A/N: Wow, I haven't written fanfiction in such a long time! I guess this is my come back :D I've been away from this fandom for a while and probably won't know anyone on this website anymore. I guess this is a great opportunity to meet new friends! My name is Rose, and this is my newest story, "All Things Considered." It takes place maybe around the end of season 2 or start of season 3 of the TV show, when the guys are getting famous but not yet at super-stardom.

I also want to say a quick thanks to the incredible Aeroway, who helps edit my stories, supports me, and gives me advice that I hope will help me become as great a writer as he is.

Warnings: This fic is rated T because of angst, mentions of violence, and later on in the story some unintentional self-harm. (Don't worry, that'll make sense later.) I will post warnings before each chapter.


Chapter 1

Kendall's eyes could talk. Today they were screaming.

Sometimes Kendall's mouth couldn't—or wouldn't—express the words he needed to say. But Carlos never had to guess what Kendall was thinking. Everything unspoken could be found in those green irises. They revealed the emotions Kendall felt on the inside, regardless of whether or not he showed those feelings on the outside. They told the truth. They questioned, they answered, they comforted, scolded, schemed and played. Most of all, Kendall's eyes said all the things his mouth didn't dare.

Only Carlos seemed mindful of the unusual characteristic, though he was only aware if he bothered to pay attention. Today, where Carlos could usually detect truth in Kendall's eyes, he saw nothing but fear. He saw desperation. He saw someone drowning and fighting to breathe; someone lost and searching for a way out; someone about to break.

"Carlos," Kendall kept repeating softly, like saying his name was supposed to be comforting.

There was blood on Kendall's shirt.

Carlos still refused to believe it.

"No," murmured Carlos. He took a large step backwards, away from his friend. Because it had to be a joke, right? Some sort of misunderstanding? He searched for the lie on Kendall's face, but detected no deception.

Logan, standing near Kendall, crossed his arms over his chest to hide the fact that they trembled. He wouldn't lift his gaze from the floor. It wasn't like Logan's eyes could talk, anyway. Logan's eyes always mirrored what he showed on the outside, so Carlos knew if he could see them he'd discover nothing but a mess of grief and worries.

And Kendall just kept giving Carlos that look, that believe me look—the one Carlos hated, because he certainly didn't want to accept Kendall was telling the truth. His friend's eyes shimmered in a way they shouldn't, and it was wrong, because Kendall wasn't supposed to look like that, ever.

"Guys, this isn't funny," Carlos said, stomping his foot in frustration. "Prank day was, like, six months ago. And besides, one of Lord Prankerton's rules is that the pranks have to be physical. You know that. We…" He swallowed a lump of emotion in his throat. "We made the book…"

Eyes sparkling brighter, Kendall tried to hold out an arm, but Carlos immediately leapt back. "No!" he cried. Flustered, he raked both hands through his hair. "No, this… This isn't funny! Where's James? Is he hiding somewhere?" He did a quick survey of the apartment's main room and saw no one else. "He's in our room, isn't he?" Intent on locating his absent friend, Carlos spun around on his heel and marched towards the hall. "James!" he called. "James, come on. Joke's over."

Kendall and Logan followed behind, a steady, pleading chant of Carlos's name still spilling from Kendall's mouth.

Carlos pretended not to listen. He burst into his and James's shared bedroom. It appeared empty, but that didn't mean James wasn't there. "Dude, come on." Carlos yanked open the closet door and pushed aside some green shirts, because James liked to organize his stupid side of the closet by color. "James, I mean it." He huffed an annoyed sigh and slammed the door shut after deeming it James-free. "Do you want me to admit it? Okay, you got me. Joke over. Good one. Now come on." Grumbling, Carlos dropped to his knees and peered under James's bed. Besides a sheet balled in the far corner, the search revealed nothing but a span of carpet.

"Carlos, come here," Kendall said from the doorway. His voice was hollow and empty. Lifeless.

Carlos rose slowly from the floor, sucking in a shuddery breath. His legs felt like two slabs of concrete, keeping him weighed in front of the bed. No. No, no, no. His heart crawled up to his throat as realization crept in. From behind him Logan let out a choked squeak, which was accompanied by rapid footsteps as he hurried out of the room.

"Carlos," Kendall whispered for the hundredth time.

The Latino turned around, moving only because his instincts were taking over and forcing him to obey. His vision was so blurred that he could barely see Kendall standing there, his arm still weakly extended, like he wanted Carlos to come closer. But Carlos wouldn't. Not while Kendall had James's bloodstains on his shirt.

Carlos's words were a whisper, as light as Kendall's. "You're lying."

Kendall swallowed, hard. He didn't blink. "You know I wouldn't lie about this."

"But…," Carlos started, fumbling over his words. "But, James, he… I mean, just this morning we… He can't be…"

"Come here," Kendall repeated.

Carlos's gaze flicked down to Kendall's shirt.

Kendall noticed and followed Carlos's eyes. A noticeable shiver racked his frame as he examined the crusted blood. His arm finally dropped to his side, but despite his jittery body and suddenly pallid complexion, his words were unwavering and strong. "Mom gave us money for a cab. We need to meet her at the hospital as soon as possible, okay?"

When Carlos didn't respond, Kendall tried again. "Carlos, hey. You understand?"

He nodded, slowly, trying to absorb the information. Kendall declared something about grabbing Logan before he started for the hall, and Carlos followed robotically, leaving his empty room behind. A thick knot of trepidation sank his stomach, making his footsteps heavier. The feeling was so strong that he wondered if it was even real. Maybe he was trapped in a nightmare. Surely something so horrible couldn't exist in real life, right?

Logan was found in the bathroom, leaning over the running sink, doing nothing but staring at the gushing water. A white-knuckle grip secured the overhanging edge of the counter. Kendall pulled Logan by the shoulders to get him to move, and practically tugged him out of the apartment. Kendall stumbled once, but he recovered quickly, because that's just the kind of person he was.

Carlos watched his friends disappear through the doorway. Ice crept through his veins and froze him to the spot. He stared dumbly at the empty space where Kendall and Logan had been only a moment ago. No one would lie like that. No one could lie like that—especially Kendall, with his truth-telling eyes.

It was really happening.

He wished he could shrink and melt into the floor, because Kendall came back to the apartment when he realized Carlos wasn't following, guiding Logan by means of a hand on his shoulder. Kendall told Logan to stay put, and then, with a silent mouth and a scream returning to his eyes, strode into the apartment and grabbed Carlos by the wrist. The red stains on Kendall's shirt stared at Carlos as he was forced away.

He was led into the hall of the Palm Woods where Logan stood waiting, slouched against the wall. Kendall managed to get the door closed and locked all while retaining his grip on Carlos, then promptly fisted Logan's shirt and prodded him along the bright corridor as well.

No one struggled, protested, or shrugged Kendall away. Carlos and Logan were tugged along like reluctant puppies on a leash. Kendall refused to let go even when the three were safely in the elevator, opting instead to hit the button for the lobby with his shoe. Carlos knew that meant something was very, very wrong. And Logan was thinking it too; there was no doubt in Carlos's mind:

Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen. Not to them.

Especially not today, during an afternoon that was supposed to go so well.

The day had started like any other.


The morning had been normal.

Carlos woke with a whine and covered his head with a pillow. His body was nestled in a warm layer of fluffy blankets, and the last thing he wanted to do was get up and make himself productive. Why did James have to get up so early? He debated throwing his pillow at his taller friend, considering the hiss of a hairspray can was by no means a lullaby, but decided if he messed up James's hair he'd have to listen to the 'Cuda Massive Hold be applied all over again.

"James," moaned Carlos, rubbing at his eyes. "It's, like, six in the morning."

"It's nine-thirty," James corrected, attention never leaving his reflection. He struck a pose in front of the mirror, decided it wasn't good enough, then continued coating his hair in a sticky drizzle. "And today it is very important that I look good."

"You say that every day," Carlos muttered. He flopped over and pulled his covers up to his chin, intent on getting back to sleep. Unfortunately, the scent of James's hairspray finally hit his nose, and he knew even with a blanket covering his face, attempting to escape the fumes was useless. He should be used to it by now. Waking to the strong, spicy scent of James's favorite line of grooming products was an everyday occurrence. But Carlos could be cranky when his body functioned on four hours of sleep.

Really, it was his own fault he was so tired. He'd stayed up late watching scary movies with Logan and Katie, and then had troubles falling asleep in fear of blood-thirsty creatures lurking in the shadows of his room. Logan and Katie hadn't seemed so afraid, though; Logan had an annoying habit of meticulously analyzing every inaccuracy in the films, and Katie found the movies comedic, especially when a character was maimed or eaten.

James set the hairspray on his vanity desk, because yeah, he actually had one of those. It made their room look girly, and Carlos wanted to get rid of it, but in exchange for keeping the stupid piece of furniture James allowed Carlos to decorate. He chose glow-in-the-dark stickers of planets and stars. They were probably what kept the monsters away.

"That may be so," James stated dramatically, twirling around to Carlos, "but it's not every day I have a date with a model." He made sure to say the last part with extra emphasis so even Carlos, in his sleep-deprived state of mind, could understand that this was a big deal.

"No way." Carlos totally got the message and was suddenly wide awake. Discarding his blankets, he tossed his legs over the side of his bed and sat at full attention. "How did you score a date with a model?"

"Um, duh." James gestured to his face.

Carlos rolled his eyes. "How did you even meet her?"

"She sent me a letter and told me how awesome I was. She thinks my voice is, and I quote, 'like an angel,' and that I'm the most debonair member of the band."

"What's that mean?" asked Carlos, making a face.

"I'm not sure, but I think it's a good thing." James turned to examine his reflection once more, then frowned. He mumbled something to himself about wearing a warmer color, because he'd worn black yesterday and couldn't possibly be seen in the same color two days in a row, and promptly shed his dark button-up for a red one.

"Pop quiz, Carlos," said James as his fingers worked on fastening the shirt. "How many buttons should I leave open?"

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "Um, I don't know. Just the top one?"

"Oh, my friend. So naïve."

Carlos frowned.

"See, one button undone is appropriate in any other social situation." He theatrically brushed invisible dust from each shoulder. "But this is a model we're talking about. In this case, you have to leave at least two undone, but no more than three."

Carlos fumbled for a notepad and pen on his nightstand. "Two buttons undone… no more than three," he wrote. The information could come in handy later. James seemed to understand everything about girls, and Carlos planned on gathering all the knowledge he could. "So are you guys going to a movie or something?" he asked. Maybe there was some sort of popcorn-sharing tip James knew as well. James had already told Carlos of the not-so-subtle yawn and stretch technique. Since Carlos had never actually gotten a girl to join him at the movies, he never had occasion to try it. Well, except for one time when he'd practiced on Logan, but Logan, thoroughly disturbed, had shoved Carlos out of his seat and made Kendall switch spots with him for the rest of the show. Logan wasn't a very good sport.

"Nah," replied James, "just going out for lunch. Theaters are dark, dude."

"And you won't be able to see her?"

"And she won't be able to see me."

"Dude. You should totally get her picture."

James grinned. "She's already sent me some pics. I'll show you later. Oh, and keep your phone on. I'll text you if she has a single friend. Or a sister." He did one final pose in the mirror, then practically twirled out of the room to go get breakfast.

Carlos chuckled to himself as he rose to his feet. He stretched his arms, stiff from clutching his pillow all night. Stupid scary movies.

He dressed himself sluggishly, and used his comb—the one with the crooked teeth that James wouldn't go near—to make sure his hair wasn't too messy. He barely glanced into the mirror as he made his way into the hall, all the while wishing he had a model fan girl. Well, one that wanted to date him, anyway.

He was still thinking about James's date when he stepped out. Kendall and Logan were just emerging from their shared bedroom as well, except they seemed livelier than Carlos. Obviously they'd gotten their eight hours of sleep.

Everyone gathered at the table for breakfast. Mrs. Knight made waffles, which in Carlos's opinion were way better than boring old pancakes, and had tall glasses of orange juice set out for all of them. Katie totally hogged all the syrup, Logan spilled his juice on Kendall's shoe, Carlos threw a piece of toast across the table for some reason, and it was the best breakfast ever. He assumed the chaotic—though not uncommon—morning caused James to forget to tell the guys about his sure to be amazing lunch date. Knowing James, Carlos expected some serious boasting, but the taller teen seemed more focused on the face staring back at him in his handheld mirror. Not that Carlos blamed him. If Carlos had a date with a model, he'd want to look good, too.

The afternoon had been normal.

James excitedly darted off to meet his date about an hour before the remaining members of BTR ventured downstairs to enjoy their day off work. They decided on soaking up as much sun as they could before they were back in the windowless studio all day tomorrow.

"Hey, Carlos!"

He turned at the female voice that had called his name and saw Camille walking across the lobby to come meet him. Carlos waved at Logan and Kendall as they headed towards the pool. They nodded and continued on their way.

"Hi, Camille," Carlos greeted.

"Hey, do you want to help me out with something?" she asked. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and a pair of loose cargo pants covered her legs. She seemed to be in costume. The giveaway was the line of fake blood applied in a C shape around the side of her right eye.

"Let me guess. For an audition, right?"

"A movie, actually." She grinned. "I'm trying out for the role of Bridgette Gutweaver, a teenage girl in a dystopian future whose brother has just been abducted by the infected people of Quadrant Four."

"Ooh, that sounds cool," he said, nodding in approval. "But I'm not much of an actor…"

"Oh, it's easy," she said dismissively. Camille revealed a thick script that Carlos hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Just read your lines and react normally to the situation."

Well. When she put it that way, acting sounded like a piece of cake.

He eyed the hefty packet of paper she thrust into his hands. "Okay. I guess I'll give it a shot."

"Yes!" cried Camille, like he was saving her day. "Thank you!"

Carlos figured he wasn't really blowing off Kendall and Logan, considering the plans to hang at the pool had only been formed a minute ago in the elevator. Besides, Carlos saw the guys every single day. He didn't get a lot of chances to spend time with Camille. It was unfortunate, because although she scared him sometimes, she was actually really cool. He kind of wished Logan would date her again; Camille would make a lovely sister-in-law. Or, wait. Were they dating? They might have been. It was hard to keep track.

"How come you didn't get Logan to help you?" he asked, hoping to pry the information out of her.

They stepped into the elevator and started the ascension to the fourth floor. Camille tugged at her ponytail. "Well, I was going to, but I figured since we're off again it would be a little awkward."

Oh.

"And James was busy. Something about a girl who thought he was debonair… I don't really know."

"I still don't know what debonair means," said Carlos.

"Me either. It sounds like a compliment, though."

The two arrived at Camille's apartment. Carlos had never been inside before. It was a quaint place, significantly different from the crib. There was no swirly slide or orange couch, but plenty of decorative vases with clusters of colorful flowers resting inside, intricate paintings on the wall, and knickknacks on the shelves. Plus, a normal colored sofa.

"Oooh, nice place," he complemented, not bothering to hide the fact that he was gawking. He moved to the coffee table in front of the couch and marveled at the bowl of wax fruit resting atop a doily. Seriously. Wax fruit. This place was high-class.

"Thanks." As they moved into the living area, Camille somehow transformed into Bridgette. Her eyebrows kitted together and her voice developed a hint of desperation. "Oh, captain, you don't understand. If I'm not permitted to board this vessel, my brother will become the enemy."

Carlos narrowed his eyes confusedly. Camille gestured to the papers in his hands. "What?" Carlos looked down. "Oh! Right." He quickly opened his script to the page she had marked, searching for his line. He discovered his character was named Marcus Shanty, and was the middle-aged captain of a large boat that could be used to take Bridgette to her missing sibling.

Carlos cleared his throat. "Holds out an arm. I am sorry my dear but I can not let you aboard my ship." When he was finished, he raised his head and beamed, proud of himself.

Camille frowned and broke character. "Carlos, you don't read the stuff in parentheses."

"Oh, okay. Let me try again." He sucked in a deep breath. "I am sorry my dear but I can not let you aboard my ship."

"Better," said Camille, placing a hand on her chin. "But you need to loosen up a little. You're speaking like a robot."

"So?"

"So I can't play off your reaction when your voice only has one tone."

"I AM SORRY MY DEAR BUT I CAN NOT LET YOU ABOARD MY SHIP."

"Now you're just shouting."

He pouted.

She frowned in thought. Carlos rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling awkward under the scrutiny. Maybe he could convince Logan to help instead.

Camille suddenly snapped her fingers. "I got it! I know what you need."

"Really? What?"

"Well, every time I practice for a role, I get into costume. That way I can really become the character, you know? So if you get a costume, you'll become Marcus Shanty for sure."

Carlos smiled, relieved that she still had faith in him. "Okay, great! But where do I get a sailor costume?"

"I think I have one of Steve's in my room. We auditioned for roles in the community theater's production of Titanic." Before Carlos could respond, Camille twirled around and bounded down the hall. She returned a moment later, holding a pair of white slacks and a navy blue blazer, each looking about three sizes too big. "Now all you need is a cutlass for the fight in scene eight," she said, grinning successfully. The costume was promptly tossed at Carlos's head. The script tumbled from his hands as he reached out to catch the pants and jacket.

"What's a cutlass?" he asked.

"A sword. Kind of like the ones pirates use."

Carlos's eyes widened in delight. Logan was totally missing out. "I get to be a pirate?"

"Sort of." Camille approached him and took the pants and jacket. "The only problem is I don't have any plastic swords lying around." She gave a thoughtful hum under her breath, then held the blazer to his torso. "I forgot that Steve is taller than you."

Carlos looked down in dismay, noting the tail of the jacket fell to his mid thighs. The sleeves were also a few inches too long, and there was definitely a lot more arm room inside than he needed.

Camille's face lit up. "Hey, how about you run down to the toy store, and while you're gone I'll stay here and hem up these pants and jacket?"

He agreed, because how cool were pirates?

Plus, he hadn't been to the toy store in a while. The last time he'd been there was with James, and Mrs. Knight had gotten mad when they brought home a potato launcher. So did Mr. Bitters. Potato launchers were no longer permitted in the Palm Woods.

Checking to make sure his wallet was in his pocket, Carlos made his way downstairs. When he turned his head to peer out the pool doors as he passed, he didn't see Logan or Kendall anywhere. In fact, there weren't many kids in the vicinity at all. Shrugging to himself, he continued through the lobby until he was outside. Immediately the harsh wail of ambulance sirens assaulted his ears. He winced. The sound was close. When he searched for the source of the noise, he saw an ambulance pull into the parking lot and disappear behind the back of the building.

Carlos bit down on his lower lip, nervous. He hoped everyone was alright. The thought of someone being hurt chilled him, and he picked up his pace, leaving the building and starting down the block for the store. He glanced over his shoulder when the sirens abruptly stopped. Maybe that meant the injured person was okay. Yeah. Because if they were hurt then the sirens would be screaming, because sirens meant something bad was happening. No sirens, no danger.

Sighing in relief, Carlos kept on his way. The toy store wasn't that far. His mind floated back to James on his date. Oh! He stopped and patted the pockets of his jeans, then rolled his eyes at his own forgetfulness. He'd left his phone back in the crib. But, Carlos figured, if James's date had a single friend, then James could just tell Carlos when he got home rather then send him a text.

The store was just around the next corner. He unconsciously walked faster, eager to marvel at all the toys. Oh, and buy a pirate sword. But his stomach sank a little as the ambulance sirens started up again, louder than ever, and slowly grew closer. Carlos stopped dead in his tracks on the sidewalk, watching as the traffic on the street veered to the curb. The ambulance raced past, red and blue lights flashing. He instinctively reached up to shield his ears from the screeching. The vehicle took the next turn and was gone, but Carlos remained glued to the spot until the sirens faded in the distance. A couple passers-by had stopped as well, but continued walking again once their eardrums recovered.

He stared down the street, shivering. It was strange, because the sun hung high in the sky and covered the city in warmth. Slightly unnerved, Carlos slowly began to approach the end of the block. He tugged at the sleeve of his sweatshirt when he shuddered a second time.

The exterior of the toy store was colorful and happy and decorated with posters of big, smiling faces of cartoon animals. The pictures gave Carlos a grin to match. He darted inside, relieved to hear the pleasant sound of laughing children. The joyous atmosphere erased his thoughts of the ambulance, of James's date, and of his misplaced cell phone. As long as Carlos was here, nothing could be wrong. The worries outside didn't matter.

He spent more time in the store than he probably should have. A little boy asked him to reach a dinosaur on a high shelf, which led to Carlos engaging in a prehistoric battle for Beach Fun Barbie. The kid's purple triceratops was no match for Carlos's T-Rex. Only when the boy's mom came to take him home did Carlos remember he was on a quest to locate a cutlass, though he wasn't really sure what one looked like. Thankfully, after only a few minutes of searching, Carlos discovered a whole aisle devoted to costumes and plastic weaponry. He found the most pirate-y sword he could and took it to the checkout counter.

Carlos half-expected to hear more sirens as he stepped back into the Californian sunshine. He glanced around at the people bustling by and took note of how normal things were for them. Then he thought of the ambulance, the person inside, and how it had happened at the Palm Woods. What if it was someone he knew? After all, he was familiar with most of the residents.

Maybe he should go back.

Carlos tilted his wrist to see the time on his watch. He'd been gone for a half hour. When he looked back up, however, he noticed something fantastic: a store across the street, one he'd never noticed before, with a sign reading "Grand Opening" posted out front. The pictures of berries and fruit made his stomach rumble for a smoothie, and, okay, it probably wouldn't matter if Camille waited just a few more minutes for his return. Besides, she was sewing Steve's costume for Carlos to wear. How long did it take to sew things? Probably a while. He had time.

He licked his lips as he crossed the street and entered the shop. It was packed with costumers, all sucking down frozen treats. Carlos waited five impatient minutes to place his order. He told the cashier he wanted two pink smoothies, not caring if they were strawberry or cherry or a mixture of both, and exited the store with his lips wrapped around a straw.

It was probably the best thing ever.

By the time he made it back to the Palm Woods, the bag with the toy sword hanging on his wrist, half his smoothie was gone. The one in his other hand was slick with condensation; hopefully the drink hadn't melted too much.

His heart fluttered blithely as he entered the elevator and rose to floor four. He'd just swallowed another mouthful of pink bliss when the doors opened and a body smacked into his.

"Oh, oops, sorry—" he started, cutting himself off when he saw it was Camille.

The girl, still in her Bridgette costume, gaped at him for a moment before her eyebrows drew together in a scowl. "Carlos!" she cried, yanking him out of the elevator and into the hall. "I have been looking everywhere for you! You were supposed to go to the store. What took you so long?"

He was slightly confused by the alarm in her voice and the way she seemed breathless. Nonetheless, he held up the plastic cup. "I just ran across the street real quick to that new smoothie place—"

Camille smacked the drink from his hand. "This is no time for smoothies!"

Carlos gasped in shock at the fruity mess splattering the wall. He was afraid to offer the second dessert. "I brought you one, too…"

She grabbed his arm. "Carlos, something happened. Kendall and Logan are looking for you. You need to go back to your apartment right now."

He looked down and stared at the hand clutching his forearm. The thought crossed his mind that Camille was reprising her role as Bridgette Gutweaver, but the panic she displayed was too genuine. This wasn't a rehearsal.

Still, his mouth couldn't form a sentence, so he said the only thing he could—the automatic word that always came to mind: "What?"

"Just go," she urged, pushing him back to the elevator. Her arm snaked in and hit the button for the second floor.

"Wait," said Carlos, as the doors slid shut. "Don't you want your smoothie?"

Then she was gone from view, and the elevator was quiet.

Huh.

He hummed in thought, not exactly sure how to feel. Just because Camille sounded nervous didn't mean the 'something' that had happened was bad. Maybe Wayne Gretzky finally responded to Kendall's emails. Or maybe that thing on Logan's back went away.

Besides, when did anything bad ever happen to them?

…Well, actually, a lot of bad things happened. But there was always a happy ending.

When Carlos entered 2J, two of his friends immediately rushed towards him. He nearly fumbled Camille's smoothie (which he was now claiming as his own, considering his had been rudely swatted away) when Kendall approached. For a second Carlos thought Kendall was going to hug him, but instead the blond gripped Carlos's shoulders and looked him up and down. "Where were you?" Kendall demanded.

Thoroughly confused, Carlos raised an eyebrow. "Um, just getting a pirate sword to help Camille…" He trailed off when he saw the look in Kendall's eyes. Suddenly he knew the 'something' was serious.

A second pair of footsteps stomped up behind Kendall. Logan pushed his way between the two, punching Carlos in the shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise. "What is wrong with you?" Logan shrieked, face red, voice strained. He held up Carlos's cell phone. "You just leave your phone in the apartment? Do you know the point of a cell phone, Carlos? It's so you can carry it with you when you go places! So you can always be contacted! Did you ever think that maybe we needed to get a hold of you? Huh? Did you? And what if something had happened to you, huh? What if you were hurt and you needed to call for help but you couldn't because you were stupid enough to leave your phone—"

"Logan, hey, take it easy." Kendall put a hand on Logan's chest and gently ushered him backwards, leading him away from Carlos, who stood wide-eyed and wondering when Logan became his mom.

Heart racing a little faster, Carlos set his sword and smoothie on the table. "Will someone please explain what's going on?"

Kendall kept murmuring to Logan, but with his back turned his voice was too soft for Carlos to hear. Logan listened, bobbing his head to whatever Kendall was saying, but tears pooled in his angry eyes. When Kendall gave his shoulder an affectionate shake, the anger melted to sorrow and Logan turned away, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

"Guys?" Carlos tried again, heart leaping to his throat.

Kendall turned slowly, sucking in a deep breath as he did so. He had this constant air of confidence surrounding him, like everything in the world came easy to him and he could navigate smoothly through the toughest tribulations. Calm, cool, and collected—an appropriate cliché to describe Kendall.

But not today. Because although Kendall's overall demeanor was composed and poised, his eyes said otherwise.

The most important thing to remember about Kendall was simple: Kendall's eyes never lied.

He opened his mouth and explained everything he knew to Carlos. And when Kendall was finished and Carlos stood shaking his head incredulously, he desperately wished that Kendall, just this once, wasn't being straight with him.

"Carlos," said Kendall.

And that was when Carlos noticed the blood, which he'd previously thought was just a strange design on Kendall's shirt. He took a step backwards, fear crashing through him. The sound of the ambulance sirens echoed in his ears and drowned out the noise of Kendall repeating his name yet again.

James had been the one in the vehicle.

Carlos had seen it pull into the parking lot. He'd watched it fly past on the street, completely unaware that his best friend was inside, fighting for his life.

When he looked up and met Kendall's eyes, he saw that they were screaming.