A/N: Yeah. Not Kames. Or Cargan. I dunno, I've just been having Kenlos feels here lately, all right? Deal with it.

Idea for this oneshot came to me after Carlos tweeted about how much he loved trains-along with a mental image on him sitting on the floor with a toy train track around him, remote control in his hand, and goofy smile on his face, but that's a drabble for another day-and, strangely enough, during "Ink Master". As in the tattoo competition show. Although there's no mention of tattoos in this. Whatever.

I own nothing except this dorky idea. Also, never been to NYC so any inaccuracies about subways are due to that.

The platform at the subway station was sparsely crowded, not that unusual for that time of day. It was too late for the lunch traffic, too early for the end of the work day crowds, making it pretty much the perfect time to travel in the underground trains.

Carlos Garcia stood there, hands curled in fists in front of his mouth, blowing into one to warm it up, then the other. December in New York City was way different than back home in Minnesota, granted the chill in the winter air was the same no matter where he went. It still bit at his cheeks, numbed out his nose, make his fingers ache and his flesh prickle. But it didn't smell the same. Minnesota winters smelled like snow, pine, ice. It brought the scents of Christmas with it, of gingerbread houses he and his siblings always made, of the hot cocoa his best friend Logan Mitchell's mom would make, of turkey and ham and apple cinnamon, oh my! Minnesota winters were about playing in the snow with his friends, snowball fights, hockey, snowmen building, the dorky way Logan would calculate exactly how much snow was needed to create a good giant ball for the base, only to have Carlos just start piling the white stuff haphazardly, too excited for the end result to wait. It was families, togetherness, being surrounded by loved ones and feeling the special kinda warmth brought on by love.

New York winters weren't like that at all. Carlos felt the chill here even more, although he was sure part of it was a mental coldness and not an actual frostiness in the air. People here always seemed to be in a hurry, hustling and bustling to and fro, no time for anyone else. Keep your head down and keep to yourself, that's how everyone was there. You offer a wave or a friendly smile, you were stared at like you were something that had crawled out a manhole in the middle of the street. There was no snowmen building, no snowball fights, no hockey with friends. There was no turkey or ham or apple cinnamon, no gingerbread houses or hot cocoa. There was no family, no togetherness, no loved ones, and especially no love.

A sad sigh left the Latino as he dropped his hands, shoving them in the pockets of his black down jacket. His first semester at college seemed to be dragging more and more the closer it got to the holiday break and he was really beginning to feel the fatigue of being there. He wasn't sure if it was all the hard work, if it was because he was now having to do it all by himself more and more as Logan started hanging out with other people and spent more time chasing after that hot drama student James, or if it was homesickness, maybe it was a combination, but no matter what, he was getting really tired. Tired of being alone, tired of all the work, tired of being far from his family, tired of...well, being tired. He was just physically and mentally exhausted and he couldn't wait to get back to Minnesota and his family to recharge his batteries.

The subway train pulled up to the platform, stopping with a loud screech, a hiss sounding out as the doors slid open. Grabbing hold of his backpack strap, Carlos stepped on board, walking to the left and heading a few feet down. He always sat in the same seat, partially because he had admittedly become a creature of habit since moving to the Big Apple, but partially for another reason.

The two seater bench he chose ran perpendicular to the windows, the first one in the row. In front of him was a long stretch of seats that ran alongside the wall of the train car, usually occupied by a couple other people: a woman who wore a khaki trench and her brown hair always up in this twist thing Carlos didn't know the name of, her nose always buried in a book, a darker skinned male a few seats down who usually slept, and about once a week, a blonde middle-aged woman with a couple grocery bags.

But the Latino wasn't interested in any of them. His attention was usually drawn to a different passenger, one who was currently running in at the last second, barely making it before the doors slid shut, just like every other day.

Carlos had laid eyes on the guy during his first ride on the subway after his first day of classes, feeling his stomach clench and his heart pound. He wasn't conventionally good looking, his nose a little too big, his chin jutting out a little too far, but to the Latino, that's what made the other male so beautiful. He admittedly didn't know much-okay, anything about the tall guy, except what he observed. The male's hair was a dirty blond, kind of a scruffy, shaggy style that he'd cut a month or so ago, leaving it long at the top and back, the sides short, almost like a flopped over mohawk. He had a deep love of plaid, seeming to almost always be in a flannel shirt with that pattern, a blue one at that moment, judging by what Carlos could see through his open dark brown coat. And now that the weather had gotten colder, the blond seemed to always be sporting a beanie, today's a dark blue one, matching his shirt. White cords went from the inside of the jacket to under the beanie, iPod headphones the Latino assumed, another staple to the other male's look. And topping it all off was his usual skinny jeans and black messenger bag.

The blond gave a small apologetic smile to a woman he nearly bumped into, before adjusting his falling strap on his shoulder, turning to the right of the door. He had his own usual seat, one right by the exit on a bench that ran alongside the wall on the side opposite the one Carlos sat at. He always stared straight ahead, looking at nothing but the window. It was what all New Yorkers did, just kept to themselves, no eye contact, no conversations.

Maybe that's what was holding Carlos back. Sure, there was the nerves. He'd never approached anyone he found as remotely good looking as that guy, at least not one he was attracted to that badly. But he figured he could suck it up, be a man, his police officer dad's voice ringing in his head, cheering him on, giving him a pep talk about what it meant to be a grown up. Then he would look around the cart, seeing no one else moving, no one talking. He already felt like he didn't belong in the city, felt too bubbly, too fun, too full of life in a place occupied by drones who went from point A to point B without an expression on their face or a word spoken to anyone, unless it was a "watch where you're going, asshole!" or something of the like.

As the semester wore on, though, as he grew more and more tired and worn down by his studies and by life in general, he just lost the desire to talk to the other male. It wasn't that he didn't want to. Hell, he was dying to at least learn the guy's name. But...it was hard to explain. The more time he spent away from home, the less he felt like himself. The old Minnesota Carlos would have no trouble bounding over to the guy, introducing himself, and just ramble as he monopolized the conversation, hoping the blond would find it endearing rather than annoying. This new Big Apple Carlos was becoming much like every other New Yorker, seeming uncaring, unsocial, un-everything he used to be. Just an expressionless, emotionless zombie, like those of the films he loved. Too bad he wasn't a badass zombie like in "28 Days Later", but a slow moving, brain dead one like the original "Night of the Living Dead."

Another sigh escaped past his lips as he turned his head to the side, tearing his eyes away from the guy he admired from afar and focusing out the window. The world passed by in a blur of black and gray, like going through a time warp. Only time didn't seem to be moving fast enough for him. He was so looking forward to getting home, to being embraced by his Mami, to receiving hard slaps on the back from his Papi, to playing with his siblings, and just overall getting back to the way he was. Maybe then he'd have the balls or the desire or the...whatever to go talk to the blond guy.

It seemed like only a minute had passed, but Carlos knew it had to have been longer. Movement out the corner of his eye caught his attention, his head turning to see the blond guy get up. His stop was always first, Carlos' the very next one. He often wondered where the other male went when he got off the subway, if he was going home or to work, if he was a student or had already graduated, if he was single or engaged. The lack of ring on his left ring finger ruled out marriage, but there was no way of knowing if he had a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Or was gay or straight or what.

He sighed once again as he turned back to the window, the train pulling to a stop, the brakes screeching then hissing. He didn't wanna see the guy leave, didn't wanna watch his opportunity to talk to him vanish. Only a few more seconds and the blond would be gone.

Except that's not what happened.

A thick piece of paper landed on his lap, catching his attention. It was somewhat rough as he picked it up, like the nice sketch paper from proper sketch pads. And as Carlos' dark eyes scanned the pencil markings on it, he soon figured out what it was: a drawing of himself, smiling widely. It was amazing, a perfect replica of himself, from the twinkling in his eyes, to the mole near his chin, to the way his black hair was styled. And in the corner, in scribbled handwriting were the words "You should smile more. Looks good on you" with a signature. Kendall. The blond's name was Kendall.

His head shot up as he looked at the door in front, seeing the blond guy standing there, hand on the door frame, green eyes watching the Latino. He gave the dark haired male a dimpled smile and a wink before stepping off the subway and onto the platform, the doors closing behind him with a resolute hiss.

Carlos' eyes went back to the sketch he was holding in his hands, taking in all the details, all the pencil marks, all the shading. He was gonna have to get it framed, put it in a place of honor in his dorm so he could stare at it, stare at the signature and the name of the guy he was crushing on bad. The guy who had drawn him this picture. The guy who had said Carlos had a nice smile.

A grin formed on his face, happiness spreading throughout his body in a warm way, like the first sip of hot cocoa after spending the day in the snow. He may have been tired and worn down and homesick, but New York was definitely proving to be worth the fatigue.