JAMES ANGST! Because I can't remember how I got the idea, that's why. Well, the first half was just because. But I finished it because my soul matest soul mate One Man Writing Games (go read her stuff now omg) LOVES James, especially the angsty kind so I finished it mainly for her. YAY SOULMATESHIP HIGH FIVE 8D

So without further ado, here goes the angst. *gestures broadly*

Kendall is not easy to get alone.

There's something for him to do every day, someone to be with, somewhere to be. There's all four of them together, all the time. Inseparable, except for the times they need to be alone. The seldom times they pair off on separate adventures. Those times don't happen so often. James kind of wishes they did.

His infatuation is uncontrollable, unbridled and unending. It's kind of like a white elephant gift. Something completely uncalled for, and he just doesn't know what to do with it. There's nothing he can do with it. It's useless, it's obnoxious, and it feeds off of his energy. A parasite, that's what it is. He desperately wants it to leave, to die, to cease to exist, but it's not like that. It won't stop, ever, and it's killing him, very slowly, enough for it to thrive within him. A parasite that tortures for entertainment. The devil's craftsmanship, surely.

So yeah, he doesn't know what to do with it. He needs help. Which is why he finds himself standing nervously in the doorway of Kendall's room as he hurries around, evidently getting ready to go out somewhere. He always is. James supposes he's like that, too- well, usually. Lately, not really. He's been thinking too much. Wondering. Contemplating. What should he do?

He almost forgets to actually say something. In fact, he does. It's Kendall who introduces his presence.

"You gonna stand there all day?"

James shakes himself into awareness. "Um, no." Kendall raises an eyebrow at him and turns back to what he's doing; over his shoulder he asks James what he wants as he rifles through the closet he shares with Logan to find his shoes, one of which hangs from his hand while the other searches for its counterpart. What does he want? He watches listlessly as Kendall's hand flips through the countless other pairs of Vans he could be wearing instead, thinking hard. He wants to talk, that's what. And if he's gonna do it, he has to do it right now, because he's wasting all his time thinking about it. He swallows nervously and tentatively steps into the room. "Um," he says, trying to buy more time, which he kind of doesn't have the money for. "I wanted to talk."

Kendall turns slightly to glance at him, and he winces slightly inside. "Do you have a minute?"

"Yeah," Kendall exhales, running the fingers of one hand through his hair, the one that happens to be holding the shoe. It slaps against his cheek and he offers it a quick glare before tossing it over his shoulder. James catches it, holding it with both hands as he wets his lips. This is not going to take a minute. Why did he ask for a minute? He needs thirty minutes, maybe forty. He doesn't know for sure, but it's definitely not going to be a minute. This thought causes him to falter and he looks down, scratching at his arm slightly.

"Where are you going?" he asks on impulse. He needs more time. He can't do this, he needs- more time. This has to work out, and Kendall's mind isn't on this. It's on finding his other shoe, and James does not want to talk about shoes. Kendall turns again at the question and gives him a look.

"Just- I don't have a lot of time, so seriously, what do you want?" James falters again and shakes his head.

"Nothing. It's- nothing, man." His fingers clench slightly around the shoe and he bites down on his tongue. Kendall, having moved from the closet to the floor under the bed, puts the sheet down and straightens up, attention now focused on James. He flinches a little on the inside at the look in his eye.

"James," he says seriously. "Is there something wrong?"

"No. It wasn't important. I just- wanted to ask if you were gonna watch that show with me tonight. You know- after you get back from wherever you're going?" James never said anything about a show previously. There is no show, he's just making it up. He's not doing a very good job, because Kendall gives him a strange look as his eyebrows furrow. "I- I didn't tell you about the show?"

"No," Kendall confirms, shaking his head. "What show?"

"Just-" Oh god, what is he supposed to say? "I don't know," he resigns, biting his lip in shame. "I just wanted to do something with you. I'm sorry." Kendall hates liars. Kendall hates liars. James lied. James is a liar.

Kendall's eyes gain understanding and he smiles easily. "You could've just said that. Sure, we can do something later. I'm free tonight." The breath catches in James' throat and he suddenly feels wound tight, maybe a little put on the spot.

"Ok-kay," he stutters pathetically. He chest has a warm, weak flickering glow. He wants it to last. "Okay, thanks." Kendall smiles and pulls something off of the bed- his missing shoe.

"Anything for you. Now look, I have to go, but I'll see you later, okay?" James nods, smiling just a little bit, and Kendall takes the shoe still clutched in his fingers, tossing it back towards the closet. "Bye," he says on his way out, and James is too unfocused to return it. Before he knows it, Kendall has gone, but it doesn't really matter.

There's a glow in his chest, and he likes it. He got Kendall.

...

It's eleven o'clock at night, and James is gone. Completely, totally, utterly gone.

Kendall has been out for six hours and twelve minutes. James wishes he had asked what he was going to be doing, because then he might have been more prepared for something like this.

He'd been expecting eight, maybe eight thirty or nine at the latest. But nothing like this. When it got to be nine thirty he began to wilt, the little flame in his chest going out with a tiny, effortless puff of smoke that went on to fill his lungs and cloud him over so he didn't even know himself anymore. It became glowing red numbers and moments ticking by and unanswered questions, but the last one wasn't his fault. He just never heard them until ten minutes after they were asked. Ghosts of one-sided conversations, and by the time he got to them the askers were already gone.

He spent the time waiting, waiting, for nothing. Because he wanted, and he thought he was going to get it. Because Kendall told him he was going to get it. But now, now he's not so sure anymore. He had words, laced together into sentences, combed through over and over again to make sure they fit just right, silky smooth, until he was ready to let them out. Feel them swirl up his throat and spill over his tongue, shaping them perfectly so they would come out like velvet. But the strong confidence he had before, it just withered and died. It's gone now, and James is curled up on the livingroom couch with his chin neatly tucked into arms embracing bent knees because there was nothing else to embrace. The tears, they don't really matter. Nothing really matters, it seems. Maybe just the gaping empty cavity gouged right through his center, impaling his trust and will. The blood drips and rolls in sharp beads down his forehead into his eyes, clearing everything out of his vision to make room for deep, crimson red.

It doesn't seem fair. Why should he have to feel this way? Why does it feel like a relationship to him? Like a date, and he's been stood up? That's not what it was supposed to be. It was just friends being friends, and obviously Kendall found some better friends, because otherwise he would be here right now and there wouldn't be tear tracks etched into his cheeks. He's not even watching for the door anymore. He just has his eyes trained dutifully on the clock, the red numbers, the flashing colon in between, the slowly changing numbers. The eleven, the zero, the two. That's how it is. Eleven, zero, two. Now it's zero. Possibly even in the negatives, because James no longer knows what to do with himself. He had it all planned out, and it was all shot down. And on top of it all, it hurts. God, does it hurt.

Eleven, zero, three. The door to the apartment swings open, but its attempt to gain attention is all for nothing, because James just keeps staring at the clock. He supposes he's been at it for so long that he's just plain turned into a statue. But really, if he hadn't had so much time, it probably wouldn't have happened.

The door closes, and it sounds almost halting to James. Like the person who walked in just realized that he's home way past curfew and if he's not quiet his mom will kill him. Or maybe he thinks James is asleep and is trying to be quiet for him. Even though James is in a sitting position. With his eyes wide open, staring blankly at nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"James." It's said with so much implied, with weight tied to the end of it, too much for James to handle right now. He's having trouble handling himself already, he doesn't need his name and a thousand unspoken thoughts squished right through the middle of it, like, "Why are you still up?" and, "I didn't expect to see you here," and, "I totally forgot," and, "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry.

Is that really what Kendall is trying to say? Or was it just simply James' name? He turns to the boy, finally, turning just his head so he can focus his gaze on his form standing in front of the door.

"Hey, Kendall," he says lightly, tone sounding a little dull in his ears. But maybe Kendall doesn't hear that, because he comes right over and sits down next to him, the couch cushion dipping down with his weight. He places his hands over his face, hunching over so his elbows dig into his thighs just behind his kneecaps.

He knows.

He knows he's done something wrong, made a terrible mistake. James isn't sure if he saw the tear tracks drawn over his cheeks yet, but he can feel remorse coming off the boy in thick, excruciating waves. He knows he has to say something to break it- or at least, he thinks he does- he just doesn't know what to say.

Finally Kendall drags his fingertips down his face and tilts up to look James in the eye.

"I'm sorry," he says, and James still doesn't know what to say. He seems so sincere, but he could be lying. After all, he lied about giving James some of his time. But then again, there's one thing James is forgetting. Kendall hates liars. And it's obvious that Kendall forgot, which isn't in any way intentional. So there's no way he's lying this time. He hates liars, why would he lie?

"It's okay," James answers after a painfully long stretch of silence, voice wavy and hard to keep a hold on. If Kendall didn't see the tears, he sees them now. Pain shines in his eyes along with deep regret and almost hurt. "At least you came home." And that's all that really matters, right? Because no matter the circumstances, Kendall will always be James' whole world. No matter how much he unintentionally hurts him, no matter how deep the ache in his chest, Kendall will always be the only one he really cares about. Nothing will ever change that.

Kendall is staring at him with a flicker of disbelief, and James wonders what he's done this time. Kendall speaks, "James, no. No, it's not okay. What... Why would you even think that?" His voice is strained, full of pain, and James blinks, confused. Why should Kendall be hurt? And why is he denying that everything's okay? Because it is. James was worried because Kendall wasn't home, but now he is. So everything is okay.

"It really, really is," James falters, thinking hard. Ghosts of memories are slipping into the fog of his mind, clearing up and making their presence known. They're like the conversations from before, coming into his conscience late. But this time they're hours instead of minutes late, and they're harmful to his being.

Mrs. Knight telling him his dinner is ready, coming over when he doesn't respond and asking if he's okay. His eyes remain still and glassy, his chest rising and falling smoothly and rhythmically. Eight, four, seven. Mrs. Knight setting a plate of food on the table in front of him out of his peripheral vision. Wishing him a good night. Hoping he feels better. Worry etched into the tired lines of her face. His eyes are fixed on the numbers. Eight, four, eight.

James' gaze falls upon the plate, still sitting on the table before him. The food is old and dried, a result of being left untouched for so long. Hours. Soft guilt laces within him at the sight. Then another memory fades through the veil.

Tears rolling down his face, seemingly harmless with their quiet, barely noticeable demeanor. He feels them clearly, though, and his body shakes with silent sobs as his arms clench around his knees. Fingers, a soft palm, running down his back, smoothly and gently, slowly making their way down with the lightest pressure as a thumb rubs circles as it goes. Reaching the bottom and just as easily starting back up. Tremors coursing through his muscles, pulses shaking his lungs and making his breaths come out scratched and broken. Leaning into the touch subconsciously, unable to see or feel anything but those numbers, blood red. Nine, five, six.

Logan. It was Logan, he remembers. Came and asked him things, got no answer. He came at nine seventeen and stayed until ten-oh-five. Logan cares. Kendall does, too. But Logan was there.

"James, no, it's not." Words are coming back to him again, but now just seconds after they were said. He's catching up. He's not sure if he wants to. Kendall is still fixed on him, eyes pouring regret and that same pain. James wishes it would stop. "Please stop saying that. You're... not okay." That doesn't seem like the way Kendall wanted to end that sentence, but it's how it happened. Does that mean he lied, or was it just another accident?

"Kendall," James says, and his voice breaks. He weakens. He feels them again, prickling tightly in his throat and behind his eyes. They fill up, ready to slip out, but James tries to hold them back. "I'm fine." Breaks again on 'fine,' and the tears are out. Down his cheeks, towards his chin. Come back, please. Stay inside where it's warm. Safe, protected from the world. From people who shouldn't see, who can't. Please, plea-

"James," Kendall speaks his name again, and it hurts. Deeply, it hurts. And Kendall gets really close, wrapping his arms around James and pulling him close, his touch begging him to unwind, to pull away from the stiff show of denial he's been putting on all night. And he does, uncurling himself so he can slip his arms around Kendall in return and hold him close, having finally found something else to embrace, something he'd been looking for the whole time.

He cries.

He cries into Kendall, letting it all out, everything. Not just tonight, not just yesterday, but everything. All of the tension he's ever felt, the abandonment, the tight forbidden boundaries he was never allowed to cross, and still isn't. He cries, maybe even sobs. Kendall's name, over and over, because it's the only thing he has. The only thing he's ever had. But then his name changes, molds itself over his tongue into something else, something entirely different. A statement, a truth, a trio of words, so overused they don't mean anything except to the person saying them.

I love you.

But James is crying, and he only said it once, so he doesn't think Kendall heard. God, he hopes Kendall didn't hear. His heart races and he sobs, and Kendall holds him close, strong grip handling him carefully, just the way he needs to be handled. And he thinks, I'm okay. I'm fine. Because now he is. Kendall is here, and Kendall cares about him.

Eleven, one, ten.

Kendall cares. That's all he can really ask for.

Eleven, one, one.

Because eleven eleven is when you make a wish? Yeah? -shot in the head-

I gave him a happy-ish ending because I always do that because I hate sad endings. But I guess I kind of like this, even though it's not at all what I had planned. It went in its own direction, and you know, I'm okay with that. I like the whole theme of time, but that's just me. Tell me what you think? (aka PLZ REVIEW. ;3; )