Higher than the Empire State, Brighter than the Sun (Carry Me Home Tonight)
James/Kendall, a little Camille/Carlos
Written for the Palmwoods Harvestfest FicFest at Lj.
It should be comforting, the familiar wooden surface of Kendall's regular table at his regular night spot. He's been where countless times before, usually with Jo, his then-but-now-ex girlfriend.
It's hard to say if it's her absence, or something else, that has tonight feeling just a little off.
He's here, out of the house for the first time in weeks, because he's been dragged into yet another of his friend Camille's adventures. This time it's a misguided venture into the world of teen rebellion.
Hence, Bob's Hotspot, the only bar in New York that Kendall would actually get in trouble for being in, due to some nasty business between his dad and the eponymous Bob some five-hundred years ago.
It's Kendall's favorite place in the city.
Tonight though, Kendall would rather be organizing files in his Dad's office, or playing monopoly with his little sister than here. And there is no worse monopoly opponent than Katie Knight.
The bar is beginning to fill now, a bigger crowd than what Bob's usually holds. Sneakers and boots shuffle across the untreated concrete floor, a muted march in wait of the booming drums and throbbing bass, the cacophony that is to come. The growing throng of girls in tiny shorts and guys in dark t-shirts is mumbling and tittering in a gentle hum, they too are quiet in preparation for the night ahead.
Kendall stands silently, while the loudest thing in the room, Camille, naturally, dances about to his left.
As Kendall watches the audience filter in through the familiar orange doors, he feels disconnected somehow, as though the time away from the city has left him caught behind everyone else.
Camille on the other hand is as vibrant as ever; head to toe in black, long hair teased up and out, lips stained in darkest red. It's a departure from her usual attire of floral dresses or tank tops and shorts.
"It's all a part of the experience," she'd told him when he picked her up.
He thinks he should probably be used to the costumes by now; it was way back in fourth grade when Camille told him of her dream to be an actress. It's been like this ever since, but Kendall still thinks she looks ridiculous at times, like a little girl playing dress-ups in her mother's business clothes.
He loves her though, and telling Camille to tone it down is never an effective use of one's time anyway, so he opts for gentle mockery instead.
"You look like a vampire groupie." Says Kendall, resting his elbow on the rickety old wooden table.
Camille looks thoughtfully up at him,
"Like a groupie for a band of musical vampires? Or a groupie who's been turned into a vampire?"
"Is there a difference?" He asks, for some reason,
"Of course there is!"
Of course there is.
Before Camille can launch into the hypothetical history of vampire musicians and their respective fan-bases, Kendall grabs her elbow and heads towards the bar, specifically towards the new bartender with the dreadlocks, the one he's never met before.
Kendall brought Camille here after all, and a good host/chauffeur does not let their guest go thirsty.
"Come on; let's get you a drink before the band starts." He says, shifting his arm up and draping it around Camille's shoulders,
"Hey" She says, and, still smiling wildly, grabs Kendall's arm and moves it away. "Platonic, remember? I want everyone here to know I'm available, and ready to get wild!"
The last word is delivered with the most un-rebellious squeal Kendall has ever heard and paired with a broad grin, and does nothing to assuage his fear that Camille's big plan is going to bomb.
"But you're right, we need to be quick," Camille smiles, "After all we have the best seats in the house!"
Kendall smiles weakly, regretting his decision to drive and not drink more and more with every passing minute.
"Right."
The moments before a show are nerve-wracking, as James Diamond is painfully aware.
As he watches Shaun and Eric put the finishing touches to their gear, James' stomach dips and swirls, and the walk out onto the stage is, as always, a dizzying blur of flashing lights and the overwhelming sounds of an excited crowd. He's getting used to it, having been playing actual for-real gigs for a few months now, but the lead-up is always a killer.
It's only the moment his hand connects with the microphone that he can breathe properly once more. Where he remembers just how long he's been waiting for this.
In those first few seconds, time slows down and everything becomes still. You wouldn't know it, given his on (and off) stage persona, but this moment of peace is James' favorite part of playing live.
He likes to glance out at the milling crowd before they're all positioned and ready to rock out, loves the moments the lights go down, erasing the faces of everyone but a few lucky people near the front.
Tonight there are a couple of eager folks right at his feet, undoubtedly fans of The Regiment, the big name group that James' band The Next Big Thing are supporting tonight, but regardless they stare at him in awe, glitter across their eyes, desire etched on their faces.
The fans come down now, more than he's seen before, and they stare hungrily as James takes pause. They don't know him, or this band, The Next Big Thing is just the appetizer, all they want from him is a low-level of suck. Don't ruin our buzz their faces say, dead serious. Satisfaction, that's all he can give them, a pulsing beat and lyrics that hit them where it hurts. Easy. They've done it a thousand times before, both in Carlos' garage and on stage.
James has a routine. Let the stage lights come up, feel the crowd's focus draw to him in all his leather and glory, bathe in their building excitement and racing pulses.
And wait.
Wait until Carlos begins to brush his kit impatiently, until Eric and Shaun are well and truly ready to go, and everyone is waiting on him. He makes them wait, standing like stone until the crowd begins to think they'll never actually start and then, when the time comes, and James decides enough is enough, he nods to Shaun and the frenzy begins.
Tonight though, is different.
Tonight he waits for something more, for the greedy eyes of the front row to grow cold, anxious. He doesn't want them confused tonight, he wants them angry, to have them feel the way he feels.
So he waits.
Shaun coughs convincingly behind James' shoulder, but James is busy giving his most dazzling smile (it's a good one) to a pretty little thing by his feet, with tousled hair and a butterfly by her collarbone.
It's when Shaun coughs again that James looks up into the wings and sees him.
Logan is side-stage, for some reason, and laughing, in clothes much more stylish than his regular standard, his hand on the arm of some perfectly-tanned ox in a silver tuxedo jacket. James watches them for a moment, thinking about Logan's hands on his own body, just a few short weeks before.
James feels more nauseous than he ever has in his life.
He nods to Shaun and looks out at the waiting public, who pretty much hate him by now, as the opening chords to Light Fires and Dance Oncome in behind him. James draws the microphone to his lips, and stares into the burning lights,
"I fucking told you not to come."
Kendall doesn't start to relax until the music starts, even then it takes a few songs to begin to feel even somewhat comfortable, to feel the tension slide a way just a little amidst the sound. The first band, The Next Big Thing, is new to Bob's, and while the oh-so-now trend of Glam-Rock isn't really Kendall's thing, they're not so bad.
Though their name is terrible.
He's more of an Indie-rock guy, and that's usually more Bob's speed too, which means Bob owed somebody a favor. Kendall's' willing to bet it wasn't the lead singer, who's stomping and pouting about like a prized tool, anger seething from his every hip-swing and glide.
His voice is another matter.
Beneath this guys over-produced I'm a Rock Star get-up (leather jacket, distressed jeans and, of all things, a bandanna? Come on, guy) and the ridiculously pretty hair, the boy's voice is warm and familiar, comforting almost.
Sure, he slips into this manufactured Ken-Doll style every now and then, but for the most part every lyric is delivered in a voice so raw, Kendall can't help but wonder what the hell has happened to this kid to get him so damn angry.
It's not just Kendall either, around him guys and girls alike are starry-eyed and swaying.
Even Camille, who is pretty much immune to assholes.
As the set ends, it takes a moment for Kendall to shake himself out of the reverie he's found himself in, to remember where he is and what he's doing, and to recognize Camille's excited grin and firm hand on his elbow,
"I'm thinking Tequila!" she shouts over the loud and cheerful post-set buzz,
"Sounds great!" Kendall replies with a smile, wondering if he can compare prices on car-seat cleaning with his iPhone.
"Are you having fun yet?" asks Camille once they reach the jostling line.
"Totally," Kendall tries to smile convincingly, but Camille shakes her head and before he knows it, Kendall's being dragged into the ladies room.
He'd be more surprised if this were the first time such a thing had happened.
The crowd of girls by the mirror however, is very surprised to see a lanky blond boy appearing in their bathroom, and glare daggers at the intruder.
"It's ok," Camille assures them, "He's super gay."
With a quick kick at Kendall's ankle before he can protest, (he's told her about his aversion to labeling his girl/guy/whatever-thing a hundred times before) they watch as the crowd of ladies evacuate the bathroom as swiftly as humanly possible. Kendall reaches down to rub his ankle, but Camille pushes him up against the sink.
"We need a game plan." She says, eyes glittering mischievously, shining even in the crappy orange light of the bathroom. Kendall shakes his head,
"What exactly are we doing again?" Camille rolls her eyes, certain that he never actually listens when she talks,
"I need to experience a night of teen rebellion. Parties, clubs, drinking, making out with hot strangers and giving them fake numbers, tattoos, motorcycles, the whole bit."
"I don't really think you need a tattoo Camille,"
"It has to be authentic, Kendall Knight, if it's not I run the risk of going to a hypothetical future audition unprepared, and that is just not an option! And I need your help; usually I would call upon Jo for this stuff but…" Kendall brings his fingers to his forehead and closes his eyes,
"Of course. Jo. Right, because rebellion was right up Taylor's alley."
"Kendall," starts Camille,
"No, just, forget it. Let's go and get you some random guy action."
He moves to stand up, but Camille's hand is firm on his elbow, "Kendall, you need to let go," she says sternly, "It's time."
"I'm not doing this," says Kendall, pushing himself off the sink and running his hands through his hair, as Camille leans back against the sink and looks at him a little sadly.
"Kendall, it's been 6 months since you and Jo broke up-"
"Since she dumped me…"
"Fine, 6 months since she dumped you-"
"And then came back! With a handsome guy attached to her face!"
"I know." Says Camille, fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt.
"But that was a month ago, Kendall, she's moved on. And I've been nice, Kendall, for the past month I've stood by and been a damn good friend while you turned into a zombie-boy who did nothing but lie on his couch eating Cool Ranch Doritos and watching Katherine Heigl movies. But I can't do that anymore, you can't do that anymore. It's done, and you need to move on."
He stares at her, one eyebrow raised,
"This is your plan to get me over losing the love of my life? You're just going to yell at me now? That's a terrible plan!"
"I'm not yelling. I'm just being honest!"
"What do you want me to do, Camille? Go out there and hook up with a bunch of random strangers to prove how over her I am?"
"No, I just-
"What? What do you want?"
"I want my best friend back. My fun, spontaneous, never-backs-down from a challenge best friend."
Kendall frowns and leans back against the sink beside her once more,
"I just don't feel like being him right now."
"Then you're letting her win."
She says it defiantly, as a challenge.
And Kendall, for all that he is aware of exactly what she's doing, how he knows that Camille knows exactly what buttons to push and when, can't help but feel the little flare of anger that is rising in his chest.
He hates to lose, that's not a secret. It's one thing for Jo to break his heart and then rub her ability to move on back in his face, but if that were to mean she's beating him in some sick game? That's not something Kendall can just let go of.
"I'm sorry," says Camille, resting her hand on his, "That wasn't fair. Do you just want to go home?"
He does, very much, but Camille is right, she has been nothing short of amazing for the past few months, and he owes her for that. Plus she's never been a big drinker or anything even close to a rebel, and watching her attempt to be a wild-child has the potential to be the funniest thing he's ever seen.
"Come on," Kendall says, taking her hand in his as Ernie, Bob's head of security sticks his head in the door of the bathroom and beckons them with one freckly finger.
"Let's get you some accurate representation of teen rebellion or whatever."
After a brief warning and some threatening-but-not-all-that-scary glances from Bob himself (it's difficult to be scared of a man with a ridiculous beard and a powder-blue tux), Kendall and Camille head back to the bar, Camille's words still running through Kendall's mind like an endless taunt.
He's thinking about his couch, and Jo, and the stupid car-keys digging into his hip, and how good some Doritos would go right now, when a guy comes pushing through the crowd and wipes out Camille.
"What the hell dude!" shouts Kendall, fingers clenching the collar of the guys jacket in seconds.
What anger management issues?
"I-what? I'm sorry" says the douchey lead singer from The Next Big Thing, eyes darting around nervously as several bystanders help Camille to her feet. Kendall, still holding the assailant, observes him for the first time, and suddenly it's not just his voice that has Kendall's attention. The guy is, well, pretty.
Like, really pretty.
"It's ok," says Camille with a smile, brushing herself off.
"It's not, I'm sorry; I'm not usually that clumsy. More charming and in control of my limbs, I promise. Can I get you guys some drinks? As an apology?" the guy's smiling now, but it's strained, and his eyes are fixed somewhere over Kendall's shoulder as he speaks without pausing for breath.
"Could you do me one quick favor though?" he continues, locking eyes with Kendall,
"Could you pretend to be my boyfriend for the next, like, five minutes?"