"Okay so. By 'practice,' I, uh, kind of meant babysitting."
Carlos stands in the open doorway, the little wooden sign boasting the carved words, "The Garcias," still swaying slightly from the momentum of swinging open the door with his strength. He blinks disbelievingly at Kendall, or more specifically, at his new attachment: a plump, bubbly-looking baby with big brown Knight eyes, a little jumper with a guitar on the front, and the words "Rock Star" underneath.
Carlos blinks again. "What. Is that."
Kendall beams, bouncing her on his hip. "It's Katie!"
"Kendall, why is your sister here?"
"Because my mom was desperate and I needed the money, please, please, please, I'll be so bored if I have to stay in the house alone all night with her. James has got a thing and Logan's out with Slutty McSlutface, and..."
"Where are your parents?"
"Out. They're all at that church thing."
"I hate your religion," Carlos sighs, standing aside and shaking his head.
"It's not mine, dude," Kendall reminds him, stepping inside. "I'm done with that shit."
"Hey! Language," Carlos chastises, gesturing at Katie, who is making grabs for Carlos's arm.
Kendall grins stupidly. "Look at you."
"What?" Carlos glares warningly. "WHAT."
"You're a mom!"
"Get out."
"Awww, come on, it's sweet."
"Out."
"I can't, I need to make her formula. Here."
He transfers Katie into Carlos's arms to rifle through a massive tote bag, and Carlos relinquishies his hand to her tiny fingers, propping her tentaively on his hip. It's been ages since his brothers were this size, feels like another lifetime even, but now it just seems like riding a bike. He hadn't realized he'd missed this, having this warm little weight smushed up against him, watching and constantly in awe of his every move. He's pretty sure he'll change his tune when she starts screaming for no known reason, but for now, hey.
"Hey, button," Carlos says softly. "You hungry?"
"'Course she is," Kendall coos, pulling himself upright with a bottle in hand.
Carlos snatches it away. "Do you even know how to make formula?"
"Duh, you just. Like. Heat it up."
Carlos decides an emphatic eye roll expresses his point more effectively than words could, and he heads into the kitchen, baby and bottle in tow, and sets the latter down on the counter as he begins browsing through cupboards one-handed.
"With my brothers," he explains, filling a pot with water and slapping it down on the stove, "there was a specific temperature we had to heat it to. If it was too cold, they wouldn't drink it, and if it was too hot, they'd burp too much and... do gross stuff."
Out of the corner of his eye he can see Kendall leaning against a counter. Quietly. Carlos assumes he's impressed.
"You also want to - " He pauses to listen to Katie's incoherent, jarbled mumble of sounds, apparently an attempt to communicate. "Yeah? You think so?" He hoists her up a little from where she's slipping down his side. "Who gave you permission to be cute, huh? Huh?"
She flails her arm, and Carlos laughs.
"This kid is totally gonna be famous someday." Turning back to the stove, he adds a few dashes of salt to speed up the boiling process. "Okay, so you also want to - "
Craning his neck around to catch Kendall's eye and ensure he's still paying attention, the sight sets him speechless. Kendall's eyes are, like, seriously fucking twinkling, darting between Carlos and the baby like he's witnessing some kind of miracle.
"What?" Carlos asks suspiciously.
"Nothing, I. You just." His voice is soft, too soft to be normal; to be right. "You're so good with her."
Carlos shrugs. "I've had practice."
"You'll be a really good dad someday."
"Not a mom?" he smirks wryly.
Kendall smiles, but it doesn't light up his face the way it should. The way it always does. "No."
"Well. You will be too. I've seen you with your..." His free hand waves vaguely, searching for the appropriate word, "...family. Those kids love you."
Kendall laughs, dry and humorless, at the ground. "Yeah. Never gonna happen."
"What are you talking about?"
"You kinda have to like, get married. And. Have sex, and stuff."
'With a girl,' Carlos can hear trailing his words in the heavy silence. He'll never understand why Kendall won't just come out and say it, not even to him or Logan or James. Like any of them would fucking care, for fuck's sake. Like Carlos and Logan haven't already, y'know... whatever. But Carlos is not going to push it, and it's Kendall's own fucking responsibility to speak up, and he'll do it when he's ready, if he ever gets any balls, and that's that.
Carlos nudges his arm, trying to smile encouragingly. "I'm pretty sure you're gonna have sex at some point in your life, Kendall. Maybe years and years and years and years from now, but - "
"Thank you, Carlos."
But he's at least smiling for real now, and that's a start.
"Hey, dude, you don't have to get married. This is the twenty-first century. There are plenty of... y'know. Options."
"Maybe."
He's still staring at his shoes though, and fuck if a sad Kendall isn't like, the most depressing thing Carlos's ever seen.
"You really want to be a father, don't you?"
Kendall shrugs. Kendall's many things, none of which are subtle, and it's a clear yes. It couldn't be more clear if he'd had an airplane scrawl it in the sky.
Carlos pokes lightly at the sensitive, exposed bit of skin just below Kendall's t-shirt, and Katie leans over in Carlos's arms to do the same. "You will be. If I have to see to it myself."
Kendall finally looks up, because, yeah, okay, seriously, wording. Fail.
"You gonna knock me up, Garcia?"
"Count on it."
"Better make an honest woman out of me."
"Whatever, slut."
And yeah, he's pretty sure he just made a vow to marry and impregnate his gay male bandmate, but if it makes Kendall smile the way he's smiling now, eyes bright and wide and so easy to get lost in... Carlos kind of doesn't care.
The water's boiling, and neither of them notices.
"Okay. Okay, ready? Watch. Logan, is he watching?"
"He's watching, Jesus, go."
Carlos twists his head around. "Hi James."
"Hi Carlos's ass."
"Hello Carlos's ass indeed," Kendall concurs.
"Shut up, you perv."
"For fuck's sake, go!" Logan snaps, and Abu makes a noise of agreement in his arms.
In response, Kendall takes a few steps backward, like he's one of those little wind-up McDonald's toys, and bolts forward toward James and Carlos, who are lined up one in front of the other, crouched and folded on all fours, their legs tucked under them and heads resting on their arms. Kendall takes a flying leap and hops first over James, then another over Carlos, and lands sprawling on the ground, sand flying everywhere, face flushed in triumph.
"Leap frog is seriously the most pointless game in the universe," Carlos sighs, dropping his head down to the sand.
"Okay. His turn. Let him go," Kendall says to Logan, and Logan sets Abu down on the ground, nudging him forward a bit. Missing his objective by a few steps, Abu crawls eagerly over to Carlos and climbs up onto him, settling down flush against his back with his arms around Carlos's neck.
"Awww!" comes from Kendall's direction. Carlos looks up to see him glance at Logan, who's grinning, and okay, this officially counts as a win.
If there were a camera now, Carlos thinks (trying, trying not to think of Guitar Dude), a slow, circular pan would begin - a continuous, unbroken shot across the four faces as they sit in a square, eyes darting up and down, across and around, trying to read the other sets of eyes while keeping their own neutral and guarded. The firelight casts a low, dusky glow over them all, adding a splash of intrigue to their faces. Logan's the best at this, theoretically; there's no doubt. It's far more work for him to add expression into his features than to remove it. James is good because he practiced in front of the mirror for years. Carlos is pretty decent because he just sets his face to glare mode no matter the circumstances, and it's working well enough so far.
Kendall is surprisingly less than shitty, and maybe he's been taking deadpan lessons from Logan, but Carlos is pretty sure it's beginner's luck, because the pile of seashells in front of his lap is about eight times the size of any of theirs and he hasn't. lost. once.
Something clearly needs to be done about this.
Kendall draws in a low, calculating breath, and raises an eyebrow. "Mitchell?"
Logan shakes his head, short and sulky, and slaps his cards face-down on the blanket.
"Diamond?"
James studies him for a long moment before dropping a few of his shells carefully into the pile. "I'm in."
"Garcia?"
"Baby, I am so far in you're gonna feel me for days."
Logan chokes on his water and coughs for twenty seconds straight. No one bothers to clap a hand on his back, but Abu pulls concernedly at his hair. James throws his head back and laughs, and Kendall. Kendall blushes.
"Seduction will get you nowhere, Garcia."
"That is bullshit, Knight."
Carlos works himself up to the steamy little smirk-cum-eyebrow-quirk he hasn't used in ages on anyone; years on a boy. (But god, did it ever work, and it's really hard not to set it on Logan now for old times' sake. But Logan's kind of, y'know, dying over there, and besides, there are more important things at stake here.)
Kendall blushes harder and shoves about a third of his shells into the center pile. Carlos bites his lip and shoves his entire pile forward.
There are gasps and murmered mutterings of "Jesus" and "fuck," and for the first time all evening, Kendall looks something close to nervous.
"Drumroll please," James says, and Carlos smiles at him.
"Kendall first."
Kendall's back to smug instantly, fanning his cards out and splaying them down on the ground for all to see, grinning mad with a creepy, triumphant glint in his eyes. "In a pure burst of irony... straight flush."
James lets out a whoop, Logan huffs in disgust (worst loser ever, seriously), and Kendall leans out toward the pile of shells in the middle, arms outstretched.
"Just. One. Minute."
In a quick, unexpected move, Carlos's snapped his free arm outward and wrapped his fingers around both of Kendall's wrists at once, holding them tight in place.
He licks his lips, gaze darting from Kendall's eyes to his mouth, and Kendall gulps. "Not so fast, love."
Breathing stops all around the fire as Carlos releases his wrists and slowly, unassumingly, lays his cards down in front of him, forcing everyone to lean in and stretch out their necks to see.
"Oh my god!" Logan gawks, shoving proudly at Carlos. "A fucking royal flush? Fuck yeah!"
"Dude, marry me," James grins, and Carlos beams at him.
Kendall stares blankly, open-mouthed and horrified, as Carlos makes an elaborate show of scooping up the collective pile of shells. Abu leaps down from Logan's lap to help, which consists of picking up shells and tossing them in the direction of the water.
"Sorry, sweetpea," Carlos coos at Kendall, winking as he kisses a particularly dandy-looking seashell.
Kendall sticks out his tongue and James drops his head to Kendall's lap in sympathy, and. Fuck the clothes, the sunscreen, the fruit valley; it's the fucking theme deck at the bottom of James's suitcase ("assorted alcoholic beverages"; James is so predictable) that's going to be all they'll ever need to survive.
It's monthly tradition now, setting up a flammable arrangement of the word on the strip of beach beside camp, each one taking responsibility for a letter. Kendall's "writing" is inevitably like, twice the size of everyone else's, so he gets H; Logan gets E because he makes better straight lines than anyone else (and yeah, the jokes still circulate); Carlos and James take over L and P so they can work side by side and fling leaves at each other.
It's a surprisingly tedious process, taking at least a couple hours to collect enough supplies, and it's always a bittersweet finish. Setting it ablaze and sitting back to watch the glorious sight as nothing happens: an accomplished failure. Every time they do it, it feels more automatic, more pointless - going through the motions with no conviction. It's like they've got one of those enchanted roses from Beauty and the Beast, each petal representing their hope, their likeliness of being found; and each month, another one breaks off and flutters to the ground.
Today, the first of December, Logan has decorated his cheeks with candy canes and holly leaves, black as night. He thinks of symbolism and tries not to.
James is just completing the stem of his P when the sky cracks, sun drowning behind an onset of clouds, thunder reverberating through their chests, and the rain has them waterlogged in seconds. The candy canes and leaves are bleeding charcoal down his face, making him look bruised, broken.
Logan turns to stalk off, muttering something about going to the caves, and trips over Abu.
"Jesus fuck, he is fucking always underfoot!"
It's suddenly silent enough that no one even hears the rain.
"Don't yell at my baby," Kendall says quietly, as Abu scampers over and wraps himself around Kendall's calf.
"Jesus, Kendall, swear to god, sometimes it's like you - "
- love him more than you love me.
He hears the last bit, foggy and distant, and he can't tell if he's hearing it in his head or if it's echoing in his ears; if he actually said it out loud or not, and he desperately prays not, because he doesn't mean it, it's ridiculous and irrational and Logan doesn't do irrational, especially when there's no way even he can argue rationality out of it, and besides, besides, it's not like Kendall still loves-loves him anyway, or ever did, and even if he did, Logan wouldn't deserve it, and even if - and -
Kendall blinks at him. "It's like I what?"
Shaken but relieved, Logan shakes his head, ironically thankful for the rain as it conceals the salty sting of drops welling up over his lashes, hindering his already weak line of vision. He takes off without looking back, thinking about how much perception can change depending on what's clouding our eyes.
It's not the first time James notices that Carlos is kind of, you know. Whatever. Okay. Carlos's a decent-looking dude. That's. That's fine. He's. Yeah.
Fuck it, okay, he's gorgeous. And James is not the kind of pussy who's going to try to justify it by insisting Carlos looks like a chick, because Carlos totally does not look like a chick, and the last three months have seen to it that he's gotten all this, like. Definition and stuff. He's all toned and his tummy is kind of disappearing and James totally, totally misses it, like, stupid amounts.
But still, yeah, Carlos's kind of gorgeous. Whatever.
And it's not the first time James notices; not even the first time he admits it. It's just the first time he's all Kendally about it, obvious and shameless and kind of pathetic.
It starts like this.
"How did we get conned into fetching water?"
Carlos smiles at him. "Because all the manly jobs were finished and it was this or cooking."
There's a comfortable silence for a few seconds as James lets his mind wander. "Maybe it's the heat getting to me, but I just got this really disturbing image of Logan in a frilly apron."
Carlos tosses his head back and laughs. "Dude, I have an actual image of that. When we were eleven and twelve, my mom said we needed to start earning our keep so she made us help with dinner one night. It was totally like, yellow checkered with ruffles."
"Oh my god, that's awesome. Can I tell him I know this?"
Carlos beams. "Just wait'll I'm around so I can see his face."
"Deal."
They keep moving forward, their spears doubling as walking sticks, water buckets dangling from ropes around their waists, until the trail curves and their line of vision shifts, and on the ground in front of them, like a little troll guarding the path against intruders, is some kind of. Monkey... thing. Black with a whitish, bearded face, super long Logan-like arms, and white hands. It looks kind of like a deformed Oreo.
James stretches out an arm in front of Carlos's chest on instinct, and for a moment the three of them stare blankly, almost cordially at one another, until the creature lets out a wail that must mean something very clear to his friends, who respond from various distances, and leaps off the path into the nearest tree, vanishing from sight.
James wonders if his own eyes are as wide as Carlos's right now, and they must be, he must look ridiculous, because Carlos explodes into laughter. It takes James a second to catch up, but soon he's followed, lost in the moment and the way Carlos's eyes crinkle up when he's so far gone like this.
"Dude - dude - " Carlos starts, trying to reclaim oxygen and bracing himself with a hand on James's shoulder. "You know who he looked like?"
"Not - oh my god. Oh my god."
"From our first tour, what was that guy's name?"
"The tech - "
"Yes, dude, oh my god - it was - "
"Jerry!" they shriek in unison, and oh my god, it's totally. Yes. This dude had a bushy blond beard and crazy long arms and weird short legs and the same sort of eternally startled expression and holy shit.
They're both practically doubled over as the realization sinks in deeper, until they're not even laughing anymore, just trembling in silent hysterics until Carlos ventures to collect himself first, taking in choppy gulps of air until he starts breathing normally, until he probably doesn't need to be supporting himself on James's shoulder anymore, and yet he totally is.
He's still smiling, and so is James, and it's weird how their outburst seems to have eaten up a lot of the distance between them, because Carlos's close, really close, and his eyes are all the cliches right now, but it still makes James sort of stop breathing for a second.
It ends like this:
Carlos stops smiling. He's not frowning, and his eyes are still twinkling, but something has registered in his features and James doesn't know what it is, because Carlos's eyes are everywhere, all over James's face like they're looking for something. James doesn't know if whatever he's looking for is there, or how to make it available, but he stops thinking about that because Carlos's face seems to be getting even closer and James's pretty sure that's not just the heat.
Not that kind of heat, anyway.
Against all his brain's protests, his eyes have already made the decision to drop down to Carlos's mouth, studying the flushed pink, the trickling bead of sweat that's slipping across his lower lip, when deformed-Oreo-monkey lets out another screech, setting off his companions in the most unattractive chorus to ever strike James's ears.
Suddenly he and Carlos are laughing again, and walking again, and it's okay, it's okay, because nothing's weird, at all, and that's kind of all that matters.
That, and the fact that Carlos's walking a few inches closer now, and every so often their arms brush. And that's not weird, either.
"Right, okay, and then she like, starts grabbing my hair to yank me forward, so my teeth get like, totally smashed, right, and then she starts complaining that I'm using my teeth."
"Dude, what the fuck?!"
"Fucking women, man!"
Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. "I can't believe you ever actually went down on a girl, Kendall. That takes a lot of hetero."
"Fuck, whatever, I was eighteen, I just wanted to get laid."
"How gentlemanly of you."
"Oh come on, you can't tell me you actually like it."
Carlos shrugs, wrinkling his nose. "It's... not that bad."
Abu squeaks some sort of commentary from where he's perched on Kendall's shoulders.
"Like, here's how I figure."
"Okay."
"A dick is totally, like, self-contained, right? It doesn't get messy till the end, and you can totally pull off if you want."
"Right."
"But with pussy, it's like... it's all just out there, man."
Carlos is still laughing. "Okay, dude, but like. What about the sex part? Like okay, I get if you're topping it's awesome because it's so tight and all, but if you're bottoming, seriously, what are you actually getting out of it?"
Kendall looks at him like Carlos just told him he never wanted a corndog again. Not so much with disappointment, just utter confusion.
"Are you kidding me? Dude. Oh my god. You don't know what you're missing."
Well, we never quite got that far hangs on the edge of Carlos's tongue, but he remembers to bite it back at the last second. He's not ready for that to be Something, for it to be acknowledged by anyone else.
"Look, I have this friend, okay, he's like, the best fuck I've ever had in my life, and he's really cool, right, so when we get home, I'm calling him up and you can tell Stephanie it's my fault, but you are totally letting this dude in your pants because you haven't lived until he's fucked you."
"I don't think you should quite word it that way for Stephanie."
"Yeah. Maybe not."
They share a smile, and Abu reaches out to tug at Carlos's hair, yanking him close and knocking his and Kendall's heads together.
"Ow!" they whine in unison, laughing.
"Snarky bitch," Carlos mutters affetionately, tousling the wiry hair on Abu's head.
"Hey, when we get back to camp, I - "
Carlos is still teasing Abu, trying to high-five him (they've been working on it for days, and Abu's almost got it down), that he doesn't notice Kendall's stopped walking until he bumps into him, and it's not his vision that catches him up. He doesn't follow Kendall's eyes at first; it's the pillar-stiff feeling of Kendall's body as he runs into him; the frozen, motionless mass that reminds Carlos of that one creepy-ass trip he and Logan made to the wax museum ("Never again, dude - never - again"). He doesn't even feel like Kendall; not bouncy or wiggly or jumpy; not pliant and stretchy like a cat, not soft. Not even warm.
And all this occurs to him in the space of maybe half a second, just enough time for his brain to kick back into gear, and. He looks. Only then, does he follow the line of Kendall's eyes, and it's. Possibly the weirdest feeling ever.
Carlos knows fear. It's not like he spent his childhood cloaked in it, but he knows what it feels like. The first time he played live for an audience. The time he was on vacation, helpless and hundreds of miles away, and Logan sent him a text message saying his dad was seriously fucked up and he didn't know what to do, and then wouldn't answer his phone for two hours while Carlos tried to call. The first time James got into an argument with any of them, and Carlos's heart pounding, screaming a rhythm of stay, stay, please stay.
He knows fear, the way his heart speeds up and, if it's bad enough, the way he starts sweating, cold sweat like with nightmares and fever chills, but the way his skin still heats up nonetheless. He knows that heat, that fire.
It's not like this.
This is like a ball of lava just got dropped down your throat and is settling comfortably in your stomach, bubbling, boiling, simmering, and you can't move because it'll explode. It doesn't make much sense, but Carlos's brain isn't working at full capacity right now.
Maybe because there's kind of a giant fucking tiger like ten feet away from them.
And there's no glass or fence/moat arrangement like at the zoo. They're not craning their necks to catch a glimpse of it far up a grassy hill by some caves, cameras poised and zoom lenses stretched. There isn't a little plaque on the front of the fence with its photo, saying where it came from and how old it is.
It's just. There.
He finds Kendall's hand squeezing the circulation right out of his own, and has no idea how long it's been there.
"Kendall."
Kendall squeezes tighter in acknowledgment.
"Don't. Move."
"Kay."
Kendall's voice sounds small, so small, smaller than when he told his parents he wasn't going to college, that he was going to LA with the band, and Logan, James, and Carlos stood behind him, ready to throw punches, verbal or otherwise.
Carlos is still trying to will his mind into submission, into practicality and sense, when Abu lets out a sudden screech, making a grab for Carlos's spear and hurling it weakly in the tiger's direction.
The only word screaming itself in Carlos's subconscious at the moment is FAIL, and just, fuck Kendall and his real-life use of Internet lingo, and it's almost, almost funny, hysterical even, until the tiger takes a step forward and something clearly dissatisfied rumbles out of his throat, teeth bared.
That's kind of the moment everything becomes clear.
Carlos lives for those moments, when the practicality falls into place and he knows he's made the right decision, can see the fruits of the outcome before it's even happened, and he can let himself settle with it and be satisfied.
It... doesn't quite feel like that now.
It feels like kind of the opposite.
"Kendall."
"Yeah."
"Put him down."
It hurts preemptively, a hard clenching in his chest that only magnifies tenfold when Kendall turns to look at him, so innocently like he must have heard him wrong.
"What?"
"Put him down."
"The fuck is wrong with you?"
Ironically, the tiger's making this easier. His eyes aren't on them at all, but on the little creature perched atop Kendall's shoulders, the little creature who doesn't remember what his mother looked like.
"Kendall, put him down. It's us or him."
"Then it's us."
"Are you fucking crazy? Do it."
"No!"
"Kendall, if Logan fucking loses you - "
Kendall's face pales, tormented with a colliding mass of confusion, sudden awareness, anger, panic. Carlos never, ever wants to see it again.
"DO IT."
But Kendall's frozen, eyes on fire and showing every last drop of pain. He isn't moving, and Carlos finally realizes it's because he can't.
The liquid fire in his stomach churns and fights as he reaches up, fast, too fast to not be sneaky about it, gently lifting Abu into his arms and placing him carefully down on the ground in front of him before Kendall can stop him.
But Kendall's right there, lunging forward, and Carlos has got him tight, arms around his middle and yanking him backward a few steps, out of the line of fire, and Kendall's fighting so relentlessly that they fall backward, landing on the hard ground and Carlos barely has time to register the sharp hiss of pain that settles into where he landed on his hip before he's back on his feet, pulling Kendall up. He can vaguely hear himself saying Run, run, just fucking run, and Kendall tries to fight but Carlos's dragging him by the hand now, and Kendall seems to catch on that he's going to be dragged no matter what, either roughly along the ground or by the hand if he chooses to cooperate.
In the end he jerks away, tearing off by himself back toward camp, and Carlos's close on his heels, trying to make as much noise as possible with his feet, with brushing branches out of his way, so neither of them will hear the screams as the tiger lunges for his target.
He doesn't quite succeed.
It's like taking eighty-five steps backward when they finally tumble out onto the beach in a heap (like leaving fucking Narnia or something, only there's no Aslan to save them here), it's like they haven't left those first days at all, like they're right back where they started, no further and no closer to surviving, to pulling themselves up, to making it. Kendall falls into a little ball, crying and fisting his hands in the sand and it's the most sickening deja vu, it's what Carlos never wanted to see again and he is, it's here, right in his face, and it's his own fucking fault.
He let Logan bring Abu back to camp, he let Kendall come with him without taking a spear of his own ("I can't, I need both hands for Abu"), it's his fucking fault and maybe it's been his fault forever, maybe they'd never be here and Kendall never would've lost Guitard Dude if Carlos had spilled everything years ago, told Kendall all of Logan's secrets because Logan was too emo and pigheaded to do it himself, and they wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't be broken, and Carlos wouldn't be cradling his tiny, trembling body in his arms while Kendall cries loud enough to draw James and Logan from camp, and Carlos wouldn't be praying that someday Kendall will forgive him.
James's lap is warm, perfectly soft and firm in all the right spots; his folded thigh pillowing Kendall's head is just the right shape to make him feel secure. James's fingers have been stroking through damp, sand-matted hair in a slow, unbroken rhythm for the better part of an hour, and it's lulled Kendall into a zombified sort of state, unresponsive but calm, and the dried tears on his cheek are starting to tickle.
He hasn't looked at Carlos, hasn't said a word. Not - it's not. It's not like that. He's not angry at him, not really. It's just. Kendall's trying to extract himself from the incident as much as possible, and Carlos. Was kind of a key participant.
Logan, predictably, has managed to snatch a bit of the spotlight for himself by acting like it's his fault.
Kendall winces even thinking the words. It's so unfair, so wrong. He doesn't mean it. The look in in Logan's eyes, the way he tried to touch Kendall. Kendall felt that. He felt Logan's desperation, his determinedness to comfort and fix and love, and it's unfair of Kendall to belittle it, to discount it.
Then again, there's a lot that's unfair now.
Logan picks up his guitar three days later for the first time since the incident, but he doesn't play.
He just holds it, fingers skimming soundlessly over the frets.
It's been quiet. The insects, the rain, the waves, have been louder. It reminds them where they are. And Kendall - Kendall's fine with that. He's okay with where they are. It's what happens here that keeps mindfucking him to hell and back. He can't decide if the good outweighs the bad. He thinks of Guitar Dude, of Jett and Freight Train and Abu, and he thinks. No.
Then he thinks of Logan's smile, open and free like he'd never seen it outside the island; thinks of the feeling of him pressed up against Kendall's side, skin on skin; of his lips soft against Kendall's; he thinks of James's inventions and Carlos's triumphs; thinks of the nights they've spent leaning up against one another on the plateau of the highest cliff, watching perfect sunset after perfect sunset; and now he doesn't know what to think.
Tonight, Logan leans in, whispers into James's ear, and James tugs gently at Kendall's wrist.
"Do you want him to play?" he asks softly, just loud enough for Kendall only.
Kendall looks up, and Logan is watching him with wide, scared eyes. Kendall nods.
He doesn't pay attention to what Logan is playing; it's soft and he doesn't recognize it, and his mind is too many elsewheres to think of what that means: that he knows every song Logan knows, because he taught them all the Logan, except this one. That maybe, this song started here. That maybe no one else in the world has heard it, either.
Logan works up to what may or may not be a bridge, when his e-string snaps, shooting up and falling limp against the wood, dead and useless, never to be recovered.
Logan's still plucking a handful of broken, stray notes before he fully processes what's happened, and his playing falls to nothing, dying out on slighty flat C.
Everyone watches him, but he doesn't look up. It's disturbing how visible it all is, the way his breath shortens and quickens, the way his fingers tense and his shoulders stiffen.
No one misses what this means - that it's not about this.
Kendall holds his breath, waiting for Logan to leap to his feet and smash the instrument against the tree or drop it into the fire, because it's Logan and he'd do that (hell, he's done that), but Logan only stands quietly, propping the guitar carefully against the tree, and steps away from camp, growing smaller and smaller as he heads down the beach.
Kendall looks down at the places in the blanket where Logan stepped; at the dips and curves in the sand underneath. It's not right for him not to be here right now. There are times when Kendall can go days, weeks if he has to, without seeing Logan and he's fine. Other times it's only seconds - Logan leaving the back lounge to get a snack, to take a bathroom break; stepping back into his own stage space after sharing Kendall's mic - before Kendall starts feeling something he hasn't let himself define, but in his head sounds a lot like incomplete.
No one speaks for an hour, until Carlos starts pacing.
James lets him pace for a minute, seeming to know the precise moment that's right for him to stand up, cross over to Carlos, curl a hand around his hip, and whisper something in his ear.
Carlos nods.
James is magic, but Carlos is Carlos, and thirty seconds later, he's back to pacing.
"He's not back."
"He's probably at the caves, Los," James offers softly.
"It's getting dark. He's not - no. He's not there. Something's not right. It doesn't feel - no. I just."
Kendall pulls himself to his feet, his first movement in hours, and feels his joints protesting. "I'll go."
Carlos looks at him, skeptical, making sure to lock their eyes before speaking. "I think he's - "
Kendall watches his eyes, registers, nods.
He grabs for a spear and takes off down the beach, down the shimmering stretch of wave-washed sand, still too lost to realize Carlos just spoke to him without words, and Kendall heard.
"Logan? You still in there?"
Kendall wipes his palms on the front of his jeans for the eighteenth time, and it's pointless now; he's sweating so hard the front of his pants are practically drenched.
What. He's not nervous. He's played live. Well, if you count marching band, church choir, and an audience of Carlos's extended family at Thanksgiving. But hey, it's cool. It's all totally fucking cool and awesome and shit. Carlos and James can't come and, y'know, that's okay, maybe it'll be easier, just him and Logan, a couple of guitars, a few acoustic tracks for the head of their record label. Nothing big.
"Logan?"
There's no sound on the other side of the door, at least not that Kendall can tell, but then again, his heart is pounding pretty loudly in his ears right now.
"Logie?"
He tries the handle and it gives, allowing him to press the door open, carefully, and the sight - well, shit, it's Logan, it could be worlds worse. But as it is, Kendall's heart still does a weird floppy thing that has nothing to do with nerves.
"Logan... shit. Hey. C'mere."
He drops to the floor, immediately feeling the sting of pain as his knees collide with the hard ceramic beneath the thin, frayed mat, and he cups his hands over Logan's iron-hard fists that rest on his knees, his upper body hunched forward and swaying slightly back and forth, his eyes squeezed shut so tight you'd think there was poison in the air.
"Jesus. Hey, relax, open your eyes."
Logan shakes his head furiously.
"Dude, hey. Come on. It's okay. I'm here. Talk to me."
Logan shakes his head.
Kendall leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to each of Logan's balled-up hands, confident he's not going to be shoved off at a time like this. "Are you scared?"
Logan is unresponsive for so long Kendall's pretty sure he's ignoring him or zoned out completely, and just as he's about to let his eyes wander, darting around the room for answers, Logan nods. Quick and short, concise, but unmistakable.
"Hey. No. No, don't be scared. Why are you scared?"
Finally Logan's eyes lift, shocking in their wet shine, in the expanded mass of black smudgings the tears have caused. "What if he doesn't like us?"
"Dude, he's already heard our stuff. He likes us."
"But what if he doesn't? What if I fuck up the bridge again, or, what if I just don't... look right, or..."
"Logan! He's one guy! Fuck him if he dosen't like us!"
"Kendall, you don't fucking get it!" Logan leaps up, trying to pace in the tiny space of the bathroom, only succeeding due to his size (or lack thereof). "This is our one chance, if we fuck this up, we - "
"- Wait for the next chance," Kendall says softly, pulling himself to his feet and catching Logan's hands in his, waiting for eye contact to continue. Logan does a decent job of avoiding it for a good while, shaking his head and staring aimlessly at the ground, at everywhere but Kendall until Kendall gives his fingers a squeeze. "Logan. It's one guy. It's only such a big deal because you have to succeed at everything."
Logan glares hotly through his smudged makeup, but Kendall only smiles.
"Listen. This is our chance with him. Last time I checked there were about eighty billion record labels out there. One of them, probably dozens of them, will want us. Will want you. You're..."
Logan looks at him then, out through gaps in the black curtains of his perfectly straightened fringe - expectant and desperate, because it's still those days when he has to cling to any assurance anyone will offer that he's worth something.
"Logan, you're brilliant. Fuck, I - I believe in you and us so much I gave up my fucking hockey career for this."
"I'm sorry," Logan squeaks at the floor.
Kendall squeezes his hands until Logan looks at him again. "Don't be. I'm not. I haven't regretted this for one second."
Logan's eyes stay fixed on him for a long time, like he's trying to decide whether to believe him, and it's clear he does, but it's also clear a large part of him wants to fight it, doesn't want to let himself trust anything, anyone.
And when he sinks into Kendall's arms, letting the younger boy wrap him up and keep him close, Kendall realizes the trust he's just earned is worth more than a thousand contracts, more than Griffin, more than fame, even more than family.
Besides, he thinks, Logan is family enough. More than enough.
It shouldn't be shocking, but it is.
Or maybe it should be, but it isn't.
Kendall can't tell; everything feels kind of backwards when he completes his climb to the top cliff and spots Logan, face to the open expanse of sky and sea, and feet balanced sickeningly on the ledge, toes poking out over the edge with no solid footing. Even from a dozen feet away, Kendall can see his entire body trembling, the evening wind whipping through the mess of curls on his head, causing his tiny frame to wobble slightly, like if Kendall breathes wrong he'll tip over. Off.
And. Off. Over. Down. Jesus. Fuck. Okay. Breathe. Or, no, don't.
There aren't really thoughts for this kind of moment.
He must let out some kind of choked noise of protest because Logan turns around, eyes flashing and panicked, both guilt-ridden and furious at being caught.
"No," Kendall says simply, calmly. His vocabulary has maybe regressed eighteen or so years, but no seems good enough.
Logan doesn't answer. Doesn't yell at Kendall to leave him alone, because of course Kendall won't. He just stares, like maybe he's waiting. Whether for a reason to jump or a reason not to, Kendall has no fucking clue, and this is possibly the most terrified he's been in his life, and wow, okay, that's a new feeling.
"Do you realize?" Logan starts, voice as shaky as the rest of him, "when the rest of those strings break, I might never play music again for the rest of my life?"
"So. Okay." Kendall nods carefully, takes a step forward, trying to be as stupidly stealthy as possible, because if he can just reach Logan, he can yank him back and they can figure the rest out later. "So you figure it would be better idea, obviously, to just end it now?"
And yeah, he's maybe really terrible at this.
"Just - shut up, Kendall, okay? Just go."
"No."
"Please."
"Fuck you, Logan."
"Fuck you, okay? You don't fucking know what this feels like!"
And that. Okay.
There's a lot Kendall's put up with from Logan over the years, and a lot he's capable of putting up with, a lot he's still willing to put up with, but. Sometimes it's not just guitar strings that break.
"Right," Kendall says, nodding to himself. "Okay. You know what? You're right."
Logan turns fully from the ledge now, still just as dangerously close, but facing Kendall, and Kendall's going to count that as a win.
"You're right, I have no fucking idea what that feels like. To think I might never touch my own guitar again as long as I live? Never see my family again? Never play another show or smoke another joint? Yeah. It feels like fucking shit, Logan. But - "
"Fuck you, it's different, music is all I fucking have! I'm never going to create anything that is of any significance"
"Yeah, well Guitar Dude was all I fucking had, and he's fucking gone!"
And it's not what he means to say at all; it's out of left field and only partly true, but they're the first words that seem to echo out around them, through the wind and across the whole fucking ocean, and for a second, Kendall panics, because Logan's got like a whole fucking ocean of his own streaming down his face, when his eyes were dry only seconds ago.
"You - you have us," Logan's spluttering, and it almost sounds like a question, like he's not sure if it's a good enough offer. "You - you have me."
"I've fucking never had you!"
"You've had me every fucking day since the moment I met you!"
"That is bullshit! That is fucking bullshit, Logan!"
And there's a really scary delay in recognition, because the words are out, on both sides, before Kendall even realizes this is happening, out loud and right here in reality and he didn't just say that, and Logan didn't just, no, and this isn't real, it's just, it isn't.
But Kendall doesn't have any more time to catch up, to try to reason this out, because Logan's crying now, the way Kendall's only seen a couple times in his life and can't stand to again.
"I'm not - I can't - I can't let it end like this, Ken, I'm - don't you fucking get it? No one's coming for us, we're not fucking getting out of here! This is like a fucking snowman in the sun, just, inevitably sinking, it's only a matter of time before we get killed or lose our minds and there's - it wasn't supposed to be like this, none of this!"
"Then tell me. Okay? How was it supposed to be for you, Logan? Because I can tell you how it was supposed to be for me, and it wasn't supposed to end with my boyfriend dying, so maybe you can just trash your fucking pity party for once in your fucking life and realize you're not the only one suffering and that maybe I've been suffering six fucking years for you!"
"I'm SORRY! Fuck, Jesus, Kendall, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - "
And it doesn't sound like an apology for blowing up, or for scaring him, it doesn't sound like an I'm-sorry-he's-gone, an I'm-sorry-you're-hurting, it sounds like so much more, like a genuine plea for forgiveness, and Kendall can't figure it the fuck out because between one I'm-sorry and the next, Logan's lost it, crying too hard to make full words anymore, taking steps backwards like he's shrinking away from something, not even realizing where he's going or what he's doing, only, yeah, he'd finally turned around to face Kendall so now backwards means backwards, and there's maybe a few inches left of ground before - okay - and there's still too much Kendall's trying to catch up with in his head to even realize what this means until one moment Logan's in front of him, breaking to pieces before his eyes, maybe, but here, solid and alive and fixable.
The next, the only thing in front of Kendall's eyes is another perfect sunset.