A/N. AU, Big Time Rush never existed. In Kendall's perspective.

I love you. Please review. I crave it. Enjoy.

-JT

The day before he left hurt the most. We wanted to do so much, but there was no time. So we did nothing. We sat in the yard and dangled our legs into the cold water, enjoying each other's company. It was a nice day, the sky was a bit cloudy, but other than that, it was warm and there was a refreshing breeze. The sun was shining on our backs and my neck started to burn after a while, but I didn't move. There were a lot of sparrows in the trees that day, they made nice company. I have to admit they were a bit loud, but they looked so full of life and happy enough hopping from branch to branch. Whenever there was a gust of wind, the fresh smell of lavender and rosemary would waft into our noses. The neighbor had rosemary and other herbs growing into our side of the fence, but it was okay. Because we were together, and nothing could go wrong. Our shadows moved from the other side of the pool to behind us, and yet it felt like no time had passed. I was trying to grab onto every second I spent that day, but remembering that made me forget about everything else. There weren't a lot of bugs that day, but I did see a lot of different beetles. Whenever a bug flew into the water, I would scoop it out with a leaf or a stick; he said it was unnecessary, but I said life should be cherished. We didn't eat much that day. Inside, I knew what he was thinking about. How everything that happened today could be the last, the last lunch he ate here, the last time he would descend the stairs, the last time he would hold Sissy, my dog in his arms, the last time we would kiss goodnight.

I tried to stay strong though, for his sake. He knew it hurt me inside, but not as much as I showed. We didn't do any of the things I was hoping we would do that day. I wanted him to shove me into the pool and splash water at my face to help take my mind off things, but it didn't happen. We were too sad to even really talk. Not that we needed to, his presence in itself was enough to keep me company, and I was grateful for it.

That night, I couldn't sleep. He couldn't, either. So we sat down by the fireplace, but didn't turn it on because it was April, and April in California was pretty hot already. But we did drink hot chocolate. And I laid in his arms and he wrapped them around me, and I could feel his heart beating through his red v-neck. And I tried not to think about the fact that it could be the last time I felt his heartbeat, but the thought drifted to me anyway. It hurt, a lot.

The last of anything is hard. If you don't know it when you're doing it, well, that's a lot easier. Counting down until you had to say goodbye… that was hard. I remember the last day of high school was torture for me. Everyone else was throwing parties and exploring the underground tunnels and celebrating, but I was so sad. Every class I walked to, I thought about how it would be the last time I would step foot in that classroom. Eventually, Logan dragged me down to the basement and we walked through the forbidden secret passageways together, which lifted my mood a bit.

I had been counting down six months prior. But it didn't really sink in until the day he started packing. It knocked all the air out of me. I couldn't breathe. It felt like the many times he held my head underwater, except then I knew he wouldn't let me die, but this realization made me feel like I was being strangled. I imagined my neck bones cracking and my windpipe collapsing, my knees wobbling and me toppling over backward, clutching my neck and trying to breathe. But that was imaginary. Because in reality, I just stood there shocked and watched him pack.

The last time he kissed me was that morning. They came to pick him up, seven o' clock on the dot. I sat on his lap on the sofa. Neither of us slept last night, we both ended up sitting with our feet dangling in the pool again, laying on the soft grass under the stars. Neither of us knew any constellations except for the Big Dipper, which we couldn't pick out. The few stars that we could see must have been really bright to show in the Los Angeles smog. I nestled into his neck and I could feel his hair pricking me. It was untamed and messy, but to be honest, I like it better this way. He knows I do, but he doesn't get why. I don't know why either, but it might be the fact that it makes him look more innocent and like a teddy bear. Yeah, I don't know. He wrapped his arms around me, and I could feel his breath gently rustling through my hair. He was so warm. And he had so much love in his heart. I really miss that.

We watched as the car pulled into the driveway. We had watched the sunrise together, and in that moment, I had forgotten about what was going to happen that day. But not for long. Because that was the moment I had been dreading the most. He shook as he inhaled. He helped me up, then got up himself. And then he opened the door, cool morning air invading our home. And he picked Sissy up and gave her a messy kiss as she squirmed happily in his arms. Then he put her down and backed me up against the wall. He told me not to miss him too much, and to constantly write to him. Then he hugged me and kissed me three times, once on the lips, once on the cheek, and lifting himself higher on his tiptoes to plant one on my forehead. And then I handed him his bags and he left, without a glance back.

I don't think he looked back because if he did, well, I wouldn't have let him go. And I think he would have chickened out at the last minute. He tries to be tough, but he really isn't as tough as he appears.

Mail takes a long time. I wonder how people in the olden days could wait for their letters to arrive. It takes about a week and a bit for a cycle. It drove me insane. I missed him a lot. I got sick, because I missed him so much. It wasn't that bad, because I don't get sick often, but that cold really knocked me down for bit. My heart ached. I think Sissy missed him too, because she kept sniffing through his closet, as if he was in there. Makes sense, because it smells so much like him. His leathery, sweet cologne and smell that I could only describe as being uniquely Logan. It smells nice. Makes my heart flutter a bit.

I always said, "Life goes on," because it does. But it's hard. It's easy to say it, but it's hard to live it. I wouldn't have known, because I'm always the one saying it, not doing it. The weeks following his absence, I would sometimes accidentally prepare two shares of bacon and eggs, or yell "I'm home!" to no one but Sissy, who already knew I was home because she would already be there by the time I yelled it. I never used to watch the news. But during that time, I watched it religiously, bracing myself for the moment they say that a John Doe was blown up in an explosion, or for an image of his smiling face to come up as a missing, wounded, or dead soldier. The John Does came and went, but I still wrote to him and he still wrote back. I remember in one particularly sad letter, he said that someone he was somewhat close to had died in a suicide bombing. All I could think of was how glad I was it wasn't him. I know I was being selfish, but I couldn't help it. His absence made me meaner and tougher.

The time passed so slowly, but it passed nonetheless. Eventually, it had ticked down to one more month before he got back. One month. A lot can happen in a month. Births, deaths, big events, small events, no events. Rabbits and skunks are pregnant for a month. I knew I still had to wait, and it felt longer than it ever had. Every week, I would write to him essays that I put more effort in to than the ones I would write in school. In one letter, he wrote back about some bombings close to his site. But it was okay because he would be back in my arms in a month.

Thirty days.

Seven hundred thirty hours.

Forty three thousand, eight hundred twenty nine seconds.

His face was on the news nineteen days before his welcome home party.

He was seriously wounded in a suicide bombing, the same type that had taken the life of his friend.

His face showed up on the television again a week later - a Tuesday.

It was a nice day, that Tuesday.

But I didn't care.

Because he was gone.

I slept fine that night, and the night after.

But only because it hadn't sank in yet.

The day after the set date he was supposed to return hurt the most because he didn't return. I waited at the airport with Sissy until they told us to leave because I thought it was a joke.

I was half expecting for him to jump out and surprise me.

But he never did.

Because he was gone.

I don't know where he went.

He just… left.

He dropped out of my life, off the face of the planet.

And he never came back.

His body was brought back three days after.

With it was a sealed letter.

I didn't open the letter.

I still haven't opened the letter.

I don't know why.

Maybe because I miss him so much.

But that's no reason not to open a letter, is it?

Maybe because I'm afraid.

I'm afraid his last words to me would be something I don't want to hear.

But I know it's not, because I know he loved me.

And I love him a lot.

And I miss him with all my heart.

But like I always said,

Life goes on.

And it doesn't stop for you.

You just have to move along with it.