Hey y'all! New chapter! This one is dedicated to Miracles (Guest) for the request. That username makes me think of that one video on Stephen Glickman's (Gustavo's) youtube channel where Logan just goes:

Do you believe in mIrAcLeS?

Anyway. I got my tickets for the tour today! We got the membership (which ended up being 95-ish dollars but oh well). I'm hoping that that thing they posted on their instagram stories is true.

Because...meeting BTR on stage? I would lose my mind.

Onto the chapter.

Happy reading! Enjoy!

Kendall was absolutely about to lose his mind.

Logan was sitting across from him, on the couch, with his computer in his lap. The blue light from the screen lit up his face in the darkness. The way how one minute, he would be completely stone faced, and the next, he was biting his lip, his mouth pulling down into a frown was perfectly illuminated by the light.

Then, Logan would lock eyes with Kendall, shifting in his spot, his hands frozen over the keyboard

This had been going on for ten minutes.

Logan, this final time, nearly slammed his fists into the keyboard, but caught himself, gripping the edges of his computer instead.

He closed his eyes and shifted again, tilting the computer closer towards him. He squinted, leaning back, sighing. He tensed.

Kendall watched his hands wave over the keyboard, over his leg. He needed to intervene.

He snatched up Logan's computer in one quick movement. He kept it out of Logan's reach, setting it down on the kitchen counter. He spun around, blocking Logan from grabbing the computer back.

"Kendall!" Logan complained, his tone tinged with a whine. He was tired, it didn't concern him. "Give me my computer back."

Logan stared at him pointedly, arms crossed over his chest, watching to see if Kendall did as he asked. He wouldn't. Instead, he boxed Logan into a corner, sandwiched between him and their bedroom door.

"Kendall," Logan repeated. "I was researching."

"Was it for school?"

Logan shook his head. His head lowered, eyes fixated on what appeared to be Kendall's left shoe.

"Was it for some science thing?"

Logan's face flushed red, he shook his head. "Not really?"

"Not really—"

Logan took Kendall's momentary confusion as a new opportunity to escape this corner he was in, and he did. He practically flung himself into one of the spinning chairs near the kitchen counter, shutting his computer closed, hugging it close to his chest.

"It's not important."

Logan smiled, but this was not his natural smile. He looked up at Kendall for longer than necessary, and disappeared into their bedroom.

—

"I think Logan's sick," Carlos said as he sat down for breakfast. He shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, frowning at the clock. "Kendall, what time is it?"

Kendall prepared his own bowl of cereal, squinting at the clock face. "Uh, eight-fifteen. Why?"

"I think we're late."

"We're not. Logan would freak."

Carlos nodded, exaggerating his head movements. He spoke slowly. "Yeah, but Logan's not awake. He's sick."

"He would know if he was sick."

"Not if he's asleep!"

Kendall slid off his chair, sighing. "Okay. I'll go check on him."

The lights were off, but it was bright enough with the sunlight streaming in through the windows to see. He saw it all very clearly: Logan was still asleep.

This was not going to end well. Logan was always in a rush during the morning, but now that he had overslept? Kendall would consider themselves lucky if Logan changed out of his pajamas. He would just forget about everything else, his only goal being to get out the door, Kendall knew it.

Kendall leaned over, shaking him by the shoulders carefully. Logan opened his eyes immediately, his body jerking upwards into a sitting position. He was in panic mode.

"I overslept!" Logan practically screeched. His hands were already behind his head. He shut his eyes and winced. "Kendall, we're late, we're so late, Gustavo—"

"We're fine. Go get dressed."

"We're late," he muttered. "We're so late. We're so late."

Logan winced again. He swore.

"Logan?"

And Logan smiled so unnaturally, staring at Kendall again, just like last night.

"I'm fine."

—

"Logan is not fine," Kendall decided, gathered in a semi-huddle with James and Carlos.

They were huddled over by the pool. Logan was underwater. Somehow, he had gotten pushed in. It was particularly hot outside, so the minute the pool opened for the day, residents swarmed the place. There were so many people, and it was so hot out. There was a consistent, steady flow of the masses.

That being said, they were masses. Of hot, sweaty, pool-deprived people. If Kendall learned anything since moving to LA, it was that hot, sweaty, pool-deprived people were vicious.

These vicious masses had knocked Logan into the pool, fully clothed in non-swimming attire.

Initially, Logan had tensed up when he resurfaced. But then he muttered swears under his breath, like they couldn't hear him, and dove under again.

Still, for the record, fully clothed.

"He's just being—weird," Carlos agreed.

"And he's swearing," James added. "Didn't Logan used to say that swearing was a sign of—"

"Limited vocabulary and low intelligence," Kendall finished. "Yeah."

Carlos looked over at Logan, still in the pool. His clothes were soaked. He flinched (though, since Carlos could see it several feet away, it was more like a tremor than a flinch) yet again, and swore, yet again. "Logan's not stupid."

Kendall nodded. "He's not."

But he was acting stupid, and they all knew it.

What was going on with him?

—

Kendall could hear Logan typing at midnight.

"Logan?"

There was still that typing, but Logan didn't answer.

After a moment: "Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

Logan paused again. "Research on—"

But then Logan smashed the keyboard.

Kendall stood up immediately, flicking on the light switch. Logan was wrapped up tightly in blankets, the computer balanced on his knees. He had his head on the keyboard, his hands, his fingers digging into the back of his neck.

"Logan?"

"No," he started. He made some strangled sound, then dipped his head lower. "No, go away."

Logan swore in rapid succession.

He coughed. "I'm—fine."

"You're not," Kendall argued, which wasn't met with Logan's typical protests.

He took one hand, pushing Logan's head up from the computer, and used the other hand to slide the device away. He set Logan's computer on their desk.

The absence of the computer between Logan's head and knees did not change his position. Logan was still sitting with his head on his knees, eyes closed. Kendall could still hear him swearing and crying.

"I'm fine, Kendall," he continued to repeat. "I'm fine."

"Okay."

There was no way Kendall actually believed him.

Logan's computer dinged with a notification.

"I'm fine," Logan murmured, curling into himself. "I'm fine."

He swore.

Kendall reached for the computer, scanning the screen for the notification. It was a Twitter notification. Someone had mentioned Logan in a tweet. Kendall clicked it.

The tweet was a picture of Logan from a few weeks ago. That had been a bad week, that had been the day Logan went into the studio through the back door. That had been the week the paparazzi trapped him.

Someone not only had the nerve to take a picture of Logan that night, but had the audacity to post it.

It wasn't even a press account, it was some random kid.

Big Time Rush? More like a Big Time Freakshow. Normal people don't act like this. At least the other three are less freakish

They had tagged Logan.

Kendall would not punch something, he would not type out some equally rude, brash, long tweet that would make an example of this moron, he would not do any of these things.

He clicked through the rest of Logan's open tabs.

Suppressing sensory overload response had been the first one. Kendall only really understood the word response.

What is sensory overload? had been the second.

This wasn't like Logan, to type out full questions into the search bar. He usually chastised the rest of them, especially Carlos, when he made his Google searches too long and too confusing for the algorithm to understand. To limit the search engine's confusion, Kendall guessed, Logan only searched with as minimal words as possible.

And also, Logan knew pretty much everything. He didn't resort to Google when he needed questions answered. He had all the answers.

Logan Mitchell hate had been the third and final tab Kendall looked at before shutting the computer.

He didn't understand how anyone could hate Logan. He could understand dislike, but not hatred. There was nothing to hate about Logan. He was insanely smart, he was reasonable, he was responsible, he was hilarious (sometimes without meaning to be, which usually made him funnier), he was hopelessly in love with Camille (they were so devoted to each other, Logan was always loyal and loving to her), and he was just the best.

There was no way anyone could hate Logan.

"You shouldn't look at hate comments. They're just going to make you feel bad, when you shouldn't, because so many more people love you in comparison. There's no point."

Logan hummed, shaking his head.

Kendall approached him on the bed, untangling his limbs from the others, unraveling him from the blankets.

"What they said isn't even true."

"Normal people," Logan muttered. "I'm not—normal people, normal people don't do this, normal people don't—"

"You're normal. Okay? If anyone's not normal, it's this idiot on Twitter. Who we don't even know, they don't know you. You are normal. They don't know what they're talking about."

"Yes."

"Logan—"

"I'm fine."

It was too late for this. It was too late for Kendall to convince him of anything. Kendall, however, was angry and stubborn.

"You're smart," he began, trying to determine if his plan would actually work.

"I'm—"

"No," Kendall interrupted. "I'm not done. Listen. You are so talented. You are so determined. You aren't even just regular smart, you're insanely smart, smarter than Wikipedia, smarter than Google, smarter than the guy who invented Google. ."

"I'm not normal."

Kendall sighed, yawning. He was so tired, he needed to fix this, though, before he could even dare think about sleeping. "Says one person on Twitter. Who probably isn't very normal if they have the time to stalk us outside of the studio at—when was that—like, ten."

"The paparazzi were there too."

"Okay, well, I thought you knew the paparazzi were insane. You're the genius. You know everything."

"I don't."

But he was blushing, a smile threatening to break out.

Kendall grinned, poking him in his side. "You do."

"I don't."

"Logan, what do you not know? Tell me. One thing."

He was silent.

Kendall laughed, the grin growing wider. "See?"

Logan huffed, his blush redder. "I don't know everything."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

Kendall sighed, throwing his hands up in mock frustration. "I'm not going to argue with you over something supid. I'm just going to know I'm right. And you, for once, are wrong."

"I'm not wrong, it's impossible to know everything."

Kendall flicked off the light, climbing back into his own bed. "Shut up, Logan, I'm trying to compliment you."

"I don't need you to compliment me on something that isn't true."

"And I don't need you to disagree with me when I'm completely right."

"You aren't completely right."

"Goodnight."

Logan didn't say anything. He huffed again, purposefully exhaling slowly, trying to think of a comeback or a refute to prove Kendall wrong. But Kendall wasn't wrong, he was right. Logan couldn't think of anything, then, obviously.

Because Logan did in fact know everything.

"Goodnight."

I am still bad at endings, as always. Hope you enjoyed!

Only a few hours to go until Not Giving You Up is dropped…