Scattered emotions littered the streets of Los Angeles that night. Anger, dread and fear hung in the air as the masked assailant lowered his hand. His hand held the knife, the one now dripping with fresh blood. The act did not go unnoticed, a familiar face surveying the scene from a distance. It wasn't him, this persona; the mask separated his rational side from his impulsive one. As he witnessed the aftermath unfold, he continued to chant that mantra in his head: it wasn't him. No matter what he told himself, he knew that they were simply excuses; excuses that he wanted so badly to be true. Rage consumed him and blinded him to the fact that he was about to ruin everything. In the end, he blamed love. If it hadn't been for love, he wouldn't have had to resort to murder. If it hadn't been for love, his best friends would be alive, unscathed and happy, the most important emotion of all.
Only one question remained, and it was one that James wasn't sure that he could answer, "what have you done?" The lingering third party edged ever closer, the situation growing tenser with each step. James wanted to run; he wanted to hop on the first plane out of there and start a new life, one where nobody had any knowledge of the harm he'd done or the pain he caused. As Logan came into view, his features lit from above by the lone streetlight, he knew that he couldn't. He loved Logan, and if he left now, then all of their shared memories would have been for naught.
"I don't know," was the only answer James could muster, his voice barely audible in the chilling autumn wind. Logan knew that he was lying, trying to spare his own feelings, but he couldn't hide from what he saw. There was no masking the incriminating evidence.
"James," Logan sternly warned the other man, reaching out for him only to have him pull back, "James, I need to know!" While he had an inkling, Logan barely had a grasp on what James had been thinking when he murdered Kendall Knight, one of their best friends. The newly criminalized man didn't seem to have anything to say on the matter.
"There's nothing to tell," he uttered brokenly, glancing down at the lifeless body, "you've been watching me. You know everything." This wasn't the truth, and Logan knew that James was just trying to move past the subject; he decided to let him. Kneeling down beside the body, Logan bit his lip as his hand lingered over the wound, afraid to fully touch it but wishing he could administer some form of help. It would be useless though; he was gone.
James found Logan's innocence endearing at times, but this was one of those times where it was downright annoying. Death happened every day; it was a part of life, and whether they were killed by force or by a long-standing illness, they were all going to the same place. Kendall deserved to die, and Logan didn't understand that; either that, or he was merely feigning stupidity at what happened. A month earlier, Kendall forcibly raped Logan. Logan had harboured feelings for Kendall for quite some time, but when he found out, he was anything but sweet and accepting. Logan never wanted anyone to find out, but Kendall ended up inebriated one night and revealed the details to James in a bragging manner. That was when things went downhill.
It wasn't until then that James realized he had spoken those words out loud, leaving Logan as a sobbing, dripping mess in front of him. "You knew?" he asked quietly, James nodding as he knelt down, bringing the crying Logan into a hug.
"I did, and I promised to myself that I would never let him hurt you again."