#which of course logically means all the fucking folded clothes fly out of my hands
Text
⚡️
#sometimes i feel like my life is just a really bad physical comedy tbh#or really good depending on the point of view I guess#earlier today i was doing my laundry and i walk into my bedroom to put#the folded clothes away I try to turn on the lights with my elbow and i get fucking electrocuted by the light switch#which of course logically means all the fucking folded clothes fly out of my hands#and I’m just left there shaking like a chihuahua with a pile of freshly unfolded clothes#like how does shit like this always happen to me#like the eye last week and now this#what are the chances???#maybe the universe wants me dead#because am not a clumsy person but shit like this always finds a way to find me
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 7
also on ao3
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes
Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update
Chapter Summary: Alive but weak, Michael wanders Alex’s house as he tries to come to terms with the past few days.
Excerpt:
At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.
What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.
But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.
So he’d live with it.
--
“Fuck!”
Michael’s water glass flew to his hand but bumped the edge of the table and skidded the last few feet, spilling water across its surface. Still cursing, Michael shoved his chair back and got to his feet to clean shit up the old-fashioned way, on weak and shaky legs, with weaker and shakier lungs.
Max kept healing him, checking for any possible little injury, but it seemed that Michael was just weakened by the enormous strain Jones’s “teaching” had put on his body, and he’d have to build back his strength.
So there it was. All his fears about not being to protect anyone, all the needy clamor in his head, all of them led him here, by nothing but his own recklessness and desperation. Weak as a kitten. More a burden on Alex, quite literally, in his life, taking up his space, invading his home, leaning on him to get from point A to point B.
Fuck.
He was, at least, too tired to wallow in much, in between long jags of ragged sleep, torn apart by vivid dreams of light and letters and scraps of knowledge just out of reach. But despite the awful aftertaste of near-death those dreams represented, they were almost better than his waking hours, hovered over by a furious Isobel and a Max worried half to death, Valenti inspecting him head to toe the normal way, Maria trying to cheer him up, and Alex .
They hadn’t spoken much since Michael awoke. Alex had to work, and when he didn’t, they, well. Cohabitating was a lot to get used to. But no matter how awkward things got, he offered a perfect porcelain protection, and Michael studied him obsessively for flaw, for the true Alex underneath the façade brought on by Michael’s own foolishness.
“Everything going okay?” Max asked, emerging from the guest bedroom, Buffy at his heels. She’d become his shadow in the days since Michael’s near-death; it was almost endearing enough to keep Michael from snapping at him, but only almost.
“Fine,” he snarled, but far from driving Max off, his tone brought Max forward, to sit across the table from him and fold his arms.
If snapping wasn’t gonna keep people away, why had he been working so hard to not be a total asshole for the past few days, through every well-meaning coddle and condescension from any one of their friends, from everyone but Isobel, who wasn’t talking to him.
Max sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, and a twinge of guilt disturbed Michael’s surly mood.
“Go ahead,” he said a little too loudly, before those thoughts could get to him. “Tell me what a hypocrite I am. One of you has to, and it might as well be you. I was fucking stupid after getting on your case constantly, and it almost killed me. Go ahead!”
“You seem to have gotten a head start, so I don’t see the need,” Max said wryly.
Michael scoffed.
Picking up Michael’s abandoned glass, Max ran his finger around the rim as he spoke. “You know, I know what it’s like to lose this. When my heart was still so weak…I pushed myself too hard and almost…well. You know. So I understand. Give yourself time. Let your system settle and see where you are.”
The words were too kind and too logical for Michael to bear, so he let out another bratty huff and didn’t respond.
Max just sighed again. “Well. Anyway. Kyle’s going to be here soon. I know you hate him, but he’s—”
“I don’t.”
“Huh?”
“Hate him. Kinda hard to hate the guy after what he did for you. I don’t like the doctor shit, but…”
That brought out a small smile on Max’s face, and the knot in Michael’s stomach unclenched. “That’s good,” he said.
A knock on the door saved Michael from having to find a dignified answer, and he stood hastily to answer it—a little too hastily, it turned out, because the world tipped and took Michael with it.
“How ‘bout you let me,” Max said as Michael dropped heavy back into his chair before falling. He clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “Alex’d kill me anyway if it was trouble and I let you answer it.”
Alex. The too-casual reminder that he might have some kind of stake in Michael’s well-being sent him reeling. What was he supposed to do with that information, that perspective? How did he earn it, how was he worthy of it, and how did he keep it from flying away? All questions that were too much to answer—questions he’d asked his ceiling and his eyelids and his stars every night for a decade and was farther than ever from answers even now that he was coming to accept the core truth of the problem’s existence.
Of course, there was no trouble at the door; it was just Kyle, as expected, and he pet Buffy with one hand while waving at Michael with the other.
“Hey, Guerin. How’s it going?”
Michael marshalled himself to answer.
“How do you think it’s going, Doc? A newborn deer’s got fancier footwork than me right now. But I’m alive, so…”
“Can’t complain,” Kyle finished the sentence with an amused shake of his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”
His exam was quick and efficient, something Michael was grateful enough for that he’d die before he ever let Valenti see it, and when he was done he took a seat across from Michael.
“It’s not exactly a clean bill of health, but your condition seems stable and improving. The condition of your body, at least. It’s hard for me to give any diagnosis about what might be impacting the use of your powers.”
“Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t expect you to. I’ll figure it out. You’ve done enough,” Michael said, scratching idly at his temple where Max’s handprint lay, thankfully hidden by his hair. “Tell me this, Doc.” He glanced around to make sure Max wasn’t in earshot, and when he spied him through a window throwing a ball for Buffy, he continued, “Have you had a chance to check out Max yet? The healing he did, with his heart—”
Kyle smiled, and Michael glanced away from his knowing face, shifting in his seat.
“I did, and you have nothing to worry about. He’s fine. It was a significant strain, but considering the alternative, the outcome could have been much worse.”
“But what about his condition otherwise?” Michael powered through. “He’s been dealing with depression and exhaustion for months since—"
The back door swung open and Buffy bounded in for her water bowl, Max following. “How’s it going?” he asked them both, but mostly Kyle, voice full of false cheer.
“All good,” Kyle said easily, getting to his feet. “It’s going to be fine,” he tacked on the firm reassurance to Michael. “I should get going so I can get ready for work. Catch you later, Max.”
“Thanks again, man.”
“Free drinks at the Pony for life, you know my price.”
As little as Michael cared to socialize with Valenti even now, awkward silence descended when he was gone and it was just the brothers again. What did you say to the guy who saved your life—again—when you had nothing but your own stupidity to blame?
It didn’t help that Max’s ability to make Michael feel small and stupid and guilty as hell without even trying was still unparalleled, or that he was still too weak to pace it out, or that he was hyperaware of how everyone would perceive him if he sampled some of Alex’s liquor cabinet to take the edge off.
“I’m going out to the back to get some light exercise,” he said eventually.
“Okay,” Max said, not arguing or inviting himself along.
“Thanks,” Michael replied, not elaborating on what for as he passed him at the fastest shuffle he could manage.
Outside, under the sun, Michael’s head was no clearer, his muscles no stronger. Alex’s backyard was featureless, incomplete, clearly not somewhere he spent much time, unlike the front patio, which at least had some furniture, some lived-in rested energy. And, Michael thought, of course: Alex would spend his leisure somewhere he could anticipate most attempts to accost him.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Michael ambled from one end of the fence to the other. As he went, Alex’s cameras followed him, and Michael tried not to feel weird about that, weirdly paranoid despite it being Alex, weirdly comforted to know Alex could watch him. The whole thing was weird. Living in Alex’s home was…weird.
At night, Alex slept in his bed, and Michael slept in the guest room, but the sheets were Alex’s, the pillows were Alex’s, the walls and floor were built to hold him, he picked out the curtains. Alex was inescapable. And now, neither could Michael escape knowing that he still slept in old band shirts worn soft and peeling, that he composed music with his eyes closed and hid his written notations in books around his house, that he kept all his condiments room temperature and screwed up his nose at the thought of cold sauce on hot food. All these domestic details he’d lived and loved without, stuffed inside the empty spaces in his skull after only a few days.
What was he supposed to do, knowing this? The little details made up friendships, too, for certainly Michael knew plenty of his siblings’ idiosyncrasies, even kept shelves in his heart for lovely little scraps old one or two-night lovers had left him as parting gifts.
But things would never, ever be so simple and nostalgic and normal with Alex. Too many years had passed for Michael to even attempt to fool himself. His ribs sung like a tuning fork struck pure, and Michael longed, with the oldest, basest longing, to be anything so useful for Alex to set the music of his life to. And here he was, sharing Alex’s house with Alex and Alex’s boyfriend’s dog and Alex’s boyfriend’s toothbrush on the sink and Alex’s boyfriend’s clothes in the laundry.
So he’d live with it.
His pocket buzzed frantically, and he swore loudly, startled, before he realized it was just his phone ringing.
“Fuckin’ spam calls,” he muttered as he fished it out. “Why the hell does anyone carry this shit around all the—”
But it wasn’t a spam call at all. Ortecho sat dead center on the screen, and, not knowing what ring it was on, Michael answered immediately.
“Mikey!” Liz’s breathless voice shouted before he could say a word.
“Well it’s about damn—”
“Thank god, are you okay, why am I hearing from Maria that you almost died, what the hell?”
“Glad to know that’s what it takes to get a hold of you,” Michael snarked back.
“Listen, I—”
Michael just sighed. “I know. I get it. But we’ve been calling you a damn lot, Ortecho.”
“…I know.”
Despite what he said, he didn’t understand. He’d never understand the running, not as someone so stuck in the ground he’d been planted in that he’d die if he tried to rip himself away. But he couldn’t love Alex after ten years without accepting what he’d never understand and knowing how to survive it.
He hadn’t thought, until now, that maybe he and Max could talk about this shit. But maybe it’d be worth a try. If there was one thing that Michael did know, it was that Liz and Alex wouldn’t talk about how the situations made them similar until they’d exhausted all possible escapes from that conversation.
“Well…” Michael said into the silence. “How’s California been? How’s the Genoryx lab; they better be letting you do all the mad science shit, or else what good’s a shady government drug company…”
“Don’t change the subject! You haven’t even answered me. Are you okay? ”
“I…”
What was the harm in being honest? Liz wasn’t even here, wasn’t even talking to anyone who wasn’t dying, so who would she tell? Maybe Maria, but Maria could read it from him like an open book.
“Gotta tell you, I’ve been better,” he admitted.
Liz let out a soft, sympathetic noise. “What happened? You can…you can talk to me, if you want. I know I haven’t been the most reliable, but we’re friends. We are. Okay?”
Shaking his head, Michael paced the length of the fence again, one hand on it to steady himself. He reached the house and kept walking to the front, leaving the barren back garden behind.
“There’s not that much to say. Maria probably told you already. I made a bad gamble on Hyde, and Jekyll had to haul my ass out of the fire. That’s it.”
That version of the story left out the part Isobel played, but Michael didn’t have the words to describe walking his own head as it melted around him, images flying past bright enough to sear his eyes, snatches of conversation, aphasia in every sense, and how empty and cavernous and bereft he felt now, knowing what Jones had stuffed inside him—the knowledge of his entire people—knowing he wasn’t enough to contain it, weak, corrupted, and now he might never get it back. And knowing Jones did that to him on purpose, gave him more than his body and mind could handle to make him feel this way, didn’t make the feeling it any damn easier.
Liz went silent on the other end. There was a question she wasn’t asking, but Michael let it ride, gave her the space.
But finally, he answered it for her. “Max is okay. His heart held up, and so did the pacemaker. And I’ve got a handprint six inches from my nose, so I can call him on it if he tries to bullshit me.”
“I—okay. Thank you, Mikey.”
“Don’t thank me. Seriously, don’t. I, uh, said a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have in your voicemail, about Max. But it’s up to you if you want him in your life at all, so, uh. Yeah.”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
There was a thunk on the other line like she’d dropped or hit something.
“Look, I should go,” she said.
“Okay,” Michael replied.
“I’m—really glad you’re okay.”
“And, uh, it was nice to hear from you.”
“Okay.” Her final reply was soft and hesitant and awkward as Michael felt making an earnest overture a friend might make. “Bye, Mikey.”
“Don’t be a stranger.”
She hung up.
Michael dropped his arm and let his phone dangle at his side for a little while. His legs shook a little, so he held onto the back of one of the patio chairs to steady himself, but he wasn’t ready to sit just yet.
Friends or not, clearly he and Liz had plenty to work on if they were that fucking awkward without a project between them.
Still, this was something. Something unexpected. Michael was too tired to sort through feelings right now.
But he should have—
Before he could second guess himself, he pulled his phone back up and dashed a text off to her.
We all get together on Thursday nights. Open invitation. -G
Then he dropped his phone face-down on the seat and sat down several feet away so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it if she texted him back.
All the chairs on Alex’s patio were tilted subtly to watch different angles of the approach to the house, so Michael settled in the one that was shadiest. It was too fucking hot to be relaxing outdoors without water or sunscreen, but the air indoors with Max hovering and Alex…everywhere…was just as stifling.
Max hadn’t asked him why, yet, even though the question itched at Michael’s head, even through the careful distance they were keeping from the handprint bond between them. Which was good, because, in the sunlight, on the other side of the storm, his arms wrapped around his own stomach, holding himself, Michael couldn’t have answered it himself.
Eventually, though, people would ask. And what would he tell them—should he admit he thought that the pollen would be enough to keep himself from harm, should he confess that he’d been willing—or thought he was willing—to accept the risks if it meant no one would have to take a blow for him?
The street stretched long and quiet as far as Michael could see. Every now and then, a car would pass from one point on the line to the next, disappearing down some other driveway or just continuing until the heat haze swallowed it whole. The sun hurt his tired eyes, so he blinked slow, and let minutes trickle past, waiting for something to happen.
Maybe his phone would ring again; maybe Max would come looking for him. Maybe Flint Manes would leap out of the bushes and shoot him. Maybe Alex would come home from work and smile when he saw him. Maybe Forrest would come home early and try and fight him for shacking up while he was gone. Maybe Jones did something to him that was lying in wait and would detonate his heart any second.
Thinking of possibilities was an endless sort of entertainment for a man who never knew what to do with having a future and who just nearly lost his lease on it.
As Michael watched the road, a truck appeared on one side of the horizon, moving faster than most would on a residential street like this. It whipped up dust as it went, and Michael rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into the chair. Fucking assholes in their screaming steel overcompensators almost universally considered themselves above getting work done in a junkyard, and that didn’t exactly give Michael a better opinion of them.
And this piece of shit in particular, Michael recognized. What the hell was Wyatt fuckin’ Long doing on this side of town? Michael tensed as he roared by, just waiting for him to slow or stop—did he drive by often, harassing Alex for dating his cousin? Or looking for his cousin to harass somewhere off the farm where a real adult might stop him?
He didn’t do either, though, and in seconds he was gone, cowgirl mudflaps dangling behind him.
Asshole.
What time was it anyway? Narrowing his eyes, Michael focused on his phone where he dropped it in the other chair and, slowly, tried to pull it toward him. It took seconds and enough strain his head hurt before it moved, but move it did, wobbling slowly towards him. Halfway there, it changed velocity and came shooting toward him, and he only barely managed to catch it before it overshot and slammed against the wall behind him.
Still, progress.
It was later than he thought. Shouldn’t Alex be home from work by now? Should he be worried?
He was just hovering his thumb over Alex’s contact, deciding whether or not to call, when another car hissed along the drive and slowed. This one, though, turned into Alex’s driveway, and Michael relaxed.
Alex pulled the car to a stop, and Michael stood up to greet him, stretching as he did. Unexpectedly, Maria was also in the front seat, but her presence answered the question of why Alex was late. If he wasn’t talking to Michael, at least he was talking to someone.
“Hey,” Michael greeted them.
“Hey, Guerin,” Maria replied.
“Is everything alright?” Alex demanded.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Kyle was by earlier. Seems like I’m still on the mend.”
“That’s good to hear,” Maria said, as Alex said nothing.
Michael gave her a smile. “Yeah, it is. So…are you staying for dinner? Maybe I can cook something…”
Side-eying Alex, who stood as stiff and stoic as Michael had ever seen him, shoulders and back soldier-straight, Maria returned Michael’s smile and said, “Oh, Alex just asked me to take Buffy out for her walk for the next few days, so I’m here to see her.”
“I didn’t want to impose on you for that,” Alex added.
Michael rocked on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets, chewing on his tongue to hold back any indication of how desperate he was to be imposed upon. The weakness in his legs kept him from making a real argument; despite her age, Buffy was a hell of a walker.
Was that the reason Alex was asking Maria to step in? Was his leg okay? Michael rocked forward again, swaying toward Alex and tugging himself back, an old, familiar dance.
“You could’ve. You’re puttin’ me up, I oughtta work for room and board,” Michael joked.
It didn’t exactly land. If possible, Alex shut down harder, face cold and hard, though his voice was soft.
“You don’t have to work for me to take care of you when you’re in need,” he said, every syllable clipped and careful.
Michael should have known something was up then and there, seen it, seen Maria’s downcast eyes and crossed arms, the way she hovered close between them and kept to herself; he should have expected it, Alex to pull some kind of bullshit, but his head didn’t go there. Not yet.
“So…you going somewhere?” he asked, licking his lips. The thought might have sent a bolt of panic through him, but now that Alex had a life here, a house and a job and roots, the threat was less immediate.
That didn’t stop Liz, his mind whispered, but he shook it off.
Alex wasn’t answering, so Michael continued, “You heading out to meet Forrest in DC? You should have gone with him in the first place, man, take some time off.”
Maria shot Alex a loaded look, but Alex’s face just hardened.
“And been across the country when you almost died on my doorstep?” he demanded so fervently Michael took a step back, and Alex closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“No, uh, it’s fine. You’re right. I’m glad you were here.”
Somewhere deep in his heart, Michael thought that it wouldn’t have mattered where in the universe Alex was when he lifted his foot and stepped across space to get to his door. His thoughts were inside out, tripled and rearranged with pieces missing, he couldn’t have said what he did or the powers he used or how he could do it again, but he could say this: for a brief moment, he’d possessed the ability to reorder the universe to put himself at Alex’s side, and no technicalities of time or distance would have stopped him.
He didn’t have that power anymore, though, and neither did he have the ability to read Alex’s mind.
“Seriously, though, are you going somewhere?” he asked again.
“…I should get inside. My phone’s dead, I need to charge it,” Alex said.
“ Alex, ” Maria said in a scalded voice.
Michael, though, was cold. Frozen. It barely registered when Maria reached out and squeezed his wrist to reassure him; he wasn’t reassured, though he was pathetically grateful to her for trying. She was a good friend—better now than she was or he was when they were two isolated points on a severed line, ten years as two stars on an unintelligible constellation, half its lights gone out.
But that friendship, as cherished as it was—could it hold him up if the new foundation he’d built for his life was ripped away again? Again, he’d built it up around Alex without expectation or intention. It was reflexive, habitual, migratory. He followed a pattern etched into his bones. He didn’t know any other way to build.
“Alex, I told you,” Maria said.
“I know. But—”
“No! No buts. If you can’t even be honest about what you’re doing, you shouldn’t be doing it.”
“It’s fine,” Michael said. His voice was distant inside his own skull. “I get it. You don’t have to tell—you don’t owe me anything.”
For some reason, Alex turned back around to face them, then, his face so openly wracked with pain and indecision that Michael had to close his eyes.
Even less than he could stand to watch Alex walk away again, he couldn’t stand to watch it hurt so bad and him choose it all the same.
“I’m not leaving you, Guerin. Michael. I’m—not. I’m not!”
He said it again and again, like he was arguing with someone who wasn’t Michael or Maria, both of whom were silent. Maria pressed closer to Michael, leaning her weight against him, wordless but telling him: I’m here.
“I’m not leaving,” Alex said again.
Michael forced himself to open his eyes. A few feet in front of him, Alex took up the same amount of space he always did, posture helplessly perfect, hands helplessly flat at his sides.
Through a tight throat, Michael said, “Okay. Then why…”
Alex struggled for the words. At his side, Michael felt Maria breathe in and release a heavy sigh.
“Talk to us, Alex. Please,” she said.
Dropping his eyes, Alex replied, “I’m just going to be busy and out of the house a lot for the next few days and won’t have time to give Buffy the attention she deserves.”
“Really? That’s it?” her voice was close to tears, and Michael unlocked himself to wrap his arm around her. She continued, “I asked you to talk to us, not just repeat what you told me before. What business, Alex? You’re scaring me.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Alex cried, spreading his arms wide. Then he dropped his arms just as suddenly, head snapping back and forth looking for anyone who might have heard the outburst, then he dragged a hand over his face. He continued, quieter, flatter, “I get so wound up about one threat, and another one starts swinging from my blind side. I’m not waiting for Fields to come calling while Michael is here. And Jones—” That awful blankness crossed his face again. “—What am I supposed to do, let what he did to you go without doing something about it? Wait until he tries again? Absolutely not.”
Every word stung Michael’s senses; he had no response, mouth parted but silent, eyes wide.
Maria let out a frustrated growl. “And would you have told anyone these plans if I hadn’t forced you? Oh my god, of course not, you both suck so bad! What part of this one,” she jerked her thumb at Michael, “getting his gray matter pureed forty-eight hours ago makes you think now is the time to run off with some lone wolf Rambo act? What’s the point of being able to see the future if no one ever asks or listens?”
“Did you? See something?” Michael asked.
“Well. No. But I might have,” Maria replied.
“Wait, nothing at all? It’s been how long now?”
“Too long,” she admitted. “It’s not nothing, I just keep seeing our bearded friend standing in a field. I can’t even tell if it’s now or if it’s from before or even if it’s from the home planet. He doesn’t look at me, just…stands there.” She shivered.
Alex’s eyebrows drew down. “Can he…block your sight? Is that possible?”
Shrugging helplessly, Maria said, “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure we can’t just ask him. What are we going to do?”
We. Part of Michael wanted to protest, in the face of the danger that alliance would pose to two of the people he loved most in the entire world. Standing alone already almost got him killed, left him weaker than he’d ever been, but still part of him would try again, and again, until he was out of second chances, if it meant sparing Alex and Maria anything.
But that wasn’t in question, was it. They’d made their choice. It was time for Michael to learn to live with it.
“Thursday’s coming up,” he said. Maria and Alex turned to look at him, and he lifted and dropped his shoulders, curling in on himself. “If you guys are still available. We can talk about a game plan.”
“ Guerin, ” Maria sighed. But she smiled when she reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Of course we’re available.”
Alex didn’t reply. Silence fell between the three of them, until Maria sighed again and headed toward the front door.
“I already came all this way, I might as well spend a little time with Buffy. Since I won’t be walking her after all.”
As she passed Alex, he made a soft noise, and whatever it was, she understood perfectly, because she turned to meet Alex’s raising arms, and the two of them hugged tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You were right. I’m sorry I didn’t--I shouldn’t have made you--”
“Stop with the ‘shouldn’ts’,” Maria replied. “Just...don’t make us watch you destroy yourself alone when we’re here for you, okay?”
Michael flinched. Neither of them looked at him, but her words hit home anyway. He was part of that grief, too.
Alex nodded against her shoulder. “I won’t.”
Then she gave him one last squeeze, he let her go, and she went inside, leaving Michael and Alex alone.
And alone, what was there to say? They hadn’t found it so far.
Michael’s heart still beat uncomfortably fast in his chest, a frantic effort to keep him standing and sane while his brain and body figured out that Alex wasn’t going to disappear from before his eyes, and it only pulsed harder when—he blinked to clear his eyes and—Alex got closer, closing the space between them in a few long, uneven strides.
On instinct, Michael took a step back, but Alex stopped six inches away, just staring at him with his dark eyes. They scanned from his feet to his hair, taking in every minute tremble of his damaged muscles.
Jittery, Michael licked his lips and said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer--”
Alex took Michael’s shirt in his fist and pulled him in. They hit, chest to chest, Alex’s arm trapped between them until he pulled it away, down and out, clamped it around Michael’s back and held on, held on for dear life. He didn’t need to hold on so tight; Michael froze with the shock of Alex around him and couldn’t have budged for love or money, not until his mind caught up with his body and he slumped in Alex’s safe arms.
“I’m so mad at you,” Alex said in his ear, close enough that his hitching breaths stirred Michael’s ear.
“I know. I know,” Michael spoke back, lips moving against his shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut again. Like this, he didn’t need them, dropped every sense that wasn’t touch, anything that didn’t tell him the only thing he needed to know. Alex was here. Michael was here. They were alive. They were together.
“How could you? What did I do wrong?” His breathing hitched harder, enough for Michael to feel it in Alex’s entire body.
Gripping him tighter, one arm around his lower back, one arm around his broad shoulders, Michael murmured, “Nothing, God, nothing. I was stupid. I just wanted—I just had to—”
“I wanted to protect you. That’s all I wanted—did I push too hard?” Hot, wet heat hit Michael’s neck. “I’m so shit at this, Michael, every time I try, I just make everything worse!”
“No! No, hey, hey.”
They were too tightly entwined for Michael to do much, but he maneuvered them enough to press their foreheads together.
“I just wanted to protect you, ” Michael rasped. If he looked at Alex this second, this close, he wouldn’t be able to stand it, so he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know how to—be protected. You making that sacrifice for me, I don’t know how to be worth it. It’s not your fault.”
“You don’t have to do anything. Ever. I’m so fucking—sorry, for all the times I made you feel like you had to—earn...”
They swayed slightly back and forth, half because Michael had pushed himself too far on his weak legs, half because it was an old self-soothing motion one or both of them fell back on, completely alone in the universe as children. They did it together, now.
“We’ll figure it out,” Michael swore, clasping Alex’s sweaty hand in his own sweaty hand, in the nonspace between their chests, knuckle to sternum, palm to palm, sternum to knuckle. The words tasted like hope on his tongue.
They opened their eyes, Alex first, then Michael, and they stood like that for a long time. Alex’s eyes were red from crying, but beautiful. Always beautiful.
We’ll figure it out. Neither of them believed it fully, but if both of them held a half, maybe they’d manage to make it work.
“We should get back inside,” Michael said eventually, dropping Alex’s hand, stiffening his own to keep the shape of it held to his side as they parted.
“Actually, could we, um.” Alex cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we could sit out here a while longer. It’s a nice sunset? And maybe we could catch up on normal stuff.”
Michael looked over his shoulder at the sky. It really was stunning, broad beyond comprehension, all alien with pinks and purples and golds.
“Normal stuff sounds great,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
All of These Stars (Will Guide Us Home)
Summary: Logan had a guardian angel. Okay. He could sort of work with that.
Angels were real. He could work with that a bit less, though he supposed it wasn’t entirely unreasonable.
His guardian angel was very pretty and absolutely fascinating—from an objective and scientific standpoint, of course. He knew that those two were indisputable facts, so he didn’t have a problem with that, he could accept that.
The fact that he had a guardian angel meant he needed help.
Oh, absolutely not. Logan couldn’t even pretend to work with that.
In which Logan finds himself stuck with a guardian angel and a strange feeling blossoming between them.
Pairing: Logince
Warnings: brief mention of not eating (though it isn’t intentional), swearing, it gets real sad before it gets happy again
Word Count: 11,504
Taglist (ask to be added!): @max-is-tired @raaindropps @kiribakuandcats @main-chive
Notes: for the sanders sides reverse bang, run by @sanderssidesfanfiction. as per the rules of the reverse bang, the art this is inspired by was done by none other than @2queer2deer and is here
and finally, many thanks to ren for offering to beta this after it got too long for me to catch everything myself and my brain gave up on me fjskskd
ao3
_________________________
Logan was a neuroscientist. He knew that a fight or flight response was triggered when the human brain was overwhelmed and stressed. He knew exactly how it dealt with information and that if need be, it would formulate more believable scenarios when the current one couldn’t be processed. He knew that when it came to sleep deprivation, intense hallucinations would only start after a full seventy-two hours of no sleep.
Logan was not overwhelmed. Logan’s mind had always processed things in the way it should have, and he was not prone to coming up with scenarios that had never happened. While it wasn’t as much sleep as would have been ideal—seeing as he had been consistently sleep deprived for the past week—Logan had still slept for a full seven and a half hours last night.
And that’s why, for the life of him, he could not figure out why there appeared to be an angel in the middle of his lab.
“Ah,” the angel said, turning around, completely oblivious to the fact that it (he?) was not supposed to exist. “You must be Logan.”
So. The angel knew his name. Logan found himself nodding blankly in response, trying to think up some sort of explanation for why there would be a fucking angel in his lab.
“Nice to meet you then, Logan. How are you?” the angel asked, still clueless about how utterly impossible its (his?) being here was. He (Logan had decided somewhere in the back of his mind that calling something humanoid “it” felt distinctly wrong) lifted himself onto one of the stainless steel tables littered about the lab, swinging his feet as he continued talking. “I’m Roman,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Logan blinked. The angel—or Roman, as Logan supposed he should refer to him—was sitting on his lab table, and that’s about all Logan’s mind could process at the moment. Acting on the one thing that made sense to him, Logan took a step forward. “Get off my lab table.” After taking a breath and making a very conscious effort not to scream, he tacked on a clipped, “Please.”
“Oh! Sorry, yes. I’ll do that.” Roman pushed himself smoothly off the lab table, landing on the ground with barely a sound.
“Right,” Logan said under his breath. “Right,” he repeated, this time directed more at Roman than himself. “I’m going to have to wipe that down, and then you’re going to tell me exactly why you’re here, how you know who I am, whether or not you’re actually an angel, how your wings work, and then you’re going to get the fuck out of my lab.” With that, Logan felt perfectly secure in grabbing a clean cloth and a spray bottle of bleach before walking back to the offending lab table and wiping it down thoroughly.
“I think you’re going to have to repeat all those questions for me, one at a time, and at a far slower pace,” Roman said, hovering in the background once Logan had begun cleaning. “I caught exactly none of it.”
“Yes,” Logan agreed. “I apologize, I was rambling a bit. Give me one moment and I’ll be right with you.” With a final swipe of the cloth, Logan put away the cleaning supplies and pulled a notepad out of his lab coat. “Now,” he said, scrawling something across the page as he sat down, “please, have a seat in this chair right across from me and then answer this to start: why are you here?”
“Why, for you, of course! I’m your guardian angel, Logan, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
That raised a fair few more questions than it answered, but Logan wasn’t going to think too hard on that just yet. He finished noting what Roman had said and then moved on to his next question. “I had asked you how you knew who I was, but I think that question just answered itself, so I’m going to skip it.” Logan tapped his pen against the notepad for a moment, recalling what he’d said next. “Ah, and then I asked if you were actually an angel, which, again, I feel has been sufficiently explained. Now then, how do your wings work?”
“Like any wings would work, I suppose,” Roman said, ruffling his feathers a bit as he stretched them out to their full width. Logan winced as a few feathers fell to the floor, making a mental note to sweep them up as soon as he could. “I flap them, and they help me fly. What else would you like to know about them?”
“Hm, they do protrude from your back, correct? And you were born with them?”
“Yes, and yes, I— where are you going?” Logan had gotten up from his chair while Roman had been in the middle of speaking, poking about his lab for something.
“Just getting a pair of gloves. Please, don’t mind me. You can continue.”
“Oh, no, that’s alright. I was pretty much done. But may I ask why you’re looking for gloves?”
“Right,” Logan agreed with a quick nod. “I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed before going to get them, but… would you mind if I touched your wings? I’m curious as to how they feel.”
“Absolutely! Be my guest.”
“Thank you. Could I ask you a few more questions while I work?”
“Ask away, darling.”
“In that case—” Logan pulled the gloves over his hands with a snap, walking up behind Roman, “—I hope this isn’t too forward or uncouth, but what exactly does it mean to be an angel? On Earth, we have a multitude of myths and ideas about what they are, how they act, where they come from, what they do, and so on. What’s the truth?”
“Hm, I can’t really answer that. Since you’re a mortal, there are certain things I’m simply not allowed to tell you. But! I can say that every culture got at least a few aspects right. Every story holds a grain of truth, and the stories of angels are no different.” Roman paused, and Logan heard the first few hints of a frown enter his voice. “What are you doing back there, anyway? It tickles.”
“Me? Oh, I’m just looking for muscles or bones, I suppose, though anything interesting would do. I’m not sure. Do you happen to know what your wings are made of?”
“Um. Muscle, probably? And bone and feathers? I’m not sure, honestly. It’s not something that’s of particular importance, you know?”
“I see,” Logan said, still running his hands through Roman’s feathers. “They appear to be almost identical to bird wings, did you know that?”
“…No? Is that a good thing?”
“It means they were specifically designed for flight, likely longer flights as well. They’re more similar in structure to the wings of a bird of prey, though I suppose that would make sense, especially considering that the rest of you is humanoid and we too are a predatory species. So yes,” Logan concluded, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’d say that is a good thing.”
Roman turned his head slightly, watching Logan pull off his gloves and put them carefully in a waste container with a curious look in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad.”
“Do you mind if I take a few of your feathers to study them?” Upon seeing Roman bristle a little at the thought, Logan added swiftly, “I was only referring to the ones that have fallen to the floor, I wouldn’t take them directly from your wings, not to worry.”
“I don’t see why not, then. You didn’t have to ask, you know.”
Logan shrugged. “It’s always better to ask about everything when working with human—or humanoid, in your case—test subjects.”
“Hm,” Roman replied, cocking his head to the side as Logan lifted a few feathers from the ground with a pair of tweezers before carefully sealing them in a plastic bag.
Once he’d done that though, Logan’s scientific curiosity immediately waned, leaving only a looming sense of panic because, as he’d somehow managed to forget, there was a fucking angel in his science lab and absolutely no protocol for handling such a situation. “I need to sit down,” he decided aloud.
“Good idea,” Roman hummed, getting out of his own chair and making his way around the lab. “This is where you work, huh?”
“Yes. Don’t touch a thing.” Logan’s words were purely instinctual, any rational thought he may have had vanishing rapidly.
“Noted,” Roman replied, making a show of folding his hands behind his back before peering into a microscope. “You’re a neuroscientist, right?”
“Shouldn’t you already know that? Being my ‘guardian angel’ and all,” Logan said, and he would have put finger quotes around the words “guardian angel” if his hands were not currently occupied with holding his head between them. Logically, Logan knew his sarcasm and disbelief stemmed from the fact that he was currently falling into denial but emotionally, Logan was very far from ready to acknowledge the fact that angels just might exist—no, scratch that—that they did exist.
“Oh, of course I knew that. I’m merely trying to make small talk. You seem a bit overwhelmed, that’s all.”
“This ‘small talk’ is only serving to make me more overwhelmed.”
“Ah. Would you prefer if I got straight to the core of your psychological issues and the reason you’ve been deemed worthy of being assigned a guardian angel?”
“…I’m going to have to say no to that. What would really help is you shutting the fuck up so I can think straight.”
“Jeez, I knew you weren’t good at making friends, but I didn’t—”
“So sorry, did you not hear when I asked for complete silence?”
“Right, right. Got it. Shutting up now.”
Logan let out a sigh at that, letting his head drop once more into his hands.
He had a guardian angel. Okay. He could sort of work with that.
Angels were real. He could work with that a bit less, though he supposed it wasn’t entirely unreasonable.
The angel was very pretty and absolutely fascinating—from an objective and scientific standpoint, of course. He knew that those were just indisputable facts, so he didn’t have a problem with that, he could accept that.
The fact that he had a guardian angel meant that he needed help.
Oh, absolutely not. Logan couldn’t even pretend to work with that.
Having come to a decision, he lifted his head from his hands. “You need to get out. Now.”
Roman blinked at him from his place behind a different microscope than the one he’d been near before. “I— what? Why?”
“I don’t need—nor do I want a guardian angel, so I’m asking you to leave. That’s all, I can assure you it’s not personal.”
“Logan, darling, I’m frankly offended that you would imply that I would just abandon you like that! Besides, I’m tied to you until further notice. I couldn’t leave you behind even if I wanted to—which, for the record, I don’t now and won’t ever.”
“Yes, well— figure something out. I am not entertaining this any longer. I apologize for the inconvenience, but you are of no use to me. Thank whoever’s in charge for thinking of me, and goodbye, Roman. It was nice meeting you.”
“…So, what do you not understand about the fact that I cannot physically leave? Because I thought that was pretty clear, but if you need me to, I can explain again.”
“I understood you perfectly fine,” Logan said, standing up and taking an unintentionally menacing step towards Roman. “I simply don’t care. I’d thank you kindly for leaving me alone. I don’t need your help.”
“Was that an invitation for me to list all the ways you do, in fact, need my help?”
“No, it really wasn’t, it was actually a very explicit invitation to leave me alone and get the fu—”
“So! First of all, you’re lonely.”
“That’s just wrong, plain and simple. I have Patton and I have Virgil, not to mention my family and—”
“Very true, but if you try to tell me they truly understand you, you’d be lying, no?”
Logan had nothing to say to that.
“Exactly. Secondly, your ambition and curiosity are the only things you’re living for. You have no proper sense of self and no confidence in who you are as a person.”
“I—”
“No, no, I’m not done yet. Thirdly, you still haven’t moved past the fact that your aspirations and curiosities have always been mocked and still don’t feel that you can speak your mind freely because you fear you’ll be belittled for your interests.”
“I think that’s more than enough, I get the idea—”
“And finally,” Roman said a bit louder, talking over Logan’s objections, “in your drive to prove the people from your past wrong, you’ve lost all trust in those closest to you. Not only are you lonely now, you still insist on keeping everyone at a distance so you will forever be lonely.”
Logan was silent.
“So, how did I do? Was I right?”
“Perhaps a few things you said were somewhat accurate, but that in no way means I need your help. Because I don’t.”
“Mm, my boss begs to differ, and so do I. Besides, you really don’t have a say in this. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” Roman didn’t seem very troubled with this information, sending Logan a sparkling grin followed quickly by a wink.
“Well then. Let’s just say you do end up staying around. What exactly do you plan on doing that any good therapist couldn’t?”
“Well, for starters, I’m an angel, Logan. My angelic nature is a healing force all on its own. Secondly, a therapist couldn’t provide you with love now, could they? They wouldn’t be able to help you feel less lonely by being your friend, huh?”
“I don’t need—”
“You don’t need friends? Everyone needs friends, Logan. It’s human nature, I’m sure you know that.”
Logan sighed, running a hand absently through his hair. “Let’s say I ignore you. Would you eventually leave me alone?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Alright then, let’s just pretend I do accept your existence in my life. How am I supposed to explain who you are?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. I can handle the explanations, that was all a part of my training.”
“How comforting. Now, what happens if I’m never deemed ‘fixed?’ Do you just have to live with me until I die? Does that mean you’ve failed?”
“Okay, so let’s get one thing straight—”
“I don’t think you can do that. I’m gay.”
“Oh, I know, it’s just a figure of speech, but anyway, that wasn’t even the point. What I was going to say is that you aren’t being ‘fixed.’ You don’t need to be fixed, you need love and support. So I’m not here to fix you, I’m here to help you, and I won’t fail in that, Logan.”
“That’s a sweet sentiment I suppose, but that doesn’t eliminate the possibility of failure by any means.”
“Well then, it seems we have an opportunity here, now don’t we?”
“Do I want to know what that entails?”
“Quite possibly not, but you also don’t have a choice. Either way though, you need to learn how to trust people, right? Here’s your first chance. Trust that I won’t fail you, because that’s all you can really do in this case.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Hm, I don’t think that sounded much like you trusting me, somehow. Let’s try that again: I won’t fail you, Logan. Trust me.”
“I… will ignore the possibility that you might fail.”
Roman snorted. “That’s closer, at least. You’ll get there someday.”
“Well,” Logan said, clearing his throat. “Would you mind getting out of my lab while I work, at least? I’m afraid I won’t be able to concentrate with someone else in the room.”
“Even if that someone’s fabulously charming and winningly handsome?”
“I’m afraid so, and I’m so very sorry about that,” Logan said, not sounding very sorry at all.
“You don’t sound very sorry at all,” Roman pouted.
“Yes, well, I am and I’ve wasted enough time entertaining you. So if you don’t mind, I have work to do now.”
“Ooo, what are you doing toda—”
“No, nope, absolutely not, get out.” He herded Roman out the door, slamming it once he’d made it through. Leaning his head against it with a sigh, Logan made a futile attempt to collect his thoughts, knowing instinctively that no matter how hard he tried, he would be getting absolutely nothing of worth done today.
_________________________
For the next several weeks, Logan was constantly plagued by Roman’s continued existence.
The angel refused to leave him alone for more than fifteen minutes at a time, and Logan was certain he was going absolutely insane because of it. No matter how many locked doors he hid behind, Roman always managed to find a way through. Logan hypothesized that it was magic, but Roman vehemently denied that when asked.
“Me? Use magic? Why, of course not! It’s not allowed when I’m on Earth because I’m supposed to be ‘blending in,’ and I would never break a rule as important as that. I’m shocked and appalled that you’d accuse me of such a thing, my darling Logan.”
Logan didn’t believe that absolute bullshit for a second, but he could never prove anything to the contrary, even though he did spend nearly every waking moment with Roman. Even if he could never get Roman to stop talking. Even if he was overwhelmed with the constant onslaught of Roman Roman Roman—
At that point, Logan couldn’t remember what he had been trying to find out in the first place. As he spent more time around Roman’s constant chatter, he could feel himself physically losing brain cells; it was getting harder to think, harder to move, harder to calm his head, his heart, his breaths.
It was possible that he should have mentioned this to Roman, but Logan didn’t want to tell the angel any more than necessary, even though doing so would mean that he would leave him behind sooner. That wasn’t worth the vulnerability he would be showing, nothing was.
So he just had to… survive.
He could survive; he’d done so all his life, clearly. There was no reason at all for him to stop now.
Besides, he had a few hours of Roman-free time while he was at work, and that was enough to let him breathe properly. Though it was gradually becoming harder for him to concentrate long enough to find the correct train of thought to follow, his time spent at work as a neuroscientist was still far superior to any time spent around Roman.
At least, it had been before today. Because today, everything—everything—was going wrong.
First, it was his alarm being set to the wrong sound. Instead of waking him up with its usual serene tones that gradually increased in volume, it emitted a jarring series of beeps that physically hurt Logan when he heard them.
Then, it was his coffee being too cold, then too sweet, then being spilled over his counter. It hadn’t all been lost, but what was left in the thermos wasn’t enough to placate Logan as the right amount would have on any other day.
After the spilled coffee came the pout Roman gave him after he’d snapped at him for humming too loudly. After the pout came the imploring request to pretty please tell Roman what was wrong, after the request came another bout of waspish remarks, after the waspish remarks came another pout, and after the pout, Logan simply left.
Once he arrived at work, Logan was certain that his day was going to get better. It could only go up from the pit he’d fallen into, right?
Wrong. Logan’s day could—and would—get so much worse.
The first thing to go wrong at work was seeing his messy lab. He’d been tired when he’d left last night, leaving the clean up to his future self. This was proving to have been a terrible idea.
Cringing at the equipment strewn all over, Logan locked his bag away in a locker on the left wall and got to work cleaning.
That, at least, was calming.
What was decidedly not calming was having one of his coworkers burst through the door without so much as a knock. This was the second thing to go wrong after Logan had arrived at work, and the following conversation was the third.
“You aren’t busy, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I—”
“Doesn’t matter. We need you to check out these scans right about… oh, now, but no pressure of course. I’ll be in room 312 whenever you’re done,” the man—whose name Logan couldn’t seem to remember for the life of him—interrupted with a tight smile. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought, strolling out of the lab without even having the decency to close the door behind him.
The fourth thing to go wrong was the fact that Logan had to actually concentrate on doing something while there was still clutter all over the room, but he did manage to do so with only mild suffering.
Logan had just begun to grow hungry when the realization of the fifth thing to go wrong dawned on him. He’d forgotten to pack his lunch.
Fuck.
This wasn’t catastrophic, of course. He could always go somewhere to buy lunch, but it was while Logan was searching for his wallet that he remembered leaving it on the counter at home. While Logan would by no means starve without lunch, not having food to sustain him for the rest of the day would not bode well for anyone who needed to speak with him.
That was the sixth thing that went wrong.
The seventh thing to go wrong was Logan’s lightheadedness, a sudden reminder that he hadn’t had breakfast either, so consumed had he been with the spilled coffee and argument with Roman. This left him with two awful options. He could either wait until he got home to eat (which would have countless adverse effects on his physical health) or he could ask to borrow money from someone he worked with (which would have countless adverse effects on his mental health). There really was no winning for him.
But having to deal with the discomfort of asking for money seemed to Logan a lesser evil at that point than having to wait for several more hours before he’d be able to alleviate the gnawing pain in his stomach.
This was the eighth thing to go wrong, the ninth being the fact that the sandwich he’d been lent had been slathered with mayo and gone soggy because of it.
Logan’s day seemed to be looking up after lunch, though, as he had finally managed to finish cleaning up his lab by that point and was able to continue research into a different patient’s condition at a more leisurely pace than he’d had to think at that morning.
There was still so much that could go wrong, though, and it all did.
The tenth thing was a conversation with a coworker that stretched on for a small eternity, the eleventh a series of three brand new things he had to do at “his earliest convenience,” the twelfth a glass beaker that Logan had dropped shattering to pieces on the floor.
Logan left after he’d cleaned up that mess, not wanting to get to the thirteenth bad thing because although he was far from superstitious, the fact that he now knew angels existed was fucking with his mind in that regard.
Once he got home, he restarted the count of things that went wrong solely for his own sanity. Reaching a count of unfortunate incidents that was any higher than twenty things would make him want to scream, so when he saw Roman waiting for him on the couch as soon as he walked through the doorway, he considered that the first terrible thing to happen once he’d gotten home as opposed to the twenty-first terrible thing that had happened in total.
The second thing was the discovery that Roman had raided his refrigerator earlier that day and eaten the lunch he’d made for himself, the third that he found his house to be entirely void of Crofters jam. The fourth was the fact that peanut butter eaten alone made his mouth feel thick and dry, the fifth Roman’s proclamation that he’d told Logan so.
The sixth thing to go wrong once Logan got home was the fact that Roman would simply not stop singing, even after he’d mentioned that he was going to take a nap because it had been a long day so could he please be quiet for just thirty minutes? That was all he wanted, thirty blissful minutes of peace and quiet.
He didn’t even get five.
That was alright though, he decided, because he could read and block out any noise that happened to drift his way, obnoxious singing included.
The seventh tragedy occurred when Logan finished his book and had to return once again to reality and the angel that came with it. It was getting dark, and Logan should have gone to the kitchen to get food at that point. He hadn’t eaten much at all today, but going to the kitchen also meant having to deal with Roman and his loud voice and prying questions and— nope. Logan didn’t have enough mental energy left to handle that.
So instead, he decided to do what he always did when his problems proved to be too much for him. He ran away from them.
Specifically, he ran away to a field of wildflowers in the middle of nowhere with the most perfect view of the stars he’d ever seen.
While that was still running away, Logan tended to ignore that in favor of admiring the night sky.
Now, all he had to do was get out of the house without running into Roman. He would want to know where Logan was going and then he’d have to explain and then Roman would want to come with him and that could only end with Logan becoming even more frustrated with the world, so he opted to leave through his window.
He’d never tried to do that before, so he was pleasantly surprised when he made it out with only a slight stumble. Without the walls of his house closing in on him, Logan noted that he felt more at ease than he had all day. The night air also helped to calm him, and his entire demeanor had relaxed by the time he reached his field of wildflowers.
Letting out a sigh, Logan felt any remaining tension melt away as he sat down beneath the leaves of a willow tree. He leaned his head back against its trunk and allowed himself to simply trace the constellations above him with his eyes.
When he’d been far younger, more naive, and less concerned with making enough money to live comfortably, Logan had seriously considered becoming an astronomer. He’d also toyed with the thought of being an astrophysicist, but the idea of having to work with concepts that weren’t concrete or truly proven made him feel slightly panicked and had turned him off from that completely. Still though, he’d always found anything to do with planets, galaxies, stars, and anything in between to be utterly fascinating. He could have spent hours in the library reading about astronomers and their discoveries from centuries past, and while Logan wouldn’t ever be one to work solely in theoreticals, learning about those theories was almost more fascinating than the facts themselves. No matter what else was going on in his life at the time, he had always been able to turn to the stars in some form or another as a calming presence. They were the one constant that hadn’t managed to fade from his life, and Logan was incredibly grateful for it. He didn’t even want to think about a life lived without the stars for company.
That’s why this field of wildflowers meant so much to him; it wasn’t the place itself as much as it was what it allowed him to see. His surroundings were undoubtedly beautiful, but they paled in comparison to the sky above. And, sitting beneath the willow tree and looking up, up, up, Logan was perfectly content.
He would have stayed that way too were it not for the arrival of one The Blessed Roman, guardian angel.
“Logan? What are you doing all the way out here?”
Sighing, Logan avoided the question. “Did you follow me?”
“No! Well, kind of. That depends on what you mean by following. No, I didn’t see you leave and then decide to leave then as well. But yes, I did notice that you were being awfully quiet and decide to check on you before discovering that you were gone before using the bond between us to guide me here.”
“Wonderful, so I can never escape you.”
“No, you really can’t, I’m afraid.” Roman walked the rest of the way to the trunk of the willow tree, sitting down beside Logan and pressing his back up against it as well. “Now, why are you here?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to talk to you. In fact, I would much prefer to be left alone.”
“Ah, you’re shutting down again. You don’t want to be vulnerable, so you’re pushing me away when I try to get you to open up. You definitely shouldn’t do that, especially considering that no matter how vulnerable you are, I am physically not able to hurt you in any way, shape, or form. I promise you can trust me.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Oh, that’s fine too! You can talk about anything, but please, Logan, just talk to me.”
“I— why?”
Roman shrugged. “Talking helps, sometimes. Just to have someone who’ll listen to you, you know?”
“I’ll try it, I suppose. But if I ask you to leave me alone again, please do so.”
“Of course, darling.”
“Alright. So.” Logan cleared his throat, not knowing how to continue. He looked up at the stars again, and his eyes lit up with the sudden brilliance of an idea. “Look at the sky, and see that star over there? The really bright one?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Its name is Rasalhague, which is derived from the Arabic phrase meaning ‘the head of the serpent collector.’ And since it’s the brightest star in the constellation Ophiuchus—a constellation depicting a man often believed to be the Greek god of medicine, Asclepius, with a serpent in his hands—the name is rather fitting. And the bright star below it? That’s Sabik. Its name also comes from Arabic, meaning ‘the preceding one,’ though this time there’s no fitting explanation as to why. If you connect those two stars with twenty-five others, the brightest ones being there, there, there, here, there, and there—” Logan pointed at a new star in the constellation with each word he spoke, “—then you have the full Ophiuchus constellation. And if you look just to the left of Sabik, you can see Serpens Cauda, which is the tail of the serpent Asclepius is holding. Now, below and slightly to the right of Rasalhague is Serpens Caput, the other half of the full Serpens constellation. If you translate their names from Latin, they mean exactly what they are supposed to depict: ‘snake tail’ and ‘snake head,’ respectively.”
“Oh! I remember those! If I’m not mistaken, I helped to create them.”
At that, Logan’s gaze snapped back down to Earth. “You did what?” he asked, voice breathy with awe.
“I’m an angel, Logan, of course I helped with the creation of the universe! I made quite a few stars, actually. I think you humans call the constellations they make up Corona Borealis and Corona Australis? The northern and southern crowns? There are a few others that don’t remember the names of, but if you look over there—” at this, Roman took Logan’s hand in his and moved it in a circle around a spot in the sky a little bit to the left of Ophiuchus and Serpens, “—that’s where most of my stars are.”
Breathless, Logan went quiet for a few moments, trying to remember which constellation those stars made up, if any. Then, without warning, he gasped. “Oh! Oh, your stars are near Microscopium and Telescopium, two of the six constellations Lacaille discovered and named after scientific instruments and navigational tools, all first documented in 1756. Lacaille was a French astronomer who also christened a fair amount of other modern constellations the same year, but my favorites are those six: Microscopium and Telescopium, of course, and Fornax, which is the chemist’s distillation furnace, Octans, the octant, Pyxis, the compass, and Circinus, the dividing compasses. You can’t see all of them right now since they’re in different places throughout the sky and some of them aren’t as bright nor as recognizable as, say, Ursa Major and Minor or Orion’s Belt, so even then they would be more difficult to see, but—” Logan stopped, seeming to catch himself. “Sorry. You probably didn’t want to hear about all that.”
“No!” The intensity in Roman’s voice caused Logan to turn towards him in confusion, a slight frown on his face. “I mean, of course I want to continue to hear you talk about constellations, so no, please don’t stop talking, please never assume I won’t want to hear what you have to say. It’s interesting, and I like hearing the joy in your voice.”
“Ah,” Logan said, his face coloring lightly. He cleared his throat again before continuing in a softer voice, “Thank you.”
“Of course, Logan. When you talk about stars or space or science or honestly, anything that makes you smile, it’s—no, you—are beautiful.”
“I’m just… lecturing, really, and there’s nothing special about that.” Logan rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Besides, you were the one who created the stars I was telling you about. Compared to that, I didn’t do anything at all.”
“On the contrary, I think your knowledge is far more than a simple ‘anything.’ When I formed those stars out of light and space dust, I never could have imagined them inspiring a smile—or anything else, for that matter—so gorgeous.”
Logan wanted to ask how Roman could have possibly believed that stars, some of the most beautiful creations in existence, wouldn’t result in something just as pretty.
Logan also wanted to completely ignore the fact that Roman thought the resulting pretty thing was his smile, fearing how flustered he’d become if Roman so much as alluded to that statement again. Eventually though, he settled on a response that didn’t encapsulate even half as much as he was feeling. “Thank you for creating them,” he said.
“If they’ve brought you even a fraction of the amount of happiness as they seem to have, it all will have been worth it.”
Logan felt himself blushing again, but he chose to pretend that his face was not a brilliant shade of red. “Yes, well—” he trailed off, finding himself unable to think of the right words to say.
Roman laughed, lightly setting his hand over Logan’s to pat it in a show of fond affection. “You’re adorable.” He grinned once more, shifting his grip so he was holding Logan’s hand properly before moving on to an entirely new subject. “Anyhow, are you feeling any better?”
“Actually? I think I am,” Logan said, making a valiant attempt to convince himself that his improved mood had nothing to do with the fact that Roman was so casually holding his hand.
“Soo… are you saying that I was right?”
“Oh, absolutely not. I would never.” Roman laughed again, and Logan found himself smiling at the sound. “But thank you.”
“Of course, Logan. That’s why I’m here.”
“I know it is, but… it’s nice to have someone pretend to care anyway.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. I promise you, Logan, I will never pretend with you.”
“Oh.” There was an odd sort of warmth in Logan’s chest, and he wanted to hold onto the memory of it for the rest of his life. As he drowned in that wonderful feeling, he felt the rest of his day fade into nothing, completely insignificant in this current moment of peace. “Thank you,” he repeated.
“You’re welcome,” Roman replied, but it sounded like he meant something else too, something hidden just beneath his spoken words that Logan couldn’t quite pick up on.
With a soft sigh, Logan leaned closer and rested his head on Roman’s shoulder. “You know,” he began, “I should apologize for the way I treated you earlier today. It was uncalled for, and you didn’t deserve it. I took out my feelings on you when you didn’t really do anything but sing too loudly—which, to be fair, can be incredibly annoying, but I digress—so I’m sorry.”
“Um,” Roman said in a way that was very nearly a squeak as he looked down at Logan. “Thanks.” He swallowed, and his voice returned to normal when he spoke again. “Now that you mention it though, I should probably do less of that when you’re around. I didn’t realize it bothered you as much as it did, so I too apologize.”
“Thank you,” Logan said, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “And I’ll do my best to remind you in a less snappish way whenever it gets on my nerves.”
“That would be nice, yes,” Roman agreed, returning Logan’s smile with a soft one of his own. “Now, I don’t want to ruin the moment, but I am truly glad I got to talk to you tonight. I know it may not seem like a lot, but it’s a better start than I would have ever hoped for you. Forgive me if this sounds odd, but I’m incredibly proud of you for that.”
“You’re very pushy, it was going to happen eventually.” Logan let out a small laugh at Roman’s answering noise of offense before clarifying, “And it’s nice to talk to you. I like having someone who’ll listen to me.”
“More people should listen to you. You’re fascinating, Logan.”
Logan felt his face heat up and his heart flutter yet again. “I— hngk.” he turned to bury his face in Roman’s shoulder. “You aren’t so bad yourself, I suppose,” he replied eventually, once his face had cooled down just a bit and his heart had slowed to a slightly more normal pace.
Roman hummed his agreement, placing a light kiss on the top of Logan’s head—which, for the record, completely nullified any progress Logan’s face and heart had made in calming themselves—before saying, “It’s getting rather late, and you’ve had a long day. We should go home.”
“Hm, we should,” Logan agreed, making no effort to move.
Roman sighed. “If you want, I could carry you.”
“What?!” Unlike Roman’s almost-squeak, Logan’s was far more obvious. “No, no, that’s alright, there’s no need for you to carry me. It’s fine, it’s all fine,” he said, standing suddenly and brushing nonexistent dirt off his clothes.
“Let us be off then!” Roman declared, kindly ignoring Logan’s flustered state and offering out his arm with a flourish.
Logan placed his hand in the crook of it, a smile that didn’t read at all as love-struck back on his face. “What a perfect gentleman.”
_________________________
After their conversation beneath the willow tree, Logan’s days passed much more peacefully. Roman wasn’t as loud and overbearing, and Logan found that talking to him about anything and everything was just as easy as it had been that night. Their days were full of laughter and happiness, and Logan finally grew comfortable with the idea of living with a—with his—guardian angel.
Logan had also grown painfully aware of the lulls in conversation whenever Roman complimented him and he found himself at a complete loss for words or when he shot Roman an unexpected smile and the angel’s face turned a shade of red almost as bright as the sash he’d had on the day Logan had met him. He was certain it couldn’t have meant much, but those lulls still blinked out at him like a neon sign on a deserted street.
…Alright, so it was possible that he wasn’t so naïve as to think that the constant state of being flustered and the constant blushing and the constant heated eye contact and everything else that had been happening meant nothing. And it was possible that he was aware that this likely meant he harbored feelings for Roman and Roman for him, but that in no way meant that he had to acknowledge these feelings.
He very much did not want to waste a month of perfectly good friendship, so he would also very much pretend these feelings did not exist.
At least, this is what he would have done had he not walked into his room one day while Roman was stretching his wings.
It was only then that Logan had realized that he hadn’t seen Roman’s wings at all since the first day they’d met and in all honesty, had nearly forgotten about him. There were times when Roman seemed so human that Logan couldn’t believe that was not the case. When he saw Roman’s wings though, he was reminded sharply of the fact that Roman was an angel, through and through.
Roman was an angel, and he was falling.
Logan assumed that this was why Roman’s wings were going black at the tips, but he still figured clarifying would be prudent. “Roman?” he asked, knocking lightly on the door frame to alert the angel to his presence.
“Logan!” Roman exclaimed, spinning around and hiding his wings behind him as best he could in one rapid movement. “What— what are you doing here, my darling?”
Giving a sigh that was altogether too fond, Logan said, “This is my room, Roman. I’m in here because I forgot my glasses on the nightstand.”
“Oh,” Roman nodded, still trying to make his wings disappear behind his body. “Yeah, that makes sense. Uh, go ahead and, um. Get your glasses so you can see. Not! That there’s anything interesting to see here.” Roman flashed him a sparkling grin, hiding the layer of panic beneath it.
“Telling me that there isn’t ‘anything interesting to see here’ is only going to convince me of the opposite. Besides, I already saw your wings. Why are they turning black?”
“That? Oh, that’s nothing!”
Logan raised an eyebrow.
“…By ‘nothing,’ I of course mean nothing of importance! I tried dyeing my feathers and was checking to see how they looked. It’s not good, I know,” Roman said with a laugh, that impressively enough, barely sounded forced.
“Are you falling?” Logan asked, ignoring Roman’s explanation entirely.
“Am I— am I falling?” Roman scoffed. “Why on Earth would I be falling? There’s no reason for me to fall, is there?”
“Well, I don’t think I should know. I’m not the one who knows the rules and hierarchy of the angels. So, you tell me. What reason would there be for you—or angels in general, I suppose—to fall?”
“Ah. Angels fall when they do… something bad. You know. Bad things. Evil things.”
Logan raised an eyebrow again. “Such as?”
“Oooh, you know. Pride, sometimes. Or jealousy, sloth, lust, greed, gluttony, wrath, too much disrespect or insubordination, not doing their job, uh, consorting with the enemy, and other such wickedness. Just. General bad things, as I said.”
“So, have you been prideful?”
“Not any more than what’s healthy.”
“Jealous? Lazy? Lustful? Greedy, gluttonous, wrathful?”
“Nope.”
“And I know you haven’t been disrespectful and that you have been doing your job.”
“Mhm. See, Logan? No reason at all for me to fall.”
“What would you define ‘the enemy’ as?”
“What?”
“ ‘The enemy,’ ” Logan repeated. “As in, ‘consorting with the enemy.’ ”
“Oh! Some define it as any non-angelic entity, but most would agree that ‘the enemy’ is more along the lines of a beast from Hell or another demon of sorts. And I clearly haven’t been consorting with any demons, so—”
“Define ‘consorting’ for me in this context, will you?”
“Well, normally it would mean to closely associate yourself with someone, but, seeing as I am a guardian angel, that is sort of my job. I’m not consorting with you if that’s what you’re worried about. The only way I’d be able to properly consort with you would be if I developed some sort of bond with you outside of a normal guardian angel-mortal relationship. Which! I haven’t! I’m just helping you work through your issues, and if I just so happen to become closer to you while doing so, no one could fault me for that!”
“Roman, I hate to break it to you, but that sounds exactly like consorting with the enemy. If you’ll excuse me for pointing this out, I feel we have a relationship that is just a little bit different than a strictly professional one.”
“Okay, so maybe you’re right. But almost all good guardian angels become friends with their humans! I’m hardly the first one, and none of them have fallen.”
“Mm, I suppose that is true. Can you think of any other reason that you could be falling?”
“Well… there is this one thing? That might possibly be happening? But I sincerely doubt it is,” Roman said through blithe laughter.
“Do you admit that you are falling, then?”
“I— uh, no…?”
“That convinced me of precisely nothing, thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” Roman’s demeanor brightened immediately upon saying this, as though pretending that everything was fine would convince Logan that it was.
It didn’t work, clearly, as Logan asked not a moment later, “Now, what’s that thing that might possibly be happening?”
“That? Oh, nothing! Again, nothing at all of importance. I assure you I’m fine, Logan. I can take care of myself.”
“I have no doubt that you could. In theory, at least.” Logan couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face at Roman’s offended gasps, but he managed to continue through barely repressed laughter. “But right now, you are very much not taking care of yourself for whatever reason. Care to inform me what that’s about?”
“I mean, no. Is that an option?”
Logan sighed in fond exasperation. “I’m afraid not.”
“Well. It was worth a shot.”
“No, it really wasn’t.”
“You’re no fun. But! Nice talk, it was great to see you, Lo!”
“…What are you doing.”
“Uh, I’m going to finish getting ready for the day?”
“And are you just assuming that I forgot about the whole ’you’re falling’ thing?”
“…Yes.”
“That would be incorrect, then. Please Roman, just let me know what’s going on. It’s clear you’re hiding something, so what is it?”
Roman winced at the accusation, sitting down on the bed. “Is there anything I could say to convince you to stop prying?”
“No, nothing at all,” Logan replied, sitting down next to him.
“Then… it would be best to just say it, right? Not draw it out for too long?”
“Yes, that is what most people would prefer to do.”
“I fell in love with you, Logan.”
“You did.”
“I did.”
Logan wasn’t sure why he felt so shocked, in all honesty. He’d known that this was very likely to be true. He’d known that Roman was falling from the second he’d walked in the room, and he’d had his suspicions as to why he was a moment later. He was at a loss, then, as to why he would possibly be feeling tears on his cheeks.
“Are you… crying? Did I say something wrong?”
“No, I— no. You’re fine.” Logan turned away to wipe the wetness from his cheeks before looking back up at Roman. “I believe it’s just that you—essentially, you’re falling because of me, aren’t you?”
“Well, not exactly. This is still entirely my own doing, after all.”
“But it is because you fell in love with me that you’re falling, correct?”
“I mean kind of, but I promise you that this isn’t your fault, Logan.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked, wiping away the final traces of his sadness from beneath his eyes. “If I had—”
“What, been less easy to love? You aren’t easy to love, Logan, and that’s one of the infinite reasons I do love you. I had to do so much to be granted even a glimpse of who you are, and after I did… well, I can hardly fault you for being yourself.” Roman gave him a bittersweet smile. “It wasn’t any one thing that caused me to fall in love with you, it was everything that you are and were. I love you—not something that you said or did or anything else—and there’s nothing you could have done to change that. My fall isn’t your fault, Logan. I promise.”
Logan dutifully ignored the blush that began to cover his face. “Is there any way to stop an angel from falling?”
“I’m not sure. But frankly, Logan, I don’t mind falling one bit if it’s for you.”
“That’s incredibly sweet and all, but I am trying to figure out a way to save your soul here, so I’d appreciate any information you may have on hand.”
“Yes, right. I, uh, I’m sorry to say that there isn’t a way to save a fallen angel, darling. You can’t raise angels, so while I do appreciate the fact that you care for me, there’s nothing you can do.”
“You haven’t fallen though, have you?”
“No, the darkening wings just indicate that I’m going to, and I’m going to soon.”
“You haven’t fallen yet,” Logan repeated, giving Roman a pointed look.
“…Yes. That’s what I just said.”
Logan shook his head, deciding to fully explain what he was thinking himself. “So if you stop doing whatever is causing you to fall, halt the progression of black over the rest of your wings… you could still be saved. You are still an angel, so you can be saved. All you have to do is—”
“No. Absolutely not. Logan, I made you a promise, and I won’t break it. I won’t—”
“—leave me behind.”
“—leave you behind.”
“You have to. I want you to be able to remain an angel, to not fall, to be happy because I—”
“I can’t. I don’t care what happens to me as long as it means I still get to see you and spend time with you and as long as you’re happy because I—”
“—love you,” they finished in unison.
“And that’s why you have to leave.”
“And that’s why I can’t leave.”
“I love you,” they said again, perfectly in sync, the words meaning everything and not nearly enough all at once.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Logan whispered.
“So then you won’t,” Roman replied, voice just as quiet.
“But I— I know there’s no other choice.”
“There’s always another choice.”
“Not this time. No matter what you do, I lose you.”
“Logan—”
“You have to leave. You have to go back to— to heaven or whatever sort of paradise it is that you came from. At least this way, I’ll get to say goodbye.”
“Logan—”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me there’s another way, and I’ll stop.” It was a question, a challenge, but most of all, it was a plea.
“I—” Roman took a quivering breath. “You’re right. You’re always right,” he said with a slightly watery laugh. “There’s no other way. You’re right.”
There was a tragic sort of irony in that. The one time he wished more than anything that he was wrong, Logan knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t. “I’m sorry,” he said as he leaned forward, resting his head against Roman’s chest. “I’m sorry.”
“I am too.”
Logan looked up and placed a delicate kiss on Roman’s cheek. “Do you— are you alright with leaving now?”
“Now?”
“I know it’s sudden, but I— I don’t want to draw this out any longer than necessary, not while I know that you’ll be leaving soon enough anyway.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense.”
Both Logan and Roman went silent for a moment, neither moving, neither wanting the world to continue hurtling towards the end of their time together. Finally though, Roman spoke.
“How about one more day?”
“One more day?”
“Mhm. Just… spend one more day together, and then I leave tonight. So we can part with a few more beautiful memories of each other to hold on to.”
“That sounds—” Logan had to pause, clearing his throat to banish the emotion from his voice. “That sounds nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Do you have a plan?”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
Logan laughed, happy to ignore the ticking countdown in the back of his head until later. “I figured I’d ask, but somehow, I didn’t think you would.”
“You know me too well, love.” Roman lightly kissed the top of Logan’s head before continuing, “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be ready. You’re good just wandering around town for a while, right?”
“With you?” Logan smiled. “How could I not be?”
_________________________
Time has a funny way of passing sometimes. When you’re looking forward to something, it seems to crawl. When you’re doing something you enjoy, it can become negligible and easily forgotten. When you have nothing to gauge it by, Mondays become Thursdays and Thursdays become Sundays.
And of course, when you’re dreading something, the time before it passes in a blur.
Roman and Logan’s day passed in a blur.
They’d gone to all three bookshops within walking distance of Logan’s house and the ice cream shop situated beside the final one. There was an odd little museum near the edge of town, and they’d dropped by there too. They had brunch at a charming cafe and made up stories about the people that walked past the window, perused the aisles of several stores just so Roman could try on increasingly eccentric outfits for Logan’s amusement and bought nothing. At the dog park just off of Main Street, they’d stopped to laugh with each other at the antics of the puppies that rushed to and fro before strolling along the road towards a park of their own, lined with the most beautiful flowering trees. They stopped in bakeries and candy stores, coffee shops and out-of-the-way boutiques filled to the brim with various antiques and trinkets. Logan and Roman did all that and still would have sworn they couldn’t have spent any more than four hours together.
It was, of course, closer to eight and a half hours since they’d walked into the first bookshop to the moment the sun had almost fully set and their day was over.
Time can do that to you sometimes.
Similarly to the way time had felt earlier in the day, time after the sun had set passed in flashes, quick as lightning and just as bright. The walk to their willow tree should have taken at least fifteen minutes, but it felt as short as one shallow breath.
When they did reach the willow tree, they stood there for what felt like an eternity, lost in each other’s eyes before Roman broke the silence. “Dance with me,” he said.
And though Logan had never once danced in his life, he replied, “Of course.”
Beneath the moonlight that filtered through the willow tree’s branches, Roman twirled Logan to the beat of the silence around them. Neither pointed out the lack of music, and neither mentioned that Roman had only asked to dance to put off the inevitable.
It was only when their feet grew too tired to keep moving that they stopped and stood still. Logan looked up at Roman and the stars above him, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky as to find someone like his angel, even if it was only for a fraction of his life. Roman looked down at Logan and the silver light that gleamed in his dark eyes, pondering what he had done to deserve having so little time with the love of his life before everything was ripped away.
The whole world paused as they held each other, Logan’s arms twined around Roman’s neck and Roman’s wrapped around Logan’s waist. The air felt fragile, like everything—not just their hearts—would shatter into trillions of pieces once they spoke again.
Still, time continued stubbornly forward on its path towards the end of Roman’s life on Earth—his life with Logan—so the angel spoke despite the fact that he could practically hear how the world shattered around them.
“Logan,” he started, moving his hands from Logan’s waist to brush a lock of hair behind his ear and brush the beginnings of a tear from beneath his left eye. “Logan, there are no words I can say that will truly encapsulate all that I feel for you. There is nothing in this world that could explain all that you mean to me, and there is no way for me to express the euphoria in my heart at having gotten to know and love you. Everything you are and every bit that you’ve grown causes me to fall more in love with you as the seconds tick past, and every moment I find I love you more sets a new precedent for the amount of love I’m able to give. Meeting you is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and no matter what happens, I will never, ever forget you. I love you, Logan, more than all the stars in the sky.”
“Roman,” Logan began, wracking his brain for a way for him to say everything he wanted to. “Did you know that if you were trapped in a black hole and you peeked out, you’d see everything that had ever happened and will ever happen in that tiny patch of sky?” he asked, settling on what he knew how to do best: teach.
“This is because black holes are so dense that they distort time itself. The universe slows down and speeds up on a whim, and the passage of time means nothing at all. You could enter a black hole today, and if by some miracle you managed to escape, you’d emerge thousands of years into the future though to you, it would have felt to be mere minutes. This ‘time dilation,’ as it were, would allow you to look ahead of you and see everything that had fallen into the black hole before you and if you managed to turn around, you’d see everything that would fall in after. So, if by some miracle you had enough presence of mind to observe the world around you as you neared the event horizon, you would be able to see the entirety of what had happened in your small corner of the universe when you did. Everything would be moving so much faster than light itself that you’d be able to watch the whole evolution of the universe happen—from the Big Bang to the end of life as we know it—all at once, over and over again.
“But you know, I think if it were me in that black hole, looking out at the creation and destruction of the universe, the rise and fall, again and again, all I’d be able to think about was being here with you in this moment. I don’t care one bit about seeing the rest of the universe when I have something more precious to me than all the stars in the sky—when I have you.”
Roman’s jaw had dropped at some point while Logan had been speaking, awed by the love and eloquence in his words. “Beautiful,” he whispered as he brushed a hand over Logan’s cheek, unable to say anything else and unwilling to shatter the silence any further.
Then a breeze blew through their hair, and Logan and Roman were reminded abruptly that the rest of the world existed.
“You have to leave,” Logan said, and it was at once an order and a lament. He took one step back, and it was the most painful thing he’d ever done.
“I do,” Roman agreed, and it was at once an acknowledgment and a form of mourning. He unfurled his wings, and it hurt more than anything else he’d done in his immortal life. They opened fully, glowing a brilliant white against the darkness as he flapped them once, lifting off the ground. He flapped them a second time, and he was well into the air, barely close enough to reach out a hand and brush it against Logan’s face. “Goodbye, my darling. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Roman’s hand began to pull away, and before he knew what he was doing, Logan’s own hand shot out and grasped his wrist as he said with sudden intensity, “Wait.”
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you? Just once, just to remember you by.”
“I wish I could give you thousands of kisses, Logan. Of course you may have this one.”
With that, Roman floated down slightly, feet still a few inches off the ground as though he knew that if he landed he’d never leave. Placing a gentle hand on Logan’s cheek, he leaned towards him, preparing for a soft, sweet kiss.
Logan seemed to have other plans though, for he laid his hands on Roman’s face and dragged him closer, standing on his tiptoes to reach Roman’s lips and meet them in a kiss so passionate the flame burning between them could have set the whole world aflame.
Logan didn’t pull back for a long while, refusing to come up for air because he knew—he knew—that when he did, it would mean Roman’s goodbye would be permanent. But he was human and had to breathe eventually, so pull back he did. Even then, though, he still wouldn’t remove his hands from Roman’s face.
“I love you,” Logan said once more, resting his forehead against Roman’s.
“I love you too. Goodb—”
“Don’t say goodbye. Please. I don’t want to think about the fact that I— I won’t— I won’t ever be able to see you again. Just say I love you. Those can be—” Logan swallowed hard, but he continued holding Roman’s face in his hands as though it were a lifeline. “Those can be your last words to me. Better than goodbye, I think.”
“Okay,” Roman whispered, fluttering his wings gently as he gradually lifted himself farther and farther away from Logan. “I love you, Logan. I always will.” Roman didn’t wait for a response, wiping the tears glistening in his eyes away as he fluttered into the sky and vanished in a bright flash of light.
He was gone.
Logan took a breath, willing it to stay calm. It hitched anyway, and his voice came out similarly unsteady as he said to empty air, “I love you too, Roman. Always. Always, and more than all the stars in the sky.” If he really listened, Logan could almost imagine he heard those final words echoing back at him, falling from the sky the same way Roman almost had.
_________________________
Roman was falling.
He was falling, and his wings hadn’t turned black. He was falling, and he wasn’t screaming in pain. He was falling, and he was smiling.
He was falling, and Logan was staring at the sky in disbelief as he did.
Logan was a neuroscientist. He knew that a fight or flight response was triggered when the human brain was overwhelmed and stressed. He knew exactly how it dealt with information and that if need be, it would formulate more believable scenarios when the current one couldn’t be processed. He knew that when it came to sleep deprivation, intense hallucinations would only start after a full seventy-two hours of no sleep.
Logan was not overwhelmed. Logan’s mind had always processed things in the way it should have, and he was not prone to coming up with scenarios that had never happened. While it wasn’t as much sleep as would have been ideal—seeing as he had been consistently sleep deprived for the past week—Logan had still slept for a full seven and a half hours last night.
And that’s why, for the life of him, he could not figure out why Roman appeared to be falling from the sky.
Roman wasn’t supposed to be falling from the sky. Roman was supposed to be in heaven or whatever sort of paradise it was that he lived in because Logan’s heartbreak hadn’t been for nothing, because Roman leaving had meant something, because their dual sacrifice had ensured that he would be safe.
So why the fuck was he falling now?
And where were his wings? If he were falling, shouldn’t they be as dark and black as night?
Something was wrong. Logan didn’t know what, but something was wrong. He had to get to Roman.
Logan wasn’t normally one for running, but he did make sure to keep himself in shape. That, combined with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, caused him to arrive at the field of wildflowers in record time. As long as Logan’s sense of direction was sound, he was sure that Roman had, for whatever reason, appeared to be falling straight for their willow tree.
Panting, Logan slowed down as he scoured the ground for the place Roman had fallen.
“I’m up here, love.”
Logan looked up. “You’re on top of a willow tree.”
“Astute,” Roman agreed.
“Why are you on top of a willow tree?” Logan asked, refusing to ask the question he wanted the answer to most of all.
Roman shrugged. “It’s just where I fell. I didn’t have any control over that.”
“Right,” Logan said, only slightly distracted by the fact that Roman was currently leaping from branch to branch in an attempt to reach the ground. “So then,” he began, figuring that putting this off any longer didn’t make the least bit of sense, “why did you fall? And doesn’t falling usually entail becoming… you know.”
“A demon? Yeah, it normally does. But I’m a special case,” Roman grinned as he made one final jump and landed on solid ground.
“Yes, I’d say you very much are.” Ignoring Roman’s spluttering response as he continued to make his way towards the angel, Logan asked, “But in this particular scenario, how so?”
With an annoyed huff—presumably still directed at Logan’s previous comment—Roman replied, “I didn’t technically fall, not in the way you’d think of it, since I did nothing wrong. So I’m not a demon, but I’m also not an angel anymore.”
“So what are you, then?”
“Human.”
“Wh— How?”
“Easy,” Roman said, tucking a lock of Logan’s hair behind his ear the moment he drew near enough for Roman to do so. “You know how I fell in love with you? And you fell in love with me?”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “You think I could forget? It’s not as though that’s all I’ve been thinking about for the past several weeks.”
“Yes, well, my point is that angels are creatures of love, of course, so once my boss figured out why I came back, She decided that tearing me away from the love of my life went entirely against everything angels stood for.”
“And that… caused you to fall?”
“Not exactly. That caused Her to give me a choice: stay an immortal angel until the end of time, helping people as I always had or fall to Earth and become a human so I could still be with you.”
“And you chose to come back. You chose to be human. You chose—”
“You.”
“Me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, my darling.”
“Roman—” Logan stopped, suddenly finding himself unable to speak.
“Yes, love?”
Still lacking the words he needed, Logan instead took another step forward at the same time Roman did, and their lips met in the space between them for their second-ever kiss.
“I love you,” Roman said, voicing what Logan could have only hoped to.
For once, Logan was more action than words as he kissed Roman again. It was a promise—a promise to them both that their kisses would be just as numerous as the very stars Roman had helped to create, their love just as beautiful.
“More than all the stars in the sky,” Logan replied finally, lips still a hairsbreadth from Roman’s, voice barely a whisper.
“More than all the stars in the sky.”
_________________________
find other stuff i’ve written under #writings from the stars
#sander sides#logince#roman sanders#logan sanders#guardian angel!roman#neuroscientist!logan#sander sides fanfiction#angst with a happy ending#not eating mention#swearing#fanfic#fic.txt
361 notes
·
View notes
Text
How To Survive A Factory Tour - Chapter 13
A Sanders Sides / Charlie and the Chocolate Factory FanFiction
PREVIOUS
----------
I’m looking at a large machine which is filled with a purple, treacle-like substance and pumping out similarly coloured cubes, when I suddenly see a bright flash of light out of the corner of my vision. Intrigued, I go over to where it seemed to originate.
I find large pod like machine, fuming with smoke. The door opens and as the mist pours out, Logan stumbles out, coughing.
“Mr Wonka!” I call out, concerned about what this weird machine is and what it could do to Logan. I don’t particularly want a repeat of Patton. God, I hope he’s okay...
Wonka comes over, Roman and Ethan just behind him. Wonka stands on my right, Roman on my left, and Ethan stands next to Roman. All of us looking directly at Logan, who’s stopped coughing, the smoke having cleared.
“Logan, did you go through the teleporter?” Wonka asks, voice concerned. Logan pauses before nodding. “I told you, it’s not ready! It can cause hazardous defects!”
“I didn’t mean to!” Logan replies. “I just wanted to have a look at the internal mechanisms, and it activated on its own.”
“On its own...? Look, that doesn’t matter for now. I just need to know, was anything else in the teleporter when you went through?”
“Um, yes, there was one thing.” Logan turns around and pulls out an empty jar of Crofters from inside the teleporter. But, for some reason, it has a picture of him on it, and it’s called ‘Logan’s Berry’. Which in itself is a pun that doesn’t even work properly, as it says it’s blackberry and pomegranate flavoured.
Logan’s eyebrows furrow. “That’s...strange. It was full when I went throu-” He suddenly stops mid sentence, erupting into a coughing fit. When he pulls his hand away from his mouth, it reveals he’s coughed up a very sweet-smelling red-purple liquid.
“Are you okay, Logan?” I ask.
“I-I don’t know…” Logan replies, wiping his hand on his jeans. “My nose feels weird... kind of tingly…”
He raises a hand to his face, rubbing his nose. When he lowers his hand, I have to blink multiple times and rub my eyes to believe what I’m seeing. I look at Roman to make sure I’m not hallucinating, and am relieved to see him wearing the same shocked face I am, and he asks the question I’m wondering: “What’s happening to his nose?”
Logan discards the jam jar and turns to us, confusion on his face. However, the thing our focus is drawn to is his nose, the tip of which is turning a bright red-purple – a similar colour to what he coughed up just a few seconds ago. It starts as a small dot, but it spreads as we watch.
I turn to Wonka. “What the hell’s happening?”
“Well, as I said, the teleporter still has a few kinks in the system,” Wonka replies. “Mainly, it assumes any organic matter that goes through is all from the same organism. You see, the way the teleporter works is similar to the one in the movie The Fly. Whatever goes through it is deconstructed in one pod and put back together in the other. The bug in the system means that all organic matter in reconstructed as one. So, the jam being organic means that…”
“His DNA’s been fused with that of the fruit in it,” I finish.
“Exactly.”
“Wait, hold up! My DNA and the jam’s... What’s that going to do to me?”
We all turn back to Logan as he asks the question and my eyes widen. His nose is completely purple as is the majority of his face, the colour now spreading down across his cheeks. It’s still not stopping, though. The colour’s even started appearing on his fingertips.
“More like ‘what is it currently doing?’,” Roman replies. “You’re turning purple, Logan!”
Logan’s eyebrows furrow. “What? What do you mean?”
“I mean your entire face is no longer the pasty pale of a nerd who never goes outside in the sunlight, instead it’s the colour of, well, a pomegranate mixed with a blackberry.”
“Preposterous,” Logan folds his arms, not noticing the pigment change his hands are going through. “That’s scientifically impossible.”
“Well, it’s fucking happening! Look at your hands!”
Logan rolls his eyes before complying to Roman’s command. He freezes the second he sees the bright unnatural colour. Speaking of the colour, his hair’s changing too, going from black to purple, starting at the side parting. He’s completely speechless, opening his mouth to say something but no sound coming out.
Mr Wonka fills the silence, mumbling to himself. “I just hope it’s not like Violet all over again…”
“Violet Beauregarde?” I look up at Wonka. “But she…” I pale, remembering the rumours of what happened to her. “I know I asked this in the Chocolate Room, but... Please don’t tell me the book is accurate.”
“I’m afraid, as I said before, it is,” Wonka replies.
“What is it? What happened to her?” Roman asks. I’m not surprised he doesn’t know; the book was only really popular in the local area. After the first tour, hype died down in the rest of the world pretty fast.
“She chewed a defective strip of gum and turned into a giant blueberry,” Ethan responds.
“Wait, what?!” Logan looks fucking terrified. “I-is something similar going to happen to me?! B-but it can’t, it’s physically impossible... Yes, that’s it, you’re j-just playing a joke on me... I’ll be f-fine…” He starts taking deep breaths. When he’s calmed down a little and also pinched himself to be sure he isn’t dreaming, he raises a hand in front of his face, watching as the last of his arm turns purple. ‘What the fuck’s happening to me?’
As his skin finishes changing colour, he suddenly groans, hands moving to rest on his stomach. “I feel funny…”
He then seems to emanate a gurgling noise. There’s a moment of confusion between us all into Roman cries, pointing, “Look at his belly!”
Logan’s stomach’s swelling, making sloshing and gurgling noises all the while. Logan looks back up at us and, if he was nervous before, now he’s horrified.
I share a glance with Roman, both of us with the same fearful yet questioning expression. While Wonka did provide an explanation, Logan was right, this shouldn’t be physically possible. He’s filling with juice, there’s no doubt about that, but how on earth did that single jar of jam change his DNA enough to make his body naturally produce juice?!
But then again, a single stick of gum did the same to Violet. All logic seems to be thrown out the window in this factory.
We turn back to Logan, who’s placed his hands on his growing stomach in a futile attempt to push it back in. His straining belt reaches its limit, snapping off and falling to the floor. His stomach surges forward a little, now free from its confinement. It swells on its own a little longer, until Logan blushes a deep purply-black as his, um, rear-end suddenly swells outwards as well, causing him to have to adjust his footing. I feel a rush of sympathy for how embarrassing and painful this must be for him. His legs start to become plumper as well to support the rest of his body.
“Holy shit, he’s swelling up…” Roman mutters, pointing out the obvious.
Logan turns back to look at us, trying to pull his shirt back down over his belly, though the effort proves fruitless... That pun was unintentional.
“Like a berry,” I finish Roman’s statement, beginning to back away from Logan, the rest of the group following.
Now Logan’s arms start to swell too. It’s almost like he snaps out of a trance, finally calling out. “Someone help me! Ple- Mmph!” He’s cut off when his cheeks suddenly swell, filling with blackberry and pomegranate juice, his eyes turning from blue to purple at the same time.
I look over at Wonka now to see his reaction. He’s rubbing his temple, looking more frustrated than concerned.
Logan’s chest and back are beginning to swell and fill with juice, trying to catch up with his stomach, causing him to begin to round out in his torso. Then, there’s a distinct snapping and ripping sound, though the Logan’s clothes seem to have have remained intact. He tries to move his arms, but can’t bend them anymore. I can’t help but also notice that his body, as well as emitting sounds of sloshing, sounds almost like it’s creaking, as if his skin has been stretched beyond its capacity. However, it’s still not stopping.
As his limbs swell, they are basically consumed by the rest of his growing body. It becomes harder and harder for him to move until he becomes completely round. But it still isn’t quite finished. His diameter continues increasing. His feet lift off the ground, and his spherical body starts to grow around his hands and feet, as well as his head ever so slightly, all of them sinking into divots in his body. Then, finally, it comes to a stop, with him roughly ten feet tall.
“Mmph...!”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
It’s weird to think that just a minute ago he was stood there, the normal seventeen-year-old kid who was shorter than all of us. Now, he’s a giant purple ball almost double his previous height.
A giant blackberry-pomegranate... mutant? Hybrid? I don’t really know what word applies here. Just like I have no idea what the fuck kind of bullshit logic applies here.
There’s a moment of silence as we all take this all in, mouths universally agape. Then, finally Wonka speaks.
“It happens every time... Every single time we send an Oompa Loompa through with an organic substance, they go through some horrible mutation. I just can’t understand how to fix it…”
“Hold up!” Roman yells. “So, Logan is currently a giant pomegranate-blackberry hybrid? A pomeberry?”
“Blackgranate sounds better,” Ethan replies.
“But that can be confused with talking about granite, as in the stone, that is black,” Roman retaliates. “Pomeberry is much less confusing.”
“But- “
“MMMPH!”
Logan lets out a muffled cry, drawing our attention back to the fact he’s, you know, A GIANT FUCKING FRUIT.
I turn to Wonka, “You were able to turn Violet back, right? Please tell me you can do the same now.”
“Oh, yes, of course!” the chocolatier replies before whistling. An Oompa Loompa runs over. “I want you to round up some of the others and roll Mr Berry to the Juicing Room at once, please. Oh, Berry! What funny coincidence!”
“Juicing Room?” Roman asks, raising an eyebrow.
“For squeezing,” Wonka replies. “All the juice must be squeezed out of him before he explodes.”
“Mmphmm?!”
“Explodes?!”
“Well, he’ll either explode or be stuck as a pomeberry forever. It’s a fifty-fifty chance,” Wonka shrugs. “But don’t worry, he has an hour or two until he fully ripens, maybe even three at a stretch. We’ll have him back to normal by then.”
That was not mentioned in the book...
A group of Oompa Loompas all run over to Logan, looking over him for a moment, a couple of them giggling at his state. They all stand around him, while other Oompa Loompas in the room start banging on pots and pans, creating a drumbeat. As the Oompa Loompas give Logan a push to start rolling him, the rest in the room burst into song.
“Listen close, listen clearly, the tale of Logan Berry
The nerdy kid, he sees no wrong
Sticking his nose into other peoples’ business all day long
But curiosity killed the cat
Curiosity killed the cat
Curiosity killed the cat!”
Oh, nice. Making fun of Logan for being smart and curious. That’s kind.
If I fuck up, I’m going to be called out for my sarcasm, aren’t I?
“He goes on learning till in the end, his extreme smarts get to his head
And now look at him as we go, swollen just like his ego
Curiosity killed the cat
Curiosity killed the cat
Curiosity killed the cat!”
I can’t help but wince as we watch Logan be pushed around. While just being rolled must be bad enough, the Oompa Loompas have discovered that Logan is super bouncy in this form, five of them having jumped on top of him and have basically started using him as a trampoline, trying to impress the others by doing flips and stuff. Though he can’t speak, Logan’s clearly uncomfortable. On the rare occasion we can see his face, he’s wincing, eyes looking completely helpless. It must be super painful. I mean, regardless of how... exaggerated his look is, that’s still Logan’s body. They could be unknowingly causing a lot of damage.
“For years and years, he learns away, his brain get larger every day
And now his body’s done the same, it’s his fault if he’s stuck this way.
And that is why we try dearly, to save Mr Logan Berry.
Curiosity killed the cat
Curiosity killed the cat
Curiosity killed the cat and it may do the same to him!”
The Oompa Loompas fade out of the song as they finally start rolling him through the door. The door which, might I add, is about twenty feet away from where we’re standing. So, they literally wasted two minutes pushing him around randomly just so they could sing the song. You know, two minutes that edge Logan closer to the verge of exploding!
As the door is pulled closed, the last thing I see are Logan’s eyes, giving us a look that’s basically pleading for help. Speaking of pleading for help, despite the juice in his face, he manages to open his mouth and let out a cry, “Hewp, pwease!”
The door shuts, and there’s a moment of silence in the room.
“I can’t believe this; two guests are gone! We’d better get out of this room before we lose anyone else.” Wonka turns to leave the room, and we all follow, Ethan just behind Wonka, taking off his bowler hat and fiddling with it.
“Mr Wonka, will Logan ever be alright again, or will he always be a pomeberry?” Roman asks, sounding slightly uneasy.
“They’ll juice him in no time flat,” Wonka replies. “He’ll be just as thin as a whistle!”
“He’ll still be purple though, won’t he?” I question, already knowing the answer.
“Unfortunately so. There’s nothing we can do about that, I’m afraid. Come on! So much time and so little to do! Wait, scratch that. Reverse it.”
Wonka leads us to the other door on the other side of the room. Before we step outside, Roman and I look back at the door Logan was rolled through. We share a nervous glance before following the chocolatier and Ethan.
I guess the comparison I drew earlier has been proven even more accurate. Patton’s the Augustus of the tour and Logan’s the Violet.
----------
NEXT
Logan is no longer available for asks
Taglist: @clone-number-1, @pumpkinminette, @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing, @jessicakennedy957, @why-should-i-tell-youu2
#sanders sides#thomas sanders#logan sanders#sanders sides logan#virgil sanders#sanders sides virgil#roman sanders#sanders sides roman#patton sanders#sanders sides patton#deceit sanders#sanders sides deceit#willy wonka#sanders sides au#au#charlie and the chocolate factory au#logicality#prinxiety#fanfic#fanfiction#sanders sides fanfiction
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
For gage and cori, can I get prompt one to make my little heart weep?
Hi Nonny!
Why yes, you sure can get prompt one; let’s get angsty! Thank you so much for asking!
For the Angst/Fluff prompts, here.
One of Those Nights
It was one ofthose nights where she couldn’t get her heart to stop racing. She paced thelength of her room at Fizztop. She cleaned the bar top and the table in thekitchen. She folded all her clothes. She moved all the furniture around,realized that she didn’t like that at all, and then moved it all back to whereit had been before. No matter what she did, though, nothing helped and her headwas spinning and she couldn’t slow her thoughts down enough to get a sense ofwhat she was thinking. She was alone and her heart just wouldn’t stop pounding,like she was going to fucking die.
Soshe drank.
(More under the cut!)
It wasn’t likeit was smart; she knew for a fact it wasn’t smart. What would Nathan say if hesaw her? And if anything would make her anxiety worse, it was alcohol. But shedidn’t stop herself. She downed whatever she could find—rotgut vodka, somethinglabeled “whiskey” that tasted like death, something that didn’t have a label atall—and she didn’t stop till the room tilted like she was sitting on a boatduring a storm.
Of course, shedrank fast so she was almost immediately nauseous, but at least now she hadsomething concrete to worry about. Which was better? Maybe not, but it was toolate to worry about that now. She stumbled over to the chairs across from herbed and fell into the first one she spotted.
Gage came back fromtalking to Shank right about then.
“Princess?” Heset his gun down on the bar and crossed the room. She must have looked badbecause he sounded worried right out the gate.
“Mmhm?”
“You alright?”
“Fine, fine.”She swallowed back bile and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just fine.”
She heard ashuffling and opened her eyes again to see that he had crouched down in frontof her. His brows furrowed.
“You’re drunk.”
“Right on themoney, honey.” She poked his nose with her index finger. Didn’t know why. Heswatted her hand away and tried to prop her back upright. Honest, she reallydid try to work with him. It was gravity that wasn’t cooperating.
“Knock it off.”
She slumped backand her head tipped until she was staring up at the ceiling. Some of the nauseasubsided, which was nice, but the dizziness was back and her head was just soheavy right now. Full of wet cement. And then that was kinda funny,because…cement…
She giggled andGage scooped her up completely. Flying. She scrambled to wrap her arms aroundhis neck as her body left the chair, and if she’d been dizzy before, it was somuch worse now. Corinne whimpered inprotest.
“C’mon. Let’sget you to bed.”
She tried topull herself up, but by the time she figured out how to move right, he wassetting her down on her mattress and fighting with the blanket to tuck her in.
“Oooooooh!Trying to get me into bed, are you?” She didn’t know why she said it. It was astupid thing to say and some logical part of her knew that and cringed, but hermouth was already spouting off anyways.
“Succeeding, ifyou’re paying attention. Now get some shut-eye. We’ll talk in themorning.”
He managed toget the blanket out from under her so he could tug it up around her shoulders,and all without any help from her, since the nausea was back and she was havingenough of a time trying to will her stomach to settle.
She should saythank you. This was annoying at best, and he seemed pretty exasperated by herantics. She’d known this was a bad idea and had still gone and done it anyways,and now he needed to baby her because she couldn’t stand up straight. Infairness, he had every reason to be annoyed.
“Gage. Gage GageGage Gage. Shhhh, Gage.” Some part of her registered that this was not aneffective way to get his attention. She reached out to pat his cheek butslapped him instead. Oops.
“Fuckin’ what?”
“Gage,” she saidagain. He raised an eyebrow.
Wait.
What was shetrying to say again?
“What, Cori?”
“You’ve—” Nope,not quite. “You’re—” Still no.
“Spit it out.”
She stared athis face, but it wouldn’t come back. The words had been right there on the tipof her tongue and she’d still managed to swallow them on accident. Weren’twords supposed to be her strong suit? Shit. She turned her face into the pillowand then realized that nope, nope shouldn’t do that. Don’t want to suffocate.Finally, she pushed herself up until she was sitting, almost headbutting Gagein the process. It was funny. Made her laugh, at least.
Gage scowled.
“You shouldn’tdrink,” he grumbled. “That garbage just dulls your senses. Makes you careless.”
“Loud and clear.”She rested her head on her shoulder.
The mattresssank under his weight as he sat down at her feet, his palms flat on herblankets. She touched her toes to his leg just to do it, just to reach out. Hedidn’t notice.
“Listen up, I’verun with raiders my whole life and I know a fuckin’ thing or two about this.Don’t get sloppy.”
“I’m not,” she snapped, a little sharper thanshe’d meant to.
“I told you dayone that I wouldn’t hold with this kinda shit.”
“I said I’mnot.”
“You gotta getyour shit together. You’ve got a park to run here, Boss.”
And that waswhen she got mad. It came out of nowhere—just blindsided her. Irritation,boiling hot in the pit of her gut. Sloppy?As if she did this every other day. As if she was always a mess and he wasalways having to look after her. Sloppy. Bah. After everything she’d lost andeverything she’d suffered and the end of the goddamned world, she was allowedto be sloppy every now and again; he had no idea. No idea.
She looked athim for a second before blurting it out.
“This comingfrom the man with one eye. Sloppy. Ha.”
Oh. That wasmean.
“Now that ain’tfair.” He looked at her like she’d slapped him again. Not quite hurt, but disappointed.Which was worse? If he was mad, they could fight it out. Disappointed, though.She didn’t have the brain cells to handle that right now.
“Isn’t it?” Hermouth was moving on its own at this point. Pouring gasoline on the fire. Bad badbad.
“Look,” he said, stubble rasping as he draggedhis hand down his face. “I don’t know if you’re trying to piss me off, butyou’re succeeding.”
“Gage, listen tome. Just listen” She scrambled forward on her knees, cupped his face in herhands, and leaned in closer, and she knew when she did it that it was the wrongdamned thing to do, but she couldn’t stop herself. Everything had gotten somessy.
“Oh believe me, Ihear you.” He pulled back and scowled. Jumped up. Standing over her like that,he looked so tall, unreachable. “You’re fuckin’ drunk, Boss. Sleep it off.”
This had gone sowrong somewhere, and she couldn’t untangle it. But he was walking away. Leaving.She’d be all alone again, and it would be all her fault since she alienated theone person who was on her side. She reached out and grabbed for him but missedand caught the hem of his shirt instead.
“Wait. Gage, wait.” Her fingers twisted intothe fabric. “I love you. Please don’t go.”
Oh. Oh no. She hadn’tmeant to say that.
He pulled out ofher grasp and stood there, silhouetted by the neon lights outside her window.The hands at his sides were balled into fists. When she reached out again, hebacked up into the dresser across from her bed.
“You shouldn’tjoke about shit like that.”
Her mouth wasdry. Head pounding. She tried to get the words out, but they were stuck—lodgedin her throat. He disappeared out the door and down the lift before she had thechance to tell him she wasn’t joking.
#asked and answered#prompts!#Fallout#Porter Gage#Sole Survivor Corinne Hart#I took this to mean sad heart-weep but if you meant this as happy heart weep I'm sorry I misunderstood!#this tends to be an angsty pairing so my mind immediately goes there :D#thank you for asking <3#Much love! <3 <3 <3
4 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
