A/N: Okay, soooooooo sorry for the delay of this! But gawwwwwwwwd it was fighting me all the way and would NOT wanna be written! Plus I was busy with a whole buncha shit, then I had my concert (ALSKDJF;ASDJF;LASKJDF;LAJSDF;LJAS;DF;A) so I was freaking out over that (plus some drama that urgh! But it solved itself so yay!)
Anyhoo, uh...yeah, this update was a bitch to write, so that's the main reason for the delay on it. Kendall's a difficult asshole, I swear. Plus most of this was actually supposed to be in the last chapter, but it got away from me and got to be WAY too long so it had to be cut...
Whole buncha excuses, but there it is. And here is the update!
I had some other shit to say but...um...thanks to everyone for reviewing! And hopefully no one kills me anytime soon. Um...I'm talking to Nath right now so I'm so out of it...
Whatever. Enjoy!
When Kendall was thirteen, he went through a really self-conscious phase, as most adolescents are prone to do. Everyone's body is changing, growing, and hormones are outta whack, pretty much obliterating your self-esteem. And Kendall was no different, although it wasn't his body he was feeling bad about. It was his face.
He could admit that his features weren't what were considered classically handsome. His nose was a bit too big, same with his chin, eyebrows a li'l too full. And when he mentioned these self-conscious feelings to his mom, she responded with the usual parental cliches: "You're beautiful to me", "you're not ugly", "your features are distinguished, not big". It actually semi-worked to make him feel better, along with the realization that there wasn't anything he could really do about any of it, that was the face he was given so he might as well just shut the fuck up and learn to deal. Being into metal music where the musicians weren't traditionally good looking either helped as well.
But at that moment, standing in the lobby as he and his sister waited for the soundcheck/Q&A session to start, he wished his features weren't so "distinguished". Because "distinguished" meant "easier to recognize", meaning those stares coming from several females as everyone stood around could possibly be because they knew who he was, remembered his "distinguished features" from pics of the last show in St. Paul.
Okay, it was possible that he was being paranoid, that those girls kept looking over because he was one of two guys there—although if anyone asked, having his little sister by his side made for a good cover story. It was highly likely that his own fears of being found out, of people discovering that he was a metal head at a pop concert, of learning that he was the guy who'd been brought onstage and they start treating him different because of it, that those worries were manifesting themselves into a belief that it was all coming true and that it was currently happening to him at that moment in time.
'Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you.'
'Oh. My. Fucking. God. Fuck. Off.'
'You're just pissed because you know I'm right.'
Kendall hated his brain sometimes.
Or a lotta times. Whatever.
He smeared a hand over his face, hoping to wipe away the mental argument and the paranoia, to at least pretend that he was halfway normal and not freaking out internally about whether or not people were recognizing him. He wasn't even gonna bother trying to calm himself down about everything else that was about to happen to him within the next hour or so.
Taking a deep breath, he dropped his hand, shoving it and the other one in the pockets of his jeans, his gray t-shirt slightly bunching up by his wrists. Looking around, his green eyes came across a teenage girl, maybe around his age, light brown hair reaching halfway down her back, black rimmed glasses on her face. And she was staring right at him, lips twisted, brow furrowed, like he was some sorta fucking scientific equation with weird letters and symbols instead of numbers and she was trying to find out what X equaled.
Right, because he didn't have enough of his own fucking problems to solve on his own.
Raising an eyebrow, he looked at the brunette, questioning look on his own face, wordlessly asking what the fuck she was looking at.
She seemed to snap out of it, sheepish smile on her face as she looked at him, knowing she was busted. "Sorry," she apologized in a sweet voice, letting out a nervous laugh. "You just look really familiar and I was tryna figure out where I knew you from."
Oh. Shit. Now he was the busted one. He should've fucking known when he bought those tickets that he was running a risk of getting recognized, that someone was bound to know who he was and where they'd seen him before. Yeah, let's just add this one to the rumor mill.
"The only guy who was brought onstage by James Diamond was at his St. Paul show again. Guess they really are dating if he keeps showing up like that."
Shit.
But clearly his paranoia had been right. People figured him out, people recognized him, those damn "distinguished features" of his getting him in trouble.
But he didn't show any of this to that girl, to anyone else. He just put a blank look on his face, like he had no clue what this chick was talking about, shrugging his shoulders, hands held up, head shaking. "I dunno," he replied, dropping his hands. "Maybe I bagged your groceries once?"
She bit her lower lip, eyes narrowed, studying him once again. "No, don't think so." Her face relaxed and she shrugged, shoving a hand through her hair to sweep it back from her face. "Whatevs. You just looked familiar, like I'd seen you before. But I guess it doesn't matter all that much if I can't remember."
His eyes went wide at that one. Wow. Rude.
But he didn't get a chance to reply, since she turned around and started chatting with her friends, the conversation with him clearly over. It was moments like that that made him glad he was gay. Girls were too much drama, too moody, too unpredictable, too...many things for him to list. Not that guys didn't come without their own drama—his current situation being clear evidence of that—but they seemed far less complicated than girls.
Whatever. He didn't have time to hash over the pros and cons of his homosexuality. Plus he wasn't exactly in the appropriate location for those kinda thoughts. He needed to focus on acting like a normal human being, one that wasn't internally freaking out about what was about to happen, about how some celeb would react when they met him.
Then again probably everyone in the lobby at that moment in time was freaking out over exactly that thought, although for a completely different reason and not to the extent that Kendall was.
Kendall was on the verge of a panic attack.
A rep from VIP Nation, the company allowing this whole soundcheck/meet and greet thing to happen, came out from the main part of the arena, yelling out instructions to follow him, to not try and go anywhere else, that security was everywhere and they'd be watching, that whoever broke the rules would be kicked out and not allowed re-entry.
Harsh but fair.
The crowd was led into the arena, Kendall putting his hands on Katie's shoulders to keep track of her, ignoring how she turned her head and glared up at him. And he, of course, also ignored her protests as he led her to the end of one row, away from center stage, where she clearly wanted to be. But whatever. She was just gonna hafta deal. He bought the damn tickets, used up an entire paycheck to take her to this show and allow her to meet her favorite singer—not that he had any selfish reasons or hidden agenda about the whole thing, nope, no way, no how—plus he was the adult there, so to speak, so Katie was just gonna hafta shut up and do as he said.
So at the right end of the second row, Kendall sat, Katie on his left, closer to the middle of the stage. The band's equipment was all set up, the stage prepared for the show to come. In the middle, towards the front, were three stools, the two on the ends a little further back, a mike stand in front of the middle with the amplifying device on top.
The fans all took their seats, chatting amongst themselves, excited squeals and giggles making their way over the cacophony of conversations. Kendall's knee started that nervous bouncing up and down shit again, teeth gnawing a hangnail on his thumb, green eyes focused on that center stool. James was gonna be sitting there. James perfectly formed ass was gonna be resting on that stool. Live. In person. Right in front of Kendall.
The blond wrapped his free left arm around his torso, clutching his twisted up stomach as the anxiety and nerves threatened to make him throw up his burger and fries all over the blond chick in front of him.
How to Make Friends and Win People Over, by Kendall Knight.
"Urgh!" Katie groaned on his left, drawing his attention away from the stool, away from the stage, away from his semi-upset tummy. He dropped his right hand onto his lap, turning his head to his little sister.
"Can't they get this show on the road?" she complained, arms folded across her chest, pout on her face as she slouched in her seat.
The blond had been wondering the same thing but kept his agreement to himself, deciding to continue his charade of not liking the pop singer. "You know what divas are like," he replied, leaning down slightly to get closer to her ear. "Never on time, spending forever in the make-up chair. He's probably covering up crow's feet or putting on those fake eyelashes."
Okay, he knew for a fact they weren't fake, had seen 'em up close with his own eyes, but he felt like he needed to make fun in some way.
The blond girl in front of Kendall turned around, smirk on her painted lips. "Or maybe he's too busy with that St. Paul guy."
Kendall cocked an eyebrow, wondering who this eavesdropping bitch was and why she thought Kendall—aka 'That St. Paul Guy'-was that big a whore that he'd just fuck this pop star solely because he was in town—which is totally not true, 'cause he'd totally never do that.
Katie's own, much thinner, eyebrows scrunched up as she turned her head up to her big brother. Only she never got to say anything, thank fuck. The fans had started cheering, clapping, a couple whistles being let out.
Holy shit. This was it. The moment—well, one of 'em anyway—that Kendall had been waiting on for the past couple months. He was about to be in the same room with James once again.
His head snapped to the stage, seeing a couple guys in jeans and t-shirts taking their seats on the two outer stools, getting comfortable as they held onto an acoustic guitar each. But Kendall wasn't paying attention to either of them. His focus was on the brunet taking the mike off the stand. The wrong brunet, one he didn't wanna see.
He recognized the spiky haired male as James' assistant/best friend, Logan. Pretty much every fan of the pop star knew who the guy was, some even getting his autograph or taking a picture with him.
Logan smirked at the cheers he was receiving, dimples forming in his cheeks. "All right, all right," he said into the mike, hand out to calm the small crowd. "Save it for the real star."
A couple girls let out catcalls, one yelling out "I love you, Logie Bear!", which made the brunet laugh and Kendall roll his eyes.
"Okay, I'm gonna tell you ladies—and a couple gents—what's about to happen," the male on stage started. "James is gonna come out here, answer a few questions, play an acoustic song, answer a few more questions, then another song, su'more questions. We're gonna try and get to everyone, but if we run outta time, we're sorry. Gotta make sure everyone gets a chance to have their pic taken with James and not have the show start late, all right?"
The audience clapped and cheered, which roughly translated to a "yeah, we get it, sure, no problem."
"Cool, now," Logan started then paused a quick second to make sure everyone was paying attention. "Gotta remind everyone that there are some younger fans here right now, so try and keep things a little more G-rated, okay? Nothing inappropriate, no swearing, things like that. Just be respectful of each other, sound good?"
More agreement from the small crowd, then the brunet onstage wished everyone a good time and to have fun before putting the mike back where he found it and walking off to the side. The cheers got louder, screams added in, as James finally made his way across the stage.
That's about when Kendall stopped breathing. God the singer looked fucking good. Like, really fucking good. Like, 'get in my fucking bed and let me have my way with you' good. And he was just in black skinny jeans and graphic tee, black leather jacket on top. It was just like before, when he first made eye contact with him at that show three months prior: the entire world melted away, his ears deaf to all the claps, cheers, cat-calls, eyes not seeing anything else. It was James and nothing else.
And Kendall was loving it.
The singer took his seat on the stool, smiling his million dollar smile, flashing those perfectly white teeth as he waved to everyone, thanked them all for being there, asked who had a question.
Kendall barely paid attention to what was being said, only halfway hearing what the pop star liked in his coffee, or his hobbies when not on tour, what kinda pre-show rituals he had. And it wasn't that the blond didn't care—or didn't already know half that shit anyway—he just couldn't focus on anything. He was too busy staring, too busy noticing how James flicked his head to the left to get his bangs out of his eyes, only to finger comb them immediately after, too busy watching how he rubbed his palm on his right thigh when he had an itch, too busy trying to moan out loud when the pop star licked his lips—which was far too often for his sanity's sake.
The first song was an acoustic version of his latest single, James' voice already warmed up, hitting every note with perfection. Chills went up Kendall's spine as he wailed into the mike, let out those famous runs of his. The crowd was singing along, but the blond didn't notice, barely even registered the guitars. All he heard was James' vocals.
Everyone cheered when the song was done, Kendall halfway aware that he was clapping. Then more questions, more answers that were only halfway heard, the blond more fascinated with the fact that both he and James' right legs were bouncing up and down in sync. That had to be some sort of a sign, right?
Oh. Dear. God. He was one of those fuckers...
He smeared a hand over his face, glad no one around him was a mind-reader—that he knew of—and that no one was even remotely paying attention to him, including his sister. His skin didn't feel hot so hopefully that meant he wasn't blushing. Thank fuck for small favors.
"What happened with that guy you brought onstage last time you were here?"
Okay, that actually got Kendall's attention.
His hand dropped to his lap, eyes wide, glued to the male onstage, searching for any little clues.
A small smile was on the singer's face as he let out a quiet laugh. "I was waiting for someone to ask me about him," he admitted, looking at whomever had posed the question. "But I honestly have no idea. I get asked about him a lot and I've heard the rumors, but it wasn't really anything like that. It was kinda just a spur of the moment thing. I saw him in the crowd and wanted to bring him up on stage." He shrugged, playing it all off, but Kendall knew better. Kendall knew about the intensity that passed when they locked eyes, knew about that spark that flowed between them when they touched hands, knew about that bubble that had formed around them when James sang to the blond on stage.
But he also knew the singer couldn't say any of that shit. If the singer even felt it himself.
"So you never saw him again?" A different fan, one in a different part of the audience than the girl who'd originally brought "That St. Paul Guy" up.
"Nope."
"Do you want to?"
Kendall sat up straighter in his seat, bottom lip between his teeth, anticipation running through his bones. God, it was like the other day with Camille, Kendall on the literal edge of his seat, awaiting a response that may very well change his life. His heart was pounding in his throat, breath caught in his lungs, and he swallowed dryly, hoping to somehow created some wetness in his mouth.
James rubbed his hand down the back of his head, smoothing his hair there, messing with his bangs once more, licking his lips, stalling. It was like he was purposely fucking with the blond, drawing it out, torturing him by making him wait for the answer he'd been longing for for months.
Dick.
Finally, a small smile appeared on the pop star's face, mouth back by the mike. "I wanna see all my fans again. I love meeting them, making them smile, knowing that I made them happy, and to see them again and hear about how happy I made them with that hug or autograph or whatever from last time, it's an awesome feeling."
Kendall slumped back, spine backing against the seat, completely deflated. Definitely not the answer he wanted to hear. He was just another fan, just some random dude to James. Chances were the singer hadn't thought much of that night, other than "hey, brought a guy onstage instead of a chick". Chances were that Kendall's face had become a blur, become forgotten, just some distant memory to the singer. All the blond was now was a featureless nobody, a random body with no face, that had been onstage one night.
And didn't that just suck a big fat hairy one?
The rest of the Q&A session went by unnoticed, Kendall not hearing any of it, including the second acoustic sound. All he could hear was his own negative thoughts, his mind repeatedly telling him over and over about how he was nothing special, about how he was a moron to actually think he made any sort of impact in James Diamond's life, about how he was stupid to think there had been anything special there. Hell, probably all the girls that were brought onstage had the same feelings, that same belief that there had been a connection and that there were sparks and all that bullshit. I mean, the guy was a fucking pop star singing about love. You had to think he knew how to trick someone in order to make them believe the words were real.
Long story short, Kendall had been played.
Unless...
Maybe the singer was just playing it all off. Maybe he was lying in some way to protect his image, to protect Kendall. Surely James would know of any sorta negative backlash if he were to turn around and say "Yeah, I wanna see him again", how it would be misconstrued, how it would end up all over Tumblr, Twitter, messageboards, Perez Hilton, etc etc, that James was wanting to see this guy again. It would just add a whole lotta fuel to the gay rumor fire. Someone—either the singer himself or one of his "people"-knew how the industry worked to the point where they knew he needed to be really fucking careful what he said and did if "That St. Paul Guy" was ever brought up again.
Well played, Diamond.
The Q&A now over, Logan came back out on stage, giving more instructions. James smiled widely as he stood, telling everyone he'd see them soon, before giving a final wave and walking offstage with his friend. The earlier rep from VIP Nation came back, telling everyone to follow him, the crowd standing up. Kendall and Katie both rose to their feet, the teenager putting his hands on his little sister's shoulders, stopping her from walking away.
The young brunette turned her head up, glaring at her big brother again, the blond just rolling his eyes.
"We wanna be last that way we have more time 'cause we won't be holding up the line," he stated, hiding his full reasons for suggesting that. After all, more time with James meant more time to figure shit out, to see what was really there between them. Plus he really didn't wanna go through all that shit, the focused stares, the talking, the possible awkwardness or intensity with a whole bunch of people behind him, watching. Uncomfortable as fuck.
Katie gave him another suspicious look before shrugging and turning her head to the front, arms folded over her chest, waiting for both rows to clear. When the seats where emptied, everyone lined up at the door, she and her older brother finally made their way forward, standing at the back of the mob as the rest of the crowd fought to go through the door first and get closer to the pop star faster.
And as much as Kendall was dying to do the same, as badly as he wanted to get to James—and get to him now—he fought his impatient desires to knock all these teenie bopper skanks down and be the first the pop star sees. After that Q&A sesh, his mind was back to all those negative scenarios, the beliefs that he wasn't anything special and the singer didn't remember him and that he meant nothing to the star. And as much as he tried to remind himself of his earlier thought of James lying to the fan who asked, of James trying to protect Kendall, he couldn't convince himself. At least not fully.
So as much as he was trying to be patient and wait and hope that being the last one would allow him a few extra moments—plus a lack of stares from other fans—he knew he was also trying to delay the inevitable letdown, the heartbreak that was pretty much guaranteed at this point.
He felt like puking again.
Standing in line, waiting as others had their picture taking with the singer, he focused on everything else. He tried counting the painted cement blocks that made up the walls. He chewed on another hangnail, picked dirt out from under his fingernails. He retied the laces on his boots, picked at a loose thread on the pocket of his jeans, smoothed his Every Time I Die "Hot Damn" t-shirt, adjusted his beanie on top of his head, stopped when he realized he was acting like a chick and fussing over his appearance. Went back to counting cement blocks.
A small hand smacking the middle of his chest brought him back to reality, head tilting down to see his sister glaring at him as she stood a few steps away.
"We're up, space ranger," she stated, 'tude dripping off her words. Rolling her eyes, she turned away and faced the front, walking over.
A few feet away, a black curtain covered the back wall, the logo for the current James Diamond tour in front of it. Logan was standing there, dimpled smile on his face as he chatted away, words that went unnoticed by Kendall. Not because he couldn't hear them, but because he wasn't paying attention. All his focus was on the leather-clad back of the pop singer the short brunet was talking to.
James. Fucking. Diamond.
The blond male swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck briefly, before deciding to stop being such a pussy. He was seventeen, practically a man—definitely the man of the house—and he needed to fucking stop this chick behavior he'd been engaging in here lately. With a deep breath, he walked forward, following his younger sister over. Only to stop four steps later.
James turned around, hazel eyes locking onto Kendall's green ones. And suddenly, Kendall had all the answers he needed.