A/N: I've been working on this one for two weeks. :3 Title and description lyrics come from the He Is We song of the same name. Enjoy.

"So, what really happened with James?" Kendall inquires. You stare at him from the corner of your eye, surprised at how easily he could see through your lies. You can feel him tightening his grip on your hand in pulsating beats. You smile at the reassurance and shoot your boyfriend a sidelong glance. His expression is sombre, protective whilst his words were dissimilarly lighthearted. Your heart swells with pride as you realise for the five hundredth time that you and only you get to call this amazing man your lover. You would take a shot for him and it made your soul shake to the very core to know that he would do the same- but he would probably do the same for the other two members of the band.

"I just told you!" You smile as earnestly as you can, really not wanting to be questioned about events that had occured earlier that day.

"I think you and I both know he wouldn't act out like he did over his lucky comb. And even if he did, I'm pretty sure that you wouldn't have made us go out and look for him because of it."

"We're not looking for James..?"

"Logan, please, you've made us go inside every Cuda store we saw and you keep looking into every alley we passed. We're looking for James."

"Ugh..." You huff, defeated. You could only lie to your boyfriend for so long. "Fine. He..I.." You trail off slowly, your voice fading into a hesitant sigh. How could you tell him the truth?

"James! You have to talk to me at some point!" You call out pointedly, rapping your red knuckles against the door for the thousandth time.

Silence burns into your ears, hollowing your mind.

You groan in frustration. "James, I'm serious! We have to talk about this! Do you really expect me to just pretend it never happened?"

You sigh and let your hand fall limply to the floor, the dull pain of impacted skin reverberating through your veins.

Why were you even trying? James had been nothing but an asshole for the past few days- he had been cold and lifeless for a few weeks, not caring about his looks or his career or anything similar, but it seemed as if he had snapped a few days ago. He had blown up at you for being 'so damn happy all the time' and to 'tone it the fuck down' in front of everybody. It had hurt, of course, but you were more shocked at James' capability to be full of so much anger. Usually James was placid or happy, sometimes crestfallen, but his emotion pool was shallow otherwise. What you had seen in his eyes was that of an erupting geyser, steam and scalding water spraying everywhere.

Kendall, being the mediator that he was, refused to jump to conclusions- despite how angry he was at James for exploding without explaining himself. You smiled weakly, remembering his words: "I'm pissed at him, but he's still James at the end of the day. I'm not going to do anything to him unless, A) you want me to or B) he does something drastic." You recall smiling through your anxiety. Of course he'd be understanding- he always was.

Carlos said nothing.

Your heart pangs again as you remember James' cruel words. You wanted to strangle him- but of course, what you had seen just moments ago was enough for you to forgive all of his behaviour- if he would just talk to you, or even let you inside the stupid room. You raise your raw fist to thud against the wood again when you hear a sound coming from the other side. It's quiet; but it's there- shallow, laboured inhalations and shaky exhales, once in a while interrupted by a cough, a thick sniff or a high-pitched hitch in the pattern of trembling breathing. With each breath you hear, your insides shatter just a little bit more. Your wince as soon as you hear a hiss of pain and a whimper, then cringe as the crying subsides into a sequence of choked back sobs and quiet whimpers.

Panic.

"James, open the goddamn door before I break it down myself!" You snarl, astonishing yourself with the amount of rigid malice in your own voice. Your mind is clouded with anger and your judgement has been thrown into the hands of panic as you shakily take a few steps back, prepared to do exactly what you said. All your rage, your negative stigma is gathered deep; concentrated tight into one supernova of burning, passionate energy. If you're going to break down a wooden door, you're going to need it. Your eyes hood up in concentration.. and you run, closing your eyes and bracing yourself for the impact.

It never does come.

You stumble to a clumsy halt inside you and James' shared bedroom, staring around you in shocked confusion. Someone stood before you, clad in nothing but a pair of red and gray plaid boxers.

You'd have liked to call him by his name, but you couldn't bring yourself to even think of correlating 'James' to this mess in front of you. This person with shaking knees, a heaving chest, and quaking hands wasn't James. James never shed a single tear, thoughts suffocated with darkness had brandished him with watery, red orbs; The person in front of you was not James, who would never let his guard down in front of you- of anyone- but yet here he was, sweat-matted hair clinging to his glistening forehead; eyes dark, morbidity glimmering in the void; crumbling at your feet. You could tell how hard he was trying to keep it together, by the way his lip was crimson dripping blood and by the way his gaze was on the floor-not you, never you.

James had never shown signs of breaking.. until today.

Your eyes trail down his body warily, and you made note of line after parallel line of healing skin, some cuts red fresh and some dead white. Your mind begins to clog with worried thoughts. Slowly, you step forward and reach out to touch a particularly big cut on his heaving chest- the one you had walked in on him inflicting earlier. The gash was still open, but only dried blood encrusted the skin around it. The memory of your friend dragging a shard of glass along his skin ruthlessly was horrible to think of, but it was all you could think of with your hand inches away from the resulting cut. James steps back sharply, making a whimpering sound yet again and turning his body away from you. He sways slightly, the image of hazy glass flashes in your minds' eye and you realize something.

"James, are you drunk?!"

"Are you here to talk to me, or yell at me?" James asks with a slight blur in his speech, answering your question perfectly. You remain silent, studying him carefully. He didn't seem too intoxicated, but he also didn't seem to be able to control his verbal impulses very well, let alone his balance. As if on cue, James stumbles forth a little bit and you hold your arms out to steady him. You look into his glassy eyes and see nothing but darkness. You weren't used to it- the lack of readability. Kendall was like an open book, with pictures and labels and tabs and bookmarks- but James was more like a journal: sealed with a lock, elegant and dapper on the outside but unopenable- and probably torn at the edges from the people who thought otherwise.

"James, what has been bothering you these past few weeks?" You press softly. Nothing except whimpers and shaky breathing in response. James' eyes screw shut and he begins to tremble all over, and your medical knowledge is extensive enough to know that he is on the verge of a panic attack. Your mind tells you to just give up, that he's a lost cause and you're never going to get through to him, and that it's not worth it to give him a panic attack.

But something inside of you snaps, and you'd be damned if James didn't tell you right now. Forcefully, you ask again, and James' shaking intensifies, and you feel pain in your chest just looking at him. You're wondering if you broke him, guilt bubbles up in your throat, eats through your mind but suddenly, James springs out of your grasp, half falling forward but he catches himself, turns on you and spits acid in your face and it burns, fuck it burns.

"You wanna know what's wrong, Logain?" He snarls, your name dances off his tongue like a forbidden profanity and you cringe when the mask in his eyes is ripped away, someone lit a fire in them and oh baby, is it burning. He steps towards you with a glow in his eyes.. you can't place it until he speaks.

"You really want to know what's wrong?"

Insanity.

He seethes with malice, radiates sickness. Verbal knives stab at your resolve.

"I've spent days- no, WEEKS in tortu-" He stumbles over his words, and you can see he's had so many different things that he's been dying to say but until his mind was under the vices of vodka, he hadn't had a way to express it. "No! In complete agony, watching the boy I love hug, cuddle," His voice was shaking, slightly slurred and frayed at the edges and you could see him breaking as his tone grew rapidly more high-pitched and crazed. "And be all over one of my best friends! Every day, Logan!" Your jaw drops. James was in love with Kendall? That actually explained a lot. That was why he was bitter towards you- for stealing him before he'd gotten a chance to even try. They had always had a sort of touchy-feely relationship, but you'd always assumed by the way James reacted towards the female species that the sneaked brushes of hands and the not-so-accidentally too-long hugs were.. well, accidental. But in retrospect, you being the smart one of the group, really should have seen it coming, been more considerate of your friends feelings.

"James is in love with me?" Kendall asks you, shocked. "I.. wow. I did not see that coming." The blonde in front of you stares ahead, a bemused, thoughtful expression plastered upon his face. All you can do is stare at him gravely.

"What? Does that piss you off?" His face immediately sombers, peridot spheres twinkling with apology. Normally, you would chuckle, but right now? Not even Carlos could pull a smile across your features.

"I didn't finish."

"James, I had no idea, I-" He laughs. He actually laughs and it's quiet but you can hear the insanity fade, replaced by depth and deceiving smiles.

"Of course you didn't know." He's faced away from you now, his voice at least two octaves lower- he's speaking slowly, the sultry tone of his voice delivering chills down your spine and all the way back up again. You feel uneasy, so uneasy at this new side of James you'd never seen before(then again, apparently the boy who used to push you on the swings in kindergarden had a lot more sides than you'd ever counted on.) and yet, you felt drawn.

"I didn't want you to know. Then you had to go and stick your nose into other people's business." The subtle edge of insanity returns.

"James," You say softly. "I'm sorry. Why didn't you just tell me you loved Kendall? I would have been more than happy to be more discreet around you." And just like that, he stiffens, silent. Unmoving. Still. Completely rigid and yet, even with his back turned to you you can see the gears turning in his head as he processes what you said.

A bitter laugh chatters past his teeth and his voice is deeper, amused. "You think this is about Kendall? You think Kendall holds an ounce of importance to me? Enough to make me act like this?" You step back.

"No." The chills that you get shatter your spine. You bite your lip and stare at this shell of your friend, wondering where you went wrong. He doesn't give you time to ponder it- instead, he slips on the bloodstained shirt he'd been wearing earlier(when you'd walked in on him) and a pair of black jeans. He stands up straighter and looks you in the eyes.

"It was only you, Logan. Always you." His voice is stone cold finality and with that, he turns, looks right through you, and walks right out the door without a backwards glance. It's only then that the magnitude of what he said hits you.

James was in love with you?

"Oh. Wow. That's intense." Kendall looks astonished, and you can't help but frown at his ignorance.

"It gets worse."

You clenched your jaw and walked after him quickly, but stopped in your tracks after hearing voices from the living room. You creep closer.

"Did you tell him?"

"Obviously, didn't you hear us?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, bro."

The voices were soft, whispers, so you although you could hear what they were saying, you weren't sure who was talking.

"It's not a big deal."

"Yeah, it is."

"You're right. But I'm going to pretend it's not, y'know?"

"I know, but.. ugh, James, that wasn't good idea." Oh. So it must be James and Carlos, then. So they're talking about you. You hesitantly take a half-step forward, then retreat two back. As much as you'd like to intervene, demand to know what's up, you think that you'd get more information being sneaky like this than you ever would talking to either of your friends, who probably now hate you.

"Then why did you let me do it?"

"Because I've been there. I know how it feels to be.. unwanted. I was hoping that maybe.. he liked you back, but didn't know how to tell you.. I don't want you to end up like me, y'know?" Carlos' voice wavered at the edges.

"Aw.. come here." This was yet another side you had yet to see with James. His voice was that of an older brothers, and you felt your heart wrench with jealousy as you realised the incredible bond that two two shared was something you'd never have. After all, what better to bond over than unrequited love? Your fingers trace unnerved circles into the plaster of the wall next to you and your stomach does a sommersault as you hear Carlos gasp for air, making sounds very similar to the ones you'd heard James make. Who did Carlos love that could be doing this to him? You'd always thought that the Jennifers were more of an obsession than a crush, and other than that, Carlos had never even expressed attraction towards another human being- or at least, not one that you knew of.

"You need to tell him." James' voice. So the person Carlos liked was a dude? Hm. That made four non-heterosexual members of Big Time Rush.

"Will you help me?"

"I'm sorry Carlos, but I don't want.."

"Yeah, I get it."

"I'm just... done, you know? I can't do this anymore."

"Are you leaving?" Carlos' voice is small, like a scared child.

"I.. yeah, I guess so."

"When will you come back?" No response. You can hear footsteps growing fainter- so one of them must be leaving the apartment. You couldn't help but wonder who Carlos had eyes on, but before you had a chance to find out, you heard the door click open, followed by an entirely new voice, which you'd recognize anywhere.

"Hey, James! Wait- why're you crying? What happened?"

"Get the fuck out of my face, Kendall!"

Slam.

Kendall frowned, a guilty, knowing glint in his eyes.

"Oh.. That's what I walked in on?" He lets go of your hand and you shrug, looking at the passing shops and trying to hide the hurt from your eyes. If Kendall noticed, he didn't react to it.

"I guess so."

"So we're looking for him because..?"

"Didn't you hear what I said?" You stare at him incredulously, coming to a halt. "He said he was leaving!"

"I thought you meant leaving the apartment?" Kendall asks with wide eyes.

"No. I don't-"

"You wanna be famous, you wanna be the one who's living the life." You frown as you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, and pick it up to inspect the screen. Carlos' face takes up the entirety of it and you flinch, remembering how cold he had been to you earlier.

"Carlos!" You took your chance to run into the living room at the sound of the slamming door(because you definitely hadn't been evesdropping) and you felt your body collide with the shorter boys, feeling yourself bounce off of the rippling muscle of his chest. The stout but well-built boy looked at you with disdain as he dusts himself off.

"What?" It's more of a statement than a question, really, dripping with a razor edge, and Kendall looks like he's about to make a snarky comment.

"I was just wondering-" You swoop into him, effectively shutting his mouth as he stumbles sideways to regain his balance. "If you were okay? I heard the door slam and.. I don't know. Did something.. uh, happen?" You're usually great with words, being able to pick them out of the neatly organized matrix in your brain was easy, a fundamental task. So why was it that as you stared into Carlos' eyes, felt the hatred bore into you, that you could barely remember your own name?

Carlos only shrugs. "Ask your boyfriend." The b-word isn't said, it's spat, sends shards into your skin and tremors in your coherence. You look over at Kendall and can tell he feels the same way by how he's wincing like the verbal blow was physical, wincing, stepping back a half-step and gritting his teeth.

"We don't have time for this, Carlos! Where's James?" Carlos just threw his hands up, uncharacteristically spiteful, and stalked off, leaving nothing behind except the haunting echo of his voice.

"It's your fault he's gone, you fix it."

And that's why when you saw his name flashing in white letters on your screen, a mere two hours after the aforementioned confrontation, you couldn't be more surprised. You're about to answer it, but something stops you.

"Kendall, I can't answer it." You run your hands along your face, exasperated and dissapointed in yourself, as Kendall wastes no time in grabbing the phone out of your palm and answers it for himself.

"Carlos, It's Kendall. What's-" You watch in confusion as his facial expression changes from somber to complete astonishment before he grabs your hand with force comparable to an angry bear and pulling- no, dragging you back the way you came, you're being tugged so quickly that the glossy blue windows of downtown Los Angeles turn into a blurr, hot lights and street lamps whizzing past you at the speed of light.

"Kendall, what's wrong?" You try to get a word in past the sound of speeding traffic, your own panting and Kendall mumbling "ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit" under his breath, his voice spiked sharp with incoherence. When you don't get a response, you can only wonder. Your feet impact the ground loudly as you struggle to keep up with your more fit, adreadaline-spiked counterpart, and as you run, a bad feeling bubbles up into your throat, a foreboding warning about the future that you can only hope isn't going to turn out like you think it is.

The problem is, when you think something, you're usually right.

Everything is buzzing.

No sound is important, no sound registers in your brain. Not even Kendalls shaky, panic-attack-like breathing, or your own sobbing. Not the sound of sirens, doppling in the distance, getting closer; or the sound of hysteria erupting throughout the Palmwoods pool area. The only words that you register are the ones that come out of Carlos' mouth, words like "Your fault" and "Killed himself", angry shouts that rattle your bones to the core and forcefully squeeze regret out of your eyes.

You're numb.

The roof of aforementioned apartment building is sharp, precarious and it's nauseating to look at the sheer altitude, even from the ground one glance makes you sway uneasily. Your brain calculates in a matter of milliseconds how fast and how much force would be applied to a body if one were to fall, and you wince at the high integers, the numbers only making this more real.

You want to close your eyes and hide, bury yourself under the duvets and snuggle into the smell of home, pretend you were okay, that what you were seeing in front of you wasn't actually what you thought it was and you were just dreaming. Or rather, you were stuck in the midst of a horrible nightmare, all swirling darkness and needle points and combusting stars.

You look around again. Kendall has long since forgotten your existance, him and Carlos mutually sobbing into each other. You're vaguely aware by the way that the hispanic rubs his hands tenderly across your boyfriends back, the way he murmurs comfortingly into Kendalls' ear, that you just figured out who Carlos had been pining after.

All you feel is apathy.

You hope this isn't real. You know this isn't real. But every time you open your eyes, vermillion and vision impaired by tears, the same scene sits in front of you, an unmoving, static mass of broken limbs, an epicenter in the midst of a crimson hurricane. The concrete beige walls are redder now, bloodied and dripping and pooling at your feet, staining your sneakers red. Splinters of bones and broken dreams are scattered haphazardly, but each path of ivory white and darkening blood leads to the same, still body, lifeless at the hands of your own selfish disregard. You can't believe what you're seeing, it's not him, but it is, he's a broken ice sculpture now, melting all over everything, cracked and dripping, he's a shattered star, feather-soft hair in the midst of his own dimming shine, all vulnerable parts and intimate pieces on display for you to soak in.

Your hearing is beginning to ebb, slowly fading back to normalcy, and you can hear the voices- Carlos', the Jennifers, Jo- hell, even Camille and Kendall, chanting a mantra of truth, reminding you with every passing second of the knowledge that would no doubt haunt you for the rest of your life.

James Diamond is dead, and it's all your fault.

A/N: I tried. Really, I did. :c But, it probably sucked. xP Would anyone like to tell me their honest opinions? I'd love to hear them /makes heart with hands

even if they're not that nice, or if they're colourfully worded. I love colour. :3 i also like people, so even if you don't feel like reviewing this sad string of text, I'd be more than happy to just talk to you about anything at all. life, colours, james, big time rush in general.. or if you're self-harming or something is going on with you, i'd also be happy to talk to you about that. i've no shame in helping a friend out. ^w^ sorry if that's a ramble, but.. i just want people to know i'm here. anyway, thanks for reading, if you got this far. have a great day, lovely!