A/N: Just angst. Angst, angst, angst. I was in a bad mood when I wrote this and I think it shows...anyhoo, um. This takes place right after "Big Time Dance", onesided Kames. So um...yeah. Enjoy!

If anyone ever asked James Diamond where his favorite place is, he'd lie. He'd tell them Rocque Records, where he could sing and dance. He'd tell them on stage, where he could pour his heart out with each song and listen as the fans chant his name. He'd tell them the Palm Woods pool, where he could see all the aspiring actresses and singers in their bikinis, helping them put on their tanning oil or sunscreen or whatever.

But it was all bullshit.

It wasn't that he didn't love the singing, the fans, or the feeling up of some chick, there was just somewhere else he loved far more. Well, two places, but it seemed like one was now off limits.

So instead, he settled for favorite place number two: a side street up in the Hollywood Hills overlooking the city. It was out of the way, hardly any cars driving by, especially at night. He'd accidentally found it one evening, going out for a ride in the BTR mobile-a dark red classic convertible their producer/songwriter/manager/whatever Gustavo Rocque had bought off their hotel manager Bitters-wanting to clear his head. Ever since that day, whenever he wanted to escape, to get away from everyone and everything, to figure out what the fuck was going on in his brain, he came here. No one knew where he was, no one knew this place existed, and if anyone questioned where he'd been upon his return, he'd just tell them "out" to do "stuff". They stopped asking, knowing they weren't gonna get an answer.

He let out a sigh as he closed the car door, feet crunching on the gravel beneath his boots. He'd parked in the same place as always, on a wide lip at a bend in the road, engine pointed out towards the edge of a cliff. The small rocks were probably hell on the undercarriage, but he didn't care. His mind was elsewhere, as it always tended to be when he came to that spot.

Climbing on top the hood of the car, he stretched his long legs out in front of him, ankles crossed. He leaned back, spine against the sloped glass windshield, hands behind his head. From his position, he could see all of Hollywood, see the bright lights that drew in aspiring stars like moths to a flame. He was one of them.

His first time up here had been because of Gustavo. The producer had spent the entire day screaming at the boy band, going on and on about how he should've gone with the pug who'd audition back in Minnesota, how an actual mutt would be better than the four dogs he was stuck with. But he'd been especially hard on James, his unmitigated hatred of the brunet coming out full force. The singer needed to get away from everyone, not wanting to deal with his bandmate's sympathetic looks or reassuring "don't listen to him, James, he's an idiot" statements.

It was especially tough to hear from Kendall fucking Knight.

James let out another sigh. Shit got so fucking complicated as far as the blond was concerned. Gustavo had originally chosen him over the brunet, choosing a wannabe pro hockey player over a guy who spent his entire life going to dance lessons and vocal training, a guy who used showers as a rehearsal space for his "American Idol" auditions, a guy who literally dreamt about singing onstage in front of thousands of fans.

But Kendall forced Gustavo's hand, insisting the producer turn them into a boy band. James had been more than grateful, even though he forgot to show it at times. But them moving to LA with their two best friends Logan Mitchell and Carlos Garcia-along with Kendall's mom and sister, of course-had been a major turning point in James' life, and not just because of the fact he was on his way to achieving his goals. He and Kendall sharing a room had brought the two of them closer, awakening thoughts and feelings the brunet didn't know he had. He found himself drawn to the blond more and more, found himself wondering about things he only ever wondered about with girls.

Then Jo showed up.

James was snapped back to the present when he heard a car slow to a stop somewhere behind him, a door opening. He knew exactly who it was without even seeing him, knew it in the way his heart started pounding so hard he thought it would literally burst out of his chest and through his graphic tee, knew it in the way his stomach started churning so bad he thought he'd puke up butterflies. And wasn't that just the gayest thing he'd ever heard.

His lids dropped down over hazel eyes, his throat attempting to swallow a lump. He'd come here to be alone, to sort shit out, told no one where he was going and why. He should've known he'd be found eventually.

He heard the door shut, the car pulling away, the crunch of Vans sneakers on gravel. He felt someone sit ont he engine, a warm body sliding over on his right. He smelled the all too familiar scent of Head and Shoulders shampoo and store brand bodywash. Kendall never really did put all that much time, effort, or money into his appearance, but he always managed to look good. No, better than good. He was fucking gorgeous, all without trying.

James wanted to hate him for it.

He couldn't.

A small, quick sigh came from James' left, Kendall shuffling on the engine, trying to get comfortable. "Man, this thing is hot," he muttered, stating the obvious.

The brunet opened his eyes, forcing himself to stare forward and only forward. Not that it mattered. He could still see Kendall on his right, see the blond moving around, butt shuffling on the hood. He could see the green plaid of his shirt flutter with the motion, see the grey tee he wore underneath, see that stupid fucking beanie on his head. James gave the other male hell for his fashion sense-or lack thereof-repeatedly telling him that Lumberjack Chic wasn't a real thing and never will be, but Kendall would just shrug it off, continuing to wear the same flannel and denim combination he had for years. But truth be told, James loved it. It reminded him of cold Minnesota winters, of shoveling snowy sidewalks and driveways, of hanging out by the fire drinking hot cocoa and arguing over who had more marshmallows, of makeshift hockey games on frozen ponds and summer roadways. The outfit was home, just like the male wearing it.

Which was probably why James hated it all the more.

He didn't want to think about Minnesota. He didn't want to think about snow or hot cocoa or hockey. He didn't want to think about what he left behind, about what was once home, about how, despite living in LA for a few months now, it still wasn't home. And he especially didn't want to think about the blond who was finally settled next to him.

"So," Kendall started, arms folded behind his head just like James. The brunet wasn't thinking about how their elbows were touching, about how Kendall's sleeve had slipped up so that they were bare skin to bare skin, no matter how small an amount. "You come here often?"

A small laugh escaped James before he could even stop it. He was supposed to be sulking, supposed to be upset, confused, angry, hurt, a myriad of emotions all due to his best friend. But instead, he was laughing with him, at some lame joke. It definitely just added to the confusion.

"Whenever the mood strikes me," he answered honestly, not giving anything away. But the truth was that the mood was striking him a lot more often, things becoming weird for him, at least in his head. With everything going on, with his growing and shifting emotions towards the blond causing a bigger and bigger internal debate, he found himself needing to clear his head a lot more. Unfortunately, things were just as confusing when he returned and he realized it was nothing but a temporary escape from his problems, no solution to be found.

Kendall turned his head, looking at the brunet straight on, and James fought the urge to close his eyes. He could feel those green eyes burning into his skin, could feel his friend analyzing him, trying to figure out what was wrong and how he could fix it. But James knew that the younger male couldn't. It wasn't something that could be fixed by anyone. And the more that heated stare was directed at him, the worse things became.

"What's going on, James?" His voice was low, cautious, like he was approaching a scared wounded animal and all he wanted to do was pick him up and take him to safety. But James wasn't wounded. Yes, he was hurt, but it wasn't something that could be fix by a band-aid and a kiss from his mommy. This wasn't some scraped knee or even a contusion caused by the boards during a hockey game. It was worse, it was internal, and it wasn't treatable.

James was in love with his best friend.

He'd known for a while he was falling, could see all the signs. He saw in himself the same things he was seeing with Carlos and Stephenie, with Logan and Camille, with Kendall and... Jo. His chest hurt at the thought of the blond female, the girl who had come seemingly outta nowhere and caused a rift in the band. And while that had been repaired, the boys all agreeing not to argue over a girl anymore, Kendall still somehow ended up with her. And now, instead of hanging out with the guys, playing lobby hockey, video games, or hockey foosball, he was always with her. She was the Yoko Ono to their Beatles, the Nancy to their Sex Pistols. And while they hadn't broken up or had anyone OD-yet- she was still stealing Kendall away from them.

But it wasn't just the band thing that was upsetting him, mostly because none of that shit had happened yet. It was that she had what he wanted. She was able to snuggle up to Kendall, to hug him, to kiss him, to look into those green eyes and see love and adoration shining back at her. She had him, all of him, while James had nothing but a friendship that was drifting apart due to the blond constantly spending time with his girlfriend.

"Is it because of the dance tonight?" Kendall asked a few moments later, James still not having answered his original question.

Ah, yes, their school dance, one that had been thrown together literally in a couple hours. James had spent the entire night standing off to the side watching Kendall with Jo, the two inseperable the whole time, dancing, drinking, hugging, making out. Carlos had Stephenie. Logan had Camille. Hell, Mama Knight even had Fabio. Everyone around him seemed to have their dream date, except for him. He was alone once again, torturing himself with the heartwrenching scene of the man he loved dance with his girlfriend, pining over what could never be, wondering if Gustavo had liquor stashed somewhere in his office.

A search of the producer's private room gave him the disappointing answer to that one.

The brunet nodded, eyes shut tight, fighting off the images of that night that wouldn't go away, his mind deciding it wasn't done hurting his heart. He wondered what exactly it was that he'd done to deserve such punishment. Had he flirted with too many girls, broken too many hearts? Was he finally getting a taste of his own medicine? He didn't think a spoonful of sugar would help it go down, no matter how catchy that fucking song was.

"I'm sorry, man." Kendall's voice was full of genuine apology, a hand reaching over and slapping James' thigh three times before resting there. "Maybe if you hadn't spent the entire afternoon helping Logan with Camille you would've gotten your own date." There was a smirk on his face, dimples displayed, the comment meant to be a joke. But James didn't take it that way.

Sure, on the outside, that's how things seemed, that the infamous lady's man was off helping one of his best friends score a date of his own, cocky belief that he could get one of his own in no time. But in reality, James didn't want a date. He didn't want some random chick grinding on him, her hands on him as they slow danced, her lips on his, tongue in his mouth. He knew there was no way he'd be going with Kendall, wasn't even about to kid himself into believing that. For starters, the blond was straight, and clearly under the impression that James was straight, too. Which he was. Except, apparently, when it came to the blond. So clearly there was no way the two would be going to a dance together, especially not as dates. And there was also no way they'd be going stag together, just two buddies hoping to find a date at the dance itself. Kendall had spent the afternoon assuming he'd be going with Jo and the two of them had made their relationship official before the dance itself.

Just the cherry on top of his shit sundae really.

"You wanna talk about it?"

James had no idea what the hell was possessing Kendall to wanna keep this conversation going. All right, maybe he did. It was probably that whole "I Need To Fix Everything" mentality he had. Hell, the guy's last name was Knight, and didn't that just suit him to a fucking T.

"I'm fine."

Lie. Total fucking lie.

"Well, if you change your mind-"

"I know," he interrupted, opening his eyes and turning his head to the right. He forced a small smile on his face, hoping it was reassuring, hoping it would fool the blond into thinking he really was fine, that everything in his world was peachy fucking keen, that his heart wasn't currently aching and his lungs weren't struggling for air.

It didn't work.

But the blond knew better than to force James to talk, knew better than to try and actually get him to talk about emotions. Downside of being raised by Brooke Diamond. Botox wasn't the only thing hiding emotions in that family.

So instead, Kendall just nodded, going along with it, giving James' thigh another couple pats before moving his hand back behind his head and looking up at the sky.

The brunet did the same, seeing nothing but black. Fitting really. He always heard the cliche about rainstorms matching people's moods, but that wasn't the case with him. He wasn't feeling stormy, wasn't feeling wet, wasn't feeling grey. He was feeling empty, nothing but infinite black.

"There are no stars here," Kendall commented, almost seeming like he was saying it to himself rather than to both of them. "Makes me miss Minnesota."

"I miss it, too," James agreed, voice barely there. But it wasn't the stars he was missing, nor was it the snow, the hot cocoa, or the hockey, although those were great. It was how simple things were. He didn't have to worry about dance routines or lyrics. He didn't have to worry about public image or dealing with media. He didn't have to worry about producers or label owners. And he sure as shit didn't have to worry about falling for his best friend and watching him fall for another person.

As much as he wanted to be a huge pop star, as much as he wanted to be on stage in front of thousands of people, hearing them cheer his name, watching them freak out solely because he was breathing the same air as him, he just wanted things to go back to the way they were, before Gustavo, before Big Time Rush, and definitely before Jo.

He had a feeling that even if they did go back to Minnesota, even if they did lose their label and their contracts and what few fans they had, things would never be the same with him and Kendall.

"You wanna go back? Or just hang here a little while longer?"

James wanted to be alone. James wanted to clear his head of all thoughts regarding dances, love, and most certainly of blonds. But he still shook his head, still laid on the engine, still said "hang here". And Kendall, being the friend who wanted to help, to do whatever it took to make everyone else feel better, just gave a simple "Sure thing, buddy" and got comfortable, eyes locked on the sky.

If anyone ever asked James Diamond where his favorite place is, he'd lie. His favorite place was always right next to Kendall Knight.