A/N: Okay... I need to stop starting these things with "okay"...geeze... So, guess I'll start off with some shout outs! One to Lonelygrl91 for the awesome fanart! Hopefully you can find a cute quote for a new one ;) Also a shout out to idunnoofasgard (idunnoyournameonherelol) for the sweet message sent on Tumblr. Hope your hand is okay.

Speaking of Tumblr, gotten in a habit of posting sneak peeks on there. So if you wanna see a lil somethin' somethin' before each update... I'm jus' sayin'...

What else what else what else...oh! Song credit: "Victim" by 18Visions. Don't sue, I dig that song, using the lyrics with love :D Jokes about not owning an iPhone or BTR, not owning Twitter...the James Diamond concert update twitter was inspired by at-bigtimeconcerts. Don't be mad, imitation is the most sincere form of flattery :D

Erm... Don't think I have anything else to say. I always think like "OMG I have so much shit to put in the notes" then I get around to typing them up and it's like *buzzer noise* nope. So if I forgot anything, sorry...just know that I love you. Especiallyifyoureview :D

Kendall was a male of extremes, had been his entire life. He was either deeply overjoyed or extremely depressed. He loved something completely or loathed it entirely. He went from Radio Disney type shit to bands whose vocalists did more screaming than singing.

Like at that moment, where he had Between the Buried and Me blasting out his laptop, which was currently displaying a James Diamond concert updates twitter feed. Not that he was focusing on it and watching every update like a hawk. And his heart totally didn't jump in his chest every time "1 New Tweet" displayed at the top, only to sink when it was an update on which song was currently being performed. And he most definitely wasn't sneakily checking it during dinner, nor did he practically inhale his slice of Katie's birthday cake in a rush to get upstairs, as though that would actually speed the show up and make James call faster.

'Cause he definitely wasn't looking forward to the singer calling. Nope, not one bit, no way.

Fuck, he was annoying himself.

Resting his elbows on his knees as he sat at his desk, he placed his head in his hands, roughly rubbing at his face and slightly shoving his beanie back on his head. What the fuck was he doing? He was so fucking pathetic waiting around for a fucking phone call. And from a guy who had walked out on him, left him alone and hard in a dressing room, giving countless mixed signals. Okay, maybe he was harboring on that a little too much, droning on and on about it, but it was true. He shouldn't be giving this ass the time of day. He should be pissed. He should wanna yell and scream and cuss the fucker out for being such a rude dick, for acting like he could do whatever he wanted, simply because he was "The Great James Diamond, International Pop Star." Kendall never gave second chances, to anyone. Why should this douchebag be any different?

'Because he's different,' his brain reasoned. Or was it his heart. Whatever. 'Because to you, he doesn't feel like The Great James Diamond, International Pop Star. To you, he's just James.'

'Yeah, well, that's the fuckin' problem.'

And it was true. It would be so much easier if he did see the guy as some huge celeb asshat, if the singer was some clichéd divo who demanded only green kiwi flavored jelly beans or trashed hotel rooms or constantly hooked up with a parade of skanks that were provided for him every night. But that wasn't this guy. No, James had to be sweet and actually listen to Kendall when he spoke, had to be really great with his sister and actually win her equally as hard to get to heart, had to be like Mary fucking Poppins and be "practically perfect in every way".

Had to look at him with those fucking eyes and make the world melt away, make his heart beat faster and slower at the same time, make his stomach flutter and flip.

Had to invite him to his dressing room and give him a kiss that went beyond lips and tongue and hit something deep down inside that he thought had died a long time ago.

Had to...had to just be James.

Fuck, Kendall was in deep. And he barely fucking knew the guy.

He let out a harsh groan as he sat back, leaning so his spine was arched over the back of his chair and his head was tilted, his hand covered face turned towards the ceiling. The sound soon turned to a frustrated yell, muffled by his palms, but the feeling was still there, bone deep. He didn't wanna be in love, didn't even wanna be in lust, especially not with a guy like James. He was too clean cut, too goody-goody, too much of a pretty boy. Too famous.

And there was Kendall, a selfish asshole who was more concerned with himself, had a heart as black as his fucking boots and just as scuffed, had more baggage than Beyonce's private jet, and, more than likely, the beginnings of alcoholism. Not to mention he wasn't all that great to look at. But still, he deserved better than some rich and famous pop dick who was clearly just fucking around with him to have fun.

Dropping his hands, he felt them slap harshly on his spread legs as he raised his head up. Green eyes came across the laptop screen right as that blue bar appeared along the top of the Twitter timeline. '1 New Tweet.' With a resolute sigh, he moved his index finger over the pad below the keyboard, clicking the bar and reading the tweet that was revealed.

'Show is over! James was amazing and everyone had an awesome time! :D'

Kendall couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't get his heart to start back up and he was pretty sure that he needed those last two things in order to keep living, despite his barely passing grade in bio last year.

But fuck. Just...fuck. Fuck!

Okay, he clearly needed to chill the fuck out. He was getting way hyped up, way overstrung about nothing. The concert was over. Big fucking deal. Didn't mean anything. Sure, the guy asked to call after it was done, but it wasn't like he'd be dialing the second he got offstage. He had other shit to do besides talk to some random dude back in Bumfuck, Minnesota, so he clearly wasn't gonna be calling right away.

His iPhone buzzed violently against his desk, moving across the wood and making him jump. Not 'cause he was scared or anything. It just surprised him was all. He hadn't been expecting it.

Feeling like a jackass, he grabbed the smart phone, taking a look at the new text he'd just received.

'gotta take shower, meet w/ fans. Call in 10-20 mins, ok?'

No. Telling Kendall about how he was about to get naked and sudsy in a shower was most definitely not okay.

But he still replied with a 'yeah.'

Then it was more waiting.

And more waiting.

And more waiting.

And he was so not listening to this song.

Leaning forward, Kendall rested an elbow on his knee, cupping his chin in his left hand as his right index finger set about scrolling through his music library, trying to find something else to listen to. Only he had no clue what the fuck he wanted to hear, because he had no idea what the fuck he was feeling. Fucking awesome.

A harsh sigh escaped him before he smeared a hand over his face, leaving it over his mouth and chin, green eyes focused on the laptop screen. But he didn't see anything. His brain was going too fast, thoughts racing at a million miles an hour, making him unable to just be in the moment. No, he was thinking about what was gonna happen when that phone rang, when he answered, when he spoke to James.

If he spoke to James.

He wanted to be pissed at the guy, forcing himself to remember how it felt to have the other male walk out, the confusion and hurt that had hit him like a...well, he was gonna say "freight train" but that just made him think of the bodyguard, who seemed to be nothing but nice and took damn good care of Katie while Kendall was off making out with James.

Which just made Kendall think of the kiss he shared with the singer in the dressing room and how amazing it was, how it felt to have the brunet's tongue in his mouth, fingers wrapped around the elder male's wrists—and bandana technically—bodies pressed together as he was shoved against the wall. Fuck, it made his cock twitch at just the memory. He longed to go back to that moment, longed to have a do-over. He'd grab the singer's arm, pull him back, stop him from leaving and force their lips back together, make them pick up where they left off and go even further.

And his dick was clearly on board with that plan.

His heart probably was, too.

Come to think of it, his head seemed to be the only thing that wasn't okay with this, the only thing still holding on to the hurt and the anger and the confusion. Because he never really got an explanation.

Okay, he kinda did. James said he "panicked", but that seemed like a load of shit.

And now that Kendall was thinking even more about it, he never got a fucking apology either. A fucking half-hearted reason and no fucking "I'm sorry" for any of it.

All right, being pissed again clearly wasn't a problem.

"So give me one good reason, I should be forgiven, you when I don't care anyway!"

Oh, the accuracy and relevance of his ringtone.

Hitting pause on the music, he grabbed his iPhone, eyes darting down to the time in the bottom left corner of his laptop screen. Had he seriously spaced out for that fucking long? Yeah, he had no clue. Couldn't remember when he got that text. He could check, but that would require ignoring the call, which wasn't happening, no matter how he was feeling towards the male who was ringing him.

Kendall inhaled deeply to steel his nerves, trying to calm his stomach and stop it from doing that annoying fucking flippy thing and to get his heart beating at a regular pace—fail on all those—blowing the air out harshly. Then, he finally hit 'answer'.

"Hello?"

"Kendall?"

'No, it's fucking Santa Claus.' "Yeah. Hey."

A breath of air sounded down the line, like a relieved sigh. "Hey."

The blond's head tilted down, small smile playing at the corner of his lips as he stared at his free left hand, watching it playing with the white frayed threads around the hole in the knee of his jeans. "Hey."

James let out an amused laugh, the sound causing that flutter to move from Kendall's stomach to his heart. "I think we've established the 'hey'."

A nervous "heh" left the teen as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah." Straightening up, he leaned back in his chair, cringing as it creaked, adjusting his beanie on his head as he slumped down. He cleared his throat, moving his arm so it was now laying across his flat stomach. "So," he started, not entirely sure where he was going with that. He just felt the need to fill the silence, to end the awkwardness, to try and get some sorta conversation underway. That's what phone calls were for, right?

Well, that and phone sex, but it was a bit too soon for that.

Right?

Right.

"So," the singer repeated, fabric shuffling around in the background. "What are you up to?"

Kendall swung the chair around so he was facing his desk, eyes coming across the Lit book that was open on top, notebook to the side, pencil laying haphazardly across the lined paper. "Homework," he lied, swinging himself back so he was facing the side wall once more. He'd taken the book out mostly as a cover, in case his mom—for whatever unknown fucking reason—decided to drop by his room and check up on him—even though it hadn't happened for years, but that didn't mean it wouldn't suddenly occur in the future.

And, admittedly, he'd halfway read it. Or at least tried. He spent more time fixated on that fucking Twitter feed and trying to figure out what he wanted to listen to. Not all that conducive to learning or whatever.

"Oh." The elder male's voice was flat and the younger one tried to figure out exactly what that meant, what the other guy was feeling or thinking, only to come up blank. "I should let you get to it then."

"No!" Kendall shot forward, body bolting upright, panic overtaking him. It took a split-second for him to realize what a fucking drama queen he was being, how fucking pathetic that was, and to calm his voice down. "No," he repeated, much more even and cool, despite the fact that the fear of James hanging up and leaving was still there, still making his heart pound for a reason other than a physical attraction, the usual cause of the elevated heart-rate.

"It's fine," he added, hoping he sounded normal and not like a freaked out lunatic who refused to let the other male go. "I needed a break anyway."

Another relieved sigh came through the phone line and Kendall could practically picture the smile on James' face. "Good."

The blond couldn't help but smile, too, the heart pounds no longer fear or worry that the singer was gonna end the call. Closing his laptop, he rose to his feet and headed over to his bed, flopping onto his back on it, putting an arm behind his head. "So. What are you up to?"

"Nothing much really. I'm just hanging out on the bus as we head toooo-" he prolonged the word as he trailed off. "Yeah, I have no clue where I'm going."

A laugh escaped the teen's lips as he raised his eyes to the ceiling, crossing his ankles. Then it hit him. The singer was on the bus, probably on a bunk. With a thin flimsy curtain for privacy. And a bunch of other dudes. Listening in on this convo. "You're on your bus?"

"Yeah," the pop star sounded confused before he seem to catch on, explaining things to the teen. "I have the whole back room to myself, door's shut. Giant bed back here, too." More fabric was being shuffled, most likely James getting comfy on the bed, then a slight creaking like he was bouncing on it. It soon stopped though, more shuffling, then he spoke again. "Actually a bit too big. Been thinking about getting a dog to share it with."

'I could share it with you.'

'Whoa, brain! What the fuck? Not called for. Dick.'

'Dick's the one wanting to fuck the guy, not snuggle all night. Although the snuggling is more the heart's department.'

'I don't fucking snuggle.'

'Yeah, we'll see about that.'

"This is weird, right?"

The last voice wasn't his own. It was James, reminding Kendall that he was having a conversation with another guy, not himself.

His eyes went wide in panic, momentarily paranoid that the elder male knew the younger was arguing internally—and what he was arguing about—but he quickly recovered. The dude wasn't a fucking psychic, just a pop star. Kendall was fine. Sorta.

He shifted around, pulling at his jeans over his left thigh as they rode up on him, trying to get physically comfy in an attempt to get that mental comfort back as well. It was probably just a psychological thing, but whatever worked. "Whaddya mean?" he questioned, hoping he didn't sound as freaked as he had felt.

"This whole situation with us," James answered. "It's weird. Right?"

The blond hadn't actually thought about it, but now that it had been brought up... "Yeah, I guess," he admitted, rubbing his forehead before folding his arm behind his head once again. "But that's to be expected when the guy you were making out with runs out without a word. Other than 'fuck'."

There was a brief pause in the conversation before the singer spoke up. "I meant being on the phone with someone you barely know. But that, too."

"Oh," the blond stood there, mouth still formed in the 'O' shape for a moment before talking. "Right."

"Yeah."

Kendall knew it was just the two of them of the phone, but it felt like a couple others had joined in the conversation, others named Silence, Awkwardness, and Shit I Totally Fucked This Up By Saying The Wrong Thing. The blond started wracking his brain, trying to figure out what the hell he could—or even should—say in order to salvage this phone call. Seemed like all he did was manage to find the exact wrong thing to say at the wrong moment and completely fuck shit up between the two of them.

'Great job, dumbass.'

'Yeah, you're not fucking helping right now so if you could fuck off-'

"I'm sorry, by the way," James once again cut into his mental argument. Seriously, thank fuck the guy wasn't a mind reader. "About running out."

"It's okay," Kendall lied, knowing better, knowing he should just tell the singer the truth, tell him it wasn't okay and berate the fuck out the guy, make the brunet feel as shitty about it as the blond did at that moment.

"It's not."

All right, seemed like he was getting a second shot at it. Might as well take the opportunity presented to him. "You're right. It's not okay. I was just tryna be nice." Which was totally not how he operated, but he wanted to impress the guy, wanted the guy to like him, wanted the guy to wanna talk to him all the time, wanted the guy to wanna be with him.

God, he felt fucked in the head. Since when did he give a fuck what anyone else thought of him? Since when did he wanna be nice? Since when did he wanna keep someone around, care if they left or if they stayed? The New-New Kendall, the one who'd suddenly showed up after that first James Diamond concert, seemed a whole lot different that the New Kendall who showed a short time after he started high school. And in all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure if he liked it or not.

James laughed down the phone line, although Kendall wasn't exactly sure what was funny. "I have enough nice people kissing my ass on a daily basis. How about you just be Kendall?"

All right, if the singer wanted the teen to be himself, then he'd be himself. For better or worse. Like he told Carlos a couple weeks ago in the parking lot outside Sherwood's, if the guy couldn't handle the real Kendall, he didn't deserve him.

"Well, in that case," he started, deciding with a mental 'fuck it' that he was no longer gonna hold back. "What you did was really fucked up. Like, really, extremely fucked up. I was confused for days, not to mention hurt like hell that I'd been ditched that way, and I deserve a damn good explanation other than 'I panicked'."

More silence, most likely the elder male taking the younger's words in, mulling them over, deciding what to think and how to respond. After a long moment, he finally replied. "I take it back. I want you to be nice and kiss my ass again."

A humorless laugh left the blond. "Too late now, Diamond. This is me. Take it or leave it."

A small laugh came down the line before the elder male spoke in a serious tone. "As strange as this sounds, since I hardly even know you, I'll take it. Crazy, huh?"

Kendall face grew serious as he looked down at himself. He brought his arm back from behind his head, fingers playing at the edge of his faded Linkin Park t-shirt. His voice was low, solemn, as he answered the somewhat rhetorical question. "Guess we can be crazy together."

And he meant it, hoping the other male would know what he was implying with those words. He knew it was crazy to be on the phone with a person he barely knew, a celeb at that. But there he was—there they were, talking, well, more or less talking, with a guy he'd had about two conversations with—if they even counted as conversations—and he wanted to keep it going, make it last, make it so that they'd have more talks.

"I like the sound of that," James stated, seeming like he was smiling. And damn if Kendall didn't smile right back.

"Same."

"So," the singer started, pausing as the sounds of fabric shuffling came down the line, the blond figuring the brunet was shifting positions and getting comfortable again. "Since we're gonna be crazy together, you should tell me about yourself."

Kendall swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. Yeah, he wasn't gonna go there. His past wasn't all that great a place, not something he liked reminiscing about. Talking about it was even worse. He wasn't a talker, never had been. He kept shit in, kept it to himself. No need to hash over shit that hurt, to bring that pain back up and screw himself over with bad memories, or burden anyone else with his bullshit. Last thing he wanted to be was a whiny asshole who only really seemed to care about himself and his own problems, unloading them on those around him. Keeping shit to himself was just how he operated, had always been that way. And after all the negative things that had happened to him, he'd only gotten worse at keeping it all in.

So yeah, talking about himself was the last fucking thing he wanted to do.

"Not much to tell," he stated, adjusting his beanie on his head before dropping his hand on his lap.

"I disagree."

Motherfucker. He was really gonna make him fucking talk about himself, wasn't he? Son of a fucking bitch.

He let out a harsh sigh, slamming his head back against his pillow, knowing there was no way around this. And damn him if he didn't kinda sorta maybe slightly a little bit wanna talk to James, tell the singer about himself, on the hope that if the brunet knew him better, he'd get another phone call. Or a thousand more.

So he quit fighting himself and just gave in to the other male's wants. "Fine. Whaddya wanna know?"

Kendall could practically hear James' smirk, could picture it as well as he could see his own palm. "Tell me about your fam," he requested. "You just have the one sister?"

Yeah, not exactly what he wanted to talk about at all. Favorite movie? Sure. He could go on for hours about the "Saw" franchise, about the balance of gore and life lessons, how it truly was more than just a horror flick. Favorite music? Well, the singer knew the teen was into metal and hardcore, so there was plenty to talk about there. Hell, the blond wouldn't even mind discussing his favorite fucking color at this point. Just not his family.

Closing his eyes, he spoke. "Yeah. It's just the two of us and our mom."

"No dad?"

Fuck.

Kendall's jaw clenched, fist doing the same, bunching around his t-shirt. His grip tightened on his iPhone and he had to make sure he didn't break the damn thing. Took him fucking long enough to save up for the motherfucker.

"He bailed a few years ago." And that was all he was gonna fucking say about that.

"I'm so-"

"Don't be," Kendall interrupted, knowing the exact words that were gonna be coming out the singer's mouth. It was the same thing everyone said when they found out the Knight father had walked out on his family. "Not your fault." And that was the same thing Kendall always said in response. Frankly, he was fucking sick of it.

"I still feel bad. I know how it feels to have your parents split." James' voice was grave, serious, filled with the emotions that came from every child of divorce, no matter how long it had been or how old they were.

"Well, don't," the blond instructed, voice hard. "I'm over it."

The brunet snorted. "Yeah. Sure, you are." The sarcasm was dripping off every word and the teen wondered if he was as annoying when he talked like that.

Then he wondered why he gave a shit.

Still not wanting to talk about it, he decided to just change the subject instead, hoping to deflect the attention off himself and onto the other male. "What about you? Let's talk about you now."

More shuffling. "Anything you need to now about me is on Wikipedia."

"No," the teen argued. "Basic shit about you is on there, and if I wanted to read about your time in that children's choir or your background in musical theater, I'd go on there."

"Sounds like you already have," the singer commented smugly. Kendall wanted to punch the fucker.

"Whatever," he played it off. "Look, point is I wanna know the real you, not the artist, not the pop star, not the facade the world gets. The real actual James."

More silence, more awkwardness, a heavy feeling falling over them. Just like it had in the dressing room. Right before James walked out.

Shit.

The singer breathed out the words "fuck, Kendall", giving the blond negative flashbacks, causing panic to well up inside him once more.

The teen shot up, sitting on the bed, face serious as he pointed at nothing. "No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to shut me out again."

"I gotta go," the elder male started, voice dead, emotionless, causing the younger male to picture that expressionless mask the brunet wore. He was pulling away. Kendall could feel it. "Been a long night."

"Don't you fucking dare hang up!" Kendall practically growled through gritted teeth, jaw clenched tight, hand in a fist once again.

"Night, Kendall."

"James? James!" It was too late. The singer had hung up.

Kendall muttered out a "motherfucker" as he searched through his contacts, calling the elder male back. Two rings and it was sent to voicemail, meaning the brunet had chosen to ignore the blond.

"Fuck!" He didn't bother holding back, screaming out the swear as he threw his phone across the room, before folding his legs up, feet flat on the bed, elbows resting on his bent knees, the heel of his palms against the temples on his head. Every time. Every fucking time Kendall thought he was getting closer, thought he was making some sorta connection with the elder male, James would pull away. And once again, the blond was blaming himself for ruining it.

It wasn't gonna work out between them. He knew it deep down inside, in his head, his heart, everywhere. A relationship with someone famous wasn't gonna be easy, Kendall wasn't about to fool himself on that. Even if he never really had thought about going into an actual serious relationship with anyone, much less James...But he knew that if he had wanted to do just that, then it would be hard as hell, especially when the singer kept pulling away like that.

He might as well just give up before he got even more invested, before his heart was really into it and he ran a bigger risk of getting even more hurt, more depressed than he already was. He had to go back to his original plan of getting over the elder male, of moving on with his life, of going back to the way he'd been before he was dragged to that stupid fucking concert. Once again, he made the resolution to just be done with all things James Diamond, once and for all.

Standing up, he made his way over to the pile of clothes by his closet, where his iPhone had landed. He picked up the device, glad it hadn't been damaged, glad it had a soft landing, then carried it back over to his bed. He knew the singer wasn't gonna call back, wasn't gonna apologize for figuratively walking out a second time, but he wanted to have the phone close by. Just in case.