A/N: Hey guys, couple things I need to say before I get to this update. First of all, this fic is nearly done. There's maybe only three or four more chapters before it's finished, unless I get ideas for other scenes, which, so far, I'm not but that could be because my mind is focused on my other project.

Which brings me to announcement number two: I'm gonna hafta put EotA on hiatus. I just can't work on it right now. My Big Time Bang is nowhere near completion and I have less than two months to get it done, revised, perfected, and posted and I have no idea if I'm even gonna be able to do so. I definitely won't be able to if my focus has to be split between it and this fic. And it's probably all my fault for thinking I could handle it and still work on EotA, not to mention taking time away from writing in order to read a book series, and I take all the blame but now I need to fix things and in order to do that, I have to put this aside until October. Otherwise the anxiety I'm already feeling about my BTB will just get worse and I'm not in the mood for another break down. Plus I don't have time for that. Hopefully you guys understand. If not, then I dunno what to say other than "rude".

Don't think I need to cover my ass about anything in this, other than I don't share the same view on cell phones as Kendall does (you'll see what I mean later in this chapter). But, uh, yeah.

Kendall didn't sleep.

Or couldn't sleep.

Technicality schmenicality or some shit. Whatever. He was too exhausted and depressed to give much of a fuck about anything at that point.

He spent two hours in his bed, wavering between soul-crushing sadness and body wracking sobs, numbness and disbelief at his mom having grounded him, and elation as he remembered those moments he had with James. Moments that reminded him that the whole thing was over, that he was back home in Minnesota and the singer was on his way to Albuquerque for his next tour stop, which lead him back to the whole depression-sadness-crying bullshit again. Seemed like the Merry-Go-Round of Pain had joined the Mood Swings at Relationship Park. Deep fucking joy.

His alarm went off at its usual time, alerting him that he needed to get up and outta bed, into the shower to get ready to face the day. But he didn't move. Instead he remained motionless, staring up at the ceiling, hoping a piece of it would fall down and put him in a coma so he didn't have to think anymore, didn't have to feel, only had to lay there and sleep until he felt emotionally and mentally ready to actually be human again.

A second alarm went off, telling him he needed to go downstairs. He still didn't move.

It wasn't until his sister pounded on the door, yelling through a "you alive, blockhead?!", that he got up.

Not in the mood to actually change clothes, he freshened up his deodorant then grabbed his backpack for school before leaving his room and making the trek down to the kitchen. His mom was clearing dishes away from her own breakfast, dropping them into the dishwasher with more force than necessary, something that would've gotten Kendall nagged at about taking care of things that don't belong to him. He figured she could get away with it, since it actually was her property, not to mention the fact that she'd be paying for the replacements.

Without saying a word, he slid onto a stool by the breakfast bar, bookbag on the seat next to him, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. His entire body felt off, although he wasn't entirely sure if it wasn't just minor jet lag, but he felt as though a big part of it was mental, that his head and emotional state were off so it made the feeling more physical in a way. Whatever. He didn't really give a shit about symptoms or reasoning. All he knew was he wasn't hungry and didn't feel like eating and wasn't about to start any convo with his mom, not without knowing where her head was at and how exactly that discussion would go.

If the past was anything to judge by, it wasn't gonna go well.

The dishwasher was closed, slammed shut and clicking, before his mom turned to him. Her hip was sticking out, leaning against the appliance, small arms folded over her chest as she pursed her lips in anger. Narrowed eyes glared at him, the blue frosty like icebergs, ready to crash his life like the Titanic. And just like the ill-fated luxury cruise-liner, he had no lifeboats, no chance of being rescued. He was doomed from the start.

"So," she started, tone as cold as her eyes. "You wanna tell me where you were?"

'No.'

Okay, not a reasonable answer and definitely not a response that wouldn't get his ass thrown out the house. Resting his left elbow on the counter, he rubbed the back of his head as he tried to think up a way to navigate this conversation without crashing and drowning.

"California."

The truth never hurt. Not really.

Her lips pursed again, this time in thought, as she nodded slowly and repeatedly, letting his words sink in. The flash in her eyes had told him that she hadn't expected that answer, was most likely prepared to hear "Guitar Dude's house" or "off with some friends", not the name of a state halfway across the country.

Surprise!

Having recovered from her mild spurt of shock, his mom spoke once again. "And what exactly were you doing in California?"

Kendall frowned as he rested his forearms on the counter, staring down at his fingers as they overlapped. He honestly had no idea how to respond to that. Yeah, there was the whole "the truth shall you free" bullshit cliché, but he wasn't entirely convinced that that was gonna happen for him. Chances were his mom would think he was lying, wouldn't believe him, would think he made the whole thing up and he'd be in even more shit for not telling the truth. 'Cause really, who would expect a teenager with a history of telling falsehoods, getting detention on a near weekly basis, sneaking out the house and disappearing for days as he got drunk and high, to actually be telling the truth when he says he spent the weekend with an international pop star? Kendall's reputation for making shit up in order to get outta trouble was clearly going against him in this instance. So really, for the first time since his desire to be more honest had shown up days before, he realized lying was the best way to handle this situation.

Or at least half-lying.

"A friend needed me," he stated, not entirely telling a falsehood. James had said he needed Kendall; just the blond didn't specify in what way.

More nodding, more lip pursing from his mom before she let out a disbelieving "uh huh." She cocked her head to the side before continuing. "And what exactly did your friend need so bad that would include covering your neck in hickeys?"

Shit.

Kendall's hand flew up, covering the mark he knew would be on the left side of his neck, trying not to show the "fuck I've been busted" thought on his face.

His mom let out a long sigh, her hands moving to her hips, head tilted down as she shook it in disbelief. Her shoulders were slumped, her body looking tired, and chances were, she was. Tired of Kendall, tired of his lies, tired of his not following the rules and doing whatever the fuck it was that he wanted to do, consequences be damned. He'd never really given a thought to how much his shit was affecting his mom, how much he'd been wearing her down over the past couple years—then again, he hadn't given a thought to anyone else but his own personal bullshit. But now that he was seeing it, actually noticing it, he felt like such a lil fuck-headed asshole for doing that to one of the few people who'd actually stuck around and put up with his shenanigans.

Fuck him.

He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, to explain the whole thing and how he'd been thinking with the wrong body part when she beat him to it, when she spoke first.

"You're grounded," she began, lifting her head, hands still on her hips as she stared him down. "Like I told you last night. I've already taken away your laptop and your radio. I just need you to hand over your car keys and your phone."

He'd expected the grounding—even before she'd said the words the night before—the confiscating of his laptop and various other electronics, the taking of his keys and his car. However, it didn't lessen the blow when it came to actually having his phone taken away and the realization that he could no longer call, text, or e-mail the one person he wanted to see more than anything. His heart stopped, dropping down to his stomach as his chest got tight and his lungs froze. His eyes widened as his jaw dropped, his skin tingling all over as he struggled to come to grips with what he'd just heard.

"What?!" The word burst out through parted lips before he could even think it up, but it seemed to work, seemed to voice what he was thinking, the disbelief ringing in his head. "You can't take my phone!" He might've sounded like a seven year old brat, but at that moment, he was completely outta fucks to give about anything.

His mom arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow, hip swinging out so she was leaning on the other side, arms folding over her chest once more. She was a petite woman, always had been skinny, probably where he got his own lanky frame from. However, at moments like that, when she was staring him down with that icy glare and the full sass attitude on her face, it reminded him of the fact that she was a parental figure and was something to be feared.

"Oh really?" she started, sarcasm dripping off every word. "And just why not? You have some important business you need to take care of?"

"No, but—"

"Uh uh," she cut him off, waving a finger in front of herself. "Don't wanna hear it. Hand it over." She held her hand out to him, waiting for the demanded item to be placed on her palm.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, roughly rubbing over the skin there, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a way out of this. But all he could think about was James, about not being able to talk to him, not being able to hear his voice in any form, even if it was the slightly staticy version over a phone line. He worried that the singer would try reaching out to him, that calls would go to unreturned voicemails and texts would remain unanswered, and that the pop star would take it as a sign that the teenager was done with him, had had his fun and was over it, moving on in a life that didn't include the brunet. He worried that every word he'd said to the other male would be forgotten or thought of as a lie, that it was just said in the moment to shut the elder male up and that nothing was meant. He worried that the brunet would be hurt, pissed off, would decide that if he was gonna be ignored and shoved aside that he'd do the same, that he'd move on from someone who acted like they didn't care about him. He worried that he was gonna lose James and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do to stop it.

Fear and panic were a lump in his throat that took several swallows to get rid of. Clearing his mind, Kendall finally managed to come up with a good excuse, a reason to keep a hold of his phone—and the singer. "What if I get into an accident?"

His mom rolled her eyes, not seeming to take him all that seriously. "I'm sure the hospital will call."

But he wasn't about to give up, his hands on the counter as he slightly leaned over, eyes wide in panic that he hoped she took as a biproduct of his words and not due to the actual reasoning of him internally freaking out over losing the male he was falling for. "What if I'm hit by a car and shoved into a ditch where no one can see me and I'm bleeding out and can't call 911 to find me 'cause I have no phone?"

She cocked her head to the side, her hand still outstretched as she adjusted the weight on her feet, hip still sticking out. "You won't get shoved into a ditch," she replied, using the same tone she did when she tried to calm a younger Katie's hysterics after her older brother teasingly told her that she couldn't go outside wearing green or pterodactyls would swoop down from the sky and kidnap her, mistaking her for one of their offspring.

Fun times.

Still not willing to let it go, he argued right back. "How do you know? You can't predict the future."

An exacerbated sigh left her, eyes closing in fatigue and annoyance, something that two minutes ago he'd feel a lil guilty about. But not anymore, not when she was threatening to take away the one thing that still kept his connection to James. "Kendall Donald Knight—" He winced at the middle name, both at the fact that he hated it and also because he knew it meant she was beyond fucking serious when she used it "—Hand over the phone or so help me, I will lock you in the basement and you will never see the sun again." Her eyes opened in expectation, fingers opening and closing as she still waited for something to be put there.

He pointed a finger at her, elbow resting on the counter. "That's child abuse."

"Kendall!" Her voice brokered no argument, no backchat, nothing. Her face was red, a vein pulsing in her neck as she screamed his name, more than demanding that her orders be followed.

He was fucked.

Hand dropping to the counter with a slap, Kendall let out a harsh sigh, knowing he was defeated. He had no choice but to just give in, to just do as she wanted. He had to cut the only tie he had remaining with James, the only way he could have the male for who knew how long. Essentially he had to give the singer up.

His heart felt heavy, dark, the depression he'd felt earlier creeping back in. A black cloud had formed over his head, almost visible, the weight of it pushing him down and causing his entire body to slump as he rose to his feet. He felt the tears stinging the back of his eyes but refused to let them fall, partially outta pride, partially because he knew it would bring about more questions, questions as to why he was upset over losing a phone.

Feet scuffing the floor, he shuffled his way over to his mom, sliding his iPhone out of his pocket before slapping it on her hand. He didn't look at her, his head hanging, every inch of him feeling broken and heavy. His earlier desire to be put in a coma returned, sounding more appealing with every passing second.

His mom brought her hand back to her body, arms folded, the smartphone tucked in against her chest. "Thank you," she spoke quietly, a hard edge to her voice that didn't include any actual feelings of gratitude.

Kendall barely managed to mutter out an "uh huh" before walking back over to the counter and grabbing his backpack. His motions were faster now, a sudden urge to get the fuck out the house and away from his mom having taken hold of his head and fueling his movements. Straps of his bag over his shoulders, he headed to the garage to grab his bike, slamming the door shut behind himself. First he couldn't physically see James, now he couldn't even hear the other male's voice.

And he'd thought his life was shit before.

Riding a bike to school wasn't anything new. Kendall had done so for the first two years of high school, before he'd managed to get his license and his car. Only he could really do without the nostalgia of having to pedal his way through traffic and deal with drivers.

He flipped off one particularly assaholical businessman in a luxury SUV, ignoring the cries to stay off the road, when really the tie-wearing asstwat was the one who'd nearly hit Kendall, who'd had right of way, fuckyouverymuch. But other than that, his ride went by pretty uneventfully, soon arriving at Hellhole High in the same amount of time it would've taken him to drive. Traffic was fucking wonderful.

Pulling up at the bike rack, he dismounted and removed the chain from the frame, securing his two-wheeler. Padlock doing its job, he stood up and looked around, seeing Carlos pulling up on his own bike on the opposite end of the rack.

"Hey, 'Litos," he greeted his friend, small smile on his face. He'd missed his buddy's smiling face over the weekend, had imagined how the Latino would freak out during the shows or the comments he'd make on the tour bus about how awesome everything was. He'd imagined the bubbling, bouncing greeting he'd get upon his return, a hug that was closer to a tackle and speedy rambling demands to tell every last detail of his trip.

Only he got none of that.

Carlos didn't even look his way, face flat as he got off his bike and grabbed his own chain. Confusion hit Kendall, only for his mind to theorize that maybe his friend just hadn't heard him. So he repeated the greeting, getting the same non-response.

"Yo, 'Litos. You home?"

Still nothing, the Latino turning away, hand holding the strap of his backpack as he headed towards the front steps.

What. The fuck?

Snapping out of it, Kendall set himself in motion, following his friend, stepping in front of him on the stairs. "Carlos. Dude, what the fu—?"

The shorter male stepped around him, but not before leveling hard dark eyes at the taller.

Puzzlement froze the blond to the spot, brow furrowed as he stared at an image that was no longer in front of him. The Latino was clearly pissed, obvious to anyone with eyes. It was clear in the icy glare he'd given the blond, in the tick of his clenched jaw, in the tense body language and the purposeful stomps up the steps. Not to mention that for the first time ever, Carlos was actually ignoring him. Really weird, given all the shit Kendall had put him through over the years, the other male never turning his back on him, never getting pissed for too long.

First time for everything, that was for fucking sure.

Shaking his head, Kendall turned and took the remaining stairs two at a time in a rush to catch up to his buddy, finding him in the semi-crowded hallway. He stepped in front of the shorter male, putting his hands on his friend's upper-arms and holding him in place.

"Dude! Talk to me!" he demanded, green eyes meeting dark ones as they sat under a hardened brow.

"Oh, like you've been talking to me?" Carlos replied sarcastically, venom dripping off every word as he gave the other male a disbelieving glare. He knocked the other male's arms off his, adjusting the falling strap of his backpack, hands on his hips. His jaw was clenched again, that ire still on his face and in his eyes, and while the taller male was glad the smaller had actually spoken to him and was no longer ignoring him, he wondered if that was a good thing given the attitude that was practically rolling off him in waves.

The blond's brow furrowed, confused again, lips turning up at the corner as he shook his head in puzzlement. "What're you talking about?"

"You disappeared for, like, three days," Carlos pointed out, huffing. "Your mom had no clue where you were, I had no clue where you were, Guitar Dude had no clue—which, okay, that's not saying much 'cause half the time he doesn't even know where he is." Kendall see-sawed his head in a "that's true" fashion, watching as his friend shook his own to clear away the tangent he'd gone on and get his brain back onto the right track. "Point is, that you were gone. Without a word to anyone. We were worried."

The anger that had been on the Latino's face disappeared, giving way to sorrow and worry. His eyes turned down at the sides, his lips curving in a similar fashion, the sad, last-puppy-left-at-the-shelter look returning to his face. The blond swallowed hard, guilt pooling in his stomach and making him nauseous. He'd known his mom would be worried, possibly his sister, too, but he'd given no thought to the guy he'd practically grown up with who was as close to a brother one could get without sharing DNA.

"I know," he muttered, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he gripped his backpack straps. "And I'm sorry."

Confusion was the next emotion on Carlos' face, brow furrowed, head slightly turned to the side as though he'd misheard what the taller male had said. "Wait, what?"

"I'm sorry."

"Wow." Next was shock, eyes wide, brows raised, mouth flopping up and down as he struggled to recover and respond accordingly. "I think this is the first time you've ever apologized to me."

"I know," the blond admitted, wincing slightly, the ball of guilt in his stomach growing and weighing him down even more. "You deserve about a million apologies by now, but I'm a shit friend and I've been taking advantage of you being around and—" He stopped, realizing he was rambling, like Carlos had a habit of doing. He swallowed again, brow drawn, mind wondering what to say next in order to really explain himself and to get his best friend to no longer be pissed at him. He'd held so much shit in for so long that it was easy to just fall back into that routine, to just keep things going that way. But opening up to James over the weekend had been amazing, had felt incredible, had lifted a weight off him that he hadn't fully realized was there. Chances were it'd be just as good a feeling with his best friend as it had been with his romantic interest.

Taking a deep breath, he met his friend's eyes as he spoke once again. "I've just been so scared to lose someone else that I turned into an asshole to try and drive you away. I figured it'd hurt less if I acted like I didn't give a shit and forced you away rather than you leaving on your own volition."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Carlos' lips, his hand reaching out to give a gentle, reassuring slap to the other male's upper arm. "You can't get rid of me."

"I know," the blond replied, a tiny grin of his own forming for a brief moment. "And I've been totally taking advantage of that and treating you like shit. You deserve a better friend. So does Camille and. James." He nearly choked on the name, a lump forming in his throat at the sound of it. Glancing downward, he took a moment and cleared his throat before looking at his friend and continuing. "I don't deserve any of you guys."

"Kendall," the Latino's voice was soft, gentle, but with an undercurrent of "you fucking idiot". "After all the shit you've been through, you do deserve us."

Green eyes were rolled. "After all the shit you've been through, you deserve better. And I'm sorry."

The shorter male's eyes widened once again, still surprised to hear those words from the taller. "Wow. I—" He stopped dead, shaking his head in confusion. "Apology accepted."

A hint of a smile formed on Kendall's face, relief that his friend had forgiven him helping to minimize the guilt ball in his stomach and make it more bearable. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by the warning bell that informed students they had five minutes to get to their homerooms.

"I'll forgive you even more when you tell me where the fuck you were during lunch," Carlos stated, pointing a finger in warning at the taller male's face, the statement even more serious by the use of a rare curse word.

The blond held his hands up in innocence, bottom lip stuck out in a "I'm not arguing, I'm just gonna do what you say" kind of way. Without another word, the two friends headed down the hall to their homeroom, a companionable silence between them.

Kendall still wasn't hungry by the time lunch rolled around. So rather than dealing with the cafeteria, he headed straight for the hill behind the school, figuring Carlos would eventually find him so they could chat. It definitely wasn't a convo that could be had with witnesses, not that he'd even wanna talk about it with anyone other than his best friend. Which reminded him of his promise to call Camille and give her a recap when he got home, a promise he was now unable to keep due to the fact that he'd had his phone taken away.

Fucking awesome.

Reaching the top of the hill, Kendall let his backpack slide down his arm and onto the ground before sitting, flopping back on his ass, only to wince when it hurt his hole. Knees drawn up, he wrapped his arms around his legs, hands clasped, waiting. Alone. Again.

A heavy sigh left him as his head hung, eyes closing. It felt like he was always alone, always by himself. At least metaphorically.

His mind wandered, wondering if James was feeling the same way, if he was just as lonely as Kendall. He wondered where the singer was, what he was up to, if he was awake and off doing pop star shit or if he was bored in his hotel room or backstage. He wondered if the brunet had tried calling or texting, if he was confused about the lack of response, if he was hurt or shrugging it off with excuses about the blond being busy at school.

Fuck, he was being a huge fucking dick to everyone and it wasn't even entirely his fault.

With a huff, he laid back on the grass, hands sitting on his stomach. His thumb brushed against the bandana around his wrist and he started rubbing it, the fabric proof that his weekend had happened and that he hadn't imagined anything. James felt the same way about him, cared about him just as much, so chances were he was missing Kendall just as bad as Kendall was missing him.

But the thought was little comfort, barely easing any of the pain in his chest. He knew the feeling of missing the other male was gonna be a permanent thing, was more than likely gonna be a lump that was always in his chest, his heart, his soul, something that would only be eased by having the brunet next to him.

Which, with his luck, was gonna be a very rare thing indeed.

The sounds of footsteps and a swinging backpack reached his ears and he turned his head to see Carlos walking up the hill. The Latino plopped down by the blond's head, careful not to upset the styrofoam tray of corndogs he held, keeping his bag on. Kendall moved his head back to where it'd been so he was staring up at the partially cloudy sky, absently thinking he was glad the sun was covered, wishing for more cloud coverage, maybe even rain.

Half a corndog later, Carlos spoke. "So," he started, mouth full of the food. He finished chewing then swallowed before he continued. "Where were you this weekend?"

"California." Tilting his head, he saw the questioning look on his friend's face, the chipmunk cheeks full of lunch that were preventing him from speaking. "I went to see James."

The Latino's eyes practically left his skull, corndog dropping onto the tray. "Ooh wanmphooh shee amph?!"

Kendall cocked an eyebrow. "English, 'Litos."

The shorter male didn't even bother to do the whole chew-then-swallow bit, instead turning his head to his right and spitting out the half-chewed food he'd had in his mouth. "You went to see James?!"

A nod was the taller's response before he sat up and twisted around, sitting in the same direction as Carlos, both facing the school. Hugging his knees again, he shuffled in an attempt to get comfy and take the pressure off his still stinging rear. "Yeah. He called me Thursday night and said he wanted to see me and asked if he got me a ticket, would I fly out to where he was." He shrugged. "I jumped at the chance."

"Wow." Seemed to be the Latino's word du jour, giving the number of times he'd said it. "And you spent the whole time with him on his tour?"

More nodding. "First in San Diego. Oh, I met up with Camille there, by the way."

"Camille knew and I didn't?!" His friend's eyes went wide again, a hand flying to his chest, a look of total offense and disbelief on his face.

Kendall gave a sheepish grin and a weak "yeah, sorry", before returning to the original topic, hoping the shift in convo would force Carlos to get over the hurt sooner. "So anyway, San Diego on Friday, we spent the day there Saturday, left that night to head to Phoenix for Sunday, then I flew home last night."

The Latino nodded, thoughtfully chewing his food, dropping the now exposed stick onto his tray. "So, are you guys, like, together now or something?" he questioned after swallowing, picking up his second corndog and ripping a huge chunk off the top.

Rubbing the back of his head, the blond shrugged, green eyes focused on the grass a few feet away. "I dunno. We never really said." Which just made him feel stupid as shit, because really, who gets fucked by a guy repeatedly—and returns the favor—without ever establishing what kinda relationship it was?

'A super horny guy who knew that it was his only chance to be with the man he wanted.'

Goddamn, his brain needed to fuck off already.

"But I mean," he started, holding his left forearm across his body and showing the bandana around his wrist to his friend. "He gave me this so I'd have a piece of him with me, so that's gotta count for something, right?" He looked up to see the other male's reaction, taking in the stupid smile on his face, the way his dark eyes sparkled, the giggles that were muffled by unchewed food. Kendall knew without a shadow of a doubt that had Carlos not had a mouth full of corndog, the motherfucker would be squealing.

Putting his arm back where it had been, he stared straight ahead of himself once more. "And I gave him my beanie and he told me to call and shit. Only I can't."

"Why not?"

The annoyance and sense of loss from earlier that morning came back, the blond grinding his teeth as his eyes narrowed. "Mom took my phone. And my laptop, radio, and car keys. Oh, and I'm also grounded forever."

Carlos' head see-sawed as he thought that over before shrugging in a carefree manner. "Serves you right," he commented, biting into his corndog.

Kendall rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the support, buddy."

"Well, think about it," the smaller male suggested. "How would you feel if your kid disappeared for an entire weekend?"

The blond snorted, shuffling in his seat again. "I'm not having kids. Ever."

"What if James wants one?"

He turned his head, giving his friend a "get fucking serious" look. "Dude, we spent one—" He held up a finger for emphasis "—weekend together. We're not getting married."

"You never kno-owww!" Carlos sing-songed, grinning around his food as he kicked his feet. Kendall simply rolled his eyes and scoffed out a "whatever", which made the other male giggle. "All I'm saying," the Latino began. "Is that you can't blame your mom for wanting to punish you 'cause what you did was fucked up. You scared the shit outta everyone disappearing like that."

The blond hung his head, fingers playing with the grass between his legs. "I know. But I wasn't really thinking about anyone else. I was just thinking about James, as fucked up and as selfish as that sounds."

"Love makes you do some crazy shit," the smaller male stated seriously, sounding a whole lot wiser than he usually did.

Kendall snorted. "You have no clue how right you are, 'Litos."

Snickers weren't a healthy meal. Kendall knew this. He just didn't give a fuck. Besides, the ads say that if you're hungry you should grab a Snickers, and while he wasn't in the mood to eat, he figured he should put something in his system other than water from the fountain so he didn't pass out. Mr Smitty would probably frown on that or something.

His shift at Sherwood's grocery went by without incident, his boss not saying anything about his weekend disappearance since he hadn't been scheduled to work then. The ride home was just as uneventful, no obnoxious assholes trying to run him over in their hurry to get somewhere they should've been fifteen minutes ago. Parking his bike in the garage, he hit the button to close the door then headed inside, leading him straight into the kitchen,

His mom was in there and he paused, unsure what to do or say. He wasn't in the mood to talk to her and had been hoping to avoid interacting with anyone for the rest of the night, but apparently his luck was still the same as it had always been: shitty.

"Kendall." Her voice was slightly surprised as she noticed him standing there, salad bowl in her small hands, probably on her way to put it on the dining room table. "You're just in time for dinner."

"Not hungry," he muttered, being completely honest. Sitting at the table with her wasn't appealing in the first place; sitting there and having to force food into his mouth and down to his stomach sounded like torture.

She let out an "uh huh", not seeming to believe him, which wasn't his problem. Shifting her weight, she stuck a hip out, leveling hard eyes onto his green ones. "If you're pissed about your phone—"

"Mom," he interrupted, not wanting to get into it, not wanting to actually have a convo about anything. "I'm not hungry."

Her lips twisted in a thoughtful pout, her eyes narrowing as they analyzed his face for any sorta hint that he was lying. She must've been satisfied with what she saw because she let it go, putting the salad bowl back on the counter before turning and heading to her purse as it sat against the wall at the end of the breakfast bar. Reaching inside, she rummaged around before finding what she wanted and taking it out. "Here," she stated, before tossing it over to him.

He caught the item easily, inspecting it. A cell phone. Cocking an eyebrow, he looked at her, the phone held up. "What is this?"

Arms folded over her chest, she met his puzzled stare with a steady one of her own. "A pre-paid cell. I figured if you somehow someway managed to end up in a ditch, you'd need it. There's only fifty minutes on it so if you run out, you're buying your own. I already programmed mine and Katie's numbers into it, as well as the house and my office, so if you wanna call anyone else, you'll have to remember the number yourself. Oh, and texting costs you a third of a minute."

Kendall nodded slowly, staring at the black flip phone in hand. He honestly didn't think they made these anymore. Didn't they all have touch screens and wifi capabilities? Wasn't it only old people who used these nowadays?

Salad bowl back in her grip, his mom started back on her trip to the dining room. "You don't have to eat with us tonight if you're not hungry, but you can't avoid me forever." With that, she left the kitchen and her son.

Shock and confusion kept him in the same place for a few moments longer, still staring at the flip phone. A cell was great and he honestly wouldn't mind putting some of his paycheck towards buying extra minutes for the piece of shit, but it wouldn't do him any good. He couldn't remember James' number. It was why he'd programmed the damn thing into his contacts, so he wouldn't have to. He'd explained that to Carlos earlier when the Latino had offered the blond use of his cell during lunch to call James and explain the situation so the singer wouldn't get pissed at having calls and texts ignored.

Sighing heavily, Kendall pocketed the device before leaving the kitchen. He supposed he should be a li'l grateful his mom took his earlier words to heart and had actually bought him something to help him in the event of an emergency, but all he could think about was what he couldn't do with it rather than what he could.