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A is for Amour || The Way The Cookie Crumbles (8)

Pairings: Slow burn Logicality, endgame Prinxiety Word Count: 8k Chapter Summary: Logan tries some sweet treats, which uncovers some truths that taste just a little more bitter. Chapter Warnings: food, and... thaaaat’s about it. Think of this chapter as a nice, long reprieve from all the angst I’ve been putting you through :)

<< First Chapter || < Previous Chapter || Read this chapter on AO3

For all the comfort it offered Logan, the predictable routine of school could get awfully dull sometimes.

The first half of the day had looked exactly like any other. He’d arrived precisely ten minutes before the bell. Attended two hour-long classes, but between the two of them spent less than half an hour actually listening (he knew all the material already, why bother?).

Now, he was on his way to the most predictable part of the day yet: lunch, which he typically spent in the library studying instead of eating (Logan was a firm believer in the superiority of several small meals rather than three big ones). With a worn Science textbook in one hand, his sleek laptop in the other, and a dark blue water bottle clamped securely against his side, Logan could not have been following his mundane script more closely if he’d tried.

Until he turned the corner, that is, and almost ran straight into a boy coming out of the Tech and Home Ec hall.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

All too quickly, Logan recognized the speaker. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s quite alright, Patton.”

“Huh…? Oh, hey, Logan!” As Patton spoke, a slight flush began to spread across his cheeks. Logan noted the colouration with curiosity; had he been running in the halls, or was there some other force at work here that Logan was somehow oblivious to? “Fancy seeing you here! I mean, what a surprise, am I right?”

“I don’t know if I would call it a surprise , per say, considering I do attend this school and all,” was Logan’s dry response. “That said, although I was expecting for the two of us to eventually run into each other here, I never thought that it would be in quite so literal a fashion.”

Logan didn’t realize his mistake until he saw Patton’s entire face immediately lit up with delight.

Oh sh—

“Did you just make a dad joke?”

“Never! ...Intentionally,“ Logan begrudgingly amended, cursing his sorry mouth. What had he been thinking, letting slip such foolishness as that? He was going to lose his student’s respect!

He made a mental note to confront his own dad about this later. The prolonged exposure to bad jokes must have finally begun contaminating his cognition; a hypothesis evidenced by, say, the strange way his student seemed to be vibrating before his very eyes.

Wait, no. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Logan did a double take. That was no illusion. Patton was literally vibrating. What — how is that even physically possible?

While Logan puzzled over this new development, Patton continued to talk, and his words only confirmed Logan’s fears. “Man, this is so weird.” A good-natured laugh. “I mean, I knew that you had to have a sense of humour somewhere in there, obviously, but still. Hearing you make a joke in person like this? I never thought I’d see the day!”

The situation was not looking good. Logan could almost see his dignity disappearing, figurative grains of fine sand on a figurative beach, running through his figurative fingers at an alarming rate as he fumbled for a way to excuse himself from the conversation.

Or at least change the subject. It was with that thought that his eyes fell, for the first time, onto the plate in Patton’s hands.

Logan wasn’t sure how he hadn’t seen — or, more importantly, smelled — it any earlier. Covering nearly the entire surface of the ceramic plate was a variety of freshly baked, delicious-looking thumbprint cookies, arranged artfully to resemble petals on a flower of some sort. In the centre of each cookie was a spoonful or so of what was undeniably Crofter’s. And judging by the richness of their aroma, these cookies had probably only just come out of the oven a few minutes ago.

Had Logan been years younger, he likely would have been salivating at the very smell. But of course, he was too mature to submit to such temptations now. Obviously.

With considerable effort, Logan tore his gaze away from the plate.

“I see you have still more cookies today,” he observed out loud. “Tell me, do you make it a habit to always carry baked goods with you?”

“Ah — yeah, heh, I just came from Home Ec,” replied the younger boy, almost sheepish as he followed Logan’s gaze. “Today was a baking day, and I got a little carried away and accidentally made too many, so I got Mx. Harper’s permission to borrow a plate and pass them out around the school.”

“Fascinating. I didn’t realize you enjoyed baking.” Logan’s eyebrows raised, genuine interest animating his features. “Is that a hobby that you often engage in?”

“Yeah, I think it’s really amazing what baking can do! Like, I wanna meet the guy who looked at a loaf of bread and thought — ” Patton adopted a gruff tone — “Ya know what this needs? More sugar and eggs!” He giggled, dropping the voice. “I mean, the ingredients are so plain on their own. Sugar, butter, flour… who woulda thought that they could work together to come up with something oodles better than what you started with? And then you get to eat it! Or else you get to brighten up someone else’s day with it, which is somehow even better. Who doesn’t like eating a whole bunch of sweet stuff, am I right?

“It’s a funny thing, really. You’d think that with all the measuring and stuff, I’d be nervous about getting numbers mixed up, but… it’s actually kind of the opposite. All the numbers that I need to see are marked up on the measuring cups or spoons, so I don’t have to worry about getting them wrong. I don’t even have to think of them as numbers! I just imagine I’m playing one of those memory games where you have to match — um, match cards with...”

Abruptly, Patton stopped, seeming to have suddenly become aware of himself. Eye contact broke as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“No, no! Well, yes, a little bit, but it’s quite alright. Truth be told, I don’t mind,” said Logan, surprising both Patton and himself with his sincerity. He was actually enjoying Patton’s chatter today; he’d never before heard the simple act of baking described so vividly. And, if he was being completely honest — Patton’s passion was invigorating after such a monotonous day.

“Wait, really?” Patton cocked his head to the side, appearing as if he could hardly believe his ears. “I’m… not annoying you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Logan watched as the hopeful gleam slowly returned to Patton’s blue eyes. ( Huh. Blue. Logan hadn’t even noticed how bright those eyes were until now; they were always obscured behind Patton’s glasses, he supposed.) The freckled boy opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, hurriedly, he opened it again and spoke up.

“If that’s the case, then...” Patton raised the plate slightly. “I was about to head into the foyer to hand these out, but since you’re already here, would you maybe want to be the first to give one of these a try?”

Why, Patton, how charitable of you to extend such an offer! Yes, I most certainly would like a thumbprint cookie, thank you very much. How did you know these are my favourite? Truly, what a kind and generous soul you are.

…is exactly what Logan did not say.

Though his immediate instinct was to say yes and grab one of the buttery, jam-filled sweets (it was Crofter’s, after all!), Logan was also acutely aware that he was very much not where he should be at the moment; he should have been seated in one of the library’s quiet work cubicles long ago, chipping away at a decently sizable pile of homework. But no — instead, he was here, chatting up a storm with this bouncing-energy-ball of a boy and throwing down dad jokes like there was no tomorrow. Taking a cookie would mean even less time spent being productive, especially since no food was allowed in the library. And hadn’t Logan already wasted enough time today?

Then again…

Logan supposed there was another way of looking at the situation, and that was this: seeing as Logan was already behind schedule, he might as well forget all about schedules and routines and so forth, if only for one day. Let himself take a breather. Enjoy a cookie for a change. In light of all the time he had already wasted today, taking off one or two minutes more to have a quick snack could hardly make that much of a difference, could it?

Still Logan hesitated in his deliberation over the age-old question: punctuality… or Crofter’s? It could go either way, really; Logan held both options in an equally high regard. Whatever decision he made, though, he’d have to make it fast — going back and forth like this was the least effective time usage of them all.

A tiebreaker, then, Logan finally decided. Pointing to one of the cookies, he asked Patton, “What kind of jam is that in the centre there?”

“That one, I think, is… hmm. Let me see.” Patton squinted. “I’m pretty sure that that one is blackberry and pomegranate.”

“Well then!” That settled it — knowing now that his favourite flavour was among the many types of jam, Logan couldn’t not take one. Passing up blackberry-pomegranate Crofter’s was simply not an option. “That’s very kind of you, Patton. I can assure you I’d appreciate nothing more.” So saying, Logan moved to snag a cookie off the plate.

…Before realizing, a little too late, that both his hands were full. Awkwardly, Logan tried to bend down so he could gently drop his textbook on the floor, but fumbled it in midair so it hit the ground with a heavy thump instead. As he reflexively reached for it, his water bottle slipped out from underneath his arm. Logan watched in exasperation as the rogue bottle rolled down the hall, carrying the rest of Logan’s dignity with it, before finally bumping to a stop several feet away.

Well, at least his hands were free.

Though his cheeks were burning, Logan was able to take comfort in the delicious-smelling plate of baked goods being presented to him. “Thank you very much, Patton, for your generosity,” Logan said, grabbing the cookie he’d wanted off the plate and trying hard to pretend that he hadn’t just made an utter fool of himself (again).

Patton, to his credit, had the good grace not to comment on Logan’s embarrassing moment. The younger boy beamed as he replied, “It’s no problem at all! I love sharing the food I make.”

That seemed to be the end of the conversation. With a nod, Logan went to scoop up his belongings, then turned to leave, eager to get out of there and put all of his recent buffoonery behind him.

He could feel Patton’s eyes following him as he went.

Sure enough, just before he turned the next corner to draw himself out of sight, Logan was stopped in his tracks by the sound of Patton crying out: “Wait! Wait, Logan, don’t go!”

Ugh, so close, Logan thought, debating whether he should pretend as if he hadn’t heard Patton or not. But he was starting to find that the boy was cleverer than he looked, and most likely wouldn’t be fooled — only hurt.

Logan turned to see Patton staring after him, one hand stretched out in his direction, mouth hanging slightly ajar. “I’m sorry, do you need something else from me, Patton?”

He was trying to keep the irritation out of his voice — he really was! But judging by the way Patton’s reaching fingers drooped, Logan couldn’t have been too successful.

“I just, uh…” Patton fumbled, seeming uncertain, as if even he didn’t know what had compelled him to call out like that. After a moment of stammering, he gestured vaguely at the cookie Logan now held. “I was... hoping that you could maybe take a bite of that right now. So I could get your feedback, you know? Because, um, I’m always looking for new ways to improve my baking, and… stuff. No pressure or anything, but I would —” In his doubt, Patton’s voice cracked. He coughed, then took a deep breath before completing his thought all in a rush of words: “I would really, really love to see what you think right as you’re taking the first bite, because that’s always the most genuine reaction. If that makes sense. I’m sorry, does that make any sense? Sorry.” As he finished speaking, Patton looked away with a slight cringe, as if already expecting a ‘no’.

Oh. That’s it? Logan’s shoulders lifted in an indifferent shrug — it was a simple enough request, after all — as he laid his belongings back down, save for the small thumbprint cookie at the core of all of this fuss and nonsense. “Very well.”

(The surprised smile he received in response was almost blinding in its brightness. Which seemed to Logan a disproportionate amount of excitement, but who was he to judge?)

With practiced precision, Logan bit the sweet treat almost perfectly in half to ensure the optimal jam-to-cookie ratio. Then, thoughtfully, he began to chew.

Understand, now: Logan was no food critic. But the young man had eaten enough thumbprint cookies in his life to know what he liked and what he disliked. And, well…

Patton’s baking, suffice it to say, easily fell on the “liking” side.

From what little Logan knew about the crumbly confection, thumbprint cookies were a relatively simple recipe to prepare. He’d even tried to bake a few of his own once. He’d set off the smoke alarm and startled his fathers half to death in the process, sure, yet still they had come out of the oven edible enough. The ingredients were simple, too: some butter. Brown sugar. Eggs. All-purpose flour, half a teaspoon of vanilla extract, a pinch of salt, a couple of walnuts for garnish, and of course, a spoonful (sometimes more) of Crofter’s jam in the middle of it all. Mix it all together, and bam! He had himself a delectable (albeit slightly burnt) dessert.

Patton’s cookies, though… they were on a whole other level. Objectively speaking, Logan wasn’t sure if it would be fair to call this ‘the best thumbprint cookie he’d ever had in his entire life’, but only because it was quite an impossible judgement to make; there were too many factors he’d have to take into consideration and at the moment, Logan cared to consider nothing more than the flavours of butter and vanilla and Crofter’s-blackberry-and-pomegranate jam exploding across his tongue.

The cookie was soft and powdery, but not so much so that there was no texture to it. The sugar levels were perfect — neither too sweet nor too bland. The vanilla extract underscored all the other flavours with a richness that was noticeable but not overpowering.

And the Crofter’s.

Good gracious, the Crofter’s.

Logan didn’t even remember putting the other half of the cookie in his mouth until he was already swallowing.

“So?” Patton’s voice, equal parts flustered, agitated, and excited, snapped Logan back to reality. “Is it — is it okay? Did I do good? Oh, no, wait, did I overdo the butter? I was worried about that but by the time I realized that I might have put in too much it was already mixed in and I couldn’t exactly reach in and pull it out of the batter anym—”

“Patton,” Logan broke in softly.

The boy seemed to choke. “Um. Yes?”

“I… That was…”

For the first time in forever, Logan found himself at a loss for words. Praise never really had been his strong suit to begin with; now, the ever-logical boy wasn’t even certain he possessed the vocabulary to describe what he was feeling inside. He cast about for adjectives, eventually landing on the first one to come to mind:

“... adequate. Thank you.”

For some reason, no sooner than the words left his mouth, Patton visibly deflated. Huh? Logan had given a compliment, hadn’t he? So why did the person on the receiving end appear so upset?

“Oh. ‘Adequate.’ Okay… There’s, um, there’s some room for improvement there, huh?” Patton said, managing a weak laugh.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up at the sound of it. “Ah, no — no no no. You misunderstand, Patton, I didn’t mean to imply your baking to somehow be ‘barely enough’. I thought it was delicious, actually. Very impressive.”

"Do you really mean that, though?”

“Do you think I would lie to you?” replied Logan. “I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. You have a remarkably high degree of skill. The jam-to-cookie ratio? Simply divine! And don’t even get me started on...” As Logan continued to speak, matter-of-factly listing off the good things he’d noticed as he ate, he gestured with his free hand to help articulate his points. And with every wave of his wrist, the dejected boy before him seemed to perk up a little more. Patton was positively glowing by the time Logan finished.

It took him a moment to find his voice, though. “Logan, I can’t believe…” And when he did, it was barely above a whisper. “That’s — that was so nice.”

Logan began to reply before stopping and squinting carefully. Were those tears in Patton’s eyes? “Patton, are you okay?”

“More than okay. I just…” Patton paused, composed himself. “You just caught me off guard; no one’s ever said so much about my baking. Or anything I do, really. So, it — um, it means a lot. Especially coming from someone like you.”

Logan wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Was he supposed to apologise? No, Patton appeared to be happy, if a little overwhelmed. So… what, did that mean, then? Should he try to come up with something else to talk about? Or perhaps he was supposed to exit the conversation now. He’d done what Patton had requested, after all, and Patton seemed to be satisfied with the results. Plus, if he wanted to get any work done this period, now was probably the time to do so.

(Ugh, Logan thinks. This is exactly why I try to avoid social interaction.)

Luckily, he was spared from having to make the decision when Patton went ahead and made it for him. Whether or not that was because Patton had taken notice of Logan’s unease, the older boy wasn’t certain, but he was grateful nonetheless.

The boy with the cookies gave Logan a crooked smile as he said, “I won’t hold you up any longer. You’ve probably got somewhere to be right now. You were on your way to the library when I interrupted you, right?”

Logan’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Patton chuckled. Balancing the plate of cookies on one hand, he pointed at Logan’s laptop and Science textbook with the other.

“I noticed you had a bunch of homework-related stuff with you, and since the library is really close to the Home Ec corridor, I thought…” He shrugged.

“I — well, you thought right. Quite an astute observation, Patton.”

“Didn’t think I was capable of drawing inferences like that, did ya?”

Logan blinked. “I’m almost even more surprised that you knew and accurately utilised the word inferences,” he confessed.

“I know big words too! Sssssaxophone…” Patton began to number off items on his fingers before seeming to remember what he’d been saying. “Anyway, I’ll let you go now, Logan. These cookies aren’t gonna hand themselves out.”

Logan nodded. A quick glance at his watch told him that if he left for the library now, he’d have just enough time to finish reading the textbook pages he needed to go over, and perhaps if he really hurried he would be able to get started on the review questions as well. “I suppose I’ll see you around then.”

“Yep! Uh, before you leave, though, did you maybe want to grab another cookie?” asked Patton. “Help yourself, I’ve got plenty. Enough that I probably won’t even be able to get rid of all of these by the end of the break, and I don’t think that Mrs. Lauren would like it very much if I showed up to Math class with a whole bunch of leftovers and nowhere to put them.” Patton held out the plate again as he spoke, genuinely hopeful. He wasn’t just offering out of courtesy, apparently; for whatever reason, Patton really did want Logan to have another one (or two or four).

And, looking at the wonderful variety of Crofter’s jam still on display and free for the taking, Logan would have hated to disappoint.

“If you insist…”

***

Silverware clinked against silverware in the Berrys’ dining room that evening, softly punctuating the amicable chatter drifting back and forth between bites of their meal. Well, it was mostly Logan’s dad who was doing the chatting, to be fair; his pop always had been the quieter of the pair.

That wasn’t to say that Logan and his pop never spoke, of course. In fact, every night, without fail, his pop would ask the same thing: “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

An invitation to talk. Not a command. His pop always gave him a choice, a fact which Logan was not ungrateful for; the amount of mutual respect between father and son in his family wasn’t exactly the norm, he knew, and he loved them dearly for it.

Most nights, Logan’s choice was to politely decline with a vague statement — no no, nothing much, same old same old... Neither Logan’s pop nor his dad would push for any more details after that; their teen kid needed his privacy, after all. The conversation would quickly return to Seth and Toby’s comfortable back-and-forth, with Logan occasionally jumping in where he saw fit, all the way until their plates were empty and their stomachs full. One of them would bring the dishes to the sink and wash them. Someone else would wipe the table. The last person remaining packed up the leftovers, and life went on as normal.

Not tonight, though.

At first, Logan hadn’t considered his lunch-hour conversation with Patton to be anything really worth noting; it was a break from his regular schedule, for sure, but the strange, stammering exchange didn’t exactly count as life-changing (although the cookies might have been). Yet as the day dragged on, he found his thoughts drifting back to that same conversation over and over and over again. It was only after the final bell of the day had already sounded that Logan understood why.

As gratifying as it had been to see Patton so pleased after receiving Logan’s feedback, the logical-minded boy couldn’t help but feel like Patton had responded with a disproportionate amount of enthusiasm when he took into consideration the minimal amount of praise he’d actually given. Patton may not have cried, but Logan could recall seeing tears brimming in Patton’s eyes and knew that the boy had definitely come close!

That said, though… just as he’d previously acknowledged, emotions were definitely not Logan’s strong suit. So had Patton’s reaction truly been an overreaction, or — as could very well be the case — was Logan just even less skilled at reading people than he thought?

In order to properly figure out what had happened at lunch, Logan would need a second opinion.

He could think of no better candidates than his fathers.

Logan trusted his dad and pop more than anyone else in the world. Both were incredibly clever people — not to mention compassionate, kind, and patient. If anyone could help him work this question of his out, it would be them.

So when pop asked Logan the usual question, anything interesting happen at school today?, Logan gathered his thoughts and responded, “Actually, yes.”

His parents hadn't been expecting that — Logan could tell from the way that the two of them paused, his dad’s fork still halfway to his open mouth and a stalk of celery speared on its tongs. Toby ignored it in favour of making eye contact with his husband. As something unspoken passed between them, Logan watched on in… not quite amusement, but something like that.

He’d always thought it curious that his fathers shared a strong enough bond to be able to hold full conversations using only facial expressions. In fact, had Logan not so often seen these conversations in action first-hand, he likely wouldn’t have believed it possible. With the English language — and indeed, any other language in the world — as intricately put together as it was, the idea that one might need no language at all to communicate seemed almost fantastical in nature.

And yet...

The first time that Logan had noticed his fathers staring silently at each other across the room like this, the then-much-younger boy had put down his toy train immediately and wandered over to tug on his pop’s sleeve. Pop, he'd asked, why are you looking at dad all weird?

To which Seth had scooped the boy up onto his lap, replying with an affectionate smile: Oh, we’re just having a little chat, little Lo.

No you’re not! You're not talking at all! Logan had insisted with a surprising amount of vehemence. If you're talking, how come your mouths aren’t moving, huh? You’re just making silly faces at each other, and that's that. He had sat up straight on his father’s lap as he finished talking, proud of his amazing powers of observation.

On the other side of the room, Dad chuckled. Well, yes, it’s true that usually people talk with their mouths, but your pop and I are special. You know why, Logan?

Curiosity piqued at the sly expression on his father’s face, Logan had asked, Why?

A conspiratorial whisper: Because we’ve got superpowers!

What? No way, those aren't real! ...Are they?

Are too. Your pop and I, we can talk to each other by using our brainwaves to send these, uh.... these super-special, super-secret mental messages. But don’t tell anyone, okay?

Dad, that’s so cool! I wanna learn how to do men… mint tall… minty messages, too! Logan had slid right off of his pop’s legs and bounded over to the other side of the living room as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him. Eyes wide and shining as he looked up at his dad, Logan had asked, Can you teach me how to do the minty messages?

In answer, Toby had reached out and hoisted his young son up to sit on the couch next to him, fondly mussing up Logan's hair a little before looking him very seriously in the eye. Are you sure you’re ready to learn, Logan? The ancient art of my minty messages is a very important practice that goes way back, all the way to your great, great, great, many-greats grandmother… Darth Vader.

He'd puffed out his cheeks. Come on, dad, be serious! he scoffed (as well as a four-year-old boy could scoff, anyway). You can't trick me — Darth Vader's not my granny. Or else we'd all have lightsabers and live on the moon. The boy nodded to himself, completely satisfied with his irrefutable logic.

You’re right, you’re right. Always keeping me in check, aren't you, pipsqueak? A loving pinch caused Logan to dissolve into a fit of giggles. When he calmed down, dad told him, Okay, you passed my test. I’m going to tell you the secret to sending my minty messages ...

Logan had held his breath as his dad bent down to whisper. The secret , he confessed, is love.

The young analyst’s face had instantly scrunched up in confusion. Love? How does that work?

Well, you see, piped up pop, jumping back into the conversation as he saw where his husband was taking it, your dad and I love each other very much — more than we love anything else in the entire world!

(Except maybe Halloween, Toby said under his breath.)

So we have a very special connection that lets us talk to each other even when we’re not saying anything. This is very serious magic, Logan. It doesn’t just instantly appear at first sight; it takes time, and it takes work. And it might be a long time before you meet someone willing to work for it with you, but don’t worry if that’s the case, kiddo — I promise that one day, you will meet someone who loves and understands you so much that you can talk to them with just one look.

Every connection looks different, by the way, added Toby. Your pop and I share one kind of love, but there’s a whole bunch of different types out there that are all just as good! Maybe the person who you grow close to will be a really, really good friend. Maybe they’ll be something a little different than friends. Maybe they won’t just be one person, but lots! Whoever they might be, though, your whole life is gonna change when you find ‘em.

And then I’ll be able to make the minty messages?

A fond chuckle. And then you’ll be able to make the minty messages. I promise.

Though Logan typically did his best to forget about how badly he’d butchered the word ‘mental’, those last sentences had stuck with the boy as he grew older. Through the years, he would find comfort in the promise of someday having someone by his side who he could talk to without struggle — who’d take the time to listen to him — who’d take the time to understand him.

Recently, though, he’d been wondering if maybe it was too good to be true… as someone inexperienced both in giving and receiving love, it was difficult to imagine any reason that anyone should put up with Logan for even a second longer than they needed to.

And yet in spite of it all, Logan knew he’d never stop hoping to meet someone who would care for him as deeply as his fathers cared for each other. Though he had long since stopped actively searching for a friend as true as the one his dad had described, he doubted he’d ever be able to shake the idea for good (so deep did Logan’s trust in his fathers run, he’d believe blindly and without hesitation even the most outlandish of promises coming from one of them).

In the meantime, though, Logan had someone else on his mind: not the best friend of his dreams, perhaps, but considering how glad they’d seemed to see him, they might as well have been. Logan waited for his fathers to finish their silent discussion so he could continue.

He didn’t need to wait much. With both dad and pop beyond thrilled to be granted this rare glimpse into their son’s thoughts, it wasn’t long before both sets of eyes turned to face him. “Well, go right ahead then. Tell us what’s on your mind,” Logan’s dad said, trying to conceal his eagerness by keeping his tone even.

It didn’t quite work, but Logan appreciated the effort.

“I saw my student Patton Foley at school for the first time today. During lunch hour. It… well, suffice it to say, it was an interesting encounter. And admittedly a little confusing.” Logan paused.

“Mhm?” Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, Seth’s thoughtful nodding prompted his son to go on. “And why’s that, huh?”

“Because it seems that each time I see Patton, he becomes a completely different person,” Logan began. “The way his personality just keeps rapidly developing so unpredictably, well… I can’t say it’s bad, but odd is a good word for it. The first time I met him at the library, for example, he was — how do I describe this?”

“With adjectives,” Toby supplied helpfully.

“Ah. Well then: disorganised, bothersome, and incompliant , to name a few. He had trouble focusing and listening, and was apparently unaware of what a nuisance his obnoxiously cheerful chatter must have been to everyone around us. It was only after I gave him a stern talking to that he managed to stay quiet for long enough that I could get out full sentences without being interrupted.”

His dad grimaced. “Sounds like a real piece of work.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought too. But you see, during our second session it was like he did a complete one-eighty. He listened attentively, but I barely heard his voice even once, besides right at the beginning of our session when he was apologising for being late. Which was nice at first, until it became apparent we’d wasted half the session because he was too shy to ask questions. I don’t think I saw him smile a single time either.”

“Huh… how about the third session?”

“Well, I didn’t get a headache for once, so interpret that how you’d like?” Logan shrugged. “I mean, he was very polite, which of course was an improvement. And he somehow managed to show up at the library even earlier than I did. His focus once we got down to business was unprecedented, he asked questions when he was confused just like I’d told him to do, he was… to put it simply, I don’t think it would be much of a stretch to call that specific version of Patton a ‘model student’. Where it came from, I haven’t the foggiest. I can only hope I’ll get to see it again.

“Then finally, there was today. I… still haven’t quite wrapped my head around today’s Patton, to be frank. He laughed freely, he seemed comfortable to just chat, and he even offered me some delicious thumbprint cookies that he had just finished baking! There were still moments where he appeared to be nervous, yes, but they were few and far between, and somehow felt different — like a completely separate kind of nervous. Mostly, he seemed to simply be… happy.”

At the last word, Logan’s pop perked up hopefully. “Well, that’s good, right?”

"Too happy,” amended Logan. “I mean falling-all-over-himself-with-glee kind of happy. I complimented his baking, sure, but hardly sugarcoated anything, so it seemed odd that he would take it to heart so much. That’s why I’m telling you all this, I guess — I’m hoping that you can help me figure the boy out!”

As Logan finished his explanation, he suddenly became aware his food must be growing cold. He hadn’t been expecting to talk so much, or for so long, but Logan supposed his words had gotten away from him and he’d begun…

Rambling.

Perhaps all of the prolonged Patton-exposure was having more of an impact on his behaviour than Logan had thought.

The good news was, neither of his fathers minded his long-windedness very much. Or at all, in fact. It wasn’t often that they had their son open up to them so thoroughly, and with so little prompting to boot. Seth and Toby intended to make the most of every second of this little advice session.

The bad news? Neither had any idea where to start.

Nevertheless, Logan’s fathers were determined to try. Toby began by asking for more details. “So… freshly baked cookies, huh?” he started, trying for a conversational tone (with dubious results). “Could I hear a little more about that? I mean, I kind of know what structure you guys like to follow during your tutoring sessions, but at lunch anything goes, so the only way I’m going to get an idea of what happened today is if you tell me directly.” Logan’s dad was careful to use phrases like could I and if you as he spoke, subtle reminders that Logan was under no kind of obligation to share any of these details if he didn’t want to. Sure, they would be helpful in ‘figuring out’ Patton, but Logan’s privacy and comfort was the priority here.

It turned out that Toby really had no need to be so careful with his word choice, though; amazingly, Logan didn’t hesitate before blazing right on ahead. He must be really determined to work this thing out, marvelled Toby. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the last time that Logan had spoken so freely about personal matters like this.

“Of course — today, during lunch, I was on my way to the library like usual to get some work finished early, but I had taken a detour and so I was a few minutes delayed.” Logan recounted the events of the afternoon so methodically, his dad couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been rehearsing this. “During this time, I assume, Patton was in his Home Economics classroom loading up a plate full of extra cookies he had just finished baking. I just happened to be passing by the Tech and Home Ec wing when Patton came out as well. We narrowly avoided collision, then naturally got to chatting as he recognized me, and I, him. It was then that I accidentally made a p—”

Logan’s eyes widened.

“I mean, uh…”

“Sorry, you accidentally made a what?” His pop’s head was tilted at a slight angle, the very image of innocence and curiosity. “I didn’t quite catch that last bit, you kind of trailed off.”

Oh my goodness, he’s really going to make me say it, isn’t he. Logan pressed his lips together, staring up at the ceiling as if it might provide some sort of escape from the hole he’d accidentally dug himself into, before ducking his head and shamefully finishing his sentence. “I accidentally made a… pun.”

The delighted gasp that followed, Logan couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting, but it certainly didn’t sting any less for it.

“You made a — Logan! That’s my boy!” On the other side of the table, Logan heard rather than saw his dad light up. “Grab the camera, Seth, this is a moment for the scrapbook. No, forget the scrapbook, I’m going to carve a plaque to commemorate this day! I’ll do it, I swear. Just watch me!”

“Yep, okay, thanks dad,” Logan sighed, very much wishing he could bury his head in the floorboards. “More to the point, that’s, uh, that’s pretty much how Patton reacted. He noticed it right away, even before I did, and just started laughing and laughing — but not in a mean-spirited sort of way. As if he was laughing with me, not at me, if that makes sense. Except I wasn’t laughing. But that’s not important.” Logan gave his wrist a flick, as if batting away the irrelevant dialogue. “Anyway, I wanted to change the subject after that. For obvious reasons. So I asked him about the thumbprint cookies on his plate, and he offered me one. And I was going to say no, really, since I had work to do, but — well, by then a pretty decent amount of time had already passed us by.” A brief pause. “Not to mention... they were baked with Crofter’s. So, you know, I could hardly say no.”

Both fathers nodded knowingly at that. (The fondness for the fruit spread ran in the family; had either of them been in Logan’s shoes, they would have done the same.) “Go on.”

Logan obliged, walking his fathers through the rest of the lunch period in a similarly systematic fashion. “...so there you have it,” he finally concluded. “I made some humiliating mistakes and gave him a compliment or two; in return, Patton very nearly cried with joy. I mean, who knew that such buffoonery would bear fruit so — so divine?”

“Bear fruit , huh?” His pop pointed a cheeky finger. ”Dad joke?”

“Never mind, this was a mistake.”

"Wait, no! I’ll be serious, I swear. Look, maybe, uh...” Seth trailed off as he realized he didn’t know what he was getting at. “Maybe —“

“Maybe the poor kid’s just so used to hearing you lecture him like a mean old teacher that a handful of nice words were enough to make his day,” supplied Toby, not too seriously. “Back off a little bit, eh? Else, he’s gonna start thinking you hate him, and you’ll have no one but yourself to blame...”

“Wh — Toby!”

“I’m joking, relax! Logan, you know I’m just joking, right?”

No answer.

“Lo?”

“Actually...” Logan began.

Because joking or not, there was a ring of truth to his dad’s words.

Maybe he was being too hard on Patton. It made sense: earlier today, Patton had said that Logan’s compliment meant a lot ‘coming from someone like you’. Logan hadn’t quite understood the implications at the time, but…

Someone cold. Someone distant. Someone unfriendly, someone who never even gave friendship a thought, someone who spat in the very face of it. Someone like me. That was how he was perceived by most people, wasn’t it? Which, up until now, had been all well and good with him.

So why did the thought that Patton might share the same sentiments make him feel so bad?

Before Logan could answer that question, his dad’s concerned voice broke into his thoughts. “Logan? Logan, bud, please don’t be mad, I really was just messing with you! I didn’t mean to imply I know how to do your job better than —”

“What I was going to say was, I think you might be onto something, dad,” Logan interrupted.

“I... huh? What do you mean?”

But once again, there was no answer. Logan was already deep in thought as he picked up his fork to resume eating, effectively ending the conversation — much to the very vocal confusion of his dad.

(His husband eventually quieted his loud protests when he laid a hand on his shoulder, quietly murmuring, “Give it up, love, you won’t get through to him like this. Look.” Seth nodded to their son. “See? He’s already tuned you out. You know what happens when Logan gets an idea in his head; he just takes it and runs with it, that boy does, and…”)

Something in his mind clearly set Patton apart from others, Logan knew; now, if he could only figure out what , perhaps he’d have his answer.

Well, he knew who he was in Patton’s eyes, at least. Maybe it was time to reflect on the reverse.

Where Logan was cold, Patton was warm. Logan was distant; Patton, approachable. Kind. Willing to change. Friendly, and really genuinely interested in making friends, it seemed. In other words, Patton was —

Everything I wish to be —

— everything Logan was not, that is. And wasn’t that just something strange?

(Nodding, Toby finished his husband’s sentence: “…once he’s in the zone, there’s hardly anything that can get him out,” he said, laughing a little at himself. “You’re right. As always. How do you do that?”)

This could nicely explain why Logan felt he wasn’t being as effective as possible in his teaching, as well. He’d been approaching these sessions all wrong; he’d been teaching based on how he’d like to learn, rather than what Patton actually needed.

Logan was a student of measurements, after all — of facts, and figures, and careful calculations. But when it came to Patton, he could only guess. And guess what?... Logan did not like guessing games.

He’d need to, though. He’d need to figure out Patton’s own learning style, instead of trying to force the boy to conform to his own, if he ever wanted this tutoring arrangement to work.

(Seth shrugged. “It’s pretty simple, hon, I just spend less time talking and more time watching. I mean, how lucky am I to have a husband who can take care of the chatter for me?”)

And to do that, Logan would need to step way out of his own comfort zone. How could he ever properly understand his student if he wasn’t willing to contribute a little companionship himself?

Efficiency be damned — Logan was going to do his job, and he was going to do it properly. And if that meant he’d need to put in a little extra work to figure out how to achieve a healthy balance between both schooling and sympathy, then so be it!

(“Goodness gracious me, you really are perfect,” sighed Toby. “Promise me you’ll never change.”)

To be quite frank, Logan probably should have drawn this conclusion a lot sooner. Had he not only recently been reading those fascinating articles about positive and negative reinforcement?

In Patton’s specific case, yes, achieving a close and intimate emotional connection was without a doubt the best way to create an ideal learning environment because of how emotional the boy was — but the strict and unkind way that Logan had been approaching his sessions wouldn’t have worked even if he had been paired with someone much less touchy-feely, he realized now.

Time and time and time again it had been proven that when it came to motivation via either offering a reward for good behaviour and threatening a punishment for undesirable behaviour, the reward almost always worked out better for the subject in the long run. Didn’t that mean that praising a student when they did well would be ultimately much more effective than scolding the same student for failing to understand a concept?

(Seth scoffed in disbelief. “Me? Perfect? Ha!” He leaned in as if sharing a sensitive secret. “Have you even looked at yourself?”)

It was all so clear. The conversation that he’d had with Patton during lunch today only served as further proof that —

(“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re clearly the superior one here.” Toby and Seth’s faces were very close together now. “And I’ll bet you anything that you’re the better kisser, too.”)

Ahem. Further proof that Logan’s teaching methods were —

(“Oh, is that right. That’s an awfully bold claim, you know… are you sure it’ll be able to follow through?”)

Were — were due for some —

(“Why don’t we put it to the test and find out —?”)

Unable to stand it any longer, Logan suddenly slammed his fork down. “Dad! Pop!” His parents pulled apart with a jolt. “Can’t you at least wait for me to leave the table? Your son is right here, you know.”

Toby rubbed his knee, which had smacked against the bottom of the table in his surprise, while Seth gave their son a guilty smile. “Right. Sorry, Logan. I, uh, guess we forgot ourselves for a second there?”

Rolling his eyes at his fathers’ antics, Logan scraped the last bit of food off of his plate to ensure that nothing was wasted. “May I be excused? Immediately.”

“Of… of course,” responded Logan’s pop, still a little sheepish. “Don’t worry about the dishes; your dad and I are going to stay here and finish eating at our own pace, so you can just wash your own plate and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Translation: Your dad and I are going to stay here and probably make out with each other over the table as soon as there’s a wall safely separating us from you. Logan made a face — how shameless they are, he thought — but did what he was told without complaint.

Later, once he’d found a seat on one of the many beanbag chairs in his bedroom, Logan returned his focus to the topic he’d been reflecting on before his fathers’ antics had distracted him. Positive and negative reinforcement… Ah, yes.

The conversation that he’d had with Patton during lunch today only served as further proof that Logan’s teaching methods were due for some change. After having seen firsthand how positively Patton reacted to praise, perhaps Logan ought to give a little more of it during his next session. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Wrong, Logan realized. The increased effectiveness of his teaching was going to come at a price, and a hefty one at that: in order to achieve all that he was setting out to do, he would need to come face-to-face with — ugh —

"Feelings, the bane of my existence,” Logan grumbled.

***

[next chapter]

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