#logicality fluff

[unclejudmudmudmudmudmud]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64537006

New fic! Little logicality oneshot, tells their story, I’ve had this brainworm for a while but I don’t think there’s enough substance to write it into a whole thing.

[crow-feather-quill]

I'll Be Careful

Summary: It's tradition before your wedding to give your heart to your lover. Logan is anxious that a broken heart like his won't be enough, but his fiancé is rather insistent on the opposite.

Tags: Patton, Logan, Logicality, MLM, Fluffy AF, mild cursing

A/N: I'm testing the waters on an AU I want to use on a South Park fic, so we're trying it first with a fandom I know how to write better. please, PLEASE tell me if this reads well or if it doesn't. Comments or reblogs help me so much.

Enjoy reading!

Logan was admittedly a little paranoid about the entire exchange, even if is tradition. The whole idea of putting that much trust into someone even if you love them was terrifying.

Part of the fear came from that their hearts were only glass. Not a strong metal, nor even stronger glass like a Rupert's drop. No, fragile and breakable glass that all too commonly got cracks and breaks. Logan's heart worse for wear as far as hearts go though still in one piece. Now he was walking to the park, where he had his first kiss with Patton to give him his heart.

Logan went straight to the old willow, where it happened. He could still perfectly recall it. They were under it's branches, stargazing on a clear night. Logan had just pointed out the planet Venus when Patton leaned in, and Logan didn't stop him. Patton swore he felt cracks in heart mend after that night . After that kiss.

"Hey Logie! Sorry I'm a little late the muffins took a bit longer then I planned." Patton said, walking over to him. He was wearing a light-blue jumper with an embroidered heart that Logan was sure was his favourite. He had a picnic basket hanging from his lower arm, the aforementioned muffins were just visible behind the wicker.

"Good evening, Patton. Your tardiness is not of significant concern, as it is only by 3 minutes." Logan reassured his fiancé, taking the basket from him to help set up the picnic. "Thank you, though for making muffins."

"Of course! Thought we could use something to munch on. I brought Crofter's too." Patton smiled, warm and full up at Logan. It must have been roughly 1600 degrees Celsius as he felt a sensation of muscle relaxation, originating from the cardiovascular muscle. "You okay, Logan? Your face is all pink."

Logan attempted to pull himself together, straightening his tie unnecessarily and clearing his throat. "I am in good health, Patton. I was merely feeling a.. pleasant sensation in relation to you."

"Awww... you big softie." Patton nudged Logan as he finished setting out their picnic of muffins, jam, and toast. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're head over heels for me... but you're not wearing any heels!"

Logan let a small laugh slip through his lips, before sitting down beside his love. "Yes yes, very clever Patton."

They sat in a comfortable silence for sometime. Simply enjoying the food, the jam and one another. Logan planned the timing so that they could watch the sunset while they ate. It was a fascinating process how as the angle of light entirety changed, different hues ran through the sky, creating oranges, yellows, and pinks unmatched by paint or dye. This event of natural beauty only lead to another when stars and planets showed face, illuminating the sky but that wouldn't be for a while longer.

"Well, Logie... I don't really know how to start these kind of talks. But well... can I show you my heart?" Patton asked, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh, um... yes. And I will then show you mine?" Logan asked tentatively.

"Yeah," Patton said, taking in a deep breath he held out his hands. A pastel blue light formed from a shapeless bright into the shape of a glass heart, tinted a slight blue. It had cracks, certainly. Some crept towards the center, others staying to the outer sides. Patton looked at it with some degree of melancholy, like giving away an old toy or photo. "What... do you think of it?"

"Patton.." Logan was at a loss but still attempted a response. He knew Patton long enough to see he was insecure about it's damage. "It's as beautiful as you. I wouldn't care if it was only dust and fragments, because it's holder is whole."

"Logan.." Patton's cheeks glowed a pink hue to rival the heavens with a smile ear to ear. In his hands, the heart's cracks seemed to retreat. "For a guy who says 'emotions are distraction' you're pretty good at happiness."

"That's... very kind of you." Logan gave his own shy smile. He took a breath held out his own hands, a dark blue formless light emerged then he felt the weight of his own heart. It looked as though it would shatter at a small gust, cracks connecting across it's hollow interior. "I hope... it's enough."

Before Logan could react, Patton had taken one of Logan's hands in his own. "You're already more then enough."

The two stared at each with a love like the day they first met. It was pure, and unfiltered. The hearts were exchanged, given to the person who would keep it safe. Their eyes shifted from heart to heart, a silent promise.

"I'll be careful, I'll never let it get broken."

[luv4arinn]

I Just Wanna Feel

Author’s Note: So—sorry for not posting in weeks, but I had a massive writer’s block, and well… I’m back! I was heavily inspired by THAT Robbie Williams song. Yes, I watched his biopic. Yes, I cried. Yes, I recommend it. And… surprise?! There will be a whole chronology with the others, all themed around Robbie’s songs! Yayy <3!! Consider it a gift? from me for taking so long 🥺. Love you all.

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

Tags: Intense fluff, nerd having an emotional crisis, extreme overthinking, unexpected kisses, Donatello’s mental breakdown, romantic panic, “oh no I messed up” but in HD, happy ending.

The sound of the keyboard echoed through the room—a rhythmic, steady tapping that blended with the low hum of the monitors. The bluish glow from the screens cast irregular shadows across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses with every line of code appearing and disappearing on the monitor.

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

It was like a well-structured algorithm: receive information, process it, execute a plan of action. The world had rules, patterns, probabilities—formulas that predicted outcomes with near-absolute precision. No matter how chaotic a situation seemed, there was always a logical solution waiting to be uncovered.

Computers don’t lie.

Data has no biases, no whims. It doesn’t suffer irrational fluctuations. It doesn’t beat faster without reason. It doesn’t have to remind itself to breathe.

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

Not immediately. Not like a fatal error shutting down the system in the blink of an eye. It’s more subtle. Like an unexpected variable in an equation that had, until now, been perfect. Something that doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of his world—but something he can’t ignore either.

He thinks about it often. About how his brain operates like a well-calibrated machine, each thought clicking into the next like the teeth of a moving gear. Logic is his native language. Reason, his compass.

And yet, when it comes to you, all that logic becomes blurred.

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

Because when you step into his space, when your voice disrupts the steady rhythm of his keyboard, when you lean over his desk without a second thought for the scattered circuits and switch off his monitor without warning…

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

Why does his skin register the shift in temperature more intensely when you’re near?

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

Because feeling isn’t predictable. Feeling has no neatly arranged lines of code, no graphs to chart behavioral patterns, no equations with exact solutions.

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

You are the anomaly he still doesn’t know how to decode.

Nights shouldn’t feel this short when spent alone in front of a screen. And yet, when his mind drifts to the memory of a laugh, the fleeting image of a glance, the echo of an accidental touch… time dissolves in a way not even quantum physics could explain.

When he feels the weight of his name on your tongue. Like an access key to a system he never thought anyone would try to hack.

And he watches you from the corner of his eye as you lean closer, and in that instant, every variable in his mind shifts. Every equation rewrites itself.

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

He knows because his chest tightens with an undefined pressure, a sensation he can’t attribute to any specific physiological variable. His heart rate isn’t elevated from exertion. He’s not under attack. He’s not in danger.

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

Because if there were, he would have solved it long ago. He would have identified the problem, broken it down into its components, eliminated any errors. But every time he thinks he’s close to an answer, another unknown appears, shifting all previous solutions out of place.

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

His body reacts to the sound before his mind does. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. There is no logical reason why a progression of chords and a set of words arranged in a certain way should have this effect on him.

And yet, here he is.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless—caught between the instinct to keep working and the strange, undeniable realization that… he can’t.

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

Not because there’s a problem that requires more processing.

But because, for the first time in a long time, the data isn’t the most important thing.

The screen flickers with information he should be absorbing, but he isn’t. His glasses reflect numbers and graphs that would normally hold his full attention, but his gaze is empty, unfocused.

The room remains unchanged—draped in shadows, illuminated only by the bluish glow of his monitors and the faint blinking of LED lights from his equipment.

The mission had been difficult. The margin of error had been higher than he liked to admit.

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

“Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t know how that song ended up on his playlist.

But he has a reasonable theory.

One that involves Mikey, his blatant disregard for personal privacy, and his insistent need to “help him connect with his emotions.”

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

The lyrics hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s not the melody itself. It’s not the chords or the rhythm. It’s the way the words seem to slip through the cracks in his mind, seeping into the spaces that logic has never quite managed to seal shut.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

Donnie exhales slowly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

Numbers flash through his mind like a simulation running in reverse—impact probability, the margin of error in his calculations, the reaction speed needed to avoid damage. Fractions of a second where the difference between victory and absolute disaster depended on decisions made under pressure.

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

He thinks about the way, at the end of the fight, you rushed to check if he was okay.

About how, without even thinking, your hands—warm, alive—ran along his arm, searching for injuries he had already identified and dismissed milliseconds before with his visor.

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

Feeling dictates that your touch lingers, even after you’ve gone.

That the sensation of your skin against his stays beyond his capacity for reasoning.

That the light pressure of your fingers on his forearm still burns in his memory, like an unsolved equation looping endlessly in his mind.

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

He could rewrite the equation, adjust the variables, find a way to rationalize what he feels.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Because for the first time in his life, the result of a problem doesn’t matter as much as the unknown.

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

He wants to understand why being with you feels like the only constant that truly matters.

And then—you arrive.

Without warning, without fanfare, without the slightest idea that the world inside Donatello’s mind is teetering on the edge of a collapse even he can’t explain.

The lab door slides open smoothly—barely a whisper against the silence, thick with static electricity and the faint murmur of music in his headphones.

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

The faint scent of shampoo and fabric laced with the chill of the night.

The way the temperature in the room rises by just a fraction of a degree when you step inside.

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the anomaly that you are in his equation.

He doesn’t know where to place you within the rigid parameters of his logical, structured world.

His operating system slows, his brain—so used to processing information with the precision of a surgeon—stalls in an endless loop, searching for a resolution that refuses to exist.

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

Soft. Not because you’re hesitant, but because you know him. Because somehow—through a method he can’t quantify—you can read the tension in his shoulders. You can see the way his fingers have stopped typing, even though the screen is still waiting for input.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, as if that alone might be enough to reboot him, to restore the control that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

But his normal means efficiency, speed, precise answers delivered at the exact right moment.

And right now, every command in his mind is failing.

You watch him with quiet curiosity, tilting just slightly toward him—just enough for the air between you to feel heavier, more tangible.

“Everything okay?” you ask, voice soft in that way that completely disarms him. Then your gaze sharpens slightly, scanning him with quiet scrutiny. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

His mind runs an automatic analysis of your expression—eyes slightly narrowed, lips barely pressed together, the faintest crease in your right brow, as if you’re already calculating the probability that he’s lying.

Logic dictates that he should reassure you with data. That he should tell you his visor has already run a full diagnostic scan and that his physical condition is optimal. That there is no rational reason for concern.

But then his gaze drops.

And he sees his own hand, still resting on the desk—still tense.

And for the first time in a long time, he chooses to do something without overthinking it.

He looks at you again.

His throat feels dry. Without realizing it, he wets his lips—a quick flick of his tongue over skin cracked from hours without proper hydration.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely sounds like his own, he asks:

“Can I… hold your hand?”

It’s not the kind of question anyone would expect from him.

And he knows it.

Because it doesn’t fit his usual patterns. It’s not something that makes sense in any logical context.

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

Your lashes flutter in subtle surprise, as if the words take a few extra seconds to fully register.

“What?”

His instincts scream at him to backtrack, to rephrase, to find a way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand.

But he doesn’t.

“I want to…” He inhales, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I mean, just—”

He shuts his eyes for a second, frustration flickering across his face. He has never felt this clumsy with words before.

When he opens them again, you’re still there. You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked away.

And somehow, that alone gives him the courage he’s lacking.

“I just… want to feel it.”

The truth escapes him so easily, so quietly, that it almost embarrasses him.

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

And without questioning it—without hesitation or unnecessary words—you let your hand slide over his.

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

Just with the quiet certainty of someone who understands exactly what he’s asking for.

And when your fingers intertwine with his, Donnie feels every equation, every algorithm, every carefully structured rule in his mind… simply dissolve.

As if they had never really mattered in the first place.

“Well?” you ask, your voice carrying a faint attempt at lightness.

Donnie knows you’re trying to sound casual, that you’re masking your uncertainty behind a relaxed tone. But he notices.

He notices the delicate dusting of pink on your cheeks, the almost imperceptible tremor in your lower lip, the way your thumb brushes against the back of his hand—like you’re adjusting to the contact just as much as he is.

And something inside him… softens.

His lips curve, at first unconsciously—a smile, small and barely formed. Then, from deep in his chest, a quiet laugh escapes, unbidden and genuine, as weightless as the air after a storm.

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

—Nothing, —he murmurs, his thumb moving awkwardly against your skin— Just… this is nice.

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

Because he hadn’t filtered it through his logic before speaking.

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

Maybe just long enough for the world around you to blur into a distant murmur, as if nothing else exists except the space you occupy together.

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

But not in the way he is fascinated by a new equation, by an unexpected pattern in the data, by the perfect symmetry of a well-designed structure.

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

His other hand, trembling in a way he doesn’t understand, lifts with a slowness that borders on reverence.

And when his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch is so light it feels like an experiment in itself.

He feels.

He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way it molds so effortlessly to his touch, the way your body leans ever so slightly toward him—responding to an equation he hasn’t yet written but, for the first time, doesn’t feel the need to solve.

He feels the erratic pounding of his own heart, too fast, too unsteady, as if it has forgotten its natural rhythm.

He feels the heat gathering in his chest, expanding outward like a shockwave, defying all logical explanation.

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

He feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, the subtle vibration of your exhale in the nonexistent space between you.

Feels,

feels,

feels.

As if every one of his senses—once so meticulously calibrated to process information—has now been repurposed for a single objective:

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

The barely-there weight of your gaze resting on him.

The familiar scent of you, imprinting itself onto some hidden corner of his mind he never thought necessary.

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

And then—without thinking, without calculating, without rationalizing it into exhaustion like he always does—

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

A moment suspended between doubt and need, between impulse and fear.

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

His entire body locks up. Every muscle goes rigid with a tension so sharp it’s almost painful.

His brain—so efficient, so precise, so relentless in its ability to analyze every variable in a situation—enters a total shutdown.

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

Shame crashes over him like an unstoppable wave. His stomach twists, his skin burns, his heart clenches into an invisible fist that threatens to crush it from the inside out.

He pulls back, his hands loosening, his voice catching in his throat.

—Oh, God, I didn’t mean to— —he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of his own panic. His thoughts are a mess of unsolved equations, of probabilities collapsing into a singularity of pure dread— I just… I thought it was a good moment, I—

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

The air thickens, pressing in from all sides, as if the entire universe has stopped—right here, right now, in these words, in this reality he never accounted for.

And then—

You close the distance.

You are the one to bring your lips back to his.

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

for the first time in his life—goes completely silent.

And he simply—feels.

[sshiostwordblog]

Okay, I wasn’t drawing him properly the first time so I deleted the previous one and re-did it.

He’s so stupidly cute I had to draw him more seriously this time. Ok-Ko fans y’all really gotta draw him more often even though I’ve never watched the show

[aventurineswife]

Could I mayhaps request some hcs about Ratio with a gn S/O who cries a lot and wears their heart on their sleeve (but Ratio isn’t annoyed because they’re still very logical)? Thank you!

Logic and Emotion, a Delicate Equation

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Protective, Emotional but Logical Reader, Comfort, Established Relationship, Soft!Ratio (in his own way), Mutual Respect.

Warnings: Just Ratio being his sharp self while also being low-key soft for his S/O.

Ratio is used to dealing with overly emotional individuals who let their feelings cloud their reasoning, so when he meets you—someone who cries easily but still maintains a logical perspective—he finds it fascinating rather than irritating. He won’t say it outright, but your emotional openness intrigues him.

Whenever you start tearing up over something, whether it’s a sentimental story, a beautiful piece of art, or even frustration at an illogical situation, he acknowledges it with a calm, matter-of-fact statement. No judgment, just observation. If anyone else dares to make a comment, they’ll get a sharp glare and a curt dismissal from him.

Ratio isn’t one for empty platitudes, but if something is truly upsetting you, he will sit down with you and logically dissect the problem. If it’s solvable, he will propose solutions. If it’s something that just needs to be felt, he’ll simply stay beside you, arms crossed, listening intently.

While he’s not overly affectionate, Ratio adapts his comfort strategies to what works for you. If you need physical reassurance, he’ll rest a hand on your head or tilt your chin up so you can look at him. If you need words, he will offer direct, no-nonsense affirmations like, “You are far from weak. If anything, your emotional clarity gives you an advantage over those who cannot recognize their own feelings.”

If anyone calls you too emotional or overly sensitive, Ratio will be the first to shut them down. “And yet, they maintain a level of rationality that you seem to lack. Curious.” He makes it clear that he values your emotional intelligence and will not tolerate anyone belittling you for it.

On particularly rough days, Ratio will wordlessly offer you his coat or drape his blue cloth over you. If you lean into him, he won’t move away. Instead, he’ll let out a quiet sigh, as if reluctantly admitting that he doesn’t mind. “Just don’t soak my coat with your tears.” (Spoiler: He wouldn’t actually care.)

You defy the expectations of what he assumes an emotional person would be, and he respects that. Your ability to balance logic with raw emotion is something he admires, even if he rarely expresses it outright. Sometimes, when you aren’t looking, he watches you with something that almost resembles awe.

He might not always understand why you feel things so deeply, but he accepts you wholeheartedly. In his eyes, your emotional honesty is just another form of intelligence—one that many lack. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, yet you do not let it cloud your judgment. A rare trait. Fortunate for you, I do not deal in mediocrity.”

[mekha-draws]

mmmm thinkin' again about the frog wind ancient thing, this time looking a bit fucked up :)

ofc i dont know what im doing why do u ask

[lovelyhan]

— line by line ⟢

a svt vocal unit soulmates series!

★ FEATURING; jeonghan, joshua, jihoon, seokmin, and seungkwan!

★ STATUS; coming soon~

★ TAGS; fluff, angst, smut (MINORS DNI!)

★ NOTES; guess who was finally hit with ! inspiration ! and decided to come up with synopses for the rest of my svt unit series :3c

✧ unlikely circumstances // jeonghan ✧

word count: x

summary: first impressions matter—this is something you've lived by all your life. but in a world where the stuff you lose somehow ends up in your soulmate's possession, never did you imagine to meet yours by finding a long lost vibrator inside his kitchen cupboard.

tags: neighbors to lovers, crack, fluff, smut

✧ tigerlily // joshua ✧

word count: x

summary: as a child, you were told that sharing your pain with your soulmate was considered the most sacred form of love. you would've believed that if yours didn't turn out to be an underground streetfighter who throws his life away with every match he signs up for.

tags: streetfighter au, self-hatred, angst, smut

✧ #F7CAC9 + #8DA4D1 // jihoon ✧

word count: x

summary: the sky is blue, the grass is green—these are some fundamental truths that jihoon can't completely wrap his head around. but what's a life of black and white when he has music to fill the gaps colors have long left in his heart?

tags: colorblind til you meet your soulmate au, strangers to lovers, in denial jihoon, angst, smut

✧ paper rings // seokmin ✧

word count: x

summary: everyone has timers that count down until the day they finally meet their soulmate. yours has been set to 00:00:00 for as long as you can remember.

tags: childhood friends, lots of self-sabotage, fluff, angst, smut

✧ no nonsense // seungkwan ✧

word count: x

summary: soulmate tattoos are overrated—especially when you share the same tattoo as fifty percent of the earth's population. long story short, no one can blame you if you end up telling your actual soulmate to fuck off when he tells you you're his fated other half.

tags: strangers to lovers, crack, fluff, mild angst, smut

want to be part of the taglist? send an ask!

[niko-trash]

Kurt warming Hammond's hands :]

I didn't have motivation to finish this but I thought that I could still share the sketch, because damn this fandom needs content lol

[ripjeff]

thought it would be fun to tell yall that whenever I'm writing my fics, my sweet girl is always by my side offering a helpful paw <3

currently writing for my logicality fic so stay tuned

[xitsensunmoon]

Honestly answering asks for characters that change throughout the story is so fucking difficult. Like what am I supposed to answer if in the same situation the same character is going to act differently depending on how far they're in the story? So so difficult

[sanderssidesficprompts]

Any two (or more) Sides making up after a fight

[ruleroftheforest05]

I had the idea of Patton having seasonal depression while at work and idk what to do with it so here’s random blurbs from someone going insane at Dominos.

Picture this:

It’s Virgil’s first holiday with Thomas and the others when he notices Patton being quiet, that he’s staying to himself more often and won’t go out unless it’s for a video.

Roman saying that it’s just something he does and not to question it.

Logan of course knows what’s going on but doesn’t say anything because Patton always gets defensive about the subject.

Virgil forcing himself to talk to Patton about it because he knows that leaving him alone wouldn’t be okay for him or Thomas.

Idk, I just think it’s cool

[my-love-of-books]

I need a Eddie x reader song fic with cigarette daydream UGGGGGGGG

[logosbot-tm]

Logicality fanfics are just so fucking adorable, they're so soft. Just-

*holds gently *

I just love them

[tsspromptmonth]

human au with romantic Logan/Patton & "only one of them knows they're dating," fluffy & silly

archiveofourown.org/works/26144215 archiveofourown.org/works/26416942 archiveofourown.org/works/26887369 archiveofourown.org/works/30163443 archiveofourown.org/works/30308391

Order up!

Coffee and Conundrums by @fandomtrash ( @thewickedcompanion )

[ripjeff]

Minds Collide - Logicality Ch 2

Chapter 2

Word count: 1246

Patton sat resting his chin on his hand, staring off into a state of blissful daydreaming. He let out a wistful sigh. 

“You’re not listening, are you? Patton. Pat!” 

Patton blinked, focusing his eyes on his friend, “Huh? Oh, sorry Roman, what were you saying?” 

Roman rolled his eyes dramatically, “I was talking about my newest performance which you were supposed to help me run lines for but CLEARLY you have other things on your mind. What’s going on in that brain of yours Padre?” Roman eyed him curiously; a tall man of 20 years with light brown, flowy hair, and hazel eyes. He is undeniably handsome and a natural gentleman. He is the full package, and he knows it. Above all else, he is a sucker for romance.

Patton smiled sheepishly, “I’ve just been thinking… about a boy…” 

Roman gasped, his eyes widening in intrigue, “A boy?! Pat, you must tell me EVERYTHING!” 

Patton giggled, lying on his stomach in Roman’s bed. “It’s nothing he just… I met him in the library where I read to my kiddos. He’s so- he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met before.”

Roman smiled encouragingly, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this infatuated with someone. What’s he like? What’s his name?”

Patton fidgeted with Roman’s bedspread, smiling to himself as he thought about the boy in the library who he was becoming so fond of. “His name is Logan. He’s tall and so smart. Like so smart. Like smarter than anybody I’ve ever met, he’s like a computer.” He giggled, “But he’s like cute smart, y’know?” Roman laughed softly, Patton continuing. 

“He wears these glasses and he like always wears a tie? I don’t know if that’s just his quirk or what but he is always wearing a tie and he just… makes it work? I don’t know but he’s cute…”

Roman smiled, “What do y’all talk about?” 

Patton giggled, shaking his head, “Lots of stuff I don’t even understand. Like he loves space so he talks about space and I don’t understand any bit of it but I’m just like sure whatever you say cutie.”

Patton and Roman burst into a fit of laughter, Roman shaking his head endearingly at his sweet, homosexual friend. “You sure seem to like him a lot Patton but you’ve only known him what? A week? Two tops?” 

Patton shrugged with a slight smile, his cheeks turning pink. “I- I know it’s early but-” 

Roman cut him off, “I’m not judging you Padre, I get it, I’m just saying y’know, be careful. I don’t want my buddy to get his heart broken, okay?” 

Patton nodded, “I know! I don’t expect him to like be my boyfriend or anything. I know I don’t know him well yet but it doesn’t hurt anything to have a crush! It’s fun!”

Roman smiled, “That it is, my friend!” He accepted a hug from his fatherly friend, rubbing his back. Roman and Patton had a special bond and as much as Roman loved romance and, well, love; he worried about Patton. Patton rarely fell in love romantically, so he was excited for his friend. Despite his excitement, however, part of him was still worried. Nobody deserved to have a broken heart, much less sweet Patton. 

 Later the next day, Patton was back in the library to read to the kiddos. He showed up much earlier than necessary to have a chance to talk to Logan. Unsurprisingly, the glasses-wearing boy was sitting in his usual spot, reading his novel and drinking something from his Yeti. 

Patton smiled, holding a tray of cupcakes as he slid into the seat in front of Logan. “Hiiii Logan!” He exclaimed happily. 

Logan looked at him, placing his bookmark in his book before setting it aside, “Hello, Patton.” 

Patton watched him, his blue-green eyes bright and piercing. “How ya doing today?” 

Logan thought for a moment before giving a courteous nod. “I have been well, how are you?” 

Patton giggled at his formality, still not quite used to it. “I’m great! I have a surprise for you.” Logan raised a questioning eyebrow as Patton worked on taking the cover off of the tray of cupcakes he had placed in front of them on the table. He uncovered the tray to reveal several cupcakes decorated to look like cats, aside from one cupcake which didn’t quite look like the others. “We’re reading cat books this week instead of puppy books so I made cat cupcakes! I, uhm… I know you’re not so much of a fan of cats or puppy designs though so I made this one special for you!” He blushed as he pulled the unique-looking cupcake out of the tray, handing it to Logan with a napkin. The cupcake had dark blue frosting flattened on the top as the background with a planet drawn neatly on top, surrounded by stars. The cupcake looked professionally decorated and Patton smiled proudly at his work. 

Logan took the cupcake from his hands, staring at it for a moment before blinking and looking up at Patton. “This was very thoughtful Patton… thank you.” Patton giggled, his blush only growing darker. He watched as Logan took a bite from the expertly decorated cupcake. “Do you like it?”

Logan nodded contentedly, “That is quite delicious Patton, although your baked treats always taste satisfactory.” 

Patton nodded, giggling happily, “Thank you, Logan!” 

They spoke about Logan’s novel for a bit before falling into a comfortable silence, scrolling through their phones. Patton was scrolling through the internet, but he wasn’t very focused. He wanted to ask Logan out. Maybe not even on a date, but perhaps just to hang out and do something fun! He just had to find the courage to ask. He really liked talking to Logan and spending time with him, but he had no idea what Logan thought of him. He took in a nervous, shaky breath, setting his phone face-down on the table and smiling at Logan. “Hey, Logan…” 

Logan looked up from his phone at Patton, humming curiously, “Hm?”

Patton fidgeted nervously with his hands, “Would you like to hang out outside the library sometime? I was thinking we could see my friend Roman’s play together.”

Logan stared at him, studying his face as he thought over what Patton had said. He wasn’t used to someone asking him to go out and do anything, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Maybe it could be fun to go out and do something with a new friend? He shrugged slightly, “Okay… I can appreciate a theatrical performance.” 

Patton’s smile widened, “Really??! YAY!” he clapped his hands, and moved to hug Logan out of habit, backing out as Logan tensed up uncomfortably. Patton giggled quietly from embarrassment. “Sorry… A-Anyway! Can I give you my number? So that we can plan to go to the play?” 

Logan cleared his throat, nodding and opening his phone to his contacts, allowing Patton to add himself in as a contact and message himself so that he’d have Logan’s number. 

The rest of the day went as smoothly as it could, with the two falling into comfortable conversation until Patton had to go to the children’s section to begin his reading hour. Logan read his novel while Patton read to the children, sending glances over at Patton now and then. Although he didn’t quite know why or how to put it into words, he was looking forward to his plans with Patton.