A/N: Who's ready for some bullshit excuses as to why this update took so long? No one? Well, too bad, you're getting 'em anyway! :D

I actually started this chapter pretty much immediately after posting the last one, but it got so depressing I had to take a step back for a while. Then I had to work on a oneshot for a story blog I co-run with a friend, then it was lack of motivation and not wanting to drag myself into this chapter 'cause I know it was gonna make me sad. And when I finally did manage to actually work on it, it kept fighting me. So bad. Like, it didn't wanna be written. And I blame Kendall in this because he's the uncooperative type.

So anyway, here's the update. Not gonna sit here and be like "next one won't take as long to be posted" 'cause I have no clue to be honest. But I am gonna work on it as much as possible and hope like hell it decides not to give me issues like this one did.

Quick shout-out to meheartskendall over on Tumblr for the awesome fanart! Love it! Thanks again, hun :D Same to Lonelygrl91 and mah Nathers, you guys all rick!

I'm getting distracted by "SportsCenter" as I type this out. Not that you need to know that or even care, but there it is.

Oh! Another shout-out to Sophie who claims to hate me and be done with me, but we both know that's not true. She loves me and my trolling :D

Don't think there's any covering of the ass necessary. Don't own BTR, otherwise James would be making me cupcakes in the kitchen. And lets be honest, I'd be fucking him on the counter as they baked and not writing this thing. What else, what else...think that's it.

Oh shit, nearly forgot! Happy birthday, Hybrid Theory! Linkin Park was the first band to actually mean something to me on a deep level and "One Step Closer" was the first song to show me that music should actually speak to you and your soul and your emotions, that it should say the things that you can't, that it can move you and change your mood, that it can make you happy or make you cry, that it can hit you in ways that people can't. If it weren't for this band, I wouldn't be typing this out right now. More than likely I'd be in an urn on my parents' bookshelf.

Apologies for it being late and for it more than likely not being worth the wait. But here it is. Enjoy!

[/rambles]

It wasn't a surprise in the slightest that Kendall got zero sleep that night. He literally checked his phone every five minutes to make sure he didn't miss a call or text, despite the fact that he left the sounds on so he'd hear them no matter what. But it was the mood swings that had kept him awake.

He waited about ten minutes after retrieving his phone before getting changed into a clean pair of boxers and getting ready for bed, during which his mood shifted, depression taking hold of him as it often did. And it was the same saddening thoughts of always, the same beliefs of not being good enough, not being what someone wants or needs, not being the kind of person that he should be. Getting into bed, he wrapped his comforter around him, like it would hold him and tell him he was good enough, smart enough, just anything enough to make the ones he wanted around stay with him. He wanted to be five again, when hugs from his teddy bear would make the bad stuff go away, when he could knock on his parents' door in the middle of the night after a bad dream and they'd let him sleep in their bed. When they were both around. When his dad actually liked being around him. When he was good enough and worthy of his dad's attention and affection.

Once again, he was thrown back to that, to the moments after his dad left when Kendall felt lower than the dust bunnies collecting under his bed, when he truly believed he was unlovable, unlikable, unworthy of anything good happening to him. He sniffed in the darkness, hand snaking its way out from under the comforter to grab his iPhone off its resting place on his nightstand.

Nothing new. No texts. No voicemails. No apologies.

No fucks to be given. By either male anyway.

Kendall slammed his phone on his mattress, rolling over onto his left side, facing the middle of his bed. He glared at the open bathroom door a few feet away, wondering why in the hell he was allowing himself to get so upset over some guy. Some guy who was a complete and total asshole, as he reminded himself. Some guy who had walked out on him, hung up on him, had yet to give any sort of explanation or apology for his douchetastic behavior.

Bye-bye, Depression. Hello again, Anger.

He flopped over onto his back, shoving his comforter down his t-shirt covered chest, green eyes narrowed at his ceiling. He was fuming again, skin growing hot, muscles tensing, fingers curling into a fist. The fucker could've at least apologized for walking out the other day, he could've given an explanation when asked for one—for the second time—he could've...well, he could've done a lotta shit really. But instead he ran again, this time metaphorically.

Another iPhone check. Still nothing.

Clearly Kendall wasn't getting any of those words he wanted—make that needed to hear. He wasn't gonna get an "I'm sorry" text, he wasn't gonna get a contrite phone call, he wasn't gonna get a remorseful e-mail. He was getting a whole lotta nothing and he had to deal with it. Because James Diamond was a huge fucking dicktard.

But dicktard or not, the blond still wanted to talk to him, wanted an explanation, wanted an apology. Wanted James.

Only it wasn't gonna happen. Because Kendall wasn't good enough, attractive enough, smart enough, interesting enough, anything enough for the singer, for anyone. He was just some little shit who had nothing but a lifetime of rejection, a little fucker who wasn't able to keep anyone around, a little bastard who no one wanted, who everyone left.

Turning onto his right side, he curled up in a ball, pulling the comforter over himself, tucking it around his head. He checked his phone once again, seeing a whole lotta nothing just like before, then pulled his hands close to his chest. He didn't bother wiping away the tears as they fell, his sniffing echoing in the empty, dark room. The pain and heartache he was feeling was simply a reminder that he was still alive.

No matter how he felt about his state of living.

The next day, he was a zombie. And not a "raaah! Brains! Brains!" one, or those badass ones from the "28 Days Later" movies, just... it was how he felt. An empty vessel, void of emotions, void of thoughts, just the leftover remnants of something that was once living, but now was only going through the motions of everyday life on autopilot. His heart hurt, his head was vacillating between empty and a million thoughts, and all he wanted to do was crawl back in bed and pull a Rip Van Winkle. Which wasn't allowed to happen 'cause he had to go to fucking school.

Good thing he never actually put forth an effort there.

He showed up late, missing half of first period, giving even less of a fuck about that than usual, something he previously thought impossible. He shuffled his way down the halls between classes, physically there, but mentally elsewhere, totally not with it in any manner. He didn't seem to give a shit about that either, done caring, all out of fucks to give about anything or anyone, including gorgeous brunet assholes who play mind games.

Lunchtime rolled around and his appetite was absent, despite the fact that he hadn't eaten breakfast either. So instead of heading to the cafeteria to join up with Carlos, before going to the bleachers to meet up with his other friends, the Latino halfway reluctantly following, Kendall went to the back of the school, climbing up the steep hill a few yards away, finding an empty spot to be alone.

He dropped his backpack on the perfectly manicured lawn before laying down, using the bag as a pillow of sorts. Folding his arms over his torso, he faced the sky, not a single cloud to be found, sun shining brightly down on him to the point where he had to close his eyes so they wouldn't sting as bad. He hated it. He was never a sunshine, bright and happy day kinda guy, but given his current mood—or lack thereof really—he'd rather see clouds. He'd rather be laying there in the rain, in a thunderstorm, in the cold. Maybe it'd make him sick. Maybe then he'd have a good excuse to stay in bed all day, other than the depressive urge to just do nothing.

A heavy sigh escaped past his lips as the events of the previous night came back to him, to how James had sounded so distant towards the end, so cold, so detached. Was that how every conversation was gonna go between them? Assuming, of course, there even was another convo. Chances were the singer wasn't about to try and make contact with the teen again.

But Kendall had thought that before, when the pop star had given him that apologetic look as he walked away during the concert, a face full of regrets and never-will-bes. Then boom! Outta nowhere, an e-mail, then a request for a phone call. When the blond had thought things were fully over between the two of them, it had started back up once more.

Only to end again.

Fuck his head hurt and he reached up with one hand to rub his forehead, knowing that it wouldn't help anything, but doing it anyway. This back and forth between him and James was seriously fucking with his brain and the lack of sleep from the night before wasn't helping shit.

And neither was the weirdo screaming out his name.

Kendall turned his head to the right, looking down the hill, seeing Carlos flailing his arms as he ran over, huge smile clearly evident on his face despite the measurable distance between them. Another sigh left the blond as he turned his head back to where it had been, eyes closing once more. So much for spending the time alone, away from other people, wallowing in his own bullshit by himself.

Seems like even this wasn't working out the way he wanted it to. Fucking typical.

Carlos soon reached him, flopping down on his stomach by his friend, laying perpendicular to him, head by the blond male's torso. He half-laid on his stomach, half propped himself up with his right elbow, left hand clasping the right. And the taller male just knew there would be a smile on the shorter's tan face, even without having to look at him.

"I found you!" he stated cheerfully, stating the obvious, as per usual really.

"Congrats," Kendall replied flatly, not looking at his friend, just putting his hand back on his stomach.

He could almost feel the shift in Carlos' mood, could tell when the Latino's face fell, when the shorter male's happy go lucky ran out of luck. "You okay?" he asked, seeming genuinely concerned. Like he always was. And in all honesty, it annoyed the fuck outta the blond.

But the clueless li'l friend that he was—or maybe he just didn't care—kept on talking, kept on asking about it. "You weren't in the cafeteria. And I went to the bleachers and Lucy and Guitar Dude hadn't seen you. I was worried."

The taller teen swallowed hard, wondering why the fuck the shorter would be worried, why he would care. He shouldn't, to be perfectly honest. Kendall was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, could handle his own shit, run his own life. He didn't need anyone looking out for him or worrying about him or caring.

At least that's what he told himself.

"Dude, I'm fine," he said out loud, still not moving.

"You're lying."

That was the problem with being best friends with the same person for most of your life, they knew all your tells, knew you better than you knew yourself, could figure out when something was wrong, when you were full of shit, when you were faking something. And Carlos had Kendall pretty well figured out.

Which really fucking sucked.

"I don't feel like talking."

"You never feel like talking."

"So why should this time be any different?"

"'Cause this time it's over a guy and I'm a nosy li'l fuck and I wanna hear all about it."

Kendall finally opened his eyes, turning to the right to see Carlos' bright and bubbly face, the smug look on his mug, one that the blond would wanna punch off had it been someone else. But it being Carlos, he couldn't. Bummer.

He laid there staring at his best friend, studying the optimism on his face, the expectation, the belief that Kendall was actually gonna open up and tell him what exactly was bothering him, something he hadn't really done in years. But as he thought back to the previous weekend, to when he told both Carlos and Camille the whole truth about everything, he remembered how good it felt to finally have everything out in the open, how freeing it was, how he felt like a weight had been lifted off of him. And most of all, he remembered how they helped him, how they gave him advice of sorts, how they were able to give him somewhat unbiased opinions from an outside source. Surely it would work a second time, right?

Plus it was Carlos. The guy had seen Kendall at his darkest, at his absolute worst. This wasn't exactly at that level—yet—so it would be easy to just say it.

At least in theory it was easy.

Another harsh sigh escaped him as he turned his head back, face towards the sky, squinting against the harsh sun. It may have been killing his eyes, but honestly, it was better and easier to talk when not actually looking at Carlos. "James called last night."

"What?!" the Latino screamed as he shot up into a sitting position, legs slightly bent as they laid next to him, hands flat on the grass as he somewhat leaned forward. His mouth was hanging open in half-shock and half-amusement, disbelief painting his face. "No fuckin' way!"

Kendall just nodded as he put his hands behind his head, letting the other male get out what he needed to say. It was the better option, to just sit back and let Carlos ramble or rant or scream or whatever, knowing that if the blond even tried to speak, the Latino would just interrupt with some other exclamation.

"Whaaaat?!" the shorter male drew the word out, tilting his head back before leaning forward once again. "No way! How? Did he like—I thought you guys didn't exchange numbers! I thought that was it, after the concert, nothing. How did he—what did he say? Did you guys talk? Did he explain himself? Did he tell you how he got his number? Oh my god, dude! What if he's stalking you? How's that for a fuckin' plot twist?! Celeb is obsessed with you and not the other way around. Oh my god! Dude!"

Kendall raised his eyebrows as he turned his head to his excited friend, about to ask if he was finished. Only to have Carlos' cupped fists slam down on his stomach, causing him to let out an "ooff!" and buck up slightly, coughing as the air was knocked out of him.

"Dude!"

Hand in front of his mouth, the blond just glared, still coughing, laying back in his previous position as his left arm went over his stomach to protect it from any further blows. "What?" he wheezed out.

"He called you!"

Green eyes rolled on automatic. "No shit," he started, laying his right arm by his left. "I was there."

"How?!"

"With his phone."

"Don't make me punch you again."

Kendall quirked an eyebrow. Usually he was the one making threats of violence. Carlos was really fucking serious about digging into his personal shit. The blond didn't take it to heart though, didn't feel special about it. He knew it was because of who the personal shit involved and that more than likely the Latino was just excited to hear some gossip about his favorite pop star.

Figured.

Another sigh as he smeared a hand over his face before laying his arms over his stomach again, face still turned towards the sky. "Yeah, apparently he had Logan talk to someone at VIP Nation or some shit and get my e-mail address-"

"Oh my God!"

"-And he e-mailed me-"

"Oh my God!"

"-But I didn't believe it was him, so he sent me his number and said 'call me, I'll prove it'-"

"Oh my God!"

"-Cause he wanted to wish Katie a happy birthday."

"Oh my—wait." Carlos' face twisted up in confusion as he shifted, pulling his legs around and folding them up so he was sitting Indian style, forearms loosely hanging over his knees. His brow was furrowed, dark eyes filled with a myriad of emotions as he tried to figure something out.

Once again, Kendall remained silent, knowing it was best to just let the Latino sort his shit out. Not to mention he flat out didn't feel like talking.

"So," he started, hand held out in front of him, as he seemed to still be putting it together. "He wanted to wish Katie a happy birthday?"

The blond withheld a groan. "Yes."

"He knew her birthday?" The confusion was back, his head slightly twisting.

"She brought it up during the meet 'n' greet, yeah."

The shorter male nodded as he took that in, added it to the other stockpile of info he had and was currently sorting through. "And he remembered. Whoa! Dude!" His eyes widened, huge grin spreading across his face and lightening his features. "James is clearly into you if he remembered your sister's birthday."

The taller just shrugged, not knowing what to believe, but refusing to let his hope build up too high to where he'd crash even worse than he already had. If that was even possible.

He really needed to stop thinking that, because every time he thought something was impossible, it happened anyway.

Fuck you, too, Universe.

"So then what happened?" Carlos asked giddily, that grin still plastered on his face, seeming like an excited kid hearing a bed time story. "You called him, right?"

"Yeah," the blond replied, sitting up, bending his left knee and placing his foot flat on the ground before resting his elbow on it. He stared down at his jean covered lap, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he let out yet another fucking sigh—god was that getting fucking annoying—trying to recall what happened next, but not wanting to remember at the same time. "Yeah, right after school in my car. And we kinda talked, but it was awkward. I gave him Katie's number to call her and talk to her and he did. Then later he text and asked if he could call me that night."

The noise the Latino made would be what the blond imagined a pterodactyl would sound like, a weird sharp inhale gasp type thing, his fist flying up to his mouth and teeth biting down on it. Carlos uncrossed his legs, putting his feet flat on the ground before tapping them excitedly, muffled giggles leaving him. Fanboying by proxy apparently.

"And you said 'yes', right?" the shorter male double-checked as he wrapped his arms around his knees, letting out a squeal when the taller one nodded. "What'd you talk about then? Ooh! Did you ask him why he left?"

The blond nodded, fingers playing with a blade of grass still attached to the ground, his lack of fingernails trying to scratch at it. "He said he panicked."

His best friend's face was pure "fucking seriously?", head slightly tilted down, expression of pure unamusement and disbelief on his features. "Panicked?"

"Panicked."

"Bull. Shit."

Kendall lifted his head and started straight ahead at nothing, fingers pulling blades of grass out the ground. "Yeah, that was my thought, but I never really got a chance to call him on it 'cause he changed the subject."

"To what?"

"Me. Said he wanted to get to know me." More squealing. "But when I said I wanted to get to know him, the real him and not the bullshit version that the rest of the world sees, he closed up on me again, gave me some bullshit about how he was tired and needed to go, then he hung up." The earlier anger he felt at being forcibly disconnected came back and he threw the short blades of grass he'd plucked up. Not quite as dramatic or as meaningful, nor as accurately representative of his current emotional state, but it was the only thing he had within reach to toss like that. He sure as fuck wasn't risking his iPhone again. Minor miracle he hadn't shattered the device the night before, given how flimsy and prone to breaking they were.

"Wow," was Carlos' flat response, seeming as confused and doubtful as the other male.

Turning his head to the right, Kendall took in the Latino's solemn look, saw how his brow was drawn in thought once more, his lips purse, his right index finger waving back and forth as his left hand clasped the other digits. The shorter male started nodding, agreeing with some random thought he was having—if he was even having one—and the taller cocked an eyebrow once more.

"But he's clearly into you."

"Yeah, well, I seriously fucking doubt that."

"But he is," Carlos argued, laying his legs and sitting Indian style once more, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. Holding one hand up, his face was serious as he spoke. "He remembered you, he made out with you, he remembered your sister's birthday, he went through all that trouble to get your e-mail address, he gave you his number, and he wanted to call you. If that were any other dude in the world, it would be pretty freakin' obvious he wanted you."

The Latino had a point, the blond had to admit that. At least in his head. He wasn't about to say that shit out loud. Because a much bigger part of him was somewhat refusing to see that, somewhat refusing to buy into that theory, because that part of him was too busy focusing on how James kept leaving, rather than coming.

"Right, but," Kendall started his argument. "He isn't any other dude in the world. He's James assfucking doucherag Diamond." His earlier rage now fully returned, he rose to his feet, glare on his face.

Carlos remained seated, brow drawn again, bottom lip sticking out in a pout, before he lifted his head up to his friend. "I think you've used that insult before."

"Yeah, well, I'm fuckin' tired and pissed and my head's not working right, so I can't come up with anything else right now," the blond explained as he snatched up his bookbag by its strap.

Carlos seemed to ponder this for a moment before shrugging and nodding, deciding to just buy it, before he rose to his feet and picked up his own backpack, slipping his arms through both straps. Kendall just slung his over one arm, not giving a shit—as per usual—before heading down the hill, his shorter friend on his right.

"So what are you gonna do about James?" the Latino asked when they were about halfway down.

"Nothing," the taller male replied flatly, adjusting his strap on his shoulder, holding it in place with his right hand. "I'm not gonna be some whiny fanboy groupie who goes crawling up to him begging and pleading for him to love me or fuck me or what-the-fuck-ever."

More nodding from the tanner teen as they both adjusted their steps, going from the harsh slope of the hill to the flat blacktop of the parking lot. The metal head's boots scuffed along the tarmac, kicking a couple loose rocks, wallet chains jangling against his thighs as he walked, while the other teen's Vans slapped loudly against the ground, that usual bounce still in his step.

"So you're just giving up?"

Kendall shrugged, not entirely sure what he was doing anymore. "I guess. Not like I have a choice."

"Maybe," Carlos conceded. "But it seems like every time you say you're giving up on him, something happens to change that."

And damn if the little jerk hadn't just said what Kendall had been thinking earlier.

But before the blond could reply, a tall, slender brunette female walked over, questioning yet determined look on her face as her stiletto boots clicked on the tar. The two males stopped walking as she reached them, the blond one quickly taking in her outfit of dark skinny jeans and oversized white tee, eyebrow raised as he wondered what the fuck she wanted.

"You look familiar," she stated, head cocked to the side as she narrowed her dark eyes at him, studying his face.

Fucking seriously? Now? Of all times? And of all places, at fucking school.

"And you look like you're in my way." He raised his eyebrows in expectation, waiting for her to move to the side so he could continue on his way to the school building to get the rest of the day over and done with. Sooner he got to class, the sooner he could get home and in bed to just sleep forever. Assuming his insomnia fucked off, of course.

Which wasn't likely to happen, giving the way his luck was these days.

Which also meant the prepster didn't fucking move.

Her lips slightly curved in a sarcastic "haha, you're so funny, dickhead" kind of smile before it disappeared a few seconds later. "No, I'm being serious."

"So am I. Move."

"You're Kendall, right?"

His mouth wanted to let out a "Congratu-fucking-lations, you know my name. Your award is in the mail", but his mind thought better of it. Especially when his eyes came across a purple rubber bracelet adorning her left wrist, an all-too familiar gold engrave signature on it.

Fuck.

It was pretty fucking obvious that this random chick recognized him as being "The Only Guy James Diamond Had Brought Onstage", which clearly meant she was gonna get all up in his shit, pry into his life, ask him all sorts of annoying ass questions that he could barely handle from Carlos, much less this completely stranger who he clearly was already aggravated with. So, instead of dealing with any of her bullshit questions or digs into his personal life, he automatically went to defensive maneuver number one: denial.

"Nope."

"Really 'cause you look a lot like him."

He played dumb, ignoring the questioning doubt on her face. "Like who?"

"Kendall."

"Kendall who?"

"The guy James Diamond brought on stage."

He forced his eyes to roll, letting out a snort as he put a whole lotta "are you fucking serious?" on his mug. "Do I fuckin' look like someone who'd go to a fuckin' James Diamond concert? Much less get on stage with that pansy ass motherfucker?" he questioned, gesturing to his black jeans, boots, wallet chains, and Funeral for a Friend t-shirt, a "c'mon get real" expression on his face.

That seemed to get through to her, a hand nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "Well, no, bu-"

"Then why the fuck do you think I'm this Kendall dude?"

"Because you look just like him," she stated, folding her arms over her chest as she stuck her hip out, attitude taking a one-eighty, confidence seeming to have returned. Fucking terrific. "Plus that Kendall dude, as you put it, was in a rock band t-shirt, too. Dethklok, if I remember right."

Shit, he hadn't thought of that. Oh well, too late now. And no fucking way was he gonna admit to anything, much less confess to this bitch that he was lying and that she had busted him. Would only make shit worse. "Well, I would commend the guy on good musical taste, but he clearly doesn't have it if he's at a James Diamond concert."

Carlos pouted out the side of his eyes. Kendall ignored it.

The warning bell sounded out in the distance, letting everyone know they had five minutes to get their asses to their class before being tardy. And normally he wouldn't give a shit and take his sweet time getting to wherever he needed to go, but in this instance, it was the opposite. He was ready to get the fuck away from this chick and her invasive questions.

"Gotta get to class," he pointed out. "Have fun with your shit music and if you ever do meet that Kendall guy, tell him I feel bad he was forced to endure spending time around James." With a final sarcastic wave, he walked around the female and headed towards the school building, Carlos still by his side.

When they were a few feet away from the brunette, the Latino spoke, voice slightly low, a sign he wasn't sure how the blond would react to what he was about to say. "Don't you think you went a bit too far with the insults to James? I mean, you don't really think he's a pansy with bad music, do you?" The last two words were spoken with a higher inflection, hope soaking every letter, like he was wishing for it to not be true and for Kendall to not mean the horrible things he said about the singer.

A sigh escaped the blond, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "No. Not really. But you're gonna keep that shit to yourself." It wasn't a request, wasn't a petition for a favor. It was pretty much a demand, an order, a "do this or I will kick your ass so hard you won't be able to sit for a month".

The shorter male kept looking up at the taller with his patented puppy dog face. "And I guess you want me to keep quiet about you going up on stage, too, right?" His tone implied that he wasn't happy about it in the slightest, that he had huge objections to it, that he wanted to turn around and tell Kendall to go screw himself—only in his more polite Carlos way.

"Yeah." A harsh sigh hit his ears and the blond stopped walking, the Latino doing the same, turning to the taller male. "C'mon. Just keep this one secret, be my friend."

The shorter male let out a snort, turning his head to the side as he shook it in disbelief. "Right. 'Cause you've been such a great pal lately."

The words were muttered, but Kendall still heard every syllable, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Carlos shook it off, turning back to his friend, smile on his face that wasn't as bright or as genuine as the ones he'd flashed earlier. "Just forget I said it."

The metal head was a little lost, but more than willing to just brush it all aside. He still wasn't in the mood to get into anything, plus he knew about his best friend's penchant for just doing or saying anything to make other people happy, no matter the cost to himself. Side effect of his upbringing, Kendall figured. After all, everyone was fucked by their parents in some way shape or form.

"We're cool though, right?" he double-checked, worried the Latino would get fed up and leave him. "I mean, I know I've been pretty out of it the past couple months but you and me-" He pointed back and forth between their two torsos.

The smile on his friend's tan face turned to a genuine warm one that was more typical of Carlos. "Of course!" He stepped over to Kendall's right, reaching up to awkwardly dangle an arm over the taller male's shoulders. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

A relieved smile played on the corner of the blond's lips as he let out a "cool", slinging an arm over his friend's shoulders, too, before they headed towards the school building to get to class. And as he walked across the parking lot, Kendall couldn't help but be thankful for Carlos' clingy behavior.

First time for everything he supposed.