Fic: The Realm of You, 17/24
Title: The Realm of You
Part: 17/24
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Angst
Pairings: Logan/Kendall, Kendall/Jo
Details: AU, Slash
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content
Post Word Count: 1,708
Status: WIP
Summary: From friendship, to love, to something else entirely. When secrets are all they have, what is left when their lives become an open book? "I have no life but this."
Masterlist
“Why do I do this to myself?” Kendall chokes out, mumbles to himself with his head over the toilet, gagging and retching. He presses his cheek against the cool porcelain, uncaring how disgusting it might be -- the temperature a balm to his overheated cheeks. He hears Logan’s voice from the kitchen, muffled through the walls.
That’s why, Kendall thinks. Because he has to be empty and strong and resistant. If he were full, he might want to feel things, and he doesn’t want to want to feel things. Empty is all he wants. Control.
Kendall’s brain still feels a little fuzzy, but it’s clearing now that he’s gotten some of the pills and booze out of his system. He should’ve known better than to put so much in his body, but at the time he’d just wanted to sleep, to be as blank as a sheet of unlined paper.
Why is everyone so worried about him? He knows what he’s doing, has been doing it for years. He’s not sick, but strong. Not weak, but willful. Maybe soon he will be so thin he can disappear. Maybe soon, no one will need him anymore. Not the band or Gustavo or Carlos or James. Or Logan. Kendall doesn’t want to want Logan to need him, but he does.
Hey, where did Jo go? Kendall shakes his head of the thought. Doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t hear anyone approaching, but he feels a hot hand on his back, suddenly realizing he’s still only wearing a bath towel. He lifts his head and looks at Logan.
“Hey, weren’t we just here? Deja vu, Buddy,” Kendall says, thoughtlessly reaching out and grabbing Logan’s pants, pulling him closer. Kendall wraps his arms around Logan’s legs, presses his face against Logan’s hip. God, he’s so warm. How had Kendall forgotten? How does he live without the straight lines of Logan’s hips, the gentle slopes of the other man’s chest?
The answer is -- he’s not. Not really. Kendall stumbles blindly through each day, surviving, but only just.
“What are you doing, Kendall?” Logan’s voice is pained, cracking down the middle like a broken heart. Kendall winces, knowing he put the break there.
“Just giving you a hug,” Kendall replies, craning his neck and looking straight up. “Looked like you needed one.”
Logan sighs and squats down on his haunches, on eye-level with Kendall. He reaches out and touches Kendall’s face, so light Kendall might mistake it for a breeze, the wings of a moth.
“What can I do, Kendall? What?” Logan’s words run together, his face drains of color. Kendall has to look away -- the expression painting Logan’s face threatens to pry him open, make him feel things.
“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong.”
Logan shifts so quickly Kendall almost falls over. He walks to the door, clenching his fists and releasing them, clenching and releasing. The strides he takes are heavy and pound against the tile, and Kendall is sure he’s leaving. But he stops. The muscles in his neck and back tense, shoulders squared. Kendall hears him taking several deep breaths. He turns back around and his eyes are red, bloodshot, puffy around the edges.
“I’m so tired, Kendall. Exhausted. Drained. Don’t pretend anymore, please? I fucking know you, man. I know you, and I know you’re not okay, so stop pretending you are.” There’s this strange calm around Logan, his stance, his even voice and Kendall hates to admit the way it makes him ache. There’s always an ache, when it comes to Logan.
“I’m not prete -- “
There’s a tentative knock on the bathroom door and Kendall’s mom comes in. She sees Kendall and gasps, a hand covering her mouth. Kendall immediately feels a horrible sense of shame and tries to cover his chest with his hands. He turns on Logan, tries to stand but stumbles, remains seated in the floor.
“You called my mom? What’s wrong with you? Why would you go and do that when nothing is wrong? What is this?” Kendall sputters, his brain running faster than his mouth will allow. Logan opens his mouth to reply and Mrs. Knight interrupts him.
“Logan is your friend, Kendall. He called me, yes, but his wasn’t the only call I got today.” Kendall notices a long look passing between Logan and his mom. “Logan, will you give us a few minutes, please?”
Logan is reluctant, but nods. Kendall stares daggers at him as he exits the room, betrayal burning in his chest. How could he?
The door closes behind Logan and silence rings out like church bells. It’s Mrs. Knight who breaks it.
“Oh, Baby, why are you doing this?” Her words taper into almost nothing and she crosses her arms over her chest. She looks around the bathroom and finds another towel, wraps it around Kendall’s shoulders and rubs his arms. Settling into the floor beside her son, she looks him straight in the eye. “Don’t you know you’re killing yourself?”
Kendall scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Mom, I’m fine.”
“Kendall, you couldn’t even get out of the floor. Have you looked at yourself lately? Really looked?” Thinking it over, Kendall can’t recall the last time he stood in front of a mirror and purposefully inspected himself. Sure, he passes mirrors all the time, but never really stops. He shakes his head.
“Come on then,” Mrs. Knight says, standing and helping Kendall to his feet, guiding him to the full length mirror. She takes the towel from his shoulders. Kendall looks at his ribs, runs his fingers across them, moves his lips as he counts. He sees the protrusion of his collarbone, his shoulders, his hips. To him, it’s still too much. He can still see himself.
“I look fine,” he whispers, not saying what he wants to say. Not saying how he wishes there were less of him, how he wishes to be so paper thin and opaque he could slide under a door and hideaway, let light shine right through him.
Mrs. Knight is holding back tears, trying to be the one in control, the mother and father Kendall needs. She turns him around so his back faces the mirror.
“You don’t, sweetheart. You don’t. Look over your shoulder.”
Kendall starts to shake his head. The bright lights around the mirror reflect in his mother’s eyes as he looks at her. And it’s in her eyes he sees his face.
Really sees his face.
He’s been looking at his body. But there, amongst the sadness and desperation and fear and determination in his mother’s brown irises, he sees the gauntness of his face -- the hollowed cheeks, the vacant expression, chin prominent and bony. He sees the sorrow, the all-encompassing woe etched on his features as though it had been chiseled there.
Kendall sees himself and starts to sob.
He leans against the mirror and sinks to the floor, knees to his chest like a child. His mother gathers him in her arms as if he were one. He clings to her and he cries. He cries for Jo and for his friends and for his mother and his sister and himself, but most of all he cries for Logan, because Logan is still here. Logan is still here. How the hell does he stand it?
Kendall is breaking.
“Mama,” he whimpers, “You know I love Logan don’t you? Don’t you? You know I have since forever and I’ve just been awful about it. I don’t know what to do anymore.” Kendall thinks of all the people he is letting down with a few sentences, and he cries harder.
“Kendall, I’ve always known, and it’s okay, baby.” She stops to hold him closer, whisper love and smooth down his hair, wipe away his tears. “Is that what all this is about? Why would you -- “
“I can’t be gay, Mom,” Kendall interrupts, the same old diatribe flying from his lips, the words spat out like the foulest thing Kendall has ever tasted.
“Who says? Why haven’t you talked to me about this before?”
“When we first came to L.A., I told Gustavo and h -- “
“That man. I should’ve known. This is ridiculous, sweetie. You should just -- “
“Throw away five years of my best friend’s lives? Make all that work pointless?” Kendall is trying to calm down, but speaking the words aloud, the devastation pours over him again and he begins to feel sick. He barely makes it to the toilet before he starts heaving up stomach acid. He flushes before Mrs. Knight can see the bright red spots.
“Honey, I’m taking you back to Minnesota.” Her eyes are open wide, her voice all seriousness. “Today even.”
“Mom, I’m an adult.” Kendall wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, drags himself to the sink to rinse his mouth out. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh yes, I can. I’ll find a way. You can come quietly or not so quietly. I’m not just going to... I’m not letting this continue. You need to get away from this. Now.”
Kendall sorts through the options. There simply isn’t a good one. Not anymore. The ruins of his life still smolder at his feet, the ‘could have beens’ and ‘should have beens’ waltzing through his head in a disgustingly frivolous dance. Kendall is feeling everything right now, and the weight of it takes his breath away.
How can he retreat to Minnesota and then face his friends afterwards? This would ruin them all. He thinks of all the tour dates and obligations he would be missing, the rumors, not to mention the legal ramifications of skipping out on his contract.
In the end, Kendall makes a decision using the same thought process he always does, What would be best for everyone else?
Maybe everyone would be better off without him. Maybe he can make Big Time Rush immortal. Timeless. Remembered.
Kendall sighs, touches his face and looks at his fingers, shiny with tears. He does what he does best, wipes them away, puts on a brave face.
“Okay,” he says. “But give me a few hours. I want to say goodbye to the beach.”
Nobody loves a living rockstar as much as a dead one.
Part 16 Part 18
Part: 17/24
Genre: Big Time Rush - Drama / Angst
Pairings: Logan/Kendall, Kendall/Jo
Details: AU, Slash
Rating: MA/NC17
Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content
Post Word Count: 1,708
Status: WIP
Summary: From friendship, to love, to something else entirely. When secrets are all they have, what is left when their lives become an open book? "I have no life but this."
Masterlist
“Why do I do this to myself?” Kendall chokes out, mumbles to himself with his head over the toilet, gagging and retching. He presses his cheek against the cool porcelain, uncaring how disgusting it might be -- the temperature a balm to his overheated cheeks. He hears Logan’s voice from the kitchen, muffled through the walls.
That’s why, Kendall thinks. Because he has to be empty and strong and resistant. If he were full, he might want to feel things, and he doesn’t want to want to feel things. Empty is all he wants. Control.
Kendall’s brain still feels a little fuzzy, but it’s clearing now that he’s gotten some of the pills and booze out of his system. He should’ve known better than to put so much in his body, but at the time he’d just wanted to sleep, to be as blank as a sheet of unlined paper.
Why is everyone so worried about him? He knows what he’s doing, has been doing it for years. He’s not sick, but strong. Not weak, but willful. Maybe soon he will be so thin he can disappear. Maybe soon, no one will need him anymore. Not the band or Gustavo or Carlos or James. Or Logan. Kendall doesn’t want to want Logan to need him, but he does.
Hey, where did Jo go? Kendall shakes his head of the thought. Doesn’t matter.
He doesn’t hear anyone approaching, but he feels a hot hand on his back, suddenly realizing he’s still only wearing a bath towel. He lifts his head and looks at Logan.
“Hey, weren’t we just here? Deja vu, Buddy,” Kendall says, thoughtlessly reaching out and grabbing Logan’s pants, pulling him closer. Kendall wraps his arms around Logan’s legs, presses his face against Logan’s hip. God, he’s so warm. How had Kendall forgotten? How does he live without the straight lines of Logan’s hips, the gentle slopes of the other man’s chest?
The answer is -- he’s not. Not really. Kendall stumbles blindly through each day, surviving, but only just.
“What are you doing, Kendall?” Logan’s voice is pained, cracking down the middle like a broken heart. Kendall winces, knowing he put the break there.
“Just giving you a hug,” Kendall replies, craning his neck and looking straight up. “Looked like you needed one.”
Logan sighs and squats down on his haunches, on eye-level with Kendall. He reaches out and touches Kendall’s face, so light Kendall might mistake it for a breeze, the wings of a moth.
“What can I do, Kendall? What?” Logan’s words run together, his face drains of color. Kendall has to look away -- the expression painting Logan’s face threatens to pry him open, make him feel things.
“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong.”
Logan shifts so quickly Kendall almost falls over. He walks to the door, clenching his fists and releasing them, clenching and releasing. The strides he takes are heavy and pound against the tile, and Kendall is sure he’s leaving. But he stops. The muscles in his neck and back tense, shoulders squared. Kendall hears him taking several deep breaths. He turns back around and his eyes are red, bloodshot, puffy around the edges.
“I’m so tired, Kendall. Exhausted. Drained. Don’t pretend anymore, please? I fucking know you, man. I know you, and I know you’re not okay, so stop pretending you are.” There’s this strange calm around Logan, his stance, his even voice and Kendall hates to admit the way it makes him ache. There’s always an ache, when it comes to Logan.
“I’m not prete -- “
There’s a tentative knock on the bathroom door and Kendall’s mom comes in. She sees Kendall and gasps, a hand covering her mouth. Kendall immediately feels a horrible sense of shame and tries to cover his chest with his hands. He turns on Logan, tries to stand but stumbles, remains seated in the floor.
“You called my mom? What’s wrong with you? Why would you go and do that when nothing is wrong? What is this?” Kendall sputters, his brain running faster than his mouth will allow. Logan opens his mouth to reply and Mrs. Knight interrupts him.
“Logan is your friend, Kendall. He called me, yes, but his wasn’t the only call I got today.” Kendall notices a long look passing between Logan and his mom. “Logan, will you give us a few minutes, please?”
Logan is reluctant, but nods. Kendall stares daggers at him as he exits the room, betrayal burning in his chest. How could he?
The door closes behind Logan and silence rings out like church bells. It’s Mrs. Knight who breaks it.
“Oh, Baby, why are you doing this?” Her words taper into almost nothing and she crosses her arms over her chest. She looks around the bathroom and finds another towel, wraps it around Kendall’s shoulders and rubs his arms. Settling into the floor beside her son, she looks him straight in the eye. “Don’t you know you’re killing yourself?”
Kendall scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Mom, I’m fine.”
“Kendall, you couldn’t even get out of the floor. Have you looked at yourself lately? Really looked?” Thinking it over, Kendall can’t recall the last time he stood in front of a mirror and purposefully inspected himself. Sure, he passes mirrors all the time, but never really stops. He shakes his head.
“Come on then,” Mrs. Knight says, standing and helping Kendall to his feet, guiding him to the full length mirror. She takes the towel from his shoulders. Kendall looks at his ribs, runs his fingers across them, moves his lips as he counts. He sees the protrusion of his collarbone, his shoulders, his hips. To him, it’s still too much. He can still see himself.
“I look fine,” he whispers, not saying what he wants to say. Not saying how he wishes there were less of him, how he wishes to be so paper thin and opaque he could slide under a door and hideaway, let light shine right through him.
Mrs. Knight is holding back tears, trying to be the one in control, the mother and father Kendall needs. She turns him around so his back faces the mirror.
“You don’t, sweetheart. You don’t. Look over your shoulder.”
Kendall starts to shake his head. The bright lights around the mirror reflect in his mother’s eyes as he looks at her. And it’s in her eyes he sees his face.
Really sees his face.
He’s been looking at his body. But there, amongst the sadness and desperation and fear and determination in his mother’s brown irises, he sees the gauntness of his face -- the hollowed cheeks, the vacant expression, chin prominent and bony. He sees the sorrow, the all-encompassing woe etched on his features as though it had been chiseled there.
Kendall sees himself and starts to sob.
He leans against the mirror and sinks to the floor, knees to his chest like a child. His mother gathers him in her arms as if he were one. He clings to her and he cries. He cries for Jo and for his friends and for his mother and his sister and himself, but most of all he cries for Logan, because Logan is still here. Logan is still here. How the hell does he stand it?
Kendall is breaking.
“Mama,” he whimpers, “You know I love Logan don’t you? Don’t you? You know I have since forever and I’ve just been awful about it. I don’t know what to do anymore.” Kendall thinks of all the people he is letting down with a few sentences, and he cries harder.
“Kendall, I’ve always known, and it’s okay, baby.” She stops to hold him closer, whisper love and smooth down his hair, wipe away his tears. “Is that what all this is about? Why would you -- “
“I can’t be gay, Mom,” Kendall interrupts, the same old diatribe flying from his lips, the words spat out like the foulest thing Kendall has ever tasted.
“Who says? Why haven’t you talked to me about this before?”
“When we first came to L.A., I told Gustavo and h -- “
“That man. I should’ve known. This is ridiculous, sweetie. You should just -- “
“Throw away five years of my best friend’s lives? Make all that work pointless?” Kendall is trying to calm down, but speaking the words aloud, the devastation pours over him again and he begins to feel sick. He barely makes it to the toilet before he starts heaving up stomach acid. He flushes before Mrs. Knight can see the bright red spots.
“Honey, I’m taking you back to Minnesota.” Her eyes are open wide, her voice all seriousness. “Today even.”
“Mom, I’m an adult.” Kendall wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, drags himself to the sink to rinse his mouth out. “You can’t do that.”
“Oh yes, I can. I’ll find a way. You can come quietly or not so quietly. I’m not just going to... I’m not letting this continue. You need to get away from this. Now.”
Kendall sorts through the options. There simply isn’t a good one. Not anymore. The ruins of his life still smolder at his feet, the ‘could have beens’ and ‘should have beens’ waltzing through his head in a disgustingly frivolous dance. Kendall is feeling everything right now, and the weight of it takes his breath away.
How can he retreat to Minnesota and then face his friends afterwards? This would ruin them all. He thinks of all the tour dates and obligations he would be missing, the rumors, not to mention the legal ramifications of skipping out on his contract.
In the end, Kendall makes a decision using the same thought process he always does, What would be best for everyone else?
Maybe everyone would be better off without him. Maybe he can make Big Time Rush immortal. Timeless. Remembered.
Kendall sighs, touches his face and looks at his fingers, shiny with tears. He does what he does best, wipes them away, puts on a brave face.
“Okay,” he says. “But give me a few hours. I want to say goodbye to the beach.”
Nobody loves a living rockstar as much as a dead one.
Part 16 Part 18