A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one. I just flat out didn't have time to work on it, with getting ready for Thanksgiving (which is a stupid fucking holiday by the way) and writing a oneshot for my friend's birthday and all this shit, not to mention needing time to recover from "Breaking Dawn Part II" because OH MY FUCKING GOD! *spazzy arm flail*...yeah, it was a struggle to find time to do this. And in case you missed my note on Tumblr or LiveJournal, there's more than likely gonna be long delays between the next couple chapters, since I'm gonna be busy with holiday stuff and making everyone's Christmas presents (including more oneshots for friends and stuffed animals for sisters...harsh sigh). Finding time to write will more than likely be an issue, but I'm gonna try. But anyway, don't be surprised if it takes a while for new chapters to be posted between now and Christmas.

Anyhoo, usual ass covering about Twitter and Skype (IT'S SKYPE NATH!). Shout out to MonkeesDoctorWho1987 for giving me the idea about Mama K. Super big giant shout out to MeHeartsKendall over on Tumblr for the awesome fanart :D LOVE it. Oh, and credit to my dad over the plugs/sockets line.

Oh! And a quick note, leaving a review that is just "UPDATE" will only result in pissing me off and actually delaying the update, especially when I'm in a pissy mood like I was when I saw that. So please don't do it. Kinda rude.

But other than that, enjoy the update!

It was the best night's sleep Kendall had gotten in months.

Which meant waking up sucked. For several reasons. The first one obviously being the fact that he had gotten some much needed shut eye, so for it to end by the annoying blaring of his All That Remains alarm tone, signalling he needed to get up and ready for work, was a major fucking bummer. Second was the realization that he did, in fact, have to go to work that day, always a deep fucking joy. Third, waking up meant the end of his x-rated dream, one that had pretty much picked up from where James' story telling had left off. Fourth, he'd rolled over onto his hard-on, never enjoyable no matter the time of day nor the circumstances surrounding his current situation. And finally, his ass admittedly kinda stung a li'l.

Okay, despite the pain and discomfort, he could deal with his hole burning a bit. Sure it sucked, but it'd hurt worse before. Plus, if anything, it was proof that the night before had actually happened, that he'd really had phone sex with James.

Not that the memories of the singer's groans and pants in his ear, memories that were etched into his brain like a cranial tattoo, weren't proof enough, but the physical reminder was nice.

With a heavy sigh, he shoved back his comforter before getting out of bed. Feet planted firmly on the floor, he raised his arms up, stretching towards the sky. He heard his joints pop, felt his muscles strain, all of them tense and a little sore from being in the same position for so long. Feeling relieved, he dropped his arms to his sides, before lifting his right one and shoving his bangs back from his face before rubbing the back of his neck, rolling his head around. His neck was a little sore, too, from the awkward position he'd held it in, trying to keep his phone up to his ear as his hands were otherwise occupied. Whatever. Fucking worth it.

Smile on his face, he headed to the bathroom, using the facilities, feeling even better once the pressure in his bladder was gone. Washing and drying his hands, he gave a quick glance in the mirror, deciding to forgo shaving for the third day in a row, mostly out of a lack of giving a fuck, but also partially out of laziness. Li'l scruff never hurt anyone. Wasn't like he was gonna turn into Grizzly Adams or some shit.

Leaving the bathroom, he headed over to his nightstand, checking his iPhone for any texts or voicemails, seeing nada. He shrugged it off, deciding it wasn't that big a deal. James was a musician on the road and a couple hours behind him time wise, meaning it was even earlier where the brunet was at. There was no fucking way he was up yet, so no way he could text or call the blond. Which was no biggie really, considering how their previous phone call went. Really, Kendall had nothing to complain about.

Which was when he remembered.

He was hung up on.

Again.

Son of a motherfucking, cocksucking bitch!

Kendall put his iPhone back down before covering his face with his hands, head tilted back, letting out a loud groan that turned into a frustrated growl. He should be used to this. He really, truly should be. Two steps forward, one step back. It was pretty much the dance he was doing with James. Not that the blond was into anything other than slam-dancing and moshing—and the occasional mattress mambo—which probably just made this entire thing all the more annoying.

Fucking terrific.

Dropping his hands, he put them on his hips, feeling his bare skin beneath his calloused fingers, the rim of his boxers just below his pinkies. He knew he should get dressed, knew he shouldn't be standing around in his underwear, especially when the other members of the household were both female, but he didn't move. He just continued to stand there, glaring at his iPhone, as though it was all the device's fault the blond was constantly hung up on by the brunet.

And he knew that wasn't it, knew that some inanimate object wasn't to blame. And it wasn't his cell service either, considering he would still have a signal, the bars on the screen attesting to that fact. No, it was all James, all the pop douche's fault, all that dick-biting bastard's doing.

His brow scrunched up at that. "Dick-biting bastard"? He was running outta insults, clearly. That one was just weird.

Shaking his head, he turned and headed to his closet, taking a black thermal off its hanger and tossing it on his bed before grabbing a random pair of jeans and putting them on. He didn't have time to stand around and contemplate fuckheaded behavior, didn't have time to figure out why he was constantly being disconnected by the guy he was talking to, why he had a habit of saying the wrong thing that caused the wrong reaction in someone he wanted to keep chatting with. Kendall had other shit to deal with, like making sure he kept his job.

Deep. Fucking. Joy.

Another harsh sigh left his lips as he pulled up his jeans, making sure his boxers stayed flat and didn't bunch up. And as he pulled his zipper up, the sounds of Eighteen Visions filled his room.

His head snapped to his nightstand where his iPhone sat, the screen lit up due to the incoming call. Without hesitation, he ran over, yanking the device off the piece of furniture, nearly ripping the charger cord out. His heart was pounding in his chest in excitement, the hope that James was calling almost overwhelming, and he felt his hands shaking as he hit the answer button without bothering to check the call ID.

"Hello?"

"Heya, buddy!"

"Oh." Disappointment washed over the blond at the sound of Carlos' voice through his phone line, his face sinking, shoulders slumping. "It's just you," he muttered out as his head tilted down, eyes staring at his gray carpet.

"Ouch. 'Just' me? Kinda hurt here, Kendall. Ya cut me deep."

The blond rolled his eyes as he headed over to his bureau, knowing full well that he hadn't done that, especially when the Latino's tone of voice didn't convey any form of hurt. "Yeah, yeah. Sure you are."

"I am, man! I'm gonna need years of intensive therapy to get over the scars you just left on my soul."

"I'll agree with the you needing therapy part, but not 'cause of what I've done," Kendall commented, opening a drawer and pulling out a black wifebeater, shaking it to unfold it.

"Yeah, probably," the Latino replied, tone serious, before he immediately bounced back to the happy go lucky guy he usually was. "So what are you doing today?"

"Work," the blond replied with a snort, managing to get the tank over his head and his arms in the proper holes, pulling it down so his torso was covered.

"Boo!"

"My feelings exactly." He slid the drawer shut before turning and heading over to his bed, picking up the thermal he had tossed on it earlier.

"Was gonna see if you wanted to hang or something." Hope was fully evident in Carlos' low voice, the shorter male clearly wanting to do something with his best friend that day. Only it couldn't happen.

Kendall pulled his iPhone away from his ear as he slipped his thermal over his head, taking an opportunity to put his shirt on, as well as hide his groan. He wasn't in a social mood—fucking shocker there—and the last thing he wanted to deal with was a happy, bouncy best friend who had a knack for shoving his nose in the blond's business. But if he knew his best friend as well as he thought he did, then chances were that if Kendall said 'no' to hanging out, the Latino's face would turn into that fucking puppy dog one, one that was evident even through the phone line, one that the blond was already picturing and caving into.

Life would be so much easier without people in it.

Phone still pulled away, he let out a sigh, shoving his free arm through his sleeve, before moving his smartphone to his other hand, slipping that arm into the shirt as well. The thermal fully on, he put his iPhone back to his ear, left hand shoving itself through his messy hair. "Maybe after my shift."

"Sweet!" The bubbliness was back in Carlos' voice and Kendall wasn't sure how he felt about it in all honesty. It wasn't that he wanted his best friend to be upset; he just wanted to not give a fuck about anyone else's feelings or his impact on them. He wanted to not care about anyone or anything. He wanted to be left the fuck alone, to not need anyone.

He wanted to stop being so fucking depressed all the goddamn time, wanted his mood to not be fucked with by some guy, wanted to get over everything.

But he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to be happy either. It was a foreign concept to him at that point, something he hadn't genuinely felt in a long fucking time, at least not for a period of time lasting longer than few minutes.

He mentally snorted, knowing it was never gonna happen. Not with the way shit seemed to be going for him.

Especially not here lately.

He told Carlos he had to finish getting ready for work, letting the shorter male know he'd text when he was finished with his shift. Which the Latino made him promise to do about five times. And after he finally got off the phone with his best friend, Kendall realized he did the same thing with James and the whole "I promise to call you tomorrow" thing. He wondered if he was as annoying as Carlos was with that shit, then he wondered if James actually would call, considering how their last conversation ended with yet another hang up.

Letting out another harsh sigh, he set about finishing getting dressed. First was the socks, followed by his boots, then his usual gray beanie on top of his head. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket, clipping the chains to one of the belt loops at the front of his jeans, before grabbing his iPhone and sliding it in his front pocket. Lastly he grabbed his keys and work apron, then headed downstairs to grab some food.

He made himself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee, sitting at the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room as he ate. His mind started wandering, drifting to that place he didn't want it to go to. He found himself wondering what James had for breakfast, if he ate cereal, too, and if so, what kind. He wondered what the brunet took in his coffee, if he even drank coffee—were there actually people who didn't drink it? He wondered if the singer was a morning person or preferred to sleep in late. He wondered why he was torturing himself with such thoughts.

His mom walked in when Kendall was finished eating, finding him staring down at his bowl of milk, spoon moving the last few corn flakes around the white liquid. She stopped halfway into the room, curious and confused look on her face as she watched her son space out, raising one of her eyebrows in question. Fully turning to him, she folded her arms over her chest, hip sticking out.

"Sweetie?"

Kendall's head snapped up, slightly spooked at the sudden presence of a voice, believing he was alone. He quickly recovered, dropping his spoon, the metal clinking against the ceramic bowl. "Yeah. Fine."

The eyebrow remained up. "Really?" she questioned, walking over to the other side of the breakfast bar. "'Cause I didn't ask how you are." Point made, she put her hands on the counter, staring her son straight in the eyes.

'Smooth, dumbass. Real smooth.'

His brain was always so great with the mental pick me ups and the boosts to his self-esteem. Just awesome.

Having no other response to give, he simply shrugged as he stood up, the stool he'd been sitting on scraping against the wooden floor as he knocked it with the back of his legs. Grabbing his dishes, he walked around the end of the counter, entering the main part of the kitchen.

His mom turned around, leaning back against the bar, hands gripping the edge as she watched him. "That's what I thought."

Kendall said nothing as he poured his leftover milk down the sink before putting all his dishes in the washer, closing it up. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave told him he still had a few minutes to spare before he had to leave for work. Meaning he had a few more minutes for his mom to try and get him to be social, to try and get him to actually talk about what was bothering him.

He mentally snorted. 'Good fucking luck with that one.'

"So," she started, Kendall withholding a groan as he turned to her. "Who were you on the phone with last night?"

Panic caused his stomach to clench and his blood to freeze, his entire body tensing up. He tried to think back to what exactly he'd said, about how he acted, the noises he made. Fuck, ninety-percent of it had been moans, clearly giving away to what he'd been up to. And while he'd been freaked out about people on James' bus overhearing the singer's side of the conversation, he'd clearly totally forgotten about folks in his own place eavesdropping on what he was saying.

Fucking awesome.

He swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to think up a good answer, something that wouldn't freak his mom out or give away too much of what was going on in his life, nor admit to the fact that he was actually having phone sex. If his mom even overheard that part. She hadn't exactly told him what she'd listened in on, so there was a chance she heard the beginning of the convo or the end when they were saying their goodnights. No need to panic or freak out or think the worst about it.

Only his brain, once again, was being an uncooperative jackass and forcing him to focus on the negative anyway.

"Look," his mom started after a long silent moment, during which Kendall had stood there frozen and unable to react. "If it's a guy that's been making you happy these past couple months, then I'm glad. You deserve someone good, a nice guy, one who'll make you see that not all men are bad. Especially after-"

"Mom!" That time he did manage to locate his tongue, his hands flying up, held out towards her in a physical command to stop talking. He was in a shitty enough place emotionally and mentally. He didn't need to be further dragged down by mentions of...yeah, no. Not going there.

She held her hands up in innocence. "Okay, we won't go there," she stated, before letting out a sigh. She never had liked that Kendall kept everything in, that he never talked about what had happened, how he always said that he was fine and not bothered by anything, when he clearly was. But that was her deal. He didn't give a shit about how she felt or how upset she may or may not have been over his closed-off-ness.

"Point is," she continued, folding her arms over her chest once again. "I just hope this guy treats you right and makes you happy and isn't just using you." She gave him a pointed look, one which resulted in an eye roll from the blond male.

"I'm fine," he told her, walking to the breakfast bar to retrieve his apron from where he'd left it. "I can handle it."

"You sure?"

He paused, his hand on the burgundy fabric, eyes staring straight ahead to the French doors on the opposite side of the dining area. Only instead of seeing the brick patio, the needing to be trimmed grass, or the leaves that were slowly beginning to change color, he saw nothing. Just a big, black empty space. Well, not empty empty, since it was filled with insecurities, doubt, and his ol' pal Abandonment Issues. Whoopty fucking doo, what a fun fucking party that sounded like.

His mom took his non-response as an answer, turning to him, hand on his upper arm as she looked him square in the eye. "Just. Be careful, okay, sweetie? And make sure you use protection."

Kendall nearly blurted out how "that would require us to be in the same state", but caught himself just in time. That statement would clearly raise a whole lotta questions that he still didn't wanna fucking answer. He figured he probably never would.

So instead, he just nodded, forcing a small twist of the lips in a non-verbal reply as he looked down at her. Sliding his apron off the counter, he turned away and headed out the kitchen on his way to the front door. He needed a distraction, needed something to keep his mind occupied and busy and away from anything remotely dealing with certain brunet pop stars or his mom's insistence of butting into his shit.

Maybe working that day wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

Kendall figured he should be used to the squeals by now. Granted this time they were pretty much in surround sound. And one of those people who was doing the squealing was a dude.

But still. Point remained that it should be something he was used to at that point in his life.

Only he wasn't.

He was still rubbing his forehead—thank fuck his hangover was gone, 'cause that would just make shit a million times worse—after having winced at the noises his friends made, all because of one simple phrase.

"Yeah, so, James called Friday night."

Which lead to a million rambled questions.

"When?!"

"Why didn't you tell us?!"

"What happened?!"

"Did you guys talk?!"

"Did he explain himself?!"

"Are you guys gonna shut the fuck up so I can talk?"

Okay, the last one was obviously from himself, but a million inquiries nonetheless.

So he sat on his chair, parallel to his desk, legs stretched out in front of him and his arms folded over his chest. Carlos sat on the end of the bed on the blond's left, Camille joining them via Skype through the taller male's laptop as it sat on his desk on his right. He told them about how James had left a voicemail, telling the teen to forget the singer called, only to have the younger male call anyway while he was totally wasted. He told them about the phone call the next day, the pop star confessing that he was fucked up and that was the only explanation he could give, the two of them then talking for an hour or so about their likes and dislikes. He told them about the promise of a second phone call later that night, only to stop dead, staring straight ahead at his Deftones poster, eyes wide. Yeah, he was keeping that one to himself.

But, of course, his friends were nosy ass motherfuckers and wanted to know every last detail about everything, especially when it concerned their favorite singer.

Carlos leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, head slightly turned, a "go on then, keep talking" expression on his face. Camille had moved closer to her laptop screen, the same expectant look on her own her face as she looked at the blond male through the webcam.

"Well?" she questioned, hands slightly held out. "What happened? Did he not call?"

"No," he answered, willing to admit at least that much as he rubbed the back of his neck, shifting slightly in his seat. "He called."

Another long pause, his two friends exchanging "what the fuck?" looks before staring back at him.

"So what's the problem?" Carlos asked, clueless as ever.

"Did you guys not talk?" the lone female added her own inquiry. "Did you get in a fight?"

"No, not that either," the blond replied, dropping his hand to his lap where he started fiddling with his fingers, moving so he was slightly tilted, most of his weight on his left asscheek.

"So you did talk?" the brunette double-checked, the tall male nodding as he stared down at his hands.

His Latino friend still seemed lost, clearly confused as to how anything was a problem or how something could be wrong. Sweet sweet Carlos. Kendall wished he could be that naïve and happy-go-lucky.

"Soooo," Carlos stretched the word out, lips pursed together in a weird kissy face. "What. Did. You guys. Talk about?" The question came out in spurts, the shorter male clearly guessing that the topic of conversation was what the issue was, but not seeming entirely sure how to ask. Or if he even should ask.

Kendall figured asking was fine, no biggie. Wasn't like his best friend wasn't constantly questioning him about everything and anything. And sure, over the years the shorter teen had figured out what was okay to talk about and what he shouldn't dare even hint at for fear of getting slammed into a wall without safety gear on, but the inquiries still remained, Carlos still shoving his tan face into Kendall's business.

And, okay, the blond could admit that asking what he talked about with the guy he was into was an innocent question, one that was pretty much fair game. 'Cause as clueless as the dark-haired boy was, he obviously had no fucking idea that the answer wasn't exactly innocent itself, nor was it something the taller teen was inclined to state out loud.

But he knew a non-response wouldn't work on his best friend as it had with his mom, wouldn't satiate the shorter male at all. And he knew a change of subject in this situation wouldn't work, not with Camille sitting there awaiting his answer, too.

So he just shrugged, still staring down at his hands in his lap. "Stuff."

"What kinda stuff?"

Of fucking course.

Kendall groaned, eyes closing, head slightly tilting back, just wishing he didn't have such a nosy, curious, pushy best friend. "Carlos-"

"Whoa!" the aforementioned male interrupted, shock on his face, mouth hanging open as his jaw dropped. Shit. The blond realized a little too late that he'd called the other male by his actual name, a dead giveaway that something was fucking serious.

A gasp came from the laptop, followed by an amused giggle. "Are you blushing?"

Oh, fuck, it must've been really fucking bad if Camille could see it even through a pixelized image projected through a phone line and bouncing off satellites or some shit like that.

But he played it cool, turning to the screen with an eyebrow raised, face full of "are you fucking serious?" "I don't blush." He was lying his ass off, his poker face clearly in place, despite the fire he felt in his cheeks and ears and the way he was shuffling around in his seat again. Which had nothing to do with his embarrassment and more to do with the fact that his hole still kinda hurt. He clearly needed to not go that long without stretching it ever again.

"Oh my god!" the lone female's voice was a mix of disbelief, shock, and total unabashed amusement, causing the blond to clench his teeth and grit his jaw, eyes dropping down to his lap again. "You totally are blushing!" Another small laugh as she leaned forward, arms folded on her desk, small smirk on her face. She was completely and totally interested in all the details, determined to get every last juicy note.

Fucking great.

"How dirty was it?" She didn't even need to be told what exactly had happened, didn't need Kendall to admit to it. She'd figured it out and determined that the teen had most definitely had phone sex with the pop star, no confirmation needed.

Also fucking great.

"Is that why you keep moving around?" Carlos questioned, pointing to Kendall's pelvis as the blond once again shuffled in his seat, freezing his movements as he was busted trying to shift his weight to his right cheek.

"Kendall, are you a bottom?" The question was posed as innocently as "Kendall, are you a Scorpio?" or "Kendall, are you allergic to shellfish?", made slightly more disturbing by the fact that it was asked by a straight female. Should she know about this shit? Okay, maybe it was basic biology, something not all that hard to figure out. Someone had to shoot the puck and someone had to be the goal, so to speak. But still. She shouldn't be asking him which position he played, and he sure as fuck wasn't gonna be informing her.

Returning to his shifting, finally moving onto his right asscheek, Kendall spoke. "I am not discussing the details of my sex life or my sexual preferences."

Carlos nodded, lips slightly turned down and reminded the blond of a monkey. "Definitely a bottom."

"Mmm, yeah," Camille agreed, nodding right along with him, putting a finger on her chin thoughtfully. "I don't really see James bottoming."

"Guys!" the tall male interrupted, hands out to the sides, looking back and forth between his two friends as embarrassment came flooding back, coloring his cheeks once again. It wasn't that he was ashamed of sex or of being sexually active. Fuck no! He fucking loved it, loved feeling someone fill him up, loved having someone pounding into him, loved making someone come inside of him—well, inside a condom that was being used but the point remained. He had no issues with sex or discussing it in general. He just didn't wanna talk about his own sex life or give out any details of what happened between him and James. Was bad enough they knew about the dressing room make out. Now they knew about the phone sex. But they definitely weren't getting fucking details about it.

"Dude," Carlos started, face solemn, voice serious, as he reached out and put a hand on his best friend's shoulders. Which was clue number one shit was about to get weird. "There's nothing wrong with being a bottom. Someone's gotta pitch, someone's gotta catch, and I just happen to be great on my knees."

"Oh god," Kendall groan, head lolling back once more as he pretended he didn't just hear what the other male had said.

"Guess that's another reason why we won't work. Can't have two bottoms. Too many plugs, not enough sockets."

The blond raised his head and looked at his friend, raising a hand to him. "Stop talking."

The Latino just smirked as he removed his hand, Camille giggling through the laptop. Kendall turned away from Carlos, facing straight forward once more, shaking his head as he wondered how the fuck he got involved with these people and how the hell he could get rid of them.

'Wait long enough and they'll leave on their own.'

Ah yes. His positive brain was being positive once again. Lovely.

The sounds of Eighteen Visions filled the room, causing everyone else to get quiet, heads snapping to the noise. Kendall's iPhone sat on the desk to the right of the laptop, screen lit up, alerting all to the fact that someone was calling.

That James was calling.

"Aren't you gonna answer that?" Carlos questioned, pointing to the smart phone, straightening his body up from its slumping position in an attempt to see the screen and figure out who was calling.

"Nope," Kendall replied, popping the 'P' with his lips before lifting his right hand, chewing on the side of his thumbnail.

"Who is it?"

"James."

"Answer it!" It came in surround sound, both Camille and Carlos yelling the command at the exact same moment.

"We swear we'll be quiet and just let you talk," the brunette vowed, the dark-haired male nodding in agreement, face serious once again.

"Okay, even if you guys do manage to keep your mouths shut—" the blond gave a pointed look to the Latino, who just smiled widely in innocence "—I'm not answering."

His friends wore matching looks of confusion. "You sure you and James didn't fight?"

"I'm sure," he replied, looking at the hangnail he'd been gnawing on before chewing on it again.

"Theeen why won't you answer?"

Kendall dropped his hand to his lap once more, left one going up and rubbing the back of his neck. "'Cause," he started then paused before dropping his hand. "He hung up on me last night."

"Why?"

"'Cause he's a douchefuck dickshit."

"That's a new one."

The blond just shrugged.

"What exactly did you say right before he hung up?" Camille asked, leaning forward once again, face serious. The blond male felt like he was dealing with a therapist or a detective, someone determined to get to the root of the issue and solve this mystery. Which, he had to admit, would be pretty fucking awesome.

But that would require Kendall to actually talk, a major flaw in that plan. He knew in order for the case to be solved, there had to be clues, and there wouldn't be any clues if he didn't open up and tell them what happened. And didn't that just suck a couple big hairy donkey balls?

A harsh sigh left him, fingers fiddling with themselves on his lap as he watched them once again. "We were saying goodnight," he started before pausing, voice low. "And he said 'sweet dreams' and I told him 'only if you're in them' and he hu—"

More. Fucking. Squeals.

It was like being in a fucking farm full of baby pigs or some shit, just constant, high pitched noises of what he figured was joy or excitement. He had no clue really. He was never really one for the squeal.

"Yeah, he hung up," he finally completed his sentence once the aggravating sounds had subsided.

"Why'd he hang up?" Carlos wondered out loud, head slightly tilted, adding to the whole puppy dog thing he had going.

"'Cause he's a douchefu—"

"Yeah, yeah," the Latino interrupted again, waving his hand up and down in dismissal, turning his head away and looking at the laptop screen.

"Maybe he's calling to apologize," Camille threw the theory out, gaining the attention of the blond male, shrugging on the screen.

Kendall snorted, eyes rolling and landing on the smartphone sitting silently on the desk next to his laptop, text bubble alerting him to a missed call on display. "Yeah fuckin' right," he stated out loud. "Apologizing isn't exactly something James does."

"Maybe this time he is," the other male replied optimistically, smile bright, voice bubbly. "People can change."

The statement earned the dark-haired male a "You can't be fucking serious" look out the corner of the dirty blond haired one's eyes. Okay, he couldn't argue that people did, in fact, change. He was fucking exhibit A for the prosecution. But the way the pop star acted, his behavior and his patterns up until that point made Kendall think that James wasn't the type to change, that he was stuck in his ways, stubborn and hardheaded.

Which totally didn't sound familiar.

Carlos and Camille locked eyes, wordlessly exchanging messages, before they both turned back to Kendall.

"Yeah, I'm gonna call it a night. Got a lotta lines to memorize for this one act play next week."

Bull. Shit.

Yeah, the one act play wasn't a lie, but her sudden departure to go study them was. She'd once bragged about how she could have an entire script memorized—as in everyone's parts—within an hour of receiving it. So needing a whole week to prepare for something that small was such shit he could smell it two time zones away.

"Yeah, I got a lotta homework to do, too," Carlos added to the pile of crap.

Kendall looked back and forth between the two of them, one eyebrow raised, arms folded over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. He wasn't buying a single fucking thing of what they were selling. But he wasn't in the mood to argue, wasn't about to ask them to stay. Partially 'cause that wasn't exactly how he acted, meaning it would raise suspicions, but mostly 'cause he kinda wanted them to leave, as douchebaggy as that sounded. He enjoyed being alone, being in solitude, of not having to put up this "everything is peachy keen, jelly bean" facade and pretend like everything in his world was perfect, when really he just wanted to crawl in bed and fucking forget everything.

He said his goodbyes to his two friends, something that was delayed by Camille's remembrance

that she and Kendall needed to exchange phone numbers so they could text, rather than be limited to the 140 characters or less of tweets and/or Dms on Twitter. After that was done, she signed off, waving her sayonaras to Carlos, who gave her and Kendall both an adios before walking out the bedroom and the Knight house.

Leaving Kendall alone.

He inhaled deeply, puffing up his cheeks before slowly blowing the air out harshly. Slumping down, he put his hands on top of his head, fingers tangled, staring straight ahead once more, still not seeing what was actually there. He knew he was spacing out, but he'd be damned if he knew what the fuck he was talking about.

Moving his hands, he smeared one over his face, muffling a groan. His eyes turned to the side, coming across his iPhone, seeing he now had a voicemail. He didn't even need to check it to know who it was from, considering that was the only person who'd called, besides Carlos that morning but it clearly hadn't been the Latino who left the message. Which left only one suspect.

Kendall wasn't in the mood to listen to whatever bullshit James wanted to spout at him, but he was too curious to just let the message eat up memory in his smart phone. Grabbing the device, he dialed up his voicemail, following the female robot as she instructed him on how to get the message, crossing his eyes sarcastically as he stuck his tongue out and mimicked her. Finally, the actual fucking message he wanted to hear—kinda—played.

"Hey, Kendall. It's me. Um. I guess you're busy or whatever. Was hoping we could talk. Uh." A pause hit, the sound of a harsh exhale, the air blowing down the line. "Yeah, uh. I feel bad about last night. Not the phone sex part, that was—" Another pause as he let out a satisfied laugh. "—yeah, that was awesome. Greatest phone conversation of my life." He cleared his throat, his tone changing from a happy, blissful one to a serious, somber one. Meaning there was no good about to come from this. "I meant the part where I hung up. Which is pretty much like when I just left the room that one time. Also fucked up. So uh..." Another throat clearing. "Yeah, I feel bad about it. That whole I'm fucked up thing again. And..." Another harsh sigh. "Yeah, I'm sorry. Hopefully I'll talk to you again. Soon. Um. Right. Bye."

Kendall saved the message. It was stupid and pointless and there was absolutely no reason to keep it. But he did.

He was a fucking idiot.

Bringing up his contacts, he called James back, automatically getting voicemail. His eyes went to the clock in the corner of his laptop, figuring the pop star was on stage at that moment.

'Great timing.'

'No one asked you.'

A beep sounded down the line, signaling Kendall it was time to utter whatever bullshit would come out his mouth that he'd be okay with the singer hearing.

Oh fuck, he had nothing.

He really should practice or write some lines or some shit before doing this.

"Uh hey," he started, totally smooth and awesome, hand working the back of his neck. "Sorry I missed your call, I was hanging with friends." And totally ignoring the pop star, but that didn't need to be said. "And you're probably singing something right now and making fangirls scream as I'm leaving this message, but just know that you can call me back whenever you want to, no matter what time. I don't care if it's past three am my time. You wanna talk, just dial me, and I swear I'll answer, no matter what." He dropped his hand, slapping it against his denim covered thigh before sliding it up into his pocket. "Yeah, so just call. Bye."

He ended the call, staring down at his background, at James' hand covering his own. He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting a call that night.