#two of these are logince songs and that makes me happy

[halfhissandwich]

For science.

[edwin-payne-enthusiast]

5asyjvhjjhzjz,,,,, logince fluff,,,, (prefferably with a focus on physical touch bc im weak but no pressure!!)

pretty please 💖💖

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Summary: Logan Evans' first ever relationship began in his senior year of college, after being asked out by Roman Mercia, a particularly charming guy in one of his classes. Unsurprisingly, Logan is rather unused to physical touch, especially in a romantic sense. Of course, Roman is willing to help.

Warnings: This gets a bit suggestive; it’s not smut or anything, just if that sort of stuff makes you uncomfortable then maybe avoid this

Word count: 2361

Ship/s: Logince (of course)

Notes: thank you thank you THANK YOU I have been DYING to write something like this for so long and your request brought me the exact motivation that I needed sdfghjhgfds. This is so incredibly self-indulgent. Enjoy! (also this kind of switches pov a little throughout so sorry about that in advance, I wrote this at like 4 am)

Logan Evans was very new to relationships. This fact didn’t surprise many of the people that knew him. He had always been reserved growing up, and even now, in his senior year of college, he still had trouble opening up to people, especially in a way that made sense for a romantic situation. So, Logan never had a boyfriend in high school, that didn’t bother him, then he didn’t have a boyfriend in his freshman year of college, again this was fine. He didn’t feel like he needed a romantic relationship to be happy and content within his life, he honestly would have been fine finishing college having never had a serious relationship before; it just wasn’t all that important to him.

That was until Roman Mercia, the unbearably cute boy he had been sitting next to in his modern literature class for the past year, had turned to him and asked him out after a lesson, a single rose in his hand and the most glowing, nervous smile he had ever seen on his face, and Logan found it impossible to turn the request down.

Their first date had been awkward, the second, a little less so, and the more time went on the more comfortable he and Roman became around each other. After their sixth date, Roman had asked if Logan wanted to be his boyfriend, and of course Logan said yes.

Now of course, Logan’s inexperience in the romantic area created some challenges for the both of them (some of which Logan didn’t want to admit, all of which Roman was willing to help with), and it was one night, about a month and a half after they started dating, that one of those aforementioned challenges presented itself.

~*~

It had been cold all day, freezing in Roman’s opinion. The heater was turned all the way up to the highest setting, but the heater in Roman’s dorm was slow and cheap, and didn’t do much to provide any warmth. So when Logan came over to binge watch Disney movies with him that night (definitely not Logan’s first choice of movies, but worth enduring if it meant spending time with Roman), he was quick to pull out every blanket he kept in the small dorm, even offering Logan one of his hoodies, which the other man hesitantly accepted.

When they were both warm enough, and the movie queue had been set up, they both got comfortable on Roman’s bed and huddled around Roman’s laptop, all bundled up in blankets, only inches apart from one another, and pressed play on the movie.

They watched in a comfortable silence, disturbed only occasionally by Logan pointing out some inconsistency within the movie or by Roman singing along to one of the songs.

They were about three quarters of the way through the movie when Roman slowly leaned against Logan, sort of cuddling up to his side. They had been going out for almost two months now, but they were never really physical with each other, their hugs were quite brief, they had never kissed, had never spent the night together; the most they ever really did was hold hands.

That never really bothered Roman. Despite being quite an affectionate person, Roman was aware that this was Logan’s first ever relationship, and he wasn’t going to push him outside of his comfort zone before he was ready. He knew that Logan wasn’t used to physical contact in a romantic sense but even so, nothing prepared him for how quickly Logan tensed up at the touch. His back went rigid, the muscles in his jaw tensed, it was involuntary in a way that was so noticeable to anyone paying attention, and it made Roman’s heart ache at the way Logan just said nothing, despite showing those clear signs of discomfort.

Roman shuffled away from Logan again, putting some space in between them and looked at his boyfriend, concern clear in his eyes “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked down at his hands, that tension still rippling through his body. He nodded slowly “I’m fine Roman” he responded after a moment.

“You’re more tense then I’ve ever seen you, you most certainly are not fine” When Logan still didn’t meet his eyes Roman paused the movie and gently shut the screen of his laptop so there was silence in the dorm.

For a few moments it was quiet, the sound of their breaths being the only thing filling the room. For those painstaking moments Roman studied Logan’s face with a deep worry set into his eyes, waiting for his boyfriend to say something.

Eventually Logan took a shaky breath “Please don’t be mad at me” was all he could manage to whisper out.

“Oh sweetheart no” Roman wanted nothing more than to pull Logan into his arms and hold him and reassure him as much as he could, but he wasn’t going to risk making him any more uncomfortable then he already was “I’m not mad at you, not at all”

Logan looked over at Roman and the mixture of disbelief and hesitancy in his eyes saddened him in such a worried way “You’re not?”

“Of course not. I would never get mad because of your boundaries” Roman reassured him with a gentle, concerned smile. Logan looked away for a moment and Roman resisted the urge to reach out for his hand “Darling, we don’t have to talk about it, but could you please tell me what exactly upset you, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable like that again”

Logan sighed and started fidgeting with his hands, still not meeting Roman’s eyes “I’m not… I’m not used to physical touch… at all. Growing up, I didn’t get a lot of affection from anyone really, you’re the first person to ever show me any form of affection that isn’t forced. It’s nice, it really is, but I’m very much not equipped to process the more physical side of things”

Roman nodded slowly, encouraging Logan to continue. He wanted his boyfriend to be able to share these sorts of things with him instead of bottling it up.

Logan paused for a moment, half anticipating a negative reaction. He took a breath and continued, "You're the first person I have ever been on a date with, my first boyfriend, my first relationship. And I want that; I want you to be my first everything, but..."

"You need time?"

Logan shook his head "I just... I need you to take it slowly. I want to hold you tonight, I want to kiss you tonight, I want to, um..." Logan blushed and shrugged, the words on the tip of his tongue embarrassing him just a bit too much to say.

Roman nodded “I understand. You don’t want everything at once, you want to just work up to it”

Logan let out a breath of air that he had been holding and nodded as well “Yes, that’s exactly it”

Roman smiled gently “Thank you for telling me. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable in any way, so if you want to start taking it slow now, why don’t you tell me what’s a comfortable starting place for you”

Logan looked over at Roman, meeting his eyes. He shrugged, a blush still dusting his face “Something… small?” he spoke almost timidly. It was so strange for Roman to see this side of Logan, he was usually so sure of himself, confident, but now he seemed vulnerable, unsure, nervous.

Nodding slightly, Roman reached over, gently taking Logan’s hand in his, scooting just a little closer while still leaving some space between them “Can I kiss your cheek darling?”

Logan took a breath and nodded. He felt jittery with nerves, but he knew Roman would be gentle and listen to what he needed.

Roman leaned forward, slow so that Logan could pull away if he wanted to. When he didn’t, Roman pressed a gentle kiss to Logan’s cheek “Remember if you start getting overwhelmed or uncomfortable you can ask me to slow down or stop whenever you’d like. I wont force you to do anything you don’t want to do” he spoke quietly, staying as close as he was to Logan.

Logan nodded “I know” he responded, he was still tense, but much less so now that he had voiced his concerns.

Roman waited for a minute or two, letting Logan adjust to the closeness in silence so as to not overwhelm him. After he had felt most of his tension subside, Roman pressed a kiss to his other cheek, then to his forehead, before beginning to trail his kisses down the bridge of Logan’s nose.

Soft laughter bubbled up from Logan at the sensation “That tickles” he said with a smile.

Roman kissed the tip of Logan’s nose and wrapped his arms around his shoulder. This was definitely closer than they had ever really been so far, but Logan wasn’t protesting or showing any signs that he was uncomfortable, which was good to see “How are you feeling starlight?”

Logan met Roman’s eyes, a soft smile adorning his face “Good. This feels nice” this was all so new to him, but it made him feel safe, cared for. He hadn’t felt like this before but it was a feeling he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

Another few minutes passed before Roman got a little closer so that there was less space between them and ran one his hands through Logan’s hair, tracing little circles on his back with the other. Leaning up once more, he pressed a kiss to his forehead “You’re so beautiful” he whispered under his breath as he cupped Logan’s face with his hand, gazing into his eyes with such utter adoration.

Logan felt his breath catch. He rarely ever received compliments so sincere, it was just another aspect of his life that changed when he met Roman. But now he was really listening, he felt everything that came along with, all the love he had for his boyfriend spilled throughout his body, making his face flush, his heart race, his lips pull into a gentle smile. He had completely and utterly fallen for him, and Logan wanted nothing more than to fall over and over again.

“May I kiss you?” Logan spoke without really thinking. He didn’t know if it was too soon, but he had never wanted to lean in taste Roman’s lips more than he did right now, and he was afraid that if he didn’t do it now, he would lose the confidence later.

Roman felt his own face flush and his stomach turn with nerves, but he leaned closer nonetheless “You may”

Though Roman had kissed his fair share of people in his life, he had never felt his heart jump the way it did when his lips connected with Logan’s. Never could he have anticipated such warmth that spread through his body at the contact. Both hands came up to cup Logan’s face as he moved closer. The kiss was slow, gentle, it stole the words he wanted so desperately to say right off of his tongue; I love you, I love you, I love you.

Logan pulled away for air and Roman chased his lips, not willing to let this moment end so soon. Logan leaned into the kiss, he wanted to drown in these feelings, for once he would rather embrace his emotions, he would rather feel. His thoughts were far away, only one really left in his dazed mind; I love you, I love you, I love you. Logan never wanted to stop feeling.

They continued for a while, the gentle push and pull of their bodies introducing them to the blissful comfort of each other’s presence. They shared laughter between their kisses, their breath mingling in the small spaces left between their bodies.

Roman was the one who pulled away after however long, stroking Logan’s bottom lip with his thumb “Is it all right if I go a little further darling?”

All Logan could do was nod rather enthusiastically, which made Roman smile.

He wrapped his arms around Logan's waist, pulling their chests flush against each other. Roman pulled away just a little to leave a kiss on Logan's cheek, then his earlobe, then just behind his ear.

Roman's warm breath between the kisses he had begun to trail gently down his neck and towards his collarbone was enough to make Logan squirm, but certainly not uncomfortably. Logan had never felt quite like this before, but he didn’t want this feeling to end, he never wanted to leave Roman’s warm embrace, he wanted to kiss him over and over again, to feel his warm breath cascading down his neck every night, to hold him, to be there with him.

As Roman’s kisses became more passionate, Logan’s hands found their way under Roman’s shirt and in his hair, tugging gently so he could have something to hold onto as Roman began sucking light marks into his skin of his neck, pulling small gasps from Logan.

And if he didn’t already know it, now he knew, he had fallen completely and inexplicably in love with Roman Mercia. Two months ago, he was just some guy in his modern literature class, now he was the man he loved, the only one he had ever loved, his first everything, his only everything.

“I love you” Logan whispered out into the cold air. The words felt heavy on his tongue but right. Like there was only one small answer to such a difficult question, and Logan knew exactly what that answer was; he had never been good with feelings, but tonight he knew.

“I love you too starlight” Roman mumbled back into the crook of his neck, his voice gentle and full of such meaning that it made Logan feel loved in a way that damn near brought tears to his eyes.

Logan Evans had never been great at relationships, but he was learning. Roman Mercia had never felt so deeply for someone before, but he was feeling.

Both had never fallen in love, both were falling.

[wisherbysharlight]

My God if I could only say, I'm holding every breath for you

Description: Patton Hart has been pining for his best friend's twin brother and his boyfriends for as long as he can remember. Word Count: 3067 Ships: Patton/Remus/Janus/Virgil, background Logince, established Remus/Janus/Virgil Warnings: Remus being Remus, twins squabbling AO3 This is a gift fic for @sunshineandteddybears​ for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange​. The “summer romance” piece kinda got away from me, but this is definitely found family! I hope you enjoy!

Patton was wiping down the counters, about 15 minutes after closing, sunset shining through the windows as he hummed along to the radio, a sense of peace radiating through the store. 

Of course, that’s when chaos erupted.

“Pattycakes, you gotta save me!” Remus cried as he threw the door open so roughly the windchimes actually smacked against the window above the door before falling back down and jingling merrily to announce his presence. He ran behind the counter with no hesitation, gripping onto Patton’s waist. (Patton only shivered because of the burst of adrenaline. That was the only reason. No other possibilities. Nope.) Remus angled them both towards the doorway just as Roman came bursting in with the same amount of urgency, fire in his eyes and shirt dripping wet and seemingly tinted a particularly garish shade of greenish-brown.

“Remus, you can’t hide behind Patton forever, you bastard!” he seethed, and Logan, Janus, and Virgil came through the door behind him, much more calm, almost to the point where Patton would call them bemused. Logan took a seat at one of the small tables along the wall, pulling out his phone with a very evident intention to simply wait the whole debacle out, while Janus and Virgil both leaned up against the glass case in front of Patton. “Get out here and face me, you coward!” Roman bellowed again, clearly not giving up anytime soon.

Patton grabbed an empty paper towel roll from next to him and turned at the waist to whack Remus in the head with it, “Remus you cannot use me as a human shield, go answer for your crimes.” “Kinky. I’d much rather have you issue my punishment,” Remus joked with an eyebrow wiggle, then cackled when Patton made a strangled noise and shoved him back to the other side of the counter. However, as soon as he was in range, Roman grabbed hold of him and pulled him into a headlock and his laughter turned swiftly into a shriek of “Oh shit!”

They were 12 years old, tearing through the woods in a dual-friend-group game of manhunt the summer before 7th grade. Virgil was hot on everyone’s heels and adrenaline was coursing through their veins. Patton leapt over a log and turned a corner, hunting for a good place to hide. 

He heard a curse of “Oh shit!” echo through the woods before the sound of three branches breaking in succession, a huge crash, and a subsequent groan. He quickly pivoted and went sprinting back towards the house, and the sound, easily finding Remus splayed across the forest floor even in the dim light of the moon.

“Why would you climb a tree, silly goose? Don’t you know the branches are weak that high? Scared me half to death!” he chided as he fell to his knees beside him, already pulling band-aids out of his wallet in his pocket.

Remus grinned impishly up at him, and Patton felt his breath catch in his throat, fumbling with the wallet briefly in a way he prayed the other boy didn’t notice. “What’s a lil fear in the face of a bunch of excitement, Patty?” he crooned, and Patton shoved a handful of band-aids at him with little delicacy in his haste to move past the tease. “Besides, I have the best nurse in the world to patch me up when my fun does go south, apparently.”

Patton flushed and turned away, positive Remus could tell even in the weak light, but he couldn’t keep the earnestness out of his voice, “I’ll always patch you up, Ree. Promise.”

Remus didn’t get a chance to respond before Virgil burst through the bushes and tapped them both on the shoulder to get them out and a loud, extended debate began about the validity of the “injury time out”.

Janus leaned on the counter in front of Patton, jolting him out of his reverie. He pointed at the menu, with three shiny new additions at the bottom, “You finally manage to find a flavor sweeter than you, sugar?”

Virgil shoved him out of the way with an eye roll and a fond grin, thankfully distracting from how Patton felt his cheeks would melt the freezers. “He can’t stop flirting even for two seconds, I swear.”

Janus gasped dramatically, swooning against the counter and batting his eyes at Virgil like a starlet in an old black and white, “Maybe if you and Remus gave me the attention I deserve I wouldn’t need to hunt it down in beautiful, endearing ice cream shop owners.”

Remus snorted despite the way he was currently trying to claw his way out of his brother’s hold while being noogied like they were still teenagers and not fully grown and employed adults, “We could give you all the attention in the world, Janny, it would never stop you from flirting with Patton.”

Janus sniffed derisively at them, then cocked his head to the side as the song changed and smiled softly, “Hey, I know this song.”

Patton smiled brightly back, “Yeah of course, have it on all the playlists for the shop!”

“Simp!” Remus called over just as brightly, and Patton glared back at him, assuming it was aimed at him.

 “Ok, you look miserable,” Janus said, making Patton jump from where he was staring down at his water glass watching the liquid swirl around the glass as he moved it in little circles and maybe lamenting his singledom a little bit in the face of a dance floor full of sappy teenagers in fancy clothes enjoying the crisp June night and each other as their last hurrah before graduation.

Patton plastered on a smile, “Oh Jan, I am perfectly hap-”

Janus arched a brow at him, tsking lightly and just loud enough for Patton to hear and stop speaking. “Don’t try to lie to me, I know what you look like when you are actually happy, Patton. And also you’re a god-awful liar.”

“...yeah ok. I’m a little bit lonely, maybe, with Ro and Lo gettin their dance on for the romantic stuff. But I’m not mad, they’re in love, and I told them to go hang on their own. We’ll hang out at the beach house after!” He couldn’t help but glance at the dance floor, where Logan was leading Roman in a waltz that was perfectly on time with the music, lost in their own little world.

“Well Ree and V bailed for the beach early. Not exactly their style of music or dancing, or my vibe to make them do something they don’t enjoy just to get my feet stepped on. Why don’t we be miserable together?” The song changed, to a song with a more Latin-inspired beat that Patton knew only one of every 10 words to, and Janus smirked, “Maybe you and I can even make the most of it and I can score a salsa partner.” Janus ended his proposition with an exaggerated wink and bow, and Patton took his offered hand with a genuine grin.

Janus didn’t miss a beat, switching eye contact to Roman on a dime, “Hey, did you know Remus was the one who’s been screwing with your guitar’s tuning?”

“NONONO HE’S LYING,” Remus cried as Roman tightened his hold and doubled down on his attack, this time poking at his ribs and making Remus shriek in laughter.

As Janus watched Roman wrestle Remus down to the floor of the shop, clearly satisfied with the reaction he managed to get, Virgil nudged him over with his hip to take his place leaning across the counter and whisper conspiratorially, “I bet it was actually Logan. Bastard can get away with murder, I just know it.”

Patton couldn’t help but giggle, with Virgil’s playful smile and dancing eyes across from him, so open and trusting in a way he never was unless it was just the group of them. He smirked a bit, nibbled at his lip in consideration, then leaned in to say in an equally conspiratorial style, “Logan’s only involved to see how long it’ll be before anyone catches on. My record stands.”

“You are a trickster Patton Hart,” Virgil gasped in mock-scandal. He wagged his finger with his hand on his hip in a not-half-bad impression of Patton during a lecture, though he was unable to match his Patton-ted Disappointed Frown while he was grinning, “I’d never expect my partner in crime to be doing something like this without telling me, shame on you. You know I always have your back.”

 It was their last weekend of freedom before they started high school, and as per usual both twins had both their friends sleeping over. Patton woke before Logan and Roman, also as per usual, and snuck out of Roman’s room down to the kitchen, only to jolt as he found the light already on and Virgil sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Whatcha doin?” Virgil asked, legs kicking in the air in front of the cabinets lazily.

“Gonna try to make pancakes! I’m positive I won’t burn them this time, I just know it,” Patton enthused, then squinted suspiciously at Virgil, “What’re you doing?”

“Oh just hanging around, keeping an eye out in case anyone tries to burn the house down again so I can help out. Figured they might need a partner in arson crime, ya know, and I could let them know I’ve got their back,” Virgil teased, nudging Patton’s leg with a sock clad foot. He looked so precious with his sleep mussed hair and eyeliner from the night before smudged under his eyes that Patton couldn’t even bring himself to argue that he really didn’t need a babysitter. Honestly, he couldn’t even begin to pretend he didn’t want the excuse to spend more time with him.

 The twins’ argument grew more heated, finally managing to distract Patton from where he was a bit lost in the way Virgil’s eyes lit up when he was amused.

“You fucked up one of my favorite shirts!” Roman screeched as he attempted to give his brother a wet willy.

“You put red koolaid in my shampoo two weeks ago, you baby!” Remus cried back, shoving at his shoulder to try to get him off, and succeeding rolling them only for Roman to roll them straight back.

“I know you were the one who put my script out of order,” Roman fired back.

“You should have been off book anyway! And you broke bro code and told Virgil I was the one who deleted his X-Files off the DVR. You are just as bad as me.”

“You gave mom’s computer a porn virus and blamed it on me!” Roman protested, and everyone else seemed to simultaneously sigh as they descended into their usual back and forth of dredged-up pettiness.

“Oh you're still - you squashed my bug collection.”

“You left me stranded in the yard after Remy’s homecoming party senior year.”

“That was absolutely justified, you made me listen to you wax poetic about Logan’s fucking lips for 3 hours.”

“You made me listen to you wax poetic about Patton’s EVERYTHING for 13 YEARS”

Everyone in the shop simultaneously went silent in a blink of an eye. Virgil went white as a sheet and swung to look at the twins with wide eyes, Janus gripped the counter white-knuckled and looked at Patton with a similarly stunned expression, and Remus turned nearly as red as the sash on Roman’s favorite Prince Charming costume. He shoved Roman off of him for real, a more severe growl to his voice as he seemed to realize there was no way to play it cool, “You are such a fucking dick!”

Roman stammered for a moment, clearly trying to digest the change in tone and the weight of what he’d said, before waving his arms above his head in apparent bafflement, “It’s not like he didn’t know you all were into him!” 

“Roman,” Logan spoke up suddenly, gesturing at Patton and what Patton knew had to be a completely shell-shocked expression.

Roman looked up and went just as wide-eyed as the others, “Pat… did... did you not know?”

“...all of you?” Patton asked, then winced as his voice cracked in shock. He watched Virgil flinch and seem to retreat into his hoodie out of the corner of his eye, and Janus’ face smoothed over into a perfect mask of calm in the blink of an eye. He felt his heart break just a little bit at the disappointment in both of their eyes at what he was sure they saw as a rejection.

Logan grabbed Roman’s arm and yanked him away roughly, though Roman followed easily, “You all clearly need to communicate. I will handle this one.”

“Don’t wanna know about you handling my brother, poindexter,” Remus joked hollowly, sounding almost like it was a reflex with none of his usual cackle behind it.

Logan rolled eyes and headed out the door, tugging behind him a Roman who was fervently whispering, just barely audibly, “He didn't know, how did he not know,” to himself over and over again.

There’s silence in the shop for a while, just the sound of the radio faintly playing over the loudspeakers echoing off the walls as they all just stare at each other, not knowing how to start. Then Janus took a deep breath and spoke first, “Patton, I refuse to speak for these two clowns, but I will absolutely tell you that I, at the very least, have had feelings for you for many years, feelings which i was unaware I was not making perfectly clear, or that there was a chance of any sort of reciprocation.”

“Around 7 years for me, give or take. That first morning we made pancakes together,” Virgil added quietly, fiddling with the zipper on his sleeve.

Remus averted his gaze, looking nervous in the way Patton had only seen the day before he confessed to Virgil and Janus in high school, and admitted in the quietest voice Patton’d ever heard him use, “I don’t know exactly when, Pattycakes. You’ve always been there and as far as I’m concerned I’ve loved you just as long. And-and I just assumed it wasn’t returned.”

Patton swallowed thickly, trying to push back tears because he knew these boys and knew they would take them for disappointment rather than the joy they were. He dove at Remus first, vaulting the counter the way he always scolded Roman against and sliding to his knees next to the other man on the floor before crushing him in a hug. He flailed back at Janus and Virgil with one hand to pull them in as well, “Come here, all of you, we’ve lost so much valuable cuddle time!”

Patton was pretty sure Janus broke the sound barrier with how quickly he was plastered to his side and burying his face in his hair, and Virgil wasn’t far behind, wrapping an arm around his waist and burying his face in the crease of his neck and shoulder. Patton took that moment to be a bit daring himself and press a kiss to the corner of Remus’ lips, then giggled brightly when Remus grabbed hold of his cardigan and used it to pull him back in to kiss him full on the mouth with just as much passion and impulsiveness and laughter as Patton had always imagined. His mustache tickled Patton’s nose a bit but he leaned into it, humming happily in the back of his throat and feeling like a puzzle piece clicked into place.

Virgil only gave them a minute before he untucked his face from Patton’s neck and grouched that he wanted a turn. Remus let Patton go with a very put-upon sigh that didn’t match his playful grin, flicking Virgil on the nose lightly. “You gotta give him his kisses or he’ll never shut the fuck up,” he fake-whispered.

Patton grinned and turned readily to Virgil, and his lips met Patton’s in a much gentler dance. His kiss was no less deep or passionate for its caution, and his hands cupped his face like he feared Patton would float away if he didn’t hold tight. His fingers curled and twitched upwards like they wanted to bury themselves in his hair but didn’t want to overstep, so Patton took the initiative to grip the back of his neck and tilt his own head to encourage Virgil to do what he wished.

Janus was more patient, waiting for them to part for breath a few minutes later before taking hold of Patton’s chin from Virgil without a word and gently but firmly turning Patton towards him. Janus’ kiss could only be described as a caress, light and teasing and peppered with soft nips to his bottom lip before building up to something more solid. His warm hands rubbed calmingly up and down Patton’s spine and over his shoulders like he couldn’t figure out where he wanted to touch first.

Remus soon demanded he get another shot, then Virgil wanted another, then Janus again, leaving Patton so beyond cloud 9 he could barely think any more. They spent at least 20 minutes there on the floor, lost in each other, rotating kisses that were long overdue, letting their actions make the confessions their words hid from for years, not daring to move and break the spell of the moment.

Then a camera shutter sounded, paired with a bright flash of light that made them all jolt and look up in surprise.

“I said communicate you know, not make out on the floor,” Logan sighed, digging through his wallet to pull a 20 out to hand to Roman, who was grinning victoriously.

“I’m sorry for being a dick, but I had to do something and I told Logan the “accidental slip” would work,” Roman said as he pressed a triumphant kiss to Logan’s cheek and pocketed the 20, “But you have to admit it was a pretty great performance on my part.”

“Can’t believe I was betrayed by my best friends, I don’t know whether I owe you a scolding or a fruit basket,” Patton lamented playfully, cheeks hurting from how wide he was smiling. Janus ruined what little remained of the facade even more as he shifted slightly and pulled him into his lap and Patton clung tight to Virgil and Remus’ hands, with no intention of disconnecting any time soon.

[lovelylogans]

i wish i knew how (your eyes are like starlight now)

warnings: vampires (blood drinking mentioned), alcohol consumption, food mentions, cuddling, kissing, death mentions, if i’ve missed any please let me know!

pairing: logan/patton

word count: 6,003

notes: for @fangirltothefullest for our discord server’s secret santa! prompted with “Preferably logan-centric and fluffy! Logicality would be great! Logince would also be good. Maybe some cute cuddles by a fireplace?” title is from “baby it’s cold outside!” the idea of vampires being able to eat red food comes from a book i remember reading as a kid, but i cannot place the title, so if anyone knows it please let me know!

Hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps and Bailey’s, it turns out, is a particularly adept calmative.

It’s made the world go hazy and lovely and beautiful, and that’s even before Logan acknowledges the way his eyes are half-lidded and he’s leaning his head a bit more against the side of his wingback armchair than he would if he were entirely sober.

Logan narrows his eyes down at his mug, the one Roman had wheel-thrown and painted him with the chemical illustration of the molecular construction of caffeine on it, which is half-drained, the whipped cream and marshmallows melted, the peppermint stick meant to stir already losing its red stripes. Logan plucks it from the mug and sticks it into his mouth, crunching it, wriggling in the armchair to get more comfortably seated, and to get a better view.

Roman, Janus, Virgil, and Patton have long since been occupied with a board game; Remus left to do whatever it is that Remus does at night, probably screaming profanities at random passerby, so it’s just the five of them left. The Christmas party’s been winding down slowly for the past hour or so, the fireplace still crackling but burning lower and lower, their hot chocolate supply depleted, and Roman and Virgil’s fits of competitiveness losing fervor as the moon creeps higher and higher in the sky. The white of the waxing moon peeks out against the clouds that distribute the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky.

The snow catches the light of the Christmas lights hung outside the house (goodness, hadn’t that been a trying day) so the snow gleams in technicolor reflection, the rest of the world lit by the hazy orange glow of the street lamps. It is very beautiful, and Logan, in an unusually sentimental fit that he would tell himself in the morning was brought on by the alcohol, is incredibly grateful to be alive, at this precise moment, that allows him the company of such wonderful friends in such a beautiful world.

What a statistically improbable event they all are. What an outright scientifically impossible group they all make—a vampire, a set of twins that turned out to be a banshee and a siren, a selkie, and two humans. Three years ago Logan would have scoffed at the idea of any sort of supernatural, mythical humanoid, much less even suspected he’d meet them. And now he is in love with one, and is best friends with the others, and his life is so strange, so odd, so wonderful.

Logan comes back into himself when Roman cries out in protest, making Logan’s ears ring unpleasantly, as Janus crows in victory, holding the longest road card aloft, the dark gray seal-skin on his face gleaming pearlescent in the firelight. 

“Cheater!” Roman accuses, his voice still maintaining that double-pitch—a high keen layered over Roman’s typically pleasant baritone—that always makes something in Logan’s head throb.

“Just because you didn’t strategize your road properly,” Janus gloats, pointing—and yes, the yellow road winding around the edge of Catan is decidedly longer than the red road circling over itself in the middle.

All the while, Virgil is muttering darkly about how useless the Largest Army card has been, tossing it aside, and Patton looks up at Logan, dark eyes glinting brightly in amusement, freckles speckled across his face like constellations, trying his best to hide his smile around the specially-ordered red-dominant candy canes he’s been eating all season, his fangs gleaming white, freed from the fake teeth Patton usually wears to pass as human, his lips tinged artificially red.

Logan feels even warmer all over at the sight of him.

Patton’s eyes get even brighter, and he flashes a sweet smile at Logan before he turns back to the board game and breaks up the squabbling with patient declarations of “Everyone did a really great job!” and “The fun’s what matters, right?” and being so stubborn and relentless in his optimism and platitudes that Janus and Roman relent and grumble grudging “good game”s at each other.

Patton’s far more patient than the pair of them—which makes sense, as he’s been practicing at it since the seventeenth century, according to all their estimations surrounding the first edition of Human Understanding he’d acquired the month after he’d been turned, in a fit of uncharacteristically dark humor—so he always wins out when it comes to digging in his heels and cheerfully going about something with the consistency of the little bird and the diamond mountain.

Roman ducks out to sulk for a moment, under the excuse of adjusting Patton’s painstakingly maintained gramophone he’d bought in the 1920s—he still has the early prototype phonograph he bought in the 1870s, but that one is even more painstakingly preserved in the rooms full of obsolete technologies, clothes, and knick-knacks that Patton’s accrued and hoarded throughout the years like a magpie—and the sound of Bing Crosby crackles to life in the next room, crooning “White Christmas,” the snapping of the fire providing unintentionally harmonious percussion. Logan wouldn’t be surprised if this is one of the original vinyls, too—Patton’s got loads of vintage music from artists Logan had never even heard of before.

Janus bows out, next, content to allow the high of his victory usher him out the door. He even allows Patton to fuss over ensuring his coat is warm enough to protect him from the snow, considering he’s wearing his sealskin coat and not a proper winter coat, and then even lets him fret over Janus staying moisturized, despite the fact that both Janus and Logan have attempted to explain that Janus’ version of moisturized and the human version of moisturized are quite different in execution, one being smearing lotion all over oneself and the other consisting of sealing himself into his skin and taking a dip in the nearest ocean. 

Logan mentally backtracks over the previous sentence and immediately blames Patton for the pun, and simultaneously promises himself to never utter it in Patton’s presence. Patton still brings up the time Logan had accidentally mentioned Patton sinking his teeth into something, and can hardly finish recounting it before bursting into giggles. He is fortunate he is so adorable, otherwise it would irk Logan to no end. As it is, when it happens, Logan can’t summon up anything stronger than resigned affection. 

He’s in love with a vampire who is currently fretting over a selkie with the exact air of a concerned father. It’s a fate he’s all too eagerly accepted.

Janus usually gets snappy about being mother-henned, so Logan suspects that either the Bailey’s has done a number on him, or the Christmas sentimentality is getting to him. 

And, considering that Janus had one mug of mulled wine with dinner, Logan has a fairly good guess as to which is the root cause—especially taking into consideration Janus allows Patton to hug him goodbye. Janus wishes him a happy Christmas in a tone that is not quite as drawlingly dramatic as usual.

By then, the gramophone is playing a new song, a soprano prettily warbling “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Roman seems to be over his discontent over losing because he joins in, singing pleasantly rather than shrieking—he usually leaves the wailing to the banshee in the family, it’s just that the whole “drawing men to their deaths” aspect of his voice emerges when his temper flares—and Logan swallows down the sudden lump in his throat at the sound of it.

Of course, Roman’s voice is supernaturally exquisite, but there’s something different about it now; Roman had tried enchanting Logan, exactly once, after Logan had pestered him for weeks out of scientific curiosity, so he can say with certainty that this isn’t like the captivating sound that put him in a stupor with the speed and subtlety of being hit by a train, but it’s like someone has captured the flame in the fireplace and tempered it to a temperature that a human could stand, the cozy sensation of being beside a fire rather than the fire itself, and set it directly inside his heart.

You’re happy, a sober corner of his brain says dryly. You know this, you’re happy.

He is.

He is stupidly, incandescently, absolutely happy.

He will blame the dryness of the room from the fire for the sudden wetness in his eyes when Virgil joins in, usually quite shy about singing, but it is almost equally as pleasant as Roman’s, even though Virgil’s vocal chords (and the rest of Virgil) were entirely, completely, mortally human.

They are excellent, the pair of them. Not just their voices, but them, as people—they are excellent. Logan is exceptionally glad to have made their companionship.

Logan takes a deep breath, downs the last half of his hot chocolate, and launches himself from his armchair, perhaps a bit wobblier than he was at the start of the night, and Roman laughs without halting his song, wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulder to steady him.

He can only join in for the last part of the song, which is probably for the best; Logan supposes his voice is tolerable enough, but it surely cannot compare to a siren, or to Virgil’s voice, rumbling like thunder. Also, he does not want to make a fool of himself, and surely singing more Christmas carols than necessary while not entirely sober would be a surefire way to do that. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Patton watching the three of them, a fond expression on his face, even if there is a flash of sudden gloom that passes over his face as the three of them sing “ Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow,” and Logan frowns to himself, noting it.

Intellectually, he is aware of the various burdens an immortal life forces upon its receiver; Patton has hundreds if not thousands of sketchings and, when the technology became available, photographs of people he had known through the hundreds of years of his life, painstakingly filed away. 

Intellectually, he is aware that Patton was the source of unexpected windfalls that had been bestowed on Virgil’s family throughout the years, the reason Virgil and his siblings could afford to go to college; it is only after he and Virgil knew who Patton truly was that they found the reason behind the luck that struck his family once a generation. Patton had once been Virgil’s great-great-great-grandmother Violetta’s dearest friend, and she his; he’s been anonymously helping the descendants of all his friends in a similar manner for centuries. 

Intellectually. He is aware that Patton fears the day that he will lose them all, and he will be left alone, unchanged, eternally in his late twenties, as he has been for centuries.

It is different to be intellectually aware of something, and to remember seeing Patton show Virgil the portrait he had personally painted of Violetta and choke back his tears because he’d missed her so much, and meeting and befriending Virgil had been a bit like having a piece of her back in his life again, and getting to know you has been such a gift, such a blessing. She would have adored you, as I do, and then Virgil had hugged him, and Patton had gotten so overcome he had not been able to say much else.

It is this memory plucking at his heartstrings that sends him stumbling in Patton’s direction.

Patton moves so quickly that Logan’s eyes can’t track it; one moment he was watching the three of them, the next he’s caught Logan around the waist, smiling down at him.

“Hi,” Patton says, and Logan takes a half-step closer to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck.

“Hello,” Logan says. He is about to attempt to say something that is emotionally adept, he really is, except Patton’s skin is smooth and cold under his fingers, and his lips are still tinged red, and Patton’s eyes dart down to Logan’s lips and then looks him in the eye and then he smiles, and any particularly subtle ideas about how to probe Patton’s emotions or perhaps to get him to stop thinking about the curse of bearing witness to the passage of time entirely flee his mind.

He barely has enough time to hope that Patton’s mind is similarly empty before Patton meets him halfway, pressing his lips against Logan’s; even though they’ve been together for years, Logan still isn’t quite used to the chill of Patton’s lips meeting his own. It makes him shiver every time.

Patton is always so sweet, so soft—Logan thinks only part of that is that he is a vampire afraid of hurting his comparatively delicate human lover, and the majority of it is because Patton strives to be sweet and soft as a default state of being, because he is a person who understands that kindness is not a state of being but constantly, consciously making mindful choices to be kind—and his kisses reflect that about him. 

He almost always tastes of mint, because Logan had established early that he was perfectly fine with Patton drinking blood, he would not be facing secondary exposure to someone else’s blood, absolutely not, he holds a less than zero amount of desire to become an amateur hematologist through taste, and so Patton was incredibly scrupulous about brushing his teeth after consuming the blood he’d procured through a source of his in blood donation.

Patton tastes of peppermint now, and Logan sighs into the kiss, lips parting, and he feels the slightest, teasing pinprick of fangs against that sends a thrill zipping down his spine, and—

“And that’s our cue to leave!” Roman bellows with good humor; Logan turns to scowl at him over his shoulder anyways.

“Oh, you don’t have to—” Patton begins, brow creasing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, we do,” Virgil says, an edge of a laugh in his voice. “Besides, us humans have to sleep.”

Patton usually forgets about this; he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep, but he can. Logan knows of at least three decade-long naps that Patton’s taken; he has next to no memories of the foundation of the United States, because he was snoozing for the vast majority of the buildup to the Revolutionary War and the establishment of the government afterwards.

He is, though, content to lie in a bed he’d bought for Logan’s use as Logan dozes throughout the night; sometimes Logan wakes up to Patton propped up on an elbow, looking at him with an expression in his eyes that is a bizarre mixture of fondness and jealousy.

Patton nods and says wisely, “Or else Santa won’t come to your house.”

Virgil snorts, “Yeah, that’s why.”

“I’ll have you know that Nikolass’ a close personal friend of mine,” Patton sniffs, “and it is a very long way from Gemile.”

“North Pole,” Virgil corrects. “Santa lives at the North Pole.”

“Mm,” Patton says neutrally.

“Patton, did you really know St. Nick?” Roman demands.

“No, no, you’re right,” Patton sighs, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Far too late for you mortals. Off to bed, then, and don’t forget to leave him some börek!”

“ Milk and cookies,” Virgil says, he and Roman now wearing twin expressions of desperate curiosity. Logan, who knows when St. Nick supposedly lived, keeps silent.

“He prefers börek,” Patton says, his nose twitching, a telltale sign he’s holding in laughter. “It’s traditional, where he’s from. Leave him a note that old Patton remembers him, it’ll earn you börek points!”

“Brownie points,” Virgil corrects again, “Patton, did you actually know Santa Claus—”

Patton bursts into giggles, unable to hold up the ruse for very long.

“The figure we know today as St. Nicholas of Myra lived in the 300s,” Logan explains. “He predates Patton by thirteen hundred years, approximately.”

“I can’t believe you fell for that!” Patton cackles, eyes bright, making him look as young as his face presents him to be.

“Yeah, okay,” Virgil says, as Patton pulls Roman into a hug, “you say that like it’s entirely unbelievable when you’ve shown us paintings of you and other completely unreal people like Maid Marian—”

“Aw, I miss her,” Patton says.

“— sorry if Santa Claus is too far out of the realm of belief from the vampire, ” Virgil continues to grumble, even as Patton folds him into a hug, too.

“He has also known Marie Curie,” Logan says, still unable to quite believe it even though he’s practically memorized the missives she had sent Patton. “Also, I may have elevated my threshold of belief to include vampires, selkies, sirens, and banshees, but I absolutely will not be budged to start believing in childhood myths.”

He pins Patton with a look. “And I am still unconvinced that you knew Robin Hood.”

“Well, he wasn’t actually called that then — ” Patton begins.

“Nope!” Roman practically yells. “Nope, Logan, you are not going to take the fact that I am one degree separated from the Merry Men, I refuse to listen to you debate this again, Sheriff of Not-letting-Roman-have-this-one-thing-ingham—”

“All of my research suggests the people you knew were imitators—” Logan begins again.

“As a Christmas gift to me, shut up,” Roman says. 

“Roman,” Patton scolds.

“ Please shut up,” Roman amends politely—only his tone is polite, as the words themselves and the eyeroll that accompanies them are not particularly courteous. 

Virgil distracts him quite handily by physically turning Roman around and nudging him toward the door.

Patton follows after them, Logan a few steps behind.

“All right, well, be safe going home,” Patton says, beginning on his spiel as Roman and Virgil pull on gloves and scarves. “Are you calling for a ride?”

“Walking,” Virgil says.

Patton makes a discomfited noise. “In this cold?”

“We barely live three blocks away, Ed-worry Cullen,” Roman says, and flaps his arms to show off his new peacoat, a gift from Janus. “We’re all bundled up.”

“All right, well,” Patton says, clearly still fretting, “Text message me when you get home?”

“Just text works,” Logan murmurs, but he can empathize with Patton’s difficulty with memorizing certain terms; it’s just that Patton’s are mostly technological in nature, and Logan’s are slang. Back when they first met, Patton still had the occasional slip-up and called texts telegrams.  

“Text me,” Patton corrects himself, smiling at Logan and squeezing his hand in silent thanks before turning his attention back to Roman and Virgil.

“We will,” Virgil says, and amends, “or at least, I will,” because Roman was notorious for promising he’d text when he got home only to wake up to fifteen missed calls from Patton because he’d forgotten to do so.

“Good,” Patton says with a sigh of relief, then, “All right, bring it in!”

Logan releases Patton’s hand so Patton can step forward and hug Roman and Virgil simultaneously; Roman pulls a face at him over Patton’s shoulder, likely still stung by Logan’s accurate theory about the validity of the so-called Merry Men Patton had been acquainted with.

Though Logan is the correct one, Patton may believe that those people were the original Robin Hood and his band of thieves, but he was most likely deceived considering the earliest myths of Robin Hood originated two hundred years prior to Patton’s birth, even if Patton protests that the dates of the origin of many myths during his human life are incorrectly cited—

Logan presses his lips together in an expression that is not reciprocating the face that Roman pulled at him. Logan is correct; he can rest easily knowing this. And perhaps Christmas is not the proper time to bring up this oft-rehashed debate.

Even though Logan is right. It should not be oft-rehashed because he is right.

“Merry Christmas, Brainy Swan,” Roman says, stepping forward to give Logan a hug that Logan would describe as brotherly, except he knows Roman’s brother and this is far too tame, even if there is more back-slapping and hair ruffling than Logan would prefer. 

“I am not anything like Isabella Swan,” he begins—this is an oft-rehashed debate, too, but this one is far more teasing in nature; Logan, at least, has the retort of pulling up any image of a particularly hideous mermaid mock-up or ugly fish and showing it to him with the (Virgil-taught) response “This you?”—and Roman rolls his eyes.

“Stop denying the Twilight renaissance, Lucy Weste- nerd -a,” Roman says, and reaches out to pluck at the patched elbow of Logan’s tweed jacket, even as he’s hugging Patton goodbye. “You’re dressed Victorian enough—”

“Patton isn’t anything like Dracula,” Logan disputes this time, because obviously Patton would never drink Logan’s blood or turn him without his consent. He straightens his waistcoat, and is about to reach into his pocket, grab his phone, and show Roman the image of a blobfish he has saved for a special occasion to tell him that this is clearly his long-lost twin, not Remus.

He may or may not have rehearsed this with Virgil to ensure a devastating effect.

“Can we please go before you two spend all of Christmas Eve talking about vampire franchises,” Virgil groans.

“Yeah, as fun as that is, most nights, this is kind of a special night!” Patton says brightly. If it were anyone else, Logan would wonder if he should attempt to scan his tone for sarcasm, but Patton probably does think it’s fun. 

Virgil steps forward to hug Logan next; a one-armed hug around the shoulders, quick. It’s what they’re both best with, really; abrupt, swift affection that can be moved on from in a tidy manner. 

“Merry Christmas, L,” Virgil says, then he steps forward to allow Patton to give him a more substantial hug; Patton wraps his arms around Virgil’s shoulders, squeezing him tight, his eyes shuttering for a brief moment, his face becoming gaunt. 

“Merry Christmas, Pat,” Virgil says in a very quiet voice.

“Merry Christmas, V,” Patton says, his voice equally quiet and a touch strained.

Something deep in Logan aches at the sight of them before the look on Patton’s is wiped clean, so abruptly it’s almost as if Logan’s imagined it, and Patton inhales deeply and lets go of Virgil.

“Text me,” Patton reminds them, as Roman and Virgil step off the front stoop.

“I will,” Virgil promises.

Roman’s face splits into a grin, and he calls back, “Merry Christmas, Elena Gil-boring!”

Logan’s head whips around, and he opens his mouth to respond—he isn’t sure with what— and the world surrounding him spins, and he’s weightless, airborne, and as suddenly as it started, it’s stopped. He sees Patton smile at him before Logan closes his eyes, the world still spinning in a way that is distinctly unpleasant.

“Okay?” Patton asks, gently touching Logan’s shoulder.

“Mm. Dizzy.” Logan takes in a deep breath through his nose—the smoke off the fire, the lingering scents of their dinner and desserts, peppermint—and releases it, shaky, through his mouth, before he chances opening his eyes again.

“Sorry,” Patton says, guilt in his tone.

“It’s all right,” Logan says, and he smirks a little. “I’m sure Roman would have said something to interrupt the Yuletide peace if you hadn’t.”

“Yes, Roman would have,” Patton teases, amused, before he blurs for a moment and comes into focus just as quickly, Logan’s empty mug in his hands, one of his many fluffy blankets over his arm—Patton is almost always eager to use his preternatural speed when they are alone in his home. “Would you like another?”

Logan evaluates it; he does not drink very often, but it is a holiday, and he has eaten a sufficient amount and kept well-hydrated today. Though, he does not usually get too vertiginous when Patton moves him quickly, unless they are moving a great distance, he does have reason to suspect that the alcohol is the reason for it today. He’ll have to mention it to Patton; so long as he avoids that, and keeps it to this last mug, he should not face any unfortunate aftereffects in the morning.

“Yes, please,” he decides.

Patton kisses his temple and casts the blanket in front of the fireplace with great fanfare, fluffing it up so that it is at optimum comfort levels, before he unfolds another with an equal amount of fanfare, wrapping it around Logan’s shoulders. Logan smiles at him in thanks, as he knows the blanket is likely for his benefit—Patton frets about Logan getting too cold when they cuddle due to their disparate temperatures—and there’s a rush of artificial wind as Patton zooms to the kitchen. 

Logan wraps the blanket around himself a little more securely as he settles in front of the fire, taking a moment to adjust the wood with the poker, listening to the popping crackle that allows him to lean back in time to watch the spray of sparks leap up the chimney. There’s the sound of a needle being lifted off a vinyl, the vinyl being replaced, and the needle lowered back down; Patton has switched them to an album of orchestral performances of Christmas songs.

Another rush of wind, then, a soft tap of fingers at the top of his head. Logan tilts his head back to look up at him.

Patton’s smiling down at him, eyes reflecting the last remaining sparks, his dark eyes catching the light like stars. He cradles the mug in his hand, and, despite the great speed at which he had moved, he has not spilled a drop.

“Here you are, love.”

“Thank you, dear,” Logan says, placing the poker back where it’s meant to be before he accepts the mug. Patton takes the time to settle in beside him, setting a tray on the hearth, before he wraps his shoulders in the fluffy blanket, too.

Logan smiles a little at the sight of the tray. One half would pass as a traditional, human charcuterie board, if perhaps a bit heavier on jellies than most. The other half is crowded with sectioned blood oranges, a small bowl of pomegranate seeds, raspberries, cherries, and strawberries, all foods as red as Patton’s punny Christmas sweater. It says Merry Chrismath! on it, with math formulas sketched out to form the shape of a Christmas tree, which Patton had purchased specifically because the corners of Logan’s lips had turned up at the sight of it in the store.

Patton takes a sip from his own mug—from the smell of it, mulled wine—and sighs in satisfaction.

“This feels very human, doesn’t it?” Patton asks Logan, as if he is asking for Logan’s approval, and in all honesty he probably is; Patton has been undead for so long that the memories of his human life are dim and distant. “Sitting in front of the fire, eating snacks. About to cuddle.”

It does feel rather human—all he has to do is pretend that his boyfriend is a red food enthusiast, rather than, for whatever reason, red foods being passable enough to a vampire that they are the only human foods he can stomach. 

He doesn’t waste time pretending, though. Why should he, when his reality is stranger than fiction?

Logan presses his cheek to Patton’s shoulder, for a moment.

“I’m perfectly satisfied with this being a shared vampire-human experience,” Logan says, deliberately misunderstanding why Patton is asking. He likes that Patton is a vampire; it is part of him, it is why they have been able to meet. He does not understand why Patton sometimes seems to act like Logan would prefer a human boyfriend, because he wouldn’t. He prefers Patton.

“Well,” Patton says, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I suppose I’m all right with that too.”

Logan reaches for his own mug and takes a sip, before, once again, pressing his cheek against Patton’s shoulder in a way that presses his hair against Patton’s face.

Patton huffs softly in amusement. “Are you trying to get me to smell you?”

“I find it interesting,” Logan says, and he does; the amount of data Patton can deduce by one smell is absolutely astounding. He has plans for a more specific experiment, which he will ask Patton to conduct on a day he is bored and amenable to such suggestions.

Patton hesitates, just for a little bit, before Logan scoots closer, about to tilt so that some of his more major arteries will be closer to his nose.

“All right, then, for Christmas.”

Patton presses his nose against Logan’s hair, kissing the crown of his head, before he inhales, slowly, curiously, like someone trying to place what’s cooking in a kitchen without being able to see what is being prepared.

“And?” Logan asks.

“Mm,” Patton hums, getting his thoughts in order, before he inhales again, this time as if he is a sommelier inhaling the scent of a fine vintage. “Well, you, my favorite smell in the whole world.”

Logan feels very warm in a way that has nothing to do with the blanket, Patton’s arm around his shoulders, or the fire before them.

“You washed your hair this morning—oh, this is a new shampoo!”

“You didn’t like the other one, you thought it was too chemical-y,” Logan says. “I finished it yesterday.”

“Ooh, thank you,” Patton says. “Not that you didn’t smell lovely without the overtone of whatever phoenix is supposed to smell like, but I like this one much better—ooh, lemongrass? You’re spoiling me.”

Logan grins into Patton’s collarbone; really, only Patton would think that a new shampoo scent was spoiling.

“And the usual soap smell,” Patton says. “Sweat, skin, deodorant, your aftershave. You walked by someone smoking today; tobacco and herbal cigarettes, that’s unusual, those were way more common back in the forties—damiana, blackberry leaf, rose, and,” another inhale, “hibiscus and mullein. Gosh, the thought of those takes me back.”

Logan is about to ask—perhaps a past acquaintance or friend smoked something similar in those days—but Patton moves on without ruminating on it further, which makes Logan feel an odd prick of pride; nostalgia has been one of Patton’s greatest strengths, true, but also one of his greatest downfalls.

“Did you have tacos for lunch yesterday? I can smell the spicy salsa still.”

“You cannot,” Logan says, still stunned, even after years, at the amount of things Patton can detect. He’s probably smelling the capsaicin in his salsa, for one, but Patton can also smell certain chemicals the body produces: illness, for example, but also things like cortisol and oxytocin.

“Mhm, makes my nose itch a little. And I can smell the stuff we had at the party, and for dinner last night and breakfast this morning, so it wouldn’t be as fun for you if I listed that off...” Another inhale. “Oh, and I can tell you’re a little tipsy.”

“I think that’s probably why I got dizzy when you ran with me earlier.”

Patton kisses his forehead as a form of apology. “And. You’re happy.”

Logan pulls back just enough, just so he can look Patton in the eyes. 

There are a great many supposed vampire stories that claim to know the color of a vampire’s eyes; blood red, commonly, but yellow or gold were popular ideas, as well. Silver, sometimes. Almost always, the presumed color was a color not found in nature.

Patton’s eyes are so dark a brown they are practically black, the iris near indistinguishable from his pupil unless someone was shining a direct light at them. They were the same color when he was human, Patton thinks; he has an illustration of his mother hidden away upstairs, and they are identical in shape and shade. They are beautiful, and captivating, and full of the warmth and love that are so perfectly, wonderfully Patton.

“I hope you don’t have to smell me to know that,” Logan says, and then, fumblingly, “I mean—I am aware you can smell my oxytocin, but I hope you know that I am without relying on that sense. That I am happy, I mean. Because I am. I do not tell you how you make me feel enough and I feel the need to do so now and articulate it clearly. You make me incandescently, impeccably happy. I am deeply in love with you. I could not have imagined the way my life is now, but I do not want it any other way, because you have made my life so much better.”

Patton’s expression has softened, his head tilting to the side, his lips tilted up into a smile, his eyes so full of affection that Logan almost has the urge to look away, overwhelmed. But Logan, bolstered by something —the Bailey’s and peppermint schnapps, the Christmas spirit, his own love for Patton, he isn’t sure which or if it’s a combination of all of them—keeps looking at him, savoring the expression, before his hand drifts up to cup Patton’s jaw.

They lean in simultaneously, and Logan’s eyes drift shut as he presses his lips to Patton’s once again; this time, without anyone to watch or heckle, Patton’s soft lips part easily for him, Patton’s fingers tangling in his hair, and Logan shivers a little with pleasure as Patton’s tongue brushes against Logan’s bottom lip. Patton is always, always so intolerably tender with him, so careful and deliberate, as if Logan is something to be savored, something exquisite and vitreous that needs to be handled delicately, something precious.

Logan tries his best to treat him in kind. He touches Patton’s face, Patton’s mouth and lips and tongue, eternally cool to the touch, with the kind of mindfulness he gives to pipettes and microscopes and test tubes, as if touching Patton in a way that is any less than the amount of devotion and love Patton deserves will irrevocably contaminate the results of his hypothesis. 

But then Patton’s tongue brushes against his own, and Logan gasps, and he moves to kiss Patton with the devotion and love and passion that ignites in Logan’s stomach, burning hotter than a Yule log, his heartbeat thudding rapidly in his ears, and Logan presses himself even closer to Patton, so wonderfully chilled to the touch, the only thing that could temper the heat flaring to life in Logan’s stomach to something bearable, the only thing that brings balance, something as undeniably well-paired as the heat source and the heat sink—they bring each other thermodynamic equilibrium, romantic equilibrium, equilibrium in all things—

Patton pulls away, just in time, just as Logan needs to break away to gulp in a breath that Patton does not need to take, and Logan looks at Patton, whose eyes are flaring with their own kind of heat.

“I love you too,” Patton says, and he presses his forehead to Logan’s, inhaling deeply; Logan wonders if his body has started producing dopamine and norepinephrine and serotonin and vasopressin, if Patton can smell it.

“I love you so much,” Patton says again, his voice trembling with the weight of it.

Patton wraps his arms around Logan’s waist, pulling him into his lap, and Logan wraps his arms around him. Patton cuddles closer, rubbing his cheeks against Logan’s hair almost like a cat.

“I love you too,” Logan says, “I love you.”

Patton bundles the blanket around them, the fire crackling and the ebb and flow of string music in the background, and Logan presses a kiss to Patton’s cheek.

“I love you,” Patton repeats.

I love you, I love you, I love you, they whisper at each other, wrapped up in a blanket until the fire sputters down to embers, Patton’s cold skin keeping Logan from overheating, the pair of them exchanging kisses that only slightly tip into overly passionate, always returning to holding each other, cuddling in front of the fire, even as Logan’s eyelids slip lower and lower as the moon rises higher and higher in the sky, so comfortable and so adored and so absolutely, completely sated that he cannot help but drift off in the comfort of it, one thing ringing in his ears that carries him off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (3)

summary: virgil decides roman deserves a day off.  words: 2,100 / ship: prinxiety (roman/virgil) author’s note: this is part three of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts)  read on ao3

— — —

“Best two out of three.”

“I thought this was a birthday gift!”

“Yes and?”

“So why don’t I automatically get to pick the first movie?”

“Because I know you’re on a princess kick and full offense, if I have to deal with a talking animal as the comedic relief sidekick, I might actually die.”

“... Okay. Fine, okay, that’s fair.”

“On shoot.”

One, two, three, shoot — Virgil’s scissors versus Roman’s paper meant that the birthday boy did, in fact, not get to pick the first movie. He feigned upset for only a few moments longer before flopping back into their pillow fort. He supposed, given all the hard work Virgil had put into this, he could put up with one non-princess Disney film.

Earlier in the day, Virgil had rather unceremoniously kicked Roman out of his own room, claiming he had something important to do. Were it not for how close they’d grown, Roman would have been upset and suspicious; he trusted Virgil now, though, and knew that nothing would go wrong. He’d spent an hour playing cards with Logan and Patton before Virgil shouted for him from upstairs. When he’d arrived back to his room, it looked almost unrecognizable. It was mostly illuminated by fairy lights, providing a cozier feel than what he was used to; the floor to ceiling windows looked out into a rainy forest instead of the usual rolling hills; his bed had been turned into a truly impressive collection of blankets, pillows, cushions, and stuffed animals. The canopy had been removed which bothered him a little but only until he realized the projector that had been set up, pointing at the ceiling. There was a basket at the foot of the bed, filled with snacks and bottled drinks. Roman figured they could stay here for the next twenty four hours and be perfectly fine.

Surrounded by what was possibly every soft thing to be found in the Mindscape, Roman clutched Mrs. Fluffybottom to his chest as Virgil got the movie set up. She’d been his favorite plushie for the entirety of his existence; he’d taken her on many adventures over the years but she’d comforted him through a number of breakdowns too. He swore there was actually something magical about her.

Virgil threw himself down next to Roman; he had swapped out his usual hoodie for one that was fully dark purple and had even longer sleeves. After Roman had stopped gawking around his room, Virgil had tossed a sweater at him. It was so bright it was practically neon but it was rainbow print and he loved it. He’d immediately changed out of his t-shirt and had grabbed Virgil in a tight hug. Roman definitely intended on starting a sweater paw fight at some point during their movie marathon.

“You good with Hercules?”

“No comedic relief sidekicks, huh?”

“Phil is not a sidekick!”

“What? Are you trying to tell me right now that Philoctetes is a main character? You can’t say he isn’t comedic relief! He gets hurt just for laughs way too often!”

“No! I mean. Maybe?”

Roman laughed, bumping his shoulder against Virgil’s. “Whatever, you dork. Of course I’m good with it. You could have picked The Black Cauldron and I would’ve been good.”

“Talking animal. Comic relief. Sidekick. Gurgi checks all of those boxes. I would’ve been going against my own word.”

“Hmm, fair,” Roman said, humming a little.

As the Muses began singing them through the opening, Roman took a moment to appreciate everything Virgil was doing for him. The basket of goodies was stocked with every one of Roman’s favorite snacks, including enough chocolate to make him sick. In fact, it’d been the first thing he’d decided on, before Virgil could even tell him what the plan for the day was. Not that it was really much of a plan, anyway. Today specifically had been set aside just for Virgil to spoil Roman however he wanted. That apparently meant marathoning Disney movies, napping as much as they pleased, and eating all the junk food they wanted. It was a far cry from how Roman usually spent his time; what with all of the projects he was constantly juggling, or the content he had to help Thomas produce, or the issues to take care of in the Fantasy Realm. He didn’t really realize even how hard he was always working.

Apparently, however, Virgil had.

Something was shoved into his face, startling him out of his thoughts. He shot a glare at Virgil, who was watching the movie and acting totally inconspicuous. The item turned out to be a stuffed dragon, one he didn’t recognize from his usual pile of plushies. The scales were shimmery, a nice ombre of purple and blue shades, the wings were tucked against the body, and… Holding his hand against the stomach was warmer than the rest, as if it had a belly full of fire. That was so cool! He squeezed it tight in his arms and went back to watching the movie, feeling even comfier than before.

With the credits rolling, Virgil ushered them both out of bed and into a couple minutes of stretching.

“I’m not having you complain to me later on when your bones start creaking.”

“You make it sound like I’m so old, Virgil!”

“Older than me,” Virgil teased. He ducked out of the way of a thrown cushion. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?!”

Roman took a face full of pillow and suddenly it was on. He couldn’t begin to guess how long they fought for, darting around the room and over the bed, swinging their feather-filled weapons at each other. He did know that by the time he collapsed on the floor, he was breathless with laughter. Virgil was so far gone that he’d dissolved into alternating between wheezes and complete silence. Eventually, they did manage to get back into their nest of blankets, though there was plenty of shoving, poking, and tickling as they did so.

“I dunno if I’ll make it through this next movie so pick one that I won’t mind falling asleep during.”

“You besmirch the name of Disney if you think there’s a single film boring enough to allow that!”

“You dozed off the first time we watched The Good Dinosaur.”

Roman spluttered. “I had just come back from a week-long quest! And that’s Pixar!”

Virgil actually cackled. “You can’t pull that excuse! Disney owns Pixar!”

“Stop bullying me,” Roman cried, “it’s my birthday!”

“It’s two days before your birthday, actually, so I can bully you all I like.”

“I’m picking The Black Cauldron, then! See how you like dozing off during your favorite movie.”

It perhaps hadn’t been his best choice. With Virgil snuggled into his side, warm and soft, the sound of his even breathing accompanying the utter lack of any songs… Well, Roman really didn’t last much longer. They found each other in the Dreamscape. Edges were fuzzy, sounds were muffled, and touch was electric. The Dream Palace was a blurry shape in the distance, attracting his attention every so often when its crystal spires caught the light. Virgil sort of just appeared, as if created from the colors of the setting sun. Roman had a feeling he was made of the field of flowers he’d woken up in.

“I like it here,” Virgil said, sitting down next to Roman.

“Remy does a nice job with it,” Roman agreed, slowly picking daisies and dandelions to weave into a crown.

“You do, too,” Virgil argued. “You have a hand in almost everything, you know.”

Roman frowned at him. “I do not.”

“Yes, Ro,” Virgil insisted, “you do. The Memory Archives look the way that they do because you and Logan watched one episode of Doctor Who together and had the inspiration to redesign.”

Roman chuckled, a little nervously. “I guess.”

“Memory Lane doesn’t hurt Patton because it knows better than to hurt anyone you love. It might be connected to him and his room, but you’re the one that created that safety net.”

“Virgil…” Roman tried, voice slightly strangled.

“I just need you to know how important you are. You aren’t told enough.”

“It’s fine—”

“You’re important, Roman. You matter. You make a difference.”

Roman finally stopped trying to tie together the stems of the flowers. Virgil took his shaking hands into his own and held them tightly. It was just enough that Roman could actually feel it versus the tingly sensation that the Dreamscape normally worked with.

“We love you. We appreciate you and your hard work.”

If it weren’t for that everything around them was already blurry, Roman might not have noticed his vision swimming when tears filled his eyes. It was hard to not know suddenly that he was crying, though, regardless of how physically present he was in this space.

Virgil let go of his hands and instead, cradled his face gently. “I know I go against you sometimes but in the long run, I want you to be just as happy as you make the rest of us.”

He waited a moment longer before smiling and squishing Roman’s cheeks. Roman giggled a bit in response. Virgil gave him two careful pats before pulling away. Picking up the flower crown Roman had abandoned, he set to work on finishing it. Roman wiped his tears away and sat still in the sunshine, content to simply let himself soak it up until he was completely warm from the inside out.

When they woke, the screen projected onto the ceiling was displaying a screensaver of 3D pipes. The forest outside the windows had been replaced with a cliffside view of the ocean. Virgil stirred next to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Roman’s cheek before getting out of bed. He was gone for a little while, during which Roman found two more plushies that he didn’t recognize. They were a gryphon and a lion, both extremely soft to the touch, and with fierce expressions that reminded Roman of how Virgil looked when he was in fight mode. He wondered how these new stuffed animals kept sneaking into his collection but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

When Virgil returned, Roman burst into laughter, because yes, he supposed there was no chance of sneaking that one into the pile.

“There won’t be any room for me in bed, Virgil!”

“Guess you better get used to sleeping on the floor then,” Virgil said, dropping the massive Simba plushie on top of Roman.

This just made Roman laugh harder. The fabric on this one was fluffier than on the others, something he could sink his fingers into if he wanted. It was nearly as big as him, or maybe it just felt like that right now since it was smothering him. Before he could move it, though, Virgil sank himself down onto it as well.

“Virgil!!” Roman gasped between snickers. “Get off, you fiend!”

“Hmm…” Virgil hummed, pondering. From where he was laying, he could just barely look directly into Roman’s eyes. This made it all the funnier when he finally decided, in the most deadpan tone, “nah.”

After some wrestling, which led to them both falling out of bed and Roman bumping his elbow and howling for five minutes about his funny bone before Virgil kissed it better, they were finally settled back in to continue their movie marathon.

They watched Moana, Tarzan, and, Mary Poppins before sleep began to take them once more. Seeing as the sun had sunk below the sea quite some time ago, it was safe to assume it was late enough to call it a night.

“I got you…” Virgil paused to yawn. “Got you one more thing…”

“Vee—”

“‘S not much.” He held out Mrs. Fluffybottom for Roman to take. “I just… I made it so that she can never be hurt.”

For a moment, Roman’s lethargy was chased away by astonishment and surprise. He could feel the enchantment just from holding her, though it was passing by the second as the magic was fully absorbed.

“I know you… take her on adventures a lot. Fightin’ bad guys ‘n stuff.” Virgil shifted further into the blankets as sleep continued to take hold on him. “Wanna keep her safe. Know you will, anyway. But jus’ in case.”

Roman rolled onto his side so that he was facing Virgil. He kept the bunny plush tucked between them and took one of Virgil’s hands in his. “Thank you…”

“Love you. Happy birthday, princey,” Virgil told him, papping him once more on the cheek.

Sleep settled over them quickly after. Roman would wake in the morning, feeling more secure and warm than he had in quite some time, surrounded by plushies and Virgil’s arms, and know that he had so much to be grateful for.

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 4

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,910

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: <3rd person> graphic description of a panic attack, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: <none>

...

Where would he have gone? In the backyard? No, there's too much space out there, and it's too bright. Maybe- of course! Patton raced down the hall to the bathroom door, which was shut. He nearly started knocking, but remembering how easily startled Virgil could get when he was having an attack, he decided to just calmly say into the closed door;

"Virgil, it's Patton. Can I come in?" His voice came out very buttery and smooth, calm as he could get it to be. he heard a muffled sob from inside, and his heart went to his throat. But he knew he had to stay calm, for Virgil's sake.

As slowly, gently, and quietly as possible, he opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark, the only light coming from a small hazy window near the ceiling above the shower. He could barely make out Virgil's figure; he was curled into a ball on his side, crying into his knees, lying in the bathtub. From what Patton could see, the way his hair was sticking to his forehead implied he had been sweating, and the sleeves of his sweater were wet and crumpled, like he'd been chewing on them.

Patton slowly walked over, trying not to upset Virgil more. He slowly and gently clambered into the Bathtub, and sat cross-legged with Virgil in front of him. Remember everything you read about. Pressure is good, it gives a sense of security on an instinctual level. Don't take his hoodie off of him. He slowly reached down and lightly touched Virgil on the shoulder. When he didn't react, Patton gently scooped him up and held him in his lap, securing his arms around Virgil's shaking form as he cradled him. Although Virgil was taller than Patton, Patton had a sturdier build compared to Virgil's thinness. He started rocking Virgil very slowly, and did the first thing that came to mind.

"Virgil, it will be okay. I'm here. I'm going to breathe, okay? Try and feel me breathing, and when you can, try and copy it." Once again, his voice was soft and caring, nearly a whisper. Patton began breathing slowly and steadily, in, and out. in, and out. After what seemed like a long while, Virgil had stopped shaking, and Patton could tell he was trying to copy his breathing. It took him a few tries - his diaphragm kept spasming and making him sob more - but the tears had mostly stopped.

Soon, Virgil was breathing along with Patton - still a bit shakily, but they were definitely getting somewhere. Once Virgil's attack passed, he felt exhausted. He relaxed more into Patton, almost falling asleep.

"Virgil, I know you're tired, but we can't sleep here. Want me to call your parents so they can come pick you up?" Patton said, leaning down to try and come eye to eye with Virgil, who seemed content laying there, his head on Patton's left collar bone.

"Mmmm," Virgil started, rubbing his eyes. "No, that's alright. I'm supposed to take the bus today anyway."

"But-"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'll stay here for a while longer, and then get going, so I'll have time to get my bearings." Virgil stood, getting out of the bathtub, and then helping Patton up and out. As soon as he was out, Virgil pulled Patton into a hug - not a hard one, but a heartfelt gentle one. The best kind. "Thank you so much. I don't know how I would've made it through that one without you. Are you alright?" Virgil pulled away at the last part, holding Patton's shoulders and looking into his eyes. Patton had never seen this side of Virgil, so excessively caring. "I know you've never had to deal with me, or anyone, having an attack, but for the record, I think you handled it amazingly." Virgil continued, pulling Patton back into the hug.

Patton hugged back then, burying his face in Virgil's shoulder. "I'm just glad you're okay."

They stayed like that for a while, just happy in their moment.

...

When Patton and Virgil returned to Roman's room, Logan was just leaving.

"Hey, Lo! Are you out of here?" Patton said, still cheery as ever.

"Hello, Patton. Yes, my parents have arrived. I must be going now. I will see you tomorrow in class. Goodbye, Roman, Virgil," Logan nodded to them all, and then stepped past the newcomers to exit. Just then, Patton's phone buzzed, and a text came through that Virgil and Roman remained oblivious to; Patton scarcely read it, but knew that if it was from his brother, he'd best be getting home.

"Uh, w-wait up Lo! I'm headed out too!" Patton said, hurriedly grabbing his pastel blue backpack and rushing out, quietly saying goodbye to Virgil.

Patton caught up with Logan at the end of the hallway, a few feet before the door.

"Hello Patton. Are your parents here too?" Logan said, opening the door and holding it open for his curly-haired companion.

"Uh, no, but I'd best be getting home. I take the bus. My parents... don't have a car. They, uh, they care for environmental safety and stuff." Patton said, trying not to make his lie too obvious.

"Oh, I see." Logan's hand went to his chin, as if he was considering something. "Well, if you wish, I can ask my parents if they'll give you a ride home. I know the bus can be uncomfortable."

"Oh! umm..." Patton really wanted to say yes, but he knew that if his brother saw him come in from someone else's car, he'd be furious. "I'd love to, really, but I can't. Thank you so much anyways though! I'll see you tomorrow." Patton said, a toothy smile appearing as he waved to Logan. Then, before Logan could press further, Patton skipped quickly down Roman's driveway, down the sidewalk, and out of sight.

Logan just shrugged it off, and got in his parent's car.

...

Virgil and Roman were fixed in an awkward silence. Virgil was slouching against the wall near Roman's door, and Roman was laying back on his bed.

"Where were you?" Roman asked eventually.

"In the bathroom. I'd been holding it for a while, if you must know." Virgil lied, trying to keep Roman from asking again.

"Yuck! TMI, Surly Temple!" Roman said, throwing one of his pillows in Virgil's general direction, unsuccessful in hitting him; the pillow landed at Virgil's feet.

"Man, for a jock, your aim is shit," Virgil said, chucking the pillow back and hitting Roman square in the face.

"Ugh!" Roman exclaimed, shoving the pillow off him. Virgil walked over and plopped onto the bed, being sure to avoid eye contact. "Well hello there, my Chemically Imbalanced Romance," Roman teased, leaning closer to Virgil.

He just scoffed at him for the hundredth time that day, and threw the pillow at his face again. "Yeah, in your dreams, Prince Underarms-Stink."

Roman didn't react that time; he simply put the pillow back and watched as Virgil yawned and stretched out his arms. He turned away before the pink glaze on his cheeks could be spotted by Virgil. He pulled out his phone and plugged in his earbuds, putting one in his ear and offering the other to Virgil.

Virgil thought about protesting, but he was too tired to really care that much. he just sighed. "Oh, why the hell not." He took the earbud and put it in his ear, laying back and snuggling into Roman's pillows.

Roman clicked shuffle on his Taylor Swift playlist, and immediately regretted sharing an earbud. of all the songs to play!

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place

Walls of insincerity

Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face

All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you

Virgil felt a blush rise to his cheeks as the song continued, shifting his gaze even further from Roman.

Your eyes whispered "Have we met?"

Across the room, your silhouette starts to make it's way to me

The playful conversation starts

Counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy

And it was enchanting to meet you

All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you

Roman watched Virgil, both of their cheeks darkening. Eventually, Roman looked away, not wanting to be creepy.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

The lingering question kept me up

Two a.m., who do you love?

I wonder till I'm wide awake

Virgil risked a glance at Roman, who seemed to be tracing his ceiling fan with his eyes. He probably isn't even effected by this, Virgil thought. Wait a minute, why am I even effected? Virgil looked away again, trying to stifle his feelings.

Now I'm pacing back and forth, wishing you were at my door

I'd open up and you would say,

Hey i t was, enchanting to meet you

All I know is I was, enchanted to meet you...

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew...

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you.

When Virgil looked back at Roman again, Roman was looking at him. Roman immediately looked away, praying Virgil didn't see. But he knew he did, that for that split second that their eyes met. Virgil could see the blush on Roman's cheeks now. When Virgil didn't look away, Roman looked back.

This is me praying that this was the very first page

Not where the story line ends

My thoughts will echo your name, until I see you again

These are the words I held back, as I was leaving too soon

I was enchanted to meet you

Roman looked away first. I can't be doing this, I literally just asked someone else out. This is stupid.

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

Virgil had looked down as well, but glanced back, seeing Roman mouthing the words slightly. Virgil only blushed harder and covered his face with his hands, wondering how it could possibly be healthy for his heart to be beating this fast.

This night is sparkling, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

Please don't be in love with someone else

Please don't have somebody waiting on you

As the song ended, Virgil picked up his phone and pretended to read a text from his mom. "Uh, my mom says I best be getting home," He said shortly, taking the earbud out and standing, grabbing his bag. Roman sat up, wanting... well, he didn't really know what he wanted. He said the first thing that came to mind.

"Um, do you want a ride? I can drive you if-"

"No, that's alright." Virgil considered elaborating, but couldn't think of a good reason for his denial. He just had to get out of there, away from Roman, or he didn't know what would happen. "Uh, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Ye-yeah, sure thing," Roman said, scratching the back of his neck. Virgil left with scarcely a sound, and walked hastily toward the bus stop.

On his walk, he found the song they'd been listening to, and added it to his library.

[starshineandbooks]

Come away with me, one last adventure?

Chapter one, in which Logan is woken up

Words- 1058

AO3

ship -Logince

summary- Faced with going to diffrent colleges Roman decides to borrwo Logan, at too early in the morning.

Trigger warning -None that I can think of!

Inspired by This post by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors

Logan groans loudly in protest as he looks at the man on his doorstep.

Roman Lopez-Muniz-Crowne, Logan’s childhood friend, and eternal gay love of his life, stands on Logan’s doorstep. Roman wears a pair of light jeans and converse paired with a cherry colored hoodie Logan had gotten him. The hoodie is a personalized hoodie to have the Dear Evan Hansen logo on the back.

Logan raises an eyebrow, groaning louder, brain relaxing and slowing at the realization that he’s with Roman.

“Come on one last adventure with me?”

“What?”

“Come on one last adventure with me before we have to go to college.”

“Roman- I don’t- It’s- What the fuck time is it?! If it’s between one and six in the morning I won’t forgive you.”

“Three fifty eight.” Roman supplies, looking up from the watch Logan had given him for his fifteenth birthday.

“I hate you.” Logan’s voice is harsh as his lips quirk up.

“I doubt that.”

Logan laughs gently, “Get in here, let me grab clothes and tell mom and dad.”

"God you’re the best.”

“Coffee pot’s empty, start some now.”

“Anything for you specs.” Roman smirks, but his voice is softer than he meant.

“Except letting me sleep.” Logan grumbles, slipping back up the stairs.

Roman makes it to the kitchen before he groans, cursing himself and pulling down the pre-ground coffee to make a pot that he knows Logan will drink all of but the bit Roman steals. Roman needs a moment, so he takes a sit down once he has the coffee pot set up.

He sets his face in his knees and groans again slowly, it’s so unfair. Logan is so pretty, and perfect, and Roman really would like his heart to not throw itself into a blender when Logan is even thought of. Logan shouldn’t be able to brighten and ruin Roman’s days with a simply look at him.

Logan returns, twenty minutes later, “Hey Ro, ready?” Roman doesn't respond and Logan sighs, setting his bag on the ground and moving about the kitchen, grabbing to go cups and making coffee to their desired sweetness and creaminess.

Logan takes his bag and the coffees to Roman’s car, setting things in the trunk and the cupholders before he returns, picking Roman up, cradling the older man in his arms closely.

Logan kisses Roman’s forehead softly, then he begins to carry the elder man out the door, knowing Roman’s been sleeping horribly lately. Logan struggles, but manages to get Roman into the car's passenger seat to then lock up his house. Logan takes the driver’s seat, starting the car with the keys he’s gotten off of the counter, pulling away from his house.

Roman sleeps soundly as Logan switches on the radio, humming along gently to the fallout boy song humming along, eyes scanning the road.

“I’m in love with you,” Roman whispers, sleep talking, again.

He does that a lot. Logan swallows hard, nodding as he takes a left, following the directions taped to the dashboard. Logan can’t help it, singing along as the song changes, lulled into safety by the lack of listeners.

“I've been reading books of old, The legends and the myths,

Achilles and his gold, Hercules and his gifts”

Logan has read a million books, and then some probably. He’s going to school to be a doctor, he studied the myths more than he should have perhaps, because it made him happy. He liked them, he’d always admired the idea of the greek heroes. Even though they generally had problems of their own. The song makes him smile softly, Roman loves this song, he’s always telling Logan about how much he wants something like the song. There it is, admiring a song and Roman comes to mind.

“Spider-Man's control, And Batman with his fists

And clearly I don't see myself upon that list”

Logan never had seen himself on that list had he? Someone worth loving, someone extraordinary. Not even a little, he never has been. Logan will never be the kind of person Roman wants. Logan crosses that off the list of things to think about, he needs to let go of this stupid fantasy. After all, Roman and Logan will have their own soulmates, it won’t be each other. When Logan turns eighteen he will wake up with a mark on him that is black, assuming he isn't a soulmate less, that will tell him where his soulmate will first touch him after his birthday -Also assuming he is the younger person in the relationship. And the universe would never give Roman someone like Logan, Roman deserves so much better.

“But she said, where'd you wanna go?

How much you wanna risk?”

If Logan lets himself fantasize, as he sees no harm in it while Roman lay sleeping and no one watches him but the stars and the moon, he’d go anywhere with Roman. Logan would risk it all if he got a single chance, soulmates be damned.

“I'm not lookin' for somebody With some superhuman gifts”

Logan has never needed a whole lot from anyone, he’s always been self sufficient, he likes it that way.

“Some superhero, Some fairy-tale bliss

Just something I can turn to Somebody I can kiss”

Logan knows full well happy endings aren’t what they seem, and you have to work at anything, especially relationships. But he would like someone he knows will always be there for him. Someone like Roman. Logan bets Roman’s lips are soft, if a little chapped. Logan chides himself, that’s not what to think about right now.

“I want something just like this”

Logan looks to Roman, the boy’s face pressed against the window, slumped to the slide and drooling a tiny bit where his mouth hangs open. Wrapped in a large hoodie still, face lax as he breathes slowly. The stars and sky above, his best friend at his side, the simultaneous flood of tight, warm flutters paired with claws and teeth in his heart aside, this is a moment Logan would live even with the rush of emotions gladly over and over. In this one moment, everything is right, and it’s enough to dull the vortex of fears with his impending soulmate, and Roman in general, and starting a new college in a new state, and anything else that might be wrong.

Masterpost    Chapter two

[sablesides-writing-corner]

I Am Countering: Logince fluff? There Has Been Too Much Angst

All men, regardless of whether or not they admitted it, had talents. Whether those were talents deemed worthy of humanity, depended entirely on something else.

But for Roman, gods did he want talents, he wanted to feel needed, wanted, coveted, by the people.

He was a good singer, but not a good writer, so he couldnt make songs.

He was an artist, but he could only really draw backgrounds well, so he couldnt do much for commissions.

He was an amazing actor, but he didnt like directions.

So Roman Prince-Duke sat in his room all day, bored, talking to strangers on the internet about topics that would have much better suited his brother.

But all that would change fairly soon, with a simple flyer for young and pretty men. Now at first Roman had assumed it was for a strip show and ignored the paper, talking was one thing, but he certainly wasnt about to expose himself to that degree.

And then someone stopped him, just as he turned a corner at a street he was very familiar with.

"Excuse me sir, but I was wondering if I might have a word?" This was a voice Roman was not familiar with.

And when he turned around, he was met with the most handsome man he'd ever seen in his life. Tall, chubby, with messy brown hair and eyes so blue they might have stolen the night sky right out from under the earth's metaphorical nose.

"Is something wrong?" Roman asked, now sweating rather profusely at the sight of the man.

"I was wondering if I might- invite you to join a show I'm working on, face like yours, wouldnt want to pass up that opportunity," the man held up the flier from before.

"You want me, to work in a strip show?." Roman said, all admiration for the man forgotten.

The man's face went scarlet "oh heavens no I'd never put on one of those- Its a fashion show of sorts," he continued.

"Of sorts?" Roman replied, resting his head on his shoulder slightly.

"You wouldnt be walking out, we're trying to figure out holographic projections, less risk of injured models and uncomfortable comments," said the man.

"Well- I suppose it could be nice," Roman replied.

"Perfect! You can just call me Logan by the way- and uh-" Logan looked at him expectantly.

"Roman, Prince-Duke," Roman replied.

"Right this way Roman," Logan said, Roman followed him through the streets and into a black building, galaxies and stars painted the walls of the outside, and the inside was full of orange and yellow and red hues, almost as if youd stepped into the sun. The lights illuminating the inside were pink, and when Roman looked at himself in the mirror, his face was almost so clear he looked as though he didnt have lips, or a nose, or anything really.

"Domt focus to hard on those, the mirrors are for quick fixes, look for to long and people get self-conscious, doesnt exactly make anyone very happy," Logan said.

"Oh I'm sure they have nothing to worry about," Roman said, ignoring the advice and continuing to mess with his hair in the mirror. He was only stopped when Logan pulled him away, wrapping an arm around his waist as though he meant to bring him into a waltz. Roman thought he might let go, but they stayed like that for quite some time.

Then, with a clearing of his throat, Logan continued on, Roman following close behind.

He wasnt sure how many shots they'd taken that week, it seemed as though Roman was there every day, but, this was on him, he'd signed up for those hours.

It was as if some odd force was pushing him towards Logan, and he wasnt sure why. After all, this wasnt some multi-chapter fanfiction where his boss might one day walk in and decide to make out with him in the middle of a set.

Except, it seemed Logan wanted to do exactly that. He didnt, of course, but Roman could tell. The way his gays lingered on Roman's lips as they spoke, the gentle whispers and reassurance that things would be alright when Roman began to panic in a shot.

And then, not two weeks after Roman's mind had started its wondering, it happened. He'd teased a little bit of course, egged it on, after all, when one is talking with ones crush at a party with desserts, one can find several ways to appeal to his senses.

He just hadnt expected it to work so well that they ended up in a full-blown make-out session in front of a crowd of cheering employees.

But, when one was talented with knowing what people wanted, it was easy to get more than given.

----------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@spooky---noodle

@softestpatton

@meowthefluffy

@a-deceit-salad

@nerosdayinhell

@curmisery

@willowaudreykeyes

@frawkeye

@the-sad-strawberry

[banalbones]

The Petite Prince: Chapter 5

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8

Chapter 5: The Treasure Hunt, Part 2

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil and Logan lost him, and have been questing to find him for way too long. Remus loves his bro, but is feeling a bit more chaotic.

Words: 2485

Ships: Familial prinxiety, logince and Creativitwins. Eventual familial royality, roceit and DRLAMP  

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: A few swears, tiny blood mention, arguing, a mention of being unconscious, a dragon, falling, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu  @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world @cemmy @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @nonbinary-lizard-2

_________________________

The ‘twins’ were doing karaoke with the birds.

“Love is an open doo-oo-oor!”

The song was perfect for the pair, an adorable ‘love’ song for Roman, and a Disney villain tune for Remus.

Roman was grinning madly, his gap tooth showing, as his sweet little child voice perfectly nailed all of the notes.

“You’re really good at this,” Remus commented, taking a break from the song. “But Elphaba’s better.”

Cue the *o f f e n d e d p r i n c e y n o i s e s*.

“She’s a bi- she’s a bird! How can she be b- be better?”

Remus cackled. Annoying his brother was fun, even when he was a child.

He probably shouldn’t be thinking that, but still.

Quoting Virgil, sometimes I just gotta be me-an.

The smol one wacked his leg with the stick.

(Remus truly didn’t know how he kept getting it.)

“You know,” he said, “We could decorate the stick.”

That was a thing kids did right? Decorating sticks? 

Apparently it was, as Roman squealed in delight and jumped around, whilst simultaneously summoning paint and glitter and smaller sticks and a whole lot of other stuff Remus didn’t bother to acknowledge.

I would have just gotten blood.

_________________________

“Are we supposed to climb this thing?” Virgil asked incredulously.

Logan wasn’t looking at the tower, so much as the dragon. It had shimmering scales, the color of the sea, covering the entirety of its lithe body, with accents of a bright gold littered throughout. The sunset colored wings however, were the things that stuck out most.

The dragon was quite beautiful and had cool wings, in an abbreviated sentence.

It also appeared to be asleep, which was definitely a pro in this situation of cons.

“If we wish to retrieve Roman, I believe so.”

“Well, fuck.”

_________________________

Virgil for all his faults, was loyal. Or so he told himself. Janus (?!?!), when the emo was still a part of the Others, had told him that dark sides were extremely protective of what they deem to be theirs.

So he supposed it made sense that he, the literal embodiment of anxiety, was about to climb a fifty foot tower with no safety precautions, just to save the little prince.

He turned to Logan and grinned sheepishly.

“So, uh, do you want to start?”

Just because Virgil was going to do it, didn’t mean he had to go first.

_________________________

The Dragon Witch smirked slightly as she rested her scaled head atop the tower’s black roof, gazing down at the two sides.

Looked like it was time to drop the ladder.

_________________________

Logan rolled his eyes at Virgil and began to reach for the tower, not sure what he was actually going to do when he touched it, when suddenly a pile of pili fell on his head.

“What the heck?”

The sub-astute teacher looked up to see… a rope of hair?

What?

“It’s like in Tangled!” Virgil said, somewhat excitedly.

“The Disney movie?”

“The Disney movie.” Virgil nodded.

“So what do we do, climb it?”

“I mean I guess,” The Supreme Dark Overlord of Negative Commerce (That’s a throwback) paused, “Because I don’t see any stairs.”

Logan, once again, rolled his eyes.

Might as well start climbing.

And so he did.

_________________________

Roman watched LoLo begin to climb through the fly-eyes. It seemed so fun!

Maybe he could do that one day…

If Remus would let him.

Roman giggled.

He probably would.

_________________________

Remus had wanted to add a thorn bush at the bottom of the tower, to be true to the original, ya know? But the smol one hadn’t wanted them to get hurt.

Again.

So instead, he had come up with an ingenious compromise that Logan would have been proud of.

Put vines at the bottom, but make them look like thorns!

It would be so funny to see Virgil panic and try even harder not to fall, especially with the armor-

Oh yeah!

“RoRo, do you want to give them the armor now?”

The little prince nodded enthusiastically, his face scrunching up in concentration.

And then…

“I did it!”

Little did the prince know that Remus had done a slight flick of the wrist, ensuring that the metal protection would… weigh them down.

He may be my brother, and I still love and will protect him at all costs, but I am always a chaotic rat man.

_________________________

I can’t believe you acknowledged that you were a chaotic rat man.

I can.

_________________________

Patton hummed softly, twirling around as he made the brownies.

He had tried checking on Roman in his room, but the princely side hadn’t answered.

So, he decided to make brownies to give to Roman when he felt like he could talk to him again!

If he ever felt like he could…

Patton shook his head quickly, dismissing the thought.

He would! It was Roman, after all!

Patton swallowed.

It was Roman, after all…

_________________________

Logan was halfway up the tower (and the hair) when he felt a weight be placed on his body. A very heavy weight.

The logical side was now extremely glad he had made Virgil stay on the ground.

Gravity tugged a little too hard on Logan for his own liking, and then he was falling.

And falling.

And f

           a

                 l

                      l

                           i

                               n

                                       g

                                            .

Into a pile of thornbushes?

Logan inwardly groaned. It was like in the Grimm Brother’s version of the fairytale.

The prince fell into a bunch of thorns and got blinded.

I’m already blind enough, come on!

He barely registered Virgil screaming out his name through the rush of air and thoughts.

And then he landed.

________________________

Virgil screamed as Logan fell.

He was gonna die!

Could sides even die?

He didn’t think so, but what if they could?

The emo’s mind was so filled with what ifs, that he barely registered the dumping of heavy metal on his shoulders.

It was like a weighted blanket but five times heavier.

“Oof.” He was pulled to the floor, just as Logan landed… in a pile of thorns?!

How had he not noticed that?

“Holy shit! Logan!”

He heard a groan.

“Ow.”

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief.

At least he was alive.

_________________________

You fell off a tower?!

Yes. I just said that.

How did you survive?

We’re getting to that.

_________________________

The teacher figure groaned as he opened his eyes. He wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t bleeding.

That was a good sign.

It seems I have not, in fact landed in a pile of thorns.

“Holy shit! Logan!”

Logan attempted to move his head. A fall like that could not be good for his neck.

He managed it, if only slightly, to see a raccoon-like side running, well trying to run, towards him.

“Hello, Virgil. Before you ask, no, I do not know how I am alive.”

“Are you-”

“Yes, I am indeed hurt,” Logan interrupted, “I fell twenty five feet, what did you expect?”

“I don’t… whatever. How come you’re wearing armor?”

Logan responded with a dry “You are too,” before craning his neck (ow) to see that he was, in fact, wearing a bunch of bulky metal.

It was very blue. Or indigo, depending on how specific you wanted to be.

“Why is it so heavy?”

“That’s because of Remus,” a very familiar, lilting voice answered, as weapons materialized in the boys hands.

“Oh shit,” he heard Virgil mutter.

Logan looked up (once again, ow) to see the dragon that had been sitting atop the tower flying towards them.

It let out a roar.

To mirror Virgil’s earlier words, oh shit.

_________________________

Roman stood proudly, brandishing his stick for all to see.

By all, he meant Remus and the birds, as they were the only ones left to see it.

(The other forest creatures had to go, they had told Roman, it was almost dinner time for them.)

Apparently, birds had really weird eating schedules.

Big me had a really weird eating schedule too. He only ate during the night.

That, along with the fact big him never slept at night either led to the little prince forming a rather intelligent conclusion.

Big him was nocturnal!

Like an owl!

Wait…

If Big him was nocturnal (or an owl)…

Did that mean ReeRee was too?

…

“ReeRee… are you a- you an owl? Or noc- or noc-tur-nal?”

The Duke turned.

“Also, do yo- do you li-li-li’ my stick? Its glitty-ery!”

The tiny royal’s big brother looked confused.

“No? Why? Your stick is splendiferous, by the way.”

Now it was Roman’s turn to be confused.

(He was happy with the reaction to the stick.)

“Big me is. How co-how come you aren’t?”

Maybe the lack of sleep at night isn’t something that owl’s do.

Oh! Elphaba’s leaving! Byeee!

The petite prince was so caught up in his train of thought that he didn’t see Remus’s concerned gaze.

Bye bye birdies!

_________________________

Virgil stared at the bedazzled dirk in his hand, the onyx gems glinting in the light of the fire.

Wait, fire?

The emo turned to see a large green dragon (?!?!) diving towards him, flames spewing out of its mouth.

A dragon?

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit

“Virgil! Move!” he heard a voice shouting.

But for a moment he was paralyzed.

Then, in a way that was opposite his regular behavior, he let out a battle cry and leapt towards the reptilian rapscallion (Roman would be proud), brandishing his weapon.

The dragon roared as Virgil threw one of his dirks, the sharp metal burying itself in a shimmering teal scale.

No blood emerged.

One weapon wasted.

“What the fuck are you doing, you inbecile? Run!”

For some reason, Virgil decided to ignore the admittedly good advice.

The dragon swiped at the anxious side, knocking him into the hard brick of the tower.

The scaled beast crept forward.

It poked Virgil’s head, slamming it back into the stone.

And then the world was fading to black.

Well, he knew that wasn’t good.

_________________________

Logan shut his eyes, restraining a groan of frustration.

WHY did people (metaphysical people) never listen to him?

Virgil was the smallest of the sides (apart from Roman, at the moment) and though he was fight or flight, the anxious side really didn’t know how to defend himself, especially against dragons. It also didn’t help that he only had a tiny daggers and a leaden suit of armor to protect himself.

Logan took a deep breath.

…

When the logical side’s eyes reopened, he was subjected to the view of Virgil being yeeted (slang words) into the tower.

Virgil was quickly climbing up the idiot list.

Very quickly indeed.

_________________________

Where am I on the list right now?

The same place as you were when this happened.

Where was I?

That is not important.

What? Yes it i-

_________________________

Remus was concerned. Which was weird for him.

What did the smol one mean?

An owl?

Nocturnal?

Was Roman secretly an owl? Or did his twin have a really unhealthy sleep schedule that led to negatively affecting his mood, energy levels and attention span, making him lash out in even the slightest of stressful situations whilst simultaneously causing his metaphysical human being-like health and mental health to deteriorate?

Nah, he was probably an owl.

And with that (most of) Remus’s concern washed away.

His brother was an owl.

_________________________

Roman was watching the battle through the fly-eyes. Well, battle was an over exaggeration. It was really just VeeVee getting smacked into a wall by a dragon (who looked suspiciously like the Dragon Witch Big him had killed a while ago).

The prince looked to where Logan was.

The nerd looked reeeeeally annoyed.

Probably because now he had to defeat the dragon all by himself.

What’s he gonna do?

Roman watched as the logical side got up, a broadsword appearing in his grasp.

The prince summoned a bowl of popcorn.

He should throw it. Mama should definitely throw it.

Logan threw it.

And missed.

The sword didn’t even get near it!

Come ooooon, Mama.

The dragon roared and pounced on Logan, baring its teeth.

Roman leaned forward, a handful of popcorn nearing his mouth.

This was getting good.

A drop of saliva dripped onto Logan’s face…

Aaaaaannd…

He was whisked away from the fly-eyes view by a pair of grimy hands.

“ReeRee! No fair!”

“Sorry RoRo.”

The little prince pouted, and Remus held something out to hi.

“Look I made a stick!”

_________________________

Did it work?

Did what work?

The stick. As a distraction.

It wasn’t a distraction, I just really wanted to show him my stick!

Liesssss.

It was also a distraction.

_________________________

Patton was becoming concerned.

Roman usually would have come out by now.

Maybe he decided to talk to someone else.

But who?

Definitely not Janus, for obvious reasons. Maybe Virgil?

I should check. Just to see if he’s okay.

I’ll bring the brownies.

Just in case…

And so the walk to Virgil’s room began.

_________________________

Do it for the child.

That was the mantra that Logan was repeating in his head.

He truly did not appreciate being carried through the sky in a dragon’s claws, especially since it had caused his glasses to fall off of his face.

For the last time, I’m already blind! Why is it always me?

It also didn’t help that every single part of his body was aching.

_________________________

Do it for the bean.

That was the mantra that would probably have been repeated in Virgil’s head at this moment, if he wasn’t unconscious.  

_________________________

Patton frowned.

Virgil wasn’t there.

Maybe Roman and his dark strange son were with Logan!

And so the walk to Logan’s room began.

_________________________

Remus giggled.

RoRo had forgotten about the fly-eyes almost immediately, being too distracted by the glowing stick.

He waved his hand.

A visitor (or two) was about to drop in.

_________________________

Patton furrowed his brows.

Logan wasn’t in his room either.

Were they all together?

Who else could they be with?

Remus?

It was worth a shot.

And so the walk to Remus’s room began.

_________________________

Back in the dragon witch’s claws, a fully healed, very confused Virgil awoke, and Logan felt all of his physical pain disappear, along with the stupid heavy armor.

And then they were thrown through the window of the brick monstrosity,

----------------

As Patton twisted the door handle,

-----------------

As Virgil and Logan crashed through the floor of the tower,

-----------------

As Remus looked up to see the ceiling falling in,

-----------------

As Patton pushed open the door,

-----------------

As the left brain boys fell into the Duke’s room.

Oh boy.

_________________________

Roman looked up from the stick to see ReeRee grinning like a madman (That’s pretty normal), VeeVee and Mama sprawled on the floor (Yay! Why’s the ceiling broken?), and Da- Patton glancing around the room with a plate of brownies in his hands (ohnohonohonohonohonoh).

The petite prince was feeling slightly overwhelmed.

“Wha?”

_________________________

Thanks for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

(And by the way, at the time of the stick distraction, Roman is around five. If you’re confused, don’t be scared to ask.)

Any and all feedback is appreciated!

[evergreenstringbean]

There Was Janus

Pairing: Logince, Past Roceit

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1,239 words

Summary: Roman and Logan get to know each other after working in the same touring production for the last month, when Logan asks how Roman got into acting.

Other Notes:  I never write Logince. I was reminded of this song and got Logince vibes. I highkey wanna make this a series but I got so many other series right now so I'll see how this does.This is based off of the song There Was John from Tootsie (btw Tootsie ain't problematic and I will die on this hill)

AO3

 Logan had been touring with the company for the last month and a half as a stage manager. He’d gotten to know most of his coworkers quite well, content to spend time in each new city exploring between shows and getting lunches with the cast and crew. One particular lead, however, he had waited to get to know better on purpose. See, Logan had developed somewhat of a fleeting crush on Roman over the last month and he had feared that speaking with him would either amplify his feeling or kill them entirely. And honestly, he wasn’t sure which of those possibilities were worse. Having crushes in general were cumbersome to Logan. He preferred the ease of friendships and acquaintances. But something in him wanted to see where it went. After all, although crushes were annoying, he did not enjoy the loneliness he often felt in his hotel room after each show was concluded or the times off when he was able to return to his apartment.

 It was the end of a matinee, and Logan decided after everyone had left that it would be a good idea to rest at the hotel before coming back for the evening show. He was just about to step out through the stage door before a voice called out behind him. “Hey, Logan!” He whipped his head around to see Roman, the brightest smile on his face as he approached him. “You heading back to the hotel?”

 “Uh- yes. I am. May I ask why?”

 Roman pulled his messenger bag over his head. “I’m going that way too. I figured we could hang out, maybe get some lunch? Unless you’re too tired or something.”

 Logan blanked for a moment, the fact that he crush was asking to do something with him short circuiting his brain. Eventually, he was able to answer, although his voice was a bit shaky. “No, that sounds perfect. To be honest, I had almost completely forgotten to get lunch.”

 “…How? You’re literally the one making sure all of us have had a good nutritional meal between shows. Isn’t that a little…uh…” he trailed off, looking for the right word until Logan helped him out.

 “Hypocritical?”

 “Yep! That’s it. You’re really smart.”

 Logan opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Roman laughed and pat his shoulder as he made his way up to the stage door. “Come on, I found this great place yesterday down the street.”

 They ended up getting takeout and walking back to the hotel, and by the time they’d made it to Logan’s room and eaten, the two had warmed up considerably to each other. Logan had told him about how he’d wound up as a stage manager, how he’d worked in a few productions in college and promptly changed majors, and how he lived in his apartment in New York City with two cats who lived with his mother when he was working tours. And Roman listened carefully, seeming to hang on to each word that Logan said. He still looked tired from the show, but he’d grabbed a coffee from the restaurant so that was keeping him alert for the conversation.

 “What about you? How’d you get into acting?” Logan asked him, stealing a glance at his watch to see the two still had about twenty minutes before they needed to start heading back to the theater.

 Roman leaned back on the bed, looking to the other on the other side with a reminiscent smile. “I decided to major in theatre in high school, but by the time I was in my senior year of college, I was starting to have doubts about everything. I didn’t feel like a great actor and everyone else in my classes were better than me. But in our spring production, there was a guy in the audience. Janus.” He paused for a second to shift his body, trying to get more comfortable to get further into the story.

 “He came backstage after the show. His friend was one of the ensemble members and brought him back to meet everyone. We hit it off immediately and he told me he’d connected most with my character because I played it so well…we dated for a year before moving in together. Not too long after I was offered a slot in the regional company. I was so excited to get away from a job I hated. I spent all of my time in rehearsals and performances. Janus came to every show, happy to be there to support me. He never complained. We’d go home and spend a few hours together before I had to get up for rehearsals yet again. It took everything out of me, but I loved it.”

 Logan was listened intently to the story, entranced by the way Roman told his life like it was a book. “I started tours a year or so later. Went on the road for month on end, spent an entire summer on the west coast. Janus tried to call every night, and that was the routine for a while. Until one night, he called me and laid everything out. Told me he wanted kids and a married life. That’s when everything clicked for me. This was my life. I’d made my choice long before, but never told him…and when I got home, can you guess?”

 “…Yeah,” he replied quietly, feeling deeply sorry for what he figure happened next.

 Roman nodded once and continued. “He was gone. All his stuff, his clothes, gone. I was alone in our house and I almost broke down. But thinking back on it, I’d do it all the same.” He grabbed a water bottle and took a long drink to get rid of his dry throat. “He lives in Portland now, with his husband and a kid. But here I am, in yet another tour just how I like it. So, that’s how I got into acting.”

 Logan didn’t know what to say. It was a whirlwind of information, but he had wanted to know more about Roman, and he got it. He just hadn’t expected to know about something this deep. “You’re amazing,” he blurted, mortified by the phrase the second it left his mouth.

 The blare of Roman’s alarm on his phone prevented him from answering. “That’s my ten minute warning. We should start heading to the theater.” Logan just nodded in response and silently followed him out of the room and to the elevator. “So, if you’re not ready to pass out from exhaustion after the show tonight, could I take you out to dinner?” he asked as the elevator doors closed.

 The stage manager froze in place, barely hesitating before quickly responding, “Yes-” the way his voice cracked had him clearing his throat and repeating himself. “Yes. I’d like that.”

 “Great,” Roman said with a grin, jumping out of the elevator when it reached the ground floor. “I’ll make sure not to annoy you during intermission, then.”

 Logan spent the entirety of the show more jittery than he’d ever been, both excited and terrified for the proposed date that got closer and closer with every applause from the audience. But oddly enough, there was that same little voice asking him to hang on to his crush that reminded him everything would be okay.

 And looking back years later, he was so grateful to have listened to that voice.

[randomfandomginger]

Puppeteer

I’ve been working on this fic for long enough I should really talk about it over here lol

Anywho, who ordered a Logince and Moxiety slowburn with extra plot and superpowers? 

Summary: There are a couple of life experiences that you can't get through without bonding with others. Being kidnapped just happens to be one of them. Discovering that you share certain enhanced abilities with your fellow kidnappees- that's another. (Logan would argue that it's hardly kidnapping, he's just helping to forcibly move them to a second location. No, never mind, that's definitely kidnapping.) Why have they all been brought to the same place? To fight crime apparently, and to steal back a little something that might just change their lives as they know them.

Words: 80k, complete! 

Click below for the character’s introductory chapters!

Chapter One- Patton 

Patton had been an optimist his entire life, somehow. To be fair, it had nothing to do with his personal experiences and everything to do with his love for life as a concept. Patton felt that he was lucky just to exist, lucky to have found such loving and accepting parents, lucky to feel so secure and happy as himself, lucky that he could do and see everything he wanted to do and see. Patton felt lucky, nothing else to it.

“Honey I’m home!” he called out jokingly into the open air, using his foot to help open the door to his apartment. In his hands, groceries were piled high, his spoils from his trip to the grocery store.

The store had been out of spinach, so they would have to forego the salads that he and Virgil forced themselves to eat every few meals, just for a semblance of healthiness in their lives.

“Pat? Is that you?” Virgil’s head poked out from around the corner. Patton was so lucky about so many things, and just knowing Virgil was one of them. The two of them had been inseparable since middle school, but the fact that they had both ended up at the same college had nothing to do with luck and everything to do with their shared love for the English language and a certain bond that could only possibly form between two boys who entrusted one another with such unique, such important secrets as they did.

“Who else would it be?” Patton said with a grin, setting the groceries down on the small table that they had set up in the middle of the tiny room. “Is anyone else around here referring to you as ‘honey’?”

“Last time I checked it was just you,” Virgil replied, beginning to help Patton stuff as many of the groceries as he could into their minifridge. “But then again, better safe than sorry.”

“Touche,” Patton replied. “Cutesy nicknames, that’s how they lower your guard…”

Virgil just laughed, a deep rumbling sound that Patton had been hearing for years, yet he never failed to feel a rush of happiness upon hearing it. “Alright, you find some cheesy feel-good movie to put on, I prepare our first round of food?”

“After last week’s disaster? Yes please,” Patton replied, smiling.

Being around Virgil was as comforting for him as it was for Virgil. Virgil’s brain seemed to slow down a bit when Patton was around, and a sense of contentment seemed to surround him. He was familiar, and safe, and Patton had known him so long that he could sometimes predict how he felt about any situation before he actually felt the shift in Virgil’s emotions.

Virgil gave him a grin. “I didn’t know it was physically possible to burn ramen, what with it being immersed in water and all, but you managed.”

“Well, I am a man of many talents,” Patton replied, a bit of an inside joke between them, already squatting down in front of their little box TV and looking through the collection of DVDs below. They’d been collecting since they were both children, but they’d agreed that only the essentials should come alone to them with college. That’s why, after a mere four hours of soft bickering, they’d settled on their twenty favorites to bring along.

“Hmm,” Patton mumbled to himself as he ran through his options. He could hear Virgil bustling around in the kitchen, humming the lyrics to some old song as he worked. “Something cheesy and feel-goodsy…” Patton said, then giggled at the word ‘feel-goodsy’.

He settled on Avengers, for both a comforting and fun storyline and Captain America’s ass, though he’d never admit the second one.

He and Virgil had been watching Avengers for years now, but what could he say? The movie held up. They’d always end up watching it somehow after bad breakups, difficult tests, kids being jerks, anything. It was a comfort movie, and one of the few that Virgil could stomach seeing more than three or four times. Movies like that were to be treasured.

Virgil waltzed back over to their shoddy little hand me down couch and sat down next to Patton, pulling him out of his thoughts, their plates clutched in Virgil’s calloused hands. “Our main course tonight will be none other than those gourmet reheated pizza slices that were apparently still left in the back of our fridge,” he announced with a flourish, handing Patton his plate.

Patton played along, gasping. “The very same gourmet reheated pizza slices that may or may not have been ordered a week ago?” he asked, doing his best but ultimately failing to hide the start of a grin tugging the corners of his lips up.

Virgil nodded gravely. “Those very same slices.” They stared at one another for a moment before they both burst out laughing. “Alright, what movie did you choose?” Virgil asked him mirthfully, and Patton simply nodded at the TV, where Avengers was all cued up and ready to go. “Nice!”

“Well, it is a cinematic marvel!” Patton joked, grinning at Virgil’s soft groan. “How could I not pick it?” He took a large bite of the pizza, chewing at the slightly stringy cheese.

“Terrible pun, Pat,” Virgil said, shaking his head as he shuffled a little bit closer to his shorter friend as he took a bite of his own slice. “ Terrible pun.”

Patton loved these nights on their ratty old sofa, eating cheap food and watching movies that they’d both already seen too many times to count. He knew they both had homework they needed to get done, and the next morning their stomachs would probably hate them, but these nights were to be cherished.

After all, Friday nights were one of the only nights he used to be able to have friends over.

Patton was fifteen, dressed in hand me down pajamas, and sitting in his living room, practically vibrating off the walls.

“Goodness,” his mother chuckled, walking into the room and finding her son staring at the front door anxiously, knee bouncing up and down feverishly. “He’s only five minutes late, Pattycake, I’m sure he’ll be here in a moment. Maybe traffic was just rough.” She was amused, which seemed to be her default setting. Amused and fond.

“I know, I know,” Patton said, bouncing his leg a little bit faster as the corners of his lips twitched. “Sorry Mom, I’m just anxious.”

Patton could feel his mom’s ripple of pride as he said that. He looked up to see his mother trying her best to hide a grin. That always happened these days, even though he’d gotten used to calling her mom almost a year ago. “And I can tell that from all the way over here!” his mother commented. “What makes this Virgil guy so special, hmm Pattycake?”

“He’s a friend,” Patton said, distracted, looking up and meeting his mom’s growing smirk with a groan. “No, Mom, not like that. He’s just a friend, I swear.” He wasn’t just a friend, he was Patton’s closest friend, but he didn’t really think saying that would help his case. It didn’t matter, he didn’t need his mother to know it for it to be true.

“Alright, whatever you say,” his mom said with another smirk. “You two are sleeping in the living room though, you hear me? Not your room.”

The doorbell dinged then, luckily saving Patton from any kind of further embarrassing gossiping. Vaulting to his feet, Patton rushed over to the door, opening it quickly and doing his best to act like his entire face hadn’t been flushed a brilliant red only moments earlier.

Virgil, complete with an overnight bag, stood on his front porch. As Patton took his friend’s image in, Virgil’s anxiety spiked through him like lightning. Virgil was clutching his bag close to his chest, eyes a little bit wide and unsure, knuckles white. Patton frowned. He didn’t really mean to read Virgil, but it wasn’t like he could help it.

“Hey,” Patton said softly to his friend as he took him in, Virgil’s anxiety still coursing underneath his skin like boiling water. He didn’t really need his empathy to figure out that Virgil was tense, but oh well. “You doing okay there, Virge?”

Virgil swallowed, nodding, shoving down whatever he was feeling. Patton resisted a small wince at that. Repression was never good in the long run. “Yeah,” he finally replied, cracking a small grin as he took in Patton in his baby blue pajamas. His mood shifted to a more positive one. “Yeah, better now.”

Patton beamed at that. “Great! Welcome to my home!” he said with a small flourish. “Come on in!”

As Virgil walked through the front door, Patton’s mom came around the corner, still grinning. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Virgil!” she exclaimed happily. “Patton’s told me so much about you.”

“Mom…” Patton grumbled, flushing a little bit, but Virgil just laughed a little bit.

“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am, thank you for letting me stay the night.”

Oh gosh, he’s so polite.

“Please, call me Mrs. Hart,” Patton’s mother said with a small smile.

When his mother left, Virgil began to look around his living room. Patton followed his gaze, a frantic bundle of excited and nervous thoughts. Virgil’s gaze rested for an unnaturally long time on the mantle, and Patton frowned a little bit. Virgil’s house was full of baby pictures. You get through the front door, there are baby pictures on the walls. You go to use the bathroom, bam, more baby pictures hanging above the toilet. Their living room practically looked like a ‘greatest hits’ from Virgil and his older sibling’s lives. Patton had even found baby pictures all over the mug of hot chocolate his mother had handed him. They were everywhere. Virgil was the youngest of four, and Patton didn’t think there had been a moment of silence in that tiny house. He positively loved it.

Patton’s house didn’t have baby pictures. They didn’t even have him when he was a baby. Patton didn’t remember his childhood, as he was a baby at the time, but he did remember the foster care system.

Baby pictures don’t make a family, Patton reminded himself firmly. Sure, it would be nice for him to remember anything from his youth, but he was happy now, under the care of two loving parents that he cared for very deeply. No sense in dwelling on what you couldn’t remember. Besides, he had Virgil here right now, and his top priority was making his friend feel comfortable in this new space.

“Your house is so much cleaner,” was the first thing that Virgil said, after a long moment of silence. He wasn’t exactly wrong, the entire living room looked as though it had been surgically bleached. His parents liked a clean home.

Patton burst into laughter at that. “I promise my room looks more lived in,” he replied. “Plenty of dirty clothing on the floor.”

Sometimes, Patton hated feeling other people’s emotions. Sometimes it was a rush of hatred and disgust and all kinds of horrifying darkness that made Patton feel dirty just for feeling it secondhand. Sometimes it was sadness so crippling that Patton’s own knees felt weak, that he could feel himself tearing up. Sometimes, it was fear so paralyzing that he felt his joints lock up and his own breathing get shaky.

Tonight, it was joy and excitement and a tinge of adrenaline that usually accompanied exploration. Tonight, Patton had never been less bothered by his empathic skill.

As they watched the movie, Patton could feel his mind beginning to wander. This was in no way the fault of Avengers, he’d simply seen it more times than he could count. Besides, now his brain was full of thoughts regarding his special skills.

The empathy was bad enough, forcing him to pry into people’s heads when he didn’t want to know, but his second skill was even worse, even more intrusive. Patton knew secrets, or more accurately, one secret per person. Sometimes he knew their worst fear, sometimes he knew their greatest hope. On very rare occasions the two were the same.

For instance, when he first met him, Virgil’s greatest fear was someone discovering that he was different. It had changed since that day, but Patton had known and always would know with nothing more than a simple cursory glance exactly what it was. There were no words floating in circles around Virgil’s head, there was no psychic link moment where everything became clear to him, he just looked at him, and he knew. He didn’t have any better way to explain it.

Patton hated it. His mom’s greatest fear was cancer, and his dad’s greatest hope was to give his wife and son the best lives that they could possibly have. Most people’s were generic like that, but more often than he’d like to admit Patton would stumble across something that he’d rather not know.

He’d outed his first foster father at age eight, asking his mom what a homosexual was, and why his new daddy was so worried about her finding out. He’d informed his second foster father bitterly at age twelve that his wife was having an affair, one that she feared he’d discover. It wasn’t until he was thirteen and finally settled in with his mom and dad that he was able to relax.

Patton was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that when the doorbell rang, he jumped about a foot in the air, jostling the table.

“Oh crap!” he cried out in distress, watching as Virgil’s glass teetered, before beginning to fall to the floor, almost as if in slow motion.

Quick as a blink, Virgil’s hand shot out, easily snatching the glass before it hit the floor. He’d barely even looked up from his phone.

“Nice catch,” Patton said with a grin. “Show off.”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at him. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Two, to be exact. They both had two. It had taken Virgil a long time to use his around Patton, but his enhanced reflexes came in handy around the house, as Patton tended to bump into anything and everything that could be broken. Virgil had probably saved about ninety percent of their dishes by this point. Super fast reflexes don’t sound very much like a superpower until you bump the dining room table over and not a single dish ends up broken.  

“I’ll go see who it is,” Patton said cheerfully, patting Virgil’s silky purple locks as he passed him by, smoothing out his shirt in an attempt to make himself marginally more presentable before pulling open their heavy oak door.

“Hello!” Patton said cheerfully, his smile dipping momentarily as he took in the scene before him.

A young boy, maybe about his and Virgil’s age, stood in front of them. He had dark hair, so dark it was almost black, and navy blue spectacles on his face. He was dressed in all black, almost formal. He was expressionless, but a wave of guilt hit Patton like a brick. He began to feel uneasy.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Patton tried again, eyes flicking behind the boy to see the two men standing there, staring straight ahead. They almost looked like soldiers.

“I suppose,” the boy spoke, and Patton turned his attention back to him. He appeared to be sizing Patton up, an action which was not appreciated. “Are you Patton Hart or Virgil Sinclair?”

“That would be me,” Patton said carefully, “What can I do to help you good folks?”

The boy in front of him opened his mouth again, when he heard from down the hall, “Pat? Everything good out there?” Virgil was nervous, he could tell from his voice.

“Ah good, that answers my next question,” Logan said with a nod, now rummaging around in his back pocket for something. “Well, Patton, I would tell you that I am incredibly sorry about this, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t find myself bothered by this. After all, it is necessary.”

Patton was taking a step back, already trying to close the door, but the man closest to him grabbed it before he could. “Virgil!” Patton shrieked as they pushed past him into the house, and then he felt a sharp prick in the side of his neck.

Looking back at the young boy, Patton swayed for a moment, suddenly feeling heavy. Blinking drearily, he squinted in an attempt to focus. What was he supposed to be doing? Gosh, he sure felt worn out. Wouldn’t it be nice if he could just take a little nap? As Patton’s eyes sagged closed, he could hear Virgil doing something, most likely fighting the other men, but he couldn’t keep his focus on much of anything for too long.

Family, he thought as he drifted off, staring up into the other boy’s bright blue eyes, his biggest hope is for a family.

And then his eyelids slipped shut, and he could feel his head thunk against their floorboards.

Patton didn’t dream while he slept. It was just dark. He couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t hear anything, but he knew he was asleep. That in itself was peculiar. Patton was a lucid dreamer, and usually his entire night was filled with fantastical adventures and unusual shenanigans.

He awoke in a strange bed, in the middle of a strange room. His eyes snapped open, another unusual occurrence for him, seeing as Patton usually took ages to muster up the courage to open his eyes after a full night’s rest.

The room was dimly lit, and he sat up, rubbing his neck slightly as he took in his surroundings. To his left was a table, a couple of books stacked underneath. In the right corner sat a potted plant with a light blue vase. In the chair next to the potted plant sat the same boy from the night before, staring intently at him.

Patton jolted as he noticed him.

“Oh, good,” the boy said with what looked like an attempt at a friendly smile. “You’re awake. We may begin. My name is Logan.”

Patton sat there, his mind racing. Should I say something? Will that make it worse? Where am I? Who is Logan? How long was I asleep? What am I doing here? Why did he take me?

Where’s Virgil?

Chapter 2- Janus

Janus couldn’t believe his luck. Honestly.

Walking throughout the crowded city street on swift feet, he eyed up the stores to his left and right respectively. The crowd rushed around him like a babbling brook, and just as loud. Vendors were out on the congested streets, doing their best to entice the public under their brightly colored coverings. Children were laughing, birds were chirping, and the organized chaos around him made conditions perfect for what he wanted to do.

Janus ducked out of the street, standing off near the opening to a sweets store, observing the festival from a bit more of a difference. The shadows obscured his already covered face further, and Janus tugged impatiently at the strings on his hoodie, squinting his honey and hazel eyes squinting at the people wandering through the festival. “Come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath.

A little ways away from him, a tan man with long black hair laughed loudly, running his fingers through his thick hair before interlacing them with his girlfriend’s once more. Perfect.

Janus concentrated. Usually, when he shifted, he preferred to close his eyes, but the most important part of this whole thing was that he stayed constantly on his toes, so he begrudgingly kept them open.

Janus could feel his entire body begin to tingle as the shift took over. That was probably his least favorite part of all of it. He could feel his chin bulging slightly, as well as his nose growing. His build became stockier, and his eyes, so captivating before, turned to a dulled brown. Likewise, his hair darkened as well, the already dyed blonde coloring fading from the roots outward. In a matter of moments, he was a completely different person.

Janus put down his hoodie, stepping a bit further out of the shadow of the archway and smiling a smile that wasn’t quite his. “Alright, let’s get this started,” he said, his voice deeper than it had been only moments earlier. Good, that was all in order then too. The mimicry was always easier than the conscious effort shifting took him, so long as he heard their voice first.

As he walked, opposite the direction from the man he’d just impersonated, he kicked at the sidewalk casually, forcing his toes to the end of his boot. Did I lose a couple of inches? He wondered, amused. He was pretty short already.

Whatever. He ducked into a nearby store, one that sold crappy old antiques for overinflated prices, resisting the urge to crack his knuckles as he did so. That would have been horribly stereotypical. Giving the shopkeeper another one of someone else’s signature smiles, Janus set to work, eyes flicking from shelf to shelf, noting the unsurprising lack of customers that made his job much simpler than he needed it to be.

As Janus left the same store only minutes later, an extra pep in his step and his pockets full of useless knick knacks, he blended back into the crowd easily, letting the flow carry him through the streets.

Nabbing a spare pastry from a visiting vendor and dropping some change on the counter, he continued through the crowded streets, allowing his face to slowly bleed back into the one that he’d been assigned at birth. This time, changing back was almost like shrugging off a heavy coat, one that fit him just a little too strangely to feel completely comfortable in.

That was the oddest part about it, in his opinion. Everyone was a slightly different experience. Some people fit like skin tight leather, others gave him a strange, almost bloated feeling while he was trying their likeness on. Still others left a tangy taste in his mouth, and on very, very rare occasions, people just felt right. A person’s outward appearance wasn’t the determining factor, to the best of his knowledge, as Janus had tried and failed to find one characteristic or pattern that would differentiate exactly how it felt to become that person.

It was a beautiful, bright summer day, and the heat of the sun beat down on Janus’ back while he wandered, taking another bite of his chocolate pastry. The sweet was positively exquisite, and he smiled. The summer festival was his favorite time of year, not only for the ease with which he was suddenly able to pickpocket, but also for the out of state company and the vendors from all over that lined the streets constantly, jousting one another for position, each tarp cover more flamboyant and eye catching than the last.

There were a couple of little kids playing in the street nearby, shrieking and giggling. Their mothers were pleasantly conversing a small ways away, most likely also keeping an eye on their respective children. Janus watched them from the corner of his eye, running his slender fingers through his hair. They were caught up in their own little world, unaware of the strife and conflict that surrounded them at all times.

He frowned. Ah well, they would learn soon enough. He certainly had.

As he moved on, his phone buzzed. Digging it out of his back pocket and checking it absentmindedly, he noted the time.

Grandma: When will you be home, garter snake?

Smirking at the pet name (though he’d never admit it), he shot back a ‘soon’ to his grandmother before repocketing his phone. He’d technically gone out today to see the festival and he wanted to stay just a little bit longer. After all, it really did only happen once a year.

It was at that moment that Janus heard the crying. Honestly, it was a miracle that he could even pick it out in the first place, what with how quiet it was. Luckily, several years of living on edge and learning to make money where there was none had prepared Janus for hearing noises others didn’t deem quite so important.

“Mom? Mommy!”

Janus glanced around hurriedly, heart race picking up as the small voice became clearer. The kid was getting closer to him.

It only took him a moment more to spot her, wearing a slightly scruffy white dress and blue boots, her straw colored hair pulled back in two braids. There were tear tracks on her cheeks, and she stood off to the side of the crowd, calling out to the foot traffic desperately, like she wanted to weave and search her way through the crowd but was unable to. She clutched the side of one of the nearby vendor’s tarps in her right hand and a tiny stuffed bear in her left. Crap.

Quickly, he ducked out of the flow, approaching the girl with his best ‘I’m not intimidating’ smile. The girl, for what it’s worth, evaluated him through calculating eyes. This would be very good, if not for the small sniffles she let out every couple of seconds, and the tears budding in the corners of her little chocolate colored eyes. Why is no one helping her? he thought, an irrational surge of anger coursing through him.

“Hey there kiddo,” Janus said, the words sounding a bit strange in his mouth, but pressing on nonetheless. “You doing okay there? You look a little lost.”

The girl nodded hopefully, though he couldn’t tell which question she was nodding in response to. She kept the distance Janus had established by stopping a few feet away from her, clutching the tent behind her a little tighter. “I’m looking for my mommy,” she explained, before sizing him up again and stating decisively, “You’re not my mommy.”

Janus had to push down a bubble of laughter at that, watching a small grin cross the girl’s face. “Well, you’re definitely correct there,” he admitted, shrugging in a ‘what are you gonna do’ kind of way. “But I can help you find her if you want,” he offered.

“Mommy told me if I ever get lost to go to the nearest place I recognize and wait there for her, but she hasn’t come to get me yet and I’m scared,” she told him. Janus didn’t miss the way her voice broke on the last syllable, or the tears now threatening to spill over the corners of her eyes and down her rosy cheeks.

Oh shit oh crap, don’t let the child cry, he thought, and before he knew what he was doing, Janus had dug through his pocket and pulled out one of his knick knacks, a little silver chain with an aqua stone hanging from it. It was one of the simpler things he’d nabbed, most likely not even very old at all. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the store had taken it and distressed it themselves in an attempt to pass the necklace off as an antique.

The little girl’s eyes widened as he offered the necklace to her, taking a step forward and reaching out with both of her little freckled hands to examine it.

“Here you go,” Janus said dumbly, because he wasn’t really sure what exactly to tell the small girl, but he wanted her to know the necklace was hers to keep, and she seemed pretty entranced by it already, but it couldn’t hurt to clarify.

“It’s so pretty,” the little girl said, touching the dangling stone carefully. A child who’d been taught how to handle breakable things, even better, Janus thought, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Okay kiddo, if I’m going to help you, I’m going to need to know your name, okay?” he told her, and she nodded up at him.

“That sounds reasonable,” she said softly, sounding out every syllable in the word reasonable. “My name is Jessica, but my friends all call me Jessie.”

Janus continued to smile at her, hoping it was still coming off as reassuring. “That’s a very pretty name, Jessica,” he said, watching her attempt to fasten the necklace around her neck. “My name is Janus, and my friends call me Janus. Would you like some help with your necklace?”

She giggled a little bit and nodded again, eager. “Thank you Mr Janus!”

He couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he knelt down to help her, Jessica turning around and raising her hair out of the way, even though it was in braids. Diligently, he refastened the little silver clasp around her neck, suddenly thankful for his long nails.

“Alright Jessica, now let’s get you back to your mother!” he announced in his best chipper tone, and the little girl flashed him a grin brighter than the sun.

I should probably find an officer, or maybe someone in charge of security, he thought, and even though his blood went a little cold at the thought of willingly walking up to anyone dealing with law enforcement, he shot another glance over at the little girl, and he steeled his nerves, doing his best to push down the anxious fluttering in his stomach.

“Okay Mr Janus,”Jessica responded, prim and proper and polite as she used her palm to wipe the last of her tears off of her face. Then, a little shyer; “Can I hold your hand?”

He looked down at her, and the words “Of course,” were spilling out of his mouth before he could even stop them.

Just as shyly, he felt a tiny hand slip into his, and Jessica gave him another of her little smiles. “Okay, all ready now,” she announced, and Janus grinned at her.

And the two of them were off, Janus weaving through the crowd easily, used to navigating large groups of people. Every so often, he would glance behind him to reassure himself that Jessica was still there, despite the weight of her tiny hand in his own.

As they neared the police tent, stationed near the barricades closing off the road at the ‘start’ of the festival, Janus could feel his stomach trying to crawl out of his throat. There were a few officers standing around under the cover of their tent, and one very desperate looking woman speaking with them hurriedly. As Janus approached, he could hear the conversation a little bit clearer.

“Please, sir, I need to find my daughter,” the woman pleaded. “I don’t even know what happened, one moment she was holding my hand and the next she was gone, please!” She sounded close to hysterics, clutching the deep red purse around her arm tightly.

“Ma’am-” the police officer said in a slightly exasperated tone, but it was at that very moment that Jessica cried out “Mommy!” and let go of Janus’ hand, running past him on her short little legs and straight into the arms of the anxious woman.

“Jessica!” the woman responded, picking up her daughter and squeezing her. “Oh my gosh, Jessica, what happened to you? Why did you let go of my hand? Are you safe? Are you okay?” The woman’s questions got louder and more concerned the longer she looked her daughter over, patting her down for injuries and then hugging her again, just as tightly as the first time.

“Mommy, it’s okay,” the little girl said, in that same placid tone that all children somehow managed to channel through them when they really truly believed that nothing was wrong. “Mr Janus helped me.”

“Who is Mr Janus, honey?” Jessica’s mother asked, biting her lip nervously and giving her daughter another once over.

“He’s right over there!” Jessica pointed back to where he was awkwardly standing a few feet away, feeling a little bit like he was infringing on a personal moment. “He gave me a pretty necklace and helped me find you.” Janus gave her an awkward wave, unsure of what exactly to do.

As Jessica’s mother looked him over, Janus squirmed under the scrutiny. Jessica clearly took after her mother, sharing her straight blonde hair and button nose, though her mother’s eyes were blue, and Jessica’s were brown.

“Hi,” he tried, unsure of the proper protocol for dealing with returning a lost child.

Jessica’s mother’s grip tightened on her child for a moment, and then she smiled genuinely at him, and oh, that was Jessica’s smile too, and tears were welling up in her mother’s eyes as she said her next words. “Thank you so much for bringing my little girl back to me.”

Janus felt a rush of emotions, most of them positive, some of them bittersweet, still others a little bit confused and unsure. “Yeah, it was no biggie,” he managed to make out, giving her a smile and a head tilt. “I just did the respectable thing.”

Jessica’s mother gave him another smile, and said in the most genuine, sincere voice she could manage, “Well, if the world were full of people like you, we’d be all the better for it.”

Janus had to resist the urge to laugh outright at that, though the corners of his lips did twitch up. Hopefully, he could pass that off as a bashful smile. Oh lady, you have no idea. “It was my pleasure,” he responded smoothly, smiling down at Jessica and waving. “It was nice to meet you Jessica.”

“Bye Mr Janus! Thank you for helping me find my mother!” Jessica said with another one of her big grins, and surged forward to wrap him in one more big hug before she let him go.

“Bye Jessica,” he echoed, even as he turned away, smiling a little bit, knick knacks weighing heavily in his pockets.

The walk home was a slow one, one that he knew well. He’d been walking these bleak streets for years now, practically since he was old enough to stand on his own two feet. They were as familiar to him as anything could be, the result of time and effort spent exploring their back alleys and lanes.

Now that the festival was behind him, the cheery feeling had faded, the colors desaturated. Even the air seemed different, slightly stuffier. He knew that was ridiculous, he knew the air quality couldn’t deteriorate that quickly, but it seemed to choke him, worming its way down his throat and making itself at home in his lungs. It always had.

A dog barked from a nearby house as he passed by, and Janus crossed the street. There was no one out on these roads, but that wasn’t uncommon. He wouldn’t have been very surprised if a tumbleweed bounced past him one of these days on his walk home. It was just horribly stereotypical enough to be funny.

His grandmother’s house was a little brick house on the end of the block. She’d lived there as long as he’d known her, which was pretty much his entire life. Then again, he’d lived with her for most of that life. He didn’t really remember his parents, but that was okay in his book. Anyone who deserted their three year old child wasn’t anyone he ever wanted to meet, much less be related to.

Besides, his grandmother had been a more than capable caretaker. No one had showed up at more random childhood talent shows and concerts than she did, and she baked cookies wherever Janus did anything even minorly noteworthy, to show him just how proud she was of him. They’d replanted practically the entire garden behind the house together when he was little, and it was yearly tradition by now for the two of them to go out on the first acceptably temperate day during the spring and do their first round of weeding together.

Janus was walking up to the front step, already fumbling for his key when he stopped. The door was already open, slightly ajar. His eyes narrowed.

He could hear deep voices coming from inside, faint, but definitely there. Not his grandmother.

Without a second thought, he shifted, struggling a bit to pull his coat from this morning back on. Crap. Were the man’s eyes blue or brown? Was the small scar on his right hand or his left? Did his chin have a cleft in it or not? He didn’t remember, and that could be dangerous.

His coat was full of holes, little ones, but holes nonetheless. It was like he’d left it in the back of his closet, only pulling it back out to wear again once the moths had had their way with it. Was his nose really that big too? That certainly didn’t feel right. Clearing his throat and letting his voice deepen and shift into the man’s honeyed rumble, he slipped his jacket off and left it on the rocking chair to the left of the door. The voice was always easier.

“Mrs Devon?” he called out as he pushed the door the rest of the way open. The voices inside quieted immediately, and Janus put on his best mildly concerned but mostly confused look. His teeth were just a little too white to be real. Something told him that he wasn’t nailing this.

“Janus? Sweetie is that you?” his grandmother called out. She sounded nervous, never a good sign.

“No, it’s, ah, Mark.” Janus winced. He hadn’t had time to come up with a name, a story, anything. “From nextdoor?” he tried.

“Ah, Mark, come on in!” his grandmother called out, and Janus had to resist smirking. She was a better actor than he’d ever be.

As he walked through his hallway and into the kitchen, he found his grandmother sitting at the kitchen table with her hands crossed in front of her. Her lips were pursed and her expression was mildly frazzled. All around her, making themselves at home in her kitchen, were several different middle aged men. Sitting on the counter and sipping from a juice box was a boy that looked about his usual age, kicking his feet a little bit.

Staring at the scene in front on him, Janus all but tilted his head to the side questioningly. “It appears that I am not acquainted with your guests, Mrs Devon. Are they new in town?”

Before his grandmother could reply, the boy with the juice box spoke. His tone was icy. “Simply passing through.”

“Yes, I do believe they’re looking for my grandson,” his grandmother said, meeting his eyes. Janus could feel his blood run cold. Surely this isn’t for petty theft, he thought.

“What did he do this time?” he tried to joke, but it fell flat.

“Not a gosh darn thing,” his grandmother replied. “Mark dear, you will let me know if you see him, won’t you? He’s been out all day and I’m ever so worried about him.”

“O-of course.” His throat felt dry.

“We were informed that he would return at around this time,” the boy said, eyes narrowing behind his thick glasses lenses. He brushed some of his black hair out of his face as he evaluated Janus.

That seemed to be happening a lot today.

“Well, I certainly haven’t seen him,” Janus responded, you know, like someone who certainly had seen him.

“Of course you haven’t,” the boy repeated again, in that same cool tone that made Janus feel like his skin was crawling. “Because if you had seen him, then you would certainly tell us. After all, you have nothing to hide, and as a fine, upstanding citizen you certainly want to make sure that the law is being upheld.”

“That goes without saying,” Janus replied. Seriously, don’t say it. Stop talking to me. Please.

The boy sighed heavily. “This is a real shame, Mr Devon, I’d hoped you would cooperate with us…”

“I’m sorry?” Janus replied, feeling dread begin to pool in the bottom of his stomach.

“Yes,” the boy said with a nod. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

There was a small prick in Janus’ neck, and he gasped, stumbling away from the man behind him, eyesight already going a bit fuzzy. Somewhere to his left, his grandmother let out an indignant cry. Shit. “What- what did you do to me?” he gasped out, blinking heavily even as the man retreated back next to the boy with the brilliant blue eyes. “Shit,” he gasped out, and then his vision went black.

Chapter 3- Roman

It was just like his brother to have done something incredibly stupid the last week of their senior year and then claim he was “too tired” to get anything else done for the rest of summer. Roman let out a small huff as he walked back from their kitchen, balancing two plastic cups in one hand, and a bowl of chips in the other.

Remus had set off fireworks indoors. Not a couple of fireworks either, he’d gone out with some friends a couple of nights before and bought as much as six months of a minimum wage paying job would buy in fireworks, which was more than you’d expect. Roman had been saving his own money for college, despite his scholarship, but Remus just went out on impulse and purchased more fireworks than could fit in the back of his truck quicker than you could say “bad idea”.

Talk about going out with a bang.

Besides, Remus wanted to be a ceramist, he’d already gotten everything set up and ready to go on that front. Best to start the whole ‘starving artist’ thing as early as possible, right? At least, that was his go to joke whenever it was brought up.

“Anything good on TV?” Roman asked him, setting the cups and chips down on the table.

Remus was flicking through the channels absentmindedly. “Nah,” he muttered.

“Move your legs,” Roman told him, nudging one of the offending limbs. Remus insisted on wearing booty shorts throughout the entirety of ‘shorts season,’ no matter how cold out it actually was. Between the AC and the time of day, Roman didn’t know how his brother’s legs hadn’t frozen solid already. Remus had always run warm though.

“Mmh, no,” Remus replied, reaching out and popping a chip into his mouth.

“Don’t make me sit on you,” Roman warned him. “I’ll do it too.”

“Whatever.”

“You asked for it.”

Roman sat down on Remus’ kneecaps, but instead of the usual cursing and writhing that would result from such an action shared by siblings, Roman could only feel Remus’ knees give a little bit, and then they went completely flat and rubbery.

“Oh, gross!” Roman leapt off of him at once, brushing down his butt like he’d sat in lava. “You know that I simply despise it when you do that!”

Remus let out a little snicker. “Do what?” he asked him, smirking.

“You get all… rubbery. I don’t know how to explain it! Just… ew.” Roman made a face.

“I know, right?” Remus grinned at him. “I’m like a gutted fish, ready to be cooked! Where do my bones go? Who knows…”

“Don’t make it any weirder than you already have,” Roman said, exasperated, like they hadn’t had this conversation over and over again in the past. “Come on dude, please, just move your legs.”

“Oh! Well why didn’t you just say so, brother dearest?” Remus said, batting his eyelashes comically at Roman and sliding his legs gracefully to the floor, where they fell with a slight jiggling motion, kind of like jello. Roman resisted the urge to make another face, he knew it just egged his brother on.

Sitting down, Roman popped a chip into his own mouth, chewing slowly and savoring the flavor. Twelve years of schooling, done and dealt with. He couldn’t believe it. They’d done so much and spent so much time in that old brick building that it felt almost wrong to leave it. He had no more constants in his life, no more getting up early every week day for school, no more Friday math tests, no more lunch block to be spent with the theatre kids. He had lost all his constants.

Well, all but one.

Remus was his one true constant. They were going to the same college, despite all of the differences between them. Roman’s football scholarship was offered by a place with an excellent theatre program, and Remus had chosen the same school based on their stellar arts program alone. Remus was the antithesis to his thesis, the yin to his yang. Even Remus’ powers seemed to be in direct contradiction to his. Roman had expected them to be exactly the same, since they were twins, but his brother and he couldn’t be more different when it came to their strange, almost otherworldly skill sets. They’d had two apiece their entire lives, the powers of unknown origins that they only used when it was them and their parents around.

Roman had always had thick skin and an even thicker skull, in every sense of the words. He couldn’t remember a time when any knife, nail, or needle had ever pierced his skin. He led a surprisingly bruise and scrape free childhood, but it wasn’t until he’d accidentally caught his finger in a stapler and pressed down and the stapler had bent that he realized he couldn’t break his epidermis. He’d come to his mother and father crying, they’d thought he was finally hurt, but when he showed them the bent stapler and his pristine almond skin, they’d simply exchanged a look that he couldn’t quite figure out.

Remus’ skin was weird too, but not in the same way as Roman’s. Where Roman’s skin was rigid and unmoving, Remus’ was practically too easy to bruise. He’d spent most of his childhood covered in bandages and gauze pads, but he’d never broken a bone. This probably stemmed from the fact that Remus was like a rubber band. He could have been a contortionist, though Roman hadn’t ever seen a contortionist that could squeeze themselves completely flat and slide under his door to wake him up at three am on their birthday. Remus had limits, sure, and he seemed to keep the same body mass no matter what, but it was like his bones were gone sometimes, weird to look at and even weirder to feel.

It was Remus’ second skill that really made him the one with the more interesting skill set, in Roman’s opinion at least. It was the one thing that actually made him a match for Roman’s super strength, and made sibling squabbles a little bit more “fair.” He didn’t use it often, and Roman hadn’t ever really been able to put a finger on what he should call it.

They were seven or eight at the time, sitting on the floor of their living room, propped up in front of the TV. Colorful cartoons flashed on the tiny screen, but neither brother was actually paying much attention at all to them. Their focus lay on the toys on the rug in front of them, trucks and cars and dolls and little tiny building blocks.

“Boys, do you want lemonade?” their mother called from the kitchen, before returning to her usual humming.

“Yes please!” Roman called back to her politely, before returning to his very serious battle with Remus. So far it looked like he was winning, but he never knew when Remus would try and cheat to get the upper hand, so he had to stay vigilant. His father had taught him that word last week, and Roman had been thrilled to know that it had so many practical applications.

“Alright, Monsieur Poopybutt will now lead his forces in an attack!” Remus cried out, holding up his own doll, a barbie with a sharpie mustache scribbled across its small upper lip. He placed the doll very delicately in his biggest monster truck, colored the green and brown of camouflage.

As Remus mimed driving the car closer to Roman’s lego castle, he let out a hearty laugh. “You fool! You’ve fallen for my plan, hook, line, and stinker!”

Remus chuckled. “It’s hook line and sinker, doofus!”

“Whatever! Point is, I have you now!” Roman grabbed another of the dolls, one he’d been saving for the special moment that Remus tried to attack him head on, like he always did. “This is Princess Elizabeth!” he announced, brandishing the doll close to Remus’ face so that he could see her closer. “She wears a sparkly dress!”

“I know Princess Elizabeth,” Remus replied, unimpressed. “You use her every time we play. She knows how to use swords and whatever. She’s not that cool.”

Roman gasped theatrically. “How dare you besmirch the good name of Princess Elizabeth?” he cried, dramatically throwing one arm over his forehead, the other still clutching his doll tightly.

“Meh.”

“Well, dear brother, there’s something you do not know!” Roman cried out, grinning the gap tooth smile of a delighted child. “Princess Elizabeth has learned a new skill since our last battle!”

“Oh?” Remus asked him curiously, tilting his head and flashing his own identical gap tooth smile. “What is it?”

“Princess Elizabeth has learned how to use magic,” Roman whispered, eyes sparkling as he leaned in for dramatic effect. It had taken him days to fully flesh out her backstory, limitations, and powers. Originally, he’d wanted to make her like himself, but in the end he’d fallen back on the classic elemental control.

Remus let out a raspberry. “Well that’s good for me, since Monsieur Poopybutt is immune to magic,” he said with a shrug, knocking Roman’s doll out of the way and continuing his siege on Roman’s now unprotected castle.

“Wait, you can’t just do that!” Roman cried out, scrambling to grab Princess Elizabeth. “You made that up just now, you can’t change the rules!”

“So what if I did?” Remus asked him, grinning. He was already in the process of destroying Roman’s castle, ramming the truck containing his own doll into the side of the structure again and again. “Monsieur Poopybutt can do whatever he wants! He’s immune to magic because I say so, and he’s killed Princess Elizabeth, so I’m free to attack your castle! Besides, you can’t learn how to use magic that quickly, that’s unreasonable. Learning magic takes time!”

“Princess Elizabeth is not dead!” Roman protested, holding her aloft. “See, she’s right here! She’s fine! You didn’t do anything to her!” He paused. “And you can too learn magic that quickly! Princess Elizabeth is a fast learner!”

Remus just looked over at him, before grabbing the doll out of his hand and chucking her across the room.

“Hey!”

“You started it! There, she’s dead, I killed her! Don’t make me pop off her head too!” Remus retaliated. “She’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Roman let out a shriek, throwing himself at his brother and knocking him away from the castle, sending him staggering to right himself.

“What was that for?”

“You can’t just kill Princess Elizabeth! She’s my doll, not yours!”

They were both on their feet now, glaring at one another, the toys discarded. “I can and I will!” Remus replied haughtily.

“I hate you!” he yelled at his brother.

“And what are you gonna do about it, huh? Punch me?” Remus’ voice was deeper now, a low growl in the back of his throat that no ten year old should be able to use.

Roman shoved him. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, he knew that Mom had told him never to physically lay his hands on anyone unless it really couldn’t be helped, because they weren’t as strong as he was, but he couldn’t help it. Remus had been a pain in the butt all day, and this was just the last straw. Besides, he’d killed Princess Elizabeth and that was simply unacceptable. She was too important to just be killed off like that. So he pushed his brother with all the strength he could muster, stumbling into him and knocking him over.

Immediately, it was like his arm had gone dead. Pins and needles traveled throughout his entire body, and Roman felt drained for a second. Stumbling further, he fell on top of his brother. Immediately, Remus went pliant beneath him, probably ready to ooze away from him like he usually did. “Ow, get off me!” Remus cried out.

Roman felt like his body had been filled with lead, the pins and needles feeling retreating and leaving him utterly drained. He was oblivious to Remus’ whining as he tried to figure out exactly what he just felt. That had never happened before, not even when he hit things as hard as he possibly could.

“I said, get off of me!” Remus cried one last time, and then he shoved up at Roman.

Roman stumbled back and off of his brother, feeling a little bit like he’d bounced off of a wall. Crying out on his own, he felt his back connect with the floor as the air was knocked out of him.

A moment passed, and then Roman became acutely aware of his brother staring at him with wide eyes, their quarrel forgotten. His brother had shoved him away with a strength that only Roman could have possessed.

It had happened in the span of a couple moments, only seconds. Maybe he’d imagined it. Roman rubbed his elbow on reflex, even if it didn’t really hurt. He had never felt more powerless.

The best way he could think to explain it was energy redirection. However hard you hit Remus, he could hit back just as hard. He assumed. It’s not like they took a lot of time testing it out. As long as Remus could weather the hit, he would be fine. That was a lot cooler than his super strength, the only thing he got out of that was an advantage in football.

I wonder if Remus would be able to redirect energy from a moving car? he wondered to himself before banishing the thought from his mind. Remus would absolutely be up for being hit by a moving car for an experiment, and if he even heard about the idea he wouldn’t be able to get the idea out of his head. If he didn’t end up asking Roman to do it, he’d find someone else to hit him with a car. Roman wasn’t sure which of those options he felt more comfortable with. Probably neither.

Right now, they were both just having a lazy night in, gorging themselves on food while their parents were still paying to keep it stocked in the house and heckling at reruns on TV. It was peaceful and familiar, and Roman was glad for that. With so much changing so soon, he was a little nervous for what the future held.

Their mom brought their dinner out to the couch about halfway through wherever stupid TV show they’d put on for background noise, and after a profuse thanks from the twins, who hadn’t expected any other food to be provided, she retreated back to her study to work.

They dug into their calzones while they watched, the ceramic plates cold in their laps even with the steaming food atop them. College was stressful to think about, college was going to be expensive, and college was nowhere on their radar tonight, luckily.

The Princes had a rather nice house, upper class if you will. It was no mansion, but they had several floors and more than enough bedrooms for everyone. They were quite comfortable, and one of the features of their big house was their lovely doorbell, which had been rewired sometime when Roman and Remus were children to ring with a pleasant chime whenever anyone pressed the button. That being said, the sudden loud knocking at the door was a jolt to both of the twin’s systems, unexpected and louder than was strictly necessary.

Roman felt his grip on his fork tighten a little bit too much in his surprise and he looked down sheepishly. “I bent another one,” he told Remus.

His brother just rolled his eyes. “You’re a dork. Try to bend it back into shape while I go greet our guests.” He slid off of the couch and, with a shimmy, waltzed over to their intricate front door, opening it with a flourish.

Roman listened from the couch. His brother had an interesting way of greeting guests that tended to persuade them to leave quickly if they were unwanted, and his methods were fun to listen to. He just didn’t have a clue who would be knocking at- he checked the time- ten thirty at night.

He could hear Remus wolf whistle from the doorway, low and long. Roman frowned. He’d have to talk to Remus about doing that in the future, that was quite inappropriate. Then again, if he told him that, it might just make him do it more.

“Damn, where’d you fall from, angel?” Remus said, presumably addressing whoever had the misfortune to be on their doorstep.

The response was quiet, and Roman had to strain to hear it from the spot on the couch. “I have not fallen, in fact, I’m here on business. I’m looking for Roman and Remus Prince.”

“I sure hope you are, pretty boy.” Roman could almost feel Remus’ smirk, could almost envision his brother biting his lip in that way he did that made you feel weird making eye contact with him ever again. “Hey Ro,” he called over his shoulder. “Look who’s here to see us!”

Roman poked his head over top of the couch just as the boy at the door sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is definitely them. Just…” he waved his hand vaguely at the men behind him. “You know the drill.”

It took Roman about three seconds too long to understand exactly what he meant by that. One second Remus was standing there, grinning at him with his hands on his hips, the next his brother had been stabbed in the arm by the man closest to him, crumpling to the floor mere moments later. The man leaned down and picked him up like a sack of potatoes, beginning to walk out the door.

Panic rippled through Roman’s system as Remus left his field of view, and he threw himself at the blue eyed boy, unsure of quite what he was supposed to do but knowing that when he got there he’d figure out exactly what he was doing. He had to get Remus back.

Unsurprisingly, the boy dodged, stepping neatly out of Roman’s way and back a little further onto their porch. Thrown for a bit of a loop, Roman stumbled, twirling around to try and find the man that had grabbed Remus, single minded and focused on that and that alone, and-

-he felt a sharp prick in the side of his neck.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered, feeling a haze settle over him, stumbling a bit further as his vision began to go dark.

Edit: Here’s the Ao3 link! 

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 8

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 8)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman and Logan reconnect. Remus and Virgil find some common ground. There are too many secrets--but the royals finally expose a big one to the Crofter brothers: the one that ultimately led to Logan's imprisonment and the destruction of their family.

Meanwhile, Janus is looking for some information from his treasure trove--and Patton is more than happy to provide it to him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: I’m nervous about this one, ‘cause it sucks? But I also don’t care cause there are cuddles for my fave ships and I do what I want.

I am, however, SO SORRY FOR THIS TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGER, but the next chapter will come out much sooner. Promise. XD

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1033, A.A.

Logan asked Virgil to leave. With murder in his eyes, Virgil acquiesced.

And when the door clicked shut...they were alone.

For long moments, the silence was deafening. They sat there, staring at each other—Logan seated on the edge of the bed, and the king with the blankets pooled around his waist, bare chested and staring at Logan as if...

Logan's mouth suddenly went dry as his heart seemed to grow in his chest, swelling to the point that it compressed his lungs against his ribcage, preventing him from drawing breath.

Silently, Roman extended his hand, palm up. It took Logan abruptly back to the visitations in his dreams, anchored by the feel of human contact he thought he had only before imagined. The reality of it was so much more, so intense—so necessary he could hardly stand to think about it.

And yet, with the king's silent offer, Logan was helpless to resist it, reaching out to slide his hand into Roman's. Their fingers meshed with the ease of experience—through dreams or through the history that had been stolen from him, Logan could not say, but that alien ecstasy of skin on skin felt so right it hurt.

“I have dreamed of this for so long.”

Logan looked up from where he'd been staring at their joined hands, spellbound. For a day now, he'd been in the presence of his Green Man, seen his true face, but this was the first time he'd actually been alone with him since...

“So have I.” he confessed. “Every time you came to me.”

Roman blinked, confused—then a light went on behind his eyes, making them snap with something electric and so alive it made Logan's chest tight.

“They...were real.” he realized. “I wasn't dreaming.”

“You were, but... we were inhabiting the same dream at the same time.” Logan explained softly. “Knowing who you are now, it's unsurprising. Conduits cannot use the magic within them, but it does make certain forms of involuntary magic possible—such as dream walking.”

“I've never done it with anyone else before.”

Logan frowned. “That is unusual. If that was the case, the ability would be consistent.”

He paused, then felt something in the core of him tremble with...a feeling he could not name, even reluctantly. It was light and fragile and enormously powerful—and Logan wasn't totally sure if it was good or bad.

“Did...did we share dreams...before?” he asked hesitantly.

Roman smiled, sad, tremulous, and hesitant in his own right.

“It's...a complicated thing to explain.” he confessed. “I don't have all the answers.”

“Do you have any?”

“I do. If you want them.”

“Why would I not want them?” Logan asked.

Something slid through Roman's eyes, dimming their light, and it ripped through Logan with a fury that had no root, no real cause.

Only that something dared to darken his demeanor, and with terrifying clarity Logan knew he would even destroy himself were he to discover that he was the cause of it.

“Because I'm a royal?” he pointed out. “Because my family did this to your people...because I did this to you?”

“Falsehood.”

Roman smiled, and Logan felt suddenly powerful. He felt...he felt, with no anchor for any of these feelings. It was deeply disconcerting—and it was also intoxicating.

“Hearing that again is almost as comforting as hearing you call me an idiot.” Roman laughed, squeezing his hand. “I missed it.”

Logan felt dizzy with the gaping hole in his chest, the warmth of Roman's touch—the world, every breath, every second that ticked by, it all suddenly felt like too much to hold inside of him. If he could remember, maybe he could bear it, maybe he could handle the things that his fingers and his heart seemed to know as he clung to the king's hand and stood on the edge of a chasm of years that stretched between them with no memory of how it got there.

“I do not remember,” he managed to choke out, “but...I think I did, too.”

“Oh, Starlight...”

Roman pulled him forward, and suddenly Logan was being held, cradled against acres of bare flesh and solid muscle. His lungs were filled with the scent of warm cotton and sweet skin, tinged with something that reminded him of fresh earth and damp stone—not the rank stone of the dungeons, but granite and petrichor, fresh from a gentle, cleansing rain.

Logan could not have stopped himself from clinging as Roman held him, not even if he wanted to—and he didn't want to stop.

“Tell me?” A question, whispered against his shoulder as he was held in strong arms and drowned in the warmth of safety and affection.

Roman did not hesitate to open his mouth and start talking—and he kept talking until there was nothing left.

Until Logan finally knew everything.

********** 1022, A.A.

“Okay, wait, so—familiars are human?”

Logan laughed—one of the greatest sounds in the world, as far as Roman was concerned. It was rare as diamonds, soft as a whisper, and always so filled with bright, gleaming emotion that it made him happy even if he was having the worst possible day.

Roman lived for his laugh—among other things. Logan's eyes, Logan's intelligence...Father called it that 'special age,' told him that he'd started noticing how certain boys made him feel when he was thirteen, but this wasn't just...

Logan was younger than him by two whole years—it might as well be decades. Besides, Logan probably liked girls, and oh yeah, he was a Weaver. Being one of the Necromata was one thing, but Weavers were revered among his people. Even if liking a necromancer wasn't a crime, Logan's family wouldn't want him to have anything to do with an outsider like Roman. He'd learned that much in two years of friendship with him.

Two years of hiding how he really spent his afternoons away from the tutors. Two years of learning the truth about how good and kind and generous the Necromata were...how good and kind and generous Logan was.

“Yes, familiars are human.” Logan replied, sweeping the flat stone marker of the grave they were tending. “Virgil—my little brother, the one I call Stormcloud—is my Spider, the keeper of the Loom of Memory.”

Roman risked peeking out from under the hood of the cloak hiding his face to follow the tilt of Logan's head to the eight year old boy on the other side of the open field. He was small and slight, with a shock of black hair like Logan's, save that his gleamed blue-black in the sun where Logan's shone with the most subtle red-brown hints of dark cherry wood. When he faced them, beaming up at the massive redhead that Logan had identified as their grandfather, Roman could see that Virgil's eyes were dark compared to Logan's startling blue.

Over the last couple of years, Logan had gradually shared the True Names of his whole family with Roman. Outlaw was his grandfather, Josiah. Rainbow was his pari, Talyn. Joan was his geni, Elliot. He'd trusted Roman with that knowledge...but Virgil, his little brother, the person Logan loved more than life itself (and possibly more than jam tarts), he'd protected.

Until now. Now, he'd let Roman in all the way—in more ways than one, given where they were.

While Logan finished sweeping the headstone clean, Roman watched the countless other families among Logan's tribe attending similar areas just like they were. Some were cleaning other graves, others were scouring the ground for signs of unmarked ones, others still were tending the trees in the open field that needed pruning or fertilization to grow healthy and strong over the graves they stood as markers for.

The Festival of the Forgotten that came every autumn was a day Roman had only ever known as one of solemn remembrance for those who had fallen to the Animator's slaughter a thousand years ago. He got dressed up in his formal attire, stood by Father's side while he gave speeches at the palace memorial, and basically spent the day being as quiet and unobtrusive as possible.

Logan had treated the whole thing with open disdain and offense when Roman explained it to him—then told him what the real Festival was all about.

The Festival wasn't happening for a week yet, but the Necromata were already preparing. For Logan's people, it was a week long celebration of the dead that involved hard work and loving attention. The field they were in had once been a graveyard in the time before the Animator, and many of the dead who lay in repose below the earth had been lost to time. Some had no names to be remembered, others had no lineage to go after them, still more were buried carelessly without even a marker to their name.

The Necromata took custody of these dead, trying to give them remembrance even if they couldn't give them names. All week, they carefully cleaned the field up, tended what few graves they could identify, looked for others—and at the end, had a giant party full of food, music, and drink. They decorated graves, left offerings for the departed, and kept the forgotten souls company with laughter and song. They would soak the earth and the air with enough joy and celebration to ensure that these lost ones would have comfort enough to take them through the year, when they would do it all over again.

Roman had been humbled by the true story of the Festival—and so Logan had invited him to attend. Both the party, and the stewardship of the dead.

“Familiars enhance the power of their necromancer in different ways.” Logan continued once Roman had given him his attention again. “A Black Dog has their Wolf, who acts as their spirit guide through their visions. A Reaper has their Raven, who helps them take the pain away from those they heal or release—and a Weaver has their Spider, who spins the fibers for the Loom of Memory. When a Weaver reaches the Loom, it's very much like the real thing: a visual representation, where a soul to be resurrected is mounted like a half finished tapestry, and the Weaver completes it with the connection he has to his Spider.”

“What does the fiber represent?” Roman asked as Logan stepped back, dropping his broom and moving to crouch before the worn headstone while Roman quickly followed suit. “The fiber your Spider spins?”

“Focus. Virgil gives me his focus to aid me in retrieving the memories I need to restore the soul to life. With his mind working in tandem with mine, it's like I'm weaving with a shuttle wound in spider silk, and it allows me to finish my work much more quickly. It ensures the tapestry lasts longer once it's taken off the loom before it unravels...before the soul I raise to life slips away again.”

Roman didn't like the way Logan's features fell a little at that. Ever since his Warping, Roman knew that Logan was troubled by the idea that there were people he couldn't fully resurrect—those not meant to die, he could save, but those whose soul had slipped through the opening in the Barrier carved for them at the moment of their death? Those were temporary—and the few times he'd half restored a soul like that as part of his training lingered with him.

Knowing he could say nothing to comfort him, instead Roman turned his attention to the smooth granite surface before them.

“You said this grave was new, right?”

Logan nodded, shifting to kneel while Roman remained in his crouch—and with hardly a care, rested an arm on Roman's knee so he could lean forward and peer at the gravestone. The touch made Roman's heart flip in his chest, but he tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Grandpap discovered it last year while they were digging out the roots of a dead tree. We replanted it over there to better mark the site because the stone's been worn so flat.”

Roman frowned, reaching down to run his fingers over the stone. “This poor person will never have a name now.”

“Sadly, no.” Logan agreed, reaching down to lay his hand against Roman's atop the stone. “Whatever epitaph was on this stone was worn away hundreds of years ago—“

“What's that?”

Roman, reluctantly, slid his hand out from under Logan's to run his fingers along the base of the stone.

“See this ridge? There's something beneath it...here, help me...”

The earth was damp, and for a moment Roman was left to dig on his own, fingers sinking into the loamy earth at the base of the stone. In truth, it was fun—feeling the grit under his fingernails, the ache of muscles as he clawed at the dirt.

Only when he started to uncover a broader base on the stone did Logan move to start helping him dig.

After about five minutes, they had exposed a second, broader slab beneath the stone. This one, heavily covered by dirt, seemed to be part of a larger piece that appeared to just...keep going.

“This isn't a headstone.” Logan realized. “It's a burial vault.”

Roman nodded. “I actually know what those are—big boxes for dead bodies, right? So they don't rot in the dirt. For the coffin to sit in!”

“Correct.” Logan murmured. “What's more, it's not buried all that deep. Perhaps, once upon a time, it wasn't buried at all.”

Roman thought about the last burial vault he'd seen—that of an adviser in his father's court council. He hadn't been buried in the royal mausoleum, being of common birth, but he'd been given a special place in the surrounding cemetery: an above ground burial vault, bearing the royal seal and just beneath it...

“This isn't a headstone.” he realized aloud, furiously going back to digging.

“That's what you said—”

“No, I mean this part! The crest of the royal family sits here, not the epitaph! We have burial vaults like these in the palace cemetery, and the name is always under this piece! Help me, Logan—we can find out who this is!”

Glancing to the side, he was pleased to see Logan adjusting his glasses, a restless sign of pleasure as he crowded closer to Roman's side.

“If the name was not exposed to the elements before it was buried, it might still be preserved.” he agreed.

“So we can help them?”

Logan nodded eagerly, making Roman grin. He was so happy, and it warmed Roman's heart—but so did the fact that they might actually be able to give some poor, forgotten dead necromancer back their name. The fact that Roman, himself, was helping to do this thing for one of the Necromata, an heir to the throne helping these good and caring and generous people that just wanted to make sure that the dead were remembered...

It gave him so much hope for the future. Logan gave him this hope by letting him in.

That was the moment Roman knew...

Refocusing on their new task, Roman began to dig in earnest. Logan shifted to reach for the broom, trying to scrape away the earth from the stone vault with the end of its handle. Gradually, they worked down a couple of inches until the edges of a very clear engraving became visible. First the frame, then what looked like...

“Numbers. These may be the dates of birth and death, if this person died Before Animator.” Logan murmured, jostling Roman in encouragement. “Keep going.”

Voices buzzed around them. The cool autumn air stung Roman's nose. His fingers were sore, cuticles caked with dirt. Logan was pressed securely to his side, digging tirelessly alongside him.

Time stopped. Nothing existed but the two of them, crowded close and digging, all heavy breath and exertion and movement, bumping and jostling in a strange rhythm that blurred the line between where one ended and the other began...

“...Roman.”

Roman blinked, shaking his head. He glanced at Logan, who'd gone ashen as he stared down at the inches of earth they had uncovered.

With a start, he realized they had finished. There, in worn but very clear lettering, was the epitaph of a forgotten corpse. Beneath the confusing dates of birth and death, there was a name.

Reading it, Roman could feel the blood leaving his face just as it had left Logan's.

“This...cannot be right.” Logan murmured.

“No, it can't.” Roman agreed softly, flopping artlessly back on his behind. Logan collapsed with him, half across Roman's lap, with Roman too stunned to fully take it in. “You said this was a burial ground for the Necromata.”

“It is.”

Roman met Logan's gaze, something sick and panicky forming a lump of ice in his throat.

“Then why, in the Seven Hells, is one of my ancestors buried here?”

**********

1033, A.A.

Few things in the world scared Remus—but that scrawny little necromancer fucking terrified him. The cadet wasn't much better, mostly because they were brothers.

Remus was smart. It was a problem, had been his whole life. For all that he knew, easily and quickly, there were few things he really understood, important things like personal boundaries and courtesy and the difference between things that were fascinating and things that were disturbing.

Brothers, however, he understood. Which was why the cadet was so fucking scary: look at either one of them wrong, and the other would take your fucking head off to defend them.

So Remus stayed in the shadows, watching the pipsqueak stomp around outside Roman's suite like he wanted to get caught by some other member of the palace guard, cursing just loud enough to be heard but not understood, vibrating with tension and so furious the air seemed to ripple around him with heat waves rising from his skin.

“Why is your brother alone with mine?”

Scary as the situation was, Remus found some deeply satisfying pleasure in watching Virgil Storm leap about six feet into the air with fright, choking on the scream he fought to stifle.

“Shadow's Balls, you miserable son of a bitch, what the hell are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?” he spat, clutching his chest with both hands.

Remus shrugged. “Hey, not my fault if you don't have the nerves for guard duty, toy soldier. Should've tried hiding in the kitchens instead. The wash boys bring the dungeon prisoners their daily meal.”

“I'm not guarding anything.” Virgil shot back, turning to glare at the closed door of Roman's suite. “I was sent away. By my own damn brother—doesn't remember shit, and he's still treating me like a little kid.”

“He's your big brother—that shit doesn't change with age.” Remus huffed. “Ro Ro's got a half life on me, and he makes use of ever second of it.”

Virgil looked at him strangely. “A half life? I thought you were twins.”

Remus shrugged. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Can you speak in anything but sarcasm?”

“Can you address the crown prince with a little respect?”

“Not when I've seen the kind of people you sneak around with. Cadets pull a lot of graveyard shifts.”

Damn—the game of questions was just starting to get fun. The toy soldier wasn't just cute, he was feisty and totally lacked any fear of the throne. That was a problem, because Remus was actually starting to like the little shit.

“You're lucky I'm into that.” Remus quipped, but finally rolled his eyes and leaned back against the opposite wall of the corridor. “Fine: we're half-twins: identical, born one hour apart on the cusp. Roman came at eleven and I came at midnight. We celebrate our birthdays on the same day to hide that fact.”

Virgil went eerily still—and Remus's estimation of the kid went up a couple notches because of it.

“You do remember I'm Necromata, right?” he asked slowly. “Everyone in this castle knows you and your brother are both well versed in the ways of necromancy. You know what we can do with half-twins.”

Remus sobered, wondering for one irrational second if he'd been wrong. Wrong about the scrawny necromancer, wrong about the toy soldier, wrong about the limited amount of sense Roman had in his thick skull...

“Does anyone else know?” Virgil asked in the silence of Remus's brain spinning away from him.

Remus shook his head. “No, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“...you gonna kill me, Highness?”

Remus rushed him then, pinning Virgil to the wall with a hand wrapped around his throat.

“Only if I have to.” he warned quietly. He could hear his own heart beating in his ears, but it was slow, steady, far too calm. He could already imagine those gleaming dark eyes going flat and dead, that lovely pale skin going ashen as he choked the life from him, hear the bubble from his lungs as they gave up their last breath...

He'd do it. He'd sleep easy. He wouldn't regret a thing.

Not for Roman.

“I'm a little brother, too.” Virgil reminded him quietly, breathlessly—and for one split second, as Virgil reached up to wrap his hand around Remus's wrist, gentle but firm, he was kind of breathtaking. His pulse was jumping in his throat, every exhale was shaky and his lips were parted as he sucked down oxygen...

Remus let him go, but he didn't move away. He couldn't quite make himself, not when he suddenly felt like swallowing the terrified little spider whole.

“No one can know what Roman really is.” he whispered. “No one.”

“Make you a deal,” Virgil shot back, “you protect my big brother, and I'll protect yours.”

Remus narrowed his eyes...but it was what he wanted, after all, so he offered Virgil his hand to shake.

“Mutually assured destruction it is.” Remus agreed. “Can't trust a royal and all.”

Virgil had just wrapped his hand around Remus's when he blinked, startled. “I...yeah?”

Laughing, Remus shook his hand firmly, and let the world fall away for just a moment. His grip made it easy: firm, warm, strong.

“You're right about us, toy soldier: Roman and I? We're both pretty into necromancy. That means we know more than most about the royal family—at least I do. Roman...I'm not quite sure what he remembers anymore.”

“About what?” Virgil asked.

Remus released Virgil's hand, then sighed and shifted to press his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground.

“Park it, Storm. There's a few things you need to know about my brother...and yours.”

**********

1022, A.A.

“It has to be a mistake.”

“It's not.” Logan insisted, reaching up to tug at his mask—he would have adjusted his glasses if he'd been wearing them, but he couldn't with the domino that covered his features, heavily adored with thick black feathers. Roman reached up to stop him before he could remove it.

“Can't be rude to the dead, can we?” Roman chided gently.

That got a smile out of Logan, despite the circumstances—almost as good as his laughter, and once again the spirit of the evening swept over him.

Five days had passed since the discovery in the graveyard. Earlier in the day, this day, he'd done his duty: donned his formal dress, stood beside his father, pretended to be solemn and respectful while, all the while, he'd been vibrating with excitement for this.

The final day of the Festival—the final night.

The real Festival, an actual festival with music and food and costumes. The Field of the Forgotten was now clean and well cared for, lit up with torches and free floating luminaries. There were tables laden with food and drink and plates and cups—large for the living, smaller ones for graveside offerings. It was a celebration of life lost, a gift to the dead.

And the costumes—they were so much fun, and yet even these carried meaning. Roman hid his face behind a domino adorned with white feathers to Logan's black, and rejected his name to call himself Muse for the evening. Because these souls they honored no longer had names or faces, forever lost to time, the living hid their own with masks and costumes, gave up their true names and identities for the night out of respect.

It was magical, all of it. He enjoyed himself, drinking sparkling cider and eating meat skewers, burning his mouth on sweet-searing phoenix taffy, wrapped in wax paper printed with tiny black skulls. He even pocketed some for later, vowing to enjoy them slowly and remember the forgotten as he let the cinnamon tingle sting his tongue.

He celebrated instead of mourning, gave his own joy to the forgotten dead for a year, and for the first time dreamed of being king one day instead of crown prince so he could show this to the citizens. After all, they would understand if they knew—how much the Necromata cared about the dead, how hard they worked for those who were gone because it made things so much better for the people that were still here.

They weren't messengers of death, they were guardians of life, and one day Roman would set them free. He'd show everyone...he'd watch Logan stand beside him before the whole kingdom and smile when he realized that he was no longer feared, but loved. Just as he deserved to be.

Smile like he was smiling now. At Roman, because he stopped him from removing his mask, and for one really stupid second, Roman almost hoped Logan would...maybe reach for his hand or press against his side like he had earlier in the week, huddled before the final resting place of Thomas Roman I.

Roman's namesake. Roman's ancestor.

“Can we be sure?” Roman asked, the brief euphoria stolen from him as they walked side by side, trying to be discreet about returning to the grave in question. “I mean...what's the likelihood that a necromancer would name their child after a king? It's done, you know.”

“Not among our people.” Logan insisted with a shake of his head. “The royal family are our oppressors, have been for generations. As much as it pains me to say it, my people view the royal bloodline much as the population at large view necromancers. They are cutthroat, bloodthirsty, power hungry demons that will stop at nothing to see every single one of us destroyed. No parent would ever do that to a child.”

Roman felt a little like he'd been punched in the gut, but he said nothing. Logan wasn't great with feelings—better, a little, since his Warping, but it always made him squirmy to try and confront them, in himself or in anyone else.

“I want to change that.” Roman replied quietly, vowing he'd say no more on it.

“Falsehood.”

“What?”

“Falsehood.” Logan repeated, as if he hadn't just called Roman a liar. For a second, Roman wondered if he'd done or said something that...oh, gods, did Logan know how Roman felt? Was it bothering him that badly? Were they—

“You will change that.” Logan pressed on before Roman's thoughts could spiral any further. “This is simple fact.”

“Lo—er, Starlight, I appreciate that you have so much faith in me—“

“It's not faith, Muse. It's fact.” Logan insisted, stopping in his tracks. “This revelation is confusing, life changing...dangerous for what it could represent, but the facts are thus: your ancestor is buried on sacred Necromata ground. For generations beyond the Animator, we have taken great pains to ensure that no outsider has ever been interred among us for the simple reason that necromancers cannot be resurrected because we have no souls—it would be sacrilege to allow a resurrection to disturb the rest of our dead. This can mean only one thing: the royal family is either of our tribe, or of theirs.”

“Whose?”

“The Lazari.”

Roman's stomach dropped clear through his shoes and into the sacred ground of the Necromata. “Seven Hells, do you think that's truly possible? W-w-what about the Animata?”

Logan shook his head, then turned to keep walking. They were nearly at the grave—the pair of them had hastily covered up the name they had unearthed, pressing the dirt flat and scattering some leaves to make it look like nothing had been disturbed.

“The Animata are not necromancers—not all of them were even fully human, given their twin souls. It would be easy to resurrect one of them. No, the only other creature it could possibly be is a Lazari.”

“But they're a myth—they're not even real.”

“Myth to you, theoretical to us.” Logan replied as they reached the grave. Sitting in front of the tombstone, he beckoned Roman to join him. “The Lazari are, essentially, an evolution of Weavers. They cannot merely recall the dead to life, they can change the fate of the dead. Their power is such that they can weave a soul not from memory, but from the Spider's Thread. They can change fate.”

Roman fell silent, staring down at the careworn tombstone before them. Reaching out, he ran his hands over the smooth stone that once likely bore a royal crest—the crest of his family, above the name of his ancestor.

“How can you change fate?” he asked softly, forcing himself not to look at the boy beside him. Not when he felt so...weird. So full, like his lungs were being crushed against the inside of his ribcage by his heart and his soul, and everything he was feeling.

He wanted to not be of the house of Sanders. He wanted Logan to not be of the Necromata. He wanted to live in a world where nothing separated them, where one day he could court Logan as proudly as his own father had courted his dad, as proudly as his dad had courted his mother...

Roman wanted, wanted, wanted in that moment, and he was afraid to look at Logan...suddenly afraid of what would happen if he did.

“Knowledge.”

Logan's quiet utterance nearly stole his resolve, his head twitching, but remaining down as Logan continued.

“Knowledge is how. It is an incomparably valuable, multi-purpose tool that is instrumental in identifying and solving any problem.”

He paused—then Roman felt his hand on his shoulder.

Don't don't don't don't don't...

Roman looked up, and found Logan meeting his gaze with a look that briefly stole his breath.

“If you're worried about getting hurt? Then seek knowledge. It is our greatest weapon...and our greatest defense.”

The words felt oddly weighty, like he was trying to make Roman remember something for later. That, or...

He couldn't give the feeling words, and so he didn't. He held it inside himself, embraced the crushing weight against his lungs and the way his entire body felt too small for his bones.

“And the Lazari would be a pretty powerful weapon—especially if they were members of the royal family.” Roman mused softly.

A necromancer on the throne—if it was true, it could destroy his family. However...

It could save Logan's people. If the world knew that one of the royal family had been a member of his tribe? Maybe the Necromata could finally be free to live in the open, free and unafraid.

Looking into Logan's face, Roman realized there was no decision to make.

“Where will we find it?” he asked finally. “This knowledge...the knowledge we need to prove it, one way or the other?”

Logan fell silent at that. He still had that strangely intense look in his eyes, high color in his cheeks—and at some point, his hand had found its way off Roman's shoulder and down to mesh with Roman's fingers.

Roman's face felt warm, and the world felt kind of spinny.

“We start with the king.”

**********

1033, A.A.

“What're you thinkin' about, Janny?”

Janus drew a deep breath—not quite a sigh, but very close to it, not over Patton's question but his own inability to function properly.

He should be looking over the shoulders of his lieutenants, currently investigating the king's death. What he was doing was walking through the North Gardens in the dark with Patton, their hands firmly linked together between them. Patton even went so far as to swing them occasionally, making something deep in Janus's core twist in a manner that made his baser impulses nearly impossible to control.

“Nothing I can discuss with you.” he replied.

“Oh, wow. You're telling the truth—it must be bad.” Patton breathed.

Janus squeezed Patton's fingers, uncertain if he was trying to reassure Patton or himself.

“You have no idea,” he admitted softly, “and if I get my way? You never will.”

There was no immediate answer as Janus scanned their surroundings, double and triple checking to make sure they weren't being spied on. He was well aware of the fact that Logan had already absconded with the cadet—his brother, now that was never going to stop being funny to Janus—and could give a damn. He knew Logan well enough to know he'd be careful...he had to admit, reluctantly, that Storm was a damn capable soldier...and by holding up the pretext that the prisoners were safely ensconced in their quarters...

He could steal this time with Patton. Stealing, sneaking, taking things he had no right to, things that didn't belong to him.

“You're gonna ask me things again, huh?”

Janus stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Patton sharply. Patton, the gods love him, was just smiling that smile he always had when he told Janus things that Janus didn't ask for, much less the things Janus did make a point of requesting.

“That's not why we're out here.” he replied instead of rebuffing Patton's assertion. It felt more important, even if it wasn't...

It wasn't.

Patton giggled—actually giggled at that—and wrapped Janus's hand in both of his.

“Janny, I asked you to spend some time with me, remember?”

How could Janus forget that desperate plea, wide eyed and beaming through the tear tracks that lingered on his cheeks after he was done crying in Janus's arms earlier, done warning Janus about what was happening to Logan in another part of the castle? How could Janus have ever said no?

How could Janus admit that, even if Patton hadn't asked, Janus would have come anyway—just because he couldn't stay away?

“You couldn't possibly know I wanted to...ask you things, as you put it.” Janus pointed out.

Patton stepped closer, looking up into Janus's face from his diminutive height. The moon was nearly gone, but its few stray rays caught his mop of curls, forcing Janus to ball his hands into fists to resist the urge to touch one.

But, of course, because Patton still held one of his hands, he only succeeded in holding on tighter, sending a ripple of warmth and softness through Janus that ought to be more troubling than it was.

“I always know.” Patton pointed out gently. His dark blue eyes were black in the low light, his face shining and open and so dazzling it made his very bones hurt with the primal dragon's urge to grab him and hide him and claim claim claim mine mine mine...

Patton sank to the ground, tugging gently on Janus's captive hand. Janus followed—but rather than sit on the ground as Janus did, Patton got to his knees and immediately deposited himself in Janus's lap with a merry giggle that Janus swore lit up the garden if only for a heartbeat.

Janus let go Patton's hand, wrapped his arms around his waist instead, and felt the dragon in his bones settle back to sleep.

“You always know.” he finally echoed with a sigh and narrowed eyes that did nothing to taint Patton's bright smile. “Fine, I want to ask you things.”

Visibly pleased with himself, Patton rested his hands on Janus's shoulders, shut his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath.

“Okay. I'm ready.”

Janus gave Patton a gentle squeeze, taking a deep breath of his own.

“I need to know how to kill the necromancer.”

Patton didn't move or speak for a long time. Janus just held on, waiting.

His eyes slammed open—solid, pale sky blue and glowing faintly in the dark instead of the impossibly dark shade Janus knew so well.

In hushed, faraway tones, Patton spoke...and Janus listened closely.

[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (2)

summary: roman had no idea it was possible to die from too much love but logan sure is trying. words: 2,000 / ship: logince (logan/roman) author’s note: this is part two of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety)  part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) read on ao3

— — —

Roman woke to the smell of bacon. And eggs. And hash browns. … Cinnamon rolls too, maybe? He groaned, rolling over onto his back. Kicking his legs up, he used the following momentum to swing himself into a sitting position. There was a little bit of vertigo at moving so quickly, but this was how he always got himself out of bed since it usually provided him a sudden surge of energy. He squinted, looking towards the door, and trying to decide how badly he actually wanted to get out of bed in order to have breakfast. On the one hand, it all smelled absolutely mouthwatering. On the other hand, he was very warm and comfortable.

Three precise knocks made the decision for him.

"Roman, are you awake?"

At the sound of Logan's voice, a smile lit up Roman's face. "Yes! Come in!"

The scents of all the tempting foods were much stronger now and, as Logan entered carrying a tray in one hand, it became clear as to why. Logan was still wearing an apron and there was a smidge of flour on his forehead. He moved carefully so as not to spill or drop anything. Roman hoped the mug was filled with coffee made with too much cream and sugar. Before he could offer any help, Logan gestured at him to sit back; in the same moment, he flipped the legs of the tray open. Once Roman was settled, Logan set the stand down over his lap. His nose had been right in picking out eggs, bacon, and hash browns. There was a small bowl of fruit (with green grapes, his favorite!) and yes, the coffee was the exact color as he liked it.

"There are cinnamon rolls baking still," Logan said, sitting down on the mattress and reaching forward to brush Roman's hair back from his eyes. His smile was so soft and fond, Roman thought he might melt if it were directed at him for too much longer. "Did you sleep well?"

Catching Logan's hand before he could pull away completely, Roman pressed a kiss to the bottom of his palm. "I did, thank you. So, what's this for, then?"

Logan shook his head, as if he didn't understand the question. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Eat. I'll return momentarily."

He was up and gone by the time Roman remembered that his birthday was later that week. He laughed a little, burying his face in his hands. The food was delectable, all of it still hot and fresh. Somehow, the coffee was even better than usual; perhaps because it had been made and served by someone he cared for so dearly. He scrolled through social media as he ate, feeling happy and relaxed. It was an exceedingly nice way to start his morning, especially knowing that he had plenty of things to deal with later on.

True to his word, Logan was back in roughly twenty minutes. He had a plate and two glasses of milk. He seemed satisfied that Roman had finished all his food and, with a snap of his fingers, removed the breakfast tray. He left his things on the bedside table and pulled a notebook from thin air. Roman recognized it as one of his many planners. He sat down again, posture slightly stiff, but Roman could tell it was because he was resisting joining Roman in bed. He wondered how he could convince him…

Flipping through the pages, Logan adjusted his glasses before beginning. “As far as I’m aware, the tasks you had scheduled for today were the following: selecting the name and song for Shoutout Sunday, washing the linens, preparing April’s shorts for compiling, and… corralling Remy to ensure Thomas sleeps well tonight.”

Roman snorted at Logan’s choice of words. “That’s all of it. Thank you for breakfast, darling. I’ve got plenty of energy to get started now!”

Logan tutted and held up a hand to stop Roman from getting up any further. “It is taken care of.”

Roman frowned. “... Pardon?”

“Your chores. The last load of laundry is in the dryer now. I’ve spoken with Thomas regarding Sunday’s video. Bargaining with Remy did take some time. However— Are you crying?” Logan’s voice hitched in sudden concern and he reached over to cradle Roman’s cheek in his hand.

Roman sniffled. “It’s okay, Lo. I’m happy… Just a little overwhelmed.” He pressed his own hand against Logan’s and gave him a shaky smile. “Why did you do all of this?”

Logan shifted so that he was better facing Roman. “You deserve to be taken care of. That is a constant, of course. In particular, this is in celebration of your birthday. I am well aware of the shenanigans made for the day itself so I thought I would ‘jump the gun,’ so to speak.”

Roman didn’t want to be dramatic or anything (hah) but he was pretty sure Logan was trying to kill him. “I haven’t the faintest idea how I could begin to thank you.”

“That’s just fine,” Logan reassured him. “I wouldn’t want you to, anyway.”

Roman laughed under his breath and gently moved away from Logan’s hold. He wiped at the tears that lingered on his eyelashes. “Well, it seems I have more free time than I thought I would. Have you got anything else up your sleeves?”

“Seeing as this garment lacks the necessary amount of fabric to do so, no. However, I did have something in mind that I believe you would enjoy participating in?”

“Lead the way, my star.”

After giving Roman some time to freshen up and change, they left his room, snacking on their cinnamon rolls and milk as they walked. It was still early, not yet noon, and Roman appreciated the peaceful atmosphere more than he thought he would. Normally, there would be music playing, or the television on as background noise in the living room, or the kitchen full of clanging utensils. This was pleasant. Having Logan with him made it all the better.

Eventually, Logan paused at the door between his and Patton's rooms. It was decorated with stickers, paint, glitter, buttons — any and all crafts that would fit basically, for that's exactly what was on the other side. Simply called the Crafts room, it was a creative space available for anyone to use however they pleased. Roman most often honed his vocal talents but he knew that Virgil liked to paint murals on the walls. When Logan led the way inside, the room transformed to match his vision. Warm sunlight spilled in from multiple windows. There was a rolling cart filled with every color of paint Roman could ever think of and more. There were a handful of easels, all holding various sizes of canvases. On the table in the center of the room was a stack of paper bound by ribbon, numerous pens, and a platter of snacks. Speakers set up in the corners of the room were already playing music.

"Will this suffice?" Logan asked, breaking Roman out of his daze.

"Suffice… Moonbeam, this is wonderful! And that smell… Is it—?"

"Jasmine to produce feelings of confidence and Eucalyptus to boost creativity."

“Well, they certainly are doing the trick!” Roman exclaimed, skipping fully into the room. He darted for the nearest easel, grabbing the handle on the cart as he did and pulling it over with him. His head was already full of ideas, sprawling landscapes and detailed portraits and, and, and!

The next hour passed in comfortable silence. They did, occasionally, duet along to various Broadway or Disney love songs that came through on their playlist. Sometimes, they dissolved into giggles afterwards, or they’d pause in their work to send each other sappy smiles. Sure, Roman was immensely curious about what Logan was working on, but he knew best what an awful thing it was to be interrupted while spending time with one's muse and motivation. Besides, he wasn't sure he could find a moment to pause in his own projects even if he wanted to. He moved from canvas to canvas smoothly, a new creation springing to mind the second he finished the last. There was an open expanse of night sky, stars dotted in yellow, blue, and red; a portrait of the lovely Valerie, dressed up and imagined as one of Roman's fellow knights; some abstract thing that was only recognizable from upside down and depended on the viewer having seen Parks and Rec at least two and a half times.

Eventually, though, his energy waned, and he set down his paintbrushes to take a break. He dropped a kiss to the top of Logan's head as he stepped by before taking a seat at the table, and reaching for the snacks. He went for a bagel but appreciated the variety of fruits and veggies, too. A few minutes later, Logan looked up from his work. He looked satisfied.

“All done?” Roman asked, interest piqued once more.

“Yes. Thank you for your patience.”

“Oh. Lo, that’s nothing you need to thank me for. This was really nice. Honestly, I didn’t realize how badly I needed it.”

Logan leaned closer, startling Roman when he kissed him quickly on the nose. Logan licked his lips after, smirking. “You had a bit of cream cheese…”

Roman made a sound akin to a tea kettle whistling.

Wasting no time, Logan stood and positioned himself in front of one of the windows. He looked as handsome as ever, silhouetted by the sunlight. He seemed relaxed and confident and Roman quite suddenly began to worry about his well being again.

He squinted at the brightest star in his sky. “... What are you up to?”

Logan cleared his throat. And began to sing.

It felt like the floor gave out underneath Roman. He might as well have no longer been tethered to his body. It was a miracle he stayed present enough to continue listening; he assumed it had something to do with knowing that missing even a millisecond of this would be the biggest regret he could make. Not only was Logan singing, completely of his own volition, he was singing about Roman. Lines about his bravery and his recklessness, his confidence and his ego, his creations and his work ethic. It was balanced, neither too praising nor too harsh. There was mention of how much love he carried, of how he deserved to receive as much as he gave, of how there was magic at his fingertips.

By the time Logan finished, Roman was outright sobbing. It wasn’t fair, how someone he loved so much, so so much, could make something so beautiful and heartfelt for him. How was he ever supposed to return the favor? When Logan pulled him up and out of the chair, he fell easily into his arms and tried to quiet his weeping.

“I would apologize for making you cry but that would be apologizing for the things I said, which I cannot do. I mean every word. My life is better with you in it. You inspire us all to be our very best and that is so admirable. Happy birthday, your highness.”

“Stop, stop,” Roman argued weakly, pouting up at Logan. “You’re killing me. You’re so cruel.”

Logan smiled down at him. He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and patted Roman’s face dry. “I suppose you’ll do something about it?”

“Yes,” Roman answered vehemently. “Your punishment is to be trapped in a pillow prison. A blanket barricade. Confined by cuddles.”

“Oh no. That final one might be the worst sentence of them all.”

Roman pressed a kiss to Logan’s jawline before firmly grabbing his hands. “I’ll have to stay and make sure you don’t escape, of course.” He began to pull Logan out of the room, cheeks starting to hurt from his wide smile.

“Of course,” Logan agreed, in a tone so gentle, it should have been impossible.

Perhaps Roman kept this thief of his heart wrapped up extra tight and snug in his arms, but that wasn’t really anybody else’s business, now was it?

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 7

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,142

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food, implied starts of anxiety attacks, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: whenever I reread this chapter I'm not sure whether the point of it is clear to the reader or not... but I'm not sure how to rewrite/fix it lol

...

Finally, it was Friday. Between classes, Virgil was pacing quickly down the hall when he noticed Logan exchanging things from his locker. He also saw Roman approaching the tall boy, adorning a mischievous smile. Virgil decided to slip out of sight behind the bustle of the hallway to observe their interaction, staying hidden near the walls.

Roman stood directly behind Logan and tapped him on the shoulder. Logan turned fully around, and upon seeing Roman, he opened his mouth to speak. He was quickly was interrupted, however, as Roman put his hand against the locker at Logan's side, and traced his other hand down Logan's button-up-covered chest. Logan was pinned against his open locker. Virgil couldn't make out the things Roman was saying to him, but Logan looked blatantly... caught off guard, to say the least. His pearly white cheeks were dusted pink. After a few moments, he pushed Roman aside and made to leave, but Roman grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back. They'd switched positions, Logan having put his pale bony arm out to stop himself from falling. Roman was still pulling his tie, smirking and looking into his eyes deviously. Virgil read Roman's lips and thought he saw "-if you're into that." Logan was clearly getting frustrated and forced his tie away, collecting his book bag from the floor and shooing Roman so that he could close his locker. Virgil saw Logan speak, and made out something like "I'll be late for class."

What a couple they made. Virgil felt something heavy growing in the pit of his stomach. Roman had left to go to his class as well, and the halls were becoming more and more empty as students filed into various classrooms. Finally the bell rang, and Virgil felt like he couldn't move to save his life. He started scratching his wrist and felt his breathing become uneven. No, not here, not now. He forced himself to breathe normally and made his way to his next class.

...

Later that day, Patton was lying on Virgil's bed, throwing a bouncy ball up and catching it in a slow rhythm. Virgil was seated at his desk right beside Patton, vaguely attempting to finish his French homework. Not like it'd be due until Monday anyway.

Patton and Virgil had been good friends from a young age, and usually hung out like this around twice a week. Every now and then they'd do something special, but usually it was just being together and talking.

Virgil knew a lot about Patton, more than most people do. He knew about his best friend's current... sticky home situation, and so he never questioned it when Patton came up to him later in the school day with a sorrowful glint in his eyes, asking if they could go back to Virgil's house that evening.

"Do you think they had a nice date yesterday?" Patton said after a minute or two of calm silence. Virgil looked over at him. He'd stopped throwing the ball, and was now inspecting its strange colorful surface, scratching at little flakes of plastic that hung off its seams. Virgil thought to himself how it was so strange that these types of bouncy balls always seemed to practically glow when exposed to light, even though they had no sparkles or shiny qualities about them.

"I guess I don't know. Roman might have ruined it with his overconfidence and ridiculous antics," Virgil finally replied, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "Especially if he did something like take them to some 5-star family-owned Italian restaurant where you get kicked out unless you're wearing a waistcoat and you have to make a reservation a year in advance," he mused. Patton giggled a little.

"Yeah, that sounds like Mr. Prince," He offered a little quieter than he wanted to. Virgil eyed him with concern.

"You haven't really been thinking much of it, have you?" Virgil turned fully toward his bespectacled friend now, who was just staring blankly, clutching the bouncy ball to his chest. "I mean, I don't think it'll be much of a distraction to our project than Roman already is. And besides, I really doubt that Logan will go for a second round," Virgil dismissed the notion bitterly, and Patton wondered when Virgil had developed such a resentment against Roman.

"Well," Patton started, sitting up and pulling his legs into a criss-cross applesauce, "I'm surprised Logan wanted to in the first place. I don't think he has ever dated anyone, let alone someone so..."

"I know what you mean." Virgil got up to sit criss-cross applesauce with his friend on the bed. They looked at each other and giggled a little, remembering how they used to do this as little kids. They were just like brothers in a way.

Virgil noticed Patton pulling at his ring again, and knew something was up. "Hey," He said, taking Patton's hand. Patton looked up at him nervously from behind his big round glasses, his blonde curls hiding the top trims. "What's up?"

Patton made a noise that was something between a scoff and a sigh, looking away but not pulling away. "I just..." He thought for a long moment on how to begin what he wanted to say without saying what he didn't want to say... not yet, anyway. "I want Logan to be happy. He's a, good friend," A smile curled at the edges of his mouth. "I don't think Roman makes him... unhappy, per se. I think they could be really," Patton pulled his hand back and started fidgeting with his ring again, "close... but I don't know if, them being together will make Logan happy. W-will make either of them happy." He looked up at Virgil then, who was stoic. "I-I mean, i know it isn't really any of my business to worry about. I know I don't really know... anything about their date or..."

Virgil gave a somber smile. "I know what you mean. I feel it too. I mean, they don't seem to... clash correctly," Virgil meshed his fingers together as a visual metaphor. "They don't fit quite right into a relationship box together. And i don't think Roman is enamored with him in the way he says he is, or acts like he is." That bitter tone resurfaced in Virgil's voice again, and Patton took note of it.

He looked up, curls bouncing slightly. "What do you mean by that?" Virgil returned his eye contact, and Patton looked like he was hiding some emotion. Maybe... anger?

"Well..." Virgil thought about what he'd said. Specifically a certain song and a certain moment that had given him the notion that, as much as Roman acted confident, when he was truly falling for someone... he might act quite the opposite. Virgil felt his cheeks heat up, and Patton's expression changed.

"Is there something you know that i don't?" Patton pressed. Not maliciously, but curiosity dripped from his voice. Virgil brought his fingertips to his cheeks and wondered how they'd gotten so hot so quickly.

"Well, I, I just..." Virgil stuttered for a long moment. "I suppose it seems like, i don't know, like, maybe if Roman were really, um, that is to say, maybe, he would be, if he were really, you know, into someone, like that, like, um," He was talking with his hands too much, and Patton noticed his breathing becoming more like heaving. He took Virgil's frantic hands.

"Hey, take a sec," Patton's voice was coated in caramel. Virgil finally made eye contact again. "Breathe, bud," Patton said even calmer and sweeter this time. Virgil's attention suddenly switched to his breathing patterns, which he now noticed were getting rather erratic. He took a moment to reconcile himself.

"Sorry, I went off on a bit of a tangent there... but, as i was saying, or, trying to say," Virgil continued to stumble his way to his point, but with more purpose this time, "... Roman, strikes me as the type, to seem... like he wouldn't act the way he does with Logan if he were in love with him, maybe," He was fiddling with his own fingers now. "but i have a feeling that he might be... a bit of a softie. I mean, what i mean is, he... If he really likes someone I think he wouldn't be able to be his... y'know... confident, jock, witty-remark-shooting self. If that, makes any sense."

"huh," Patton said after a moment of consideration. "Well that's possible. I don't really know honestly. I haven't spent a lot of time with the guy, and whenever i do he always seems to be that same confident person. Well, except with you, sometimes."

"Huh? Me? What?" Virgil was blatantly alarmed. Patton hadn't meant to cause this alarm, so he replied gently.

"Oh, no no kiddo, i just mean like... Y'know how you two are always sorta, bickering or debating or poking fun at each other?" Virgil nodded. "Well, I've just noticed, that sometimes when you make certain comments or whatnot, he sort of... Loses himself. His persona. It kind of falls away, and he seems sort of lost for words." Virgil looked even more alarmed than before. "I-I don't mean that that's necessarily because of you, I just, it's just the only time i have seen him react in that way and... I don't know. It probably happens with him all the time when I'm not around. Or whatever. I don't know. I'm sorry." Patton spoke so quickly that Virgil hardly heard each word. He was just trying to calm himself. Was it so obvious?

"Well." Was all he could muster in reply.

"Anyhow, I think I agree, at least that something seems a little off... I hope it is anyw-" Virgil trained his eyes on Patton. "I mean- I, uh, I-I don't know where that came from! I don't hope, that- I don't hope anything bad for either of them! I didn't- I didn't think, I just-"

"You just have a crush on Logan?" Virgil was still staring at Patton, mischief peeking around the edges of his pupils.

"Wuh-- What!!!" Patton couldn't say anything else; he just grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved his face into it. Virgil heard an indignant "no I don't" from the pillow as he put his hand on his best friend's shoulder.

"Patton, buddy. It's okay." Virgil just awkwardly patted the shoulder of Patton's balled up form.

"Does everyone know!?" He looked up finally, his nose running slightly. He wasn't crying, but even so, sometimes when he got emotional or embarrassed his cheeks turned deep rosy and his nose started running. Just another little quirk about him that Virgil always kept close to his heart.

"Well, it is plain as day," Virgil started while Patton's eyes seemed so somehow grow larger, "But Logan and Roman have no clue, as far as I can tell. Logan wouldn't know you liked him unless... well, unless you asked him on a date apparently," Virgil chuckled slightly, remembering the bizarre interaction between Roman and Logan on Monday. "And Roman is always too busy bothering Logan to pay attention to what you're doing," Virgil propped his chin up on one of his hands. "But objectively, it is pretty obvious."

Patton was deflated, blonde curls doing their best to bashfully cover his eyes now. He put his face back into the pillow on his lap. Virgil heard a muffled "I'm sorry."

"What? Why are you sorry?" Virgil rubbed his back now.

"I don't know. I'm sorry to Logan mostly. And to myself." His shrunken form shook slightly. Virgil hoped he wouldn't start crying.

"Ohhhh come on," Virgil awkwardly attempted to comfort him. "No one knows, and besides, it's no big deal. You'll be alright. Most likely, nothing will happen, and you can just eventually move on with your life. And heck, maybe you'll get your chance with him."

Patton's curls shook again as he looked up, eyes the size of the moon. "You really think so????" He asked in earnest. clear snot streams ran down from his nostrils and over his lips now, and his whole face was like a tomato. Virgil laughed airily.

"...It's always possible," he said almost under his breath. He wondered if he was reassuring himself or Patton more.

They sat in silence for a short moment, Virgil shaking his slender fingers through his vibrant purple bangs. I should re-dye my hair soon. The roots are starting to show.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" Virgil asked eventually. Patton's eyes lit up.

"Yeah! Did your mom get Grasshopper Pie again??? I love that stuff so much!" They got up off Virgil's bed together to head down the hall to the stairs.

"Actually, my mom tried making some herself this time," Virgil shut his bedroom door behind them.

"Ooh, really!?!?! I'm so excited to try it then!" Patton squealed, overjoyed as a small child would be. It was as if all of his troubles had dissipated like seeds in the wind. Another thing Virgil admired about Patton.

He hoped everything would be okay.

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Soft Walls and Roses- Fusion AU

Ao3,   Masterpost,   More of this AU

I think this is my first AU wow,,, So yeah this is definitely just the first installment. It can be read as a stand-alone, but I do intend on writing more with a couple of other fusions later! And then we’ll see how it goes from there. Essentially this is just a series where i get to describe a lot of cool things because descriptions are fun for me and i don’t get to do them enough. Hope u like it :3

Relationships: Royality, mentioned platonic logicality and platonic logince.

Warnings: Lots of Prose (seriously i went insane i think, this is flowery and sappy as hell), Remus makes a sex joke at one point, there is a small argument, food mention. Idk this one’s just sweet and unrelentingly fluffy.

Word Count: 3,216

Daylight streamed in through the wide windows, casting golden and bright beams across the carpeted floor and the various pieces of furniture. The patches of light were warm, comfortably so, and there wasn’t a cloud to disrupt it. Such perfect weather conditions were only mirroring the sunshine out in the real world, but Roman couldn’t help but feel that it was made especially to fit the mood in the Mindpalace. That was to say; sunny and blanketing. 

Music lilted through the living room and kitchen, a cheery little ditty chosen by Patton. It was pleasant, melodic, and not too loud to disturb the peace. Though this ‘Ingrid Michaelson’ woman wasn’t exactly Roman’s usual taste, he couldn’t help the bright smile that curved on his lips at the tunes. 

‘Relaxing days’ were a mostly foreign concept to the Sides of Sander. Someone was always either a), stressed out of their mind with work, or b), starting arguments and generally being disruptive. But today was a miracle, a dreamy noon wherein everyone was happy and sociable with each other. A once-in-a-blue-moon occurrence that everyone was keen to take advantage of, all six of them spread out in the common room to enjoy each other’s company. 

Logan was sitting on the couch, enthusiastically infodumping with Janus, the subject of the discussion requiring many big words and drawn-out sentences to explain (most of which sort of gave Roman a headache trying to think about, so he mostly tuned them out). Remus was lounging almost calmly on the floor by the two left-brained traits’ feet, an enormous sketchbook propped up on the coffee table in front of him. He interjected into the conversation constantly with irrelevant and explicit additions, but nobody seemed to mind letting him lead them on tangents. Virgil had twisted into one of his contortionist-esque positions in the corner of the couch, his headphones stuck over his ears. Occasionally he’d slip one side back, listen briefly to the current topic, chip in some snarky comment, and then go back into his own little world. But regardless, he was still offering his presence, which was well enough. 

Then finally, there was Patton. He flitted between the kitchen and the living room, swaying with the songs and singing along without much care what key he was in. He smiled so wide that his already prevalent smile lines were surely deepening even more, his eyes pushed so far up in the corners that it seemed cartoonish as the light glinted off his big, square glasses. The mouth-watering aroma of whatever it was he was baking filled both rooms, something rich and chocolatey with just a hint of lemon. 

Patton wore a stained apron overtop his soft-colored clothes, all of which were bulky and the precise opposite of form-fitting. He was the furthest thing from a fashion icon in that respect, but the way he didn’t seem to care either way rendered that fact entirely irrelevant; he looked perfect. His pitchy singing only quieted when he jumped into the conversation with a handful of jokes, which Roman always laughed at (even though he definitely wasn’t paying enough attention to understand any of them. Needless to say, he was a little distracted). 

Beautiful, adorable, precious, and countless other flattering adjectives were the words Roman would use to describe Patton in that moment. And most other moments. God, he was practically perfect in every way, wasn’t he?

The wonderful day, the lively company, and Roman’s own overwhelming affection for his oblivious friend swirled together in an almost painful surge of emotion in the Creative side. It filled up his chest, pushing hard against his ribs and making him feel even more brainless than usual. His heart felt more breakable than glass, but it only served to remind Roman that the object of his affections would never take advantage and break it, making the feeling more of a comfort than a concern.

In the end Roman could not bear the emotion quietly, rising to his feet and striding across the room as theatrically as he could. He was bursting into song before he knew it, thankfully familiar enough with the lyrics of Time Machine to belt it out like he was on a stage. 

Virgil slipped one headphone off his ear just long enough to groan at Roman, tossing a throw pillow in his vague direction.

“Dude, chill, can’t you just be happy without being loud?”

Roman shrugged, stopping in his path to the kitchen to lean over his best friend and tap the volume button on his headphones. 

“If it bothers you such, feel free to drown me out!”

Virgil hissed at him, but he was already waltzing away.

Roman slipped through the open wall and onto the kitchen counter, sliding along it elegantly, hopping down to stand near the stove.

The side spun around with a grin and a laugh, silencing his own mumbled version of the lyrics at Roman’s much louder singing. 

As he fell into place beside Patton- gorgeous, giggly Patton- an instrumental hit.

“Dance with me?” Roman asked in a slow, sultry voice (determinedly ignoring the laughing and groaning from the other sides as they overheard), his hand outstretched to the breath-taking creature before him.

“Oh, I'd love to, Roman, but the batter-”

“We can wait a little longer for sweet treats, Patton Dear- dance with me!”

Patton bit his lip through a smile, round eyes flitting between the oven and Roman himself. After trying and failing miserably to look reluctant, he huffed a little laugh and turned the oven off, shoving the batter-filled pan to the back of the counter. Roman watched as he moved, keeping his arm out and a charming smirk on his lips. 

Patton turned back around. He met his gaze. And he placed his hand in Roman’s. 

The response was immediate as Roman swept Patton up in his arms. It was surely a humorous sight, Roman leading the dance even though he was much shorter than Patton, but he was perfectly aware that if he let the taller being lead then they'd both be tripping over their feet in mere seconds. 

Roman twirled them around the small kitchen, crooning along to the peppy little love song that had replaced the previous number. Patton was making a good effort to sing along, but he wasn’t getting many words out through his laughter. Roman hardly minded the tunelessness, as long as he was graced with the sound and sight of that exuberant giggle. 

The limited space grew to be too little quickly for the pair, who’s movements got more flowy and circular. Clumsily, they maneuvered into the living room, dancing around the coffee table with some struggle. 

“Do you two have to do that in here?” Logan sent them a half-hearted glare, clearly not that annoyed with the display- but if there was one thing he was good at, it was acting aloof. 

Roman scrunched his face at the logical side, twirling Patton with a flourish out of spite.  Logan rolled his eyes, turning back to his and Janus’ (and to a lesser extent, Remus’) debate. 

Patton and Roman continued to dance, carefully avoiding the minefield of furniture and discarded items on the floor, for a good few minutes. Just as what would be their third song began, Patton brought them to a stop.

“Can I lead? Just for a second, I wanna do something!”

Roman quirked a brow, a confused smile on his lips. His curiosity nearly took control, desperate to ask what Patton meant, but at the look in Patton’s eyes he got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t want the surprise to be spoiled. 

With a decisive nod, Roman moved his hands from the sides hips to rest on his shoulders. Patton’s hands settled on Roman’s waist with a secure grip. Patton took a breath, a determined and focused look crossing his face as he went through the steps. One, two, three, a twirl, one, two, three, and then-

And then Patton dipped him.

Roman wrapped his arms around Patton’s shoulders instinctively, a startled laugh bubbling up from his throat. He needn't have worried about being dropped, though, as Patton's strong arms curved tight and supportive around him, cradling him desperately near to the moral trait’s chest. 

Warmth flooded Roman, starting in his sternum and spreading out, out, outwards, so much so that he could barely hold it all. His skin was flushed hot, especially in the places where Morality touched it. Along with the physical heat, there was also the almost painful adoration burning in him- and that smug little smile on Patton's face, slowly slipping into something softer and sweeter, Lord. It was too much to handle, and Roman felt like he was losing himself in it. His mind felt fuzzy and his body light-weight, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Oh, he was just glowing, basking in it. 

No, wait- he was glowing. Literally! 

Actually, no, he wasn’t glowing, Patton was! No, both of them were? Or was it just one? No- yes- but then, there was only one of them. Where was Patton- no, Roman?

He opened his eyes, a gasp escaping him. 

Who was he?

He was tall, certainly taller than Roman, but even taller than Patton, too. He could just reach up and touch the ceiling if he really wanted, pressing his full palm against it. His four full palms, actually, that were attached to his four full arms. One set in the usual place, the second set placed just below them. God- nuh-uh!- Goodness, he was something else. 

His hands were big and flat, with thick, stubby fingers. That matched his general physique indeed, as despite his height he was very wide. His stomach was round and prominent, his thighs even bigger, and even his arms were flabby. But all of the fat was very obviously sitting over impressive muscles- if he flexed, there surely wouldn’t be a part of him that wasn’t sturdy and stiff. Considering that Patton and Roman were the two bulkiest sides, that wasn’t exactly shocking.

His outfit was ornate- and yet it was remarkably soft, falling in waves of fabric down his body, but clinging in all the appropriate places. Sheer, pale-blue sleeves hung well past his hands, slits running up the inside of them all the way to the elbow. The transparent material revealed smatters of freckles all over his skin, right down to the backs of his hands. 

His sleeves connected to an eggshell-white blouse, which sported shining golden buttons about the chest and collar. There was a shining yellow belt, then, from beneath which spilled a flowing and slightly ruffled white skirt. This, too, was accented with golden buttons looping around the hem. The brown leather tips of his shoes were just visible from underneath it. And the final component to the ensemble was his scarf, plush, hugging around his neck and shoulders, the color a deep crimson, shot through with streaks and speckles of gray. 

He was engrossed in his new form, examining himself with a seemingly ever-growing self-love. It took him quite a while to notice the hush that had fallen over the room, brought on by his presence. 

He glanced up with a start, seeing four pairs of incredulous eyes trained on him. 

“Oh, um,” he offered a small wave, “Hi?”

There was a beat.

Janus was the first to reply, stone-faced and blunt:

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah, I second that?” Virgil had pulled his headphones down around his neck, sitting up normally for once, posed tense as if he were about to stand. 

He- what was his name? He really ought to have one, seeing as he existed now!- Well, regardless, The Currently-Unnamed Side cleared his throat. He stood up a little straighter, flashing a wide smile for his audience. If he was going to be anything, it would be someone who made an excellent first impression. 

“Goodness gracious- it is just a pleasure to meet all of you! I’d really love to get to know you all better, but first I would really like to get to know myself. What am I, exactly?”

Logan jumped to his feet at once, his eyes sparkling like little stars. He was across the room and inspecting Currently-Unnamed in just a few long strides, pulling at the side’s arms and examining his face. He even pushed up C.U.’s oversized glasses to get a closer look at his eyes.

C.U. politely allowed the poking and prodding, knowing that Logan would probably be able to explain the situation. (Ah! There was one thing to know about himself; he admired Logan greatly.) 

The rest of the sides had gathered, one-by-one, to form a semi-circle around the new entity. They kept a respectful distance- well, mostly. Remus deigned to walk right up and audibly sniff C.U., which he was not a fan of (part of him was annoyed, but another, louder part of himself felt strongly amicable towards the trait. He’d have to talk more to his sibling- half-sibling?- later, then.)

The stunned silence was growing to be a bit awkward, as was all of the scrutiny C.U. faced. On one hand: attention!!!! On the other hand: attention… 

“You,” Logan spoke at last, an air of importance in his tone, “Seem to be some sort of fusion created between Patton and Roman.”

There was a respectable amount of gasping.

“A fusion?!” C.U. exclaimed, as though it hadn’t been so very obvious what he was, “We can do that?!”

“Evidently,” Logan was barely hiding his own excitement at the situation, smiling widely. 

“Oh- Oh my gosh! That’s awesome! I’m awesome! And awe-inspiring! And- and- and-” he sucked in a deep, gasping breath, and the word appeared in his mind as clear as a neon sign, “PATRON!”

“... Patron?” Janus muttered, looking him over appraisingly. 

“Yes, it’s a name- my name! That’s my name,” Patron confirmed with a nod, grinning broadly at nothing in particular. 

“We need to find out more about this,” Logan summoned a small notebook and pencil, flipping it open with one hand. “Now, given that we’re imaginary figments, it’s entirely possible that this is a result of Thomas’ affection for the show Steven Universe. It could be that his obsession incidentally resulted in granting us these, ah, abilities, via him subconsciously projecting elements of the show onto us. Or, it could be viewed as an extension of our abilities to shapeshift! Perhaps there’s more-”

“TEACH ME HOW TO DO IT!” Remus howled at Patron, draping himself over the much taller being. Patron gave him an indulging smile- it was only slightly strained- and opened his mouth to say he didn’t exactly know how he’d managed to fuse. 

“Wait,” Virgil interrupted, “How do we know if this is safe? What if they get stuck that way and we can’t get them out?”

“Well, the best way to figure it out is to study it, which is what I was saying,” Logan gestured to his little notebook.

“I’m just not sure about this.”

“When are you sure about anything?” Janus snarked, earning a hiss from Virgil. He hissed back, and it was unclear if it was playful or actually aggressive. Both sides then devolved into making senseless feral sounds at each other, disrupting pretty much any chance of civil conversation. 

“Who cares if it’s safe?” Remus spoke, mostly to himself, “It looks like fun.”

“It would benefit us to learn how it works before we-”

“That takes time, though-”

There was a particularly shrill hiss from Janus, exacerbating both of the budding arguments. It was headache-inducing.

“Okay!” Patron said, his voice surprisingly commanding. Immediately the squabbling silenced, the others looking guiltily in his direction. He coughed, suddenly unsure how to use this newfound power.  “Okay…” What was he saying? Oh, right- “You guys can keep arguing about me, if you wanna, but I think I’m going to go get to know myself a little better, before worrying about- any of that, actually.”

He extricated himself from the group. 

“Ooohh, get to know yourself, you say?” Remus winked. 

Patron was torn between laughing or maybe kicking him, so he settled for a nice middle ground.

“Shut up,” he slowly sunk out, “Please,” he added politely, as he left the living room behind him entirely. 

The room he rose up in was foreign and familiar in conjunction. He knew, immediately, that this was his home- one that had existed for about three seconds, but a home nonetheless. 

It felt like a dream. 

Happiness washed over Patron as soon as he arrived, it felt like walking on clouds. His vision was pleasantly hazy as he looked over the comfy-cozy room, filled to every corner with wonderful plush furniture. Every surface was patterned with flowers and lace and gold; every bit of them was as soft as loose spools of cotton and fluff. 

Patron went wide-eyed as he took it all in, smelling sweet candy, fresh roses, and earth. Almost unconsciously, he fell onto a loveseat, curling himself up in the pillows and blankets arranged on it. The lights were warm and soft, casting the room in a bubblegum-pink glow. Somewhere, distantly, music played.

“Oh, this is so pretty,” he whispered to himself. It didn’t feel like just himself, though. 

He couldn’t remember the last time either of his components had felt this way. This particular brand of contentment. The polar opposite of lonely. He felt… loved.

Patron laughed softly to himself, and it was a melody.

“I guess that answers that,” he laced his hands together, both sets, “You must adore each other, for me to love being me as much as I do.”

He imagined that the ‘revelation’ would embarrass the stuffing out of his components. They might be shy of each other, even. But, whole as he was, there was really no need to feel any embarrassment when he knew perfectly both of their perspectives. Yet again, Patton and Roman find a short-cut that means they don’t have to actually talk about their feelings! 

He laughed again, mostly at his own expense. 

“There’s one mystery solved,” Patron hummed, laying his head down upon the arm of the loveseat. His glasses were knocked up on his face, ones that he was only half-used to having, so he took them off and carefully placed them on the coffee table. It was already littered with various other objects; bright pink and pastel blue fidget toys, small bottles of nail polish, adult coloring books, small ceramic animal figurines- all of which he found himself immediately affectionate about.

Every item in the room seemed to give him a little bit more information about himself. Little things he knew intrinsically that he adored, things that hinted at his dislikes, tiny contradictions everywhere. It was almost overwhelming.

Patron huffed out a breath, sinking his fingers into foamy pillows beneath him. Before he knew it, his near-sighted eyes had fallen closed. He thought that, perhaps, it would be nice to learn about himself on his own terms. To take things slow. 

There would likely be a lot to figure out when he unfused, but unfortunately/fortunately for Patron, both of his components were quite the procrastinators, content to bask in this for as long as they wanted.

(I feel I should say that it’s pronounced “PAH-tron” not like the actual word patron haha.)

Taglist: @shrimp-crockpot @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob 

[starshineandbooks]

Come away with me, One lasty adventure? Chapter two

In which Roman is just barley strong enough to keep quiet

AO3

words- 966

pairing Logince

Chapter one

Logan drives until he stops at a gas station, the sun starting to rise, he shakes Roman awake gently, “Ro, we’re at the gas station you said to stop at.”

Logan had been following the direction to the gas station Roman had left on the dashboard, driving four or five hours, and he needs a break and some food. Also a bathroom.

Roman whines, “Nooooo.”

“Come on Roman, get up.” Logan prods his friend’s side gently.

“Loooo, ‘m sleepy, five minutes and we’ll go.”

“Roman we’re at the gas station you had the directions tell me to stop at.”

“We’re-” Roman opens his eyes, “How’d I get in the car?”

Logan smirks down at his groggy, sleep disheveled friend -The sunlight hitting those stunning brown eyes, making the dark color look like bourbon at the moment, Logan thinks it’s fitting, he’s a little addicted to Roman’s eyes.

“Specs?”

“I carried you, you needed it.”

“You-” Roman blinks at Logan, “You carried me?”

“I did.”

Roman can feel his lips tugging upwards, and he grins up at Logan, “Really? That sounds awful hard on your back.”

“You are worth it Roman.” Logan’s voice sounds a little odd, but he presses on, “Now, let’s go, snacks to be found, bathrooms to be used, strangers to avoid. “And, happy birthday.”

“What- Oh my gosh it is my birthday isn’t it? Thank you!”

Logan smiles, nodding as he opens the door, “When we get to a hotel for the night I have something for you.”

Roman watches as Logan gets out of the car, then follows suit himself. He shuts the door, following Logan into the station, gaze darting about the shelves and displays.

Logan disappears to the bathroom, leaving Roman on snack and drink duty.

As Roman walks about he picks up jerky and chips, licorice, kitkats, gummy candy, and waters. He stands in front of the flavored drinks when he hears something that makes his whole heart drop.

“Hey sweet cheeks,” A man leans forwards, leaning into Roman’s space, arm draping about his shoulders, “A road trip huh?”

“Uh- yeah,” Roman smiles grandly, “How’d you guess?”

“The snacks.”

“What,” Logan’s voice sounds as the boy appears beside Roman suddenly. Logan’s voice is sharp and hard and leaves no room for Roman to feel unsafe suddenly, “Are you doing with your arm around him?”

“Flirting.”

Roman looks at Logan, and Logan seems to understand.

“With my boyfriend? Please, get your arm off of him before I remove it for you.”

“This is your boyfriend sweet cheeks?”

“Uh- Yes! Yes, my boyfriend, who I am so deeply in love with.”

Logan nods, though has a pink tint to his cheeks Roman can’t miss, “Yes.”

“Then kiss him sweet cheeks.”

Logan hums, “Will you take your arm off of him so I may kiss him then?”

The man scoffs but pulls his arms off, watching with a clear challenge in his eyes as Logan cups Roman’s face.

“You good?”

“Just do it.” Roman says.

Logan finds himself being selfish, leaning forwards to take a kiss from his dearest friend, pressing their lips together firmly, holding Roman there as his eyes slip shut.

Roman pulls back, gasping, “Thank you.”

The weird man grumbles but leaves.

Logan smiles, “Come on, let’s check out.”

“Thank you.” Roman whispers, then, “That was- That was my first kiss off a stage.”

Logan blinks, “I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad it was someone I trust.”

“Thank you.”

“Was- Was I your first kiss?”

“No.” Logan says with what Roman can tell is regret, though over what Roman couldn't say.

“Second?”

“No.”

“Third-”

“Roman I have made a series of bad decisions. I apologize.” Logan sighs gently, “Come on, let’s get checked out.”

Roman nods, following Logan to check out.

Once they get back into the car, Roman takes the wheel, Logan settled happily in the passenger's seat.

Logan stares out the window, when finally, “Where are we going?”

“We’re headed up on a theme park tour! First up we have Disney.” Roman grins, “FLorida because that’s where we are.”

“Oh how-”

“I’ve been planning this for- years.”

“I see.”

Roman glances at Logan, lips quirking at the way Logan stares out the window, “We'll get to Williamsburg, promise.”

“Really?” Logan turns and looks excitedly hopeful, eyes shining.

“Really. Now, We’ll be at the hotel in twenty minutes.”

Logan smiles, “After we get there I have a surprise for you.”

“Gay.”

“I would hope so, I am a homosexual male.” Logan’s brow knits, “Roman I don’t understand-”

“I’m teasing.” Roman laughs softly then, “Where do you think our soulmate marks will be?”

“I don’t know, your hand maybe?”

“We’ll check when we stop.”

“Sounds good.”

“I think yours will be your shoulder and hip, your soulmate dips you.”

“Maybe.”

“You deserve the best.” Roman grins, turning the radio up as he hears a power song of the duo’s come on, “Sing with me Lolo!”

“Shut up.” Logan laughs, shaking his head.

The intro chords to a green day song start and Logan will deny it forever, but the smile he gets from Roman makes the whole singing thing worth it.

Roman can’t help the way he puts everything he has into his voice, countering and complementing Logan’s own. The world is Roman’s stage, but Logan is his harbor from the storm.

Logan’s voice, while untrained, is pleasant and kind to Roman’s ears. It isn’t often Logan sings willingly, that he knows the people around him are awake at least.

Roman treasures the moments Logan lets loose in a way no one would think he ever would, and around Roman at that.

It’s almost too much for Roman to manage to keep inside.

“Hey Logan?”

“Yes?”

Roman swallows, “I- thanks for coming with me.”

Almost too much. Almost.

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