Fic: The Realm of You, 23/24
Title: The Realm of You
Part: 23/24
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: 1582
Status: Complete
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
Kendall closes his eyes, perhaps too long, and turns his face to the sun like a flower searching the light.
Since he woke up, he sleeps with a lamp on, afraid of being lost to the blackness again, the suffocation of unconsciousness with the inability to wake.
He presses a cigarette between his lips, inhales and holds the smoke in until he is dizzy. Slowly, he exhales, opens his eyes, watching little yellow streaks float away in his vision. It’s like he’s exchanged one vice for another, but he’s so used to ritual when it comes to food he needs something to do after.
There was a gigantic moth outside his window yesterday evening, wings shredded and maimed, and the state of it had disturbed Kendall so much he had been determined to search it out today. Of course, it is gone.
Kendall only hopes it has not given up. Maybe it flew away.
Stomach uncomfortably full, he concentrates on keeping it all in, letting it digest, do its work. It’s been months and months, but he still feels nervous. He touches his ribs now as he thinks of his crowded stomach and has that flash of momentary panic when he can’t count them all. He breathes, thinks of Logan, and wills the edginess away.
All he does is feel these days. Sadness, disgust, need, regret, lust, guilt. Each emotion inventoried and account for in therapy. He tries to set them free like ceremonial doves, give his emotions flight so they don’t make him sick anymore. It’s what his shrink says to do anyway.
He had to learn to use his fingers again, his hands. The first time he tried to strum a guitar after waking, he grew so frustrated, so sickened by his lack of control, he had thrown it down, cracking the neck. His fingers had been useless as drinking straws extended from his hand, spasming and twitching without his will.
There was this limp he had too, his left foot dragging behind him as a lazy janitor with his broom. He refused to let anyone come see him at the rehab facility -- not even his mom -- because everything about him had become too infantile. People helping him to the bathroom, spoon feeding him, watching him eat, offering an arm as he toddled along. It was the most humiliating experience of Kendall’s life.
Now he’s back to being as whole as he’s going to be for the time being, frequent headaches he’s not given narcotics for, infrequent pain in his legs and back he can ignore for the most part.
He eats three squares a day, two snacks.
They say he can go home, that it’s time for him to try and take care of himself again. Kendall knows he can, but doesn’t want to. He hasn’t seen nor spoken to Logan since the day he almost drowned. Not that Logan hasn’t tried. Frequently. Constantly. Not that Kendall doesn’t want to see Logan; he does. It’s just Kendall is ashamed. He owes Logan his life a hundred times over. Logan has no idea how much, how the mere thought of the other man has kept Kendall from giving up more times than Kendall can count on his fingers, his toes, his ribs, every blessed bone in his body. Kendall aches for him, even now, the separation felt so profoundly that when Kendall attempts to say Logan’s name out loud, there is always a catch in his voice at the end.
Kendall tries to say it now -- Logan’s name murmured on an exhalation of smoke.
“Yes,” Kendall hears, the word spoken in Logan’s voice. Kendall thinks he should be well past hallucinating, but it sounds so real that he says the name again. Again, he hears the voice, but this time it says his name. “Kendall?” The way the voice speaks his name is so tender and sanguine, nothing like the anger he is sure would truly be behind Logan’s voice. Still, he spins around on his heel towards the sound.
And Logan stands there, looking all casual and beautiful and perfect and unchanged, hands in his pockets. Kendall throws down his cigarette, stomps it out as though he’s been caught doing something bad, which, he supposes he has.
“Kendall?” Logan says again, the name spoken as a question. Kendall swallows, his tongue feeling fat and useless in his mouth. Logan walks closer to him.
“Wh- Where’s Mom?” Kendall manages to ask. Logan blushes, fucking blushes, and Kendall puts his hands in his own pockets to keep from reaching out, to keep from feeling the heat rush to Logan’s cheeks. It’s been so long, Kendall forgot how everything about Logan overwhelms him: his goddamn perfect hair, the straight lines of his chest and hips, his crisp and cool scent that always reminds Kendall of home. He breathes in deep. This is why he couldn’t let Logan come see him, talk to him. Because he’s already about to fucking cry over Logan saying his name, just standing in front of him.
“I, uh, well, I asked if I, uh, she asked if I... Well, she and I agreed I should come get you. Take you home. Today is the day, huh?” Logan sputters, letting out a nervous laugh, stupid, adorable dimples deepening on his cheeks. Kendall smiles for the first time it months, despite his watering eyes.
“What are you doing here? In Minnesota I mean?” Kendall manages to ask, inching closer to Logan just to be encircled in the warmth of him.
“For you,” Logan answers, his expression communicating the “duh” Kendall knows Logan wanted to add. “I’ve been back a while, a long time.” Logan looks over Kendall’s shoulder, away from his eyes. “Just waiting.”
Kendall is choked, mute, dumb, and he can’t remember all the stupid, idiotic reasons he has been denying Logan anymore. Logan has been carrying the weight of all the verses and choruses of those sad love songs all this time, waiting. And he still stands here, waiting, looking complete and strong, ready to continue bearing it all. Kendall rubs his eyes.
“What about the band?” Kendall asks.
“There is no band without you,” Logan answers, adding, “and that’s fine. That’s the way it should be. Gustavo says we can get back to work whenever, if you’re ever, ready.”
“I’m sorry,” is all Kendall can think to say.
“Did you do it on purpose?” Logan blurts, as though the question were fire on his tongue.
“You already know the answer to that question, don’t you?” Kendall returns. Logan nods, eyes going to the ground between them, the few feet that seem difficult to breach.
Logan sniffles, covers his eyes with a hand, the other arm going across his stomach. God, he’s crying, and Kendall’s heart sinks to his feet.
“I changed my mind though,” Kendall quickly adds. Logan doesn’t respond. “I was swimming into the ocean, trying to get lost in it, and the sun was behind these clouds and going down into the water, but then there was this tiny ray just beaming down and making one spot of water so blue, and I thought of how I wanted you to see it, Logan.” In a movement so sudden, his arms are around the other man, hot tears seeping into the collar of his shirt, Logan’s face hidden in the crook of Kendall’s neck, and everything feels right, right, right. Kendall keeps talking. “And then I thought of all these things I wanted to see with you, the things we’ve seen together and how I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want things to end -- I don’t, Logan -- I just wanted them to be different.”
Logan doesn’t speak, but Kendall feels more wetness on his shirt, the skin of his throat, trailing across his collar bone. He thinks of how long it’s been since he’s seen Logan cry, the other man always putting on this front for Kendall, projecting tenacity, consistency. Being the strength to Kendall’s weakness. Kendall wants to be strong for Logan now, make him proud, do right by him, finally. Kendall pulls back, lifts Logan’s chin so their eyes meet.
“I haven’t seen you cry since we were little kids,” Kendall whispers. “Everybody has to have someone they can cry in front of. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be yours, okay? Besides, you’ve already seen me cry.” The words are an echo from a time long gone, a moment when the biggest sorrow was lamenting a father whose absence has not been acknowledged for ages. That hurt was erased by someone so much more important.
Logan smiles, only just, and takes a sharp breath. “You look great, Kendall,” he says. “Let me take care of you awhile?”
“Can’t we take care of each other?” Kendall returns. Then Logan gives him that heartbreaking smile, the real one, lips curling in full, the window in a storm cloud, a glimpse of true utopia.
As individuals, they are broken, weakened by life, but together they are whole, pieces sliding together, locking into place.
Nodding, Logan says, “You’ll have to quit smoking though.” Kendall laughs, unshed tears seeping from the corners of his eyes.
“I can do that.” For you, Kendall thinks. Things will be different, this time.
Logan offers a hand to Kendall, turning to leave. “Walk with me?”
Kendall takes Logan’s hand, fingers interweaving and clutching, pressed together and solid and strong.
And they walk on, together.
Part 22 Part 24
Part: 23/24
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: 1582
Status: Complete
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
Kendall closes his eyes, perhaps too long, and turns his face to the sun like a flower searching the light.
Since he woke up, he sleeps with a lamp on, afraid of being lost to the blackness again, the suffocation of unconsciousness with the inability to wake.
He presses a cigarette between his lips, inhales and holds the smoke in until he is dizzy. Slowly, he exhales, opens his eyes, watching little yellow streaks float away in his vision. It’s like he’s exchanged one vice for another, but he’s so used to ritual when it comes to food he needs something to do after.
There was a gigantic moth outside his window yesterday evening, wings shredded and maimed, and the state of it had disturbed Kendall so much he had been determined to search it out today. Of course, it is gone.
Kendall only hopes it has not given up. Maybe it flew away.
Stomach uncomfortably full, he concentrates on keeping it all in, letting it digest, do its work. It’s been months and months, but he still feels nervous. He touches his ribs now as he thinks of his crowded stomach and has that flash of momentary panic when he can’t count them all. He breathes, thinks of Logan, and wills the edginess away.
All he does is feel these days. Sadness, disgust, need, regret, lust, guilt. Each emotion inventoried and account for in therapy. He tries to set them free like ceremonial doves, give his emotions flight so they don’t make him sick anymore. It’s what his shrink says to do anyway.
He had to learn to use his fingers again, his hands. The first time he tried to strum a guitar after waking, he grew so frustrated, so sickened by his lack of control, he had thrown it down, cracking the neck. His fingers had been useless as drinking straws extended from his hand, spasming and twitching without his will.
There was this limp he had too, his left foot dragging behind him as a lazy janitor with his broom. He refused to let anyone come see him at the rehab facility -- not even his mom -- because everything about him had become too infantile. People helping him to the bathroom, spoon feeding him, watching him eat, offering an arm as he toddled along. It was the most humiliating experience of Kendall’s life.
Now he’s back to being as whole as he’s going to be for the time being, frequent headaches he’s not given narcotics for, infrequent pain in his legs and back he can ignore for the most part.
He eats three squares a day, two snacks.
They say he can go home, that it’s time for him to try and take care of himself again. Kendall knows he can, but doesn’t want to. He hasn’t seen nor spoken to Logan since the day he almost drowned. Not that Logan hasn’t tried. Frequently. Constantly. Not that Kendall doesn’t want to see Logan; he does. It’s just Kendall is ashamed. He owes Logan his life a hundred times over. Logan has no idea how much, how the mere thought of the other man has kept Kendall from giving up more times than Kendall can count on his fingers, his toes, his ribs, every blessed bone in his body. Kendall aches for him, even now, the separation felt so profoundly that when Kendall attempts to say Logan’s name out loud, there is always a catch in his voice at the end.
Kendall tries to say it now -- Logan’s name murmured on an exhalation of smoke.
“Yes,” Kendall hears, the word spoken in Logan’s voice. Kendall thinks he should be well past hallucinating, but it sounds so real that he says the name again. Again, he hears the voice, but this time it says his name. “Kendall?” The way the voice speaks his name is so tender and sanguine, nothing like the anger he is sure would truly be behind Logan’s voice. Still, he spins around on his heel towards the sound.
And Logan stands there, looking all casual and beautiful and perfect and unchanged, hands in his pockets. Kendall throws down his cigarette, stomps it out as though he’s been caught doing something bad, which, he supposes he has.
“Kendall?” Logan says again, the name spoken as a question. Kendall swallows, his tongue feeling fat and useless in his mouth. Logan walks closer to him.
“Wh- Where’s Mom?” Kendall manages to ask. Logan blushes, fucking blushes, and Kendall puts his hands in his own pockets to keep from reaching out, to keep from feeling the heat rush to Logan’s cheeks. It’s been so long, Kendall forgot how everything about Logan overwhelms him: his goddamn perfect hair, the straight lines of his chest and hips, his crisp and cool scent that always reminds Kendall of home. He breathes in deep. This is why he couldn’t let Logan come see him, talk to him. Because he’s already about to fucking cry over Logan saying his name, just standing in front of him.
“I, uh, well, I asked if I, uh, she asked if I... Well, she and I agreed I should come get you. Take you home. Today is the day, huh?” Logan sputters, letting out a nervous laugh, stupid, adorable dimples deepening on his cheeks. Kendall smiles for the first time it months, despite his watering eyes.
“What are you doing here? In Minnesota I mean?” Kendall manages to ask, inching closer to Logan just to be encircled in the warmth of him.
“For you,” Logan answers, his expression communicating the “duh” Kendall knows Logan wanted to add. “I’ve been back a while, a long time.” Logan looks over Kendall’s shoulder, away from his eyes. “Just waiting.”
Kendall is choked, mute, dumb, and he can’t remember all the stupid, idiotic reasons he has been denying Logan anymore. Logan has been carrying the weight of all the verses and choruses of those sad love songs all this time, waiting. And he still stands here, waiting, looking complete and strong, ready to continue bearing it all. Kendall rubs his eyes.
“What about the band?” Kendall asks.
“There is no band without you,” Logan answers, adding, “and that’s fine. That’s the way it should be. Gustavo says we can get back to work whenever, if you’re ever, ready.”
“I’m sorry,” is all Kendall can think to say.
“Did you do it on purpose?” Logan blurts, as though the question were fire on his tongue.
“You already know the answer to that question, don’t you?” Kendall returns. Logan nods, eyes going to the ground between them, the few feet that seem difficult to breach.
Logan sniffles, covers his eyes with a hand, the other arm going across his stomach. God, he’s crying, and Kendall’s heart sinks to his feet.
“I changed my mind though,” Kendall quickly adds. Logan doesn’t respond. “I was swimming into the ocean, trying to get lost in it, and the sun was behind these clouds and going down into the water, but then there was this tiny ray just beaming down and making one spot of water so blue, and I thought of how I wanted you to see it, Logan.” In a movement so sudden, his arms are around the other man, hot tears seeping into the collar of his shirt, Logan’s face hidden in the crook of Kendall’s neck, and everything feels right, right, right. Kendall keeps talking. “And then I thought of all these things I wanted to see with you, the things we’ve seen together and how I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want things to end -- I don’t, Logan -- I just wanted them to be different.”
Logan doesn’t speak, but Kendall feels more wetness on his shirt, the skin of his throat, trailing across his collar bone. He thinks of how long it’s been since he’s seen Logan cry, the other man always putting on this front for Kendall, projecting tenacity, consistency. Being the strength to Kendall’s weakness. Kendall wants to be strong for Logan now, make him proud, do right by him, finally. Kendall pulls back, lifts Logan’s chin so their eyes meet.
“I haven’t seen you cry since we were little kids,” Kendall whispers. “Everybody has to have someone they can cry in front of. It’s not a big deal. I’ll be yours, okay? Besides, you’ve already seen me cry.” The words are an echo from a time long gone, a moment when the biggest sorrow was lamenting a father whose absence has not been acknowledged for ages. That hurt was erased by someone so much more important.
Logan smiles, only just, and takes a sharp breath. “You look great, Kendall,” he says. “Let me take care of you awhile?”
“Can’t we take care of each other?” Kendall returns. Then Logan gives him that heartbreaking smile, the real one, lips curling in full, the window in a storm cloud, a glimpse of true utopia.
As individuals, they are broken, weakened by life, but together they are whole, pieces sliding together, locking into place.
Nodding, Logan says, “You’ll have to quit smoking though.” Kendall laughs, unshed tears seeping from the corners of his eyes.
“I can do that.” For you, Kendall thinks. Things will be different, this time.
Logan offers a hand to Kendall, turning to leave. “Walk with me?”
Kendall takes Logan’s hand, fingers interweaving and clutching, pressed together and solid and strong.
And they walk on, together.
Part 22 Part 24