he liked Camille. She understood what it was like to be an artiste in a town full of people who thought acting involved little more than sleeping with the right casting couch director. She never compromised her integrity to get what she wanted, and she always made him laugh. He'd thought about dating her a few years ago, but then Logan had happened, and besides, James's type was taller. Blonder.
He dated a lot of supermodels.
None of them liked hockey.
This was a major character flaw. Plus, he hated when they had nicer hair than he did.
In his mind, his perfect girl had messy, sandy blond- er, blonde, hair and a mischievous smile. And okay, sometimes in his fantasies that smile had a chipped incisor, just barely noticeable, kind of like Kendall had all through freshman year of high school from a rough game. He'd gotten it fixed just before they'd been picked up by Rocque Records, but James had always liked the look on him. It made him seem…feral.
Not that he thought about Kendall's mouth a lot. Or ever.
Carlos had brought Kelly, because even though he had kind of, inexplicably metamorphosed from dorktastic daredevil to ladies' man overnight, he thought inviting the girl who'd helped them find fame would be a Nice Thing To Do.
Which had left James to invite Gustavo. Who had turned him down, because their record producer didn't support Kendall leaving for half a year or the band charring their lungs with smoke, and besides, why would he want to spend a perfectly good Friday night with dogs? So James had brought one of their backup dancers instead, a girl he'd made friends with on their last tour. She wasn't as pretty as James, but few people were.
Before they'd come, Carlos had tucked bottles of beer in James's messenger bag that clinked with every step he'd taken, making him nervous that somewhere along the cracked, pitted sidewalk he'd be stopped by a policeman who wouldn't care that he was an pop sensation.
He was just barely nineteen, and twenty one still felt miles, eons away.
Now, inside the smoky, enchanted bar he saw local college students who'd had the same idea Carlos had, clutching red cups in their hands so that the condensation made them look sweaty-palmed and covetous.
They ordered their hookahs, exotic flavors that rolled over James's throat and made his lungs feel sickly. Kelly was blowing rings, too practiced for any executive assistant that didn't have some secret bad girl past, but when they asked her about it, she just smiled.
"I can do that," Jo murmured to Kendall, and James leaned in to eavesdrop.
"Seriously?"
"Pie," she grinned.
"What?" Kendall asked.
Carlos jumped in, "There's pie?"
"There's no pie," Camille laughed.
"Then why'd she say there was?" Carlos whined.
"Pie," Camille repeated, "As in, easy as?"
"I don't get it," Carlos deadpanned. James stepped on his foot.
He liked hookah. More than smoking a cigarette, it made him feel like a dragon, like he could breathe fire or ice or color, give it a shape, like a song. But he couldn't do anything fancy. Jo breathed in and it seemed like every exhalation she took emerged in the form of a mystical creature, unicorns and dragons and griffins made of smoke, sphinxes with unfolded wings and sweet faced mermaids that looked like they might stick in his throat if he inhaled them, like they might sweetly asphyxiate them all. Kendall was hypnotized. She was a sorceress, demanding his attention with her magic spells and her too-prominent beauty.
James hated her a little for that, but the backup dancer at his side was warm and the smoke thick in his lungs made him feel like a carnival fire breather, invincible and burning, and the beer made everything sparkle. He'd let Jo have this small victory, he decided. She could work her magic one last night, whisper quiet, giggly incantations in Kendall's ear.
Every once in a while he would catch Carlos or Logan staring at him knowingly, like his barely concealed tolerance for Jo's presence was something tangible, an emotion they could see in the air, interlaced among the smoke-shapes. Mostly Logan, because he had a habit of being nosy.
James avoided getting pulled into a conversation with the smaller boy, because he also had a habit of being bossy.
Only, Camille insisted on being social. The bitch.
"Hey," she nudged James with her foot, "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing," he said. She caught him in her warm, slightly disapproving gaze and he faltered, "Everything."
"How d'you mean?" she smiled, encouraging, annoying. Like sticking her stupid face in his business was her prerogative or something. He could see Logan leaning in, slinging his arm around her shoulder in his peripheral vision, attempting to subtly eavesdrop.
He was so not subtle.
"It's just- change. I'm not so good with change."
"Understatement," Logan snorted, whispering in Camille's ear, "The last time they changed the ingredients in his designer hair gel he spazzed for an entire week."
"I did not," James replied clearly, making sure each word was coated with an icy edge.
Logan rolled his eyes, enunciating, "Did. Too."
"Before you two start bickering like toddlers, maybe we could just agree to disagree on this one?" Camille suggested, maintaining her bright, placid smile. James wasn't fooled. Her tone of voice suggested beneath the expression her teeth were gritted, which was really more her style.
Camille had a wicked temper, which was probably one of her more attractive traits. Girls with fire like that were few and far between.
Fear darted across Logan's face, and he immediately squeaked, "Uh, okay."
James shrugged noncommittally. He hadn't dated the girl for over a year, or allowed her to systematically castrate his man parts the way Logan had. Just because she was pissed, he wouldn't tuck his tail between his legs.
Although, better safe than sorry.
"I thought you supported the whole thing," she waved a hand vaguely in the smoky air, "Aren't you the one who gave Kendall the whole follow your dreams spiel? That's the way I heard it."
"Well, yeah."
"Care to elaborate?"
He frowned. If he wanted a therapist, he would dish out the cash for one. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it, "Not really. No."
This time no matter how much she glowered, he refused to care. Wasn't this a party? The backup dancer murmured something about Camille being pushy, something catty that made James snort in his drink and Logan choke on his double apple hookah. Camille looked like she wanted nothing more than to sink her claws into the rail thin girl; they 'd never gotten along very well.
Kendall, Carlos, and Jo were in their own little world, using the red cups and some soapy mixture to blow bubbles with smoke, like prisms filled with an oracular haze.
As the night teetered on toward the brink of dawn, Jo and Kendall got closer and closer. At one point James turned, and all he could see was the way they were almost touching, but not quite.
Suddenly, the party stopped being fun. He decided it was time to go home.
---
The next morning found James shoving suitcases in the back of his beat up old Saab. He had a whole garage full of nice automobiles, even a Maserati, but this was his baby. This was the car his parents had banded together to buy him when he first got his California license, despite the fact that they were dead broke and that after the divorce they barely even spoke. The car had sentimental value, more than any high priced sports car ever could.Plus he wasn't going to take the Maserati anywhere that require snow tires.
"All set to go?" Logan grinned at him from the garage.
"Yep. Kendall's finishing up breakfast and then we're hitting the road."
"I'm going to miss you guys!" Carlos popped out from behind Logan, his eyes larger than a puppy dog's. He barreled toward his taller friend and threw his arms around James's waist forcefully, pinning him into the metal of his car.
"Carlos- can't- breathe," James gasped, and Logan had to pry the smaller boy off of him. When he succeeded, they both saw that Carlos was close to tears.
"I haven't been away from you both for more than a week, ever," Carlos complained, sniffing.
"Me either," Logan said quietly, albeit more composed.
James was struck by such love for his friends then, the kind that made him feel too much, like he was overflowing, unable to stop, unsure if he wanted to. It hurt, and it was painful, but it was so, so good. Even if it was only for a little while, he was going to miss them.
Logan, who would wander out of their mansion's study after hours with a book looking like he'd just been ripped apart, like he'd never be whole again. He'd walk around for an entire day with this- soulless expression, liked what he'd just read had drained him dry and then poof! Normal Logan would return, sunshine and rainbows and a survivor. James loved that words could do that to his friend, even if James had never experienced it himself.
Carlos, who couldn't be left to his own devices for a day without building something from scratch, like he had this driving need to create skate ramps and outdoor Jacuzzis, anything and everything, all out of nothing. He would work and work and work and play, play, play only to scrap the whole project when he was done, like he had no choice but to destroy everything he made, because nothing would ever be good enough, solid enough, extreme enough. Because he knew everything he did always had the potential to be better, and Carlos wouldn't give up until it was. In the magazines, they never pinned Big Time Rush's resident comedian as a perfectionist, but James knew he was, and it made him love the smaller boy. It made him certain that he'd be driving along some distant highway past skeletal buildings of lumber and rust when Carlos would pop into his head, when he'd wonder what Carlos could make of all that decay.
He forced a smile and said, "Stop being melodramatic. I'm going to see you again soon. Two weeks, top."
They all ignored the irony of James telling them to quit with the melodrama.
Both boys gave him affectionate hugs and told him to drive safe, and eventually, after a few moments, Logan dragged Carlos back inside the house where they would say goodbye to Kendall.
James climbed into the driver's side of his car and sighed. Kendall.
He couldn't stop thinking about last night, with Jo, and the way Kendall's eyes seemed to shine at her presence. No girl had ever made James feel that way. Dating involved too much drama. Girls who thought they'd be together forever when James knew all they had in common was this one short summer fling. Girls who thought they were the center of his world, texting him things like 'You're dead to me now' and expecting it to have this crater-like impact on him. And then there were those girls who really did make James's life revolve around them, bent him to their every whim, left him pining and wanting and then took off like the wind, like sand sifting through his fingers.
The latest one, the supermodel, was a variation on the second and the third kind. She wanted to be this huge part of his life, to make his world narrow to only her, but at the same time she was constantly flitting off to Brazil and Tokyo and parts of the planet James had only seen in stadiums and hotel rooms and the occasional guided tour. Places that used to be nothing more than pictures in his father's ancient editions of National Geographic, a sunbeam caught falling over some distant city James swore would know his name someday. Places that once were mere points on a map, latitude and longitude lines overlapping exotic names. Some days, when all James could recall were tiny bars of soap and mini bars fully stocked with whiskey and thousands of screaming fans, he thought maybe nothing had changed.
He'd been all over the world, but he hadn't, not really. Not when his memories were painted in the pearlescent blues, pinks, and whites of shampoo bottles, the turquoise of chlorinated pools, and a million different shades of Kendall, Logan, and Carlos.
He'd been with too many girls, but the only person he'd ever looked at like Kendall had looked at Jo last night was…well.
"Start the trip without me? You look like you're a thousand miles away," Kendall joked, sliding onto the cracked leather passenger seat of the old junker with an ungraceful thud, startling James out of his reverie.
"I was just thinking about back home," James lied, not wanting to admit that he'd been mulling over a single image from the previous night, shadows, light, smoke and Jo and Kendall's faces so close together they might as well have been one person.
"I thought home was here," Kendall arched an eyebrow, his expression innocuous, but innocuous on Kendall made him look like some clever mischief was afoot, like the role of mildly-inquiring-friend was just another acting job he'd undertaken and really curiosity was just driving him mad. Kendall was a terrible actor.
James though maybe he took a piece of every place he'd ever lived with him, from the trailer park in Minnesota to the nonstop fun of the Palmwoods to the almost molasses-like feel of their mansion, the one place in their movingmovingmoving lives that seemed to stand stock still. But he wouldn't say so, not aloud, because philosophizing was Logan's thing and because it was a serious thought for someone who was supposed to be concerned with little more than his hair and girls and the way his voice sounded over the radio.
"Home is wherever you are, dude," James said instead, and after the words tumbled out of his mouth like an avalanche he realized that maybe what he'd just said was even more serious. Kendall's gaze flickered like a candle flame, and then he turned and looked out the window as James shifted the car into gear. He tore out of the driveway, silently berating himself. Kendall watched the mansion fade away, and the silence was so thick it was paralyzing.
"Is it really okay? My leaving?"
"I said it was. Duh. And it's not like you're going for a whole year."
"Six months is a long time," the mansion had fled behind them, but it's afterimage lingered on the back of James's eyelids, and when Kendall glanced toward him again he could feel the intensity of his best friend's gaze.
"Forever is a long time," James corrected, "Six months is barely a skip in a pond."
James knew all about ponds. There'd been one by the trailer park, filled with garbage and pollution and mutant three eyed fish. A stream leeched into it, and sometimes James had liked to walk the slippery stone pebble dirt path along the banks of that stream until it morphed into a river that raged, where the water turned clear and the fish had normal features and on low tide days it smelled like rotting marine life and the faintest scent of sea salt amongst the damp moss and heady pine. Sometimes James would catch the same scent at Venice Beach or Newport, except the salty air was oceanic and not from some saltwater pond that was barely larger than James's house and there was nothing organic about any of it. Wind and surf and sand with no hint of trees or snow or deep, dark shadows, all the way up the coastline until you hit Big Sur. Occasionally he'd drive all the way up there out of homesickness. That smell was his favorite. It was like home, and sometime she'd lean against the railing of Newport's pier and just inhale, when he didn't have the time to drive for five hours up north.
"What if I get picked up? What if I really am scouted, and I get on a college team and the Wild decides to recruit me and I have to make a choice," Kendall blurted.
"Then you make a choice," James shrugged, his fingers curling around the steering wheel a bit too tightly, the idea turning his stomach sour and his knuckles white, "We'll go on hiatus."
"You hate being on hiatus. Last time we thought the tour would be delayed you freaked out and told everyone your vocal chords were rusting."
"They were," James replied defensively, because he'd seriously been able to feel orange-red grit growing inside his lungs, lining his esophagus. Plus he'd actively imagined all his disappointed fans. How on earth would they survive without him? For a moment, panic rose inside him. Reliving the moment made his throat close up and his vision blur. He couldn't go through that again.
But Kendall's dreams were more important, he forced himself to remember. He couldn't do this halfway. He had to commit.
"So?" Kendall prompted, more out of morbid curiosity than any honest intention to do so. James could tell. Kendall wasn't panicking about the future yet; he wasn't absolutely convinced he'd get scouted or play for the Wild or break up the band. He was just theorizing, weighing his options, measuring James's reactions if that ever became a real possibility.
"I'll live," James answered dryly, trying to make it sound like it was No Big Deal.
"What if- what if I decide I can't balance playing professional hockey and the band? What happens then?"
Kendall was being the devil's advocate, and it kind of made James want to punch him in the face. What if the fucking sky turned green and the next ice age came? James had no idea what he'd do. He was a live-in-the-present kind of guy. Dreaming about the future was one thing.
Making contingency plans was a whole other matter.
"Carlos becomes an actor. Logan gets his PhD. I go solo," James flashed a quick, hopefully carefree grin, "It's not like we need you."
Which was ludicrous. Of course they needed him. Kendall was their glue, their fearless leader. He made them what they were.
But James was damned if he would tell Kendall that, "Anyway, shut up. Stop acting like you're never coming back."
"But-"
"Hush your mouth. I'm talking now."
"The world doesn't revolve around your ego, man. These are things I really need-"
"I said hush your face."
James knew his ego was inflated. He didn't need people to tell him that. Just like he didn't need people to tell him he was handsome or witty or had a rakish smile. He told himself, ever day, because more often than not, people wouldn't. Truth was, people were more likely to tell someone they looked like shit on a day they looked fine, or that they were stupid because they'd scored an eighty on a test when they could have gotten a hundred, or that their teeth were fucked up when their smile was so brilliant it was blinding. James had figured out at a young age that people were stingy with compliments and overzealous with insults, and it wreaked havoc with a person's self esteem.
Unless that person, namely him, built themselves up. If he built a wall so high no casual slight could knock it down, he would be invincible. So he did, and he was. He didn't know how everyone else fended off all the minor barbs thrown at them on a daily basis, but he let them bounce off like that old nursery rhyme, I'm-rubber-and-you're-glue. Maybe everyone else was born with self-confidence, with an innate belief that they were better than everyone else's opinions, so they could just laugh every offense off. But James had created his confidence, and if that made him vain, did it really matter? It was better than being reduced to a nervous wreck every time he had a bad hair day.
So really, the only times he took cruel words to heart was when they came from someone too close, someone who'd worked under the mirage of pretty and sarcastic and discovered the quivering, quaking being inside him that had no clue if he could handle this, any of it. Life. Living. The part of him that was terrified of everything, of being abandoned and rejected; the part of him that always seemed to be abandoned and rejected.
Every time someone got too close, they left, usually with some parting shots. One of his ex-girlfriends had told him he lived in a fantasy land, and the words hadn't made sense to him until after the fact, and now every time he thought of it he trembled inside, because he thought maybe it was true.
So yeah. James knew he was egotistical and narcissistic. He had to love himself. Nobody else would.
"Consider my face hushed," Kendall grinned, not taking his snappish tone offensively because he was James's polar opposite. He was loved, and he knew it, and he'd always known it. He'd always had his parents, and when his dad died, his mom had overcompensated like hell to make sure that he still had somebody. Plus there was Katie, and maybe being an older brother made a person more selfless, but James had never gotten the chance to find out, because his parents could barely stand being in the same room together, much less to procreate a second time. And then there were his friends; Kendall had so many friends James wasn't sure how he kept track of them, much less why he counted James among his favorites.
Basically, Kendall was the most fascinating person he'd ever met, and the one thing James feared most was that he'd figure out what a total fake James was and drop him. Kendall hated fakers.
"Good. Now tell me where you want your last meal."
Kendall's eyes screwed up in mock horror, and he snorted, "I knew it. You're taking me out to the desert to kill me so you'll be the pretty one."
It was like all the tension leaked out of the car at once. Indignant, James screeched, "I am the pretty one. Who thinks you're prettier than me? Wait, I am still the pretty one, right? Right, Kendall? What have you heard? Kendall!"
Kendall couldn't answer. He was too busy cracking up. Fine, James sulked. He was driving his best friend to North Bumblefuck, potentially breaking up their band for all eternity, the open windows were hell on his hair, and now he was being openly mocked.
None of which was even the worst part. The most terrible bit was…in the face of Kendall's smile, one of that seemed to even matter.
Three