This one shot...okay, I will say something important: I lost a best friend, not too long ago and Nov. 6th was his birthday. He died on Oct. 22nd of this year, and these last few weeks have been hard. And so, when I heard the song 'Perfect' by Pink...I broke down. That song was our song: both of us are complicated and hated ourselves, but he...he was worse than me because he did not have support. I was there for him, and even though he's gone...I believe he was a completely different person from the one I met him as. So this song was our song, I loved him like a brother and even though I miss him I know that I made him happy, by simply being there and letting him know that he was and always will be loved. So here's a Kames one shot that I came up. Warning: Extreme self-harm here, adult language and overall sensitive material and situations. I wrote this story and some of the things were based off personal experiences. I will not say which parts, but please keep in mind that despite the angst of the story, the ending is everything but sad. Disclaimer: I own nothing of BTR. I just own the story ideas that went into the plot, nothing else.

Flick!

James watched with red eyes how the flame danced, how it danced and twirled before he held a cigarette to it.

The smell of nicotine made him physically sick to his stomach; he pressed a hand to his mouth and nose, trying to ignore the impulse to throw up into the toilet as he stuffed the lighter back into his pocket and rolled up one of the sleeves of his long, heavy black turtleneck.

He held his breath and listened, making sure no one else was in one of the other stalls before he pressed the butt of the cigarette into his skin.

He clenched his teeth and pressed his back against the door, eyes wide and wild.

The smell of nicotine mixed with the smell of burning flesh, he counting to ten in his head until he finally moved the cigarette away and looked down.

Another burn to add to the ones on his arms, legs, back, outer thighs and hips. He even remembered how many there were: seven on one arm and seven on the other, making fourteen all together; three on the fronts of his legs, two in the backs; he only had one on his back, but he had pressed a hot plate there so it was long and jagged, running down the miles of warm, dark skin; one on each of his outer thighs and three on his hips (which pleasurably hurt whenever he changed clothes). He wished he could burn somewhere along his neck or even his face but no, that would make it too obvious.

He wanted to express his pain but secretly, only for him to know.

'Cutting feels better though'. He thought, torn between anger and longing.

He used to have the comfort of knives, at one point, a switchblade also that he carried in his backpack, but then his mom found out and then got rid of all the knives. She had none in her kitchen, she baby-proofed all the sharp edges of the counter and kitchen table, the only pair of scissors she kept under lock and key in her room and the ax she had in case of robbers...well he had no idea where she put that.

He loved his mom, really he did; unlike his father, Brooke Diamond cared deeply for her son and didn't verbally abuse him. She was all he had, and he wouldn't ask for a better mom because to him, she was perfect.

But to take his knives away, to make him give up cutting...she pushed him to this. She pushed him to this; if she had not done what she did, he'd wouldn't give five dollars every other week or so for replacement lighters and cigarettes. He didn't like smoking, in fact he hated it with a passion but what else could he use to get all the pain out? He didn't get as much blood than he did from cutting but burning did what he wanted: feel. He wanted to feel, feel alive.

Feel that he wasn't ugly; feel that he was alive; feel that the last four years of bullying haven't gotten to him. He wanted to feel that he was still the same person he was when he was fourteen.

He was seventeen now. It was his senior year in high school.

James flushed the used cigarette down the toilet and pulled down his sleeve again, ignoring how it hurt as he sprayed himself with a dash of cologne. He carried it along with his lighter, to get rid of the smell; leaving with the stench of nicotine on him to class would surely raise a few red flags.

Not like he cared though, not really. Smelling like smoke would give his bullies a field day; any day that they can further torment the emo boy was a great day for them. First cutting, now smoking?

Yeah, they would have fun with that alright.

Once he smelled solely of Cuda Man Spray he left the stall and washed his face at one of the bathroom sinks, sighing as he rubbed a paper towel between his hands and stared at himself in the mirror.

Long, soft chocolate-brown hair was well hidden under the shaggy, short black wig he wore; his naturally warm, brown skin seemed paler in the light, probably from the make-up he used. It left him almost looking like a ghost. His eyes, normally a gentle hazel-green, were a dark, bloody red from the contacts he bought a month ago. He hated his eyes and couldn't do much to them but fake them, so he went online for color contacts and picked them out and bought them with the money he got as a cashier at one of the few gas stations in Sherwood. The red of the contacts was heavily emphasized by the thick eyeliner he wore, the shade closer to crimson than scarlet since his 'bangs' fell over his eyes. He had earrings on, small black skulls and crossbones; he had a piercing in his nose and lower lip (fake but did anyone notice? Nope, they didn't care enough to notice, didn't care period) and coal black lip stain, the pale pink of his mouth closer to purple as if he had hypothermia. He was glad the make-up didn't come off with water; he needed baby oil to get it off. The lip stain was twenty-four hour coverage; he was good there, too.

James stared hard at his reflection. 'This still isn't enough to hide how fucking ugly I am'. He thought, feeling disgusted with himself.

He turned off the water and leaned against the sink, watching momentarily how the red on his fingers from the burn went pink down the drain before he looked at himself again. He looked at himself again but this time for his clothes, not his face.

A thick, spiky dog-like collar around his swan neck. It bit and chaffed his skin but he loved the marks it left; they resembled barb wire cuts. A black long-sleeved turtleneck, a hoodie over it that he managed to zip up while spraying himself. He had on wristbands that matched his collar, black fingerless gloves that he was now pulling back on to hide the old scissor cuts on the palms of his thin, large hands. A pair of black skinny jeans with long, shiny chains hanging off the front, heavy black leather boots with straps at the sides. Over the turtleneck and under the hoodie he wore a mesh shirt, it helped better protect the healing burns and cuts on his strong chest. All this black hiding the weak, underweight frail body James wanted by starving himself to death.

'Ugly, so fucking ugly!' He literally saw red as he clenched a fist and smashed the mirror, a shower of glass shards making clanging noises as it hit the tiled floor.

He backed away to the toilet, feeling sick; mostly liquid, like the soup and tea he had earlier for lunch, made the water turn a dark brown-red like a puss-filled wound. He groaned in pain but continued to hurl what was in his stomach, the acid burning his tongue, throat and teeth.

He barfed and barfed for five minutes, ten and then there was nothing left to give. He wiped his mouth with some toilet paper and wiped away the tears that managed to escape his eyes. He couldn't cry or his contacts would pop out.

"Done puking your guts out for today or what?" James took a deep breath and looked up, somebody standing in the doorway of his stall.

A dirty blonde in his grade, around his age too. He was a bit shorter than James but unlike James' doll frame he had some muscle, lean and lanky like a runner. He had pale skin, a blunt nose and bushy eyebrows, eyes a deep, almost impossible (okay possible, but they were so green) shade of green. He had eyeliner on like James, and all-black clothes: a black t-shirt that showed off the abs he had, a leather jacket and tight skinny jeans with black Vans. He had leather wrist guards on and a heavy silver cross around his neck, a tattoo of a brightly colored skull on the side of his neck.

Kendall Knight: the school's top bad boy.

He had a rep at Sherwood High; rumors had it that he's been in and out of juvie since he was thirteen. He's gotten into heavy fights, nearly stabbed another senior when he tried to sabotage his motorcycle, wised up to all the teachers and was supposedly the leader of his own gang. Not much was known about his personal life: his mom was a single parent, he had a baby sister who went to Sherwood Middle and he helped pay for the bills by working at the grocery store about five blocks away from his sister's school. He didn't have a dad; he said he died when he was nine, but some people had one of two ideas: either his dad walked out on him and his mom and sister, or Kendall killed him. It wasn't a secret the blonde had a bit of a temper, and his dad, whenever mentioned, made him turn fierce with rage.

James didn't show much interest in the bad boy's dark side. They've been going to the same schools since like forever, were on the same hockey team but didn't talk to each other. As far as James could tell, he's never been spoken to by the other boy.

Until now, that is.

"Well, you're going to answer or not?" Kendall asked, voice hard. James just rolled his eyes and flushed the toilet again, shakily getting to his feet.

"Whatever." Was all he said, elbowing the other aside to get his backpack, which he left by the sinks.

Kendall leaned against the nearest wall, watching the other almost like a hawk. "What the fuck did you do?"

"What?" James hissed, turning on his heel with a glare. It didn't make Kendall flinch, only smirk.

"What got you so pissed off that you broke the mirror?" He asked, jerking his chin to the glass below their feet, neither worried about getting cut.

James' glare hardened, he running a hand through his hair. His nails were painted black with red skull designs.

"What the hell makes you think I did it, huh? And if I did, why the hell are you asking? Needed to touch yourself up, make yourself look cute or what?" James shot back, not scared of the idea of Kendall losing it, possibly beating him up and getting his gang to join in on the fun.

James was use to being pushed around, use to being told he was ugly, stupid or a nobody. He was nothing, just a nobody in a crappy world with a fucked up life.

After all, he did the most damage to himself; words hurt, but nobody really hurt him to the point of physical assault. Not too much anyway, he's never had to go the hospital for a swollen lip or broken ankle. He'd just put ice on his injuries and move on as if everything was okay. It wasn't okay, his situation, but he tells no one.

He never tells his mom about the hell he's put through; she can't do a damn about it.

"What, can't a guy be curious? You're one piece of work, Diamond, anyone would want to know why you screw yourself up." Kendall said coldly, uncrossing his arms.

James nearly froze; normally he would want to know how Kendall knew his name because really, they have never talked until today! But that last part...

"What the hell do you mean, Knight?" He spat Kendall's name out as if it was poison.

"Cut the crap, idiot!" Kendall soon snapped, yanking James' backpack from his hands; he unzipped it and turned it upside down, books and pencils and...his lighter and cigarettes spilling out and mixing with the glass still on the floor.

"What the hell?!"

"You don't smoke." Kendall said; it wasn't a question, it was a full-blown statement. "You don't smoke, in fact you hate this trash. You don't smoke."

"Of course I do, why would I have cigarettes and a lighter if I didn't?!"

"Because you burn yourself, you hurt yourself. I'm not stupid." Kendall said, dumping the emo boy's bag to the floor and grabbing his left wrist; with a swift jerk he had James' sleeve rolled up, exposing the litter of burns and cuts and scars and scabs he had.

James trembled violently and pulled away, anger flaring though when he pushed as hard as he could; Kendall slammed hard into the nearest stall door, his dirty blonde hair falling over his eyes.

"What the fuck, leave me the hell alone! Don't ever touch me again!" James spat at the other's feet and quickly gathered his stuff, shrugging on his backpack as he stormed out of the boys' bathroom.

He fought burning tears the whole way to class.

...

James was tired. In English the class was watching one of the many interpretations of Romeo and Juliet but he couldn't concentrate. That little fight with Knight left him drained and frustrated; he needed his cigarettes, the urge to burn was driving him crazy and the he had to get rid of this pain!

The pain threatening to eat him from the inside out.

He nearly jumped when he felt someone touch his shoulder lightly, he snapping his head up from his desk.

"Who the...?"

A boy his age but maybe a little older, with spiky dark brown hair and pale skin with mocha eyes stood over him, a nervous smile on. He was quiet shorter than James and was wearing clean white jeans with a blue button-up shirt and gray cardigan, backpack off his shoulders as he edged himself into the seat beside James.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit with you, James?" He asked. James remembered his name was Logan, Logan Mitchell. He was the super smart kid of their school, and the boyfriend of Carlos Garcia, one of Kendall's gang members and best friends.

How could someone as crazy and wild like Carlos be with someone so calm and collected like this guy?

Love made no sense...

James smiled grimly, feeling nervous inside though; nobody sat with him in class. All the desks were arranged into groups of four and everyone always tried to take up the up-front groups first, to avoid having to sit with the reject, the creepy emo kid.

"James, are you okay?" Logan asked gently, with concern in his soft eyes. James snorted.

"You sure you want to do that? I'm pretty fucked up, might try to kill you and then offer your blood to Satan in a ritual or something." Another stupid stereotype James had on him: because he listened to heavy metal, people thought he was a Satanist. He wasn't but no one cared to hear him, so he gave up on spreading the truth.

According to some people (like that bloody show pony, Jo Taylor) he wasn't just a Satanist but the Son of Satan.

He never showed how much that hurt, what people said about him when they didn't know a thing about him.

Logan seemed a little startled at this but soon smiled that shaky but kind smile again, posture relaxing. "I don't think you'd do that, besides I want to sit with you."

"Are you high or something?" Logan wrinkled his nose.

"No, I don't do drugs. I think you're a really cool person, plus a friend of mine asked me to make sure you were okay." Wait, a friend of his?

"Who the hell asked you to do that?" James was lost; he knew Logan had friends, the guy was geeky but likable, but who would do that?

"My friend, Kendall." Logan answered simply. James narrowed his eyes.

'What the fuck?'

"Why would Knight ask you do to that? Isn't he going to sick your boyfriend and the rest of his gang bozos on me for what happened in the bathroom?" James asked, shooting the raven a menacing glance.

Logan soon looked angry, though not at James, and sighed. "Why do people think my Carlos belongs to a gang? He's not in a gang, and neither is Kendall. Those rumors are so stupid!" He said, careful to keep his voice down.

"Trying to protect them?"

"No." Logan said firmly. "Carlos isn't in a gang, much less Kendall's. My Carlos is sweet and sensitive and funny, I don't know the Carlos these idiots talk about because the Carlos I know isn't a jerk, a gang member, or overall a bad guy. And Kendall...people act like they know him, but they don't. People talk, but can you really take what they say as the truth?"

James had no response to that. Of course he could brush it off, but the look in Logan's eyes didn't let him; if what he is saying is true, then the rep the dirty blonde had wasn't.

"Well whatever, I don't care." James said.

"Well I'm still sitting here and making sure you're okay." Logan said, in a tone of finality.

'Fine, suit yourself dork.' James thought bitterly, going back to doodling in his notebook.

...

James tore up his room that night.

His mom was out at work; after homework he completely just fell apart, screaming and throwing things around. He smashed the mirrors in his bathroom, closet, he threw his clothes everywhere and pulled at his hair, biting his lower lip so hard that blood colored his chin. He threw himself against the walls, the bathroom sink and tub, dressed in nothing but his black boxers. He sunk to the floor of the tub and turned the water on hot, it irritating his burns yet he didn't care as he broke an old wine bottle in half. He took one half and start writing on his arm, his blood coloring the water pink.

Ugly. Stupid. Worthless. Unimportant. Nobody. Freak. Monster.

Words that people called him, what his father use to call him before the divorce; words that ran in his head every day, like today when Jo's boy toy Jett Stetson had taken to beating him up in the locker room for calling his girlfriend a whore. The words that he felt described him, the words that came to him when he saw the scale.

He weighed 104 pounds. He was still fat, ugly and disgusting.

'Why can't I be beautiful?! Why the fuck am I like this?!' He kept cutting and cutting until the tub was almost red in color, he laying in soaked boxers with his head against the wall and tears streaming down his face.

'I...I just...'

"I just want to die, because my life is pointless. I'm worthless, I'm ugly." The room soon started to blur around him, he slowly sinking deeper under the bloody water.

James couldn't breathe, he tried to move but it was like he was paralyzed.

'Maybe, I'll die now...' His hazel-green eyes closed slowly and he went still; he didn't catch someone breaking down his bathroom door, lock and all, and screaming his name.

...

James felt light; it was like he wasn't breathing, yet he could feel his chest rising and falling.

His eyes opened slowly, he weakly groaning from the harsh, bright white light hitting them.

All was blurry for a few minutes, before it all came into focus.

He was in a hospital, dressed in a paper gown.

He blinked and looked around. He was laying on a soft bed, pillows fluffed nice under his head. His hair, body as dry and he didn't feel cold. The cuts and burns on his arms were patched up and he was sure the others on his body were too.

He was alive.

'I...I'm okay?'

A snore caught his attention, he with some difficulty turning his head to the side.

There were three chairs by the room's window, Logan and Carlos and Kendall there. Logan and Carlos were asleep on each other, holding hands. Carlos was dressed in a pair of gray sweats and hoodie, it off to keep his boyfriend warm in the drafty room.

But Kendall was wide awake, he was wide awake and in his all-black glory got up and picked up his chair; he sat it back down right at James' bedside, he taking in a deep breath before he took one of James' bandaged hands.

'What...? K-Kendall?' James thought; he couldn't move his lips much, he had cut them, with his teeth and the broken wine bottle.

Kendall must have known the brunette had woken up but chose to not put him on the spot, not yet; instead he gently rubbed the bandaged knuckles and took out a small stuffed dog. It was big, with big brown eyes and chocolate fur. The nametag read: Wolf.

He put the toy to the side and moved his hand to James' right, bandaged cheek, stroking it softly.

Soon James felt himself slipping away to sleep; he was tired and maybe he imagined that lone tear rolling down the bad boy's face.

...

James found out a day later that Kendall, Carlos and Logan had saved him.

Like Kendall asked, Logan had stuck by James all day (apart from Gym, he didn't have that class) and had noticed something off when James had turned off the lights in his bedroom but not the bathroom. From outside Logan had called Carlos, who called Kendall, and the three snuck into James' house (thanks to Carlos' lock-picking kit) to find the bathroom door locked. Hearing the water running and a moaning, Carlos rammed the door down and Kendall fished a barely breathing, limp James out of the tub. Logan had went ahead and called 911 and for an ambulance, all the while Carlos and Kendall tried to keep James with them until help arrived.

All of that had been a blur to James, but what had happened next was too. From what the doctor in charge of him said, he had been close to dying from blood loss. He had cut himself so deep, and with the burns irritated from the hot water, any longer alone and he would have died. His mom was distraught and rarely left his side apart from meals, Logan and Carlos visited every day and surprisingly some people from school sent him flowers and Get Well cards.

Because of the situation of his cuts, James was put in therapy. He was being treated for self-harm, anorexia and bulimia. He was to be watched carefully, eat three meals a day and attend all his sessions with Miss Wainwright, a therapist that has grown to care so much for the troubled, suffering teen.

Brooke was all on board for it; she didn't care what people said behind her back or how much the sessions cost, all she wanted was for her baby boy to be okay.

It's been three weeks since James was discharged from the hospital. He still wore his contacts, still kept away from people, and still hated himself so much.

Until...

...

"Why the hell do you do this?" James asked Kendall one day after the brunette's latest therapy session, the dirty blonde parking his car (he always took it when he accompanied James to therapy instead of his motorcycle) in the driveway and walking with James until they were in the guestroom. James' room was still under repairs from the damage he did during his suicide (what Doctor Griffin called it) attempt.

James stripped off his jacket but didn't touch his long-sleeve, sniffling as he wiped at his eyes. He looked at himself in the mirror.

His face didn't look as hallow, since he's started eating. His spine didn't show and he wasn't so deadly skinny. Some color was coming back to his skin, and his eyes (when going without his contacts) didn't look as empty.

'I'm still ugly'. He thought sourly. He moved away to the bed and plopped down, raking his hands over his face and hair; he wasn't wearing his usual wig.

He heard a shuffling, and looked up to see Kendall took a seat on the floor, back against the wall but facing him. His legs were bent and spread, elbows on his knees.

Kendall took a deep breath. "Because you're amazing and fucking perfect but you've let people hurt and change you. I know you weren't always like this." He said, short and sweet and straight to the point.

James flinched, wrapping one arm around himself. "Like what?"

"Like this, sad and a cutter and angry. We've been in the same schools, you weren't always like this but let me guess: people fucked with you, fucked with you so much that they broke you. They hurt you, misunderstood you and told you that you weren't worth anything, and little by little you listened to all that bull until they turned you into this: someone who hates who they are, someone who wants to change who they are because a few sick bitches and bastards broke you." Kendall said.

James began shaking his head but Kendall sent him a light glare. "Don't lie to me, James. I know that's the truth."

"Well what the hell then, why does it matter?" James asked, wishing his voice didn't sound so fragile. Kendall's face, a handsome face it was, softened at this and he sighed.

"Because I'm like that, too." At the other's silence, Kendall went on.

"I was just a normal guy, all good but people picked on me. They said my nose was too big, my eyebrows too ugly and that I was too weak and small, everything they could possibly think of to stab me with, they did. I was a happy, go-lucky guy but...but the people who picked on me broke me, and I changed.

James met his eyes. "I changed: I started picking fights, I got this tattoo when I was fourteen, under aged, I became a jerk and a monster. I scared my sister and mom sometimes; even though they loved me and I loved them, I could tell they had no idea who I was now. And neither did I; I didn't recognize myself, and I was scared but I didn't know how to go back so I stayed this way.

Then Kendall smiled bitterly. "I know what people say about me, that I have a gang and have a temper, that I killed my dad. Newsflash Beautiful, that's all bull. My dad was in the army and he died when I was a kid. I get angry when people talk about him because...well because they would always bag on him for being a military guy, saying he didn't give me and my mom attention but no. That was a lie; he loved me and mom and Katie, he loved serving and that's all that mattered. I do have a temper, but only when people mess with those I care about; I'm no gang leader and yes I've been in juvie but only once, I have no idea where people got the other times. I didn't stab any senior for messing with my motorcycle; yes I did attack him, but only because Logan was going to borrow my bike and that bastard was going to kill him by taking it apart. He was trying to hurt my friend so I fought back, that was the one and only time I went to juvie for. I'm not the bad boy everyone makes me out to be, they don't know the real me.

James didn't say anything, but the surprise was clear on his face. So this, Kendall...

"So that's me, in a nutshell. At least, what I thought was me. I've been wearing this mask for so long, I believed it was me. But then...I saw you, as you changed.

Kendall got up and touched James' face, which was wet with tears. "I saw what they did to you, and it sickened me. Someone beautiful, perfect just the way they are...you didn't deserve the pain you were put through, James. You're beautiful, but the person you pretend to be isn't you. And so this is why I'm going to offer you a deal.

James gulped, but Kendall gave him a light smile. "At our senior prom, I will show everyone the real me. Not Kendall Knight the bad boy but Kendall Knight, me. I will do that but only if you...only if you come and show who you really are. Not James Diamond, the person everyone made you to be but James Diamond, just beautiful you." He whispered, cupping James' face with both hands now.

James' eyes widened. The senior prom, that was tomorrow night.

"Think about it, okay?" With that Kendall pressed their foreheads together then rose and left the room, left the house.

James watched him go and gulped again, wrapping his arms around his legs and pressing his chin to his knees.

Show the real him...

...

James stared at himself in the mirror, staring at his red-eyed, pale-faced, dark-clad reflection.

Tonight was the senior prom. Tonight Kendall was going to show the real him to the whole school, no matter what people already thought about him.

He would show the real him, if James did too.

The real him.

'But people hated the real me. But Kendall wants to see it...' James thought, sighing shakily.

Then, something inside him broke free.

He began wiping off his make-up, rubbing it off until the pink of his lips shown through and the dark warmth of his skin. He splashed nail polish remover on his fingernails. He took out his contacts, revealing his soft hazel-green eyes, and grabbed his glasses. He pulled off his black, shaggy wig and let his chocolate, wind-swept hair pipe up. He left the bathroom and stripped off his dark clothes, digging through his closet. He grabbed Wolf on the way out and left the house, waving to his mom from the driver's side of his car before he pulled away and disappeared into the night.

...

"Do you think James will come?" Logan asked, as he and Carlos swayed to a slow dance.

Carlos shrugged, looking worried himself. "We can only wait and see, Logie."

The prom was in full swing, everyone dressed in their best suits and dresses. The food was good, music great, etc.

But no James...

Several gasps filled the air suddenly, all coming from the front doors of the school; Logan and Carlos pushed through the crowd to see...James.

Not emo James, though.

His hair was chocolate brown and wind-swept; his eyes were a soft hazel-green, and he had glasses on; his skin was a nice dark brown; he was dressed in a nice purple button-up with a black tie, dark washed skinny jeans and purple sneakers. He was looking scared and extremely shy, clutching Kendall's childhood toy tight to his chest. He shuffled his feet, terrified of the nasty, mean looks he was getting.

But it was him, the real him: a shy, beautiful person with a nice voice and smile.

"He came!" Logan said, Carlos grinning from ear-to-ear.

"What is he doing here?" Jo hissed, getting the crowd all riled up; everyone turned to glare hotly at the brunette, who looked ready to break down crying or run away.

"James!"

Everyone looked in the voice's direction, and more gasps came. James' eyes were wide as he saw Kendall walking towards him with hands behind his back, smiling bright as a star.

He wasn't wearing eyeliner, green eyes shining on their own; his hair was shorter, more spikier but slightly wind-swept too; all his black clothes and wrist guards were gone, replaced with a simple white t-shirt, a blue plaid shirt over it and light blue skinny jeans, a pair of black and blue Vans instead of boots. He walked towards James in spit of the harsh glares, took his hands in his and smiled again.

"Hi James, I'm Kendall, Kendall Knight." He said simply, but there was strong emotion in his expression.

James choked on a soft laugh, smiling though gasping when Kendall pulled out a single, red rose from his back pocket. Tied to the rose's thorn less stem was a note:

You're beautiful, the real you and I love you, the real you.

-Kendall, forever yours.

James let his tears, tears of joy though, fall and he wrapped the shorter boy in a tight hug, both ignoring the crowd's shock and Carlos and Logan's cheering.

They pulled away and James slowly pressed his lips to Kendall's in a kiss, both swaying to a song they didn't know but fell into rhythm with.

'I love you, James.'

'Kendall...thank you.'