A/N: Okay, so...I totally don't remember what I was gonna say here but OMFG HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN THAT PICTURE OF KENDALL GIVING JAMES A PIGGY BACK RIDE?! My shipping heart can't take it! Holy fuck! Oh and HAPPY FOX FRIDAY!

*ahem* Anyway, thanks to everyone for reviewing the previous chapter! I really really love each and every one of you! It means a lot. Especially to a select few of you who seriously made me fangirl with your sweet words (I'm sure you know who you are). And special shout out to Nath for her support, no matter how annoying I may be when it comes to my writing. And for actually liking Mopey!Kendall, even though the bastard makes me wanna punch him.

Yeah, Kendall's still being a mopey bastard. Once again, bear with me for a couple chapters. I swear it'll get to the good stuff soon ;) But LOOK MORE PLATONIC KENLOS AREN'T THEY ADORABLE?!

Sherwood's Grocery is property of BTR the Show and Nickelodeon (I guess, I dunno). Don't sue! I don't own BTR, but if I did, I'd be in the middle of a James/Fox cuddlefest right now and Kendall would've disappeared somewhere in Belgium...which I know nothing about *cough*

Anyhoo, enjoy this chapter! Please lemme know whatcha think :D

Kendall should've known by the look on Carlos' face that the Latino was up to something.

It was only two days later and he'd been on his shift at Sherwood's Grocery, retrieving abandoned shopping carts from the parking lot. Ones that, for whatever reason, were too hard and heavy for people to push the few yards towards a cart corral and instead just left in whatever empty parking space was convenient for their rude, selfish prick selves. Not that Kendall was angry about this or anything.

He let out a sigh as he shoved the sleeves of his black thermal shirt up to his elbows, his dark blue beanie perched on his head. He grabbed hold of a cart that was left literally in the middle of an aisle, hearing his name being yelled out excitedly. Turning around, he saw Carlos running over, huge grin on his face, arms flailing wildly. But he wasn't noticing the mischievous glint in those dark eyes or the devious smirk on his best friend's face. The blond was too busy trying to figure out what the white fabric flying around in the Latino's hand was.

Carlos skidded to a halt in front of Kendall, free hand flying up to the top of his head to hold onto his helmet. After a brief expression of "whoa!" spread across his face, before that previous look of being up to no good came back, causing the blond to raise an eyebrow.

"'Litos," he greeted the shorter male. "Any particular reason why you came running up like your ass was on fire, screaming my name?"

"I got something for ya!" the younger teen replied, bouncing in place, huge smile on his face.

Kendall looked around the lot, not seeing any other people, before turning to look at the grocery store itself, hoping like hell his boss didn't happen to walk by any of the windows or decide to come outside and check up on his employee. The blond had had enough warnings about his friend loitering and chatting while he was technically supposed to be working. "Sherwood's is for buying and selling groceries, not for fraternizing." Kendall had that speech memorized at that point.

Turning back to his friend, he let out a sigh. "And this couldn't wait 'til my shift was over?"

"Nope!" Carlos just keep grinning up at his best friend.

A long pause, the blond waiting impatiently. Finally, he realized he'd have to remind the Latino of what happens next. "You gonna give it to me or-?" he trailed off, shaking his head in confusion.

"Oh! Right!" He unfolded the white fabric, holding it up so Kendall could see it properly. It was a t-shirt, one custom made with "The Only Guy James Has Brought Onstage" printed in huge letters.

The taller male's eyes went wide as he grabbed the shirt, practically ripping it from his friend's hands, balling it up as he looked around to make sure no one saw.

"What? You don't like it?" There was the puppy look again.

"No, it's not that." He let out a sigh as he turned to his best friend. "It's just. Katie doesn't know. No one else knows, except you and me, that I was that guy. And I'd kinda like to keep it that way."

"Why?" Carlos' face scrunched up in confusion. "You embarrassed?"

"Extremely." Although whether he was embarrassed at being a metal head who'd been onstage with a pop star, or the fact that his best friend had made up a t-shirt to immortalize that moment, he wasn't sure.

Carlos shrugged, happy go lucky attitude still there. "I just figured it'd help James remind him who you are. Not that I think he'd forget that, but it's better just to be safe."

Kendall smeared a hand over his face, knowing his buddy only had the best intentions in mind, even if it wasn't exactly what he wanted. "Yeah, thanks. But I think I'll wear something else."

"Like what?"

He shrugged, honestly not really having thought about it. "I dunno. Probably a t-shirt and jeans."

The look of horror on Carlos' face was like someone had told him exactly what corn dogs were made of and what he'd been eating so much of over the years. "Dude! You can't just wear a t-shirt and jeans! You gotta get all dressed up, look nice. Maybe get a haircut."

Kendall rolled his green eyes. "No way."

"You wanna impress him, right?"

"I impressed him before wearing a tee and jeans. It'll work again. Besides, that's who I am, a t-shirt and jeans guy. And if some other guy isn't into it or has a problem with it, then he's not the guy for me."

Carlos pursed his lips, head tilting from side to side as he conceded the point. "All right, but at least make it a nice shirt, not one of those weird bands you listen to."

"What did I just say, 'Litos?"

The Latino held his hands up in innocence. "What? You don't wanna scare him off with some creepy shirt with, like, clowns or blood or guns on it, do ya?"

Okay, maybe the smaller male had a point there, but still. Kendall wasn't gonna get all dolled up over some guy, especially not when it was some guy he wasn't entirely sure remembered him, much less felt the same way. And it was like he said, if James didn't accept him for who he was, metal band tees and all, he didn't want the guy. There was someone else out there in the world who would love Kendall for his band shirts and his jeans and his beanies. He wasn't changing for anyone.

A sigh left him as he adjusted his wool hat, looking at his friend. "Thanks for the shirt, 'Litos. I'll probably wear it to bed or something, just not to the concert, all right?"

The bright smile was back on Carlos' face as he bounced in place. "All right! Just as long as it isn't, like, thrown away or whatever. And maybe one day you can show it to James." He winked then ignored Kendall's eye roll.

"Right, sure," the blond placated. "But for now, I gotta get back to work. Some of us can actually keep a job."

That jab earned him a shove in the chest from the smaller male, he just chuckling as the Latino let out a "fuck you." The two exchanged "see ya later"s before Kendall shoved the shirt in the pocket of his burgundy apron, turning around to push the shopping cart to its proper home, Carlos walking in the opposite direction.

Maybe the blond should figure out what he was gonna wear. Just in case.

He was turning into a chick. That's the only thing Kendall could come up with to explain all his weird behavior: his moodiness, his sudden enjoyment of love songs, his crying over some guy he'll never have.

His fashion crisis.

Because, honestly, he never gave a shit. He grabbed a pair of jeans, grabbed a t-shirt, made sure neither smelled or had a hugely noticeable stain on it, put 'em on. Benefit of practically living in denim and band tees: everything matched. He never had to worry about committing some sorta fashion felony or whatever. Not that he'd care even if he did. Clothing wasn't something he worried about.

Until that moment.

Standing in front of his closet, hands on his hips, scowl on his face, he blamed Carlos for his predicament. That, plus being the only guy in a house of females. Clearly their estrogen was rubbing off on him. Why else would he be staring at his half empty closet thinking about how he had nothing to wear, freaking out over that very fact, when he knew it wasn't true and that it wasn't that big a fucking deal.

But it was.

No, it wasn't.

It was.

Oh, my fucking god, brain, are we seriously doing this shit again?

Yes.

Fuck you.

Great, now he was arguing with himself again. Definitely losing his fucking mind. That's what pop music did to ya, fucked you up in the head, turned you into a huge moron who didn't know reality from fantasy, created voices in your head that debated with you constantly. He needed serious psychological help.

That, or delete those fucking songs off his iPod and stop listening to them.

That had his eyes widening and panic gripping his chest tight. Fuck, he was in way too fucking deep.

A knock sounded on his door and he let out a "c'min", still staring into his closet, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He heard the door open, heard muffled footsteps walk in, heard his mom's voice as she spoke to him.

"Hey, sweetie, just dropping off your—whoa!"

His head turned to her at her own cut-off, brow furrowed as he took in her surprised facial expression, her open mouth, her raised eyebrows.

She pointed around at the mess that was pretty much all over his room, the shirts that he had practically ripped off the hangers and tossed to unknown parts of his room, not really giving a shit where they landed, already having decided they weren't good enough. Which was really fucking stupid when he thought about it, considering he was gonna be around James for, what? Two minutes? It really didn't matter what he wore; he wasn't gonna stand out in any way. James wasn't gonna care.

He ignored the hurt that thought caused.

"What's all this?" his mom questioned, wide eyes turning to her son. "Why does it look like a hurricane blew through here?"

"Maybe it did."

"Kendall." Her tone was full of warning.

"I'm just looking for something to wear."

She stepped further into the room, placing the plastic laundry basket she'd been carrying on the bed before picking up a t-shirt, holding it up for her own personal inspection. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing," he lied, turning away, folding his arms over his chest.

"It must be something if you're actually caring about what you're wearing." She refolded the t-shirt, looking out the side of her eyes to see his reaction, gauge how he was feeling by his facial expressions.

Kendall forced out a snort, rolling his eyes as he turned his whole body towards her. "I don't."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow as she looked at up. "Uh huh."

He shrugged, playing like nothing was going on, refusing to admit to anything. Especially not to his fucking mom.

"So, you don't care about what you're wearing," she started, putting a now folded shirt on the bed and picking up a second one. "But you're going through your closet, throwing your clothes around, trying to find the perfect shirt? That about right?"

"Yep."

"For this non-occasion that you're not going to?"

"Also yep."

Done folding the second shirt, she put it on top of the first, grabbing a third one. "And you're lying to me because...?" She trailed off, looking out the corner of her eyes at Kendall once again.

"Because I'm a teenager and it's my job to," he completed the sentence, walking over to his bed and flopping onto his butt on it, back against the headboard, hands folded behind his head, ankles crossed as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

She rolled her eyes, adding the folded shirt to the pile and grabbing another, Kendall just watching. It was a routine they'd had pretty much his entire life, Kendall being a messy kid and growing into a messy teenager. He just didn't see the point in cleaning. His mom, however, was borderline OCD and would tidy up after him as soon as the mess was made, driving herself to the point of exhaustion. She clearly hadn't stopped the habit, now organizing the disaster area he had created in his room as he sat back and relaxed.

"This have anything to do with that concert you're taking Katie to?"

Shit, he really was fucking transparent, wasn't he? He used to be so fucking good at hiding shit. Not anymore apparently. Fuck.

His mom peeked out under her eyelashes, folding shirt number five, expectation all over her face. Although judging by the look in her eyes, she already knew the answer without him having to say it.

"It's okay, sweetie, you're allowed to have celeb crushes."

"I know, Mom." He tried to hide the exasperation, the attitude, in response to the completely fucking obvious statement she had just made. It was kind of a "duh" thing for her to say, but he was trying to actually behave and not be the usual rude jackass he tended to be during conversations he didn't wanna have, that way she'd have no excuse to turn around and tell him he couldn't go to the show.

"But picking out special outfits, trying to find the most perfect t-shirt? That's not really you."

"I know, Mom."

"Plus, I hate to say it, but-" she paused to sigh, adding shirt number six to the pile and grabbing number seven. "He's gonna be meeting countless fans at this meet and greet, not to mention the hundreds he's met before and the hundreds he'll meet after."

Kendall sat there silent as she drifted off to another pause, ignoring the tightness in his chest. He knew where she was going, knew what she was about to say. It was thoughts he'd had himself countless times, when the darker side of his head took over and he was consumed with the more depressive end of things, believing that he wasn't all that special and that he imagined the whole thing and James was off being a pop star and not thinking about some blond male he met at a show in Minne-fucking-sota.

"Look, I know it's nice to have dreams," she continued, still folding, not noticing the reaction Kendall was hoping he was hiding. "But I don't want you to get too carried away and too lost in these fantasies that you end up thinking they're real, only to be crushed when reality sets in and he doesn't notice you the way you want to be noticed."

Leave it to a mom to bring you crashing down to Earth with all the words you don't wanna hear, but know you need to hear 'em anyway. And it wasn't like Kendall hadn't had those thoughts. Just hearing 'em out loud really fucking sucked, especially given the way his heart started hurting and his vision started getting blurry.

Such. A. Chick.

He stared off at nothing as his mom made her way around the end of the bed, walking over towards him. He didn't move, didn't look at her as she gave a small, sweet smile and placed her hand on his shoulder in a tender way.

"I know it's hard to hear," she stated, he thinking that she truly had no idea, "But I'd rather you deal with the hurt of a fantasy bubble being burst by me, rather than by him. It'll be easier."

"It's just a crush, Mom," he replied, proud of the way his voice was even, firm. He almost fooled himself with it. "I know that. No biggie."

She nodded, seeming to take his word for it. "All right, sweetie." She walked away, letting her hand drift off his shoulder, heading over to the door. But before she left, she turned and pointed at the mess on the bed, authority on her face and in her voice. "But clean this mess up. Now. Or there will be no concert."

He kept the swear to himself as he got up, mockingly saluting her as he set about hanging the t-shirts back up and putting his laundry away. He wondered what threat she'd use after the show was over.

But mostly he wondered about how his own heart would be once it was done.