Fic: The Realm of You, 20/24
Title: The Realm of You
Part: 20/24
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: 1033
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
“Would you please just do it, Logan?” Kendall’s mom sounds small and foreign through the earpiece of the phone, reminding him of the miles and miles separating them. She’s in the place Logan always thought of as home while he remains in California, handling things.
He sighs, the sound crackling through the phone. Nothing he could find in Kendall’s condo could hurt him more than he is already hurting. Right?
“Hello?” Mrs. Knight says after many silent moments.
“Oh, yeah, okay,” he replies. “Do you want me to send anything or just give it away or...?”
“I trust your judgement, Logan.” Her voice breaks. Logan hears a swallow then a small, breathy sob. “Thank you, dear. Really. For... just, thank you for everything.” Logan nods dumbly at the phone, as though she could see him.
He says goodbye, hangs up and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, holds his breath until his chest hurts from keeping everything in.
Deciding to get it over with, Logan goes to Kendall’s condo.
He’s surprised when he finds Jo there, packing up some belongings.
“You don’t have to move,” Logan says, pulling Jo to his chest, giving her a tight hug.
“I just can’t stay here, Logan,” she replies. “Not after everything that’s happened. There’s just too much. It’s like I see him in everything, you know?”
Logan wants to blurt out how much he does know and how much she doesn’t. Instead, he simply nods.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, turning away and wiping her eyes.
“Oh, Mrs. Knight asked me to pack things up. She, well, she’s having a difficult time. Understandably. Obviously. Expectedly,” Logan says, mumbling under his breath, “God, can I come up with any more adverbs?” Jo expels a tiny, tired laugh.
“Do you need help?” she asks.
He wants her to take the burden; he wants to pass it off to her. “No,” he says. “But you can stay with me while I...” His words stop, hampered by the feeling of loss, a feeling of incompleteness so vast a lacuna splits him, a void he has no idea how to fill.
“I’ll stay,” she replies, squeezing Logan’s arm. “I’ll help.”
They start in the bedroom -- Kendall’s closet. Some of his jackets and sweaters still smell of him; Logan remembers the habit Kendall had of hanging clothes up unwashed. Now, he doesn’t know whether to be thankful for it or angry. He finds Kendall’s old hockey jersey from Minnesota and without thinking, clutches it to his chest, inhaling and lamenting the fading scent of Kendall in its fibers.
Jo stares at him, something like realization dawning on her features. She shakes her head and grabs a box on the top shelf, opens it and pulls out some books.
Something catches Logan’s eyes, dog-eared pages and broken spine. He grabs it from Jo’s hands.
A memory surfaces at the feel of the worn cover, the title of the book.
“Are you going to keep that?” Jo asks. “Kendall had that thing out all the time. It seemed important to him.”
Logan flips through the pages, finds an old piece of lined notebook paper marking a place. He pulls it out, the creases obviously folded and unfolded countless times. His heart stops and vision darkens.
“I thought I’d misplaced this. I thought I’d lost it,” Logan breathes, forgetting Jo stands with him, forgetting how confused she must be quickly becoming.
I have no Life but this --
He holds an assignment in his hand from tenth grade, a poem and thoughts written down he had set to memory. He hadn’t needed it written down, of course he hadn’t, but he thought it had been in his pocket.
Kendall took it. Kendall had it the whole time. Kendall has had it this whole time.
Logan’s heart starts again, rabbiting in his chest, trying to run away.
The paper marked the page with the poem, the book passed out so many years ago.
He almost blushes when he sees where he had written Kendall’s name in the corner, neat cursive script, next to the words I move, you move.
Pressing the paper to his chest, he tries not to crumple it as he moves to sit on the bed, his legs no longer supporting him. Jo remains silent.
Logan holds the emotion in, trying to cover for a man who no longer needs it. Jo sees through him anyway, comes to sit next to him on the bed.
“You loved him, didn’t you?” she asks, her own voice cracking.
Logan nods.
“And,” she swallows, “did he love you? Like, in a more than friend way?”
Logan looks at her, tries to seek out an emotion in her eyes, whether it be disgust, hurt, acceptance, love or everything in between. He doesn’t have the strength to hideaway anymore, not now. So, he nods.
Jo’s eyes go shiny. When she closes them, tears seep from the corners as she nods. “I’m sorry,” she whispers before she loses her voice completely.
“No, no, no, please, don’t,” Logan protests. He doesn’t know if he should attempt to comfort her, leave, or just sit here, but she answers the question by leaning into him.
They take comfort in each other.
Comfort over what has been lost.
“There’s so much I should’ve noticed and never did,” she cries. “Oh, Logan, god, you must hate me.”
“No, Jo, you were always there for him, okay? None of this is your fault.”
“I loved him so damn much, I would’ve overlooked anything. Anything to be with him.”
“This is so fucked,” Logan says.
When they finally part, the sheet of paper no longer pressed between them, it falls to the bed. Logan picks it up, presses his fingers to the indentations on the paper, recalls with perfect clarity the way he felt as he wrote them.
He’s kidding himself if he thinks he won’t follow Kendall anywhere. North, South, Heaven or Hell. Doesn’t matter.
They are an intricate puzzle, more than former lovers, best-friends. They are magnets who push or pull with a simple flip.
But Logan has always been sure they would come together in the end.
Part 19 Part 21
Part: 20/24
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: 1033
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
“Would you please just do it, Logan?” Kendall’s mom sounds small and foreign through the earpiece of the phone, reminding him of the miles and miles separating them. She’s in the place Logan always thought of as home while he remains in California, handling things.
He sighs, the sound crackling through the phone. Nothing he could find in Kendall’s condo could hurt him more than he is already hurting. Right?
“Hello?” Mrs. Knight says after many silent moments.
“Oh, yeah, okay,” he replies. “Do you want me to send anything or just give it away or...?”
“I trust your judgement, Logan.” Her voice breaks. Logan hears a swallow then a small, breathy sob. “Thank you, dear. Really. For... just, thank you for everything.” Logan nods dumbly at the phone, as though she could see him.
He says goodbye, hangs up and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, holds his breath until his chest hurts from keeping everything in.
Deciding to get it over with, Logan goes to Kendall’s condo.
He’s surprised when he finds Jo there, packing up some belongings.
“You don’t have to move,” Logan says, pulling Jo to his chest, giving her a tight hug.
“I just can’t stay here, Logan,” she replies. “Not after everything that’s happened. There’s just too much. It’s like I see him in everything, you know?”
Logan wants to blurt out how much he does know and how much she doesn’t. Instead, he simply nods.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, turning away and wiping her eyes.
“Oh, Mrs. Knight asked me to pack things up. She, well, she’s having a difficult time. Understandably. Obviously. Expectedly,” Logan says, mumbling under his breath, “God, can I come up with any more adverbs?” Jo expels a tiny, tired laugh.
“Do you need help?” she asks.
He wants her to take the burden; he wants to pass it off to her. “No,” he says. “But you can stay with me while I...” His words stop, hampered by the feeling of loss, a feeling of incompleteness so vast a lacuna splits him, a void he has no idea how to fill.
“I’ll stay,” she replies, squeezing Logan’s arm. “I’ll help.”
They start in the bedroom -- Kendall’s closet. Some of his jackets and sweaters still smell of him; Logan remembers the habit Kendall had of hanging clothes up unwashed. Now, he doesn’t know whether to be thankful for it or angry. He finds Kendall’s old hockey jersey from Minnesota and without thinking, clutches it to his chest, inhaling and lamenting the fading scent of Kendall in its fibers.
Jo stares at him, something like realization dawning on her features. She shakes her head and grabs a box on the top shelf, opens it and pulls out some books.
Something catches Logan’s eyes, dog-eared pages and broken spine. He grabs it from Jo’s hands.
A memory surfaces at the feel of the worn cover, the title of the book.
“Are you going to keep that?” Jo asks. “Kendall had that thing out all the time. It seemed important to him.”
Logan flips through the pages, finds an old piece of lined notebook paper marking a place. He pulls it out, the creases obviously folded and unfolded countless times. His heart stops and vision darkens.
“I thought I’d misplaced this. I thought I’d lost it,” Logan breathes, forgetting Jo stands with him, forgetting how confused she must be quickly becoming.
I have no Life but this --
He holds an assignment in his hand from tenth grade, a poem and thoughts written down he had set to memory. He hadn’t needed it written down, of course he hadn’t, but he thought it had been in his pocket.
Kendall took it. Kendall had it the whole time. Kendall has had it this whole time.
Logan’s heart starts again, rabbiting in his chest, trying to run away.
The paper marked the page with the poem, the book passed out so many years ago.
He almost blushes when he sees where he had written Kendall’s name in the corner, neat cursive script, next to the words I move, you move.
Pressing the paper to his chest, he tries not to crumple it as he moves to sit on the bed, his legs no longer supporting him. Jo remains silent.
Logan holds the emotion in, trying to cover for a man who no longer needs it. Jo sees through him anyway, comes to sit next to him on the bed.
“You loved him, didn’t you?” she asks, her own voice cracking.
Logan nods.
“And,” she swallows, “did he love you? Like, in a more than friend way?”
Logan looks at her, tries to seek out an emotion in her eyes, whether it be disgust, hurt, acceptance, love or everything in between. He doesn’t have the strength to hideaway anymore, not now. So, he nods.
Jo’s eyes go shiny. When she closes them, tears seep from the corners as she nods. “I’m sorry,” she whispers before she loses her voice completely.
“No, no, no, please, don’t,” Logan protests. He doesn’t know if he should attempt to comfort her, leave, or just sit here, but she answers the question by leaning into him.
They take comfort in each other.
Comfort over what has been lost.
“There’s so much I should’ve noticed and never did,” she cries. “Oh, Logan, god, you must hate me.”
“No, Jo, you were always there for him, okay? None of this is your fault.”
“I loved him so damn much, I would’ve overlooked anything. Anything to be with him.”
“This is so fucked,” Logan says.
When they finally part, the sheet of paper no longer pressed between them, it falls to the bed. Logan picks it up, presses his fingers to the indentations on the paper, recalls with perfect clarity the way he felt as he wrote them.
He’s kidding himself if he thinks he won’t follow Kendall anywhere. North, South, Heaven or Hell. Doesn’t matter.
They are an intricate puzzle, more than former lovers, best-friends. They are magnets who push or pull with a simple flip.
But Logan has always been sure they would come together in the end.
Part 19 Part 21