A/N: So. Big Time Rush. I'm officially in love with all of those boys. Yup.
Disclaimer: No, to my utter dismay, I don't own them. I wish I did.
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It's Supposed To Be Platonic
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James looked it up once after someone—Logan—said that he might have a "boy crush" on Carlos, which is supremely ridiculous.
Urban Dictionary says that a boy crush means that "when a guy really admires another guy, but not necessarily in a sexual or romantic way."
Yeah. He's going to go with that.
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It wasn't until they'd actually stopped moving for a whole five minutes that James actually notices Carlos's hands.
See, now, normally Carlos is waving them all over the place or jumping on people and clinging like some deranged monkey, or, the personal favorite, smacking his helmet to his head to ensure maximum protection from whatever stupid thing it is he decides to do next. It's like a part of who he is. Moving and gesturing wildly, that's Carlos.
Now he's got both hands very securely pressed up against his chest, just under his heart, fingers curled in, and that's so…
Not Carlos.
Though it's not like James notices these things or anything.
Yeah.
"Hey." When Carlos looks up at him and gives him that stupid smile that practically shits rainbows and puppies and butterflies—which James prides himself on having that very same talent, thank you very much—James sort of figures that, oh, this whole hand thing, it's probably nothing. Probably has something to do with the fact that all his dreams are apparently about to be crushed.
It's nothing.
Except knowing Carlos it probably is something. Hell, with Carlos, it's always something.
"Never mind," he says, and for a second Carlos gives him an odd look, face falling, but then he shrugs.
"Alright."
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James looked up "man crush" not too long after, which was really not that much different, but infinitely more masculine.
"For a man to have a very close platonic friendship and/or admiration for another man."
Platonic is his new favorite word.
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There is no kind of jumping around like a mad man than the triumphant jumping around like a mad man. James bounces off of his bed and, no, seriously, he wants to do cartwheels. They are making a CD. A real honest-to-God CD. That's not almost halfway there, that's halfway there without any gas station stops in between.
He kind of wants to really do a back flip, but he may crack his head against the wall. So instead he settles for just bouncing from bed to bed while yelling happily like a little boy with two extra ice cream cones. Yes, he knows he's cool, what.
Kendall and Logan have already done their obligatory celebrating in the front room, but James and Carlos can still hear them in their own room shouting it out with glee.
And yes, those are definitely the sounds of two teenagers jumping from bed to bed, singing their songs at the top of their lungs.
Carlos joins him in the bouncing and the jumping for about ten minutes before he flops down on his bed and buries his face in the pillow. James takes a bounding leap over him because oh, hell, his joy knows no bounds, seriously, he could do this all—
Whoa.
Ten minutes?
James makes a valiant attempt to stop and ends up bashing himself into the wall. Spectacularly, as well. He ricochets off it and nearly topples down, but manages to catch himself before he lands and, quite possibly damages his face, which is their main marketing technique, thank you and good-night. They need this face.
Carlos is howling with laughter as he straightens back up, and someone pounds on the wall.
"Jesus, guys," Kendall hollers, "if you're gonna do that, keep it down!"
"Kendall!" Logan's hissed voice sounds indignant. "Your mom's in the other room!"
Very true.
"So? She knows I'm joking, and if she doesn't, then they obviously have some hardcore evidence against them!" The last part is shouted—Kendall's teasing, and normally James would shout something right back about that time at the pool with Logan, but he has more pressing matters.
There is no way that Carlos Garcia, resident maniac of Big Time Rush, would stop bouncing and jumping and having a gay old time after only ten minutes. Carlos Garcia works for at least forty without rest. Carlos Garcia out-jumps everyone and has more energy than a squirrel on speed.
Maybe James wouldn't notice this if not for the fact that he watches too damn much.
Then again, Carlos doesn't exactly keep it private.
"You're done already?" James inquires, and Carlos gives him a funny look. "I was expecting like… I dunno, you breaking something first before you called it a night."
"Oh." Carlos shrugs, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "Yeah, no, it's nothing. I'm, uh, tired."
Bullshit.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom?" Carlos continues, pitching his voice higher at the end of the sentence, like he needs approval to use the facilities. What, like James is going to jump him on the spot and demand that, no, no he can't go to the bathroom? "So. Yeah." He clears his throat awkwardly and Jesus, Carlos has never been good at lying. It's a wonder he gets away with anything with his dad.
Carlos jerks his hand towards the door as he starts to turn around—his hand, not his thumb, weird—and goes, "I'll be back, uh. Soon. Uh-huh, definitely soon." Somewhere between the happy mad dash to their apartment and the wild jumping, James realizes, Carlos had pulled on his hockey sweater, sleeves pulled up over both hands so that only the tips of his fingers are showing.
Because that's not suspicious at all.
"I'm coming with you!" James blurts out.
Oh wow.
"To the bathroom," Carlos clarifies after a long moment, an eyebrow raised. It's a weird look on Carlos; usually it's reserved for Kendall. Carlos doesn't usually give someone the "did you really just say that" sort of look. Mostly because he tends to be on the receiving end of it.
"Mm-hmm." Better to roll with it now.
"Right. Well. Uh. I'd rather piss in privacy, if you don't mind?" Carlos is clearly wheedling here. He wants to be alone for a reason, and damned if James is giving it to him.
When he got so possessive and sneaky he doesn't know.
…maybe Carlos actually does want to pee.
No, that's definitely not it.
"Uh-huh."
"Yeah, pissing in privacy is sort of this thing people do."
James scoffs. "Urinals?"
Carlos actually considers that for a moment, tugging on the hem of his left sleeve.
"Okay, true." This is way too subdued for Carlos. Carlos doesn't do subdued. It's weird. Way too weird.
"Alright, then, I'm coming with you."
"Um. No."
"Yup. Coming with you."
"No you're not."
James smiles at him. It's that sort of smile that means danger, abort mission, head for the hills and fire all weapons. It's the smile that means "oh yes I am, and if you try to stop me I will show you what horrible things I can do with a hair straightener and Mrs. Knight's make-up kit while you are asleep."
But despite the fact that Carlos is nothing if not persistent, and James was expecting an argument or something, he just shrugs and smiles back.
"Alright, fine. Come with me."
"I will."
"Good."
"Good."
"Alright."
"Okay."
Carlos gives him another one of those adora—nice smiles. Nice. Smiles. A nice smile and tilts his head and starts walking off and this is so not like Carlos at all. Carlos fights tooth and nail and he wins. This Carlos is apparently okay with James being in the same room as him while he pees.
That's weird.
James plans on following through with this, mind. It'll just be hella awkward to be in the bathroom with Carlos while he takes a piss. They've done it before, granted, but those were in public places or school bathrooms and not generally out of free will.
This was also all before James apparently developed a man crush on him.
Oh crap.
They both stroll out, attempting to be nonchalant—damn Kendall and Logan for choosing the bedroom with the bathroom—and walk through the kitchen. James feels cookie crumbs under his toes and grimaces. That's totally gross. He guesses Bitters hasn't been up to clean yet, and Mrs. Knight probably just swept it all off to the side.
"What happened in here anyway?" he questions.
"I dropped the cookie pan," Carlos answers. He reaches the door and, ah ha, now James knows something is wrong, because he hesitates for a long moment at the door, hand hovering over the knob. Just as James is about to make a triumphant Sherlock Holmes-y kind of exclamation, Carlos opens the door and strolls on in. James deflates a little, but follows.
There is an extremely awkward silence once James closes the door behind him. Apparently they've both decided at the exact same time that is really sort of stupid.
"So what exactly is going on?" James finally asks, and Carlos sighs—he sighs, what is this madness—and holds out his hands, freed from the sleeves of the sweatshirt.
The tips of his fingers, the curves of his palms, the edges of his thumbs, are all an angry scarlet, skin bubbled in some places and other places looking simply shiny, like there's grease on his hands. His fingers are curled in gently, almost limply. James stares at them for a moment. There's almost a pattern to the burns.
"Yeah, so, about that," Carlos says almost mildly. "I forgot to put on oven mitts when I was making those cookies."
"Dude," James says, pulling on his wrists and leading him over to the sink; James may not be very good with first aid, but Jesus, these look kind of bad, "even I know you don't pull out a cookie pan without mitts."
Carlos turns indignant, but let's James guide him to the sink and push down on his shoulders until he's seated on the toilet. "Give me some credit, I was being watched every second by a blonde she-demon with some rodent…rat thing she called a dog! I was under a lot of stress!"
"I'll give you that," James admits. "Where's Mrs. Knight? She probably knows what to do—"
"Nonono," Carlos jumps up quickly and shakes his burned hands, like that doesn't even bother him, and maybe it doesn't, "don't tell anyone else, alright?"
"What? Why?"
"'Cause. Just don't." Carlos has got the face on, the one that means serious business, but James is having none of that. No friend of his is going to walk around with hands that bad. He reaches for them again, and Carlos lets him look them over before shaking his head. "Look, it's just… this is a big thing, yeah? And I don't want everyone to be freaking out over something that's not that bad. I was gonna come in here and handle it myself—"
"How were you going to put gauze around your own hands?" James demands, feeling stupidly annoyed. "I don't even get it. You love the center of attention. When you broke your ankle you were all for the pampering and the babying—"
"Yeah, because we hadn't just gone through a ridiculous amount of time and effort to get somewhere big."
James wants to growl a little in frustration, mainly because this is so not his job, taking care of Carlos, and yet he wants to, has to. God.
"Sit down."
Carlos opens his mouth, maybe to protest, but James ignores whatever it was he was going to say and starts rummaging through the medicine cabinet. "You know that Logan and Kendall are going to find out."
"Then let them find out on my terms." Carlos is clearly letting a little pleading tone into his voice, probably knowing that James is going to capitulate when he's injured. It also doesn't help that Carlos is the size of a freaking twelve-year-old and can make some damn good puppy eyes when he wants to.
James sighs. "I won't tell them."
Stupid, adorable, puppy-dog-eyed little beast.
He's got some gauze and the burn cream from the first aid kid laid out on the sink, and he gently pushes up Carlos's sleeves. "Just don't move, okay? It's gonna sting, probably."
"No shit."
James shoots him what he hopes is a glare. Carlos clamps his mouth shut and holds out his hands, giving James a little smile that clearly says I'm sorry, now take care of me please?
Squirting some of the burn cream into his palm, James gently takes Carlos's left hand in both of his own and starts massaging as gently as he can. They've both got hockey hands, calluses risen and firm on each finger, but it doesn't stop Carlos from sucking in a sharp breath at the touch, biting his lip. James feels his hand jerk instinctively, trying to avoid being injured again, but he holds firm as Carlos eventually relaxes again.
"Ow."
"I said it would hurt," James comments. "How long were you holding it? Jeez."
"I dunno, a couple seconds. I didn't realize it was hot right away." Carlos's voice is a bit strained.
James sort of wants to roll his eyes, except fact of the matter is that, had it been him in the situation, he might have very well done the same exact thing. He rubs his thumb carefully over the heel of Carlos's palm, trying to ignore the little gasps of pain, the way that Carlos has clenched his eyes shut. It's not really the fact that Carlos is in pain that's getting to James, it's more the fact that Carlos is actually allowing it to show. It's weird.
When he's done, he picks up the gauze and starts to wrap it around Carlos's hand, layering it out evenly. This he knows how to do—they do this every game, an added barrier beneath their gloves.
He repeats the whole process again with his right hand, trying to be as gentle as possible.
"Crap, that hurts."
"Yeah." James tucks the gauze in and tapes it down before slapping his hands against his thighs. "Alright, I think that's it."
"You know, I still could've done this myself," Carlos says firmly, pulling his sleeves down again, the gauze making it an extremely awkward process. "Just so you know."
"Uh-huh."
"I could've!"
"Yup."
Carlos sighs, and this time it's one of the normal ones, the you annoy me but I love you anyway you ass. His eyes sparkle a little as he stares up at James, and his mouth quirks.
"Thank you, though."
James claps him on the shoulder as he turns the knob to the door and Carlos pushes himself off the toilet seat.
"I expect cookies or something in return."
"Oh hell no, I'm not going near the stove," Carlos declares, shaking his head fretfully. "You can make your own cookies."
"Did someone say cookies?" Kendall pokes his head out his and Logan's room. "Because I'm dead hungry, can we eat?"
"Yes, please," Logan calls from inside.
Carlos nods his head and says, "Who calls for pizza?" at the same moment he presses his bandaged fist to his nose, glancing over at James.
James touches a finger to his nose, followed by Kendall, followed by Logan going "aw c'mon."
As Kendall laughs and retreats back into the room with his cell phone in hand, calling out a number for Logan to dial, Carlos shakes his sleeves down over his hands again and grins at James. Who can't help but smile back. Because damnit, Carlos is full of rainbows and smiley faces and his good humor is infectious.
"I'll buy cookies, if you want," he says. "Not as good as my grandma's, but they'll do."
James shrugs, shakes his head.
"Or," he replies, "we could make some together?" He wiggles his fingers. "I be the hands, you be the head."
Carlos snorts. "With that combination, those would be some crapass cookies."
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They were.
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But when they were both lying on the couch, covered in flour and chocolate, Carlos's hair nearly white from the powdered sugar, it was totally worth it to have his best friend lying on top of him, snoring lightly into his shoulder, and James figures that's probably not a platonic love..
It's funny how, what with Carlos asleep, practically dead to the world, his bandaged hands resting lightly on his chest, it's the only time when James will admit that he kind of wouldn't have it any other way.
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Platonic.
"To love someone in an "I don't want to do you" kind of way."
That was the plan, at least.
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fin