A/N: Alright, so this is a bit different, if I want to be quite honest. All of projects in the past have been written in first-person narrative, and despite how desperately I've tried writing in third-person, it never seems to come out quite right. I suppose my writing style is more appropriate using first-person, considering how much I deal with the character's emotions and internal thoughts.

This is my attempt at third person, and yes, I'm very nervous about allowing others to view it, but I'm desperate to see if it's... adequate. Acceptable.

Rated T for some minor insinuations and strong language. I've decided to deviate a bit from my usual ship, and this is Logan/James slash with a lot of fluff and some mild angst, as usual. It's short, but it was meant as an... experiment, I guess you could say. I'm very uncomfortable with third-person narrative currently, and I really want to fix that. Regardless, I hope you guys like it. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Big Time Rush or any of the characters involved. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: "Out of all four boys, James & Logan were, undoubtedly, the most considerate—the most empathetic, the most understanding and sensitive... the warmest." And neither of them really knew just how deeply they truly needed each other. Logan/James slash.

Out of all four boys, James and Logan were, undoubtedly, the most considerate—the most empathetic, the most understanding and sensitive... the warmest.

It was almost as though, the two of them together, created a furious sun—a ball of fire that swelled with bright yellow and orange flames. They reacted well to one another, almost as though the presence of one would somehow complete the other, and in a way, that was the only true way to describe them: as a combined existence. They were a single entity, an ethereal force of nature that could, potentially, bring warmth and comfort, endowed with a rich sense of euphoria and devotion, but could also, just as easily, bring unadorned devastation and disaster—such a drastic span of two extremes that no one had dared toy with the current balance of things.

They absorbed each others compassion as though it was oxygen—a necessary element for either of them to function—and they thrived on it, dispelling it just as equally for the other to soak up. It was a soft, tender type of synchronicity that they shared, so obscured and foreign, an emotion almost like affection in the way that they would, without hesitation, look to one another for support—in the way that either of them would react to a specific situation.

And it was terribly difficult to not notice the intensity, the fervency, the heat and complete absorption between the two of them that was so absolutely awe-inspiring and overwhelming, so captivating and obvious but utterly impossible to decipher—to understand and simply know the true depth they shared. Because despite how obvious it really was... Not one person truly knew just how much affection and adoration both Logan and James held for one another.

Not one person knew that, late at night, Logan would sneak into James' room and burrow deep beneath his black, fleece comforter. No one knew that James would not only tolerate this seemingly intimate intrusion, but rather, he would embrace it completely. That he would wrap his arms around Logan and pull him closer, burying his face into the smaller boy's soft, brunette hair that smelled so much like vanilla mixed with freshly chopped cinnamon—no one knew that that was James' favorite smell in the entire world. Not a single soul could possibly interpret the infallible truth behind the hidden glances they would share, the lingering touches and the way they would, unknowingly, lean towards each other, seeking the other out and so desperately needing to be just a little bit closer.

And no one knew that Logan... Well, Logan loved James, almost as much as James loved him.

But it wasn't until late one night, the moon high in the sky and casting a low white light in through James' bedroom window, that Logan actually told him so.

He buried himself deep into James' side, his arms wrapped tightly around the expanse of muscle and smooth skin that surrounded him so fully, smothering him with warmth and security. Because 'smothering' was the only word to properly describe it, a feeling like suffocation, but not nearly as negative. It gave the sensation of free-falling from the top of a rocky cliff, cascading down until he reached the solid blue water, overwhelming him, making it impossible to be dignified or graceful, but the water was so pleasant and perfect that he simply couldn't care.

And he found himself clutching so desperately onto the smooth, warm skin that had kept him grounded all these month—the form and shape that he had memorized, faltering under the pressure of his fingertips; he was certain there would be bruises, but needed to know. He needed to reassure himself with tangible evidence that, yes, James was here and holding him. James was his.

"S'matter?" James' voice was worn and saturated with sleep—scratchy—and even still, the most beautiful sound Logan thought he'd ever heard in his entire life.

"I love you."


"I love you... Fuckin' so much, and sometimes..." Logan paused; words caught in his throat and choking him for only a second. "God, sometimes, you don't seem real. You're, like..." His grip tightened and James understood as he pulled him closer and allowed Logan's nails to dig slightly into his skin. "You're just here." His voice was raw and strained—like a rubber band getting ready to snap, and he could feel his eyes glaze over from moisture. He was aware, even as he spoke the words, that they made very little sense, but he knew James would understand—knew that James would have understood perfectly well even without any words at all, because that's just how they were.

"Mmmf." James tried to respond, he really did, but Logan was desperately pulling him impossibly closer and his face was, once again, buried in the mess of dark brown, vanilla scented hair.

"Just... Tell me that this isn't some, y'know... Game? Fuck. I don't even know..." His voice was raw and deep—muddled and suffused with unrestrained emotions, pent up to the point of utter insanity. This was driving him to the point of complete desperation. "You... Do you love me?" Logan was practically panting the words, gasping and trying to hold back because he didn't want James to know just how emotionally invested he really was—didn't want him to know how much it would absolutely kill him if James felt... nothing. "I mean, I know we've never talked about it, and... This whole thing was meant to be no-strings attached, y'know? In the beginning, it was just for fun, nothin' serious. But..." Deep down inside Logan knew the truth—knew that James loved him more than life itself, would do anything for him, but still couldn't stop the flood of tears that finally fell. "Well, it's been three months... And you're still here. Just... don't be mad if I'm wrong, alright? I couldn't... I don't think I could handle that. I never wanted to tell you, but God, James... I can't do this anymore. I can't do this if you don't love me. You do love me, right?" And finally the torrent of words stopped, because Logan was gasping for breath, trying to ease the rising panic within him and calm the maelstrom of thoughts buzzing through every synapse and nerve in his body.

He could feel the tears pouring down the sides of his cheeks and he felt genuinely perplexed by the odd sensation, because God, how long had it been since he'd last cried? Two years? Probably more. And he felt pathetic as he finally lifted himself up on his elbow so he could get a good look at James, his chest rising and falling as the low moonlight spilled across his sun-kissed skin.

And the sight before him quite literally made his heart stop, just for a second, as fear gripped him, clenching within his stomach and filling him with an immeasurable sense of awe and reverence. Because James... God, James was crying, too. And, fuck, James never cries—had never once cried in front of Logan in the 10 years that they had been friends. His expression was filled with such a deep anguish and affliction that Logan couldn't possibly fathom what was currently running through his friend's thoughts. "Yes... God, yes... I love you so much that, fuck... Sometimes I don't even know how to handle it," he choked out, his voice breaking on the last syllable as a sob caught at the base of his throat. He, so very delicately, lifted his hand to Logan's cheek, the tip of his thumb brushing away the tears that fell so unremittingly.

And not much was said as Logan buried himself, once again, into James' side, seeking out the ever present warmth and certainty that resided within the other boy. Maybe their soft caresses and heated glances spoke greater volumes than either could ever hope to verbalize and express in anything other than their own secret language of silent understanding. Perhaps, Logan could have been found the next morning, holding onto James as though his very life depended on it, and maybe, James was holding on just as tight.

And it's possible that some things just can't be defined and categorized—that in some situations, everything in unavoidably messy and unorganized. Once in a while, it's completely impossible to explain something, to justify it and furthermore understand it.

Because in the end, neither Logan nor James could even begin to tell you how exactly they had fallen so uncontrollably, inexorably, undeniably in love with each other.

But, hey, neither of them were complaining.

A/N: Oh, gosh... I don't think you understand how absolutely nerve-racking it is for me to post this. It feels choppy and awkward to me, as though my writing style is too... poetic and emotionally-based that writing in third-person is virtually impossible for me to grasp. I just hope that it exuded the intended message—that the plot is easily identifiable, even if the writing is a bit... cryptic.

I would love to hear some feedback, in fact, that is the sole reason I'm posting this story. I really need to know if this has any potential what so ever. Was my attempt at third-person narrative completely worthless or did you actually get some remote enjoyment out of reading this? Thoughts and opinions?

Once again, thank you to everyone who has been reading all of my stories, adding them to their favorites, and reviewing them. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. :)

Reviews are like caffeine to my muse, and well... He just loves caffeine. :)