A/N: Written for the BTR Fic Exchange on AO3 and, more specifically, for the super awesome, incredibly amazing, fantasmigorical Cassie who prompted Kames (with a side of Lucy/Mercedes) with reincarnation, angst, porn, chain-mail, leather, and badassery. Hopefully I fulfilled your request and gave you something you like. Also, I SWEAR I NEVER MEANT FOR IT TO BE THIS LONG, MY BRAIN JUST HATES ME, AND THE PLOT RAN AWAY WITH THE SPOON. Or something. Point is, wow, did this thing end up bigger than I thought it'd be. Typical me really...
BTR is property of Scott Fellows and Nickelodeon (maybe possibly who knows if that's still true and who actually cares). I just stole them, plopped them somewhere else, and made them do other stuff including porn. It's what I do. Anything else that's mentioned is property of whatever companies own them. Title from "Youth" by Daughter because awesomeness, that's why. Rated for language, explicit sex, vague threats amongst friends, and references to stupid shenanigans, underage drinking, and underage tattooing.
They were going to be caught, Kendall was most certain. Yet at that moment, he just could not muster the ability to care. Instead, his eyes closed, head tilting back against the down-filled pillow, hips bucking up and thrusting his cock further inside James' mouth. James. Yet Kendall just did not care. Because every time he looked at James, he felt his heart lurch within his chest, his stomach twisting and tying up, his skin tingling. He often found himself thinking of tan skin, white teeth, and tawny hair. His nighttime reveries consisted of eyes that were a blend of browns and greens and lips that were kissed red and swollen. He knew that his behavior was not fair towards Princess Josephine. After all, she was a female of worth, beautiful with blonde curls and fair skin. She would provide him with attractive children who would carry on the family line and one day rule as he would. The two of them got along well and being married to her would not be a hardship on any plane. Yet she did send his heart racing or create flutters in his stomach the way Sir James did. The way he did to Sir James. So it was with this that the two of them kept their relationship hidden, that they only acted upon their feelings behind closed doors. They made sure the rest of the castle was asleep, Sir James creeping through hidden passageways and leaving his heavy chain-mail behind in his own chambers, dressed solely in his sleep clothes. Not that they were on him for long. For when the two of them were alone together, the clothes were removed and they would fall into bed naked as the day they were born. At that moment, they were no longer prince and knight, simply Kendall and James, two men who adored one another and who gave in to their bodies desires. James had pinned Kendall down to the bed with large arms, taking advantage of the strength he gained through fighting, muscles he'd developed through training. His lips had trailed hot kisses down a more lithe body, not pausing until they arrived at their destination: the hard length jutting out from between the blond's hips. He had left teasing licks and small kisses before swallowing him down to the root, moaning as though he was the one receiving the pleasure rather than giving it. Firm hands held him down by his hips, Kendall's teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He felt the flutter of James' throat at the head of his cock, the sensation making him gasp. Fingers tangled in brown locks, the shaggy lengths soft between the digits as they tugged, making his partner groan louder. It had been long, "James," he gasped out, back arching, eyes widening in pleasure. The other male did not respond—could not respond really. He pulled back, leaving just the head inside his mouth, sucking on it hard as though trying to pull something out. And mayhaps he was, for Kendall could feel something building up inside, could feel a gathering at the base of his spine, that familiar tingle that occurred just before he exploded all over in ecstasy. "Close," he breathed, swallowing hard, throat clicking. "Please. So close." A hand moved from his hips, sliding up along the bed covering to where Kendall had his own fist clenching at the fabric. James untangled his fingers, entwining them, something he always did whenever one of them was about to orgasm. And as his eyes flicked up, the brown-green mixture meeting green, Kendall felt his body coil up, readying itself to burst—
A pillow being whacked on his face woke Kendall up from his slumber—and his awesome yet confusing dream—causing him to flail slightly as he sat up. His head jerked around as he took in his surroundings, his sleep-fuzzy brain taking several minutes to catch up. He wasn't in a Medieval castle, wasn't the Crown Prince of anything or anywhere, hell, he wasn't even a knight despite his surname declaring he was. He was just a regular guy in his early twenties in a one-room apartment in downtown Newtown, Minnesota.
A one-room apartment he'd barely managed to pay the rent for on time. He was pretty sure there'd been an eviction notice in his landlord's hand when he knocked to hand over the cash he owed.
Shit.
Shoving a hand through messy blond locks that he'd cut himself, he roamed his green eyes about, the orbs settling on a petite Asian sitting on his bed, smug smile on her face, black and red streaked hair hanging straight down around her shoulders.
And a pillow on her lap.
Of fucking course.
Drawing his brow down into a frown, he glared at his best friend, wondering if he shouldn't revoke her status as such. Then again, his only other real option there would be to just promote her girlfriend Mercedes to his number one best friend, meaning he'd still be stuck with Lucy hanging around and beating him with his own property.
Best just to leave things as they were.
Didn't mean he wouldn't complain like hell about her treatment of him.
"What the fuck?" he grumbled, voice sleep rough and gravelly, eyes narrowed in a glare.
Lucy simply kept smirking, leaning her weight on one hand, brown eyes sparkling through heavy black eyeliner. "It's seven pm," she pointed out, because apparently he didn't have an alarm clock or eyes to look at it or anything. "You need to get your ass outta bed."
A snort made its way out his nose before he could even think of any sort of response, his entire body bobbing with the sound. He dropped his hand onto his lap, slapping against the comforter, then lifted it up again and scratched at his t-shirt covered chest. In the back of his mind he registered the fact that he was in sweats while Lucy was fully dressed in a pair of leather pants and a Children of Bodom shirt that she had tied at the front, revealing a pierced naval with plain black ring in it. Her ears were lined with silver rings all along the cartilage, ball piercing on her bottom lip, sleeve of Japanese tattoos covering her right arm. She had a Phoenix on her back that was hidden by her tee and the only reason he knew it was there was because he'd inked it on himself.
In turn she'd done his own dragon back-piece at half price. Benes of having tattoo artist friends he figured.
Kendall scratched his own tattoo covered forearm, chewed on nails grazing over the colorful ink that had been added onto for about eight years now. His first had come courtesy of Lucy, too, a cheesy heart with "Mom" on the inside of his elbow he'd drunkenly thought would get him in less trouble for getting tattooed at age fifteen. And for drinking. And for being out all night.
He'd been wrong.
Tat still looked good though.
Clearing his throat, he continued to frown at his friend/ co-worker/ cause of most of his teenage groundings, trying to focus on the conversation at hand and not at the fact that half his right arm still wasn't inked and how that bummed him out at times. "I have the day off," he informed her, fingering at the ring in his left eyebrow. "And I was up 'til about four drawing a piece for a client."
Lucy perked up at that, sitting up straighter, eyebrows raising in interest. "Can I see?"
"No," he replied flatly, double-checking the black gauges in his ears before finally just dropping his hands onto his lap and keeping them there. "Why are you here? And how?" he questioned, mind finally caught up with the situation. Because the last time he'd checked, his door had been locked and the windows latched shut.
He seriously needed to talk to his landlord about the shit-tacular upkeep of this place.
Then again, last time he did that when his shower had decided that draining wasn't a thing it was gonna do, Bitters had informed him that he didn't have to live there and was free to leave at any time, maybe find a place where he could actually pay his rent on time.
Fatass lived up to his name.
Lucy held up a set of keys, the jangle ringing throughout the sparsely decorated apartment. "You gave me a spare," she reminded him obnoxiously, rolling her dark eyes at him.
"Yeah, for emergencies." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and deciding that the how didn't matter so much as the why. "So why are you in my apartment waking me up with my own damn pillow?" he grumbled, snatching back the mentioned item and tucking it behind himself on the pull-out couch he used as a bed.
"One," she began, holding up a finger with chipped black polish. "You need to get up. And two." Another finger flicked up. "We're going out."
Kendall groaned before flopping onto his back, hands covering his face. "We" always meant himself, Lucy, and Mercedes, which further meant he'd be dragged into shenanigans of some form. Most likely due to alcohol. And "going out" pretty much always meant alcohol was involved.
Old habits and all that.
"Why?" he whined, clasped hands over his eyes.
"Because it's my birthday."
Okay, what?
He moved his hands, cocking a pierced eyebrow at her, lips twisted up in a confused sneer. "Yeah, like, three days ago."
Lucy rolled her eyes, huffing slightly in annoyance. "Fine," she grit out. "Birthday week."
"No such thing."
"There is according to Mercedes."
Well, that explained shit.
Kendall rolled his own green eyes, snorting again. "Well, Mercedes is a brat, so." He ended his argument with a one-shouldered shrug, totally not surprised when he received a smack to the stomach hard enough to make him grunt.
"Doesn't matter," was her only response, not denying the fact that her girlfriend was, in fact, a brat. "We're still going out and you're not gonna complain about anything we do tonight no matter what or I get to test the sharpness of my new Katana on your arm."
That had Kendall sitting up, clutching both arms close to his chest out of instinct. His best friend had a habit of checking the dullness of the blades on her swords and knives on him, usually by shaving small sections of his arms—which was annoying as hell since he was left with bald patches that itched like hell when the hair grew back. And, of course with Kendall's luck being what it was, she just happened to collect knives and antique swords, meaning there was a lotta blades to test out.
He wondered if he'd ever grow hair back on his arms and keep it.
Then he wondered why she couldn't just test it on his face. Would save him a ton of money on razors.
But the threat aimed at his complaints had his suspicions raising, eyebrow cocking once again. "Why?" he questioned cautiously, staring at her out the corner of narrowed eyes. "What're you subjecting me to that I'd complain about?"
Lucy snorted, running a hand through her hair, light reflecting off a silver ring. "Oh hell no, I'm not telling you beforehand." She gave him a "bitch please" look that she'd perfected thanks to Mercedes' natural ability to rearrange her facial features into the same expression. Not that she didn't already have all things sassy and snarky down pat. Dealing with both of them together meant Kendall would never win any argument ever.
Hence him being dragged into countless shenanigans he ordinarily wouldn't participate in.
That, plus Lucy's sword and knife collection and Mercedes' love of anything that shot bullets of any description. And maybe also a little bit due to the fact that he'd been raised by a single mom with a younger sister and therefore was programmed to go along with whatever any female told him to do ever.
Thank god he was gay. He'd never get any peace ever otherwise.
A heavy sigh left Kendall, hand shoved through his dead mohawk, blunt nails scratching at his scalp. "Fine," he breathed out, defeated. "Can I at least have some sorta idea about where we're going so I know what to wear?"
Another snort. "Please. Like you wear anything other than ripped jeans and band tees."
There was absolutely nothing wrong with that and he stood firm in his belief when it came to his wardrobe. It was one area he was flat out refusing to back down on, despite Mercedes' countless attempts at trying to update his clothing and make him more "fashionable". He'd seen her idea of what a guy should wear and there was no fucking way he was squeezing himself into jeans that tight, no matter how scrawny his legs may have been.
He waved a hand dismissively at Lucy before shoving his comforter back and hauling himself up off his sofa-bed. Yanking open a drawer, he pulled out the first shirt he could get a hold of, discovering an old tee from a family trip to Medieval Times. After his dream, it seemed fitting.
Switching it with his sleep shirt, he tried not to think of the details of his revery and failed, mind becoming fixated on one facet of it.
James seemed to be in a lot of dreams he was having lately. And he'd never seen the guy before in his life.
It wasn't until they arrived at their actual destination that Kendall finally figured out why Lucy refused to tell him where they were going. Because had he known, there was no fucking way he'd actually join them.
It had to be a joke. There was no other explanation for it. A big fat joke or a prank they were pulling on him. Or they were doing it for shits and giggles, just out of boredom and lack of anything new to do in their small town. Maybe they were a tiny bit curious and thought they'd just check it out and see what the fuss was about. No way were Lucy or Mercedes serious about where they'd dragged him to.
A fucking psychic.
Seriously.
Fuck his life.
The two of them sat at the round table, cushioned ottomans holding them up, the couple seeming completely enraptured by whatever the so-called psychic was spewing. Because there was no way in hell that this chick was for real. Sure, she looked the part, brown curls covered by a tie-dyed scarf, flowy dress hanging off a slender frame, porcelain features and doe eyes making her look innocent and incapable of playing anyone. But her being an actual psychic? No fucking way.
Kendall snorted, rolling his eyes away from the woman and her scarf covered table—complete with crystal ball in the middle and tarot cards stacked to the side if for no other reason than the cliché of it all. He had zero interest in whatever it was she was bullshitting his friends about. Hell, he had no interest in being there at all. Lucy and Mercedes had both had to grab an arm each and literally drag him toward the shop once he'd realized it was their destination, spouting promises of shots and "the first round is on me", more arguments about how it's Lucy's birthday—birthday week, he'd corrected—and therefore he had to do everything she wanted.
Mercedes had backed that up by informing him that she'd packed her Ruger LCP in her Coach purse and that she'd been wondering if she'd be able to shoot a guy's nuts off without damaging his actual dick. Being fond of all parts of his genitalia, Kendall had relented and entered the stupid fucking shop, grumbling the entire time they waited. Because seriously, what kind of psychic didn't know she had customers? Couldn't she sense them coming or something?
He'd cut off the verbal complaints at a death glare from Mercedes, painted pink lips twisting in an angry pout, her Marilyn piercing sparkling from the candles used to light the place. Both ears featured two diamond studs, the pink gems coordinated with the lettering on her black "Pistol Packing Princess" tee. She was tattoo-less, despite spending most of free time at the shop where Lucy and Kendall were employed, having stated that there was no way she could get something permanently etched on herself, if for no other reason than the possibility of it clashing with an outfit or accessory.
Didn't stop the more inked half of the couple from suggesting matching ring tattoos for after their wedding. Kendall had asked when the hell they'd gotten engaged, only to be met by matching "bitch please" looks and promptly deciding he was sorry he asked.
After having been led to a back room—through a beaded curtain, of course—the couple had immediately sat down and listened to the psychic—who'd introduced herself as Camille at that point—as she chatted about how things would work. That was when Kendall had tuned out and began roaming the space, taking in the deep purple walls and dark wooden shelving. He inspected the random items on the shelves, sniffing at bags of incense, cocking an eyebrow at bottles of herbs and supposed potions, grimacing at a human skull that looked too realistic for his comfort.
Seriously, where the hell did one even procure an actual human skull? And how much did it cost, because that would kinda be badass sitting at his station at the shop and he could use it to scare people into cooperating and sitting still. The joking implications that it was a bad tipper practically wrote themselves.
His fingers grazed over leather-bound books in languages he didn't recognize, letters that were more symbols than anything he'd seen before. He sneered at star charts and astrology charts and hand charts displaying the various lines within one's palm and what they meant. He had to resist the temptation of comparing it to his own hand, telling himself it was just boredom that had him curious about his own lifeline and not an actual genuine interest.
He snuck a peek anyway after meandering his way to the other side of the room, wondering what exactly it meant that his supposed lifeline seemed to cross the entirety of his palm.
Then he realized he was being an idiot and shoved it all aside, running his hand through his hair and distracting himself with a small pile of short bones, once again wondering if they were human. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted them to be, since it meant no animals were harmed in the making of her cliché bullshit space.
"You!"
Kendall's body jerked in surprise where he stood, snatching his hand back to his chest from where it'd been reaching out to touch the bones. Not that it'd help him figure out their origin or anything, but how often did one get to play with pieces of a skeleton?
Outside of, like, forensic anthropologists and such, of course.
He jerked his head to the left, where the female voice that yelled at him originated, watching as Lucy and Mercedes rose to their feet. The two had stars in their eyes—more than usual—small secret smirks on each of their faces as they stepped to the side, hands clasped. Mercedes leaned back against a set of shelves covered in glass bottles, Lucy pressed to her front, arms wrapped around one another as they gazed into one another's eyes.
Kendall cocked a pierced eyebrow at that, wondering what exactly had spurred on the random PDA—not that they really ever needed an excuse or a reason before being disgustingly in love with each other and putting it out there for everyone and their mother to see. But the confusion soon gave way to another feeling, one more familiar in a totally depressing way: loneliness. And admittedly, a little jealousy.
Not that he wanted to be with Mercedes or Lucy, no thank you. He loved them both, but as sisters and he knew he'd never be able to handle being in an actual relationship with either of them—plus the whole "being gay" thing kinda put an end to any potential romantic feelings there. But still, being around them made him ache for someone of his own, for their nights out to be double-dates rather than Kendall always playing third wheel and feeling left out when the twosome entered their own little couple world of love and hearts and rainbows and what-the-fuck-ever. It would've been nice to have someone there with him at that moment, someone who he could share jokes with about the ridiculousness of visiting a fucking psychic and compete with over who could come up with the funniest, craziest story of where that skull had originally come from. He would've loved to have someone to talk to when they eventually made it to the bar and got drinks and Mercedes and Lucy inevitably slipped into their own world and became MercedesLucy. MerLu? Lucedes? Mercy? Whatever, he didn't understand the whole couple smoosh-up name thing.
Point was, he just wanted someone of his own to cuddle up with whenever he was unintentionally ostracized from the conversation because his friends had gotten too wrapped up in each other to remember he was there. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried, but relationships never really lasted long for him, always ending for one reason or another.
Although if he was being totally honest with himself, they all ended because of one reason: none had felt right.
And he'd be damned if he could explain how or why.
A throat was cleared and he tore his gaze away from his friends, coming across the psychic—Camille, he mentally reminded himself—still seated at her little round table. Her chocolate eyes were fixated on him, lips twisted to the side in thought and skewing her porcelain features. Kendall rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling a cold prickle, a strange discomfort at being analyzed so closely by a complete stranger. He flicked his eyes to his friends, severely tempted to just bolt, to head home on his own and text that they still owed him drinks at some point, make up a lie about not feeling well and deciding to take a rain check. Wasn't like they'd notice his escape, probably wouldn't even realize he was gone until they saw the text he'd send. Then again, they probably wouldn't even notice the buzz in their pockets alerting them to said text, would only find it when they drew out their cell to yell at him an hour or so later when they finally realized he'd abandoned them.
Wouldn't be the first time.
"You," the same voice from earlier called for his attention, this time lower and calmer, not as demanding. Camille pointed a slim finger at him so there was no arguing over who she was talking to, soon moving it so it was pointed at one of the ottomans across the table from her. "Sit."
Kendall snorted, rolling his eyes. "Nope. No way," he denied her request, shaking his head, hands now shoved in the pockets of his jeans, rattling his wallet chain.
She cocked an eyebrow dubiously at him, lips pursed in an "oh really?" manner, slender arms folding over a lithe frame. "Yes way," she argued back, voice and tone both saccharine sweet. "Sit so I can prove you wrong."
He didn't need to ask what exactly she was referring to, knowing that it was clearly his skepticism she was trying to lay to rest. Was pretty obvious in his body language and his attitude that he most definitely did not want to be there and that he found the entire thing to be a joke. Not to mention his verbal complaints over the bullshit of their evening plans when he and his friends were still out in the parlor waiting on her. He'd walked by the glowing neon sign in the window enough times to know the place had been there for quite a while, meaning she'd come across every form of disbeliever possible. And having been subjected to them all, the way they held themselves, the tells on their faces and bodies that spoke more than their mouths about how they felt over the whole thing, she'd most likely memorized all their behaviors and had learned to recognize it in others.
Like she was with Kendall.
It wasn't being a psychic; it was being a good body language expert.
"Kendall, I've already paid," Mercedes pointed out, unamused, Lucy snuggled up against her. "Just fucking do it already."
The lone male in the room sighed, eyes rolling again. He still couldn't believe someone would waste their hard-earned cash—or in Mercedes' case, her trust fund—on this bullshit. But since it wasn't his own money he was blowing on it, he really had nothing to lose—except a few moments of his time. Although knowing his friends, they weren't leaving until he relented and did what they said, which would also delay their trip to the bar and him getting a round or two on their dime. Besides, could be good for a laugh. He could tell stories at the shop the next day about how ridiculous it was, how clearly touched in the head Camille had been and the nonsense she'd told him.
But mostly he just didn't want to find himself at the losing end of one of his friend's weapons. Again. Because Mercedes' hand was slipping into her Coach purse and he really didn't want to find out whether she was sliding her Ruger out its holster or not.
With another eye roll for good measure, he tromped his way over, plopping down onto a burgundy ottoman with zero grace and a total huff, arms folded over his own chest to complete his petulant brat behavior. "Lemme guess," he began sardonically, lips in a flat line, green eyes half-lidded in boredom and unamusement. "I'll meet a tall, dark, and handsome stranger."
Camille's eyes twinkled, her own lips pulling into a wry grin. The candlelight danced over her pale skin, her slim hands sliding over the scarf-covered tabletop as she leaned forward. This close, Kendall could smell her sandalwood perfume and see that her face was free of make-up, not even any sort of balm on her lips. It was a refreshing change from the females he was usually around, ones who preferred heavy eyeliner—Lucy—or expensive high-end make-up—Mercedes—or even a little bit of shadow and Chapstick—Jo, the receptionist at the shop. Hell, even his younger sister Katie had been wearing lip balm since she was about eight or so.
"Not quite," Camille commented, dragging him back to the moment and away from his mental tangent over her lack of facial coverings.
He cocked an eyebrow, wondering what exactly he'd said to her, then remembering his joking comment over the cliché remark one always got from a psychic.
"Compared to you, he's not tall," she stated, folding her arms in front of her on the table. "Although compared to me, he is. But then again, most people are." She smirked at him and he forced a huff of a laugh out his nose, forced the corner of his lips to turn up at what he assumed had been a joke of some form. "He's tan, but not quite dark, extremely handsome, and only mostly a stranger."
Okay, he had no clue what exactly kind of incense she'd been burning, but it clearly had been fucking with her head, because what she'd just told him made no sense.
Yet she'd said it with such conviction, like she knew for a fact that this guy existed and was somehow "only mostly" a stranger to Kendall.
Whatever the hell that meant.
Resting his elbows on the table, he rubbed at his temples, eyes scrunched shut as he tried to decipher her words, only to come to a resounding "what?" that he blurted out in confusion.
"You've met him before," Camille explained, still fully convinced that she was speaking the truth and that her word was law. "In your past lives."
Again. What?
Dropping his hands onto the table with a thud, he sneered at her in confusion, brow drawn together, lips curled up. She truly was out of her mind. Because past lives weren't a thing. As much as Kendall would like to believe that this life wasn't it and that after his death there was something for him to move on to rather than a nice wooden box or a lovely metal urn, there just wasn't. One life, one shot, that was it. YOLO and all that shit.
"The name James mean anything to you?" Camille plowed on, head cocked to the side, sparkle in her eyes that had nothing to do with the candles. Her lips still held the faintest shadow of a grin, like she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to admit she was right.
Which really just made him want to argue more.
Not that he felt like he could, not convincingly at least. Because the second that name had left her lips, Kendall's entire being had reacted. He'd sucked in a breath, holding it in his lungs, head rearing back in shock as his eyes widened. He felt his heart start pounding, stomach start flipping, skin start tingling, all those cliché reactions to the mention of a crush or a romantic partner.
Only he'd never met the guy.
In reality at least. Because dreams don't count. It was just a weird coincidence that she'd mentioned the name of Kendall's fantasy lover, that was all. No need to read into anything.
Her smirk grew as she winked at him. "I'll take that as a yes," she commented, proud as a peacock, practically preening as she sat up straighter, slightly wiggling in her seat.
"Lucky guess," he breathed out when his lungs finally figured out that that was their function, the whole air in, air out bit having been forgotten momentarily.
Camille rolled her eyes, but didn't seem deterred by his disbelief. "Oh please," she snorted. "We both know it wasn't and that James is someone very special to you."
A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, an unsuccessful attempt at making it disappear. "I don't know anyone named James," he argued, voice weak, like it didn't have the strength to fight its way up his throat and past his lips to someone else's ears.
"Not in real life," she pointed out, shrugging a slender shoulder. "But how many dreams have you had about the guy over the years?"
Okay, now he was getting freaked out. Yes, he'd been having dreams about the same brunet named James since he was about sixteen—coincidentally around the time he'd gotten his first tat and his hungover mind wondered if the ink had something magic in it to have given him the greatest dream ever about a handsome pirate captain who'd kidnapped and ravaged him on his ship—but he'd never told anyone about them. Hell, he hadn't even written them down during his six month phase of writing in a journal—that totally wasn't a diary, no matter how much Lucy had argued to the contrary.
So this woman, this stranger bringing up said dreams and talking about them as though she knew the exact nature of them was more than a little weird.
It was downright eerie.
"Your silence says more than your words ever could," Camille commented with a knowing look, eyebrow cocked, lips twisted to the side in a wry grin.
Kendall shoved a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp, swallowing the lump that seemed to have grown. "Still don't know any Jameses," he argued just to argue, just so it didn't seem like he was starting to believe anything she was saying.
He wasn't entirely sure if he was trying to convince her of that fact or himself.
"But you wiii-iiill," she singsonged, flicking brown ringlets behind her shoulder. "It's just a matter of time before you two meet again in this life."
This time he pinched the bridge of his nose before flicking his hand out toward her. "Okay, again with the past life bullshit," he pointed out, sneering as he shook his head.
Her eyebrows scrunched up, looking genuinely confused about his failure to buy what she was selling. It was like she thought it was the most obvious thing in the world, right up there with facts about the sky's color and water's dampness and how could he not just get this?
"Well, yeah," she replied with a small laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. "What did you think all those dreams were?"
"Fantasies created by my subconscious," he answered flatly, wishing he had a dictionary so he could recite the exact definition of it in order to make her understand the obvious.
Agree to disagree didn't seem likely in this scenario.
"Nope," she retorted, popping the "p" with another smirk. "They're memories of all your past lives. Lives that you shared with your soul mate."
"James," he concluded flatly, barely able to hold back an eye roll or a snort or any other snarky physical responses.
"Exactly." She nodded once, gravely, face completely serious.
Kendall thought she was completely insane.
This time, he didn't bother holding back the snort.
Camille's lips pursed, eyes narrowed as she analyzed him. "You don't believe in reincarnation, do you?"
"Nope," he mimicked her earlier tone, right down to the popped "p".
"Well," she began, chocolate eyes locking onto his green ones, upper body leaning over the table, head tilted to the side in a way that kinda reminded Kendall of a curious dog. "Do you believe in a love so great and so powerful that it spans lifetimes? That two people can be such complete and total soul mates that they're constantly reborn just so they can be together?"
He shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. "Shit like that doesn't exist for me. For them?" He paused, pointing to his still-snuggled friends with his thumb. "Sure. But not for me. My longest relationship has been with a dildo Lucy got me five years ago as a birthday present."
"You're welcome!" the mentioned friend called out and he turned to give her a thumbs up and a wink before focusing on the so-called psychic once more.
"Love and me? Relationships and me? They don't mix. And they sure as shit aren't powerful enough to the point where I keep being born over and over again so I can keep experiencing it."
"And why do you think that all your relationships fail?" Camille questioned in a tone that reminded him of his mom mid-lecture when she sarcastically asked if his latest Lucy-induced shenanigan was a good idea. Took him a while to learn that he either shouldn't answer or say "no". He figured in his current situation, the first option was the best.
"Why do you think," the psychic continued in the same tone, "that every time you try to be with someone, it just doesn't feel right, like there's something missing and you just can't quite your finger on it, other than to say it's just a weird feeling you get?"
Kendall pressed his lips together in a hard line, ducking his head and turning it to the side, refusing to acknowledge what she was saying, refusing to admit that maybe she'd made a point.
"You're going through life with the feeling like something major is missing, like half of you is gone," she stated and damn if she wasn't hitting the nail right on the head. "All your relationships failed because it was with the wrong person, because none of them were James. Your James."
He swallowed hard, that damn lump still there, his heart still skipping a beat at the mention of the other man's name. A slender hand slid over the top of his as it sat idly on the table, slim fingers wrapping around his and squeezing. Turning back to Camille, he caught sight of her sympathetic expression and her sad smile, noting how she'd leaned even further in as though they were sharing secrets.
"It's okay," she whispered in a comforting manner. "You'll find him soon. You won't be the token single one or the third wheel for much longer."
It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him at her last sentence, reality setting in. And to think, he'd almost fallen for it, had almost actually believed her and the bullshit she was spouting at him.
Too damn close for comfort really.
Slipping his hand out from under her's, Kendall dropped it onto his lap, giving her a hard look through narrowed eyes. Man, did he feel stupid. And gullible. And, admittedly, a tiny bit embarrassed at how easily he'd begun to let himself believe her. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, jaw working in disbelief at himself, at Camille, at the entire fucking situation. "You almost had me," he admitted. "But I'm sure you've had enough people come in here by themselves or with friends who are clearly a couple to know what key words and phrases to use to make yourself seem like you're actually telling them their future."
Camille didn't seem offended or upset, simply leaning back in her wicker chair and folding her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrowed in challenge, lips twisting this way and that before settling on a smug smirk. "Your t-shirt is kind of ironic, considering what you dreamt last night, isn't it?"
Right, that was it, officially time to go.
He gave her one last hard look before rising to his feet and stomping off, boots clomping loudly on the hardwood floors. The beads were noisily shoved aside as he stormed his way out, not bothering to look back to make sure his friends were following.
Although they sure as hell better had been. They owed him more than one round after that bullshit he'd just been through.
Stepping outside, Kendall breathed in the chilly Minnesota air, holding it in his lungs before blowing it out slowly. This was reality, this was what was actually happening, not some crap about how his dreams were memories from past lives.
Still, he couldn't help the small glimmer of hope he felt inside his chest at the possibility of James being real and out there and his. His heart began to pound, stomach fluttering, skin tingling all over again at the chance of being able to find the literal man of his dreams and being with him, having him be his soul mate. A soul mate so perfect and a love so powerful they kept reliving it over and over again throughout the ages.
Kendall mentally snorted as he smeared a hand over his face. Yeah. He was definitely gonna need several rounds of drinks.
The Palm Woods was located a few blocks from the psychic's, only two blocks from Rocque Tattoos where Kendall and Lucy were employed, meaning it was a frequent post-work hang. The bar's moniker conjured up images of actual palm trees, of sunshine and beaches and Orange County housewives on spa days because spending their husband's money was stressful.
But in reality, the place was the stereotypical dive, with sticky tables and peanut shell covered floors, the bar covered in scratches and the vinyl on the chairs ripped and splitting. Pool balls cracked loudly over the jukebox pumping out eighties hair metal that was barely heard over a cacophony of conversations and laughter. Friends' names were yelled at obnoxious volumes when the door opened, new arrivals joining the already seated groups they were meeting, bartenders nodding heads in acknowledgment at frequent patrons.
The three of them were able to find a table near a corner far from others, having arrived during the lull between post-work happy hour and hard partying drunk-fests. Mercedes kept to her word, supplying the first round of shots and beers, calling a toast for Lucy and her birthday.
"Which was three days ago," Kendall tacked on, shot glass in the air, ready to clink it against his friend's.
Mercedes rolled her brown eyes, entire head moving with the action as she huffed. "Birthday week," she altered, wrapping it up by sticking her tongue out at Kendall.
He just rolled his eyes right back at her before the three of them clinked their glasses together and downed their shots. The drink wasn't quite enough to do anything, but it was a start.
"Now," Lucy began louder than necessary, practically slamming her glass on the table. "On to our next order of business."
Kendall cocked an eyebrow at her, suspicions raising once more. The excited wiggle Mercedes performed at her girlfriend's words didn't help anything, her devious dimpled grin making them worse.
Shit.
Then again, could anything really be worse than being dragged to a psychic?
Probably. And it would be his friends who'd be the ones to figure it out.
Shit again.
Putting his beer bottle to his lips, he tipped it back and drank deep, bracing himself for the next part of the evening he'd be dreading.
He needed to get new friends.
"Our new mission in life is to find Kendall's James."
What?
Kendall nearly choked as he tried to swallow, barely managing to not spit beer everywhere. Bottle back on the table, he coughed loudly, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern and steady himself after the shock of Lucy's declaration.
Because, what?
When he felt like a regular functioning human again, he turned his questioning gaze on her, lips parted in confusion. "Say what now?"
She shrugged like the whole thing was a "duh" matter, completely nonplussed. "We need to find James for you."
He coughed out a laugh, looking to Mercedes for back up. But the blonde was zero help, nodding with pursed lips, clearly on her girlfriend's side.
Yeah. Seriously needed new friends. Dude friends. Straight dude friends who would invite him out for drinks and not trick him into visiting psychics or meddle in his love life.
But since that wasn't gonna happen in the next thirty seconds, he was stuck dealing with the friends he did have and their latest insane plan that he wanted nothing to do with.
"No, we don't," he argued flatly, giving Lucy a hard look.
"Yes, we do," she mimicked his tone before turning in her seat to face him fully. Her face was hard, features set, and the last time he'd seen that look she'd been threatening him with a Japanese sword.
Shit.
"Kendall, you haven't had a real relationship in over a year," she pointed out, making him wince internally. He opened his mouth to argue but was stopped by her holding up a hand. "That fling with that traveling arms dealer doesn't count because it was basically a week's worth of booty calls and your vibrator doesn't count."
Dammit, she'd stolen his arguments before he could make them. Fucking typical.
Defeated, he slumped back in his chair, hand loosely wrapped around his beer bottle, condensation making his fingers damp.
"We can tell how unhappy you are being single."
He snorted just to be argumentative, pride refusing to let him give in and agree. "I'm fine."
"You're lying," Lucy retorted, Mercedes nodding her agreement. "You can't honestly sit there and tell us that what Camille said didn't hit home for you, that you haven't been lonely and miserable and feeling like you've been missing something."
He rolled his eyes, noting in the back of his mind how often he and his friends seemed to perform the action and what the hell did that say about their friendship? "She was insane," he commented. "And you two are at least a little crazy if you even halfway believe the bullshit she said."
The couple exchanged looks as Kendall drank, wordlessly having a conversation. He glanced around the bar, ignoring their silent discussion, taking in the neon advertisements for beers, the darts scores on the chalkboard at the back of the bar, the fliers for Thirsty Thursdays and Ladies' Nights. He didn't need to see yet another example of Lucy and Mercedes' couple-ness and be reminded of what he didn't have. He was loathe to admit that Camille had been right about him always being the third wheel and always being the token single friend. His little sister changing her FaceBook status to "in a relationship" earlier that day didn't help shit either.
"Well, I believed her," Mercedes snuffed, tossing blonde curls behind her shoulder with a whip of her head.
"So did I," Lucy agreed. "Hard not to when everything she says is true and makes sense."
Kendall glanced back and forth between them, hating their stony expressions and the fact that they were completely serious in what they were saying. "Please. She's been there long enough to learn how to phrase things to make it seem like she's predicting your future."
"She's not that kind of psychic, Kendall," Mercedes informed him, "duh" look on her face. "She tells about past lives, where you've been and what happened to you, not what's about to happen."
"Right," he replied dubiously. "So she basically makes shit up and people eat it out the palm of her hand because they're so desperate to believe that they were once a Scottish lord or a princess or what-the-fuck-ever."
"Is that what Camille meant by pointing out the irony of your shirt?" Lucy questioned, eyebrow cocked in challenge.
"Yes, Lucy, I was once a princess in a past life."
The whack he received upside his head was totally worth it.
"You know what I meant."
He opened his mouth to say something equally as sarcastic only to be cut off by the blonde half of the couple.
"And you have the dreams, too," she reminded him, arms folded casually over the tabletop, hard look on her face. He hated that expression. It reminded him of her businessman father and the time he told Kendall all about the million bucks he dropped to hunt an actual human being and kill him. In excruciating detail.
Mercedes pressed on, commanding everyone's attention the way she always did just by appearing in a room with her sharp features and natural beauty, the air of confidence that wafted off her just like her Christian Dior perfume. "The ones about James?" she clarified in a questioning tone before continuing in a more absolute one. "Camille told us that when soul mates are so secure and their love is so powerful that they dream of one another and what it was like for them in their past lives before they actually meet."
"Which is why you apparently keep envisioning James," Lucy added.
"Exactly." The blonde shrugged a shoulder. "I had the same thing happen to me before I meet Lucy. We were flapper girls in a 1920s speakeasy, a princess and one of her handmaidens during Medieval times, courtesans at the Moulin Rouge." She flicked up a finger with each listed item before her girlfriend cut in.
"Basically in every life, we've had a secret love affair because we could never be together."
Mercedes nodded. "It's only in this life that we've been able to be out and open and not deal with any harsh consequences."
"Other than a businessman dad who thinks his daughter is still going through a phase by being with a tattooed and pierced girl," Lucy pointed out acidly, the tension in her jaw only dissipating when her girlfriend reached over and held her hand, giving in a squeeze. The two then exchanged smiles and Kendall had to turn away again.
He was minutes away from being ostracized and he just knew it.
"So," Lucy began then stopped, waiting for him to turn back to her, pulling him back into the conversation. "With that, we've concluded that James does exist and is, in fact, your soul mate and therefore we must find him."
He smeared a hand over his face, muffling his groan. "No, we don't," he huffed, dropping his hand. "Seriously, there is zero need to go on some crazy search for a guy who most likely is nothing more than a figment of my imagination."
"He's real," Mercedes stated in a tone that brokered no argument, one that had won her countless verbal fights with others and helped Lucy talk him into stupid shit.
Like visiting psychics.
And looking for Kendall's literal dream guy who may or may not exist outside his head.
Fucking hell.
"You guys aren't gonna let this go, are you?" he asked on a breath, already knowing the answer.
The simultaneous "no" was completely expected yet still made him wince.
"We're doing this for your own good," the darker-haired female stated. "You're unhappy and lonely and dammit, Kendall, we are gonna fucking fix that."
He sighed long and hard, knowing there was no talking them out of it. Once the two of them set their minds on something, it was happening. He figured it was due to Mercedes growing up with rich parents who gave her anything she wanted and Lucy being a younger sibling who'd had to learn pretty quickly how to fight to get her way, leftover habits of their upbringing. Just like Kendall and his inability to be rude to girls and make them unhappy by saying "no" to what they wanted, even if it meant doing shit he really, truly, very much did not want to do.
Thanks, Mom.
"Fine," he breathed out. "But only if you buy the rest of the drinks tonight."
Lucy snapped her head to Mercedes, eyebrow raised in expectation, silently telling the blonde that she was footing the bill. Mercedes scoffed, rolling her eyes before rising to her feet.
"Whatever," she dismissed before smirking at her girlfriend. "But only because it's your birthday week."
The reminder of such had Lucy immediately turning back to Kendall. "Another reason why you're agreeing to us finding James for you," she stated, pointing a finger in warning at him.
He opened his mouth to argue, only to snap it shut with a click then sigh. "Can't wait 'til it's my birthday so I can make you two do shit you don't wanna," he muttered, glaring at his now empty beer bottle.
Mercedes leveled her trademark "bitch please" look on him while Lucy snorted in disbelief. Clearly his birthday wasn't gonna be the trump card to make others follow his orders like it was for the current pseudo-birthday girl.
The blonde headed off to the bar to order another round, sashaying her hips as she went, Lucy's eyes—and the eyes of several other patrons within the establishment—completely glued to her ass. Kendall's green orbs, on the other hand, were scanning the rest of the crowd, a small piece of him kinda hoping to actually find James among the faces. Maybe then he could win an argument.
Then again, finding James would make Lucy and Mercedes right. Seemed like he was never gonna win.