Soo, hello. It's been a minute. I saw A Star is Born and wrote this a few days later after hearing my favourite song from it on the radio. All the songs mentioned in this chapter are from BTR or BTR related people, except 'Shallow' from A Star is Born. Go watch the video and YouTube and you'll see the scene I had in mind. Enjoy this I guess :P Chapter 1 of 2 or 3, not sure yet.

So many people stood before him. So many strangers who claimed to adore him. He had tried to put it into words before, many times, how strange it felt to see how surrounded he was, how crowded his space was, and yet for him to recognise almost no faces. He could barely make out any faces at all. He tugged his old flask out of a worn blue duffel bag and took a long swig, relishing in the hum of that burn in his throat.

"James, come on," a voice snapped, slapping his shoulder hard. "We've got an encore; get the fuck back on stage."

"In a minute." He took another swig, but the intro to his biggest single was already beginning to play and he groaned, slamming the bottle down. "Fine, fine. I'm going. Just tell Gustavo you had to fix the mic wiring, okay?"

Alright, whatever, just go!"

Two hands shoved him and he stumbled back onto the stage. He easily transformed the stagger into an energetic jog as he waved to the audience and returned to his microphone stand. He was just in time to start singing, and so he did.

From a young age, he'd always been told he had the purest of voices. Like an angel, his mother had said before she forgot how to show affection. He used to have what he dubbed "the famous dream" on a regular basis and dreamed of having his name up in lights, sparking like diamonds. Just a fun little wordplay he kept to himself. Having his dream come true at such a young age was everything he'd ever dreamed of. He was so happy. So he said.

"Now I just wanna cry," James sang, or slurred – sometimes he couldn't quite tell the difference. "I just wanna cry, ooh . . . Nothing I haven't tried, ooh . . ."

In the distance, he could hear the audience singing along, could hear them chanting in unison with the lyrics he had written when – six years ago? No, more. It had to have been more. He was on Album 7 now; 'Cry' had been one of his very first songs. For some reason, the people still adored it. Though, to be fair, he could understand the relatability. He felt his eyes fill with tears and shut them tight, swallowing back any feeling he hadn't numbed yet.

Right around Album 3, which he had named 'Green eyes' after a lyric from Track 6 (he couldn't remember what it was about now), Jamez Diamond- or just Jamez, at Rocque Records' request, had never been bigger. They'd never had a brighter star. When the fame began to burn out, slowly, he found – so did he.

"Now I just wanna cry," he mumbled, lips grazing the microphone. "Darling . . . let me cry."

A bump in the road startled James awake. His eyes blinked open and the first thing he saw was the ceiling of one of Gustavo's generic black jeeps. He didn't waste money on limousines for him anymore. He saw the faint reflection of the city lights on the ceiling and realised it was night.

"Huh?" he grunted, sitting up and reaching instinctively for the flask in the seat pouch in front of him. It was empty. He groaned and pushed it back in. "Where are we going?" he asked the driver – a driver, he couldn't see his face in the dark. "Where's Gustavo?"

"Gone to bed," Carlos said, taking a right. "He asked me to take you back to the hotel to rest up for tomorrow night."

James sighed, looking out the window at the lights of the strange city. "Where are we, again?" he asked, rubbing his head.

"Minneapolis, sir."

"Minneapolis. Huh." He looked out the window again and, with some squinting, spotted a familiar looking hardware store. Besides one or two days in a row for concerts and the like, he hadn't been back to Minneapolis since he was eighteen. "I grew up here, you know," he said, looking out the window and giving a humourless chuckle.

"I know, sir." He could hear in his voice that Carlos was smiling. "So did I. Moved when I was nine, though. Mom's job. Do you ever miss it?"

"I don't know . . . I guess some things about it." He rubbed at the rough stubble that had begun to grow around his chin and cheeks. "So, can we stop somewhere?" he asked, grabbing the black baseball cap from the seat pouch and pulling it over his head. "I need a drink."

"Mr Rocque asked me to take you straight back . . ." But Carlos was already slowing the car down and glancing out at the streets for somewhere to pull over.

"I just want like, one drink. I swear just one. Besides, it's only . . ." He glanced at his watch; his vision swam and he squinted. "It's not even midnight yet. There's a ton of time. Do you see anywhere?"

"There's a bar just here," Carlos said, pulling over and turning off the engine. "It's called the Palmwoods."

"That's lame. But if they've got booze they can be as lame as they fucking want." James stumbled his way out of the car, turning to glance through the window at Carlos. "Coming in, man?"

"I can't drink and drive. I'll wait here."

"Sounds boring."

"Sounds peaceful." Carlos smiled. "Have a good time. No funny business."

"Right, right. Just a drink or two . . . see ya."

James stepped into the dimly lit bar. Music played softly from a radio on a high shelf behind the bar, and James could just about hear it over the low chatter of the bar's patrons. It was just coming to the end of one of his own songs. He groaned to himself and slumped down in a stool by the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one or two people glance at him, some staring for a few seconds. To his surprise, though, they turned away again. Satisfied, he called out to the bartender closest to him, whose back was turned as he tidied his work station. "Excuse me."

"Yeah?" The bartender turned around and rested his hands on the smooth wooden surface, leaning in so he could hear. "What can I get you?" he asked. His eyes then lit up; they were a vivid shade of green even in the low light of the bar. "Hey, I know you," he said, dimpling.

"Yeah," James mumbled with a sigh. As much as the intense look in the stranger's eyes intrigued him and awoke something dormant within him, he had been hoping that he might at least go a few minutes without being recognised. He tugged his hood up over his head. "It's me, Jamez. Can I get a gin on the rocks, please?"

The bartender nodded and grabbed a glass, scooping a little ice inside. "That's not what I meant," he said as he grabbed a bottle and poured. "Though I know that too. We went to high school together." He plonked the drink down on the counter and leaned down on his elbows. "Don't you remember me?" he asked softly, a trace of a smirk on his face.

James stared hard at his face, grasping the glass in his hand and raising it to his lips. Just as he sipped it, that gleam in the man's eyes struck a chord within him. "Holy shit." He put the glass back down on the counter. "Kendall Knight."

Kendall laughed, straightening up. "There you go. Took you a minute, huh?"

"I don't believe it. How are you?"

"I'm good. Not doing too bad, anyway. I had heard you were back in town. Playing another gig?"

"First night of two." James took another sip of his drink as Kendall turned slightly to greet another customer and listen to their order. He glanced at the shirt sleeves rolled up high, his thin arms and the sharp edge of his elbows. The way his shirt hung loosely on his lithe form. He remembered seeing that body countless times; Kendall's body heat pressed in close when they used to sit together in the chemistry lab; his body pale in the locker room before hockey practice, but flushed and shining with sweat after. "Do you still play hockey?" he asked the moment Kendall had finished serving the other patron.

Kendall turned back to him. "Nah, not anymore." He took hold of a cloth and gave the counter a quick wipe. His knuckles clenched around it. "I got drunk and crashed my car after graduation, fucked up one of my knees pretty bad. No more hockey."

"I didn't know . . ."

"How would you? You were away becoming a star." Kendall gave a small smile. "I reckon my brother wanted to kill me after, but he felt too sorry for me so he let me off the hook."

"Don't forget me when you're famous," Kendall had murmured against his neck one night, as the two sat curled up under a blanket in the back of his car. James' hands clung tight around his waist.

"I'd never," he'd whispered back. "Who knows if I'll even get picked anyway?"

"Don't be a dick. You know you will."

James chugged down the rest of his drink and swallowed back the painful lump in his throat that had suddenly appeared. "I'm sorry I didn't recognise you," he said. "I'm just . . . tired." He tapped his empty gin glass.

"It's okay." Kendall stepped back to pick up the bottle. "It was a long time ago." He poured James another drink and stepped away to serve at the other side of the bar.

James watched him work, watched him chat with a couple of men who must have been regulars. He spotted a long, thin scar on the back of his arm; Kendall got that when he was eight, and he fell out of a tree. James hadn't been there, of course, but Kendall told him when he asked. They used to talk about stupid stuff like that all the time. He missed talking about stupid stuff.

"Kendall!"

James looked up to a see a pale, dark-haired man stride out from the back and stand behind the bar. "You're free to go," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks, Logan." Kendall dropped the cloth he'd been holding and disappeared into the back before James could say a word.

"Hey, I know you!" the new bartender, Logan, exclaimed. "Jamez!"

"Yeah." James finished his second drink. "Another, please."

Kendall emerged from the back room, zipping up a black leather jacket and pulling a grey beanie over his hair. "It was nice seeing you again, James." He walked towards the door and gave a hearty wave. "Good luck with your show tomorrow. I mean break a leg, sorry. Break a leg!"

"Wait!" James jumped from his stool, eyes around the bar turning to him. He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing red as he pulled his hood further over his forehead. Kendall looked back at him, hand still on the door. His head tilted and he raised his eyebrows. "Um," James stammered as attention was finally turned away from him, "Will you stay? Let me buy you a drink?"

Kendall bit his lip and glanced at the door. He stepped away and sloped back to the bar stool next to James. He sat down and took off his beanie, saying, "Just so you know, I get a free drink after my shift if I want one."

Logan smirked at him and grabbed a glass as Kendall slipped his jacket off. "So, he continued, resting his chin on his hand and grinning at James. "I'll have that, and then you can buy me another." He held out his free hand. "Deal?"

James took his hand and shook it slowly, thumb gently grazing the ridge of Kendall's knuckles. It took him a minute to let go; in fact, he deliberately waited until he saw Kendall's cheeks start to flush. "Deal," he said, letting go.

As they talked, James was reminded of all the songs he had written when his muse still lived on in his memory. The songs about high school whirlwind romances, the songs about feeling invisible when everyone was looking at you, the songs about a kid who thought the world didn't care a bit about who he was, when all James had ever done was listen to him in utter awe. He listened now as Kendall spilled mundane details about his life throughout the last few years; what jobs he'd had; he had a dog now; it turned out he was allergic to bees. None of it was all that interesting; in fact, he noted that he avoided mentioning anything important. That was okay, James avoided the same. He'd listen to him say anything anyway. One of the reasons was just because he liked to watch his eyes light up and his lips pout or stretch into a catlike grin.

It was just getting to around 2am when Logan rang a bell by the cash register and announced last call. Kendall put his jacket back on and James paid the tab. "Thank you, Jamez," Kendall teased as they left the bar. James threw his arm around Kendall's shoulders, throwing a quick peace sign to Carlos still sitting in the driver's seat. Carlos nodded to him and closed the book he'd been reading, starting the engine and following slowly behind him. "Don't worry," James said as Kendall glanced back with a furrowed brow. "It's just my driver." Despite the street being pretty quiet, he kept his hood up and his cap on just in case. He wanted to stay in this private little hub.

"My bad, Fancypants. I usually walk home from work."

"Is it far?"

"A little." They crossed the street into the shopping square. "Sometimes I take a cab when it's snowing."

"Well, I'm giving you a ride home tonight. Well." He chuckled, conscious of how his form swayed as he walked. "Not me. Carlos. He was supposed to take me straight to the hotel after work. Hopefully Gustavo won't kill him."

"Who?" Kendall asked, head drooping a little against his shoulder.

"Gustavo Rocque, my manager. You know Rocque Records, don't you?"

"'Course I do. Wait, that's who you're under? I never knew that!" Kendall laughed, stopping and looking at him. "Stop, that's hilarious."

"Why's that so funny?" James demanded. "He does his best."

"Oh, I know! Don't get me wrong but, he used to do all that boyband stuff in the 90s, right? Oh my god, they played his stuff all day at my last job. All his ridiculous 'girl' songs. Thank god he grew out of that with you; I mean some of them were kinda catchy, what was that one . . . 'Girl to my Heart?'"

"Oh, hmm . . ." James frowned. "I mean, he loves all the awards but he doesn't talk about that era much anymore. I don't remember that song."

"Come on, you have to! It's classic cheese. How does it go again . . ." To James' shock, the giggling Kendall hopped up onto the low wall bordering the square. His breath puffed out into the cold night air as he opened his mouth wide and started to sing. "Girrrrl, my eyes, and girrrrllll, my mind—" He swayed and James reached to catch him, but he kept his balance. He remembered the song then, but didn't say anything. He just watched Kendall sing and swing his head and thrust his hips like he was back in 1999. "Come on, you have to know it!" he whined. "You're messing with me, right?"

"Yeah." James grinned. "I remembered about a verse and a half ago."

"You jerk."

"Will you sing me something else?"

"Huh?" Kendall's face scrunched up. "Why?"

"Because I asked you to."

Kendall's cheeks flushed, and he scratched at the back of his head. "Um . . . what do you want me to sing?"

"Anything. One of mine, if it makes it easier. And it's not just because I'm a narcissist." He smirked. "Promise."

Kendall rolled his eyes, but he seemed to relax then as he bit his lip and thought for a moment. "Let it go, the anger in your eyes," he hummed. James recognised the melody immediately, even with his head being as fuzzy as it was, and he resisted the urge to sigh. He needed to listen. As he watched Kendall sing and give a little spin on his heel, he found himself mouthing the words as though he were a groupie at one of his own shows. It felt bizarre, and so he jumped up on the wall, scooped Kendall up in his arms and hopped back down with only a slight stagger.

"Now I just wanna cr— oof!" Kendall squeaked as he found himself clinging to James' shoulders. "What was that about?" he demanded, though James still held him close as though he weighed nothing.

"I don't know." James shrugged and felt his own cheeks turn red under Kendall's intense gaze. "Just felt like it."

Kendall's lips parted slightly as he tilted his gaze slightly down to James' mouth. He diverted his eyes and cleared his throat, "So, um . . ."

James reluctantly put him down. "Can I ask you something?" he said.

Kendall straightened up, fixed his shirt and nodded. He sat down on the wall, swung one leg over the other. "Go ahead," he said, patting the spot beside him.

James sat down next to him, one hand landing immediately (and intentionally) over Kendall's long, slender fingers. His knuckles were bruised and rough, his skin very pale. "Do you ever sing?" he asked, thumb gently brushing over the back of Kendall's hand. "Like, for real? You're really good. You never sang in high school."

"Me? No, no." Kendall shook his head, hand and body shrinking away from him as his shape grew distinctly smaller. "I'm not a singer. I mean – I don't know what I am. But not a singer. What you do, singing your songs in front of all those people, I could never do that. Ever. I don't know how you do it."

"It's not as tough as it sounds," James said. "It's like having a conversation, you know? If you've got something to say, all you're doing is getting up and saying it to a whole bunch of people who you know already want to listen."

Kendall bit his lip, picking at a loose thread don the torn knee of his jeans. There were a couple of splotches of paint along his thigh, a small spill of red wine. "When did you know they were listening?" he asked at last.

"I didn't." James gave a long sigh, leaning back with his hands pressed against the wall. "But I always knew I wanted to make them listen. I wanted to tell my story, so I did until people started to care. It was pretty easy, actually."

"I can imagine," Kendall chuckled, standing again and swaying slightly on his feet with his hands pushed deep into his pockets. "With a gorgeous face like yours. One look at my nose . . ." He tapped the tip of his large nose, hand moving to push the blond hair from his face. "I mean . . . I don't have a face for fame."

"I don't think that's true."

"It's true. It's okay, though. It's not like I'd ever show anyone what I wrote. I mean—"

"You wrote songs? When?"

"They're nothing . . ."

"Kendall."

"Fine, fine. Jesus, what are you doing to me . . ." He began to hum, lightly tapping his foot on the sidewalk. "I'm ready to run," he mumbled. "I could really use a win right now . . . mad at the world, mad at the world . . . that's all I have for that one. Hey, do you want do drink more? I do."

James had to do a double take on how quickly Kendall flipped from singing to speaking. He transitioned from one self to the other with ease; James longed for that ability to switch himself on and off. To get out of his brain. He jumped up, tugged Kendall close to him with an arm around his shoulders. Kendall melted in against his body, glancing up at him with warm eyes. He gave his chin a light peck and smirked when James flushed under the hood of his cap. "Well?" he asked in a low voice. "Drinks?"

James nodded, walked along with Kendall close to his side.

Unfortunately, as they walked, they came to realise they weren't near a whole lot of bars still open. They came across a convenience store still open and James bought them a bottle of Bombay to share. "I can pay for half," Kendall tried to argue, pulling out his tattered wallet. James pushed it back into his pocket.

"I know how you can pay me back," James said, carrying the bottle as they left the store together. He grinned at Kendall, who raised his eyebrows. "Sing me another song."

Kendall snatched the bottle from James and unscrewed it, taking a long swig. "I don't know them all off by heart," he stammered. "I haven't written that many anyway, and they're not good . . . honestly, I don't have much of a creative streak."

"Oh, bullshit. You think I'm an idiot?" He took Kendall's hand, pulled him closer. "Come on. I know I blanked for a minute back there, but I know you. You're a bad liar."

Kendall's hands pressed against his chest, breath coming out in a gentle puff against his chin. He tilted his head up just slightly and looked him in the eye. "Tell me more about you," he said softly.

"You're changing the subject."

"No, really." With nowhere else to sit, the two slumped down onto the curb. Kendal hugged his knees and rested his chin down, watching James as he opened the bottle and took his own long chug. "I mean, a lot of people were wondering about you when you left. We thought you might come back for graduation or prom, or something. But you never did. I haven't seen you since the day you went to LA."

"I didn't really have anything to come back to . . . I mean—"

"It's okay." Kendall took the gin and sipped it. "You know I wanted you to go," he said with a mild slur. "I'm not sad about it. I was just wondering what went on with you in the meantime is all."

James took a deep breath. "Alright. Let me take another drink . . . I've been alone, for a long time. I don't think I've ever said that out loud before."

Kendall frowned, hand touching James' knee. "Tell me."

"Me and my mom, we don't talk anymore. I haven't seen her in years." James played idly with Kendall's fingers as he took another sip. "You know she became a total dragon after my dad left. You know he fucked off with a girl just shy of nineteen? Fucking gross. "

"Yeah, I didn't know that part . . . I'm sorry."

"She never said it, but – I think I remind her too much of him. I don't like to think I'm like him. Sometimes, though . . . sometimes I wake up in the morning and I haven't shaved and my hair's a mess and I get up and look in the mirror, and he's right there just fucking staring at me."

"I'm sorry," Kendall repeated, taking another drink and handing the bottle back.

James looked at him, their shoulders pressed together. "Do you think we're bound to repeat our parents' mistakes?"

Kendall chuckled in a cryptic way James didn't quite understand, and shrugged his shoulders. "I sure hope not."

"I haven't heard from him in years either, not really . . . once in a while he's called up and asked me for money, but that's it. I think he's got like, three more kids now. I don't even know if they've got the same mother." He shook his head. "He's a joke."

"Well." Kendall pursed his lips. "We've both had shit dads, haven't we?"

James then remembered that Kendall's father had left too, when they were eleven. "Yeah . . . have you heard from him lately?"

Kendall smiled, but there was no mirth in it. He looked the most miserable he had all night. "Not since he came back last. Probably because . . . well . . . ugh." He took another swig and coughed. "He came back and shot my mom and then himself."

James froze. "Fuck. Kendall—"

"I was nineteen. I don't really like talking about it, okay?" Kendall swallowed, covered his face with his free hand. "I just thought," he whispered, hand pressed to his temple. "Like . . . I used to think he couldn't be any shittier of a person than he was, then he went and fucking did that. Proved me wrong. I moved in with my brother then so, that's that. I'm done talking about it."

"I'm so sorry," James couldn't help saying to him.

"I know you are."

"I should've been here."

"No, you shouldn't have. Who knows if we'd even have been speaking then anyway?"

James squeezed Kendall's hand tight and pressed it to his lips. He gave it several gentle kisses before he leaned in and let his lips brush against Kendall's cheek. Kendall shut his eyes and let him tilt his head over. Their lips had barely brushed together when Kendall mumbled, "Can I tell you something?"

James nodded, giving him a little more breathing space.

"I started writing after I heard 'Green Eyes'," Kendall confessed, looking at him with an open gaze. "When the album came out it was after . . . you know. And I guess hearing what you'd written and how you put all these feelings into words I just thought maybe I'd feel a little better if I tried it."

"Did you?"

"I did. Don't get me wrong." Kendall grinned. "Those first few were absolutely terrible. But they did help me vent. It was kind of like screaming into the void."

"You know that album was about you. You know that, right?"

"I didn't know. I thought maybe a couple of tracks but . . ." Kendall shrugged. "I figured you'd met somebody else with green eyes at some point. I mean, you definitely have."

"Maybe I have," James shrugged. "If I have, I don't remember them."

Kendall blushed. He looked away, biting his lip hard to hide the smile on his face. "You're not like your dad, you know," he said. "You shouldn't ever worry about that."

James shrugged. "Sometimes it's just hard not to find stuff in common with him . . . I've pushed so much shit to the back of my head. It's like I forget how to feel. Does that ever happen to you?"

"You're preaching to the choir, Jamez."

"Please don't call me that."

Kendall chuckled. "Sorry."

They sat in silence for a few moments. James was just drifting off into a daydream when Kendall started to hum softly to himself, his foot tapping off the road. He started to mumble some lyrics to himself that James couldn't quite make out. He looked at him and Kendall glanced at him too. "Tell me something, boy, are you tired, trying to fill that void?" he sang. He quirked an eyebrow at James and gave him a little nudge. "Or do you need more . . . ain't it hard keeping it so hardcore?"

"That's cute."

"I'm falling . . ." Their fingers brushed together. "In all the good times, I find myself longing for change . . . and in the bad times, I fear myself."

"And who's that about?"

"It's about you." Kendall shoulder bumped him gently. "I already kind of had the melody in my head. The lyrics I just made up."

"You just made those up now?" James raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Kendall shrugged. "I've got this chorus in mind that could go well with it. It's kinda like ' I'm on the deep end, watch as I dive in' something something . . . I'm working on that bit."

James said nothing, just listened intently.

"Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us . . . we're far from the shallow now . . ." He cut off, glancing across the road. His cheeks flushed. "Your driver is still watching us."

"Oh." James looked, and rolled his eyes when Carlos gave him a thumbs up. "He's such a dork."

"I should be getting home," Kendall said, standing up and brushing off the backside of his jeans. "It's late."

"Okay . . . I'll take you." James kept the bottle of Bombay; he slipped it into the seat pouch when they got into the back of Carlos' car. Carlos started the engine and drove off without a word, listening to Kendall's quiet instructions of the way to his home. They passed a few more familiar streets that had kept their place somewhere deep in the back of James' memory.

They pulled up outside a small suburban house. "Here we are," Carlos announced, parking the car.

"Thanks, Carlos." Kendall turned to James. "Um . . ." he took his beanie off and shoved it in his pocket, brushing his hair back. "It was really nice seeing you again," he said. "I had a lot of fun and um . . . good luck with the rest of the tour and everything."

"Thank you," James said as Kendall scooted across the seat and opened the car door. Watching him step out of the car, he felt an unbearable panic come over him.

"Wait." James clutched Kendall's hand. Kendall turned around and bent down, leaning back towards the car.

"What is it?" he asked, hair hanging in his face.

James took a moment to really look at him; to study the sharp angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the slight furrow in his brow and the flecks of gold in his green eyes. "Will you come to my show tomorrow night?"

"Oh. I don't know . . ." Kendall glanced over his shoulder at the house, back at James. "I've got work tomorrow night, it's kind of last minute . . ."

"Please." The thought now of tuning his guitar, of bearing his soul to a crowd of strangers suddenly seemed not scary exactly, just – empty. "I'll send a car to pick you up."

Kendall gave a soft smile, and a slow nod. "Okay. I will."

"Thank you." For a moment, he didn't let go of Kendall's hand. "You're beautiful," he found himself blurting out before he could stop himself.

Kendall's cheeks turned red and he pulled his hand away sharply. But as he stepped back from the car and mumbled, "Goodnight, James," he saw him grin before he turned and jogged up the steps to the front door. James watched from the car as he unlocked the front door and glanced back, gave one more quick wave and disappeared inside. He sighed and rested his head back against the headrest.

"Hotel now, sir?" Carlos asked, starting the engine.

"Please." James looked out the window as they drove, fingers lightly tapping the new melody on his knee. "I've gotta get some sleep. I've got stuff to write in the morning."

The following evening, James had never been more nervous to start a show before. At least, not since he first began performing in front of much smaller audiences. "Is he here yet?" he demanded as a crew member hooked him up to his earpiece. "He should be here by now."

"Relax, he'll be here," the stage manager assured him – he'd forgotten her name. "I'm keeping an eye out for the car. You need to get on stage."

James did as he was asked and waved to the audience. He asked them how they were doing. He glanced at the backstage area. No sign. The band began to play and he reluctantly began to sing. He tried to lose himself in it but couldn't help glancing back every chance he got. He knew he wasn't being subtle. He took a deep breath and forced himself not to look back again. Maybe something had come up. Maybe he couldn't get out of work.

James finished his third song and glanced again at the backstage area. His eyes widened when he saw Kendall standing there among the crew, VIP pass around his neck. He waved when he saw James and clapped along with the audience, face lit up in such a pure, joyous smile. James' heart was suddenly, unbearably full.

He waved to the audience and jogged to the side of the stage. "You're here!" He enveloped Kendall in his arms and hugged him close. "What kept you?"

"Car accident, traffic was murder." Kendall clung to James just as tightly before they let go. "You're doing so great! Thank you so much for inviting me."

"Come here." James grasped Kendall's hands and tugged him close. "Will you do something for me?"

"What?" Kendall asked, breathless.

"I want to play that song you wrote, the one you sang last night. I put together a little backing for it. I want you to sing it with me."

"What?" Kendall's eyes widened. "No, I – I can't—"

"Come on, you'll be amazing, you have to."

"No, James, please." Kendall shook his head frantically, digging his heels into the ground as James tried to tug him forward. "Listen to me, I cannot go out there. I'm not a singer."

"Yes, you are." James let go of Kendall's hands and he stumbled back slightly. He gestured back towards the stage. "You belong out there. All you have to do is trust me." He grinned, grabbing his acoustic guitar and slinging it over his shoulder. "Besides, I'm going to sing it anyway, because they need to hear it. Do you want me to take all the credit?"

He stepped back out in front of the crowd, turning one more to look at Kendall and mouthed, Trust me. He stepped in front of the mic and called to the crowd, "Now I'm going to sing a very special song with a very special person. And I hope you guys are into it because I sure as hell am. This is called 'Shallow'."

He began to play as the crowd's screams slowly died down, and they slowed enough to listen. He began to sing, glancing back at Kendall out of the corner of his eye still cowered backstage with the stage crew. "Tell me something, boy," he sang. "Are you searching for the road to joy . . . or do you need more? Is there something else you're searching for?"

Even from that distance, he could see Kendall trembling. He saw him glance out at the stage, look away again. He turned back to face the crowd and continued the verse he'd sloppily put together in the late hours of that morning, the feeling of Kendall's hand on his still lingering as he wrote with an energy he hadn't felt in a long time. "And in the bad times, I fear myself," he hummed, feeling the truth in an uncomfortable, but necessary jolt.

"Tell me something, boy . . . aren't you tired trying to fill that void . . ."

The voice came timidly from one of the backup microphones behind him. The crowd burst into cheers as James looked back to see Kendall standing beside the bassist, arms folded tight around himself, eyes screwed tightly shut as he sang. The microphone amplified what little volume he had in his voice, but the tone was still clear, the words – and the singer – beautiful beyond words. James watched him, almost forgetting to keep playing the melody for him.

"I'm on the deep end, watch as I dive in, I'll never meet the ground," Kendall sang, eyes opening for a second before his hands clapped over them. "Crash through the surface, where they can't hurt us . . ." But James saw the trace of a smile on his face, saw the tremble in his knees subside slightly. When Kendall finally did drop his hands and look out at the crowd, and at James, properly, James gave a little tilt of his head to beckon him over as he kept playing.

Kendall slowly walked to centre stage, right up to stand beside him. The spotlights shined down on them and he gazed out into the crowd with almost comically wide eyes. James couldn't help letting out a chuckle, kept strumming lightly as he watched him take it all in. Kendall looked at him and his chest billowed as he took a deep breath. Then he did possibly one of the last things James expected; he grasped James' microphone and tugged it down to meet his height, he closed his eyes, and he let loose.

"We're far from the shallow now," he roared, hands coming up to push the hair back from his face. He swayed in time to James' guitar, lighting the arena up merely with his presence. As he sang, he seemed to light the crowd on fire. James could only stare at him; he thought at the last moment to lean in close and finish the song with him, strumming on autopilot at this point. Kendall gazed into his eyes and smiled. James didn't realise the song had even finished until the crowd erupted into a deafening applause. He awoke and glanced at the band behind him. He chuckled when the drummer gave him a coy thumbs up.

James stuck his hand over the microphone. "I want you to sing something else," he mumbled to Kendall. He took the guitar from his back and handed it to Kendall. "Sing something else you wrote." And he stepped back before Kendall could say a word.

Kendall's jaw dropped and he scowled. But he took another deep breath and strapped the guitar over his shoulder, grasping the microphone again and stuttering, "Um . . . hi."

The crowd screamed and Kendall gave a nervous giggle. "Thank you," he said, taking hold of the guitar. "Thanks. Um . . . this is called 'Memories and Melodies'. I hope you like it."

"I could kill you!" Kendall shouted. "For making me do that. What the fuck, man?"

"Hey, I didn't make you do anything!" James said, one hand raised in surrender as he poured them both a drink with the other. "Besides, I was right, wasn't I? You killed it."

"Well, yeah . . . but still." Kendall's hands raked through his hair and he shook his head. "I can't believe I did that." He took the drink James offered him and downed it in one go. "Thanks. I'm still shaking. Look at my hands." He held them out.

James downed his own drink and took their two glasses, putting them on the coffee table. He took Kendall's shaking hands in his and kissed them both. Kendall let out a shaky breath as James' arms ensnared his waist and pulled him close. When they kissed at last, it was as though James was back on stage with him and feeling alive again. How glorious it felt to breathe.

"Hey, dog!"

James pulled back and glanced at the open door where Gustavo stood, shaking his head in disapproval. "Are you two finished?" he demanded, slamming the door as he marched into the room.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Kendall said shyly, prying himself away from James.

"Yeah, you too, Kendall." And to James' shock, he seemed that he really meant it. "Listen, you and I have to talk. Since when was there a plan to bring some nobody on stage, exactly?"

"He's not a nobody," James retorted. "We were in high school together. I ran into him last night, I heard him sing and I had to have him on. He wrote those songs, too."

"Well, just the lyrics of the first one," Kendall mumbled. "Some of them . . ."

"Listen," Gustavo snapped, finger raised as Kendall fell silent. "I'm not looking for modesty from you. You were incredible."

"I . . . really?"

"Kendall!" Gustavo waved his hands dramatically in front of his face. "You have the fire! I've never seen anything like it. And I haven't been this excited about anyone in years, let me tell you."

James grabbed the whiskey and poured himself another drink, taking a sip and sitting back on the couch. He watched Kendall's face light up.

"Do you really think so?" Kendall asked. "I've never really gone anywhere with it. I got told I'm too ugly."

"Ugly? Oh, please. I can work with ugly. You do know who I am, don't you? Now, you need to show me what else you've written. Come with me. Play me something else."

"Oh, okay . . ."

"Quick! Grab one of those guitars, I don't have all night." Gustavo threw himself down on the couch next to James and folded his arms. Kendall picked up one of James' guitars – a personal favourite, in fact.

"Now," Gustavo said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Let's see what you're really made of."