A Song You'll Regret

By: Jondy Macmillan

A/N: There is something legitimately wrong with me. Like, you guys won't know, but I just posted a BTR story that was nearly fourteen k over at LJ yesterday, and now I'm putting this up here and my brain is slowly turning to puddles the more I churn out. So take this, and enjoy. It will be three parts in total.

Is he still coming around like an injured bird needing a nest? A place to rest his head and a song you'll regret. Lord knows I don't want to compete, but still I sleep in the very sheets that he's been in.

-Sheets by Damien Jurado-

James Diamond was kind of a slut.

It was common knowledge. He had a head for the ladies, and a pretty enough face that the ladies flocked to him like migrant Canadian Geese. When he dumped one Girl of the Week, or, in a less likely scenario, got dumped (which had actually happened more often than James would admit to) for being vain, narcissistic, inattentive, flaky, or an attention whore (or all of the above), there was always a newer model waiting to take her place.

But it was a little known fact that given the right conditions, James would screw (or let himself be screwed) by just about anyone.

It was really frightfully easy to get James in bed.

Get him drunk, and he got horny.

Compliment him relentlessly, and he got horny (there might even be mirrors involved).

Tell him your grandmother just died, and, well, James wouldn't get horny, but he seemed to equate pity with sex and thought fucking was the easiest way to make a person feel better.

Logan knew about that one first hand.

Anyway, James saw more action than some brothels, and it wasn't really something he was ashamed of. He had rules.

Safety first.

No repeats.

And no strings, ever.

Which is why the day Logan found him buried beneath the covers of Kendall's bed, stark ass naked, was kind of disconcerting.

The rule James broke most often was the one about repeats. If a girl (or guy) was fucking fantastic in the sack, well, James had Self Control Issues. As long as they didn't start to get clingy, he was usually up for seconds, and maybe even thirds.

But this wasn't the second, or even the third time that James had gotten intimate with their mutual friend.

Logan vividly remembered walking in on Kendall and James going at it like rabbits on the kitchen counter of his house back in Minnesota, when they were still figuring all this sex stuff out. He'd wanted milk, and he'd gotten his best friends in the throes of, well-

He wasn't sure how to forget it. The image was emblazoned on the back of his eyelids even now, after two years. Sometimes, in the dark of his room, Logan would think about it, or- another night like it- and his hand would work its way into his jeans until his brain imploded in a mushy puddle of guilt and ecstasy.

James wasn't the kind of guy who got attached to lovers, and Kendall was- as far as Logan knew- mostly straight. So he'd sort of figured that would be an episode he'd never have to live through again.

Only, it kept happening.

At first, sporadically. Logan was reasonably sure Kendall and James hadn't experimented again for the rest of their high school career, and by the time they moved to California, he'd figured it was a distant memory (that occasionally made him come so hard it hurt, with a name perched on his lips, but-).

Until he caught James sneaking out of Kendall's room early one morning, before rehearsals, face painted with something almost like shame and neck covered in hickeys.

And then again; he caught the both of them stumbling out of the restroom after a Palmwoods party, deft fingers buckling their jeans and straightening what was decidedly sex hair, lips red and clothes rumpled.

There was a fourth time after a full day of running through harmonies, in Gustavo's office, caught in the act. A fifth long past midnight, when Logan happened to glance out his window during a crash course in studying thermodynamic physics (because the Palmwoods School just wasn't difficult enough) and saw two familiar figures moving in the pool, bodies illuminated by watery lights. A sixth and seventh on the tour bus, when he was just passing by the bunks and ended up hearing noises that couldn't be anything but the naughty kind.

Logan was beginning to think his friends were organizing these romantic interludes on his behalf.

Except he'd known James and Kendall his whole life. He knew there was nothing romantic about the way they seemed to enjoy fucking in new and exciting places. James still went after anything with legs, and ninety nine percent of the time, Kendall was mostly (obnoxiously) absorbed with Jo.

So Logan couldn't really figure out why it kept happening. He just knew that he was praying for it to stop.

Because, thing was, it hurt.

Logan loved Kendall like a brother. He had since the second they'd met on the playground in third grade; Kendall wearing a paper crown and brandishing a cardboard sword, Carlos at his heels in a matching ensemble (with a stylish cape fashioned from a towel). But the day he found James laying in his bed, contentedly sleeping the morning away, Logan kind of wanted to punch Kendall in the face.

It wasn't a compulsion born of pure, unadulterated hatred, but whatever he was feeling came pretty close.

Logan didn't blame James for wanting Kendall. He was brave and fearless and golden; their fierce, strong leader in pretty much everything. More than one wet dream during Logan's formative years had featured their hockey captain in varying states of undress, incestuous or not. What Logan did blame James for, what he could never forgive, was that- apparently- James had decided to go and let himself fucking finally fall in love.

With someone who wasn't Logan.

He realized it was stupid.

Nobody ends up with their first love. Logan knew that, the way he knew that Venus (best celestial body ever) was the hottest planet in the solar system, or that Titanic (secretly his favorite movie in the world) had booked the highest earnings in the box office, ever, until Avatar (overrated) had knocked it from its spot. It was one more boring, useless fact bouncing away in his boring, useless brain.

Logan was smart, and Kendall was golden, and really, he knew who he'd choose if he was stuck between the two of them.

It didn't make James's betrayal hurt any less.

Silently, he slipped from Kendall's bedroom into the warmth and safety of the living room, wondering what to do, if anything at all. Because as much as he hated to admit it, it wasn't any of his business what his friends decided to do between the sheets, no matter how it cut him. James didn't even know that Logan felt one way or another about him, at least- he hoped James didn't. Logan had dedicated considerable time and effort into ensuring he never found out.

It wasn't like he could even pinpoint when or how he'd begun to like James. He'd never be able to say if it was a slow burning desire that had gradually been fuelled as they grew up side by side, or if it was something quicker, harsher, all consuming. All he knew was that he had trouble reconciling the little boy he'd once helped shovel snow in the driveways of their neighbors for a whole five dollars between the both of them with this grown up prima donna, this beautiful, perfect sculpture of a boy, like a parody of what real boys were.

James was gorgeous and vain and kind of loose with his morals, and all of it had been blown of proportion since they'd moved to Hollywood. And while Logan appreciated the pretty, slutty narcissist that his best friend had become, he also liked the parts of James that only his friends saw.

How kind and compassionate he was underneath all that bravado and how brave he could be; James was the only one that ever stood up to Kendall. How strong and masculine he was when he wasn't running around trying to be a prissy male model.

The James Logan had always known was a simple mountain boy with a dream and a killer voice, and it annoyed him that he couldn't figure out if that was what Kendall saw, or if he was enamored with the façade. The worst part was, Logan loved Kendall too; maybe not in a sexual way, but more than a person was supposed to love their friends. That wasn't a surprise, though. Everybody loved Kendall. He was golden.

Speak of the devil, and he appeared.

Kendall walked into the room, and he looked like sunshine. He had a towel slung over his shoulders, hair dripping wet tracks down his forehead and cheekbones, chlorinated water drying on his collarbone. He smiled at Logan, dimpling, "Hey. You ready to hit the studio?"

Logan frowned.

"Isn't it a little early for you to be up?"

Kendall shifted, smile fading a bit, "I, uh. Never went to sleep. Too much energy."

His hands twitched over the towel.

"I'll bet," Logan said, and he knew he was glaring.

"Are you okay?" Kendall asked. He was making that face he made whenever he got really confused. Usually girls were involved with the emergence of that face.

Logan took a deep breath.

"I'm not okay. I'm drawing the line," he toed the linoleum where he stood, "See? Here. This is the line."

"Really? Because it looks like the floor."

"Stop trying to be clever. You don't wear it well."

"Wow. Did your period come early this month?"

Logan fixed him with his most scathing look. Kendall didn't seem particularly impressed. Maybe James was right and it was time to start practicing his expressions in the mirror for efficacy.

"This needs to stop," Logan insisted.

"I would probably agree with you if I had any idea what you're talking about."

"What you're doing with James. It needs to stop."

Kendall's face immediately shuttered closed, and he mumbled, "I knew I should've let Carlos dissect your brain when we were nine."

"Carlos wanted to dissect my brain?"

Kendall shrugged.

"He said it was for the good of the future scientific community. And money. And to see if it was squishy."

"Don't even think I don't see you changing the subject."

"You're too smart for your own good. You should stop it. Immediately," Kendall wandered over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. He downed half of it, and Logan watched the bob of his Adam's apple until he paused and said, "It's not like I planned it."

Which somehow made it worse, like if Logan could somehow identify the secret plan of seduction that Kendall had mapped out to get close to James, as close as Logan wanted to be, it would make things a little easier.

The truth was, he wanted to know the exact moment that James fell for Kendall.

Kendall, who may have been a knight in shining armor and plaid, but who hadn't kissed James's bruised knees when he fell off his bike when they were five, or camped out with him in the dead of winter because all he'd wanted to do was sleep in the woods for his birthday, or done a thousand other things that Logan had, side by side, practically since they were born. Logan had looked at James with a guilty blush staining his cheeks since he turned thirteen and realized that there were actually nicer things than faraway planets and dinosaur bones and mathematical equations. And then, when he turned fifteen, and his grandma died; Logan remembered it all so clearly. Kendall hadn't been there then.

Not when lightning lit the kitchen, and James had him pinned against the edge of the counter, fingers fumbling with his belt buckle before Logan could do more than gasp out a sob. Not the moment James's callused hand slid inside his boxers; the moment Logan remembered with perfect clarity, from the hum of the refrigerator to shadows playing over James's cheekbones to the fire lancing across the sky.

"Don't be sad."

"You don't get to dictate my grief," Logan had muttered, feeling caged in, but breathless. His heart in that moment was a supernova, an exploding star.

"Don't be sad," James had instructed again in a whisper, fingers skidding over the head of his dick and Logan had barely been able to remember what he was supposed to be sad about anymore.

Kendall hadn't been there then, so why did James love him now?

"I can't believe you're encouraging this," Logan sputtered, trying to get across in that one sentence how betrayed and hurt and indignant he felt.

He was mostly going for indignant, hoping that his moral righteousness would cover up the other, more prevalent emotions, because then Kendall might actually inquire what was really going on. And since Kendall had very little appreciation for tact or privacy, he'd get it out of Logan, one way or another if he wanted to.

And he didn't want Kendall to know. He didn't want to tell him that even though he wasn't sure how it had happened, Logan Mitchell loved James Diamond in this desperate, clingy way.

"Encouraging what?" Kendall shrugged, a fluid movement from collar bone to shoulder blade to forearm, his head tilting to the side so that blond fell into his eyes.

"You're leading James on."

"I'm not," Kendall actually looked offended, "He knows- well, he just knows. Okay?"

"Not okay," Logan objected, "Haven't you even noticed that he's falling for you?"

Kendall shifted, his gaze suddenly downcast. He mumbled, "I might've."

"Then the good thing- the right thing to do would be to stop with the- the," Logan found he couldn't actually bring himself to say 'fucking' (because it sounded illicit and dirty and brought about vague memories of touching himself in the dead of night) or 'having sex with him' (for much of the same reason) or 'making love to him' (because that was just false advertising, and the thought of it made him ache), "Intercourse."

"Intercourse?" Kendall arched an eyebrow, "Really? I know you're all virginal and pure, but-"

Logan held up a hand. He felt somewhat relieved that James hadn't seen fit to mention the lightning filled night that Logan only thought about with reverently held breaths and a too-fast pulse, but at the same time, his sex life wasn't on trial here, "Do you love him?"

"Like a brother," was Kendall's immediate reply.

"But nothing more?"

Kendall glanced away, "No."

"Then why won't you just- stop?"

Kendall frowned, "I can't."

It seemed like James wasn't the only one who thought spreading your legs was the only way to ward off guilt and grief and sadness.

"Logan, look. This isn't about you," Kendall blinked, and then said slowly, "Unless, I mean- unless it is?"

He felt his chest constrict.

"We don't have time for this," Logan snapped.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. We've gotta get to the studio. I'll- uh, go wake James up."

Logan stumbled through his day like he was stuck in a waking dream. Everything he did felt softened and surreal, and for the first time ever, he didn't pay attention in school.

He couldn't stop thinking about James or Kendall and James-and-Kendall, and why he was being left on the outside again. It hurt and it hurt and it hurt and he couldn't think through all the pain.

Sometimes, James and Kendall would lock themselves in a room for hours on end, and they wouldn't have sex. Logan thought about those times, which hurt just as much, because he could hear them, the strains of James's old guitar, stolen from his dad after the last hop back to Minnesota.

They'd compose songs together, better than anything the band had ever tried to do when they were cooped up in the sound booth. And those songs, they ached like a punch to the gut, because they were just so sad.

James and Kendall were two of the happiest people Logan had ever met. He didn't understand how the words they crafted could be so very heartbreaking.

And then, then there was the jealousy, because Logan wasn't like them. He didn't have music in his soul, or whatever. He liked to sing, and he was fortunate enough to be good at it. But he didn't live and breathe it, the way James did, head buried in copies of Blender and Rolling Stone, trying to keep up with the newest and hottest sounds and techniques.

He wasn't like Kendall either; humming in the car or doing acapella in the shower, all of it inadvertent. Logan didn't feel the need to fill up empty space with the sound of his own voice. He would rather bury his head in a book and lose himself in the feel of someone else's. And the truth was, he didn't really like hearing words out loud; they made less sense, they meant less.

He liked to feel them under his fingertips, to let them reverberate through his head.

He thought maybe the way Kendall and James spoke about music was a sort of secret language, one you couldn't understand if you didn't like the way a bassline got up under your ribs and made your heart bounce. Logan would sit outside listening, feeling like he was eavesdropping on spring's touchdown, fresh and shiny and new when he was ancient and scraped raw. Like a thunder storm was rumbling in the distance, wild electricity he couldn't contain in his tiny heart alone. Like he was being swallowed by waves, the chorus of the songs leaving him gasping for breath.

The songs were punches, slow rib cracking kicks. James and Kendall made beautiful things, and all Logan wanted was to be a part of it.

He never could.

Just like this, like this thing between them that he couldn't interfere with.

Even if he wanted to, so badly.

He just knew that he never, ever could.

Except later that night, James was sitting on the couch, legs apart, hands behind his head, totally relaxed. When he saw Logan, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, like he'd been waiting for him.

"Kendall told me you, uh, talked."

"He did?" Logan couldn't help the squeak in his voice, and he tried to insert some masculinity in his tone, "I mean, yeah, uh. We did."

James made this gesture that obviously meant go on, but Logan didn't know what to say.

So he said the first thing that came to mind.

"How do you feel about Kendall?" He blurted out.

James looked away, and Logan felt something uncomfortably hot and prickly slice through his gut. There was this huge part of him that wanted to say something nasty, to make James feel whatever it was that had just shredded a little piece of Logan like a cheese grater. But he liked to think he had too much dignity for that, and besides, the thought of making James hurt wasn't a nice one.

It wouldn't solve anything.

"I think," James paused, "the important question is how you feel about me."

He didn't say it like a question. It was like he already knew the answer.

Logan hated that he was so obvious. He was the lone only child in their group, the only person who'd never had a reason to learn how to hide what he was feeling from a nosy sibling. Kendall had Katie, and Carlos's parents procreated like bunnies, and James had practically been raised by his older brother (who was in a band, overly spoiled his little brother, and was very possibly morally bankrupt, which sort of explained where James had learned to be quite so easy with his affections).

Logan's parents never tried to snoop in his business.

He was the good boy, the kid who locked himself in his room at night to study instead of looking at porn like a normal teenager.

Truth was, his parents hadn't actually even known what to do with him. They weren't the geniuses everyone seemed to presume upon meeting him. Their jobs were every day; mundane. Neither of them had even graduated college. When Logan turned out to be some kind of child prodigy, they'd been happy, sure. But his intelligence was like some kind of gaping cavern that stood between them.

He'd never known how to cross it.

They'd never even tried.

It wasn't as sad as it sounded; Logan was close to his mom and dad. He loved them so much it felt ridiculous sometimes, that two people could represent the whole world. They, in turn, had done everything they could to make sure that Logan had the kind of life they'd both missed out on as children. But even so, he always thought that maybe they saw his ambition as some kind of failing, like he tried so hard because he didn't want to follow in their footsteps.

They loved him, but they didn't understand him.

The plight of every sullen teenager, really, but Logan would have given anything for it to have been a misunderstanding based on hormones and feelings he'd grow out of.

His brain was something he never would.

He wondered if it scared them, that he knew so much more than they ever had. It scared him. He didn't like to think about it very often. It made him feel…lonely.

"Logan," James said again, voice taking on an unfamiliar edge, half warning, half simple curiosity, "Do you- have a thing for me?"

Logan looked away. He hated to lie, and James could read his expression easier than a glossy magazine. Still, he could have denied it. He could have said that he had no idea what James was talking about. He could have ignored the fact that he was pretty terrible at saying things that weren't true and just tried to avoid the inevitable trainwreck.

He didn't.

James was every inch the male model, except for his hands. He grabbed Logan's face, the rough calluses of his hockey player thumbs stroking over his cheekbones, over the corners of Logan's lips. He looked straight into Logan's eyes, and Logan knew he couldn't lie.

Softly, he said, "I wish you'd love me instead."

He pulled away, standing up and shrugging. He didn't know what it meant, if it was his way of saying that he knew James never could, or if it was just some kind of huge 'fuck you', but he let the gesture speak for itself and made to walk away.

"Logan. Wait."

Logan didn't want to wait.

He wanted to go to his room, curl up into a little ball, and listen to his iPod so loud it would blow out his eardrums. He wanted to call his parents and rage against them; ask them why they hadn't been more involved in his life, made him better at lying with his face and his words.

He absolutely did not want to turn around and see the way James was looking at him; to see the pity in his best friend's eyes. But there was something powerful in James's voice.

Something that made his feet stop without first consulting his brain.

"Do you- want to come to my room?" James asked, and his voice sounded rough, choked, and just a bit hesitant, "Just for tonight?"

Logan wanted to say no. He wanted to ask how often Kendall had been invited into James's bed, and if James had even washed the sheets since the last time.

He didn't ask.

He didn't say no.