"Do you ever feel like we're the parents?"

James's head rotates lazily at the words, and he treats Carlos to one of his wide, content grins. Carlos has spent a solid year trying to pretend that grin doesn't favor him more often than anyone else, but it's getting futile; he can't be bothered with trying to deny it anymore.

Especially when it warms his chest that way, every time.

James turns back around, facing out into the open air, overlooking the endless expanse of forest that encircles the cabin they've rented for vacation in hopes of bringing back memories of home. Somewhere far off above the trees, across the wide sheet of sunset, a bird glides over the treetops and dips suddenly low, disappearing from sight.

"Mind if I join you?"

James only smiles out at the sunset and says, "Get your parental ass up here, Garcia."

He climbs carefully out the bedroom window, finding his footing on the tiles of the roof, and settles into a spot beside James, their folded knees touching.

"So," he smirks, eyeing Carlos sideways before taking another drag. "Who am I, the mom or the dad?"

Carlos sighs, resigned. "I think we both know you're the dad."

James grins, satisfied, and bumps Carlos's shoulder with his. "In that case, go clean up the kitchen."

"Suck my dick."

"I can't, fuckface, you're the mom."

They chuckle, and James rubs Carlos's shoulder as apology for Carlos's emasculation. Their fingers brush, and Carlos notes how James's are still warm, despite the slowly chilling air.

On some floor in some room below, the faint noises of Kendall and Logan arguing still catch their ears ("Well I wouldn't have to remind you if you'd fucking do it"; "Well I wouldn't have to do it at all if you didn't have such a thorny, poison-ivy-infested stick up your ass twenty-four-seven"). They laugh, careful not to let their own voices carry as far as the ones below.

"Logan used to joke that I was the mother he never had."

James turns to smile at him. "And what did you say?"

"I told him he was a dickhead, and to go clean his room."

James's laugh is clear and open, beautiful and sharp in the pure, open air like this - better, Carlos thinks, than it would be anywhere else, anywhere less clean, less organic. Carlos is maybe a little bit in love with the cabin; maybe has secret fantasies about them all living here together until they're old, departing only for recording and touring.

"Litos."

"Mm."

"Don't take this the wrong way."

"Oh Jesus, what?"

"You're." James looks up to the sky to watch a soaring bird, "You're a really good mom."

Carlos waits, because he suspects there's more, and he wants time to build up a good bit of snark in response.

"I just..." James goes on. "I see you with them, y'know... with all of us. The way you just sort of... take care of us . Keep us grounded. Keep us from wringing each other's necks. I don't fucking know what we'd do without you. You're kinda perfect, you know."

Carlos can almost feel the snark evaporating from his skin, vanishing above them into nothingness along with the smoke, and replaced with a hot blush rushing over his cheeks.

"I. Thanks," he says roughly, his voice a little lost. "Honestly, I've... always kind of seen you as the savior."

James turns his head to smile, his eyes a little darker than Carlos had remembered; darker, warmer, brighter. Sweet and kind and everything to prove the words Carlos's just spoken.

James shrugs. "I just tried out for something I wanted badly. Kendall's the one who got us here."

"James, you're fucking stupid."

"Um, dude, your insults? Seriously losing their edge."

"I'm serious. You're an idiot. You think you're here by accident?"

James shrugs, sheepish.

"Dude, I.

You're what the world wants. You were always what they wanted, even before - and - you'll always be what they want."

James smiles at his shoes. "Thanks."

Carlos smiles brighter, hoping it'll coax James's gaze back to him. "I - " He stops, head turning to spot a figure in the distance: Guitar Dude is nestled into a tree some twenty feet away, FILMING.

"Oh my god," Carlos calls, laughing, "you're a fucking voyeur!"

"It's art," Guitar Dude smiles, still safely hidden behind his camera.

"Your

momis art," James offers.

"Why thank you, James Diamond."

Carlos picks up a little piece of bark nearby and tosses it at Guitar Dude, who just grins wider. "Don't you have a certain bubbly frontman you should be boning right about now?"

"I think I'll let them argue a little longer."

"Why's that?"

"...No reason."

"Oh come on."

"If you must know," Guitar Dude sighs a bit dramatically, "Ken fucks like a Greek god when he's pissed off."

"Oh my god, oh my god," Carlos gasps, wilting to the side and burying his face in James's shoulder. "Save me."

"You walked into it, mom," James smiles, ruffling his hair and pulling him closer.

"Well you're my husband, you're supposed to protect me," he counters, voice muffled in the fabric of James's hoodie.

"Fair enough. Go bang your pissy boyfriend, loser," James calls to Guitar Dude, grinning, and Carlos looks up to watch Guitar Dude climbing down the tree with no small amount of joy plastered across his face. "There, happy?"

Carlos lifts his head halfway, and freezes when he realizes how close his face is to James's, who's smiling warmly down at him. He swallows, inching away with a reluctance that's undeniable, probably physically evident, fuck.

"Yeah," he says, a little shakily. "Yeah, I am."

The arm Carlos's shot out across Logan's chest lowers, taking firm hold of Logan's wrist, flinching even now when he realizes Logan's shaking.

The words are tumbling around in his mouth, begging to escape, It's okay, it's okay, I'm here, because they're the words that have worked for years.

But he remembers, stuff - everything - works differently here.

There's nothing to do but wait, really, and even as he tightens his grip on his spear, he knows it's next to pointless: fish, probably not equivalent to whatever the fuck is in those bushes.

The rustling is louder, and there's not even time to freak out properly because the automatic what-the-fuck factor sets in as - it - tumbles out of the bushes.

That's all Carlos's mind is giving him; won't even let him wrap his head around the fact that a, seriously, baby orangutan just fell out of the bushes and is like, ten feet away with no giant zoo-manufactured wall between them.

And. Okay. Points to the island for the never-ending shock value.

It's a baby of the truest kind; tiny and fumbling and falling all over itself; Carlos has absolutely no fucking clue how to estimate age in An Orangutan (and seriously, it's just like that in his head, caps and italics and all), but he'd guess, maybe, a few days? Weeks? Who fucking knows, it's, yeah, it's an orangutan.

It's about then he meets Logan's eyes, which seem to be screaming much of the same vocabulary: orangutan, and oh my god, and what the fuck.

He tenses when he feels Logan start to move forward, and his arm stiffens, blocking him. "Don't," he whispers. "The mother's gotta be around somewhere."

"Well it's in our way."

"Well I'd rather have it in our way than its three-hundred-pound mom, okay."

"Just, hush."

Christ, only he and Logan could possibly bicker in a moment like this.

It's not long before Carlos discovers his plan to shut up and stop moving kind of isn't getting anyone anywhere, and when the baby starts crawling forward, clearly embracing the encounter with far fewer reservations than Carlos or Logan, it's all Carlos can do not to reach down and scoop it up.

Stupid James was fucking right, he is the mom.

By this time Logan's ignoring him completely and stepping forward, past the flaming orange ball of fur on the ground and shoving aside branches and bushes, and Carlos is quick to follow, half-tripping over the animal on his way.

"Logan, wait - you - fucking - you fucking moron, Jesus." And okay, maybe not the most impressive expanse of vocabulary right now, but come on, Logan could probably get obliterated by an oversized cat, let alone whatever the fuck is beyond Carlos's line of vision.

"Litos."

The thickness of the brush completely eliminates any visibility and Carlos walks right into Logan's back, knocking them both forward half a step, and it takes him a second to refocus, to remind his pounding heart that he's just walked into Logan, not like, a tiger or something - and he sees.

His eyes follow Logan's, as easily as ever, to a sight that would fast have him reacquainted with his dinner if he'd had any yet. Sprawled lifeless on the ground is another, larger ball of fiery orange fur, limbs twisted in odd directions, half-dry blood matted in clumps all over what remains of its body.

"Holy shit," Logan croaks, trying to step backward and finding Carlos in his way.

"Logan."

"Fuck, Jesus, fucking shit, Litos, what - who would - how did - what would - "

He sounds so young like this, horrified and scared and outraged, voice high and cracking - and Carlos, working to regain the use of his body parts, manages to slip a hand around Logan's and squeeze hard. Logan doesn't do well with injured animals; it's the one and only reason he'd had to quit volunteering at the animal shelter.

"We need to go, Logan," he says, hoping the ominously flat tone of his voice is at least downplayed by how hard he's working to keep it steady, even-sounding.

"But - Litos, she - it's - what did this?"

"I don't know, dude, but we have to get the fuck out of here, okay, it could still be around - "

"But, the baby - "

"Dude, we have to go."

"We can't just leave it here!"

"It's not a fucking kitten, okay, it's a wild animal! There's probably like, the rest of its family somewhere. They'll find it."

"But what if they don't?"

"Well what are we gonna do, take it with us?!"

Logan finally tears his eyes away to meet Carlos's, and Carlos immediately realizes why: This kind of begging takes eye contact.

"Logan..." he warns.

But apparently this only encourages him, the little fucker; brown eyes wide and bright, growing wider and brighter, forehead creased, and he's barely got enough dignity not to stage a full-on Kendall pout, but he's still carrying that same pleading look he used to get when Carlos wanted pizza and Logan wanted Chinese and all Logan had to do was look at him like this and Carlos was gone.

Fucking asshole.

"I hate you," Carlos mutters. Logan breaks into a small, grateful grin, and Carlos suddenly feels like Charles Grodin in Beethoven, throwing his hands up in defeat and still protesting weakly as squealing kids and puppy swarm around him. "Seriously, I hate you, so much."

"Whatever," Logan dismisses, but he's already working his way back through the plants, and Carlos follows, tries to insist, no, seriously, I hate you, but leaves are getting in his mouth when he tries to speak, and when he catches up with Logan, Logan's already got the thing propped in his arms and is trying to bounce it on his nonexistent hip.

"Give me that!" Carlos hisses. "It might bite."

"It's a baby!"

No, wait, James was totally wrong. Logan's the freakin' mom.

"What, baby snakes don't bite? Give me it."

Carlos's making pathetic grabby motions now, and Logan relents, evidently just satisfied that Carlos has given in this much, and Carlos takes it into his arms. It's fucking weird, nothing like he'd expect - it's lighter, and hairier, seems oddly proportioned and it's not soft, not in the least, with a mass of wiry fur prickling Carlos's skin as its scrawny, floppy arms encircle him helplessly. It kind of feels like he's holding Gollum, and he tells Logan so.

Logan smiles, the way he smiled at their first practice when Kendall was Gollum and everything was simple.

Well, simpler.

And Kendall, fuck. But Carlos is too busy thinking about what's in his arms to anticipate Kendall and James's reactions until he and Logan are climbing out of the mass of trees, stumbling back onto the sand, still warm beneath their feet from twelve hours of undivided attention from the sun. The sun's mostly retreated now, leaving the air open and bearable, and as they get closer to camp, Carlos can smell the hot, fresh smell of roasting fish that tells him they haven't got much time left before hell breaks loose.

He and Logan exchange raised eyebrows, breath taut in anticipation, and Carlos suddenly feels like he did the day he sat his parents down and said, So, I'm bi (because that's just how Logan told him to say it, direct and unashamed, and stupid Logan and his stupid advice, because Carlos's dad had just blinked and said "you're by what?" and thank god it all ended in laughter because his parents are awesome, but seriously).

When they're within seeing distance, it seems James is still busy skinning one of the fish, while Kendall has another skewered on the end of a stick, holding it out over the fire, as far away from his body as he can humanly manage, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side, face scrunched up in distress like someone's forcing him to torture a kitten, andJesus, Carlos thinks. How does he exist, for real.

"You're such a tool," Logan calls to him, and Carlos knows they're just meaningless words to get Kendall's attention (still, meaningless or no, they have to be snarky since it's Logan), because everything else aside, this is going to be an amazing sight.

Kendall cracks an eye open hesitantly and the other one follows, both widening to saucers as a squeaky little "AH!" escapes him and he drops his stick, scrambling to his feet as sand flies everywhere in his path. James huffs his disapproval, oblivious to everything but the sparks that fly up from the campfire as the fish drops into it, sizzling in all the wrong ways, and Kendall's literally up and running by the time James leans forward to pry the stick out of the flames.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," Kendall chants as he reaches them, and only then does James look up, because Kendall hasn't been this excited or in awe over something since like, April, when he marched into the liquor store on his birthday and bought his own stupid bottle of Absolut.

James makes some indeterminate noise of shock as well, setting aside all fish-related preoccupations (though with slightly more care than some people), and starts trudging through the sand toward them.

"Don't touch him," Carlos snaps, hugging the infant a little closer. "He doesn't know you yet."

"Oh my god, you moron," Logan interjects. "We've had him like, all of fifteen minutes, he's not like, the fruit of your loins."

"Ew, what the fuck."

But Kendall is bouncing and has zero patience for bickering, especially bickering that doesn't even involve him. "Carlos Garcia. I want what's in your arms. And if you try to stop me I will take you out with your own spear and possibly stab your soul, too."

Carlos doesn't even feel the need to point out how empty this threat is, as Kendall's spearing skills or lack thereof have proven themselves well enough already. He looks warily at Logan for support.

"Let him," Logan sighs.

With extraordinarily blatant reluctance, Carlos shifts his arms and hands Kendall the baby, which seems to have little trouble adjusting and merely shifts his arms to clamp down around Kendall's neck instead of Carlos's. And no, Carlos is not jealous. At all.

And, okay, maybe when he sees the way Kendall's face lights up, in a way it hasn't since Guitar Dude's death... no. He really can't bring himself to be jealous.

He smiles at Logan, and Logan smiles back. Maybe this was the greatest plan ever.

"Well hello there, nugget," Kendall coos, bouncing it gently on his hip. "Hi. Hi! You are just precious, aren't you? You're a little puppy, aren't you? Look at you, you're just gorgeous."

"Dude, I'm sorry, but he's totally hideous," Carlos points out. "He looks like an alien."

Kendall glares at him. "Don't listen to him," he whispers into the furry little ear. The baby favors him with wide, attentive eyes. "Don't you listen to him, pumpkin loaf. You're beautiful. Yes you are. Yes you are!"

Logan mouths, Pumpkin loaf?!at Carlos and Carlos just gives him a look that says, in no uncertain terms, Every last ounce of this was your idea.

Meanwhile James has reached them and is smiling in that happy way he has, that sort of doublemint-gum-commercial happy, the kind of happy he gets when he's in front of the mirror, and reaches up a hand to scratch behind the baby's ear. It turns its head in acknowledgment, briefly opening its mouth and making a small, incoherent noise.

Kendall is still cooing equally incoherent nonsense.

"You're holding him wrong," Carlos announces, diving forward to adjust Kendall's hands.

"Dude, you haven't held a baby in like, fifteen years."

"Can I just say," James offers contemplatively. "I love how like, none of us are asking where the hell you guys got him or, why he's here, or like, how long is it gonna be before his mom bursts out of the trees and devours us all?"

And he says it all so calmly, tone in such stark contrast to the words themselves, that even Carlos has to smile.

"His mother's dead," Logan says softly. "We found her off the path, she's... I don't know, something attacked her."

"...What kind of something?" Kendall asks, eyes wide, all laughter and shine gone.

"I don't know," he offers quickly. "I - it's okay, it was gone. We're safe."

But he doesn't miss the darkness that flashes through James's eyes, the subtle, questioning look he gives Carlos when Kendall's returned to cooing and coddling, raving to Logan about how this is so much better than any zoo ever and if he'd known there were orangutans he totally would've asked the pilot to stop here anyway.

Carlos holds James's eyes for a second, but finally just shrugs, because hey, it's not like they're keeping any information secret; his guess as to the attacker is as good as anyone's. But still, only he and Logan actually saw her, saw the damage, and maybe it wasn't like seeing one of their friends dead in the wreckage, but the deliberate, intentional violence of it all made it, on some levels, almost as hard to see.

But it's hard to remember that, the danger and the uncertainty, the reality, always the fucking reality, why does reality always get so much god damned attention, so much fucking credibility? It's hard to be convinced it matters now, to think that any danger could be real, ever, with all of them around the campfire now, and Kendall so distracted that they even manage to persuade him to eat some fish, and James and Logan sharing our-band-is-nuts looks while Kendall and Carlos argue over parenting skills.

And with these three boys surrounding him, smiling and talking like they're back in the cabin, back in their tour bus, back in Logan's house sitting around the piano and belting drunken showtunes... it's almost like they've created, are creating, their own reality, here. One that finally, finally fits them.

And Carlos is not about to let that go.

When Kendall had called and asked if he could come over, Logan hadn't expected him to show up twenty seconds later, before Logan had even had a chance to throw on a t-shirt. He stands in the rain with a suitcase like it's nothing, not tense and fidgety like he's dying to get somewhere dry; but rather lethargic and resigned, like he's been standing outside for hours and, shit, he probably has. There's a cab speeding off in the distance behind him, its taillights a bright, twinkling red through the sheets of rain. It reminds Logan of Christmas, but something tells him this is going to be no holiday.

"Jesus fuck, Kendall."

He pulls him inside and peels off his jacket, sweeping dripping hair out of his chilled, ashen face, and it's easy now, handing out touches when there's no one around to see, to assume; when Kendall's too shaken to take it the wrong way.

"What the fuck? Why did you take a cab, I could've - "

"They kicked me out."

And there's no way Logan's going to shriek WHAT?!, because it's only barely a surprise; Kendall's family troubles had been no secret. Kendall constantly fought with his dad and his mom was powerless to stop it. Kendall's no good at keeping secrets; not because he's untrustworthy, but because his thoughts tend to be displayed in his face, in neon letters, with flashing lights around them. His emotions are as easily secluded as the Vegas strip.

But something in the pit of Logan's stomach still drops, and he thinks it's maybe less from the words themselves than from the fear in Kendall's face. Fear isn't one of Kendall's dominant traits, and to see it manifested this intensely is almost physically painful.

Logan's barely got his arms encircled around Kendall's frame before Kendall breaks, and Logan can feel hot tears on his bare shoulder mingling strangely with the cold rain tipping off the ends of Kendall's hair.

Kendall doesn't smile once for a three days, and consequently neither does Logan, until Logan drags him out of the sofa bed in Carlos's basement one evening and says, "I'm taking you to the movies, and I'm going to stuff you with popcorn and candy and you're going to like it and you can't say no. The end."

Logan smiles then, if only at how out-of-character he sounds, and it's worth it, Kendall smiles back, and, wow. If only Logan had known how little it took to coax that smile back.

He doesn't realize it hadn't been the offer of a seedy cineplex and treats of questionable nutritional value that had brought it out.

It's because Logan smiled first.

It's worth it.

It's worth potentially having some unknown predator on their ass to come finish the job he'd started; it's worth it just to see Kendall smile the way he's smiling now. The way he's been smiling all week.

Logan worries about the selfishness of it, because just seeing Kendall like this lessens his guilt a bit, and that just makes him feel guilty in entirely new ways.

And then he thinks maybe he shouldn't think so much, because they kind of all have a child now and the others are sitting around at breakfast arguing about what to name it and this, this is what Logan wants to remember, nothing else.

"Come on, didn't you ever see Monkey Trouble?" Carlos insists. "It's perfect."

"Dude," James grins, "just because you had a crush on Thora Birch when you were like, nine."

"Who told you?!"

Logan suddenly wishes he were a turtle so he'd have a shell to crawl into. Carlos slaps him.

"Besides," James says, "I hate the Dodgers, if we're naming him after a baseball team, it's gonna be the Cubs."

"We're not naming him Cubs," Kendall sighs.

"I found him," Logan interjects, "so technically - "

"Logan, you're so five years old."

"Coming from Kendall Knight, that's rich."

Kendall narrows his eyes.

"I think we should figure out who or what he looks like, and name him after that," Carlos offers.

"Fine," Kendall agrees, looking pointedly at Logan. "Then we can name him Beau, after Logan's boyfriend."

"Shut the hell up, he's not my boyfriend!"

But Kendall and James and - Carlos, what the fuck, Carlos - are already giggling, and hey, Carlos is supposed to be on Logan's side here.

"You're all losers," Logan huffs. "Beau used to be a model, you know."

"Yeah?" Kendall says, like they haven't all heard the Reasons Beau Is Awesome list like, okay, eighty thousand times already, Logan will even admit to it. "Did you rip out all his ads and jerk off to them every night?"

"Shut up!"

"He took you on a date, dude."

"It explains so much about you that you think karaoke withother people is a date, Kendall."

But Carlos and James seemed to have formed their own mockery team and are cackling furiously, falling over onto the blanket while their unnamed infant sits between them, making affectionate grabs at their t-shirts and hair.

"Sorry, man," Carlos says, catching his breath. "It was totally a date."

"I hate all of you."

"Fine, back to business," James says, pulling himself upright. "I vote for Abu."

"Abu?" Carlos inquires. "The guy from The Simpsons?"

"Oh my god," Kendall grins, mile-wide. "Abu! James, you're amazing."

"More amazing than Beau?"

"Duh!"

Logan glares at everyone at once. He has magical eyes; he can totally do that. "Seriously, who's Abu?"

"From Aladdin!" Kendall sighs in exasperation. "Jesus, Logan. Aladdin. The soundtrack to my first date with James." He beams over at James, and James returns it tenfold.

Carlos smiles and raises his eyebrows at Logan, a silent question.

"Yeah, okay. Fine."

And that's worth it too, because not only does Kendall smile, he smiles at Logan. Which, sure, he's done a some ten million times in their lives, but it's that he smiles like they're not stranded on an island, like they haven't experienced the deaths of some of their closest friends, like life isn't a daily gamble for survival and they have no idea when or if they'll ever be found.

It's not a constant, not by a long shot. Logan will still wake up in the middle of the night at least twice a week to find Kendall at the water's edge, his face bathed in moonlight. Sometimes a jagged wet line will run down his cheek; sometimes not. But Logan can come up behind him, rubbing warm friction into his bare shoulders, and whisper, "Come back to bed," and he will, and they don't have to talk about it.

It's better this way, now, with Abu. It gives them something to focus on other than all the shit they're trying not to focus on; it gives them a solid reason to get up in the morning, for the times they forget they have reasons at all. Abu's tiny and helpless and he needs them to fetch him coconut milk and stuff, because that's about all he can eat. But even Logan can't bring himself to complain, because having this thing to take care of, who needs them, who depends on them, it's better. It's better than just looking out for themselves, and that's weird for Logan, because he's always been too focused on his own thing to worry about trying to take care of anyone else.

Carlos and Kendall take to their "child" like a cat to milk, clearly fighting for the maternal role, though if Logan ever called either of them on it, he'd probably end up with a face full of sand. James is so obviously the awesome dad who lets Abu get away with all kinds of shit he probably shouldn't, but Logan can tell there's something missing; there's something that's not enough for James in this, and Logan's not sure what it is, only that he knows it's there because he feels it himself, too.

Sometimes he'll see James set aside the radio and run a finger across Jett's phone, not really touching, not holding, more like he's trying to read it, trying to get it to talk to him - and Logan thinks, it probably has something to do with that. Something, too, to do with the way his own fingers will itch throughout the day, start twitching and he can't seem to keep them still (and suddenly, Kendall as a whole is worlds easier to understand), and he'll miss his guitar so much he can barely breathe.

But it's one of those things that's easy enough to forget, now, now that there's so much else to worry about. One of those things they kind of have to forget, if they expect to make it.

And finally, for the first time, Logan does.

After dinner, with the sated smell of grilled fish and burnt bark still heavy and warm in the air, Logan remembers why, when he thinks of the word family, the three people around him come to mind before anyone else.

"I found them at the bottom of a suitcase. And. There was a tiny bit of pencil left too, so, I started making a map of the island and then I realized I'm a total dumbass and you could be, like, writing down information or something, so."

Kendall sticks his arm out, and Logan takes two folded sheets of notebook paper and a stubby little pencil butt from his hand. The lead tip is blunted, worn down and on its last leg, and the eraser's all but used up, but the feeling of it in Logan's hand makes his heart kind of soar.

At least, he thinks that's what does it.

Kendall's staring at the ground, stealing glances up at Logan every couple seconds, waiting for approval, and Logan suddenly wants to give him so much more than that.

He reaches up, closing his fingers around Kendall's and pulling him down to sit beside him until their knees knock together. He leans in, plants a kiss on Kendall's cheek, and ignores the look Carlos gives James while he's bouncing Abu in his lap.

"Thanks," Logan says softly.

"Um. Yeah. Of course. Yeah."

"You know what I think we should do with these? I think we should write a note on one and send it out in a water bottle."

"Seriously," Carlos agrees.

"And the other?" James asks, looking directly at Logan, evidently impressed that the page isn't half-filled with Logan's words already.

Logan smiles. "I think Kendall should finish his map."

"Why do I have a bird on top of my head?"

"That's a fauxhawk, dickface."

"I haven't had that in like, two years, you freak."

Kendall gives a longsuffering sigh, tapping emphatically at his stick figures. "I'm depicting all of us at our best."

"The hell's wrong with my hair now?"

"Where to begin," Carlos mumbles from where he's wrestling coconut shells away from Abu. James snorts and shuffles over, plopping down on his knees and peering at the map as Kendall leans away, eager for the audience.

"Why am I holding a fish roughly the size of my body mass?"

"It will happen, James Diamond. It will happen."

"My stick-figure's spear is like, the size of a tree, so," Carlos points out.

"And why are you naked?" Logan demands, pointing at the oversized phallus between stick-figure Kendall's legs.

Kendall grins, wicked and calculating. "I told you, I'm drawing us all at our best."

James cackles, and even Carlos can't hide a grin.

"These are the cliffs," Kendall continues, pointing to various points of interest on his map, "and here's the best spot for fishing, per Carlos, and here's the waterfall, and here's a shortcut but I wouldn't recommend it because there are like, eight billion mosquito things. Oh! And I've devised a list of camp rules."

"Oh my god," Logan says helplessly to himself. "I don't even - "

But Carlos has taken up interest, snatching up the map and flipping it over to the list of rules on the opposite side as he begins to read: "'No chicks at camp.'"

James laughs, and Logan rolls his eyes.

"'Don't know, don't eat' - very good rule, Kendall."

"Gimme that." Logan reaches up and snatches the list away, eyes moving over the page. "'Only speak when holding the... what?"

James excitedly heads over, scanning the paper. "Conch!"

"The what?" Carlos echoes.

James beams at Kendall. "Lord of the Flies, dude."

"Hell yes!" Kendall high-fives him.

Logan is still staring at the page, forehead creased to its limit. "That looks like 'crotch'."

Kendall's eyes darken, his eyebrows slipping upward. "It could be, it you want."

Logan rolls his eyes and turns away fast enough, a precaution. He's probably sunburned (or tanned, he'd like to think) enough to hide any blush, but it's not worth the risk.

"No, James is starting on tenor, I'm alto."

"Why do I have to be soprano?"

"Because you do, Kendall."

Kendall sighs, and Abu squeaks sympathy from his lap. "Do I need to bust into songto remind you that I am more than capable of - "

"I think," Carlos says, smirking carefully at Logan, "what Logan means is that his pussy little back-up voice can't handle those notes."

"Thank you, Carlos." Logan's voice couldn't be flatter if it were a pancake run over by an eighteen-wheeler.

"Hello darkness, my old friend," James starts softly, placing the hapless radio aside, and all bets are off - or at least all feuds, and it's like clockwork the way they chime in, "I've come to talk with you again," and if anyone were listening, the way they fall into four-part harmony as effortlessly as falling into bed would be enough to betray them as artists, as professionals; undeniably as band mates.

And maybe something else. Something more.

The day Logan finds the remains of James's camera in the wreckage is the day Kendall nearly loses an eye in an epic match of coconut football, and Logan's hopes to properly present it to James get lost in the madness.

Coconut football is like the rugby of football, vicious and relentless, because, true fact, coconuts are like fucking rocks, and all four of them (even Logan) play dirty: tackle, not tag, and sand can only cushion so far, especially when the game gets so involved that you forget where your goals are and end up in the hard, slick sand at the water's edge, and James's running toward you, arms stretched out zombie-like in desperation, and suddenly Logan dive-bombs you ninja-style out of nowhere, and you end up on your face in the surf with a pointy shell striking half an inch from your eyeball.

But Kendall loves it, the length and depth of the cut, the way it just won't stop bleeding ("So awesome, seriously!") and his only complaint is that he doesn't have a mirror to admire it. Logan feels guilty as fuck, and spends a good while trying to dab vodka on it, but he's too nervous and his fingers keep shaking and almost finishing off the eye altogether, so Carlos patiently takes over, with Kendall eagerly lapping up the excess vodka that trickles down to his mouth.

It's worth it to watch them, with Abu trying to help, and Carlos bitching at Kendall to stay still. Kendall looks... well, good, like this. He just. He looks good, all tanned and scruffy, with sand scrapes from the game, random bruises and a patch of dirt on one shoulder. He doesn't look anything like what Logan remembers his lead singer to look like, and that just reminds him of how much Kendall hasn't had to do much lead singing lately, nor has Logan.

And it kind of just brings it all back.

But it jogs his memory of what he'd planned, and he digs out his findings from earlier, presenting the camera to James.

"I..." he starts unsteadily. "We're both artists here. I know what it's like, not being able to create. I get it."

James smiles, and yeah, it's worth it.

The next morning James disappears for two hours, and that night after dinner, with Kendall and Carlos arguing over duties, James crawls over to Logan and offers his hand.

Logan takes it without question, and that somehow feels meaningful.

James smiles. "Let's let the girls clean up tonight. I have something to show you."