(a/n: ahhh sorry for the months-late update ;-; Honestly, I've been mostly unsure whether I should still continue updating this, but you know what? Big Time Rush is officially freaking back so heck it we're whilin' with this as a poor means of celebration! And also, I do wanna say a huge thanks to everyone who's somehow stuck around with this dumb fic for this long and left reviews and all that super cool stuff! Y'all are wonderful and those really mean a lot to me ( ˘⌣˘ )❤

As a final sidenote, the third half of this chapter is yet even more Logan messiness, and I've completely given up so I'm not gonna excuse it anymore, just rip: me. The next one's gonna be a Carlos chapter though, if I ever get around to editing it that is snsdkj)

"Someday, when you're alone
And feeling whatever, you're gonna remember
The times when we were dancing alone
And holding fake microphones
I hope those memories can make you feel alright
Turn up the radio, so what if we lose control?"

–LIKE NOBODY'S AROUND

Logan could still clearly picture his very first day there in his new school.

He was a bundle of nervous energy, sitting at the very back of the classroom all alone and unknowingly chewing on his bottom lip, trying his very best to ignore the rowdy sensory overload of the small room. The excruciating anxiety was searing holes in his heavy insides, and it was all he could do to keep himself still and as invisible as he can be, not wanting to cause a one-man earthquake from trembling so madly.

He made it. Sort of. He still had the rest of the day ahead of him, eight more hours of trying to survive before he could be safely back in doctor dad's Black Ice-freshened Honda Civic. And then they could pop quiz each other on the parts of the heart as they drove back home, where momma was patiently waiting with big smiles and warm hugs and his favourite pecan pie.

But the minutes were only stretching out longer and longer with each hitched breath, it seemed.

It had taken Logan's mom over ten minutes to soothe him enough to convince him to get out of the car, another five for him to convince his momma to not enter the school with him (lest St. Louis Elementary had the same sacred commandments upheld by devilish imps as Thornton's), and twenty-five and a half minutes of phantom pants-peeing and dry-heaving in one of the bathroom stalls that the new student immediately raced to and barricaded himself in, before he realised he might run late for his first class—and if he didn't show for first period, he might never make it out of that place alive. And only half a minute for the faulty tap faucet he was rinsing his face in to shoot up and make its mark on his brand new polo shirt.

Great. Even the school washbasin was already out for his blood.

So there Logan was, at 7:43 in the morning, already with a massive water stain in his clothes that he lamely concealed underneath his rucksack, in a poster paper-plastered room full of screaming strangers. In a lukewarm effort to relax, he had taken out a dogeared copy of 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke—one of his most favourite books—from his bag and buried his nose in it, but it didn't take long before his engrossed reading was abruptly interrupted by a noise.

"Dave," said Hal, "I don't understand why you're doing this to me...I have the greatest enthusiasm for the mission...You are destroying my mind...Don't you understand?...I will become childish...I will become nothing..."

"Ooh, lookie what we have here."

Already on edge from the fictional AI's lobotomised imploring, Logan just about jumped out of his skin as his desk softly creaked and a boy—a real-life human boy, eep!—leaned on the edge of it, staring down inquisitively as he towered over him. A tall and rather chunky build, hard hazel eyes peeking from a fringe of lengthy auburn hair, a confidently exuberant voice, everything about him just about screamed of a standard-grade popular kid—and perhaps even a possible bully. Which was a look Logan unfortunately knew all too well.

"Hey kiddo, that's my seat you're sitting in!"

"Is—is...is it?" Logan's mouth had turned sandpapery, and he felt like he might as well be the one getting the logic modules disconnected from his brain. "S-sorry, I didn't—I didn't—t-the teacher, she...she…"

The other boy's eyebrows furrowed doubtfully. "Did she? Why would Mrs. Willowbee do that? She like, knows I sit there, big duh! Like I've sat there everyday since the start of school year! I mean the old lady's cranky and old and probably also very forgetty and old, but why'ud she do this to me? Huh? Huh?"

He crowded in closer and closer as he pestered on, and the distressed Logan was unable to provide his young prosecutor any answers, apart from a small whimper that slipped past his mouth.

Logan felt like throwing up. Or fainting. Or throwing up and then fainting. He snuck a glance at his digital watch. Eleven minutes to eight. So much for first impressions...

"So," the boy's withering gaze yanked his attention back and transformed his entire digestive system into the Sahara desert, "you gonna give me back my chair or what?"

"I—I—it's...bleep blap bloop!"

"...What?"

"Hey, are you messing with someone again?" A less-threatening voice suddenly inquired from behind them. "Trying to pay Ollie and Danny back for their thumbtacks prank in math class yesterday or something? Jeez, it's not even first class yet, leave the poor guys alone! Or at least tell me if you're gonna to get in trouble again..."

A lanky boy with floppy blond hair came up and slapped the bully-looking boy's back, thankfully saving the gibbering Logan from any further interrogation. At first glance, Logan initially thought that the newcomer was maybe a couple grades older than them—perhaps even an accelerated student—as he seemed to carry himself in a more composed way than kids their age usually do; but his assumptions would soon be quickly proven wrong.

"Okay…" The blond boy craned his neck to peer at the swarthy boy currently scribbling an angry, fire-breathing dinosaur version of their elderly adviser on the chalkboard as another smirking classmate egged him on, before facing his friend. "So def'nutly not the Ollster and Dan-man. Who's it this time, huh?"

"No one! And I'm not messing with him—whoever this dummy even is—I'm just trying to get my seat back!"

"Umm, you know there's other seats in the classroom, right? Like, twenty-two of them, plus Mrs. Willowbee's chair of splintery doom? Or did you not learn to count 'cause like you were too busy yelling your thumbtacked butt off?"

"Shut up! And I called dibs on this one!" the bully-looking boy adamantly rattled the back of the chair, making Logan yelp and hold onto his bag for dear life. "Which means, this is my chair!"

"Ohhh, dibs-schmibs." the blond boy rolled his eyes at his friend's hissy fit. "Go sit next to Susie and make her day for once!"

"And ruin mine with her yucky slobber spray? Ugh, no thanks!"

"Hey, is he ruining yours, too?"

The two of them veered towards Logan, who was miserable-faced and practically welded to the spotty plastic chair at that point.

"I—I'm sorry, w-w-what…?"

"I'm not!" The bully-looking boy insisted as he fake-smiled at Logan, reminding him of those NatGeo nature documentaries showing a young wolf baring its fangs at fresh meat, all before the shocking pounce and the sickening crunch and gulp..."I'm not...right, kiddo?"

"Hey, stop it, you're scaring him!"

"And why do you care, huh?"

"'Cause if you try locking another poor kid in a supply closet again, I'm not gonna be there to bail your butt out from prinz' Horowitz...and also, you're just gonna get in big time trouble with your evil dad again!"

"Really?" the bully-looking boy sniffed out an affronted hmph as he crossed his arms. "Wow, guess Litos is my only true friend now..."

The blond boy rolled his eyes. "Drama queen."

"Eyebrow maniac!"

All the while, the edges of Logan's vision were blurring over into a vignetted tunnel, his hiccupy breaths coming up short and the back of his strained neck blasted with hot air. T minus ten seconds to disaster...he bit the inside of his cheek as he instinctively reached for the small pocket in his rucksack, but pulled his quivering fingers back at the last moment.

"H-he's...n-not…"

Nonono, don'tfaintdon'tfaintdon't...

"Hey, ignore him." The blond boy's vivid green eyes twinkled in fascination as they drew over to Logan, shining some clarity back to his dimming consciousness. "Are you okay?"

"I didn't even do anything to him!"

"Not talking to you!" He sniped at his indignant friend, before laying a hand on Logan's back, making him squeeze the life out of his rucksack, shoulders arching in alarm. But the blond boy simply patted it back down with unexpected gentleness and flashed him a lopsided dimple-dotted smile, the first friendly face he'd ever come across that day.

And with a couple minutes to spare before English class...huh...I did not see that coming...

"Anywaaay, you must be our new classmate, right? I think Mrs. Willowbee said stuff about that yesterday too, so hello! Sorry if my friend's being annoyballs, he's just born like that," this earned eyebrow maniac an irked head slap from drama queen, "but it's really nice to see a fresh face round these parts."

Logan's only response was a crushed-windpipe kind of noise.

"Oh, and my name's Kendall. Kendall Knight." The boy cheerfully greeted, and then gestured over to his bully-looking companion. "And that's James Diamond. He's a future rockstar—and the biggest meanie you'll ever meet in your entire life."

"Ahhh, get lost Kendizzle! I didn't know he was the new kid. Or there even was a new kid. So like, I promise I'm not gonna be a meanie to the 'lil scrawny bear. Yet." The boy named James playfully pushed his friend away before flashing a smug wink at Logan, who gulped back a shriek. "A-nee-way, my lucky pink shirt is super brand new, so I don't wanna get it bad dirty today. Not 'cause of mister seat stealer over here, and uh-zpecially not because of sneezy Susie!" he clutched at his collar and shuddered.

"Then what's that purple stain right there?" Kendall pointed out. "Juice Box grape juice?"

"Pfft, no! It's the new Krazy Kool 'Cuda hair gel, like what those guys who sang Girl You Are My Girl use—"

"You mean Boys in the Attic?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever! But I saw their commercial with Angel Angel while watching RoboRacers on Kidzie, aaand I finally got my mommy to buy the Tough 'Tude hair set for me, after like, a whole month of nonstop begging!" James frowned. "Well—I had to pay a bit with my own allowance and I also still have to mow the lawn an entire week for it too, but it's still super worth it! I look good!"

Eyes wide and lips pouted, he then raised both hands and wiggled his fingers towards the side of his face in a downward motion, as his head steadily bobbed synchronously with it.

That was the first time Logan had ever seen James do his signature hand-wavy move—the first of many, many, many more to come. He thought it was kind of funny, but he didn't dare laugh or even crack a smile, still starkly paralysed with trepidation.

"Sureeee Jamesie," Kendall drawled, and he grabbed his friend in a headlock, ignoring the mini scream James emitted as he gleefully started tussling up his sleek-swept hair. "Here, let me help you look even gooder!"

"Hey—! Quit it—let go of me, you big fat dummy—this took forever to style—!"

"A-ha, so that's why you ran late for the school bus today! What did mama Diamond have to say about that?"

"Nothing if you don't snitch, Kendork!" warned James shrilly, trying to elbow him back with no success. "And you better not!"

Kendall pretended to consider. "Hmmm...how much'll you pay me to keep quiet?"

"I'll pay you by not kicking your stupid ugly butt—now let! Me! Go!"

"Never!"

Seemingly already forgotten by the two squabbling boys yet again and all the more relieved for it, Logan stuffed the sci-fi book back into his bag, crept out of his—James'—chair, and tried to quietly slip away from them.

Forget learning about the parts of a speech, I'm getting outta here while I still have teeth left to talk with!

But before Logan could fully make a break for his life and finally find his sweet escape in some beloved locked bathroom stall, he immediately crashed right into someone else, dropping his rucksack and nearly falling down on the ground himself from the collision.

And one...blast off!

"Oh, sorry! I didn't see you there!"

The person he had bumped into, a short Latino boy wearing a hockey helmet that was far too big for him, spun right on his heels and began picking up his overturned belongings.

He did this in such a breakneck manner that Logan's eyes could barely follow the tiny hands swooping up his beloved novel and school books, his pencil case with a goofy tongue-stuck-out Einstein clipart, neatly-lined notebooks with 'Phoebe Nachee' scribbled in and the esteemed mathematician's name surrounded in tiny graphite hearts all over the back pages—even the tauntingly happy orange bottle labeled with tongue-twister names that Logan had worked so hard to bury underneath everything else went a-rattling, as all of them got tossed back into his leather Kenneth Cole's before he could have a pediatric aneurysm over his forsaken rucksack organisation.

This task, which took twelve point eight minutes for Logan to accomplish during his meticulous morning routine, took no more than ten seconds for the boy to finish. I wonder if there's a world record for speed-messing up someone's bag?

"There you go, s'all golden, no need for thankies, but hey, you're welcome!" The boy shoved the discombobulated rucksack onto the owner's arms, making him puff out a mousy squeak.

But before Logan could actually muster up some courage to properly express his thankies (more for the benefit of avoiding making any more future enemies, than actual heartfelt gratitude), the small boy started blinking rapidly and gave him a look so scouring, he was certain he felt the underside of his skull get polished.

"Say, waaaait-a-minuteeee...are you the new kid?!"

"How'd—how'd—how'd you know?" Logan hoarsely whispered, even though he knew it was a silly question to ask. With your deer-in-the-headlights look and nonstop stuttering and waterfall of gross sweat, how could anyone possibly not know, gee-nius?

"Well, it's a small town—everyone knows everyone here, and I don't know you yet, so...! Yeah! Oh oh ohhh, and my papi also told me he saw some people moving in at the old Richardson's house the other day, when he was doing his patrolling and stuff around the block!" The boy explained, his zeal remaining impressively steadfast. "I think he even said that he came around to help out and welcome you guys to the neighbourhood?"

So the scary-looking police officer who knocked on their door last Saturday was his father. Logan remembered that he had cowered behind his parents while they talked to him, terrified that he had already done something wrong and was going to get arrested for his unknown crime, but officer Garcia, I think that was his name?, was actually a really nice man—if not just intimidating-looking and hewn incredibly rough around the edges. And holding an incredibly deadly-looking truncheon, to boot.

But he slung the weapon back on his belt holster as he fished a cherry lollypop from his shirt pocket and handed it to Logan, who accepted it with a strained "thank ya—you, s-sir…". The officer then winked as he told him "Welcome to our humble town, and stay out of trouble, youngster!", before wishing the Mitchells a wonderful afternoon and going on his merry way, wolfishly whistling all the way back to his patrol motorcycle.

Taking a quick glance at the energetic boy flouncing on his heels in front of him, Logan could certainly spot the family resemblance.

"A-nee-wayzies, hello hi-ho heyooo, I'm Carlos!" The boy's breathless voice crashed with his train of thought cowcatcher-first, and he took Logan's clammy hand in his own without any warning and vigorously shook it. "Let's be friends!"

Taking notice of their rather one-sided conversation, Kendall finally released the disgruntled James, whose once-tidy hair was now wildly sticking up in all directions, and approached the both of them.

"Heyyy, I see you've met our town troublemaker and wildcard. Everyone calls Carlitos here el tasmanian devil—and you could probably guess why." He wryly introduced to Logan. "And he like wants to be friends with everyone, even the class pet!"

"Yeah, who hates the butt outta him." James chimed in.

"Wrong! Chippy bit me only twice today, so I really think he's starting to warm up to me!" Carlos nodded hopefully, beaming wider at them.

Logan's entire right arm still kind of felt numb from his super-intense handshake, but the sight of the boy's bright smile was enough to make him feel instantly at ease.

"I'm L-L-Logan." He stammered back shyly, and he was careful not to use his first name this time around. Hortense. He loved his parents and all, but gosh, did he resent the weird name they gave him with a burning passion—no offence to his eponymous grandfather though. But it didn't exactly help his case back in his old school, and he wasn't about to take any chances now. Not when he was doing so well, so far.

Well, somewhat halfway okay-ish...at least?

Feeling less unnerved by that assessment, Logan sucked in a slow breath and straightened up, consciously smoothing out the wrinkles on his mildly-damp shirt. He extended one trembling hand—his left one, this time—towards Carlos to properly introduce himself. Just like his momma had made him rehearse in her station wagon, a million times over all the way to school. As if her Hortie was really planning to make friends with the whole student body—I'd be lucky enough to bag this deal and come out on the other side alive with an awkward lunch buddy!

He shook the cynical thought away and reiterated, "Logan Mitchell. It's really nice to m-meet ya—you."

This time around, Carlos ignored his hovering hand and hollered out "new chum hug!", before jumping right at him.

Logan cringed as his whole body immediately stiffened up, not really used to such bold displays of greetings. For a second, he terrifiedly thought that Carlos was going to tackle him to the ground and kick his geeky butt to smithereens (he still had a few yellowed bruises on his elbows from the last time some playground-loitering eighth graders did that to him, while he was out holding a Mr. Cow and Mrs. Kangaroo's Chemistry Bonanza puppet show for his squirrel audience by the sandbox), or something of the violent kind.

But the smaller boy simply stepped back after a few seconds of hugging—which, to its recipient, impossibly felt like forever and a half—quickly ruffled Logan's hair, picked up his dropped jaw for him, and flashed the flabbergasted new kid another dazzling grin.

"He smells like Irish Spring and apple cinnamon Cheerios and morning sweat...and that's my favourite kinda smell! I really super like him!" Carlos told James and Kendall, poking at Logan's dimple for extra emphasis.

Logan sneezed and excused himself, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his nose. He was still a bit dazed from the unexpected hug, and then again from Carlos's unabashed quirkiness.

The kid was definitely weird. But he was good weird. Interesting weird.

Not bad weird, like him.

"Well duh, you like everyone anyway, Los."

"Aw shucks, don't get super jelly now Jay-Jay," the smaller boy smushed his cheek against his best friend's face, "you know that I love you a lot too!"

"Yuuuck, don't be so lame-o like that in front of everyone, ya dum-dum!" whined James, but despite this, he didn't pull away from Carlos's affectionate hold.

"Hey, looks like you got the Garcia seal of approval, Logan." Kendall chuckled. "Welcome to the club! The very, very big club."

"Club? Is there a club?" In his newfound excitement, Logan completely forgot himself for a moment. "Oh, I've heard of the fun extracurriculars and interscholastic activities here in Duluth, I've done a quick internet research on doctor dad's computer before enrollment and I'm really hoping that they got something quite riveting for the mind this year, like—like highly interesting science fairs and competitive math decathlons!"

He was met with total silence and blank stares from the three boys, and he abruptly clamped a hand over his mouth once he realised he had rambled aloud, his face blossoming red in agonised embarrassment. The flower-shaped wall clock behind Logan struck eight, and he could almost hear the mournful bells tolling to the beat of his imminent doom.

Darn it, I messed up again! Now they know I'm a total nerd. And they're gonna hate me for it and tease me and call me a geek and mess with me for the rest of my life and...and…Logan winced and instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for that first painful blow.

But to his surprise, he only felt a familiar gentle hand clasping at his shoulder.

"Smart kid." Kendall warmly smiled at Logan, quickly subsiding his initial anxiety. His paranoid imagination suddenly seemed so foolish to him now, and he pushed it into the hypothetical grave initially meant for him as he met his classmate's viridian gaze with more resolve.

"We're totally gonna need one of those around." The blond boy smirked. "What d'you say, James?"

James narrowed his eyes at Logan. Slowly reached inside his coat. Logan squirmed in his seat.

Three, two, one...

With this, James flipped his messy fringe once, took out a pocket mirror and a small comb, and started carefully brushing his hair.

"Yeah. You're cool." was his suave verdict.

Logan's cheeks flushed fiercely with pride. Logan Mitchell, cool? One of the coolest kids ever like James Diamond, calling him cool? The bullies from his old school would have just sneered it sarcastically in his face to taunt him, 'ya think yer so cool just 'cause you wear ugly ties and know some fancy words, Hordweeb? Ya freak of nature!', before pushing him into the janitor's closet and locking it behind them and leaving him all alone in the dark; sobbing and shivering and shouting for help until the custodian has to drop by to get his mop only to finally find him lying completely catatonic behind a shelf of floor cleaner bottles...

But...Logan wasn't back there anymore. He was here. In a nice-ish classroom, in what just might be a nicer neighbourhood and school. And with the nicest kids he had ever met in his entire life. He probably would've burst into relieved tears then and there, but he swallowed it back and tried his very best not to lose it and thermonuclear-meltdown into a giant blubbering crybaby in front of the whole class. After all, the clock was still ticking and he could still mess this up without even trying, so he really had to try not to.

Have to act cool have to act cool have to act cool…

"Well, I guess that settles it. You're a part of our gang now, Loganator!" Kendall concluded with a wink. "That is, if you wanna be, of course."

"Of course!" Logan said, maybe just a little too enthusiastically. Even the Ollster and Dan-man took a moment out of their chalkboard-vandalising, to swat away the white dust and check out what the nutty new kid was hollering about. But he simply couldn't help it, just as much as he also couldn't help but toothily grin at the nickname given to him. It was a silly nickname, yes, but it was a far better one compared to all the horrible names he had long been used to hearing before.

And Kendall gave it to him. As a new friend. As his friend. As a part of their little group.

Logan never had any real friends before...but now he suddenly had three of them. Three people who had all graciously welcomed him and accepted him for who he was, even when they barely knew him. The new nickname felt like such a momentous rite of passage to him.

"Heyyy, that means the coolest gang in Minnesotie is finally complete!" Carlos hooted out, doing an amusing little victory dance and passing everyone a high five, and the rest of the boys gleefully passed some high fives and fist bumps at each other—more of them directed towards Logan, until his hand started to turn red and hurt a bit. But he didn't mind it at all.

As a matter of fact, he had never felt better.

"Hey, wanna join us to play hockey after school?" invited Carlos.

The unexpected offer momentarily pulled Logan out of his soaring cloud nine.

"Uhhh...maybe, but I—I don't really know how to play hockey...or like, any k-kinda sports, really." he meekly admitted. "I mean, I'm—I'm not t-that strong."

"WHAT?!" The smaller boy hollered, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him ferociously. "You've never ever played the bestest sport in the whole wide universe EVER? YOU HAVE NEVER LIVED! WHY, LO-HO-GAN, WHYYYY? THINK ABOUT THE CHILDREN!"

"I d-don't—there's no—ice rinks—Te—xas—mmph—!" Logan blubbered, his cheeks puffing up dangerously.

"Hey, quit it, he's turning green!" Kendall made a grab for Logan and safely eased him out of their hyperactive friend's hold. "Sorry about that, Loges. Carlos is just...a bit crazy for hockey. Well, I mean, we all kinda are. And if it makes you feel any better, we could totally teach you how to play. It's a really fun game, and with that giant brain of yours, I think you're prob'ly gonna learn the ropes quickly enough!"

"Yeah, and don't mind el tasmanian devil all turning you into a, like, person smoothie there, 'cause we'll go easy on you, kiddo. We promise." said James, and Logan could tell that he really meant it.

"O-okay…"

"Awesome! We'll see you out there in the field later!" Carlos said, rapping a hand on his helmet. He then grabbed a yellow and brown hockey uniform hanging from the chair right next to James', a huge shirt that perfectly matched his equally-oversized helmet. He sloppily wormed his way into this clothing, his head cartoonishly popping out of the collar hole like an overwound whack-a-mole.

As Carlos did so, Logan turned away to sneeze again. He uttered out muffled apologies from beneath his hanky, mentally scolding himself for failing to check the weather report's pollen count before leaving for school.

"Wait-a-rinoooo, you've never been to the field, have you?" The smaller boy realised, scratching at his helmet. "Ah, then I guess we'll have to walk with you there too!"

"Yeah, and maybe we could also give you a little tour of St. Louis and stuff, too!" suggested James. "Not like there's much to see here, but like, Kendork here loves playing tour guide for the new kids, which we also don't have a lot of, which is why he luuurves doing it, dontcha, blondie?"

"Hey, shut it!"

"You shut it first!"

"And there they go again…" Carlos shrugged apologetically at Logan. "Sorries. You'll get used to it. Ish."

"—ha-ha, yeah right, reaaaal original, Jame-sie."

"Your dumb face isn't even original!"

"Oh really? Hmm...wonder what mommy Diamond's gonna think of her darling sweetums Jay-bug being all late for school and stuff, huh?" Kendall struck a taunting pose. "Wanna find out if her punishment's gonna be original too, or are you gonna have to mow every lawn in our neighbourhood for free...again?"

"You…" James' teeth gritted so hard, Logan was almost certain it would shatter to bits before his very eyes. "You stupid meanie, you better not—"

"A school tour s-sounds good." He reluctantly cut in and gave everyone a pacifying grin, cutting drama queen and eyebrow maniac's umpteenth argument short. "Um, real good. I can't wait."

"Me too! But we have to though, 'cause there's still many boooring hours of mind-mushing class to deal with…" Carlos groaned as he dramatically collapsed on his seat.

James formed two thumbs down and blew a raspberry in agreement to this, while Logan bristled with anticipation. Kendall, however, simply grew quiet, thoughtfully peering at his oldest friend as he noticed something strange.

"Hey, what's that weird stuff all over your hockey shirt?"

"Oh uhhh...I think it's Chippy's fur?" Carlos tilted his head downwards, trying to inspect his sports uniform. "I've kinda been sneaking in to give him a petty fluff every morning before Mr. Rayleigh comes into the science room." He tutted. "That 'lil gerbil's a tough rat to please."

"Wait, d-did ya say g-g-gerbil?" Logan shrieked out. "G-get—get it away! I'm—I'm—I'm terribly allergic to them!"

He began flailing about in panic, covering his face with his handkerchief as he attempted to scramble away from Carlos. James immediately stepped in front of the agitated Logan and spread his arms wide to shield him from the deadly allergen, as Kendall stood up, dragged Carlos away, produced his own hanky from his cargo shorts pocket, and proceeded to patiently dust his fur-covered friend.

"Sheesh, it's only his first here, Litos, don't try to kill our new friend..." James dryly reproved him, "Again!"

"I'm super super duper sorry Lo, swear to Gretzky, I like, didn't know you were allergic to them!" Carlos just about swallowed some of the flying shreds of gerbil fur as he frantically apologised above Kendall's head. "Just being real dumb again, I guess...oh, and I'm allergic to bees, if you want some payback—I think Mr. Rayleigh also keeps some of those in the science room. Except I think they're kinda dead and stuck in some clear yellow rocks and I don't really know why?"

"Ewww, why would anyone wanna keep dead bugs anyway?" James scrunched up his nose in disgust. "Just thinking about it's making me feel itchy. Super weird, teach!"

"They have fossilised amber specimens here?" Logan mumbled distractedly. "Cool, I gotta check that out sometime…"

"Whazzat?"

"I uh, I mean—it's, it's totally okay Carlos...there, there's nothing to be sorry about, really. I have like a million other allergies anyway and ya—you never would've guessed it." Logan shrugged, gingerly peeking out from behind James' back. "Maybe I should be the one who's sorry, 'cause, um, I have a feeling that Chippy and I won't be hitting it off anytime soon!"

His joking remark made everyone laugh, and Logan raised his eyebrows at the positive reaction. People laughing with him, not at him? Now that's definitely a first.

And he enjoyed every second of it.

"There you go little Los, you're all good—wait, hang on...oops, missed a spot. Hold still."

Ceremoniously pushing back the neon green RadioAction Heroes watch and loose bracelets on his forearms, Kendall inhaled and blew a huge breath to fend the final offender away. The stray fur gently floated out of the hockey shirt...and right into Carlos's nostrils.

Carlos's round nose twitched. He sneezed. His oversized helmet unsteadily wobbled on his head. He sniffed once, furiously rubbed at his nose, and held onto one of the seats to steady himself. Just when the entire class of 3-A (who had stopped their aimless screaming to watch the bizarre spectacle) thought that it was finally over, Carlos's lips revved with a sprinkling of fresh spittle as he went full Susie on them and began sneezing uncontrollably.

The poster papered-walls of the small classroom resounded with the delighted voices of twenty-two children counting off every bellowed a-choo! in unison as they clapped along to the rhinal rhythm, all before the sheer force of their schnoz champion's continuous sneezes made him lose balance, sending Carlos toppling over the desk; while the giant helmet flew off his head and found its mark on an unsuspecting classmate's head with a loud clunk.

Kendall and James fell into hysterics at the ridiculous sight, and had to steady themselves by holding onto Logan's arms. The victim of the projectile headgear—some girl Logan later learned was named Jenny Tinkler—indignantly shrieked as she tried to throw the helmet back at the amused boys, only to have it impossibly return her way like a boomerang and hit her smack in the nose once again. The rest of the class exploded in a fit of schoolyard celebration and ecstatic applause.

At last, Carlos stopped sneezing, and he wiped his face on his ginormous Minnesota Wild shirt, leaving a trail of smudged dirt on his forehead. He jumped up on the rickety table and rewarded his audience with his perfect bedazzling smile and a final grand bow, before falling back-first straight into James and Kendall's awaiting arms and bursting out in a fit of giggles as they attacked him with a "super winner tickle party time!"

And sure enough, Logan found himself cheering and laughing along with his three new friends, his rucksack in a right state, his expensive shirt soaked with sweat and washbasin geyser and happy tears, the ringing morning bell and Mrs. Willowbee's adenoidal screeching for her class to pipe down all but ignored, and only a singular thought prevailing in his hopeful mind.

I'm home. I'm finally home.

Well, as wonderfully cinematic as such a moment was, that happy ending wasn't quite the ending for Logan yet, unfortunately.

His memory wasn't as selective as Carlos's, so while Logan's best friends always loved retelling their first meeting with a flourish of that triumphant note, he couldn't help but to begrudgingly postscript in the horrible pantsing he received from the coolest gang in Minnesotie in the cafeteria, later that afternoon. Not only was it the actual rite of passage in said gang, but it also made the then-new kid St. Louis Elementary's lunchtime special laughingstock of the day.

The entire student body laughing at him?

It wouldn't be the last.

Was the whole joyous morning nothing but a heartbreaking sham, then? Were Logan's newfound friends actually going to be his new torturers? Was he still stuck in his neverending bully-busted nightmare and would finally have to beg his momma and doctor dad for homeschooling, after all?

Far from it. To their credit, Kendall, James, and Carlos did immediately apologise afterwards, with the profuse and overlapping assurances that "every one of us has already done it, Lo…" "—you're just super lucky you didn't forget to wear your tighty-whites like Carlitos here did…" "—everyone lost their lunch and ran away going yelly and stuff, and the food ladies almost cooked us into dinner specials for it...Ken-ken con carne with a side of mashed James, can you imagine? Yeuch..."

And if that wasn't enough, they even gave Logan their shares of chocolate pudding and Fruit Smackers to make up for it, as they all put their heads together and sincerely vowed to never prank him again—at least, never without allowing him a fair revenge. Unbeknownst to the fledgling band of friends, the beginning chapters of their soon to be long-standing prank wars had actually come into fruition with that fateful promise.

After dismissal, the four of them walked to the sports field for their promised match, arms comfortably interlocked together and their school-issued hockey sticks towering over them as they joked around and listed fun facts about themselves and their neighbourhood, as well as generally chatting about random things. Well, the shy-stricken Logan was actually doing more responding than talking, but his new friends didn't seem to mind, and Carlos's sensational mile-a-minute mouth was doing enough talking for all of them and then some, anyway.

Halfway through the not-so-grand school tour, as Kendall was listing off St. Louis supertastic fun fact number thirty-one, and Carlos was literally holding James back from turning their friend's head into a blondie puck, Logan coyly offered to do their math homework for them in exchange for more future hockey lessons. He knew it was pretty much a chump deal, but he just really wanted to learn how to play the sport and get physically stronger—and hopefully get to spend more time with Kendall, Carlos, and James while he was at it. Plus, he enjoyed studying math anyway, so a few extra minutes of equation-solving wouldn't really be too much of a bother to him.

As expected, the three boys instantly agreed with his deal, and the four boys played their very first hockey game as a team that afternoon. Not having any prior knowledge about the sport, Logan was made to act as the goaltender.

"S'easy 'nuf Logie, you just stand there and don't let the super fast and very super deadly flying pucks get into the net, easy peasy arrrroz and cheesy!" was Carlos's sage advice for the nervous newbie as he equipped him with a goalie mask. James then followed this up with "But just like, don't catch them with your cute face, okay, kiddo? It's very, very serious to not get the face all messed up, like very seriously serious." (cue grave hand-wavy signature move).

As soon as they were all geared up, Kendall gave Logan a couple of good luck pats on his back and cheerily exclaimed "as we say in hockey, break everything!", before taking center position and slapping his stick against the ground twice with a shout, signaling the start of the game.

Even as someone who was posted relatively far from the action, the game was still quite the thrill to watch for Logan. It was such a crazy brutal thrill of hockey sticks and roughhousing and scrambling and screaming and projectile pucks from elated best friends who were caught up in the senseless rush of it all, and having the time of their lives. And Logan loved it so much that he was already looking forward to next week. And the next. And the next after that. And the rest of his life.

In the end, Logan did staunchly follow through at least some of his teammate's advice, as he didn't dare save any pucks flying anywhere near his head.

Because of this, he also ended up saving exactly none of the shots.

However, he did lose not just the whole game, but also a tooth, from getting simultaneously body-slammed by James and Carlos as they raced each other for the puck, knocking the wind out of Logan as he caught the net pole right across his cute face. Of course, Kendall gave both his guilty teammates an earful of reprimanding for this violent mishap.

"Now you two dummies are killing our new friend!"

But Logan wasn't bothered by his new injuries at all—"like a true brother of the ice," the impressed Kendall had praised him. In fact, he even wore it as a badge of honour as he raced back to their house, already having committed the route to memory and not wanting to wait around for doctor dad with his assorted aortic valve trivia and Black Ice-freshened car to come pick him up from school.

Upon his speedy arrival, before Logan's momma could even give him a welcome-home kiss (that he believed he was getting too old for anyhow), the young boy paraded past their front door and proudly presented the bloody bicuspid to her, along with his first game hockey puck, which James told him to keep as his and Carlos's way of apology.

Joanna Mitchell was initially mortified at the alarming sight of her scuffed-up child, thinking that the cardinal evil in Temple they were trying to escape from had somehow followed them all the way to their new home, even thousands of miles away. But her worry was quelled upon noticing Hortie's strangely bouncy demeanour, and as she went about patching him up, hearing more excited stories about his nice-ish classroom and nicer classmates and nicest hockey-playing friends and how wonderful his first day turned out.

At Logan's mention of Carlos 'with the giant helmet and sweaty chum hugs and hundred-thousand lumen bright smile' and his coincidental connection to Officer Garcia, the overjoyed mother ended up calling the number that was given to them by the mentioned policeman to say hello and catch up, as well as to politely ask for the contact information of the other boys' families.

With this, Joanna extended a cordial invite to her son's new friends and their parents for a housewarming dinner at the Mitchell's residence—Wednesday evening at 7:30 PM sharp, and everyone more than gladly accepted the offer.

Subsequently, this simple invitation led to one of the most chaotic dinner parties ever to grace the quiet neighbourhood of West Duluth, Minnesota.

It started off innocuous enough, with a pan of charred casserole left in the oven a bit too long and James's extremely-energetic pet dog Fox finding his way to it. But it rapidly devolved into unmitigated four-family pandemonium, with Mrs. Knight constantly having to act as an exasperated mediator between Mr. Diamond and Dr. Mitchell's heated political discussions, Carlos and James' constant attempts to start a mini food fight with their dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets, and Logan's extracted tooth somehow ending up in a serving of Mrs. Garcia's 100% organic Sancocho Dominicano.

There were also three fire engines and an ambulance that were called into the scene by concerned neighbours, along with a filed police report that Officer Garcia took care of by unkindly telling the frightened station receptionist to "sign it and shove it up where the sun don't shine already so we could all get going, mijo!" while his son and wife held him back with paired apologetic smiles.

Just when the evening was simmering down to tooth-free desserts and invigorating Texas hot cocoa, Kendall called for attention from the congregated families. When it was given to him, he proceeded to rattle off an entire welcome speech, that he had prepared with the help of his baby sister, for the Mitchells. But this adorably wholesome gesture was punctuated by a big bow that sent Kendall's elbow accidentally knocking over Katie's mug of warm drink—all over the white lace tablecloth, the upholstered dining chairs, the newly-bought plush pile carpet, and his unfortunate audience.

To top it all off, the generous gift package of Diamond Cosmetics' specially-formulated face revitaliser and skin-smoothing lotion set nearly gave Mrs. Mitchell second degree facial burns when she first tried it out, to appease the giver; though her main regret was calling Mrs. Diamond for help in a fit of agonised panic, and simply getting giggled at and assured by the CEO of the Estée Lauder of the Midwest that "oh honey, the burn just means it's working!"

Surely enough, the resulting cleanup was rough, even for expert whiz cleaner Joanna Mitchell. As she went about accomplishing this sisyphean undertaking, her yellow-gloved thumb was constantly one speed-dial press short of just leasing their family another residence from her real estate agency's catalogue, so they could start over from scratch. But with ample help from her very gleeful Hortie and doctor dad's hearty wisecracking, they all managed to pull through in the end.

The rowdy spectacle of the whole event also made the main participants the talk of the town for years to come, and that was a cleaning act far beyond even the mother and son duo's incredible sanitation powers' prowess. But, turbulent first party or not, it still forged lifelong connections between the four families, and it certainly made the Mitchells feel a lot more welcome and comfortable with settling into their new home.

They also never hosted a single dinner party again, for the rest of their lives.

That was the very day the friendship between the four boys was immortalised. And to Logan, it was also the very day his life was saved.

Him, and Kendall, and James, and Carlos, they all clicked together like perfect puzzle pieces, completing each other despite their missing parts, inseparable to one another's bigger picture. They loved each other like brothers—sometimes even more than any arbitrary familial connection ever could, it seemed—and Logan's three best friends had been his rock and helpers.

The evil spirits of Thornton didn't get a chance to haunt him, after all, as his newfound family and protectors defended him from the school bullies and other jerks who tried to target him. They always picked him back up whenever his clumsy self inevitably got hurt; sometimes while playing hockey, but mostly while they're doing some big time troublemaking together. They even took care of Logan without hesitation during the darker times, when his mental struggles clawed their way back up and tried to dredge him back to the nadirs of self-undoing.

Along with this, the three also did their very best to help get Logan out of his introverted shell and boost his shaky confidence, slowly but surely, as they wholeheartedly supported him and his dreams, making him feel more at ease about who he was and who he wanted to be.

Kendall with his gooey yet effectively uplifting pep talks and anxiety-quelling comfort snuggles. James with his inexhaustible self-care tips, fashion advice, and arranged double dates, when his Logiebear was far too shy to ask a girl out. Carlos with the devilish twinkle in his eye and a neverending zest for adventure, as he dragged the unwilling Logan hand in hand along into whatever trouble the smaller boy had in mind, reminding him of what thrill and fun felt like. What being alive felt like.

To his friends, Logan wasn't just some freako dweeb. He was their favourite freako dweeb and they loved him, weirdness and dweebishness and all. And somehow, maybe that made him enough.

Well, maybe it also helped his case that his weirdo dweebish ways were quite handy for schoolwork troubles. But at least Logan's friends were a little less 'do my homework or die forever' persuasive and a lot more civilised about asking for help—and actually asking for help. They never outright demanded that Logan do everything for them all by himself, instead inviting him as a tutor to study with them, or his more favourite method, bribing him with his favourite Juice Box juice and garlic toast, when the letters in their report card were more red than black ink and reaching the critical point of severe grounding-zone.

But those were the days, because now Logan had to do most of the academic legwork for everyone gratis. It was no easy feat, having to memorise world history facts and answering geometric equations alongside having to memorise 'girl'-riddled song lyrics with complex dance moves and answering sacks of fan mail. The last time he had to cram three weeks' worth of missed schoolwork after just getting back from their first-ever countrywide tour, Kelly and Gustavo (and Griffin's vague threats of poison usage) were breathing down the genius band member's neck all throughout, and it nearly killed him—and nearly prevented Big Time Rush from performing at K-Blast's famous Rocktoberfest.

But this was his small way of sacrifice for getting to join in the fame machine operation, Logan supposed. If his gears didn't grind hard and he failed his side of the upkeep, then Miss Collins would give them less-than-C-pluses, and they would all fail the Actors, Singers, and Performers Association's mandated standards to keep their grades at least average, and BTR would end up failing as a band.

And I'm not about to fail my best friends or Gustavo and Kelly or myself, and I'm not gonna go down in history as a big time failure, whatever it takes.

Because as far as he was concerned, not a single Mitchell has been any kind of a failure yet. Not the ancestor Mitchells who made it all the way from Scotland to America and dutifully served as ship's surgeons while they were at it, not strict headmistress gramammy and staunch homesteader Hortense Mitchell senior, not successful glib-tongued momma and doctor dad Mitchell and the entire doctorate-decorated side of his family, and future Doctor Hortense Logan Mitchell certainly didn't want to be the first to break tradition.

Yeah, Hortense may be a really dumb-sounding name, but grampappy's probably gonna jump out of his grave and take me back into the hole with him if I soil it in any way!

Logan shuddered at the thought of his zombified grandfather, and then again at their shared flowery name. It reminded him of the dreaded time that the guys found out about his unconventional first name, no thanks to his mom's embarrassing nickname habit slipping up.

But they didn't make fun of him for it, like he once greatly feared. Instead, Logan's best friends told him that it was a very special-sounding name (Carlos even said it was like a cooler version of his favourite elephant character from a Dr. Seuss book), and started affectionately referring to him as 'Hortense' to make him feel more familiar to them. That is, up until Mrs. Diamond's not-so gentle request about revoking the idea because she didn't like the name abruptly changed their minds again.

At least he had that one to thank scary mama Diamond for.

But the one thing Logan could always count on, even with his bizzaro name, even if he did somehow fail their classes and fail the band and fail med school, even if he was just a freako dweeb—even if he was who he was—was that Kendall, Carlos, and James would always be there for him, no matter what. They would never simply dump him if his zaniness and crazy mistakes blew up in everyone's faces.

And no, Logan wasn't just talking about some science experiment oopsies, though there had been a fair share of that too...

Like when I tried to make a super hair regrowth formula for James after his own science class oopsie with Jenny Tinkler made him as bald as a pretty-faced egg...but then all it managed to do was turn him into a pretty-faced sasquatch. And then Kendall and Katie-cat had to work together to shave off all the excess hair off him—but not before Carlos wanted to use his Jay-jay as a lure to get pictures of Mrs. Bigfoot...and James nearly blew me sky-high with Litos's secret stash of firecrackers for that!

But despite this and other disastrous misgivings in pursuit of knowledge, his friends still never made Logan feel like an outcast or a loser for liking the nerdy things that he liked. Yes, they teased and bickered and fought with him sometimes, but they all loved teasing each other anyway—and they were never cruel about it, and they never ever made him feel like he was worthless.

And whenever Logan did feel worthless, or got hurt in some way or another, or had the weight of the whole world (or some bully's mucky Doc Martens) pressing down on his shoulders, he could always trust his best friends to be there, standing right beside him, ready to fight for him.

Kendall, the de facto leader of their group, and James, the strongest one, always stepped up to the challenge.

And now they're fighting against each other.

The retrospection quickly turned sour in Logan's mouth, making his jaws clench. It all felt like nothing but a sick joke to him. A sick, drawn-out, unfunny joke heading into perpetual stalemate. Sure, he wasn't afraid of bad endings, but when the bad ending was gonna be for them...well, that was a whole different story. And it wasn't one that was going to comfort him.

And how long would it take? How long before he and Carlos are forced to take sides? How long before his battling friends keep digging around for more petty ammunition and spout more regrettable things, until everyone gets involved in the fight and they all start going against each other's cases, until everyone hates everyone else? How long before the chasm between the four of them cuts deeper and deeper, until the damage is irreversible and it could no longer be crossed, and the KendallJamesCarlosLogan pangaea starts drifting apart into nothing more than a forgotten footnote falling under their histories?

How long before I would be left all alone again?

Logan momentarily stopped throwing the hockey puck, curling his fingers around it until the hard edges dug right into the creases of his skin. His shivery, shivery skin.

It was obnoxiously selfish of him to think of such things. To still think about himself in the middle of all this mess. It wasn't about him and his stupid loneliness, it was about his best friends. It seemed that the very state of their whole friendship was now delicately hanging on a precarious balance, and Logan couldn't tell who would topple off first and take the rest down with them.

The more Logan thought about it, the more he realised that it was a huge part of the reason why he was feeling extremely helpless. He couldn't stop feeling like he also pulled one of the integral bricks from under their feet and was partially to blame somehow, even if he knew perfectly well that he wasn't, not really. Or was he? He wasn't too involved in this problem. And maybe that was exactly his problem?

Maybe I didn't try my best to stop it. Maybe I was being too much of a coward, like I always am. But then again, I don't know the full truth, either...so what could I have done? I don't know what else Kendall knows. Or what James really wants. I don't even know what to think anymore, honestly.

But as bad as it was looking for the both of his friends, with Kendall's questionable misstep that led to the whole fallout in the first place, and James blindly lashing out at everyone including him—especially him?—Logan didn't really want to choose sides. He loved both Kendall and James, and he could see both the wrongs and the rights in either of their situations.

He also couldn't help but to worry about Carlos, who was a very volatile force when it came to intense conflicts like these, and processed his emotions rather differently. Sometimes he even worked himself into paracosm fantasies that seeped into reality, or one of those personality-switching moods to cope, and the boy genius quietly suspected it included episodes of actual mania and fugue and really needed to get checked out. But it remained within Carlos for the time being, since his older friend hated doctors that weren't Logan's doctor dad and Logan himself (even if he wasn't technically one yet).

But whatever the case, whenever the worst side of Carlos, the overemotional, fantasy-maladapted, superhero-vigilant Carlos—Angry Carlos, Logan thought he once heard Kendall refer to it like that—was unleashed, it spelled out trouble for everyone in capital letters. Especially Carlos himself.

So maybe Logan had to toughen out and be the one picking choices for the rest of his situationally-compromised friends, if need be. But for making himself out to be the most logical one in the group, he absolutely hated having to make decisions.

Especially ones as terrifyingly drastic as this one.

Scared to choose the wrong one and mess things up forever, scared that there's no right one and things will be messed up no matter what he chose, scared that he would simply hem and hee and haw and stall like he always did until time inevitably ran out and it would be too late to fix things, scared scared scared, that's all he ever was.

Hortense Logan Mitchell, a big freaking scaredy cat with a destructive indecisiveness streak and a huge paranoid brain.

He shook the self-deprecating title away and resumed with his mindless game, grumbling scornfully to himself. Fat load of good his huge brain did him now, anyway. He couldn't rocket science his way out of this one, even if he tried. Maybe he should start making blueprints for friendship science, instead.

How could you do that when you couldn't even speak a word without constantly saying the wrong things to your friends and messing everything up further, dummy? Maybe you should've just gone after Kendall first and waited for James to calm down. Or maybe you should've shut up when James told you to. Then maybe he wouldn't have gotten really mad again, and you would still have friends.

...or maybe that's what you really wanted...to lose the ones you have left? Why? Because you don't deserve them?

Or because they shouldn't have to deserve putting up with you?

Not for the first time in his life, Logan jadedly wondered if he should get new friends. Or heck, maybe just ditch the whole 'making friends' thing and catch an early flight to Bolivia and finally be alone to raise alpacas, so that he could finally save himself from all the unnecessarily exhausting teenage melodrama.

It was just...a lot. Far too much, sometimes. As much as he despised the burden of his mental afflictions, he could at least count on it to keep him just a little more grounded. Meanwhile, every single person he'd met in LA was bordering towards some kind of an overblown caricature—if not a ham-fisted stereotype, and every moment had to be taken with breaths held while waiting to see what plot twist would sideswipe them next. Even Logan himself was admittedly getting swept up in the insanity of it all.

From finished concerts, reality shows, halloween weirdness, Sheik sneakers-selling, Kat and dog-fighting, break-up boo-hoos, Christmas with Snoop Dogg, live TV lolling, beach parties, prank wars, crazy fans, and the usual songwriting and album busyness with a side of chili-cheese factory fries on the side...what was next? Another world-shaking breakup or a wedding? A superhero team-up or a strike? Maybe even a new cool girl to fight over? The possibilities were literally endless.

But this was Hollywood, land of the milk-rich and honey-fakers. Yet somehow Logan's current friend group hailing all the way from the idyllic Midwest almost wasn't any better, as they all held a rather warped view on reality and perceived the world through their own personal tinted glasses. And being in a larger-than-life city where this kinda wacky behaviour was enabled and even greatly encouraged wasn't exactly helping their cases, either.

Kendall's was crimson. He was a man of his words, a staunch go-getter, both the blood running through vital veins and a bleeding sunrise at morning, of a sailor's warning. James' was golden, a passionately royal colour, a stand-out among the commoners, glamorous and scintillating yet with a surprising exceptional softness disgusted by its precious veneer. Carlos's was roseate, as tawdry as the cliché was. The cliché fit him perfectly enough, he was bright and optimistic and a classic-act fantastical goofball, but the spiky thorns he concealed beneath could surely slice past careless flesh if not handled properly.

And mine is grey. Cumulonimbus clouds, charcoal soot, ash and shadow and sickly and washed out grey...

As much as his friends gave his own vision a well-needed splash of chromaticity, sometimes the clashing shades and the oversaturation was far too bright to bear. And if this was another unavoidable human condition, Logan would rather go blind than to try and take it all in and go insane from it.

Crimson against gold—makes a vomit shade of disgusting orange-brown, a colour that even Los's rose-coloured glasses wouldn't shield your eyes from.

Logan's mind was all wrapped up in cloying metaphors and mild Hollywood fever, the hockey puck failing to make it even halfway to the star-studded ceiling, bitterish doubts and dulling green. For a sceptic, he had way too much imagination sometimes, and it wasn't even in the right places...

'I mean, really, Loges, you could make a killing out of that!'

This abruptly brought Logan back to the time Kendall once walked in on him writing in his super-secret journal. His curious roommate managed to catch a glimpse of his crisply-written recordings and told him he should write a book, all before Logan slammed the cover shut and adamantly shrieked at him to get out and never tell a soul about it. And Kendall promised.

Later at that night's dinner, while mama Knight was serving up some steaming fish sticks and tater tots, Carlos pulled a box of chewed-up Crayolas from under his helmet and asked if he could, pretty pretty please with Cheez-Bitz on top, draw for Logie's 'new storybook thingy', while Katie earnestly asked if she could be his publishing agent and take forty percent of the cut, and James requested to put his photo and number at the dedication of his 'word pages', because according to him, "smart girls are the new cute!".

Logan's strawberry-livid face only made Kendall's suppressed grin slip wider. Because of this, the younger boy ended up with a messy sweaterful of his furious friend's Sharky's mac and cheese meal, and the exasperated mama Knight a full-blown Fish Stick Friday food fight on her hands.

It had been quite some time since this happened, so Logan could at least find the humour in it now. But even if they were actually serious about the whole book idea (Carlitos, complete with beret and a thin moustache drawn on with mama Knight's eyeliner, even eagerly handed him an entire portfolio of scribbled illustrations just before they all went to bed), he didn't even consider it further anymore, only buried his secret journal in some desiccated shoebox within his closet to rot and never touched it again, because he was far too scared to take that leap.

While his friends were outside-the-box thinkers, Logan preferred it inside the box. The box was safer. Predictable. The box wouldn't land him in an actual wooden box that's set to be buried six feet deep. At least in there, he could stay in an unknown peaceful stasis, like some kind of Schrödinger's Logan.

But Logan felt trapped inside his peaceful box now, and all he wanted to do was to get out.

He felt like the easiest way out was just to not pick one side and simply hate everyone, at that point. Hate Kendall for keeping secrets from them and making him feel incredibly left out. Hate James for screaming at him and making him feel the most scared he had ever felt in a long time. Hate Carlos for...well, Logan didn't actually have a reason to hate Carlos yet, but he was sure he could easily mental-gymnastics his way into something. Given that his overthinking brain was rotating on kip bars and jumping from balance beams into conclusions 24/7, he didn't even have to try. Maybe something about that dumb childish helmet or whatever.

But most of all, Logan felt like he should hate himself for thinking such irrational, wicked thoughts about his three friends, when they were all trying their best, and he didn't even try hard enough. When all they ever did was love him and care for him, and here he was, considering hating them and not caring at all. Who was he to resent anyone, when all he ever did was resent himself?

Now for that, Logan had more than a million reasons to do so.

Though if he trained himself to be totally apathetic, then maybe he would have to feel this hurt again...

Don't think that way, you imbecile! You're just letting the negativity get to you, and all you're doing is wearing yourself thin with spurious conspiracies and adding fuel to the flames. You're not helping anyone with that. You're definitely not helping yourself. That's tired you talking, and tired you is dumber than a rotten bag of mashed potatoes. So don't listen to him.

But then again...who was there left to listen to but himself?

Huh...that's right, no one. You're all alone now. You're just a useless boring loser and everyone just feels sorry for you and now they hate you because you're too nosy you stupid nerd you should've just shut up and stayed away you're nothing but a disaster and that's why you're alone and you'll always be alone you should just drop dead and get eaten by alpacas like the super-freak of nature you are you will always be because you're the worst—

Logan's fists twitched and clenched the blankets, suddenly seized in fit of panic as he tried to keep himself from shaking like a leaf again.

No...no good…! Just stop it...stop it forever! STOP STOP STOP STOP S T O P

Having already forgotten his trifling game, the tossed hockey puck hit the ceiling hard before crashing down right on the middle of Logan's head, showering him with both dislodged paint debris and glow-in-the-dark stars, but it also managed to effectively cut off the torrent of detestable sentiments oppressively rushing through his mind, replacing it instead with a drawn-out pained howl.

"Ouchies..." He whimpered as he clutched at his throbbing forehead, feeling the tender bump start to swell from underneath his tousled hair. Despite the soreness, Logan was still relieved that it had managed to save him from completely spiraling into another bad episode.

Serves you right, Dr. Absentminded. How's that dose of karma treating you? Knocked some sense back into you yet? Or do you need to take another hit?

Now he wished Kendall was there with him. His roommate was literally the only person able to effectively ease him out of his anxiety and panic attacks, far better than any psychiatrist's prescriptions and soccer mom's questionable herbal concoctions could—and unlike Logan's barbaric hockey puck method, Kendall didn't even need to give his friend a hairline skull fracture to do it.

Even if he was in the deepest throes of an REM cycle, Kendall would still readily spring out of his bed in an instant the moment he sensed that something was off, even without Logan alerting him on how he was currently feeling. Then Kendall would allow Logan to rest his head on his lap and comfort him, maybe even slip him one of the cheery yellow pills he didn't like taking much anymore, and he'll resolutely stay by Logan's side until he was feeling much better. They always usually fell back asleep together after this, safe and sound in each other's arms.

Yes, Logan was aware that it was quite needy and a highly-embarrassing thing for him to still do—especially for an adolescent boy, least of all two!—and he would genuinely invent a jetpack, strap himself onto it, and fly straight into the sun if anyone outside of his best friends and Kendall's family ever found out about it. Even Camille didn't know this weird fact about his not-boyfriend boyfriend, and he wasn't about to drop what little face he had left from enduring all of the feisty girl's infamous method actress-slaps and tell her about it anytime soon.

But even James and Carlos still like doing their afternoon naps from time to time, and Kendall enjoys holding supertastic storytime shows too much even if it's kinda cringey. And heck, we haven't stopped holding pillow fort Sunday sleepovers together ever since fourth grade—doesn't matter if it's at the Garcias' crowded ranch-style house, or in this crib, or during summer camp, or with Monty the hairless peruvian cat and Marshmallow the moat alligator at casa Gustavo. We even did it while stuck in a tour bus playing honk bonk for weeks until our arms grew numb from all the punching, and in an aeroplane trip on the way to New York, that one time!

So while Logan figured that he should really grow out of such a childishly codependent behaviour already, Kendall never seemed to mind taking care of him...and truthfully, he didn't really want to lose that kind of special comforting attention from his devoted friend just yet, either.

Even if he is kinda one of the reasons why I feel bad...I kinda still want him around right now. I don't know...is it really so bad for me to not wanna be alone again?

Logan briefly reconsidered going out and joining Kendall in the living room, maybe even pulling up the other couch next to him and wriggling underneath the fleece sheets fit for one, but he remembered that one half of the sofa was still currently gutted no thanks to his playing repairman that afternoon.

He also didn't want to be a bother and disturb Kendall's sleep, knowing that his youngest friend really needed to get as much of it as he could, and he didn't wish to drag Kendall along one of his annoying insomniac exploits like he'd unintentionally done so many times before already. And even more and more so from those past couple months, as Logan had noticed.

And...and I'm not really sure if I'm ready to forgive him just yet, after everything that he did...'cause he's not usually like this. But if you are...then just what else have you been keeping from us, Ken?

Was James right about you, after all?

(This is a bit of an abrupt ending, but I had to cut this chapter a bit short because it's already 11k words deep and I reckon it's high time for a point of view shift (i.e. this entire logan section has scrambled my primitive egg brain to pure toxic waste sludge and thus i am unable to can anymore), so apologies for that. Maybe I'll fix this some more in the near future, but for now, I only wish to rest eternally (눈_눈)