A/N:If you didn't see this chapter title coming after the last one, you're blind.

I'm sure I have a million things to say here, but I am just in such a "I don't give a fuck about anything" mood so... I don't even know how I feel about this chapter but here it is.

Don't own Twitter, blahblahblah. I dunno. Meh.

Shortest notes in a long ass time. Enjoy the chapter.

Hangovers are fun.

No, they're not. Fuck, even his own sarcasm was annoying at that moment.

Kendall woke up with a groan, laying on his stomach, arm hanging off the side of his bed, pool of drool on his pillow. Always fun. Better than a pool of puke.

Speaking of...

He clamped his mouth shut, pushing himself up and getting out of bed, ignoring the throbbing in his head and the fatigue in his muscles as he made his way to the bathroom. Lifting the seat up, he knelt around the toilet, before leaning over it and emptying the contents of his stomach into the ceramic bowl.

Carlos would tell him this was a clue that he shouldn't drink as much, that a couple beers here and there were fine, but that the blond clearly went overboard with it. The Latino would tell the blond this was a sign that it was time to cut back, way back, that it obviously wasn't good for him, that he was damaging his body, and blah blah blah.

Whatever. Kendall just wanted to forget life for a while. And it worked. He could barely remember half of the previous night. After he left that bathroom, he'd gone to the kitchen, stealing some jock's tequila shots and downing them himself, glaring when the fucker protested, succeeding in getting the douche to back off. Couple more shots, another beer, everything else was just...blank.

So clearly, it was a successful night.

Stomach empty, he flushed the toilet, groaning as he got up. A quick rinse out with some mouthwash and he left the bathroom, feet shuffling, hand on his forehead. In the back of his mind he registered he was still in the clothes he put on the day before, including his beanie, and that he most definitely needed a shower. But at that moment, he just wanted to get back in bed and fall back asleep.

He made it to his bed—barely—slowly sinking down onto it. A glass of water and a few painkillers sat on his nightstand and he figured Carlos had left them there for him. As always. He put all the pills in his mouth at once, swallowing them down with the help of the clear liquid, drinking a little more than necessary since he was thirsty as fuck. Once he felt quenched, he put the glass back on the nightstand, letting out a deep breath as he put his hands on either side of him, gripping the edge of the bed.

He felt weird. Not just hungover weird, but...weird. He knew his reason for drinking last night, and it wasn't his usual bullshit he was trying to forget. It was all that shit with James. And that voicemail. Fuck, he'd forgotten about that fucking voicemail.

Lifting his hands, he dug the heels of them in his eyes, rubbing roughly. He missed a call from the singer, possibly while he was off making fun of the guy and disappointing his best friend, all so his other friend didn't get suspicious. And the pop star had hung up, telling the blond to forget he called, meaning he more than likely wasn't gonna be dialing the teen's number up again. Shit.

Yet, Kendall didn't feel upset, didn't feel depressed, wasn't completely bummed out and wanting to do nothing but stay in bed and numb himself out. Okay, he wanted to stay in bed, but that was due to the fact that his head was screaming at him and his stomach was churning. Point was he wasn't dealing with the usual overwhelming sadness he felt when it came to James and everything surrounding their situation.

His hands dropped as his eyes widened. Had it finally happened? Had he actually gotten over the brunet fuckass?

The way his heart started pounding and his stomach started flipping—for a reason other than nausea—at the thought of the singer's face told him that wasn't the case, that he was still as into the pop star as he had been when he got that message on his phone. So what the fuck was going on?

The iPhone beeped from its spot on the nightstand and Kendall grabbed it, seeing he had a new Twitter DM from Camille. He let out a sigh as he clicked to open the message, slightly squinting at the device's bright screen as he read it.

'rumor on the internet is ur a dick.'

What the fuck?

His brow furrowed as he typed his response, asking what the hell she was talking about. He got an answer a few seconds later.

'sum grl on tumblr is sayin she goes 2 ur skool, that she talked 2 u & u were a dik, lied & said u werent kendall from the jd concert'

Oh fucking terrific. Exactly what he fucking needed at that moment, fucking internet drama and some bullshit over what he said to some random chick at his school. Son of a fucking bitch.

A second DM came in before he got a chance to reply to the first.

'defended u, said she had no proof that it was really u, could've been sum guy who just LOOKS like that kendall guy from the jd sho...'

Then a third.

'& that she shouldnt talk shit a/b sum1 she doesnt kno, guy from skool couldve been havin bad day. plus i doubt jd would go 4 an asshole'

Then a fourth.

'btw I dont think ur a dik, im sure she was a bitch. totes understand y u didnt claim 2 b guy from jd sho. ill always bak u up bud *heart*'

A tired smile played on his lips, feeling incredibly grateful for having a friend like her, for having someone in his life who had his back, who would defend him to the end, who would back him up no matter what stupid ass choices he made. Well, someone other than Carlos really, who had his reasons for doing what he did. Kendall didn't deserve either of them.

Smile still there, he typed up his response.

'thx cam. preciate it. glad 2 kno ur always there 4 me & that u understand.'

'cuz ik ud do the same 4 me' was her reply.

He hesitated for a long moment before sending her a 'u fukin kno it.'

She sent a big smiley in response, something he didn't reply to. In all honesty, he was contemplating telling her about James' phone call, and the voicemail he received the night before, only it wasn't exactly something he could easily send over DMs. He'd rather do it face to face, over Skype or something, but his hangover pretty much killed any desire he had to deal get up off the bed, much less deal with his laptop. So instead, he just put his iPhone back on his nightstand, taking his beanie off his head and running his hand through his hair repeatedly, scratching his scalp. Ew. Definitely needed a shower.

Which meant he'd have to get up. Fuck.

He flopped back onto his spine, hands clasped and covering his eyes, legs bent and hanging over the side of his bed. He wasn't moving. For anything. Not for a long, long, long while.

His iPhone clearly wasn't on board with that plan, as it started blasting his Eighteen Visions ringtone. Motherfucker.

With a groan, Kendall slowly pushed himself back into a sitting position, grabbing the smart phone and looking at the screen, seeing "James?" displayed on it. He really should change that name in his contacts, considering he now knew for a fact that it really was the pop star's num-

Wait a minute.

Wait a fucking minute.

His eyebrows shot up, eyes widening—then quickly going back to normal size, since that shit hurt—as he stared at the name of who was calling. What in the actual fuck?! First the guy says "delete this message, forget I called", now he's dialing him up again? What in the hell was going on?!

'Answer it, you stupid fuck! Before the voicemail does it!'

'Oh! Fuck! Right.'

Feeling like a dumbass, he hit 'answer', letting out a rough "Hello?"

"How's the hangover?"

Kendall raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know I'm hungover?"

"Figured it would kinda be a given, considering how wasted you were when you called me last night."

And there go his eyes popping out his skull again. Oh fuck. Ohhhhh fuck! He drunk dialed?! And not only that, but he drunk dialed the guy he was into.

Leaning forward, Kendall rested his left elbow on his knee, rubbing his forehead with his hand. He could only imagine what kinda angry bullshit he spouted out, how badly he embarrassed himself in front of the singer, how much of an ass he made of himself.

"You don't remember calling me, do you?" James stated, letting out a small laugh. "Yeah, figured you wouldn't."

"I am so fucking sorry," the blond stated, eyes closed, hand now still as it cradled his forehead. He had no clue what he was apologizing for, but he felt like he needed to.

"Don't be," the singer instructed, sounding like he wasn't just saying it to make the teen feel better, sounding like he actually meant it. But the blond couldn't help but feel worried and panicked that he'd said or done the wrong thing, his chest tight with the feeling. "I'm actually glad you did it."

He raised an eyebrow once more. "You're glad I drunk dialed."

"Well, I would've preferred it if you were sober and could remember it, but yeah. 'Cause despite the fact that you were wasted, it reminded me how much I like talking to you." His voice was low during the second half of his last statement, but the blond still heard every syllable.

Both eyebrows shot up at this, Kendall sitting straight up, left arm laying over his leg and his hand dangling in between the long limbs. "Really?"

A laugh sounded down the line. "Really."

The smile that spread across the blond's face hurt more than his hungover head, but he didn't care. James liked talking to him. "That mean you'll call more often?"

"As often as I can. Easier to be crazy together that way, right?"

"Right." He was sure his smile was audible through his voice, but he didn't care. The teen felt like his heart was literally flying, despite the broken, shattered pieces, despite the fact that it was barely being held together anymore. James remembered. He remembered their deal to be crazy together, remembered their second phone conversation, remembered so much stuff about his time with Kendall. Fuck, the blond wanted to grab the brunet's face and kiss him until neither of them could breathe, he was that overjoyed.

He finally understood Carlos' stupid squeals and the pterodactyl noises and his spastic lil leg kick things he did. 'Cause he kinda wanted to do it himself.

The still working part of his brain told him that would be a really bad fucking idea, considering how the other, much bigger, part was pounding like a double-kick drum in a hardcore song. Not to mention the singer would think he was a freak.

"So," James started, sounding like he was getting comfortable. "What are you up to?"

Still smiling, Kendall laid back, tucking an arm under his head. "Just woke up."

"Lazy ass."

"What?" He lifted his head to see his alarm clock on the nightstand as he spoke. "I am not—" 2:10 PM. "—okay, maybe a lil bit. But I have my reasons."

Another laugh, the sound more musical than any of the pop star's songs. "Was it worth it? Whatever happened last night, was it worth the hangover?"

Kendall thought about it, about the wallflower routine he was pulling throughout half the party, about how badly he just wanted to go home and be left the fuck alone, about how shitty he felt after realizing he missed the singer's call, about how he couldn't even remember half the night but somehow knew he'd been a dick to Carlos once again when all the Latino was trying to do was help.

About how he pulled Drinking Faux Pas Number One and drunk dialed.

"Yeah. Got you to call."

The blond could practically hear the brunet smile down the line. "Then it was definitely worth it then."

"What about you?" the teen asked, grabbing his beanie off the bed and flipping it around on his torso. "What are you up to?"

"Being bored in my dressing room, trying not to go insane as I wait on soundcheck."

"Ah, the glamorous life of being a rock star," Kendall replied sarcastically, still playing with his beanie.

"You know it. Oh, so much fun at all times. I can't even handle how crazy things are right now."

"Hmm," was all Kendall could think to say as he stared at his gray wool cap, not really knowing what it was actually like backstage. Although he had to admit, it would be pretty damn cool to see it first hand. And, if he was fully being honest with himself, despite the countless bands he was into and would love to hang out with, he knew that he'd most like to be spending time with James backstage.

Especially if his second time in the singer's dressing room went like the first.

With a different ending, of course.

A lull hit their conversation, neither male speaking, and Kendall remembered his thoughts in the bathroom after listening to that voicemail, about how he'd be satisfied just being on the phone with the singer, talking not actually necessary. He'd been right. Just knowing James was on the other end of the line was enough for that smile to stay on his face, enough to make him happy, enough to gratify him.

"So, should we do that whole awkward getting to know you conversation? I promise not to talk about your dad."

Wow, he really did remember everything.

"Depends," the blond started. "Am I allowed to get to know you, too? Other than wikipedia bullshit."

There was a pause in the conversation once again and Kendall could imagine James running his fingers through his hair like he seemed to do when thinking.

"It's a two-way street," the teen pointed out. "I'm not gonna sit here and tell you all about myself when I'm not getting anything in response. Doesn't exactly seem fair."

The elder male sighed out a "yeah, I know", the blond perfectly picturing how the brunet would look as he did that. "Guess I kinda hafta, huh?"

"Yep," Kendall smirked, slowly sitting up, then turning himself around so he was leaning back against his headboard, pillows propping him up.

"All right. But you go first."

"Fine." The blond scrunched up his face, not happy about it, but knowing it would be worth it if and when he learned more about the singer. "Whaddya wanna know? And nothing too difficult, my head kills."

The brunet laughed. "All right. Well, how'd your sister like her birthday?"

Kendall's brow furrowed. The guy says he wanted to know more about the blond, yet he asks about the younger sister? Seriously? "Fine. Thanks for calling her by the way, probably the best present she's ever gotten."

"Glad I could make her happy." He sounded completely genuine, like he truly was pleased he brought joy to a little girl he barely knew.

"She said you did it 'cause you want in my pants." The words came out before the teen had fully thought them up, his slowed down, muddled up brain barely able to keep up with his mouth, that was clearly having no speed issues at that moment. Awesome.

But instead of being freaked out, instead of stuttering or stammering or feeling awkward at the younger male's outburst, the elder just laughed, sounding more amused than anything. "Well, she's not wrong about that."

He lost track of how many times his eyes had gone wide that morning. Sure, he'd hoped for that, had thought it was heading that way during their make-out session, considering how heated it was, but for the singer to actually admit to it, to confess that he did, in fact, wanna sleep with the teen, that was a whole 'nother thing entirely.

Despite the lack of action in his upper head, his lower one was clearly still alert, given the way it was twitching in his boxers.

"I think that should count as something you learned about me," James stated after a long silent moment. "After all, no one else knows about that."

"Not even Logan?"

Silence, which meant Kendall was right.

"Gotta confide in someone, right?" It was a rhetorical question, so the blond didn't answer, just let the brunet keep talking. "I've known Logan my entire life. He's like a brother to me and I can trust him with anything and everything and I know for a fact he would never sell me out. And with everything that's gone down between you and me, I needed someone to talk to. So I talk to Logan, told him everything, and he helped me out."

Kendall found himself nodding, fully understanding where the elder male was coming from, considering how he did the same thing with Carlos, and mostly with Camille. Both of whom were gonna fucking freak when they found out about this phone call.

"So," the blond started. "You told Logan about the dressing room, too?"

He could practically hear the lump being swallowed down the phone line, the singer's voice lower as he spoke a "yeah" before continuing at a slightly higher volume. "And I know I seriously owe you an explanation about that, something more than just 'I panicked'—even though that's the truth, just by the way—but—" He paused, letting out a sigh, the sounds of creaking leather sounding down the phone line, probably the singer shifting positions on his couch. "But I just. Can't. Other than what I told you last night, that I'm fucked up."

"I'm fucked up, too," the teen pointed out. "Everyone is to some degree."

"Yeah, you said that last night. Also said we could be fucked up together."

He'd have to thank his drunk self somehow. Maybe with a shower at some point. After this phone call was over, of course, which hopefully won't be for a long time. "And can we?"

"I called, didn't I?"

"Yeah." That stupid, face hurting smile was back, fully audible, too. "Good point."

"Then there ya go." The elder male's own grin was heard down the line, too, and the younger felt those butterflies in his stomach threaten to somehow fly out of him, they were fluttering so bad. And fuck, did that some lame as hell. "So, back to you. You're in high school, right?"

Not his favorite topic, harping on their age difference—which wasn't even all that bad really—and the fact that in some states, he wasn't exactly legal. Plus. It was high school. Fuck that. "Yeah, a senior."

"Graduating soon?"

"Not soon enough," he muttered, smearing a hand over his face.

The singer laughed. "I take it you hate school then."

"I hate everything," he confessed plainly, slapping his hand on his torso, feeling his beanie still resting on it.

"But you like me." It was a statement, not a question, James seeming aware of how Kendall felt about him. Fucking awesome. The whole time the blond thought he was good at hiding it, but apparently he wasn't.

"Yeah," he admitted lowly, staring at his beanie, fingers playing with the loose strings inside of it. "I do."

"Good," the singer commented, almost sounding relieved. "'Cause I like you, too."

If this kept going, Kendall's face would permanently be stuck smiling, like the Joker or Two-Face or some other super fucking creepy villain in a horror flick. And strangely enough, despite the fact that the blond hated grinning, hate anything happy or nice or good or any shit like that, he was okay with the perma-smirk shit.

'Cause it was James who was causing it.