A/N: Okay, so first of all, I changed the warnings for this. If you're reading this update on LiveJournal, then you can see it up there^^. If you're reading it on , then the warnings are as follows and I quote: "Rated M for language, graphic sex, underage drinking, homophobic slurs, references to drug use and violence, and just general asshole behavior. Other warnings to come later." The other warnings are too spoilery so I'm not putting them just yet ;)

"Bitters blows goats" is a throwback to when I was in high school and that statement was yelled out at one of our Vice Principals, Mr Weiss, at pep rallies, as well as graffiti'd in several places and papers stating such taped to lockers. It's also somewhat a reference to "Big Time School of Rocque" and their mascot Gus. Jenny's a reference, of course, to Jenny Tinkler and the Tommy Tutone song that if you say you don't know it, you're lying. This explanation will seem less pointless once you've read the update.

And since this will be my last update before Christmas, I hope you have a good one, if you celebrate it. If you don't celebrate it, I hope you have a happy Tuesday the 25th :)

Knowing he had to apologize and actually doing it were two totally different fucking things. It was a fact Kendall knew all too well, a fact he was being reminded of.

He'd tried to apologize as soon as the thought hit his head, his fingers no longer tracing the logo on his laptop, but wrapping around his iPhone instead. Only for him to toss the device on his bed before heading to the bathroom. Face washed, teeth brushed, and clothes stripped off, he lay in bed, holding his iPhone once more, this time with the singer's contact info actually pulled up. Only to close it out and plug the smartphone up.

Kendall had gotten zero sleep that night, mind whirring, but always coming back to the same thoughts. First was how he'd once again lost shut eye due to the other male, which pissed him off. That led to thought number two, how he was allowing James to affect his mood again.

The third thought was more of a general wondering over how long it would take the brunet to call, only for Kendall to realize the elder always reached out to him. If shit was gonna work out, he needed to put forth an effort, too. He needed to initiate contact every now and then, he needed to show interest, instead of laying in wait, hoping the other male would call or text. Relationships were a two-way street, full of give and take, and Kendall couldn't constantly keep taking like that, not if things were gonna progress in any way.

His final thought was how shit just wasn't gonna work, that they were just a disaster waiting to happen, a runaway train with no brakes. They were gonna crash, gonna burn, gonna both get hurt.

It was that belief that had Kendall skipping science—because the only chemistry he really needed to know was the one between him and James—heading under the bleachers, only to find it already occupied by a small group of his fellow delinquents. Thankful he hadn't been spotted by anyone, Kendall turned and headed back to the main building, deciding to hang in the first boys' bathroom he happened upon.

Luck continued to shine upon him, the restroom empty, meaning he wouldn't have to relocate a second time. He headed straight to the handicap stall in the back, closing the door over before dropping his bookbag and leaning against the wall in the corner. Pulling his iPhone out his pocket, he stared down at the device, at the photo of two male hands, thinking over what exactly he wanted to say.

There was a good chance that all James wanted from him was sex, whether on the phone or in person. Sure, the pop star could easily get laid, the bene of being young, rich, famous, and ridiculously good looking, but maybe he liked having a readily available groupie in different areas of the country. Maybe he wanted a no-strings relationship, where all they did was have phone sex with no romantic attachments or getting in too deep with personal conversations about their pasts. And as much as Kendall wanted more, as badly as he wanted an actual romantic relationship that involved more than their hands, dicks, and x-rated words, he realized he might have to settle for less.

And strangely enough, he was kinda okay with that.

He knew it was fucked up and stupid and wussing out to just lay down and roll over and let James do whatever. But settling for just phone sex was better than not having the singer in his life at all.

His green eyes came across the toilet a couple feet away in front of him, mind wondering if his pride had gone down it at some point.

With a harsh sigh and a steeled resolved, he pulled up the other male's contact info, doing a last minute mental double-check of what he wanted to say before hitting call.

It rang three times before there was an answer. "'Lo?"

And everything Kendall had thought up went out the window.

His hands went to the top of his head, fingers shoved in his hair and pulling on the dirty blond strands. "Uh, hey."

"Kendall?" The pop star's voice was full of confusion before it changed to cautious relief. "Hey. What's going on?"

Yeah, the teen had no fucking clue what to say, what to do. He'd never initiated any of the convos the two of them had, the brunet generally the one to end any silences. He also didn't really apologize either, at least not without a heavy dose of sarcasm and/or attitude. Not to mention the whole dating and relationships thing was still fairly new to him, never mind the fact that the guy he wanted to go out with was in the public eye.

Man, was he fucked.

Kendall released his hair, smearing his hand over his face. "I, uh," he started then stopped, dropping his hand and hooking his thumb on his belt loop, fingers playing with his wallet chains. "I just wanted to. Apologize. For pushing you and prying and—" He paused again, sighing as he shrugged and shook his hanging head. "Yeah, sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," James replied, voice low, serious, genuine. "I really need to stop hanging up on you."

A small laugh left the blond as he nodded his head, eyes focused on his feet as he crossed his ankles. "Would be nice."

The singer laughed, too, before giving out a "hold on a sec". The sounds of Logan's voice drifted down the line, mentions of interviews and soundchecks and meet-n-greets. Oh my.

Still leaning in the corner, Kendall looked around at his surroundings. The gray stall walls were chipping, the paint nothing more than a cheap and halfway successful attempt at covering graffiti, more writing just being added on top. The cement blocks that made up the walls were a flat white like the rest of the school, only a couple shades dirtier. Unknown stains that he didn't wanna figure out were around the toilet, on the floor, on the walls. To sum up, the dirty boys bathroom of a high school in the middle of Minnesota was a far cry from the glamorous, shiny life James led.

"Sorry 'bout that," the brunet stated into the phone, drawing the blond's attention away from Sharpie declarations that one should call Jenny for a good time and that Bitters blows goats. "Logan need—"

"It's not gonna work between us, is it?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, the pop star seeming caught off guard. Which made a lotta sense, considering the teen's interruption and totally random statement, as well as what exactly that statement was.

When the singer spoke once again, his voice was low, words husky, like he was speaking around a lump in his throat. "What makes you say that?"

Releasing his wallet chains, Kendall laid his arm across his lean torso, fingers gripping his dark gray longsleeve. "Other than the fact that you're a big international pop star and I'm just some dude from Bumfuck, Minnesota?"

"But that can be dealt with."

"I guess," he muttered, head tilting down as he uncrossed his ankles, boot kicking the tiled floor.

"You guess?" The brunet seemed like he couldn't understand why the blond didn't agree, why he didn't believe it. "People do it all the time. There are countless celebs out there who date and marry non-celebs from Bumfuck Wherever!" His voice grew louder, more passionate with each word, before he calmed himself down and spoke in a more even tone. "But if that's not what you're referring to, then what is?"

Kendall raised his hand to the back of his neck and gripped it tightly before speaking. "How neither of us seem to possess the ability to talk about ourselves," he pointed out, shoving his hand in his jeans pocket. "Unless it's about what we wanna do to the other person."

More silence, the blond worried he'd said the wrong thing again. But he hadn't, not really. It was something that needed to be said, needed to be put out there. And it wasn't like he had demanded the elder male start opening up or the younger was gonna stop talking to him. He'd just pointed out a flaw they both happened to have that would make any sort of relationship between the two of them pretty much impossible.

And the singer must've realized this, because he didn't hang up, didn't get pissed. Instead, he let out a muffled "shit", like he was smearing his hand over his mouth as he spoke.

"A whole lot of it," the teen added as he nodded, repeatedly hitting the heel of his right foot against the toes of his left.

"Well, maybe we could try? Tonight?" James' voice was somewhat hesitant as he made the suggestion, before it grew stronger. "When I call, I promise no sex talk or references to what I'm not wearing."

A long sigh left the younger male, his head falling back against the wall. Once again, he had an out, a perfect exit, a nice way to back out and have it be clean and easy, no mess, no fuss. He could finally fully wash his hands of it all, no more drama, no more emotional rollercoasters, no more bullshit.

No more James.

"Please?"

The brunet's voice was desperate, wavering, pleading, transporting the blond back to the first texts he'd received from the other male, the request to call, followed by a quick and simple "please?"

Just like in this moment.

And, like before, the teen gave in.

"Yeah, sure," he replied, straightening his head. "Worth a shot, right?"

"Be crazy together."

"Well, us having a non-X-rated convo would definitely be crazy."

Both males laughed, both knowing it was only funny because it was true. They both trailed off together James being the first one to speak.

"So it's agreed," he started, wrapping everything up and maybe sure all was clear. "Just talking, no sex shit. Behaving."

"Right," Kendall agreed, nodding once.

"So, Skype is out," the brunet decided, making a noise like he was stretching. "'Cause no way am I gonna be able to handle seeing that face of yours without telling what I wanna do to it."

Green eyes went wide as the blond's eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. His mind was immediately bombarded with images of the brunet fucking his face and coming on it, the teen's dick twitching hard in his pants, a moan getting caught in his throat.

"Although I'll miss seeing those cute dimples."

That killed the arousal in a heartbeat, the shock on his face shifting to a scowl, jaw clenched, eyes hard and narrowed. "You did not just call me cute."

A snort sounded down the line. "Uh, yeah, I did."

He glared at the wall across from him, focusing his anger on the toilet seat cover dispenser. "I hate you."

Now it was an amused chuckle. "No, you don't."

Taking his hand out his pocket, Kendall shoved it through his hair, scratching his scalp as his fingers passed through. "Fine, I don't," he relented. "But I do hate being called 'cute'."

"I'll stop calling you cute when you stop being it," the singer stated, grin evident in his voice. "Which is never, by the way."

The blond muttered out a "whatever", acting like he was annoyed, trying to seem pissed at the emasculating description. But in reality, he was smiling wide, his heart pounding, his stomach flipping. No guy had ever called him 'cute', although he wasn't sure if that was because they didn't think he was or because they knew he'd punch the fucker that said it. But with James, the teen not only didn't feel like breaking into fisticuffs, he was relishing the adjective and hoping to hear it more often.

Only instead, he heard the bell ring.

"Are you at school?" the brunet questioned, almost sounding in disbelief. "Did you cut class to call me?"

The blond shrugged, shoving it aside like the non-issue that it was. "I've cut class to do worse."

"You should still show up though. You show up, then you get good grades and you can graduate."

"Or I could just drop out." His smile a smug one, the knowledge that he'd had a damn good suggestion making him cocky.

"You won't," the elder male argued, confident as he spoke, fully believing everything he was saying. "You wouldn't wanna influence Katie that way."

The younger male opened his mouth to voice his disagreement, but shut it when he realized he couldn't. Strange how the other guy seemed to know him so well after barely any real conversations.

"Get to class," James ordered. "I'll call you later." With that, he hung up.

Pulling the iPhone from his ear, Kendall stared at the screen, muttering out a "dick", smirk still on his face. He knew there was no point in getting pissed, not when they were at such a good place, not when he'd be getting another phone call later. Shaking his head in amusement, he shoved his phone in his pocket, leaning over to grab his backpack. His next class was one hall over. He'd easily make it there in time.

"So. What should we talk about?"

It was a simple question, one that should be easy to answer. But as Kendall lounged on his bed, arm folded behind his head on the pillows, phone pressed to his ear, he honestly couldn't come up with an answer.

They'd already gone through the usual "how are you?", "how was your day?", "what are you up to?" bullshit, James only making a brief comment when Kendall informed him he was changing into his Pjs. But after that, silence had descended over them, making the blond worry that cutting out the sex talk was a bad idea. Was that all there was to them? Insane chemistry and matching perverted minds?

No fucking way. Not only was the teen refusing to believe that, he was determined to make sure it wasn't true.

Although that being said...

"I have no clue," he responded, scratching his finally shaven jaw, watching his right leg wave back and forth, ankle on top of his bent left knee.

James laughed down the line, a mix of amusement and resolution. "Okay then."

They were so fucked.

Kendall's brow furrowed as his fingers played with the cuff of his Ozzy Osbourne pants. He needed to think up something for them to talk about, and fast. Hell, he was willing to talk about fucking school if it kept the other male on the phone.

"Guess we could talk about our, ya know, feelings—" the brunet spoke the word as though he couldn't stand the entire concept of it "—and open up like you want."

"Yeah, I guess," the blond agreed, figuring the hippie share your feelings bullshit was better than nothing. "So," he started, digging the heel of his palm in his right eye before switching to a haughty accent, hoping to poke fun at the situation and make it light. "How do you feel?"

Only the singer didn't laugh, didn't play along. Instead, he remained silent for a long moment before speaking in a low, serious voice. "Like I'm back at my therapist's."

That had Kendall's eyes widening, hand jerking away from his face and hanging in mid-air. "You went to therapy?" He was almost in disbelief at that, but more surprised that the brunet had even admitted it, and so easily, too.

"For a short time, yeah," the elder confessed, the younger lowering his hand to his stomach, hanging on every word. He knew how huge this was, what a turning point it was, how important it was, and was determined to keep fucking quiet so as not to ruin the whole thing. "Until my mom decided that having a kid who needed a shrink was bad for her image."

The blond's eyes drifted down, watching his fingers as they played with his t-shirt. He kept his voice low, hoping that if he spoke quiet enough, his words wouldn't scare the other male off and would keep him talking. "Why'd you need one?"

"Because I was emotionally detached from everything and couldn't talk about my feelings," the brunet answered flatly, making the explanation seem all the more accurate. "So I was forced to go see someone to actually talk about that shit." A short, humorless gust of laughter left him. "'Cause who needs logic, right?"

"Did it work?"

The sound of fabric shuffling sounded out down the line, James fidgeting. "For a while, but not much. If anything, I only ever talked about superficial basic emotions I was feeling with no real details or in-depth discussions about why or what it was that was causing it."

Kendall nodded, working his bottom lip between his teeth, fingers still playing with his shirt. Seemed like things hadn't changed much there, the brunet still not fully opening up. Although that being said, this was a major fucking step in the right direction.

"And what are you feeling right now?" he questioned, dropping his right leg and laying both flat on the bed, stretched out in front of him, left ankle crossed over the right. "No pressure to give details."

"Happy," he began, letting out a thoughtful sigh before continuing. "Scared shitless. Worried, but strangely at peace. But mostly—" He trailed off, silence descending over them once more.

It was a long moment before the teen broke it, feeling like if he didn't give the other male a push, he'd never finish his statement. "Mostly what?" he prompted, lump of nerves in his throat, fearful of what the conclusion would or could be. The possibilities were endless and his mind was doing its usual job of focusing on the negative ones.

"Mostly," the brunet started and paused once again, this time finishing in his habitual low, reluctant voice. "I miss you."

Kendall felt his heart stop in his chest, stomach flipping double what it usually did. "Really?" he choked out before swallowing hard.

"Yeah."

His own voice took on the same tone and volume as the other male's as he let out a soft "I miss you, too."

"Do me a favor," the elder male started, voice louder, more firm. "Go to your window and look out it."

The blond raised an eyebrow in confusion before dropping it a second later. A smirk formed on his face as he got up onto his knees and crossed over his bed to the right side, the side closest to the window. "Is this gonna be one of those cheesy ass fuckin' things where you tell me to look at the moon and that no matter where we are in the world, we're both looking at the same one?" he questioned, mattress creaking under his weight and movements.

There was silence on the other end of the line, James not uttering a word. Meaning that was definitely what he was gonna say.

The teen stepped onto the floor, bare feet padding softly on the short carpet as he stood there, amused laugh leaving him. "Holy shit. It is, isn't it?"

There was a slight hesitation, the sounds of fabric rustling, most likely the brunet shuffling around again. "Shut up. It's not cheesy, it's sweet."

"It's cheesy," the younger male argued.

"It's romantic."

"Cheeee-syy," he sing-songed as he smirked.

"I don't hear you tryna be sweet or romantic. Gimme some credit here."

The teen pursed his lips in consideration, heading over to his window. Pulling on the drawstring, he raised his blinds, staring out the glass at the half-full moon, seeing it shine brighter than ever.

Whoa, half-full? Since when was he such an optimist?

'Since James, moron.'

Despite the insult at the end, the thought brought a smile to his face.

Leaning his right side against the frame, he held his phone to his ear with his left hand, free arm folded over his chest, right ankle cross over his left one. "Okay, how 'bout this," he began, still smiling, head tilted down to stare at the ground a couple feet in front of him. "Put your fingers over your pulse."

"Wait, what? Why?"

"Just fuckin' do it, Diamond," he somewhat ordered, annoyance in his voice before he switched his phone to his right ear, left arm now the one over his torso.

A harsh sigh sounded down the phone line, an exacerbated "fine" soon following. "Now what?"

"Feel that?"

"Feel what?"

He rolled his green eyes as he lifted his head. "Your pulse, dumbass."

"Obviously I feel it. You told me to put my fingers on it. Dumbass." Kendall could practically hear the smirk in James' voice, knew the brunet was amused at himself, believed he was clever by recalling the blond's insult. Smug bastard.

The teen glared at the open closet across from him, seeing the unorganized mess the singer had commented on the night before, clothes shoved in wherever with no thought of whether it'd get wrinkled or if it was the right section. The younger male considered cleaning it out, creating some sorta order to it, but quickly shoved the thought aside, focusing on the conversation at hand instead.

"Don't get cocky," he requested into his phone, head slightly shaking, green eyes still narrowed.

"You love when I'm cocky."

Kendall rubbed his forehead with his left hand, trying to shove away the small amount of annoyance he was feeling, refusing to admit James was right. He dropped his hand, slapping it against his pajama clad thigh before putting in on his hip. "I'm tryna be romantic here and you're ruining it."

The singer replied with a "sorry" but the teen knew he didn't mean it, knew he was still smirking.

"Uh huh," the blond replied, not believing the brunet. "Anyway, where was I?"

"My pulse. Which I can clearly feel."

"Right." He nodded, ignoring the sarcasm, arm over his torso and his head tilted down once more. He didn't know what he was doing, where he was going with that thought, but decided to just go with it and hope for the best. "Just remember no matter what happens or how far apart we are, that pulse doesn't belong to just you. It's also mine, 'cause no matter where you go in this world, you have a piece of my heart with you."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before James finally spoke. "Wow. I." He paused, cleared his throat, paused some more. "I'm not sure what to say to that."

Well, that kinda killed the mood, didn't it?

Kendall rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. It was a huge moment in his life, a huge confession he'd just made to the other male. For years, he'd refused to get close to anyone, refused to fall for anyone, but it was useless with James. The brunet bastard had snared the blond the second their eyes met at that first concert and the teen knew he'd been falling ever since. All that was left to do was to stop fighting and wait for the impact of the crash.

Which was apparently coming soon.

'Cause if Kendall knew James the way he thought he did, then the singer's silence at what the teen had said meant he was closing off, shutting down, getting ready to end the convo and hang up.

Unless the blond thought of a way to make him stay. And fast.

"Yeah, well, I—"

"Kendall?"

His green eyes closed at the sound of his name and the shaky way it was spoken, panic a heavy weight in his churning stomach.

'Please don't say goodbye,' he mentally pleaded. 'Please don't hang up.'

He swallowed hard against the nervousness, his own voice wavering as he spoke out "yeah?"

"I need you," the singer admitted. "Here. Now."

The blond's eyes shot open. Definitely not the response he thought he'd be getting.

"Tell me there's a way you can come here right this second." His voice was needy, pleading, and the younger male knew that if he hadn't been leaning against the wall, he'd be on his ass on the ground that very moment, his knees having gone weak on him.

"Fuck," he breathed out harshly before speaking at a normal volume. "If I could get on a plane in the next ten seconds, I would."

"Would you really?" The brunet perked up, hope flooding every syllable as fabric shuffled in the background, sounding as if he was sitting up. "If I could set it all up so you could fly to where I am right now, would you?"

The teen didn't hesitate to answer. "In a fuckin' heartbeat."

"Pack a bag. You're spending the weekend with me."

Kendall's eyebrows shot up as he pushed himself away from the wall with his shoulder. "You're actually serious about this, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Aren't you?" The apprehension in the elder male's voice made the younger wanna punch something.

Perfectly normal reaction. Fitting in this perfectly normal situation.

"'Course I'm serious," he stated with conviction.

"Then get packing," the singer halfway ordered, huge smile in his voice. "And I'll get the ticket."

A small laugh of disbelief left the younger male as he ran his fingers through his hair. "This is crazy, you know that, right?" he commented before heading to his closet, thankful he'd kept his old hockey duffel, seeing it sitting unused on the top shelf.

"Be crazy together, right?"

A huge grin broke out over Kendall's face, hurting his features, hand on the bag. "Right."

"See ya soon, cutie," James spoke before hanging up, not allowing the younger male to argue or yell about the term of endearment.

The blond snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in amusement before he slid his iPhone in his pocket and pulled his duffel down from the shelf. He shoved the annoyance at the pet name aside, deciding it didn't matter, that nothing else mattered. He finally had the knowledge, the confirmation that he'd be seeing James face to face, something he'd been wondering and worrying about for—well, he lost track of how long. But not only did he know it was definitely happening, but it was gonna take place within a matter of hours.

He didn't think it was possible to smile as big as he was at that moment in time.