I don't own Big Time Rush.
Life was good. Touring on the road with your best friends, singing for millions of screaming fans, seeing the looks of complete and utter joy on their faces. And knowing you put it there? The icing on the cake.
Everything seemed unbelievably perfect in their lives, especially for Carlos. He always did love the simple things in life. From the typhoon of energy the crowd gave him, to relaxing with his friends in a resturant, eating a cheese burger.
It was just as any other particular day on the tour bus, the four band mates off to their next destination of Cleveland, Ohio. Kendall and James were occupied by the television, sitting next to Logan on the small couch, who was typing an E-mail to his sister back in Texas. He was thought to have missed his family the most out of everyone in the band, they were so close.
"Were almost in Cleveland, better wake up Carlos," James sighed, his hands on his knees as he stood up, walking down the small hallway, stopping at the bunks. "Carlos, time to get up,"
The small white curtian was pulled back a bit, Carlos' restless face appearing in the openeing. "What time is it?"
"Eleven-Thrity in the a.m. buddy," James patted the matress, walking back to the couch. Groaning, Carlos propped himself up in the small bed, his breath heavy and hot. He had been sick for the past week, running small night fevers, but it didn't seem to be anything serious, according to Logan.
Swinging himself to sit over the edge of the bed, he tugged the legs of his ridden up sweat pants down, standing up. Another deep groan came from his throat as he stretched up, his stomach churning as he did so. Breathing steadily to keep himself from experiencing a wave of nausea, he trudged over to the small bathroom the four shared.
Closing the small door behind himself, Carlos immediately leaned over the sink, clutching his abdomen as it tightened, feeling as though someone had gripped his intestines in their hand and twisted. He coughed loudly, trying to supress the sound by putting his face closer to the sink.
Listlessly opening his brown eyes, he stared down into the porcilen sink, seeing a spatter of deep red blood dripping down it's side. Wiping his lip, he shakily leaned against the wall, staring at himself in the mirror.
He looked sicker than the last time he saw himself. Carlos' usual olvie skin shade had faded into a sickly, pale beige color, dark circles lining the underside of his eyes.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" He grunted quietly, his hands covering his middle again, trying to get relief from the agonizing pain. He was sicker than he was letting on.
"Carlos?" He heard a knock at the door behind him, jolting him forward in panic to wipe the blood from the sink. "Yeah?" He replied uneasily.
"I gotta shave man," Kendall talked into the door, leaning against the wall as the bus rocked slightly, his hand rubbing over his jaw. Carlos smoothed his hair down, attempting to look at least presentable as he opened the door, eyes locking with his blonde bandmate.
"You okay man?" Kendall asked sympathetically, looking at Carlos' tired eyes. The Latino's lips tugged into a small smile, pushing past his friend. "Yeah, just worn out is all."
Stepping into the bathroom, Kendall went to grab his razor from the cabinet when his eyes glanced down at the sink. He looked at the white surface, seeing a faint red stain on its shiny surface. His green eyes fell concered, thinking of his sick friend.
Snow fell softly on the big city of Cleveland as the boys pulled up around the side of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, unboarding from their giant tour bus. They would be performing a set of their new songs to promote their new album in front of the beautifully arcitectured museum.
Walking to the back of the bus, Kendall was seeking out Carlos, wanting to inform him that they had arrived to their destination. Upon opening the small bedroom's door, he spotted Carlos sitting on the twin bed, staring at the floor. "Carlos? We're in Cleveland..."
The dark haired boy turned his head up suddenly, his expression suprised. "Hey Kendall," he smiled weakly, then turning to cough violently into his balled fist. The blonde walked quickly to his friend, sitting next to him on the bed, his arm wrapped around his hunched shoulders. "Dude are you alright? You don't sound to good."
Watching the fist unclamp, Kendall's eyes widened to see Carlos' hand spattered with bright, crimson blood. "Carlos you-" "I'm fine Kendall, really." The Latino interrupted, wiping his hand on the bed's cover, standing to his feet. As he began to walk out of the bedroom, his legs shook, making him fall onto the floor underneath himself pathetically. "Carlos!"
Kendall's hand wrapped around his friend's arm, pulling his body up and into his grasp. "We have to get you to a hosptial." Kendall almost commanded, his thumb wiping blood from Carlos' bottom lip.
Carlos' face was aggravated, maybe even angry as he heard Kendall say this. Jerking his arm away, he smoothed his coat out, pulling on his black gloves. "No, I'm going out here and singing," he said stubbornly, finding his passion a reasonable excuse to not fret over himself. "But Carlo-"
Before Kendall could get his sentence out, Carlos was walking out of the bus, disappearing from his sight. Kendall was severly distressed by his friend's condition, and promised himself he would talk to Carlos after the concert.
What could be ailing him so terribly that it caused him to spit blood?
Burying his hands into his coat pockets, Kendall trotted down the short stairs leading out of the bus, seeing crowds upon crowds of people awaiting their arrival on stage.