Summary: Logan is covered in stars, and Patton loves them all.
Pairing: so much logicality you could drown in it. i got tenthousand cavities whilst writing this
Warnings: a bit of self-hatred at the beginning? it’s a happy ending, tho
A/N: two fics posted in one day? holy hecc its a christmas miracle!!!!! but i saw @pirate-patton ‘s post and i got Inspired™ also @emphoenixcat had the same idea i had while i was writing this but,,,, i still wanna post mine??? theirs is better tho yeet (go read it its amazing)
They covered him like the stars covered the sky, like the grass covered the ground; little dots of orange-brown across the tan of his arms, his face, his neck, his everything. He knew, logically, that they were merely spots of darker pigment cells across his skin. He knew, logically, that he shouldn’t hate them.
And he knew, illogically, that he did anyway.
The thing was, they were everywhere. They covered his face and ran down his arms like a smattering of brown paint; splattered across his back and his neck and his shoulders and his cheeks like a painter had thrown them there, without order, without logic.
And he knew, unfortunately, that he’d never hear the end of it if anyone else were to find out about them. Freckles held many connotations that Logan would loathe to be associated with. They were cute. They were innocent. They were adorable and illogical and horrible.
He could practically hear Patton’s squealing, Roman’s snide remarks, Virgil’s snickering.
So he hid them. There were enough makeup tutorials available online to give him sufficient knowledge of the subject, and it wasn’t exactly hard to borrow Virgil’s concealer every so often. Logan doubted he ever even realized when it was gone.
(In a different part of the mindscape, Virgil stomped into Roman’s room. “Why did you steal my concealer again?” he demanded, and was met with Offended Princey Noises™ in response).
And he became quite good at it, too. After all, one could theoretically become skilled at most things, when given the time and energy to practice regularly; and this was something he needed to do, something he needed to hide. The others hardly took him seriously without the freckles. How would they treat him if they knew how illogical his skin was?
It became routine to him, a solid schedule of self-hatred. He’d wake before dawn and rub the bleariness from his eyes, step into the bathroom, and fix himself. He’d blot out every dot down his arms, every freckle across his face, and he’d hide the ones he couldn’t reach with his shirt. The sun would rise and shine through the sky, blocking every star; and in the same way, Logan would block every freckle, his skin growing clear, ordered.
(And if sometimes he wished he could sleep in, if sometimes he wanted to read or study or do anything but this… it didn’t matter. This was important. This was safety. This was how to be taken seriously.
On one such day, as he sat hunched over his bathroom counter, carefully applying layers of protection across his illogical cheeks; as the sun was just rising over the horizon and spilling its golden light across the mindscape — Patton walked in on him. He was holding two cups — one coffee, one cocoa — and had a book tucked under one arm; and judging by the look on his face, he was just as shocked as Logan was.
“It is not what it looks like,” he tried to insist, the container of concealer clattering to the bathroom counter. He’d taken too long. He’d taken too long and now Patton was there to talk about the book he’d loaned him and now…
“You have freckles?” Patton asked, his eyes lighting up behind his glasses as he took in the skin that Logan had yet to cover. Logan’s heart dropped at the excitement in his voice.
“I — yes, Patton, I have freckles. However, I’d like to ski the ‘freak-out,’ if you don’t mind. I’m nearly done covering them up, wait for me outside.” His voice didn’t shake; it sounded every bit as confident as he didn’t feel. But Patton didn’t leave. Instead, he frowned.
“Covering them up? But… why would you wanna do that?” His eyebrows furrowed and he set the mugs down on the bathroom counter. “They’re so cute!”
Logan winced, his fingers tightening into fists by his sides. “That is precisely the problem,” he said, feeling as though his skin was burning beneath Patton’s gaze. Every single freckle was on fire. “I am not cute. I am logic. I cover them up simply because they are illogical.”
He spoke calmly, his voice cool and logical — but there must have been something in his eyes that Patton recognized, because he ignored the cool logic of his voice and plucked a napkin from the counter, stepping forward.
“You like stars, right?” Patton asked, and Logan nodded silently, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I do too! They’re really… out of this world! And you know what these freckles are?”
Logan bit back a groan, nodding uncertainly at Patton to continue. He took Logan’s arm gently, and began tracing the uncovered spots with a soft finger.
“They’re not cute. Well, I mean, they are, but… they’re constellations!” He traced patterns through the freckles. “See? This ones a dog! A good lil’ pupper on your…” He trailed off, pointing to the inside of Logan’s elbow.
“Antecubital fossa?” Logan supplied, his voice hushed. Patton nodded, grinning brightly; and in the sunlight peeking in through the window he appeared to glow, ethereal.
“Yeah! That! A precious doggo on your anticube fossil! And this ones… a frog! His name is Steve.”
“Wh… why Steve?” Logan asked, one eyebrow raised, his voice quiet and awed as he watched Patton come to love what he’d hated for so long. Patton shrugged, chuckling.
“Well, he looks like a Steve!”
His hand trailed up Logan’s arm, up towards his collarbone. “There’s a lil’ kitty! And this one sort of looks like a potato, but it’s up for interpretation. And this one…” His hand was beneath Logan’s jaw now, his touch ghosting the skin, so gentle that it was barely there. Logan felt his heart-rate increase exponentially, and his breathing quickened accordingly. His skin grew warm, flushed, but not because he wasn’t covered. No, this was… different.
The bathroom grew quiet as Patton reached his face. Slowly, carefully, he reached up with his other hand, the napkin clutched beneath his fingers, and swiped away the layers of concealer. Again and again he wiped, until every freckle was visible, until every star shone. And that was when his smile became full, when his eyes crinkled in just the right way and the flecks of gold among the brown of his irises began to sparkles.
“That one’s an owl.” He was whispering now, his touch light as he traced invisible lines between freckles. And Logan, for his lack of imagination, could see it in the mirror the way Patton did; suddenly, the freckles weren’t bad. Suddenly, they were constellations among a sky of stars, beauty hidden among the darkness of the sky.
“And this one…” His fingers were close, so close to Logan’s lips. Logan breathed out slowly, trying to calm his frantically beating heart, and reached up to pull Patton’s hand away. For a moment, Patton almost looked disappointed.
And then Logan kissed him.
The sun finally crested fully over the horizon, and the moment became rose-gold, gleaming with light. And something dawned in Logan, too, when he opened his eyes as they pulled away and caught a glimpse of the faint freckles across Patton’s cheeks.
Patton’s face was bright red, his mouth stretched into a happy grin. He reached forward and traced a heart over the bridge of Logan’s nose. “This one’s my favorite,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Logan once more.
Maybe, Logan thought — with Patton’s lips on his and the light of a thousand constellations across his skin — freckles weren’t so bad, after all.
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