63Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Big Time Rush.
2012 REWRITE.
"Ow."
Logan sat up stiffly and rubbed his eye a little. His back and neck hurt. He arched his spine, wincing at the long series of cracks and pops. It was so difficult trying to sleep on those stiff green cots—he missed his bed, his fluffy Palmwoods blanket, and the nocturnal noises of 2J. But that was gone—life had pushed him to a cheap excuse of a bed within Rocque Records, forcing him to listen to the worries that inhabited him.
He peered around the dark studio. Mama Knight, Katie and Kelly had taken the three cots along the opposite wall by the glass double-doors, and he, Kendall and Carlos occupied three of the four remaining ones on the other side of the room. Gustavo had decided to sleep in his office a ways down the hall, but Logan could still hear his muffled snores shake through the walls.
A small whimper broke through the darkness, catching his attention.
Carlos was squirming as if he were in pain. He snatched wildly at the flat pillow beneath his head and grabbed it, flinging it onto the floor. He whimpered again, and even in the low visibility Logan could see a trail of tears glisten across his cheek. Then Carlos buried his face within his arms and didn't move anymore.
Logan felt like crying. He missed James too. He may have been an obnoxious friend who drove him nuts most of the time, but for him to abandon them—that was out of line; shocking. Logan still couldn't believe it.
He looked over at Kendall. He lay sprawled on his back; his fingers hanging off the edge of the cot. Envy sifted through him; he wished that he too, could fall asleep.
He lay back down and closed his eyes, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, his back and neck began to protest again. He groaned and tossed himself onto his stomach, burying his face beneath the thin bedding.
"Hey," he heard a voice whisper, "are you okay?"
He pulled the blanket away from his head and looked up. Kendall was sitting up in his cot, concern drawn across his eyes.
Are any of us? Logan wondered.
"My back hurts," he whispered back. "Neck too."
Kendall pushed his blanket down to the foot of his cot, drawing his legs up to himself and patting the space in front of him. "Come, sit here. I'll give you a massage."
Logan obediently crept out of his bed and sat on Kendall's, his back facing him. He shuddered and closed his eyes the moment he felt Kendall's thumbs knead into the back of his shoulders.
"Whoa," Kendall muttered.
"Yeah."
A few minutes of silence followed, give for the small noises Logan occasionally made. Kendall's hands felt nice but there was only so much he could do—he couldn't twist Hollywood into giving them what they had thought was theirs; he couldn't ease the unspoken worries that hung around the studio like a low-lying fog.
"What if he doesn't come back?" Logan suddenly asked. "What if Big Time Rush is a failure?"
He felt Kendall's fingers slow to a stop.
"Then I guess we'll just have to move on," he said quietly.
Logan stared down at the crumpled blanket. He supposed he had known the answer all along, but it still hurt to hear him say it.
"I guess."
Suddenly he felt Kendall wrap his arms around him, pulling him back into his lap. He buried his face into the back of Logan's neck.
So it was a little strange to be sitting in his best friend's lap, but considering everything they had gone through in the last few days, he welcomed his closeness and leaned back against him, feeling himself sink.
Another whimper speared through the room.
"Poor Carlos," he whispered.
Cold air breezed across his neck as Kendall looked up. "I know." He was quiet for a long moment. "But he'll be okay." He let go of him and pulled away, which Logan took as a cue to leave. He slipped a foot down onto the floor and was about to stand when Kendall grabbed his wrist.
"Stay," he whispered.
Logan turned and looked at him. He seemed so pleading; so vulnerable and Logan didn't really want to go back to his own cot anyway so he lay back and snuggled in next to him, letting him pull the blanket over their heads.