logging onto tumblr like heyyy i'm thinking about the same character i've spent the past few weeks thinking about. no change here. just wanted to let yall know
i can't bear to think you'd know who i am (EIL!AU)
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Content: Logan goes to therapy, re-opens his split lip, and Keegan is drowning in his own avoidant nature.
"So. I'd like to start this session off by acknowledging that something has changed. Change isn't always a bad thing— in fact, oftentimes for you it's proven to be quite good. But I think our best chance of making the most of this progress is starting with why it's happening in the first place."
The group meeting we went to. I don't know. It made me realize… Logan's hands stilled as he thought through his next words. I want better for all of them. And I can't help them make progress if I don't know what I'm talking about.
She tilted her head almost imperceptibly. "So by helping yourself you can help other people?"
Logan realized the trap the split second after he nodded. It was only cemented when she hummed, "Interesting."
It's… I can't talk to anyone, can't connect with them if I don't know what they're talking about. And what they're talking about is stepping out of their comfort zone, changing their habits… doing the hard shit. They bring up these milestones, their progress, at meetings and I don't have anything to add. I don't know how to add to the conversations.
"You don't? Have milestones to add, that is?"
Logan paused long enough to actually think it over. He shook his head, lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. I mean… the nightmares have slowed down.
She wrote something down. "That's true. What about Colorado?"
Logan froze, his fingers pausing where they were tugging at a thread on the cuff of his jeans. He sat on her couch with his leg crossed over, ankle on knee as he feigned casualness. Colorado? He asked.
"Colorado was a big change for you. You went with a friend to another state—the first time you'd been away from David since you returned to the U.S.—and managed to spend a week there. From what you've told me it didn't trigger a major shift or setback in the expression of your PTSD. You remained at what was your baseline at the time. That's progress. A milestone."
It was just a trip.
"Was it?"
Logan didn't like the way the implication in her question took on another layer of meaning she no way of adding consciously. Logan had given her the barest summary, within reason, of the events of Colorado. He'd failed to bring up the way Keegan had checked on him every night, and especially refused to mention the night he had spent sleeping in his bed. What would you call it?
"Progress, Logan. It seems difficult for you to acknowledge your own progress."
He sat with the discomfort of her statement. The idea of him making progress felt inherently false, like somehow her acknowledgement of how she saw the situation was indicative of his deceit of her. There was no way he was getting better, even if he saw and felt the changes in himself. It had to be a show he was putting on, intentional or not. She seemed to sense the struggle he was facing internally and chose to change the subject. "I'd like to talk about the fight that happened at the meeting."
He sighed. It had come up briefly; the subject was hard to avoid when he'd shown up to therapy with a half-moon of a black eye and a split lip. To her credit, though he wouldn't have blamed her, she hadn't even assumed he'd started it. That day, when he indicated he didn't really want to talk about it and had just recounted the events of the night, she'd let it lie. "You felt the need to step in in Keegan's defense?"
Yes. Logan didn't hesitate to answer.
"And at the time you felt that the man who initiated the situation needed to be immobilized?"
Yes.
"Why?"
Logan tilted his head, not understanding.
"It was an understandable course of action, don't get me wrong. However, I'm curious as to why that's the one you took, rather than having David call for security."
Instinct, I guess. I didn't think. I saw a threat, I neutralized it. It's what I know to do.
"Do you feel you act on similar instincts often?"
Logan paused. Thought about it. I guess.
"In this… assessment you made, which you acted upon, did you perceive Keegan as unable to defend himself?"
No.
She sighed. "Can I be honest with you, Logan?"
Please.
"I feel that the use of instinct has become an easy explanation for many of your actions, especially as of late. The term has become dismissive in nature, as if there is an element of a lack of control to your actions. I don't believe you lack control, do you?"
It's not lack of control. It's just… when you've been in those situations as many times as I have it becomes reflex. Muscle memory. His hands paused their motions and he glanced out the window. It was drizzling a bit, a break from the summer heat that he welcomed gladly. Your body gains scripts of how to react to violence. I lost a lot of men when I… he shook his head, you figure out what works and what doesn't. Sometimes you overreact so you make sure you never under-react.
"And you would qualify that as instinct?" He nodded. "Do you worry that perhaps that, to some degree, divorces you of responsibility?"
Logan shook his head. I'm very aware of my actions. I weigh the consequences, the risks, of everything I could do. I've witnessed the worst-case-scenario more than once. But it's the way I've worked, since before the military. Since living in Elias' house, with David.
"And in that moment, the risk of bodily harm was a cost that didn't outweigh the benefit of protecting Keegan?"
It felt like war again. A mission, a task. I saw a threat to one of my men. I fell back into that pattern— assessing whether he had a weapon, the risk of causing harm with a crowd of witnesses and I acted accordingly. And… I didn't feel guilty after.
"Did you expect to feel guilt? Was it something that happened often after your assignments?"
Guilt has been a default state for me for a long time. Guilt for what I've done, what I've failed to do.
"That's good— that you can name the emotion. But do you not think you've done a lot of good, too? The Veteran's group. Supporting your brother, supporting Keegan. Does that not impact the way you perceive your guilt?"
I feel… indebted. To the both of them. Like anything I can do will be a drop in the bucket of repaying them.
"Do you think this need to 'repay them' has contributed to the lack of guilt you felt in that moment?"
It felt like I was finally doing something to give back. All I've ever wanted is to help him—help them both, David too—the way they've helped me. And it was so cathartic to feel like I was finally achieving that that it's difficult to consider anything else.
"That fight, it felt like caring for Keegan the same way he and David have cared for you?"
I try to understand, to reciprocate, the way they've helped me. They're incredibly understanding. Caring, like you said. But I don't know if I know how to do anything other than fight— if I have anything else to offer. It… felt like the closest I can get. To helping. Like… the same message, but a different language.
"Do you think it's possible that you underestimate yourself? Your actions?"
Logan tilted his head, not understanding. "You care for Keegan. Him staying with you helps him. You keep an eye out for him when he's stressed, remind him of his coping mechanisms. You went with him to check on his business because you knew it would make it easier on him. Is that 'not' reciprocation, in the same way Colorado 'wasn't' progress?"
Logan felt his mind stutter to a stop. Sure, he did it to help Keegan. Obviously he wanted to help Keegan. But it wasn't as if he didn't benefit from it, too. He got to spend time with him. Having him in his apartment eased his own nightmares, his own paranoia. So was it really repaying Keegan for what he did if Logan benefited from it, too? Was it not selfish still? And how could he be making progress if his actions were still selfish?
She allowed him to sit in silence for the remaining minutes of the session, to absorb their conversation to the best of his ability. By then, months into his therapy journey and finally seeing some sort of feedback, she had grown used to his methods of processing. Before he'd begun to finally crawl out of his shell, she often spent small chunks of the session offering ideas as to how he might further adjust to life after the military. How he might benefit from spending more time with friends, with the group, or small ways he could change his routine to open up the possibility for more. She could tell he would listen, but she never really got more than that in the same session. Sometimes he'd come back the next session and briefly bring up what she'd talked about, then fall quiet again. And perhaps he had created his own kryptonite through that; someone who noticed and counted the littlest bits of his progress and noted them down so he could never claim they weren't real.
Regardless, when the five minute warning timer went off he finally stirred, pulling himself out of his reverie and rolling out his stiff joints. The official session-end timer hadn't yet gone off when he stood, thanked her for her time and wished her well, and left her office. There was an itch in his bones that told him he needed the quiet drive home to process what they'd discussed.
Driving himself to and from therapy— something he, as he reflected on it, was sure she likely wrote down in her notes as a marker of his progress—was a bit of control he had regained over the last month. He never minded David or Keegan driving him, but it had often felt like another thing on that long list of care he could never repay them for, like a burden he hadn't directly placed in their laps but was responsible for all the same. And being able to do that for himself was both a removal of that weight and a reclamation of something he had once enjoyed before.
The one downside to driving by himself was that when Logan had to think something through, he often fidgeted. And, without another body in the car aware of his actions, he resorted to fidgeting with his lip that was still healing. The taste of blood never registered— his thoughts were far away in the desert sands of another country and the quiet snow of Colorado.
He was quiet when he came through the front door; according to Keegan, unnervingly so, even with Keegan's own situational awareness. His keys rattled when he placed them on their designated hook in the hallway and he toed his shoes off at the entrance before he padded into the living room. Keegan was sat at the dining room table, hunched over his laptop when Logan knocked on the wall to get his attention and ask if he wanted him to take over making dinner.
Apparently, Keegan had heard him enter this time because he didn't startle at the knock. "Sorry, give me a second. I have to get this email out." Keegan finished typing, muttering to himself under his breath the entire time— something about coordinating events and a lack of communication, but Logan lacked the context, though he was sure he'd get it later. "Okay, sorry," he turned in his chair, "how was— oh shit, you okay?"
Logan looked at him absentmindedly, halfway through checking an unread text from David while he waited, oblivious to the blood pooling on his bottom lip. Keegan rose from the dining table, his back no doubt aching from the shitty chairs they hadn't replaced yet despite halfheartedly planning to, and made it to Logan in a few swift steps. "You're bleeding again."
It was obvious he wanted to reach out, to touch him, to ask a million questions. Was therapy that bad? Was he okay? Was he just fidgeting with it again? Was Keegan being overbearing, did he want him to back off? He wanted his hands on Logan, to make sure he was alright, to reassure him, to settle into his orbit for his own reassurance that Logan was fine.
Logan reached up to brush his fingertip against his bottom lip, pulling his hand away to examine the red that stained his skin. His tongue darted out to replace it with saliva and if Keegan wasn't distracted before, he was in that moment. Resisting the urge to scold, Keegan sighed, "C'mon, let me clean it again, don't want it to get infected."
Logan didn't put up a fuss, just followed Keegan into the bathroom and watched him get the kit out from under the sink. Between their pre-existing level of preparedness and Logan's history of injury, the kit had everything they needed and more. Thankfully, at the moment they didn't need much, and Keegan simply picked out disinfectant, a clean cloth, cotton pads, and medical glue. "You want ice?" Logan shook his head. "Pain meds?" Logan made a face. "I figured, but I thought I'd ask. C'mere."
He moved from the doorway to slide past Keegan, leaning the backs of his thighs against the edge of the bathroom sink. He braced both palms on the counter and tilted his head back so his hair would no longer be blocking the light. "Let me know if it stings more than usual." Keegan muttered, focused on dabbing disinfectant onto a cotton pad without spilling it everywhere.
Logan stared at the ceiling as Keegan positioned the cloth under Logan's lip to catch anything that dripped down. He caught Logan's chin between his fingertips, using his thumb to pull his lip down so nothing would get in his mouth. Silence reigned as he carefully dabbed at the blood, trying to avoid irritating the wound further. Logan raised his hands, signing between them clumsily. Sorry, I'd clean it myself if I still had a mirror.
"Why are you apologizing?"
Seems trivial. Can't clean my own lip because I can't look at myself. He shrugged, trying to lighten the weight of the words that spilled from his fingers with a put-on air of casualty.
"I don't mind."
Which part?
"Huh?"
Don't mind looking at me or cleaning it?
Keegan's silence was deafening; it rang through the room as he stopped dabbing the cotton pad, his attention raising slowly from Logan's mouth to his eyes, his thumb still pulling Logan's lip forward. He exhaled softly, brows crinkling as his eyes darted back and forth between Logan's own. Searching. He looked back down at Logan's lip, then back up. For a second, his mouth opened. Then closed. The tension almost broke when he chose to breath out a sarcastic laugh. "Very funny." He murmured, releasing Logan's lip and tossing the cotton pad into the trash can in the corner.
He used a dry edge of the cloth to dab the excess moisture from Logan's lip before he placed it on the edge of the sink. There was iron determination in the way he was ignoring how Logan was studying him and the fact that with the slouch in Logan's posture, Logan's hip dug into the muscle of Keegan's uppermost thigh. The only sound in the bathroom was the clattering of items against the ceramic sink as Keegan went through the motions of applying ointment, brushing away the excess, then carefully applying wound glue. Keegan didn't even think before he began blowing cool air onto the split to dry it faster, and tried his best not to start when he realized what he was doing. Instead, he straightened, and released Logan's lip from his grasp, his hand slipping down to rest on the sink. "Alright, it's good now. You've got to find something else to fidget with, though."
But he didn't move and neither did Logan. Keegan was resisting the urge to press forward, to crowd him against the sink and crawl into his skin, to bury his face in Logan's neck and refuse to come out. He could still feel the memory of his breath on his hand though he'd moved it and it was unbearable to think that Logan couldn't stand to look at himself, couldn't see how he looked in the shitty, off-tone lighting of the bathroom, because it was something Keegan wanted flooded into every fold of his brain for the rest of his life.
When Logan looked down at Keegan's mouth again his gaze didn't lift back up. It stayed there, settled. And all Keegan could see was blond eyelashes against his cheekbones that bled into visions of Logan's head tilted back against the drywall and Keegan's mouth buried against his throat and Logan's breath was hot and all Keegan could think about. So rather than acting, he did what he did best. Keegan gave him an authentically warm but wholeheartedly forced smile before he took a step back. He swallowed hard as he pivoted, looking anywhere but Logan, and began to leave the room.
Logan caught him by the wrist. He didn't pull. Didn't demand anything from him other than another look, which Keegan gave immediately; it was easier to avoid when Logan wasn't asking for it, but he was weak and maybe Logan knew that. Logan's brows turned up, questioning. Keegan slipped his hand down so their fingers caught together briefly. He squeezed. Then, he let go and stepped out of the bathroom. His own voice was rough in a way that was foreign to him, thick with the level of fury he held with himself, "I've gotta go make dinner. You should let that dry."
puffy eyes and bloody lips, sunshine on my skin (EIL!AU)
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Content: Logan gets into a bar fight, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, wound tending
A few months before it would've been odd for Logan to emerge from the shower to the sounds of someone clattering around in the kitchen making breakfast, but Logan didn't blink at the subdued chaos. It had become part of their routine, the same way the lights in the bathroom remained off while the shower ran and the same way Keegan took his own after they ate breakfast at the table in relative silence together. The aroma of coffee followed him in and the steam of the water followed him out. He could count on it now.
The arrangement had come about without any real formal discussion. Time passed whether either of them wanted it to or not and with that came more and more instances where Keegan simply didn't go home at the end of the day. His overnight bag had it's designated spot underneath Logan's bed. Then a few of his things made their way into Logan's armoire. His toothbrush never quite made it onto the bathroom counter, but sometimes he left a few stray hairs from shaving and quickly rinsing the sink before work. He left just a bit earlier to account for the distance between his job and Logan's place rather than when he used to leave from his own apartment.
And it worked. Distant proximity, the not being alone in an apartment that didn't feel like their own, helped with the worst of their PTSD— paranoia was quelled by quiet mutual reassurances and nightmares still happened but were soothed much faster with an ally in the space. Flashbacks were easier to come out of or avoid altogether. It made a difference, made life easier. And, like with everything both Keegan and Logan felt was too good to be true, they simply didn't acknowledge the logistics of their arrangement. It simply was and so they let it be.
The convenience of carpooling to Support meetings and saving on gas was a bonus. Walking in together made Support feel much less daunting to Logan, where he no longer felt as if he were rotating on the outside as cold debris formed out of the remains of what the U.S. military had sent home of their people, but as part of the gravitational pull drifting with the ebb and flow. Maybe his proximity to Keegan had made him more approachable in the eyes of the others, or maybe something within him had changed, but it was better, regardless. His gratitude couldn't be put into words so he didn't even try.
At one point, Gale directed their sharp elbow into Logan's ribs and asked him for his therapist's number, commenting that she must be doing something right. Logan had scoffed, but hadn't clarified that nothing about his therapist had changed; he was still going every week, getting a few signs out before fighting himself over the idea of being open about the things that had Keegan sprinting into the living room in the middle of the night to quell his screams and tolerate the white-knuckled grip Logan would get on his arms. He'd tried, really tried, once more recently. He'd begun to spell out what had been done to him in that cold cell deep underground that had put him in the position he was in in the first place. Logan had only made it a few sentences in before his therapist had eventually called David to come pick him up because she didn't believe he could drive himself back home. Luckily, Keegan hadn't been over at the time. He'd texted later that night asking to come over on account of his inability to sleep and Logan couldn't even pretend that saying no, that not wanting him there, was an option that came to mind.
David had asked once, gaze aimed down into his mug of coffee with his tone level and casual, why they'd decided to start carpooling. Keegan had cut in with a joke that they'd gotten tired of the same catering that Hesh always got for breakfast and were rebelling against the stale sandwiches by sneaking out to breakfast before the meetings. That the saved gas was an added bonus, that anyone was welcome to join them if they wanted to join their rebellion. To his credit, David had laughed agreeably through the sideways look he'd shot Logan out of the corner of his eye before clapping Keegan on the shoulder a little too roughly and excusing himself.
So when David mentioned that there was going to be a one-year anniversary celebration for the formation of DC Support, there was a naturalness to the fact that Keegan and Logan began discussing it around how it would fit into their schedule. Keegan brought up that if Logan felt like going Keegan would have to get around to the laundry that was long overdue. That they'd have to think about if they were going to risk shitty bar food or eat beforehand. It took several days for it to set in for Logan that there had never been any question if they were going to go or abstain separately. Their unity in the matter was set in stone.
It had sent a seasick sort of feeling rocketing up his chest that made him dizzy when he'd realized. It wasn't as if this was an assumption that Keegan had come to on his own; Logan had been just as complicit when he'd signed that he'd take care of the laundry regardless of whether or not they went because it really did need to be done.
The matter of if they were going was one that spurred on the tension in Logan, too. Several long nights of his were spent ruminating on how Keegan never assumed Logan would just be willing to go. He'd thought about the environment they'd be in— the crowded, boisterous bar, the hours they'd be expected to stay, the nonstop conversation—and refused to assume Logan's tolerance. But he did volunteer himself as an ally. Mentioned casually over coffee that there was no pressure but if Logan wanted to try Keegan would go and leave with him whenever he wanted. And when Logan looked up, eyes hard with suspicion from the way his own mind had tested him the night before, Keegan met him over the table with every bit of softness he believed Logan deserved.
They had finished breakfast in quiet.
David had taken the event as an opportunity to push Logan for his own betterment. He wasn't outright accosting, per say, but he often found moments in the pauses of conversation to bring up how the gathering may help him get out of his comfort zone. He had a point Logan couldn't wholly deny, though he would never tell David that directly. Maybe it was in the name of being contrarian or old rumblings from a past that Elias had constructed that made him want to balk in the face of what could be perceived as demands being thrown at him. Either way, the moment David began bringing it up he so badly wanted to dig in his heels and refuse. His therapist would call it encouraging that he didn't do so immediately, as he would've before. He didn't tell his therapist about it.
It'd been between texts to Keegan about grocery shopping for the coming weeks that Logan made up his mind, a good chunk of time after the idea of the anniversary celebration is even brought up. It'd been a few days since Keegan had last mentioned anything about it, but in compiling a list Logan shot back a, can u grab the good bread? i want sandwiches friday before we leave for the bar. to Keegan's question of what Logan might want that he didn't put on the list of necessities.
Keegan replied with a simple gotcha. and a thumbs up emoji. And there was no grand confrontation when Keegan made it back from the grocery store and Logan began unloading things into the cabinets and fridge. He didn't comment on the fact that Logan finally made up his mind, didn't make a little quip about any part of it, just dutifully passed refrigeratables over until he was empty-handed and Logan shut the door with a push of his hip.
It was a few days later after Keegan drove Logan back to his apartment and, for one reason or another as he often did, failed to make it back out the door to his own place. Logan was on his phone texting David, diagonal across the length of the couch in a way that had him nearly slipping off, as Keegan was perched on the arm replying to his mother about when he next planned to visit. Logan dropped his phone onto his chest and waved a hand in the peripheral of Keegan's vision to get his attention, which was immediately gained as Keegan paused typing and looked up. Loud, Logan signed.
"Uhh, I don't hear anything, Logan. What do you mean?"
Sorry, thinking. The bar.
"Yeah, probably. I can't imagine many people there are gonna refrain from drinking very long. But I'll be taking smoke breaks for my own sanity, so we can hide outside whenever you want."
Logan's expression softened. Okay. Thank you.
"No problem."
Keegan returned to typing, but Logan didn't pick his phone back up. He stared up at the ceiling for a few moments, far too aware of his own breathing, before he waved his hand again. "Yeah?"
You shouldn't have to. The words stuttered as they were formulated by his hands, like it was something he shouldn't be admitting to even if he knew it was for the better.
"What do you mean?"
His hands froze altogether. He clenched them together, working his jaw as he tried to chew on the words and spit them out. It's not your job.
Keegan clicked his phone screen off and slid down onto the couch cushion below the arm he was propped up on. His hand almost made it to rest on Logan's ankle where it laid across the back of the couch as he turned bodily toward Logan, looking down at where his head rested on the cushion. "What do you mean?" He repeated, softer.
I want you to enjoy yourself.
"Okay."
You don't need to look out for me all the time.
Keegan laughed. Not in a condescending way, or in a way that made Logan feel absurd. Just with the lightheartedness that spoke to the idea that looking out for Logan was something Keegan would always be doing and had always done. He lifted his shoulder a fraction of an inch before letting it drop. "It's what we do, though, right? Look out for each other? I don't mind."
Logan left his hands resting on his chest as he searched Keegan's face for any sign of insincerity that he knew he wouldn't find there. "Besides, I'll probably get sick of it all before you do. If anything, I'm gonna be the one dragging you out of there before you're ready to go."
It was an offering. A hand reached out in understanding, a quiet "I see you," that didn't need to be acknowledged to be true. Logan inhaled deep, let the breath expand his lungs until they hurt, then let the air leave him. He nodded, nearly imperceptibly so, then picked his phone back up. Keegan returned to typing.
Getting ready for the event was done in the solar system that was the space of Logan's apartment. They rotated around each other as they moved from room to room, the feelings of making themselves presentable for the outside world more akin to putting on armor rather than simply getting dressed and tidying their appearances. Logan misted water through his hair and hunted down the very last dregs of his mousse while Keegan shifted past him to grab his comb, a hand on his shoulder to remind him of his proximity and avoid startling. When Logan moved away from the counter to find a flannel to throw over his t-shirt, Keegan shifted into the space he'd left behind to brush his teeth.
Their preparation was done in the quiet, some old rock songs that Keegan had put on functioning to fill the air and narrate the passage of time. They'd be late enough so as to not be the center of attention when they arrived, but not late enough that it'd stick out when they got there. Keegan stood by the doorway shoving his wallet into his pocket and gathering his keys with a light throw-and-catch into the air, looking across the room expectantly at Logan. Logan slipped his shoes on, wiggling his foot to right the heel that had gotten caught at his unceremonious shoving, and made his way over to join him. "Ready to go?" Keegan asked, fingertips brushing over the back of Logan's bicep as he passed him.
Logan quickly signed, no, before opening the door to the apartment and stepping outside. Keegan's exasperated laugh followed him into the hall. Logan locked the door behind them and hid his shaking hands in his pockets as they walked to the parking lot.
The lot at the bar wasn't overwhelmingly packed, thankfully, and the crowd was sparse enough that they didn't need to push to get to where David had texted they would be gathering; a set of booths at the back of the bar that were far enough away from the main foot traffic that none of the group members would be immediately exhausted by their environment. Even when Logan didn't want to give credit where it was due, he had to give David his flowers when it came to knowing what the Group needed.
He let Keegan lead the way through the bar, consciously choosing to ignore the way he had wrapped his fingers around Logan's wrist so as to not lose him despite a noticeable lack of crowding. David rose as soon as he spotted the pair making their way over, greeting his brother with a warm hug and Keegan with a firm nod and a side hug. "Glad to see you make it, kid."
David turned rather quickly away from the pair of them, clearing his throat; Logan barely caught the pinch of his face in the blur of movement, the slight shine to his eyes as he sat back down next to a few other members of Support. Keegan gestured him into the booth, scooting in after he had settled just next to his brother. "We ordered waters when Keegan texted that you were on your way." David said.
"You two carpool here, too?" John asked, voice gravelly as he sipped at the beer in front of him.
"Yeah, y'know, figured we'd save on gas. His place is on its way here from mine, so…" Keegan summoned the excuse before he could ask himself why he felt the need for it in the first place.
John paid no mind to whatever seemed to be going through Keegan's head, but David paused. Narrowed his eyes. Tilted his head. His mouth opened ever so slightly, then he closed it, as if reconsidering whatever he was about to say. Logan knew David had been to Keegan's before; it was very obvious to him that Keegan's apartment and Logan's were in completely different locations in relation to both Group and the bar. He made no move to clarify at all for his brother.
A few hours later Logan had found himself with his first beer of the night standing near the booth that he had once been sitting in. Keegan and a few other members had drifted to sit at the bar, deep in a discussion that Logan had tuned out of almost as soon as it had started. Logan and David had gotten lost debating the logistics of the best objects to dig a trench with if a shovel wasn't an option— that was the very same conversation Gale learned to the signs that made up you stupid fuck. It wasn't until someone jostled Logan as they moved past him to scoot into the booth that he became aware of just how loud the place had gotten, how much it reeked of alcohol, and how warm it was.
His turn to find where Keegan was sitting was unconscious, automatic muscle memory betraying him as he sought safety. He was still in the same conversation, though he'd leaned back and was sipping at whatever was in his glass to let the others take their turns talking. The moment Logan moved across the room to hover over his shoulder Keegan leaned back and looked to his side. "Hey, I was just about to come lookin' for you." He turned back to his buddies. "Excuse us, we're goin' for a smoke break."
Logan led the way out of the bar this time, not catching the way one of the men they'd left behind at the counter started, "Hey, you think those two…"
The light chill of the night air was refreshing; Logan welcomed the shiver down his spine as they stepped out and to the side of the bar's entrance. Down the street a man hummed to himself cheerfully as he swayed drunkenly down the sidewalk. Keegan and Logan both watched him for a moment in amusement before Keegan nudged his elbow against Logan's arm. "Doing alright?"
He pulled a lighter and a pack out of his coat pocket, sticking a cigarette between his lips and flicking the lighter a few times before the flame finally caught. Logan glanced over a few times, but continued to watch until Keegan inhaled deeply and blew out again. He nodded in response. "Good. You're doing great. It's gotten pretty busy in there, I think I'll be ready to tap out in an hour or two, personally, but if you wanna head out before then just let me know. Okay?"
Okay. You do the same.
Keegan brushed against him again rather than replying, afraid the warmth in his tone would give something away he wasn't ready to admit, though he didn't move away after. Rather, they stood with their arms pressed together watching the smoke from Keegan's lit cigarette curl into the air, the stars of the night sky a stark backdrop. A few more puffs from his cigarette and Keegan tapped it out on the metal railing beside them. "You ready to head back in?"
Go ahead. Going to wait a few minutes.
Keegan had turned back toward the entrance to the bar just slightly in the lull, but paused immediately when Logan spelled out his intentions. His forehead creased. "You sure? I'm happy to wait out here with you."
Logan nodded and waved him toward the bar. Keegan's eyes drifted over Logan's profile as he stood in the streetlight, softened in the distilled warmth. Then, he turned and re-entered the bar, leaving Logan with the peace of the cooling night air.
The place had gotten a lot busier since they'd first arrived; it was an assault on the senses as he pushed his way back through the crowd toward the members of the Group that had stuck around. He hadn't noticed the stench of warm bodies that had accrued before they'd stepped outside— a boiling of the frog scenario, if the frog were military veterans and the "boiling" was far too many college freshmen getting drunk off alcohol they couldn't handle. Every time someone's shoulder bumped into his as he made his way through the crowd he felt a chunk of time get shaved off how long he figured he'd be able to stay.
It was one person who stepped back as he moved to pass them that finally took offense to their proximity, bumping bodily into Keegan's side just as he was about to rejoin the rest of the group. "Hey, man, watch where you're goin'." Came out of them guys mouth slurred, much more like "'ey, man, wash where y're goin'."
Five years ago Keegan was a much more confrontational person. He probably would've been drunk himself. Might've told the guy where to shove the beer in his hand and shoulder checked him for good measure. But Keegan was, if anything, simply tired. So he threw out a short, "Yeah, sorry about that," before he tried to move on.
He only made it a few more steps, just on the edge of the vet's group when the guy reached out to grab him by the arm. Keegan turned and the guy slurred out whatever point he had to make— indecipherable enough that he found himself squinting in concentration to try to hear him, which seemed to be the wrong move according to the way he grew more belligerent in response. Irritation beaded alongside the sweat on the back of Keegan's neck as the environment grew more overstimulating, "Look. I apologized. The bar's packed. This doesn't need to be a debate, man, you can get back to your friends and have fun."
That was also the wrong choice. "Fuck you, dude. You're gonna shove me and then tell me to go back to minding my own business?"
Maybe Keegan really was too old to be going out anymore. Hesh appeared at his shoulder, asking, "Everything okay over here?" to which the guy immediately began demanding that Hesh "get a handle on this fucker before he gets his ass beat." Keegan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I can get the next round for you and your friends if we can put this behind us, okay?" He offered, willing to try anything to get him to shut up.
"Yo— bro, are you flirting with me right now? What the fuck?"
It took conscious effort for Keegan not to look at Hesh and roll his eyes. "I'm sure this was a misunderstanding—" Hesh began, but he was cut off.
"Fuck you, your buddy's acting like he owns the fucking place."
Keegan noticed Logan's approach through the crowd once he was a few feet away, face already pinched in bewilderment from whatever bits of the conversation— or whatever this back-and-forth could be considered— he had picked up on. As he took the last few steps to stand by Keegan's side he raised his hands, likely to ask what was going on, but they were once again interrupted, "Oh, and now you've got your backup ready to jump me? Are you fucking kidding, bro?"
Where Keegan had managed to keep some sort of poker face since leaving the service, Logan had failed miserably. The disgust and irritation that immediately came over his expression was wholly undisguised. Keegan was too focused on that to see the fist coming at his face, which meant Logan was left to react— as he grabbed the guys arm to redirect his body weight, the guy swung with his other fist. It was a sloppy attempt at a follow-up punch, but it was one that connected with Logan's mouth, nonetheless. Logan hardly recoiled and instead twisted the man's arm behind his back and directed him down onto the sticky floor, grunting with the effort as Hesh called for security in the background.
Keegan caught the blood pooling around Logan's mouth the moment he looked up from where he was forcing his body weight onto the drunk guy's back, pure irritation warping his features as he looked up at Keegan. Keegan's, "Oh, shit, Logan," could hardly be heard between Hesh's directing of a security guard toward the scene, the few murmuring people that had caught onto what happened, the members of the DCVA that had started making protesting remarks at the fact that security had let the situation escalate until Logan got punched, and the guy on the floor yelling at Keegan to, "get your fuckin' guard dog off of me!"
Once security entered the ring that had formed around them, Keegan gripped Logan's forearm to help him up off the dude, not missing the way Logan's lips pursed as if he were considering spitting on the guy as they walked away. Hesh quickly appeared on Logan's other side, "Fuck, Logan, are you okay? His form was shit but he got you good. God damn it, of course this happens when we finally convince you to come to one of these things."
It's okay. Logan's quick to brush David off, leaning his body into Keegan to avoid the crowding of strangers that had quickly forgotten about the potential for a fight and gone back to half-dancing half-talking or pushing their way to the bar counter. Keegan tucked an arm around him, guiding them the short way back to their reserved table and shifting Logan to back him up into the booth while lowering himself to kneel in front of him in the same motion.
The bar lighting was absolute shit when it came to trying to see how bad the damage was and it was clear that both Keegan and Logan were fighting the irritation that came with an overstimulating environment and trying to communicate with other people that were pressing in with worry. David had the foresight to deal with the other DCVA members that were still around, who quickly decided that one of the guys getting punched in the face was enough to kill whatever was left of the gathering and they dispersed with congratulations and well wishes to Logan on the fight. Having observers made Keegan swallow any thoughts he might've had about his proximity to Logan as he looked up at him; he shook his head, "You're not bleeding to any degree that'd be a concern. Let's just get the hell out of here and I can patch you up at your place." And got to his feet.
"I've got him, Strix. I appreciate you looking out for him, but I'd feel better if—"
It's fine, David. He's going that way, anyway, and I'm fine.
It was obvious David wanted to argue. He opened his mouth to. Got out the words, "Logan, I'd feel a lot better if—" Before he cut himself off, watching the way Keegan pressed a napkin to the blood trailing down Logan's chin from his split lip, Logan's hand covering Keegan's for just a moment before Keegan moved away, straightening his posture and turning to look at David for him to continue his sentence. David sighed. "Alright, just— text me an update before you leave his place, please?"
Keegan cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah, a hundred percent."
Logan's gaze was directed firmly at his feet. "Okay." David agreed. "Shit, I'll walk you guys out."
Escaping the bar back to the night air was a relief that caused all three of them to take deep breaths. The dirt of the parking lot kicked up dust as they crossed it, the tread of their boots scuffing into the ground; the tracks they were leaving behind would no doubt be erased by the morning. Logan turned to say goodnight to David; David couldn't help the painful levels of concern that forced him to take another deep breath and nod as casually as he could. "Stay outta trouble, kid. For my sake, at this point."
Logan looked over his brother, saw the way he was coiled tightly, like he was still stuck in that moment where he'd wanted to reach out and protect Logan in the ways he couldn't before Logan was shipped back by the military and left to rot. That's what pushed him forward, yanking David into a firm hug. He patted his back a few times before he pulled away, I'm fine, David. Seen worse. I'll text you. He paused. I'm glad I came.
"Good. Good."
Logan climbed into the passenger side of Keegan's truck, shutting the passenger side door with a firmness characteristic of the abrupt goodbyes that he was a bit infamous for. "I'll get it cleaned out and iced before he goes to bed tonight. Looks like it'll just be a bruise for a couple days and a split, but not too deep."
"Just take care of him, okay?"
Keegan nodded and turned to head for the driver's side of the truck. David grabbed his shoulder. "Keegan." He stared him down for a moment, eyes trying hard to convey something silently. "I mean it."
He waited, jaw clenching as he hoped he wasn't reading the wrong message from David's silent stare. "Yeah. Yeah, I will. You know I will, David."
David nodded, scuffing his boot in the dirt. The silence that hung was nothing other than awkward and heavy. Keegan glanced into the passenger side at Logan's profile, face ducked toward his lap illuminated by his phone screen, one hand still pressing a bloody napkin to his split lip. "Okay." David pat Keegan on the shoulder and turned back toward the bar, likely going to see off any of the straggling group members and make sure everyone's tab was paid.
Keegan got in the truck and just sat. Logan paid no mind— he'd gotten used to Keegan's moments of processing a while ago and didn't bother to question him. He just gave him time. It made Keegan feel like there was a clenched fist in his chest.
He knew better than to coddle Logan as they made their way through the door to his apartment. Hesh's comment about texting before he left Logan's rang through his mind alongside the knowledge that there was a crease in Logan's bed that held the shape of his body before he'd gotten up that morning. Rather than figuring out how he was going to draft that text, Keegan grabbed some ice out of the freezer and a Ziploc bag on their way to the bathroom.
Logan was fumbling under the bathroom counter where Keegan knew he stored his smaller first aid kit. The split in his lip wouldn't take much, just disinfectant and some icing, but he'd be running through concussion protocol if Logan would let him put up the fuss. When Logan stood he instinctively moved to look in the mirror to see how bad the damage was; he was met with patchy drywall that had just been paint-matched by Keegan the week prior. He scoffed at his own forgetfulness.
"I've got it." Keegan spoke, "Besides, I think if Hesh found out I didn't verify everything was done properly myself he'd have my head."
Logan began to smile, then grimaced. Keegan sighed. "Gonna be sore for a few days."
Not my first split lip.
"Yeah? Get into a lot of bar fights?" Keegan asked, blatantly ignoring his time served just to needle at Logan a little.
Logan rolled his eyes. Yeah, that too. It became a hobby when I didn't have enough to do during the time I spent not deployed.
Keegan hummed at Logan's sarcasm, taking the kit from his hands. "That adds up, actually."
Logan flipped him off before turning to rinse his mouth and lip with water as Keegan prepped a cotton pad with disinfectant. When he straightened, he turned and wedged his tailbone against the edge of the counter. "Alright, gonna sting a bit." Keegan murmured, hooking a finger against Logan's bottom lip to pull it forward to avoid any excess disinfectant getting in his mouth.
The pause as Keegan stood a breath away from Logan, trying to make sure the medicine soaked in and adamantly avoiding eye contact was an awkward silence. One that Logan broke with, So, come here often?
Keegan's laugh was sharp and caught-off-guard as he shook his head, followed by an exasperated, "Oh, Jesus Christ."
Once again, Logan's grin made him wince and make a quiet grumble of complaint. "That's karma. You did that to yourself." Keegan shot back, pulling the cotton pad away.
Logan didn't respond, just took the chance to watch Keegan as he pulled his hand away and wiped it on his jeans, then prodded at Logan's bottom lip gently. A scab was already forming, softened by their efforts and Logan's inability to remain serious enough for it to completely solidify, but the split was shallow and an inconvenience at most. "Okay, you'll live." He handed the makeshift ice pack to Logan. As Logan took it, he continued, abruptly, "You didn't have to step in."
Logan raised an eyebrow. He swung at you.
"Doesn't mean you had to get hurt over it. Don't get me wrong, I appreciated it, I just…" Keegan trailed off, unable to find the words amongst the pattern of the tile he was staring intently at to avoid Logan's face.
Gotta look out for each other, remember?
"I should've known better than to say anything you could use against me."
Yeah, you really should've. Logan took a breath. Besides, I'm your guard dog now, apparently.
"God, that guy was an ass."
Logan signed, one-handed as he juggled the ice pack, Hey, at least we don't have to worry about me struggling to talk, right? Visibly suppressing another shit-eating grin to avoid the sharp pain that would ensue.
"Y'know, it's the little things."
While Logan moved to the couch and put on the show they'd begun to take great joy in hate-watching, Keegan stood in limbo in the dining space drafting a text to Hesh. He was jumping through hoops in his mind to try to justify what counted as a lie of omission and what was technically true. Eventually he settled on, hey. Logans settled in with an ice pack. Made sure he got it disinfected and said he'd take care of it. But it's also Logan, so, yk. Might want to check in with him in a few days
And maybe at no point did Keegan clarify that he wasn't on his way out from Logan's, but he also didn't say he was staying. Then his phone buzzed.
Hesh W.: cool. Can u remind him to take ibuprofen or something if you haven't left already? If he doesn't get ahead of it he's gonna wake up irritated about it tomorroq
Shit. Keegan didn't have the heart to tell Hesh that he had, in fact, made sure that Logan had gotten ibuprofen in him. That Logan had dripped water down his shirt from the mild swelling that was already happening and complained with loud hands all the way down the hall to get another shirt. That Keegan had known to make sure he got something in him before settling in for the night because the last time Logan had accidentally sliced open his hand helping move furniture for the Group he'd forgotten and been annoyed all the next day, starting over the breakfast they'd eaten together.
Guilt pulsed through his blood stream, but he pushed it down. Logan had made it obvious that he wasn't even ready to talk about what had happened in Colorado, much less anything that had been happening since. Not that Keegan even knew what to classify it as. Logan didn't know how to be honest with him, and Keegan couldn't be honest with himself, which meant he sure as hell didn't know how to be honest with Hesh. Instead, Keegan sent back a thumbs up emoji and shut his phone off. When he looked up, Logan was watching him expectantly with a curious look on his face. "Your brothers making sure you're not dying."
Why you? Could've texted me.
"Would you have texted him back?"
Yes! Logan insisted. Then he looked down at his own phone and seemed to notice missed messages. Nevermind. He corrected. You got back to him? Logan asked.
"Yeah. Told him you were hanging on by a thread and might be dead by morning."
Perfect. Logan put his phone down and waved Keegan over, clearly much more concerned with how far they'd gotten in the show than any potential overreaction David was having over his safety. Keegan threw himself onto his side of the couch, reclining against the cushions with a relief that had been building since they'd left earlier that day. Logan started the show and tossed the remote towards Keegan; he tended to be more volume sensitive, so if anything loud popped up he'd be able to turn it down.
A few episodes later they had settled into routine. The TV droned as Logan's eyes drifted shut; Keegan knew he'd insist that he hadn't fallen asleep the next morning, and all Keegan would feel is grateful that he felt safe enough to do so. His legs had ended up in Keegan's lap and, without thinking, Keegan had rested his hand atop them and begun sweeping his thumb back and forth over the top of his shin.
After another episode they'd have to repeat the next day he'd reluctantly disentangle himself from Logan's sprawled limbs and quietly retreat to Logan's bed, where he'd sink into the mattress and try not to think about Colorado. And they'd both awake and go through their days as if it meant nothing and pretend that they weren't lying through their teeth to each other and everyone around them. And a tiny part of Keegan wanted to be bitter when he thought about it that way until he saw Logan's face crease, then smooth back out, in his sleep. He just couldn't find it in him.
it's gonna cost, but you just can't beat that view (EIL!AU)
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Content: Logan assists Keegan at his job as he recovers from his PTSD episode
It hadn't been long since Keegan had collapsed into the give of Logan; he'd made a reluctant, half-hearted return to the Group, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere and he was wishing his body was, too. Logan had practically acted as his bodyguard throughout the meeting, warding off any overzealous concerned parties and pointedly ignoring a raised eyebrow from Gale at his actions.
Logan had been the one to drive the truck back to Keegan's apartment that day, Keegan feeling odd in the passenger seat, but relieved to not have to pay attention to the road, nonetheless. Being freed from the responsibility of doing so also meant that he had the rare bandwidth to admire their surroundings, and that he did. The moment the back of his head met the headrest his eyes were locked on Logan; he'd gotten away with some level of unabashedness in the aftermath of his flashback the other day, a bit more leniency rather than the usual joking Logan would level his way.
Still, when Logan parked the truck in his designated spot, Keegan was reluctant to move. Instead, he sighed and spoke aloud the thought that was turning in his head, "I should probably check on the dogs."
Logan gave him a quizzical look, a tilt of his head and the downward turn of his eyebrows. "I've got staff that take care of them, but I don't like to be away for long. It's important that they're used to me, you know? And I do miss them."
He didn't need to clarify. Logan knew. Go together?
Two words and Keegan no longer felt the task would be impossible. He still wanted to go upstairs and crawl in bed and not emerge for another week, but the idea of being denied that in having to face the world didn't feel like a pile of bricks crushing him under the weight of responsibility he didn't have the bandwidth to shoulder. "You want to come?" Keegan asked.
Sometimes the ways in which Logan gave to him felt inconceivable and undeserved— he understood the significance of what Logan offered him time and time again. Leaving his apartment to check on him, going somewhere entirely new with potential strangers around just to make the task easier for him. The idea that he was doing those things with Keegan in mind—
Logan shrugged. Nodded. As if it weren't even a question, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Keegan swallowed. "Okay."
Agreeing certainly was the easiest thing in the world for Keegan. He felt the weight of his own body ease as his thoughts began spinning. He could introduce Logan to the dogs, explain what they did to train them, the schedule of it all, what different staff members did. Keegan was proud of his business and what they did, truly, and the idea of getting to share that with Logan left him with more energy than he'd had in recent memory.
They went inside and ate first; Logan's unwavering pragmatism shining through the thick dark of the clouds Keegan had been under when he insisted they get something in their systems before facing the world. They ate in the quiet of a radios faint hum, quick sandwiches without much substance but better than nothing at all, before Keegan grabbed his work bag off the floor of his bedroom where it'd sat abandoned for too long. You drive? I drive? Logan asked as they descended the steps. Keegan responded with a low, "I've got it, but thanks Lo'." To which the corners of Logan's eyes creased.
Any attempts made by Keegan through the drive to prepare Logan for what they would be doing at the shelter was met with a raised brow and an unimpressed downturn of Logan's mouth. He saw through every breath Keegan took; he was trying to deflect from his own anxiety by projecting it onto Logan and explaining it away. Unfortunately for him, Logan knew him too well and refused to let him get away with it.
He held up the facade, at least in his own eyes, until he parked the truck at the training building. He didn't look over at Logan as they sat there, almost shy of the understanding he knew he'd see in his eyes. His breathing was slow in a practiced way, forced in its false calmness. It all felt like a lie of omission. He got out of the truck anyway.
It was easier once Keegan was able to fall into the tour mindset; he'd done a few of them for potential local investors that wanted to sponsor or partner with his program and a few for veterans that were looking to understand the facilities purpose. Keegan was a lot less inclined to take the time out of his personal schedule for the former, but he'd done so a just a handful of times when other staff weren't available.
He walked Logan through the small office space, the halls that opened up to training rooms, the small show-apartment that they used to train for practical tasking, the agility spaces, the utility room where they kept all the dog's food and supplements— and he may have gone too far into the logistics of how they fed and kept the dogs through their life stages, but Logan never appeared uninterested even once. He stood with him in the small space, head tilted just slightly, forehead creased in concentration as he nodded along to what Keegan said, his eye line following as he made gestures toward the different bins.
When they finally made it to the kennel hall, Keegan continued speaking, "Some of our prospects stay with trainers throughout the week so they can keep building their skills practically, but we have too many to keep that going 24/7, so they rotate out depending on their needs. And lucky for you—" Keegan opened the door to the hall, gesturing Logan inside before him, "A friend of mine had an emergency and had to place one of her pregnant dogs with us. So for the first time ever we're taking care of some younger puppies."
If he had known the way Logan's eyes would've lit up the moment his friend had called asking him to provide the space and energy for that pregnant dog he would've never had a single doubt or hesitation before he'd said yes. It was hard to ignore how infectious the brightness on Logan's face was, though Keegan tried his absolute hardest not to grin in return. He cleared his throat as he led Logan down the hall to the kennel at the end where they'd been placed.
The puppies were just around two months now, high energy and more than eager to meet new faces; it was evident the moment they'd caught wind that two pairs of footsteps were approaching the kennel door. It was an active struggle filled with light laughter to squeeze themselves through the gateway without letting any of the wriggling bodies out into the main hall, Keegan's hand on Logan's lower back as he went through first, Keegan's leg sticking out in front of him as he held them back so Logan could shuffle in without incident.
Luckily, Logan formed a decent distraction once he'd sunk to his knees on the floor, Keegan able to follow swiftly behind him without being mauled by the fluffballs. Once Keegan had finally latched the gate and turned around, he inhaled so sharply it almost made him dizzy.
Logan had already settled himself onto the floor, surrounded by the softness of patterned throw blankets staff had put down to cushion the dogs from the concrete; his curls had come forward and were nearly covering his eyes, but of what Keegan could see they were hardly visible anyway from how hard he was grinning, one of the puppies having placed its front paws on Logan's chest to try to lick at his face. He was already almost completely surrounded, each of the dogs trying to get even a split second of attention while their mother lounged in the corner only half interested. Keegan felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him— if he said he didn't feel exactly like one of those dogs on an average day with Logan, he'd be the worst sort of liar.
Unable to bring himself to burst that bubble and disrupt the absolute joy on Logan's face for even a second, Keegan went nearly-boneless against the edge of the gate, leaning his lower back against it as he watched him try to juggle the creatures competing for his time. Logan's hands were sure and steady as they skimmed over soft backs and reached under fat-cushioned ribs to right the pups that were falling over themselves in their excitement. Their doe-colored jaws snapped uselessly in playful threats toward each other, tiny yips echoing in the quiet of the hall. When one of them surged upward to try to get a nibble of Logan's nose, he jerked his head back and for the first time that Keegan had witnessed he laughed.
It was unabashed and loud, pure joy as his head tilted back out of reach of the dog that was so eager to reach him. The small gap in his teeth and the sharp of his canines had never been so on display, his cheeks creased with the tautness of the muscle that formed his crooked grin, punctuated by the asymmetry of a dimple on the right side of his face and the gash of his scar on the left. Keegan reached behind him and gripped the metal of the gate so hard his fingertips hurt— the bite of the edge grounded him in the moment, kept him lucid in a reality where Logan had light in his eyes and delight on his breath as he exhaled laughter.
If he wasn't practically gasping for air before, the moment Logan's attention turned to him he sure was. Come, sit, Logan signed, inviting him down into that bubble he had been trying so desperately not to intrude on. And like one of his own well-trained dogs, Keegan obeyed the moment the command escaped Logan's hands into the air, not an ounce of hesitation in his body as soon as he'd made his wishes known. The concrete beneath him and the gate behind him were cold and unyielding, digging into every part of his body that was already aching from the shift in weather.
It was worth it; to be at eye level with Logan's joy, to witness it within such close proximity— basking in the privilege of revolving around the sun. Keegan let his fingertips brush over the back of one of the puppies at it stomped past him, uncoordinated in its efforts, but determined nonetheless to investigate the fencing that it'd sniffed a million times before. When the puppies finally parted their efforts to drown Logan, the mother of the litter eased herself to her feet and ambled over to investigate the stranger that had made himself comfortable in her space.
With the gentlest hands, Logan reached out and smoothed his thumbs over the soft fur of her cheeks, fingertips light over the edge of her ears. Immediately, she scooted forward, thumping her tail against the cushioned concrete as her rear hit the floor and she keened under Logan's affections. At least Keegan felt less alone— he wasn't the only one with the urge to bask in Logan's attention the moment it was given.
Her muzzle followed Logan's hands in protest when they left her face to sign, name? Keegan cleared his throat, "Peach."
Logan hummed in response, looking over Peach's face thoughtfully as he returned to smoothing his hands over her. Slowly, she lowered herself until her front paws were touching the shins of Logan's crossed legs, her head landing in his lap. Self-restraint was a prison Keegan locked himself behind; he'd never been jealous of a dog before, but there was a first time for everything.
It was quite a while before Logan had his fill of petting the dogs as they settled in around him. Keegan spent the entire time trying not to think about how much he wished he'd just kissed Logan that afternoon on his doorstep. It was a fleeting moment that kept him up at night, a missed opportunity he knew he would never get back that could've changed the context of even the littlest moments like the one he was being confronted with. He was reminded of that every time the palm of his hand itched to reach out for Logan's.
Eventually, though, the unforgiving nature of the hard ground got to both of them and Keegan eased himself to his feet, barely stifling a groan at the effort of standing. He held out his hand, an action selfish by nature, to help Logan to his feet. He accepted, palms rough from old callouses carved into his skin, and allowed Keegan to haul him upwards before catching him under the elbows to make sure he was steady on his feet. Feel better? Keegan could feel the muscles in his forearms shift as he signed.
When Keegan scoffed lightheartedly and nodded he knew that Logan would take it to mean something along the lines of "I just hung out with a bunch of puppies, of course I'm feeling better," and not a "you were here, so obviously I'm feeling better." But Keegan didn't say anything at all, so it didn't feel like a lie of omission, not really. Logan bumped against his shoulder as he passed by, opening the gate as quietly as he could and shutting it behind Keegan once he'd stepped out.
As they walked down the hall back toward the front entrance of the building, Logan signed. Reminds me of the time my mom took us to a shelter. If Keegan's breath caught, it wasn't noticeable. Neither Logan nor Hesh mentioned their mother. We were going to get one, but apparently they'd just had an event and the shelter was pretty much cleared out when we got there. I cried the whole way back when she wouldn't let us bring home an eight year old chihuahua that was blind and had diabetes. Keegan laughed, affectionate and fond rather than mocking the concept. "You and Hesh have always had a thing for the strays, I guess."
And when Logan looked over at him there was something in his unreadable expression, tinged on the edges with thoughtfulness, that made Keegan swallow hard. It was gone in an instant before Logan gave a crooked smile.
The drive back to Keegan's apartment was quiet. Not tense, just the kind of quiet that came when two people didn't feel the need to fill the air and could sit in each other's company and have that be enough. Keegan flicked through a few radio stations before he was satisfied with whatever played, keeping the volume low enough that it merely functioned as a hum in the background. Logan was beginning to recognize some of the songs that made Keegan stop and pay attention and settle on a station.
A radio host droned on as Logan leaned against the window, gazing out at the passing scenery; palm trees and cracked sidewalks, an evening sun that wasn't quite setting but still gave everything a warm, hazy glow. It felt as if he had blinked a just a few times before they were back at Keegan's place. The gear shift groaned as it was cranked into park and then the silence pressed in again. Keegan didn't move. He stared up at the apartment building in front of him like it was a fortress. It was only once Logan shifted, debating whether or not he should say something, that Keegan snapped out of it and shot him a brief smile of acknowledgement and moved to get out of the truck.
Logan watched him deflate the moment the key turned in Keegan's apartment door, his shoulders folding inward just a fraction. He led the way through the threshold regardless, tossing his keys onto the table in the entryway with a clatter and a barely-detectable sigh. Logan could feel Keegan's struggle to articulate himself brewing. Rather than question him, Logan moved deeper into the apartment to stand at the kitchen island, bracing his forearms against the top as he breathed deep and let himself mentally reset from being out most of the day.
Keegan joined him a few moments later. "I keep thinking I need to consult with an interior designer for this place or something," he huffed out a laugh that he didn't quite mean, "anything to get it to feel less depressing."
Depressing?
"Yeah, I guess that's how I'd describe it. It doesn't bother you?"
Logan sat up, glancing around the living area to give a proper answer. It was a little dark, sure, but he was used to that from his own apartment and honestly preferred it that way. The furniture was a mix of that new IKEA-style showroom aesthetic and some old, cozy things that Logan had assumed Keegan got from college living before the military, like the overstuffed, stain-riddled couch. It wasn't innovative in the realm of apartment living by any means, but it was functional. But Logan knew that Keegan wasn't looking for a real answer. I don't have room to judge, was what he settled on signing instead.
Thankfully, the response was funny enough that Keegan let him pass with a non-answer, choosing to roll his eyes rather than call him out on it. "I don't know, I think I spent so much time here after being discharged that it just feels… suffocating."
Thought about moving?
"Yeah. A few times. But whenever it comes up its always about moving back to Colorado, which wasn't the worst thought for a while, but then—" Keegan swallowed. "I, uh… something popped up and the idea of leaving had more weight to it, you know?"
Group?
Keegan nodded a little too rapidly. "Uh, yeah. It'd feel like an asshole move, getting involved with the group and training dogs there thanks to Hesh and then just leaving one day."
You'd miss it?
He inhaled. The smell of laundry detergent and shampoo he'd become familiar with over the past months tinged by the soft smell of the dogs they had just left coated the inside of his nose. Eye contact was hard all of a sudden, but he made it anyway, felt compelled to. "Yeah. I'd miss it. A lot."
Logan hummed, an acknowledgement without further thought on the matter. Move apartments?
"Might be time to. I guess I never really thought past the black and white of either staying here or moving to Colorado."
You can get some better furniture, then.
Keegan scoffed and nudged Logan with a barely-there shove that didn't even shift his weight. "So the truth of how you feel about the place comes out."
Like I said. Not like I'm one to talk.
There was a moment of silence as the two stared at each other, determined not to laugh at the double entendre. Keegan clenched his jaw and put far too much effort into nodding in what he hoped would come across as thoughtfully, but his resolve weakened as he watched Logan's stoicism crack. eyes crinkling and lips pressed together. All at once Keegan gave up, bowing his head as a soft chuckle shook his shoulder, head shaking. "You really walked into that one."
Logan laughed and, in the way he often did, changed the subject abruptly, obviously more focused on whatever internal dialogue he was engaged in that Keegan wasn't privy to. We can go back to my place. You can stay.
"Logan you don't have to do that. It's more than enough that you stayed the other day, I don't want to disrupt your sleep by staying over."
He snorted. The concept of Logan sleeping enough for it to be disrupted by anyone except himself was a novel idea. Not like I sleep anyway.
"I don't want to make it any worse."
You won't.
It was the firmness with which Logan signed that back to Keegan that twisted in his gut. There was a steady resolve in Logan that he wanted Keegan around, and Keegan didn't quite know what to do with it. He found himself agreeing before he even thought further about it. "Okay. If you don't mind."
Logan was patient, arms folded and legs crossed as he propped himself against the arm of the sofa, watching in that quiet, thoughtful way that he did as Keegan packed an overnight bag in the other room. At any other moment, maybe Keegan would've felt studied, but he didn't then; it was a relief, in some ways, to feel as if someone was watching his back. When he was done, Logan greeted him with a simple, ready to go? To which he nodded.
Walking through the doorway to Logan's apartment, though it was darker with the curtains shut tightly, felt much more inviting. Keegan let his overnight bag drop by the couch with a low breath out. "Thanks for this." He swallowed.
Logan carried in the bag of food they'd stopped for, dropping it onto the counter to free up his hands so he could talk. You can put your bag in the room and take the bed. I sleep on the couch.
Keegan paused, befuddled. "Logan, I can't take your bed—"
Logan tilted his head. I don't sleep in it. Just use it to fold laundry.
In a second Keegan's eyebrows shifted down, confused, but he suppressed the urge to ask questions. Logan picked up on it anyway and took a deep breath. He could hear David in the back of his head, imploring him to be more open with the people he claimed to trust. It'd been a topic of casual conversation and a few frustrated arguments during Logan's recovery, David begging him to talk about what had happened to him and Logan refusing, as if keeping it close to his chest could buoy him above it and stop him from drowning in it. One hand still anchored to the table in front of him, Logan ground his teeth together and let go. Reminds me of the hospital if I wake up on my back. Not enough room on the couch to sleep flat.
Keegan opened his mouth before his brain could catch up, "What was different about Colorado, then? I mean— the, uh, last night."
Logan shut back down the moment an image of him curled up into Keegan's side in the low light of the bedside lamp as Keegan read flashed through his mind. He shrugged. Got lucky, I guess.
If the room got any quieter, Logan was convinced Keegan would be able to hear his heartbeat the same way it thrummed in his own ears. Keegan cleared his throat, the muscles in his face twitching as he nodded once to himself, the movement sharp, then turned toward the food on the table. "Well, I think they put yours at the top of the bag so…"
There was an acrid regret on the back of Logan's tongue. He wanted to go back and admit that he didn't know what was different, just that it was. That maybe having him watch his back while he slept could be enough some nights and that it had, ironically, kept him up longing for that peace even just one more time. But the room was suffocating in a way that was so unfamiliar and he knew walking it back would mean nothing in that moment. He had to let it slip through his grasp.
Despite the fact that he wasn't quite hungry, Logan pulled his food out of the bag and pushed back one of the rarely-used chairs. Grease clung to his fingers the moment he did; Keegan had mentioned a new burger place had popped up on a block near Logan's place and requested they try it, silently and gently pressing Logan to eat more consistently than he was known for. It'd been difficult to disagree, so he hadn't. Now the smell of fast food growing cold stuck to his lungs and turned his stomach.
Meanwhile, Keegan ducked into Logan's bedroom and dropped his duffle at the foot of the bed. The sheets were tucked tight around the mattress, blanket pulled to the top, pillows untouched; a military style dressing if he'd ever seen one. At first, he found a bit of humor in it; he could imagine Logan getting well-deserved kudos for his attention to detail. Then, he recalled the brief recollections from Hesh about how their father had been and realized that this was likely a habit that had been ingrained in him since he was a very young child, at an age before Keegan would've even been seriously considering going into the military. Anger flashed through him and he breathed deep; he tucked it tight into that space between the mattress and the sheets and left it there.
There was a worn dresser against the far wall, placed in front of a window that had its blinds pulled tightly closed much like the ones in the living room. Some of the paint was chipped on the edges and around the handles. Maybe it'd been a hand-me-down from Hesh or pulled from their father's house or found at a garage sale just together enough to serve its purpose. Other than that, the only furniture in the room was a similarly-worn nightstand and a couple of boxes still taped shut. Keegan recognized the labeling on the side, the logo of the U.S. Army bold and unyielding. They contained everything Logan had been shipped back with. All at once, Keegan could feel every ghost that haunted that room brushing past him, cold, hostile, against his skin. He shut the door firmly behind him when he rejoined Logan in the living room and cleared his throat, "Burger any good?"
Logan startled when he glanced up at Keegan, but eventually nodded. He pulled up the other chair—which he noted internally, that there were only two chairs, as if Logan never planned on having more guests than him or Hesh separately—and lowered himself into it carefully. His movements hiccuped as he realized Logan had gotten him a plate to spill his fries onto and the frankly egregious, at least according to Logan, amount of mustard packets he used on them. For the first time that Keegan could remember there seemed to be a fragility to the silence between them. They ate surrounded by it.
When they'd finally finished and Keegan sat back, staring at the drawn blinds over the living room windows in contemplation, Logan signed, If you want, we have Netflix.
Keegan tilted his head. "We?"
Logan exhaled harshly. I freeload off David.
This drew a laugh from Keegan. "Well, I can't miss the opportunity to contribute to that."
The tension broke. All was at ease again when they settled into their places on the couch, embracing the safety of opposite ends, and began discussing their options for shows. The banter was a relief that flowed readily once it was reintroduced, pulling the strain from their muscles and the creases of their faces.
The hour crept later and later until both Keegan and Logan were slumped against each arm of the couch, legs folded near each other, but never touching. Any commentary on the show they were watching died out, replaced by suppressed yawns and deep sighs. Eventually, Keegan rose with a stretch to which Logan politely averted his eyes when the hem of his tshirt began to rise. He hesitated the split second he began to move to get up. "Are you sure you're okay with me taking the bed?"
Logan rolled his eyes, though it was lighthearted. Would you rather sleep on the floor?
Keegan gently tossed the throw pillow he had been using at Logan, shaking his head. "Alright, Jesus. I was trying to be polite."
Logan laughed and satisfaction bubbled in Keegan's chest. Standing over the couch, he hesitated once more. They were searching each other, eye contact switching between each eye, looking for something that wasn't verbalized until, "If you need anything—" Let me know if—
Keegan flustered slightly, always aware of the inherent ability he had to, even accidentally, speak over Logan. "Sorry, go ahead—" What were you going to—
Both of them paused. Soft laughter broke the silent truce they had, waited for the other to speak. The mutual silence stretched on a few seconds longer than logical before Logan raised his eyebrows expectantly and Keegan sighed, "I just wanted to say that if… anything comes up, y'know, you can come and get me. What did you want to say?"
The corner of Logan's mouth quirked up. To let me know if you need anything.
"Oh." Keegan exhaled. "Okay. Yeah, will do."
He lingered for a second, then pat the back of the couch and walked back toward the doorway of Logan's room. When he passed through and clicked the door shut behind him, Logan felt a strange regret that when he'd first been moved in he hadn't arranged his living room so he could see the doorway while laying on the couch, like by watching the solid wood he could somehow keep watch over Keegan, even from that distance.
Warmth seeped out of the room as the dark of night settled in. Logan wasn't sure how long he remained awake for, sitting in the silence that had been left behind, waiting to hear even the smallest creak of Keegan shifting on the other side of the doorway, but at some point he fell asleep.
When Logan awoke again, it was with Keegan a few feet away, crouched down to be somewhat eye-level as he murmured Logan's name. He came to with a deep breath and an instinctual physical withdraw into the back of the couch, his eyebrows creasing in confusion as he struggled to sit up against the haze of sleep. "Hey, I'm sorry, but it seemed like you were having a bad dream. I wanted to wake you up before it got worse. You're good, though, everything's fine."
Logan inhaled deeply, glancing around the space. Are you okay?
"Yeah, Lo', I'm fine. I was just up getting water."
Logan nodded in acknowledgement, groaning quietly as he collapsed back into the cushion of the couch, drawing his blanket up toward his shoulders and shifting back into a comfortable position. He couldn't really remember whatever it was he had been dreaming about, but he could feel the telltale remnants of emotion, the confusing stirrings of paranoia and the urge to flee clouding his brain without explanation. Can't even remember.
"Might be for the best."
He couldn't really argue with that. Logan stretched, the tension releasing from his chest and spreading down his limbs until it began to leave his body. The haze of sleep hadn't left him, and he hoped it wouldn't considering how rare it was to feel that peace, but he still caught the way Keegan's eyes slipped lower then averted abruptly. A heavy breath left Logan as he adjusted back into the couch with a finality.
And if Keegan had all of his thoughts together he would've gotten the cue that Logan was ready to go to back to sleep, but his feet were stuck to the vinyl flooring beneath them. If he were to summon a defense for the fact that he was struggling he'd claim it was the fact that it was the middle of the night and he had hardly gotten his bearings after waking to Logan's grumblings from the other room. It wouldn't have been too much of a stretch, however the truth was the way he'd curled into himself and the cushions as if he belonged there, bleary with sleep, eyes clear of any of the conscious weight that he often bore during the day. It didn't help that the hem of the sweatshirt he slept in was riding up and his blanket was thrown over him haphazardly, hair tousled and frizzy, striking against the dark pillow beneath him.
The pause had plenty of time to get awkward before Keegan cleared his throat and blinked, "You, uh— you gonna be alright?"
Logan appeared to have already dismissed him and was falling back asleep if the barely-there nod he gave was anything to go by. Keegan couldn't resist the drive to reach down and fix the end of his blanket to cover his legs before he retreated back to Logan's bedroom. If the sentiment wouldn't raise a plethora of frankly horrifying-to-think-about questions he'd thank Hesh for his thoroughness in picking out Logan's bed and bedding— the mattress felt like sinking into fluff, the blankets heavy enough for security but not suffocating. The sheets even still smelled clean; that told him that Logan still took care of the room even if he didn't use it, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. He was grateful, anyway. It meant that when he turned his head and buried his face in the blankets they smelled the exact same as when he was walking next to Logan and a light breeze would send the smell of his fabric softener Keegan's way.
It felt selfish, in a way, to take such comfort in the things that reminded him so viscerally of Logan. Even in the dark of the room and the cold temperature that Logan kept the apartment at he was at ease. Once his body temperature finally dissipated into the blankets and warmed them the comfort reminded him of that night in Colorado— the exact one that Logan had seemed adamantly avoidant of. Keegan refused to let any semblance of resentment burn in him; Logan had his reasons and Keegan knew the way he was when they'd first become friends.
But whatever emotional intelligence he pretended to have didn't stop the way that his inhales stuttered on every breath at the false proximity he was getting from that damned fabric softener. In the morning, he would shove it down again and pretend it didn't exist; he was well practiced, he'd been doing it for months. But for just that moment he let himself fall into it while Logan slept on the other side of the wall. Keegan fell asleep with the blankets pressed to his nose.
Content: keegan has a PTSD flashback, hurt/comfort, some fluff, mutual pining
In the time between Colorado and that night at Logan's apartment Keegan had tried to keep up to date with him. When Logan didn't respond, he sent pictures. Photos of the sunrise or the sunset, of the dogs he worked with, of Colorado skies and California streams, sometimes captionless, sometimes denoting that he hoped Logan was well. Even when Logan simply looked at them and didn't reply, he kept reaching out. A warmth offered with no caveats while Logan left him out in the cold.
So when a week passed without Keegan replying to Logan the dread set in.
He tried not to worry; made a conscious effort to come up with excuses on Keegan's behalf as to why he would drop off the radar, but it never felt right. He mentioned it to David, trying a little too hard to be nonchalant as his hands formed the words, and his brother reassured him, unaffected as he explained that Keegan was just like that; he disappeared sometimes and he always came back—maybe a little worse-for-wear at first, but he always came back. He insisted that Keegan just needed time, that it was fine, but no matter how much Logan would try to deny it to himself, he knew Keegan.
He knew he ran warm, and that he tended to eat at strict times to keep his schedule straight, that his least favorite part of training dogs was crate training because the whining broke his heart, and that his Colorado upbringing meant he learned to ski as a kid while Logan learned to swim. He knew that he preferred his coffee with cream and sugar in it but worried about inconveniencing baristas so he often drank it black, and that his grandparents were Southern, so sometimes it bled into his speech patterns. Above all else Logan knew, with more certainty than his own breath, that Keegan answered his texts. Maybe not right away, but he did answer them.
And so Logan worried. He didn't take it personally, wouldn't dare, and not in the self-deprecating way that he was often so fond of, but in the fact that he knew Keegan had his own fight going on. So he held onto his patience and thought often about what he would say when he saw Keegan at the next meeting—the ways he would dodge apologies that didn't need to be given, what he could tell Keegan that would smooth over any guilt and move them along back to the moments that Logan basked in until the next week came and the sun rose again.
But Keegan didn't show. That's when the alarm bells turned into air-raid sirens.
The calmness that overtook Logan the moment he decided to go check on Keegan was one he hadn't felt since his last deployment; the kind of acceptance that came with risking ones life over and over again. A stillness in the preparation for a battle, a deep breath in the name of bracing. Logan stood on the threshold of his front door for some time staring out at the hallway in front of him, the edge of his keys digging into his palm as he gripped them. He inhaled in a long, drawn-out stutter as he lifted them, the ghost charm curled between his fingertips. A reminder that he had once been someone entirely different and had been remade in the sterile field of a hospital and the warm hands of his brother. That he could survive things that felt insurmountable.
Logan stepped out of his apartment, clicked the door shut behind him, and inserted his key to slide the lock into place. Regardless of what he would find at Keegan's place, he was prepared; he had been given a mission that he'd briefed himself for countless times as he'd prepared to leave. There was no chance he'd allow failure.
The journey to Keegan's apartment was relatively uneventful— David had set him up with an Uber profile months ago to encourage potential ventures back into the world, and thankfully he was able to disclaim his mutism and sign language usage. The driver was polite, but didn't try to make conversation and instead chose to play music and focus on driving while Logan gazed out the window and fought off flashes of every way said driver could attack him and how he would get out of the situation. His therapist called it an obsessive habit he used to try to feel in control of his environment. He called it survival instinct and told her to take it up with the U.S. Military.
Keegan's building was smaller than Logan's, built up rather than out— he thought back to the fact that Keegan had a spare cane waiting for Logan's use back in Colorado and wondered when he moved into the apartment. Had the stairs caused issue for him? Did he have someone to help him navigate mobility after he left the Navy? Regardless of how devastating Logan's reality had been when he was discharged, at least he had David— he couldn't stand the image of Keegan figuring out life after the military on his own. Perhaps he had retreated to Colorado until he was ready to face the world again.
He ignored that tugging thought, the flash of desire to retreat to Colorado with Keegan, the mountains looking a lot like the way Keegan said "I've got you." Awe-inspiring and unmoving.
Logan checked his phone at least five times as he climbed the stairs, both waiting for Keegan to text with an explanation and a disclaimer not to worry and to make sure that when Keegan had given his apartment number he had written it down correctly. It'd happened a few weeks ago, Keegan reassuring him that if he ever wanted company and to escape his own apartment walls he was welcome whenever, to just drop by even if they both knew just how unlikely that was.
Second story, two right turns, third door down, directly next to the emergency exit stairwell. When Logan reached the correct door it was far too still. There was no light seeping out from under the doorframe, no sounds from the other side to indicate someone was living their life. The hall was static, the building eerie in its quiet, like a vacuum had formed on the spot where Keegan had been brought to his knees. Logan's knock was a shot in the dark.
It went unanswered.
Logan knocked again. Paused. Waited with shallow breaths, straining to hear any sign of movement on the other side of the door. Keegan's truck had been in the parking lot. Unless something had come up and he'd left with a friend, of which Keegan didn't have many, he was inside that apartment. Logan knocked again, firmer this time, telling himself that all he needed was confirmation that Keegan was breathing; he'd leave the moment he saw that he was fine.
He could feel the silence in-between his own heartbeats, the draw of air into his lungs far too loud. It was only after a few moments that he heard the lightest shifting of weight on the other side of the door. A single footstep. A pause. The door unlocked, then swung open slowly.
Keegan stood on the other side of the doorway, battle-worn and exhausted. The circles under his eyes had grown impossibly darker, like spilled ink across the creased parchment of the furrows that framed his eyes. His hair was a blatant mess, black as night skies and sticking every direction, the light scruff he often kept on his face now overgrown. The hoodie he was wearing was wrinkled, his sweatpants crumpled as if he'd been still in one position so long that his clothing had formed to it. One hand on the open door, he choked out, "You came?"
Logan took one step closer and reached out, a hand landing on Keegan's arm, eyes void of expectation, simply calm as he looked up at him. The breath Keegan took in response was bone-rattling, his entire body deflating in on itself with palpable relief, his head bowed as he closed his eyes and swallowed. His fingertips dug into the wood of the door, then let go. He moved backwards to let Logan in.
He entered the darkness of the space readily, paying no mind to any of his curiosities of the apartment he hadn't been in before. Instead, he quickly spotted a lamp in the corner and pulled the shade to block out most of the light before flipping it on. He stepped over scattered clothing items and began to make his way to the kitchen, Keegan following close behind muttering stilted apologies that wouldn't come out right. "I'm sorry. I know I haven't been—I didn't mean to miss the meeting, it just… time got away from me. And I know that's not fair. I should've— it's not an excuse—" Logan turned and placed both hands on the sides of Keegan's arms, just above his elbows. He simply met his gaze, then guided him backwards the few steps to get him to sit on the couch.
Keegan dropped down without protest, eyes locked onto Logan the way they had been since the moment he'd arrived. "Okay." He breathed out. "Okay." Keegan dropped his head into his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes.
Logan left him to dig in his kitchen cabinets with an audacity that wouldn't have possessed him in any other circumstance. He uncovered some teabags rather quickly, though there was no indication of how long they'd been sitting in the drawer that had been their home. Mugs were relatively easy to find; on a normal basis, Keegan was a quite organized person. The mug came together quickly; hot water poured over the teabag, steam rising from the ceramic of a black mug with a vintage logo of mountains on it, Durango, Colorado stamped over the top.
Keegan hadn't moved a muscle in his absence, shoulders hunched to his ears. Carefully, Logan lowered himself to sit next to him, their thighs brushing together as Logan reached out to pull one of his hands away from his face, guiding him to hold the mug. When Keegan raised his head, he paused for a long moment, looking down into the tea like it could give him whatever answers he was seeking. When he looked back up at Logan, his eyes were slightly red. "Thank you." He choked out, voice breaking slightly.
All Logan did was sit. He let the silence press back in and sat still in it, turned slightly toward Keegan, their knees leaned against each other. Keegan held the mug between his two hands, eyes closed, jaw constantly working with the effort of containing whatever emotions were threatening to suffocate him. He didn't drink it, but he was inhaling the steam of it, letting the smell of black tea wash over him and hold him to reality. "I, um," Keegan started, attempting unsuccessfully to clear the rasp from his throat, "haven't been… doing great." Five words felt like a war.
Logan tilted his head down into Keegan's field of view to get his attention before he signed, Want to talk about it?
Keegan shook his head firmly, blinking a little too much as if it could keep back the images that were flashing through his mind. "No. I can't."
That felt familiar, deep in his gut, as if he was feeling the impact of every time he signed the exact same thing to David on the cold, tile floor of his bathroom and on the slightly-stiff couch of his therapist's office. Keegan closed his eyes again, but kept his head tilted toward Logan— he needed that reassurance that if he just blinked open Logan would be right there, on the front lines of defense at his side. His hands shook around the mug, sending tiny ripples out across the liquid, his teeth grinding together.
The feeling of Logan breathing beside him felt like an anchor. He focused on the movement, on the barely-detectable sound, on the way that nothing had ever been so solid to him before, had never felt so real. If he could articulate it all to him, let it spill out of his mouth and let the weight leave his body, he would've. But there was razor wire around his neck and the words sat thick in the base of his throat, just before his vocal chords. But Logan was there, breathing beside him, and his silence was anything but choking—it was something reverent, the way it always had been. It made him want to try. "I— um," Keegan took a deep breath, scrunching his eyes closed. "It's been… a rough few days."
Logan had mimicked his posture, leaned himself forward with his head tilted so he could see Keegan's face— letting him brace against the onslaught of his own brain without letting him hide anymore. Keegan finally looked over at him, eyes swollen. "That shit… doesn't ever really leave you. But you know that."
And Logan's eyes were soft in a way that Keegan hadn't really seen before, the depth of understanding a force he was drowning in. He wanted to fall into Logan, to fold himself small enough to fit in the spaces between his ribs and retreat there until the world wasn't so cruel. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and tried continuing. His jaw stuttered as the words refused to come, his mouth open, eyes searching for answers. Logan lifted his hands, Take your time. Don't have to explain.
Ever since Keegan's release from the Navy all anyone had wanted was for him to explain himself. Why he was leaving a nearly-spotless career in the Navy after "one bad mission," why he was recovering so slowly, why he refused to leave his apartment for weeks at a time, why he became so cold, why? But Logan sat there looking at him like his presence was enough, like if Keegan chose to never explain himself again, if the words didn't come, he would stay anyway. A fraction of the tension eased from the harsh line of Keegan's spine.
In the breathing space of silence there was a light commotion out in the hall; the scuffling of someone opening their door and fumbling with the process of getting out. There was quiet talking, words indiscernible through the walls of the apartment, the tone placating in nature. A higher-pitched voice replied, shriller— a child, Logan presumed. The voices grew in volume until the child began to cry, a sharp sound akin to a scream. He assessed and dismissed it just as quickly as it entered his conscious attention. It was then that he registered how stiff Keegan had become, his eyes distant. And instantly, he knew.
"When I was… we, uh, were sent overseas. Got surrounded on recon, took some cover… we were trying to figure out how to get out and—" Keegan's voice cracked as he shook his head, his eyes locking onto the side of Logan's neck. Logan sat up, his brows creased with concern; the took the mug from Keegan's hands gently, setting it on the coffee table. "I didn't even know they had snipers in position already. And he was just a fucking kid, y'know?"
There was nothing Logan could do. Nothing would take away or change whatever Keegan had replaying behind his eyes at that moment. "And I tried—" He was crying now, choking on his own tears, "I heard the shot and I- I tried to stop the bleeding, but we had to get to exfil. We weren't getting out if we didn't make it to exfil…" Keegan kept shaking his head like the denial could save him.
It couldn't. He slipped further with each shaky breath he could hardly fully draw in before it was escaping in a short burst again. "He wasn't supposed to die— I'm sorry." Keegan put his head in his hands.
The wracking of his shoulders from the force of his sobbing was a vision Logan would never be able to wipe from his mind. It would follow him in the weeks to come and the desperate, sharp pain that came with it would bury itself deep in his side. He swallowed and considered reaching out, but thought better of it at first. Keegan's mumbling was muffled by his hand over his mouth, the breadth of his forearm covering his eyes, the fabric of his shirt stained dark with his own tears. Logan watched every time he tried to regulate his own breathing, no doubt using tricks his therapist had taught him over the years, only to fail and take a sharp gasp of air that wouldn't satiate his need for oxygen. In between every desperate failure to breathe was an apology, a muttering of, "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry." Logan finally broke, making his motions as obvious as possible as he scooted just an inch closer and reached out to place a hand between Keegan's shoulder blades, rubbing his hand back and forth.
And when Keegan looked up, when the blur of tears started to finally leave his vision, it was like he was there again. The overwhelming thrumming of his heartbeat in his chest, the overstimulation of his own pulse in his neck, could hardly account for the fear that shot through him the very moment he became convinced that Logan was grievously injured.
His hands were on him in an instant; he couldn't see blood, couldn't see evidence of any harm that had come to him, but he was absolutely convinced it was so. He was pulling the collar of Logan's shirt down, looking for where the bullet might've entered or left, hands searching for the texture of blood that he was positive was already coating his hands. The more he found nothing, the more he panicked. He was failing Logan. He couldn't find his injury and he was dying and it would be Keegan's fault, the way it always was.
Words were emerging from his lips before he even realized they were forming, "Didn't- didn't realize they were there, I'm so sorry. Was so focused on the fucking mission I didn't even realize. You were supposed to make it out- Logan, you were supposed to— I'm sorry, kid." He was running out of air with every word, suffocating himself with his own ramblings. Distantly, he could see the motion of Logan trying to lift his hands, trying to soothe away the overwhelming feeling Keegan had that they were both going to die, but Keegan couldn't see past the tunnel vision and his own hands on Logan's neck.
And he couldn't fucking find it, couldn't find any entry or exit wound, couldn't figure out where the blood was coming from. Maybe he had gotten it wrong. Maybe he'd been clipped in the side, just as Ajax had mere months prior, maybe the bullet had found its way into that heart that Keegan had admired for so long or the lungs that caught on breaths whenever Keegan guided him down steps even if he didn't know why or the warm give of his waist— he knew exactly how long Logan had if any of these were accurate and it wasn't enough time to tell him.
Just as Keegan moved to drop his hands down, to insist on checking Logan's side for whatever was going to kill him, Logan caught his wrists. He brought his hands up to his face, pushed the pads of Keegan's fingers into his skin and just stared. There was a clarity to his eyes that should've been impossible with the impending doom that Keegan intrinsically knew to be true. He blinked once, twice, and realized with dawning horror that there really was no blood splatter on Logan's face, no evidence of any damage. The cushion of his thumb brushed over the scar that stretched from just under the corner of Logan's mouth, jagged up to the side of his temple— a scar he re-memorized every time he saw his face. He could feel the tenseness of the muscles in his face, could feel the way his mouth pressed in at the sides. Keegan exhaled, the inner corners of his brows creasing upward, "Logan?" He whispered, as if he couldn't believe it.
Logan's eyes were searching his, looking for any signs of surefire lucidity, but Keegan wasn't quite there. He wasn't hunting for damage anymore, but the fallout of the adrenaline rush crashed through his body like a freight train. His hand slipped from Logan's cheek to the back of Logan's neck, pulling him forward as Keegan tucked his chin over his shoulder. His breaths were heavy, still fighting to find reason in a sea of illusionary threats, as he closed his eyes and let the weight of Logan's head on his shoulder ground him. The moment he had his eyes closed an image flashed through his mind of himself holding Logan's corpse and they flew open again; he stayed absolutely fixated on his breathing, the rise and fall of his back. He was trembling, his hold on Logan just a little too tight, but he couldn't change it in that moment. He was clinging to an anchor that he felt could slip away at any moment.
Logan's arm came up to wrap around Keegan's shoulders; he eased a bit more weight onto him, having felt the exact moment Keegan started catching his breath, even if it was just a bit. They went through a few shifts, spacial negotiations in the wake of it all, Keegan's grasp remaining on him just as desperate as it had been since he'd started the battle. Logan ended up practically in Keegan's lap, one leg thrown over the thick of Keegan's thigh, the other folded in toward his lap, arms draped over his shoulders, chin tucked against the flesh of Keegan's throat. Keegan's arms were wrapped around Logan's back, his fingertips nearly bruising in their grip on Logan's sides, his mouth pressed into a thin line on Logan's shoulder as he stared down at the expansion and contraction of his lungs with eyes that refused to so much as narrow.
"I-I'm sorry, can I…" Keegan unwound one of his hands, reaching between them to bring it up against Logan's neck; fingertips to his pulse.
Logan leaned into it, nearly imperceptibly so, a gesture of welcome permission and intrinsic understanding. Keegan inhaled, shaky but relieving nonetheless. That breath was the one that finally got oxygen to his brain, that began beating back the dark vignette haze around the corners of his vision that had helped convince him that he was back on the other side of the world on the verge of watching another person he cared about die due to their proximity to him. Logan brought a hand around to hold Keegan's wrist; he didn't pull his hand away, didn't adjust the pressure against his neck, just brushed his thumb back and forth against the protrusion of his wrist bone and took even, steady breaths.
The exhaustion of it all flooded through with every beat of his own heart, slowly making its way through his veins to flush into his very core and drag him down. Logan didn't complain, even when Keegan slumped forward, the tension in his muscles easing so that he was resting against Logan. He felt the very second Keegan realized what had happened, the reaction he'd had, and that Logan was there—uninjured, unmarred by the horrorscape of Keegan's memories—steady and warm against him and waiting for him to come back out the other side of what he'd seen.
Dried tears on Keegan's face made him feel as if he had aged a thousand years, the swelling in his eyes an appropriate heaviness to represent the things that his own brain had just shown him over and over again. He pulled away, still just hardly a foot away from Logan as they untangled their upper-bodies, wiping at his face. He wasn't panicking anymore, just weary and almost embarrassed. "Sorry. I, uh, don't know why…" Keegan shook his head again, much slower than the previous times he'd been trying to save himself from the spiral.
Logan's hands came up again. It's okay. I don't mind.
Keegan huffed, not even a dry laugh making it out quite right. "I just physically accosted you."
Logan pulled Keegan's hands away from his own face to get his full attention. Slowly, and with intention, he repeated himself, I don't mind.
Keegan nodded jerkily. "Okay." He said quietly, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. "And… you're okay?" He just needed to hear it from Logan and the way he signed things that always made them feel like a non-negotiable truth.
Logan gave a barely-there smile, which was practically blinding on Logan's own scale, and a small nod. I'm okay. You're okay.
Keegan drew a long breath in, clenched his fists and let the way it all hurt wash over him. Images still flashed through his mind, but they were more distant now, the kind he could acknowledge and push away, even if their outlines remained like the afterimage of a skeleton on an xray. Logan squeezed his shoulder before slipping out of his grasp, something Keegan barely pushed down his protests against, and shuffled into the space of the living room. Keegan didn't see past the way he was still trying to clear the physical evidence of his breakdown from his face. When the couch cushions sank with the weight of him again, he looked up.
Logan was holding Keegan's phone out, the lockscreen beaming light out at him expectantly. Perhaps Keegan should've questioned it more, but he didn't and input his password without another thought. Logan tapped through his phone for just a moment before he turned the phone back around and held it out for Keegan to take. Logan had pulled up his mother's contact, the picture of her smiling face on the contact photo enough for Keegan to fold in on himself and fall back against the cushions as he hit the dial button. "Thank you." He murmured as the phone rang.
Logan let him talk to his mom; let him explain in choppy words that he'd been having a bad week and just wanted to hear her voice. He didn't catch the other side of the conversation, wasn't trying to, but he could hear in Keegan's tone the way he was slowly unwinding from the tightly coiled spring he'd been just thirty minutes before. Logan knew better than anyone that the sound of his mothers voice could cure anything, could make him believe in things he'd been long jaded about— he no longer had that privilege, but there was a warmth in the knowing that Keegan did and he didn't take it for granted.
Meanwhile, he busied himself. Remade that cup of tea that had long gone cold which he delivered to Keegan, who looked up at him with wide eyes that Logan nearly recoiled from; he'd never had so much raw appreciation directed at him before and he had no idea what to do with it. The call lasted a short fifteen minutes, long enough for Keegan's mother to talk him through the warm monotony of her last few days in Colorado and for his breathing to completely even out. He bid his goodbyes with a gratitude and plethora of reassurances that he was fine, that Logan was there with him, he wasn't alone.
When he hung up and looked up at Logan where he'd perched on the arm of the couch, Keegan's head fell back against the top of the cushions. "Thank you," he said, voice soft, "for everything."
Logan lifted one shoulder in a shrug that seemed to imply an obviousness to the things he had done. I've got you.
Keegan could've cried if he hadn't already returned—to the extent that mattered—to his right mind. "How'd you know… exactly what to do?"
Been there. A million times.
Keegan exhaled. "David helps you, then?"
Used to.
And Keegan was sick at the implication; the idea, the image of Logan going through something similar with no one around to help hold him together, the idea that he had been giving Keegan something he so badly needed to receive. "If you… when you need, you call me, okay? You shouldn't have to deal with that shit on your own."
Logan shrugged again. "I'm serious, Lo'. I don't care what time it is. Call me—" He paused, swallowed. "Please."
I will.
Maybe Keegan didn't quite believe him, and maybe Logan didn't quite believe himself, but it was an offer put out in the air— a gesture that couldn't be withdrawn, the meaning of which they would decide together over the coming stretch of their friendship.
Eventually, Keegan got weary of sitting in the silence and threw on a documentary about deep-sea squid. Neither of them were really watching, letting the audio of it float in their orbit while they were lost in their own thoughts. For just a brief moment, Logan was tempted to slip out the moment he watched Keegan's head droop forward and his eyes slide shut; it was muscle memory that belonged to another version of him, one of the millions of lives he'd lived before that one. Instead, he stayed.
"I'm not letting you try to convince me that it's normal to have three cups of coffee in one sitting."
High caffeine tolerance.
"Oh, I'm sure your therapist loves that. Don't you get psychoanalyzed as soon as you let slip any ridiculously repetitive behaviors?"
Logan nodded, then shrugged. Her problem, not mine. Could be worse.
Keegan barked out a laugh at this, head thrown back. "Yeah, can't argue with that."
They were walking down the street back to Logan's place, having diverged from their routine of exchanging house-visits in times of crisis to grab lunch. On all the drives past that street when David would drop him off, Logan would see a small, local deli and think about asking to stop, to try something new. He never did. But the moment Keegan asked if he wanted to get lunch Logan had remembered the place and agreed. They'd gotten in the truck and when Keegan had asked if he'd had any preferences, handing over his phone so Logan could program his GPS, it felt like an opportunity.
It'd been worth it; the sandwiches and the risk of asking. The place had been quiet, only a few other people milling about, and they'd been able to keep the conversation lighthearted and entertaining despite both of their tendencies to start to drift to reflections on the past that were often wholly unhelpful. The walk to Logan's place was relatively short, manageable even with both of their limitations, and the weather lovely enough as spring crept in that Keegan had gotten away with commenting it was too nice to drive that last stretch as an excuse to eke out just another handful of minutes with Logan.
The freedom of the start of spring—a breeze in the air, the plants just coming to life, the barely-there chill that kept you present in the moment—looked good on Logan. Keegan often thought that he was someone that needed to be kept in the light, that as much as he appreciated the way that his features softened in the low-light of their apartments, he really did light up with the world around him when given the chance. Even as Logan's hands flashed through letters, articulating his rant on how his caffeine consumption might've been bad but David was secretly much worse and not even Casey could change that, the thought consumed Keegan's thoughts down the street and up the stairs of Logan's apartment building to the very moment they stopped outside his apartment.
And in that moment it would've been so easy to kiss him; Logan's back to his apartment door, looking up at Keegan expectantly in that still space of a goodbye yet to happen. He could've leaned down in an instant, could've put his hand to Logan's jaw and reframed the way he'd held him just days before, could've tried to rewrite that motion of clutching his face and tracing his thumb over that scar. Sunlight filtered through the trees that blocked the breezeway from street view, dappled rays cast on Logan's face in a way that was painfully unfair; it twisted something nasty in Keegan's chest, the pit in the heart of him that said he didn't deserve more chances after the losses that stemmed directly from his own failures.
To kiss Logan in that moment felt akin to putting a target on his back, drawing him into a prophecy of association with Keegan that he had seen play out too many times before. The pause became far too noticeable; it was evident in the way Logan's forehead creased in confusion, the tilt of his head to the side. And maybe he lifted his hands to say something, but Keegan would never find out. Instead, he swallowed hard, gave Logan's arm a brief squeeze and, taking the stairs down two at a time, left Logan standing on his own doorstep without another word, hands frozen halfway through the question of do you want to stay?
everything i've loved, i've loved it straight to death (Walruss AU)
slowburn oneshots of post-service, modern era walruss
ao3 link
Tags: logan is mute & uses sign language, slow burn, mutual pining, undefined relationship, military and medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, angst, PTSD & associated symptoms including flashbacks, emotional constipation, eventual cohabitation, sharing a bed trope, mentions and mild descriptions of torture, medical trauma (see ao3 for more extensive list)
hard to love, cold to touch
Keegan had inserted himself in the conversation gently, casually, by mentioning that he and his mother didn’t really do the holidays, but he was headed back to Colorado and they were always glad for another body in the home. He hadn’t even looked up from the cup of coffee he was stirring far too much powdered creamer into, the look on his face a grimace at the way it clumped together to form an unappetizing island in the center of his disposable cup. David had paused, but Logan could tell he loved the idea just by the way he inhaled, his head tilting slightly. And that itch under Logan’s skin, the desire for change despite the way he’d clung to routine since he’d been discharged from the hospital, had compelled him to agree a week later.
to love me is to suffer me
"It's good to know that traffic brings out the worst in you like it does the rest of us." Keegan chuckled, casting one more glance back at Logan, the light back in his eyes for the moment.
And that was a strike to the heart. Of course, Keegan had only said it in passing, like he really believed that cussing out an idiot in traffic was the worst of Logan, but there was a warmth to it that Logan wanted to hold onto like it could save him from the truth of what was really his worst.
i'll swim down with you
Ever since Keegan's release from the Navy all anyone had wanted was for him to explain himself. Why he was leaving a nearly-spotless career in the Navy after "one bad mission," why he was recovering so slowly, why he refused to leave his apartment for weeks at a time, why he became so cold, why? But Logan sat there looking at him like his presence was enough, like if Keegan chose to never explain himself again, if the words didn't come, he would stay anyway. A fraction of the tension eased from the harsh line of Keegan's spine.
it's gonna cost, but you just can't beat that view
It was worth it; to be at eye level with Logan's joy, to witness it within such close proximity— basking in the privilege of revolving around the sun.
or
Logan assists Keegan at his job in the aftermath of Keegan's PTSD episode.
puffy eyes and bloody lips, sunshine on my skin
He knew better than to coddle Logan as they made their way through the door to his apartment. Hesh's comment about texting before he left Logan's rang through his mind alongside the knowledge that there was a crease in Logan's bed that held the shape of his body before he'd gotten up that morning. Rather than figuring out how he was going to draft that text, Keegan grabbed some ice out of the freezer and a Ziploc bag on their way to the bathroom.
or
Logan gets into a mediocre bar fight, Hesh is catching onto them and Keegan is grappling with whatever seems to be between him and Logan.
i can't bear to think you'd know who i am
Apparently, Keegan had heard him enter this time because he didn't startle at the knock. "Sorry, give me a second. I have to get this email out." Keegan finished typing, muttering to himself under his breath the entire time— something about coordinating events and a lack of communication, but Logan lacked the context, though he was sure he'd get it later. "Okay, sorry," he turned in his chair, "how was— oh shit, you okay?"
or
Logan goes to therapy, re-opens his split lip, and Keegan is drowning in his own avoidant nature.
project hail mary is insane bc the first half is like oh my god the world is dying and there's alien bacteria eating the sun and there's some guy alone on a ship and he's having a breakdown and the flashbacks are getting darker and this is a tragedy the likes of which i have never seen. then BAM andy weir says fuck you actually. here's this pokemon guy he's here to save the day with the power of friendship. and it's the best thing you've ever seen in your life
The kraken told me the NHL keeps eating their goalies so I asked how many goalies they have and they told me they just go to the AHL and recall another goalie afterwards so I said it sounds like they're just feeding goalies to the IR and then Lane Lambert started crying
[a two-panel drawing of keegan and logan from call of duty: ghosts. in the first one, keegan is opening a door and peaking out from a dark apartment, looking dishevelled and visibly distressed. the text reads "...You came?". the second panel has a view from behind keegan, revealing that logan is outside the door. he's looking at keegan in silence, worried look on his face.]
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a scene from a fanfic i've read two days ago and have been thinking about ever since. go read the entire series, it's So Worth It
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
gamechangershow
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
