Hmmm maybe like Human AU Logince and your favorite fanfiction trope! (Coffeeshop AU, Flowershop AU, there was only one bed, etc)
This isn't really a fanfiction trope, but it's something I've been thinking about and I feel like these characters are best for it.
Logan's POV
There are components to love: different areas of the brain affected by different synapses carrying different code that translates into different feelings. There’s lust, dedicated to the sex hormones, and then attraction, with increased levels of norephephrine, dopamine and serotonin. Attraction causes giddiness because your nervous system is excited. It’s more enjoyable. It’s pleasurable to be attracted to someone. There’s a chemical rush associated with wanting a relationship with another human.
It’s the thing people think about, when they think about love. That rush. That euphoria.
It’s something I’ve never felt, and as the years continue on, I doubt more and more that I ever will.
.I click on another link. Another page about the science of love. I keep hoping somewhere in the scientific journals I’ll find an excuse for existing. A scientific reason why I defaulted on something that seems such a fundamental part of the human experience. There must be a study to make sense. A theory. A harebrained idea without any scientific backing.
But I find nothing.
My sinuses are thick, my breaths choked. There’s pressure behind my eyes. Every second I spend trapped in this cycle, searching for justifications that I should even be allowed to live It’s a fool’s errand. No one cares. No one wants to research why people like me happen. It’s not interesting.
We’re not fascinating.
I can’t stop. Every second I spend reading, clicking back, clicking again, and reading some more--it’s hurting me. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. Quiet sobs are squeezing past the phlegm dams of my throat. Some tears catch on my lenses and glistening puddles obscuring my vision, but I can’t move. My head hurts. I can’t move, except moving the mouse and scrolling. I’m searching for anything. If I just find one thing to justify myself, one study on love that doesn’t conclude romance the default, then I can stop.
One thing, I think desperately. Just one thing.
I hear the door open but I don’t turn to look. “Logan?” It’s Roman, drowsy. “Why are you still up? It’s the middle of the night.”
Finally, I’m able to tear myself away from the screen. The pressure of having someone demanding my attention is too much; I’ve heard the angry screams of people ignored for my hyperfocus. It’s not worth the arguments.
I duck my face and pull off my glasses setting them aside and rubbing my eyes. Roman should think it’s just tiredness, that I’m massaging sore eye. He shouldn’t guess I’m hiding tears.
I turn to look at him and instantly, I don’t want to. I don’t want to look into his eyes. I have to. I’ve always had to. You don’t get to avoid eye contact. It’s only polite to make it, but I can’t right now.
I try to look at Roman’s forehead, but even that is too much. I turn back around and put my glasses back on, but there’s still tears quivering on the lenses. I take deep breaths, the tightness in my chest feeling enough to suffocate me.
“Logan?” From my periphery, I see Roman wander further in.
I turn my face to the side, not wanting him to see the tears on my glasses. I try to force words, but they won’t come. There’s a psychological brittle glass cage wrapped around my larynx and to vibrate it is to shatter it, sending razor-sharp shards scattering throughout my throat.
“Okay, so it’s definitely a bad night,” Roman says. “Is it just one of those spirals you get into? Where you can’t stop doing something even though you want to.”
I close my eyes. Of course. Even half-asleep, Roman understands. Something settles in my chest and I nod.
“You haven’t said anything yet, so unless you say something now, I’m just going to assume it’s a nonverbal day and try to figure this out on my own. All right?”
I take a deep breath and nod.
“Can I look at your computer?”
I nod again.
“Intense, Passionate, Romantic Love? Why the heck are you reading something like this?” Roman looks at me, quirking a lip. “This stuff freaks you out.”
I hang my head. Thick, curdling shame consumes me. It’s hard to tell whether it’s shame over my incapability or shame that I’m not proud of it. There’s a non-zero likelihood that it’s both.
Roman waits for a while longer and then hesitates. “Wait...” He looks back at the computer, then to me. He exhales, nodding to himself, and kneels down. He rests a hand against the back of my chair but doesn’t touch me. “Logan, are you feeling insecure about being aromantic?”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“What brought this on?”
I hesitate, then reach for the computer, pulling up the Archive of Our Own page for Star Trek. Littering the screen are names joined by slashes.
“Oh.” Roman’s voice is quiet. “Yeah...fandom wouldn’t feel too fun for you on a bad night, I guess. Logan, I’m sorry.”
I rest my chin against my chest.
“Maybe you can type on your computer, talk to me that way,” Roman offers.
I glance over at him, briefly meeting his eyes, and squeeze mine shut again. I take another deep breath and lean forward to pull up a Microsoft Word page, typing.
THERE ISNT’ A PLACE FOR ME IN EVEN MOST QUEER SPACES.
“Yeah,” Roman agrees softly. “Yeah, it’s...most queer people feel romantic attraction, and I know how hostile those spaces can be to aspec people. I can’t imagine feeling ostracized from your own community. That must feel so lonely.”
I hesitate, then type: IT DOES.
“I’m sorry,” Roman says. “But you don’t need science to justify yourself. You are justified. Science is years behind on any queer studies already, you know that. There has to be funding and people caring in order to build a study around something, and...well, scientists don’t care about us as much as it would be nice if they did. You know that.”
I hesitate again and consider deeply, and then reach for to the keyboard one more time.
I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE.
“Okay,” Roman says. “I’ll stay with you tonight. We can watch The Next Generation for a while.” He pushes up and starts to head for the door, but I hold up a hand, then clench it closed.
I take another deep breath and type again. I WANT TO SPEND MY LIFE WITH SOMEONE, ROMAN. I JUST DON’T WANT IT TO BE ROMANTIC, AND I’M BEGINNING TO DOUBT I WILL EVER FIND SOMEONE WHO CARES ABOUT ME ENOUGH TO VALUE A RELATIONSHIP WITHOUT ROMANCE WITH ME.
Roman reads, completely silent, and I glance up at his face as my anxiety spikes. He looks...upset. I know him well enough to know when he’s upset, and he is definitely upset.
“I’m sorry,” I sign frantically. “Don’t be sad. I’m sorry.” I make my movements as emphatic as possible, mouthing alongside the words even though Roman’s made an effort to learn every sign I use on nonverbal days to make me more comfortable.
Roman looks at me and I freeze, forcing myself to hold eye contact. So, he averts his gaze himself. “Logan,” he says quietly, “you are my best friend. I might be a hopeless romantic, but...I can’t imagine my life without you being a huge, important part of it.”
I stop.
Roman glances up and meets my eyes, and this time, it doesn’t hurt as badly. “You won’t be alone as long as you have me,” he vows. “I promise.”
I suck in a breath. “You mean it?” I sign, eyes watering again.
Roman nods. “With every bit of my heart.”
I choke on a sob.
“Can I hold you?”
I honestly don’t know, but I don’t know how to communicate that and I know Roman will stop if I act uncomfortable. He embraces me lightly and waits, letting me settle into it. My skin crawls a little at first and then gradually settle. I hug him back, resting my head against his shoulder.
“Thank you,” I breathe into the cotton of his pajama shirt. “I love you.”
“I know,” he says. “I never doubted it.” He kisses my temple. “I love you, too, Logan. I always will.”
I get that there are people who headcanon Logan as having ADHD and I won't criticize that, because I get that it can bring comfort to people just as my own headcanons about him do, it always surprised me.
The thing is, I've always headcanonned him as autistic. I don't know, it just makes sense, like, he gives me that vibe. Is it because I'm also autistic and I relate to Logan a lot? Probably, but it's why I find it so curious when I see people be like: Logan? Oh, yes, ADHD.
I know that autism and ADHD share certain traits so I guess it makes sense, maybe my knowledge of ADHD isn't as deep as I thought. I don't know, I've always headcanonned Roman or Remus as having ADHD rather than Logan. Not to say that people with ADHD have to adhere to the stereotype of being very hyper like Roman and Remus are, it varies so much from person to person. Logan's intense focus on subjects that interest him could very well be interpreted as hyperfocus in ADHD. But, his trouble to understand social rules, being so literal and many more other things have always made me go: huh, ASD. You know?
I'm not trying to make a point at all /l
I think it's cool that people see him having ADHD, I can get why. I just wanted to ramble about it I guess.
Prompt: Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience.
Word Count: 1,730
Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01, @spoopy-turtle, @lizluvscupcakes, @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo, @the-sympathetic-villain
Soulmate taglist:(Send an ask to be added or removed!) @elizabutgayer, @melodiread, @tsshipmonth2020, @mikalya12
CW: Panic attacks, anxiety, mentions of self depreciation, mentions of horror.
Logan felt another burst of anxiety deep in his gut and sighed. This was the tenth time in three days, he was starting to be worried for his soulmate. He focused on his breathing, feeling for the familiar tug of emotion. After years of doing this, he’d ‘hacked the system’ so to speak by figuring out where the emotional connection was in his head. Once he’d figured that out, it was a simple matter of pushing emotions across it. So, he did that. He pushed a strong calm over to his soulmate, hoping their anxiety would lessen. He breathed out a sigh of relief when it did, when the pit of doubt left his stomach and his throat opened back up, when he didn’t have to struggle to keep his thoughts clear instead of giving in and drowning in the hate his brain spewed at him in that moment.
He hated the way the anxiety made him feel but also knew that his was tame compared to his soulmate’s. To combat it, he started happy stimming, flapping his hands near his face until he was grinning. He didn’t realize he was pushing his happiness through the connection until he felt the joy being radiated back. He stopped stimming, letting his hands falling back onto the library cart bring him out of his thoughts and remind him of his current task: to reshelf books.
Logan loved working at the library. He loved getting to read as much as he wanted, to have the ability to interact with a bunch of people or choose to stay by himself. The best thing about working in the library is that he got to see people’s faces light up when they found a book. Whether it’s the next book in a series they were reading, a book they’d almost forgotten about, one they had cherished memories of as a child, or a new one they were finding for the first time, he loved seeing the different expressions on peoples faces.
Today would be a good day for that as the library had invited a local author to come in and read his books aloud. Not many knew this, but he had two different pen names. One he used to write children’s books, the other was used to write horror stories with the main focus being human vs nature. Logan had researched the man extensively last night, not getting to sleep until a few hours before he had to get up for work.
The door jingled and a man in a hoodie walked in, making his way over to the children’s section. Logan watched him go, wondering what brought him here today, the reason for his visit to that particular section. When Logan saw him reach out a brush a spine, a soft smile lighting his face, he knew it was a nostalgic visit. He went back to his work, finishing in the adult section and moving to the children’s.
He saw that the tall man had sat down in a comically small chair compared to his height, his leg bouncing in some sort of anticipation. Logan felt the anxiety curling into his stomach again, making him want to curl up on the ground or scream in an emotion he was unable to put words to. Instead, he finished putting the books away and walked up to the man, ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him everyone was watching him at all times.
“Are you waiting for someone?” Logan sat on the ground beside the man, watching the way his head ducked further into his hood.
“Something like that.” The man muttered. His fingers were pulling on his sleeves even while his leg was vibrating. There was something unknown but familiar in the man that made Logan curious about him.
“You look like you could use a distraction.” He said, finally pinpointing the reason the man looked just the slightest bit off.
He chuckled but Logan knew there was little to no mirth in it. “Sure, that’d be nice.” Even so, his voice was genuine.
So, Logan started talking about bookbinding and the differences between modern and medieval Europe. He talked for a half hour or so. During that time, he felt the knot of anxiety untie and slip away, his thoughts clear, and an almost giddy sensation come from across the bond. He paused and realized that the giddiness was coming from him and being reflected back across the bond like a loop.
Logan smiled at the man sitting next to him, carefully watching him. He was no longer hunched into himself, no longer hiding from the world. He seemed to be relaxed, his shoulders were down and his head was up, hood thrown back. His leg was no longer bouncing and his hands were no longer tugging at his sleeves. He had a smile on his face and, in that instance, Logan was sure he could talk to this man for hours and never lose his attention.
Logan didn’t resume talking about his latest hyperfixation, glancing at his watch instead. “I need to get ready.”
The man reached out as Logan stood, helping him up but also glancing at his watch before a panicked look crossed his face. “Shoot, is it really that time already?”
Logan nodded. “My watch is always on time. Do you have somewhere to be?”
“Here. I just didn’t expect time to fly so fast.”
“Well, you know what they say about having fun.” Logan began tidying up the area, getting the small chairs and soft sitting surfaces to face the chair the man was sitting in as it seemed to be against the wall already. He found the copy of the book that was to be read and placed it on the table nearby before standing by the door.
The head librarian walked up to Logan. “What have you been doing with V. A. Strand this whole time?!”
Logan’s head would have spun around if he were in a cartoon. “What do you mean? Are you telling me that the random man I helped down from a near panic attack is the author who’s reading to the children today?!”
She looked at him like he was stupid. “Of course!”
Logan looked back to see the man, V. A., smiling and greeting all the children and parents who filed in. He politely refused autographs and pictures but did allow the children hugs, which Logan thought was sweet. He hadn’t realized he’d been talking to one of his favorite authors of all time about bookbinding of all things for half an hour. Logan shook his head, perfectly content with the way the conversation went, the way he was able to calm the man down, the smile he got at the end of it. None of that time was wasted, neither was it made more special simply because he now knew the man’s identity. It was simply a slightly shocking discovery.
He nodded at that thought and turned back, watching the way V. A didn’t have to look at the book, knowing exactly which words were on which pages, what the pictures looked like. Logan wondered how many late nights he spent, pouring his ideas into words. Logan knew the man illustrated his own books and wondered how long it must take.
The reading was over before Logan was aware. About halfway through, he’d been told to get back to work so he grabbed a new cart and was at it reshelving books. He tried to listen in to the reading, wanting to keep talking with and to V. A., someone he’d only exchanged a few words with but he was already desperate to know their opinion on anything and everything. He wanted to know what he had rattling around in that head. After all, no one can be that quiet without having something on their mind. True, they could simply be quiet, but that meant they were either allowing their mind to wander or they were having thoughts on the discussion. Either one deserved to have those thoughts heard and appreciated.
Logan hadn’t noticed the reading was over until a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned his head to look and found the object of his thoughts staring back at him, hand retreating back into his hoodie pocket. Logan smiled. “Can I help you with something?”
He nodded. “I think we might be soulmates?” The sentence came out as a question rather than the statement he surely must have meant.
Logan’s smile only faltered slightly in shock, the thought never having crossed his mind before then. “Why do you think that?”
He seemed to draw into himself, his shoulders rising and his head ducking down the slightest bit. Logan wanted to reach out and hold his hand, to tell him everything was going to be fine. He didn’t, instead, he waited for him to speak. “Earlier when you helped calm my anxiety, I could feel a calm and almost giddy feeling as you talked. I don’t find bookbinding particularly delightful so I knew it had to come from someone else. I don’t know, I guess you seemed to be the obvious choice.” He shook his head. “Sorry, it sounds stupid now.”
He turned to go but Logan reached out a hand and gently grabbed his elbow. His hoodie fabric was as soft as it looked. “Hey, no. It’s not stupid. I hadn’t thought of it until now, too caught up in enjoying talking with you, but it feels like it’s possible. You wanna test it?”
He turned back, leaving Logan’s hand on his elbow. “How?”
“How many times have you panicked or had excessive anxiety over the past three days?”
“Including both times today? Eleven.” The statement was accompanied with a wince of embarrassment, as if he were ashamed of having emotions.
Logan nodded, a smile splitting across his face. “That’s as many times as I’ve felt it from you.” His shrug was much more nonchalant than V. A.’s was just now. “So, do you wanna get a donut from the shop down the street and chat sometime soon?”
He laughed. “That sounds nice. Although, I guess we should exchange names and numbers as well.”
They did so and V. A., no Virgil, walked out the library door, waving to Logan on his way out.
adhd logan, whose hands and arms are covered in scribbled reminders he already overlooks
adhd logan, who hyperfixates on a certain book series or show or subject and brings it up at any opportunity until everyone is sick of him
(and then continues to think about it, but stops sharing so much)
adhd logan, who lashes out when his rsd is triggered
adhd logan, who struggles with emotional regulation- rather than letting anything become extreme (annoying and inconvenient), he pushes them down until they're nicely compartmentalizeable
but when he can't do that he has to Leave
and when he can't do that, he becomes defensive and anxious and overwhelmed
adhd logan, who tries to find loopholes for executive dysfunction
(he already asked virgil to help him often enough, because sometimes he really just needs a push)
(and when even that doesn't work, he'll fight himself to do something, anything to get him out of the loop)
adhd logan, who starts long explanations about things he's passionate about, forgets his conclusion, finds a different one but oops now he said something wrong
adhd logan with alexithymia, who struggles to identify his emotions when they come up, who often has absolutely no answer to the question "how do you feel?"
adhd logan, who hyperfocuses on some issue in thomas' life, tries to fix it and blows it out of proportion until he has to be reined in
adhd logan, who fidgets with his tie, rubber bands, rubik's cubes, anything in his reach
adhd logan, who yells and gestures and claps to underline his words
adhd logan, who relies on a clear schedule because without a set structure he probably wouldn't leave his bed anymore
adhd logan, because adhd isn't a singular personality type
Summary: Logan is ADHD. Songfic of Toxic Thoughts by Faith Marie. This is kind of a vent fic. If you don’t understand anything, feel free to ask!
Word Count: 1,607
Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01 @spoopy-turtle @lizluvscupcakes @more-fandon-than-friends
Logan crumpled the paper with only a few lines on it, tossing it behind him and letting it fall among the others. He didn’t turn back to pick it up, no matter how bothersome it was going to be later. He didn’t even look at it, just started on the next page. He didn’t notice the room growing dark around him, the only light coming from the hash yellow of his desk lamp.
He stared at the next page, his brain filling with thoughts of failure but unwilling to stop. He felt trapped in an endless cycle of failure but had no way of getting out. He put his pen to paper, knowing what he wanted but not knowing how to get it to come out in a manner that others could understand. So, he tried. He tried again and again and again, he tried to get his words down on the page in a meaningful way.
A knock at the door sounded but Logan didn’t hear it. He didn’t notice anything except the music blasting through his headphones and the words on the pages, the words scattered on the floor. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, slipping the headphones down and letting the music fill the room. Piano and violin, cello and oboe, Bach’s carefully planned sheets coming to life within the confines of modern technology now being set free.
Looking up, he was met with a dark room and a father standing by his side, looking over his work as he waited for a response from his son. “Dad? Did you need something?”
Virgil looked at him, a soft smile sitting on his face. “Just the evening reminder to eat, college student.”
A sinking feeling hit Logan’s stomach. It was more than just the realization that he was hungry, it was the feeling that always came when he was reminded what stage of life he was in. It was the feeling that came when he was reminded of the standards he set for himself that he was failing to meet, the understanding that he was at least three years behind his peers in both social and academic standards, no matter that he was already working through his general education prerequisites at sixteen, no matter that he was still in high school but was already starting on college. He knew he was behind, it was his driving force for most of his academic career as soon as he learned that fact. He wished he was told more about himself at a younger age, told that it was okay to not want friends, to know he was behind in social skills. He knew it wasn’t his father’s fault, after all, how could the most recent foster (adopted now) parent tell him anything during his childhood.
“Logan?” Virgil’s voice dragged him out of his thought process, reminded him of the hole in his stomach that needed to be filled with food.
Logan looked up at Virgil, putting his pen down. “Yeah, food sounds good.”
Virgil nodded. “Okay. You want anything in particular?”
Logan did. He really wanted mac-n-cheese. He also really wanted not to be a burden so just shook his head. He knew it was irrational and illogical to not tell Virgil his wants. He knew it was no use as Virgil wouldn’t see him as a burden and would love to make him food. He also knew that bad habits die hard.
Virgil nodded, his smile growing. “How about grilled cheese? Is that okay?”
Logan nodded. Grilled cheese was his other comfort food. “That’s fine.”
Virgil frowned. “Are you sure?”
Logan felt frustration bubble up inside of him like tar, something he could easily get stuck in if he wasn’t careful. He took a subtle deep breath. “Yeah, it’s great.”
Virgil nodded. “Okay. Do you want to come down while I make it or do you want me to get you when it’s done?”
Logan thought about it. He knew he would get dragged back into his hyperfixation if he was allowed to stay here. He also knew that he might lose the train of thought if he were to stop. Finally, he shrugged and stood. He couldn’t find the words anyways so why worry about losing the train of thought that never left the station. He followed Virgil back downstairs and watched as he grabbed the things he needed to make food.
“So,” Virgil attempted to make small talk, “what were you working on?”
“I need to write a poem for my english lit. class.”
Virgil nodded. “Butter or olive oil?”
“Butter. I just can’t think of any words. It’s like there’s too few parameters and too many at once.”
Virgil hummed in thought. “First thing’s first. What are the parameters?”
“It needs to be in iambic pentameter. Other than that, there’s nothing! No set subject, no set length, nothing!” He moved around the island, grabbing a glass and the juice.
Virgil looked over at him. “Would you get me a glass of that too, please?”
Logan nodded and grabbed another. “I just don’t understand why professors will assign something with so little instructions. Am I supposed to have figured out how to be self sufficient after the rest of the school system drained it out of me?”
Virgil snorted. “That’s a bit drastic, even for me, Lo.” He turned, grabbing another few slices of bread while briefly looking at his child. “It could also just be that most neurotypical people understand how to follow the bare minimum of instructions. Do you need me to pick a subject or length?”
Logan shook his head. “No, I’ll need to do it eventually and I might as well learn now.”
Virgil sighed, turning the stove off and coming to rest a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Look, when I adopted you, I knew things like this were going to happen. I knew what I was getting into even before I decided to foster you. Your thoughts and feelings are valid. It might take you a bit longer than your peers to understand yourself and that’s fine. Life isn’t a race and you are in no way a failure for taking things at your own pace.”
Logan’s shoulders shook, tears rolling down his face as he tried to screw the cap back onto the juice bottle. Virgil gently took his hands and turned his son to face him, giving him a hug. He ran his hands up and down Logan’s back in a soothing manner. “Yes, you deserve to take life at your own pace. But you also deserve to be alright, to sleep at night. You shouldn’t have to wonder why you are different and I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you sooner. I’m sorry you had to go through life thinking you weren’t good enough. You are allowed to feel the emotions you do.”
Logan clung to him, tears wetting Virgil’s shirt but neither cared. Virgil hugged him tightly but not enough that he got sensory overload. Logan held on as if he were falling and Virgil was his lifeline. When he finally calmed down, neither pulled away. Virgil still hugged him, not caring about the cold food. Logan basked in the feeling of being loved and safe.
When they did pull away, Virgil allowed Logan to do it first. He pulled his hoodie off and threw it over Logan’s shoulders, dwarfing the skinny teen in the bulky fabric. “I’m gonna finish making dinner. How about you pick out a movie and we can watch it. Your homework can wait.”
Logan nodded, moving from the counter to the living room and kneeling by the movie rack. “How about The Sound of Music?” He called.
“Sounds good to me.” Virgil called back.
Logan smiled, walking back in and hopping onto the counter. Virgil looked over at him and smirked. “That kind of day, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I think your new puzzle box came in the mail while you were at school.” Virgil nodded toward the table with a package sitting on it. “Maybe you can try to solve it while we watch the movie.”
Logan smiled. “You know, most parents wouldn’t be this chill with things like this.”
“Like what?”
“Homework being put off for no reason-”
“You are mentally exhausted and are heading toward burnout. You need other activities to recharge your batteries.”
“Other parents also wouldn’t deliberately suggest something else for their child to do when spending time together. Most would complain about the child not paying attention.”
Virgil smiled as he plated. “Yeah, well, I’m not the typical parent and you’re not the typical child. I adjust to your needs, you shouldn’t have to adjust to my whims.”
Logan’s eyes misted over and he slid off the counter to grab his plate and the package, stuffing it under his arm to grab his drink and carry everything into the living room for a family night. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen scribbling the idea that just came to him onto the paper so he doesn’t forget.
Virgil walked into the room and sighed. “I thought I said homework could wait.”
Logan shrugged. “Inspiration comes when it comes.”
Virgil nodded. “Fair.” He set his things down and put the movie in as Logan put his thoughts down on paper.
The rest of the evening was calm, eventually both ending up in the same corner of the couch as they bonded. It made Logan realize that maybe perfection might be unattainable but it’s something to strive for, even if the ultimate goal is to see the proud smile cross Virgil’s face again.
Hi Ace! You’re incredible and I love your blog because a) hello analogical fan and b) some of your ADHD posts helped me realize there’s a strong chance I have ADHD too. So thank you Ace. I have an analogical prompt you might enjoy: I know it’s popular to write Logan in hyperfixation mode, but what if the opposite were true? ADHD Logan with extremely bouncy focus and frustrations that come with it? Just a thought (& me projecting) but I hope you like it too. Thank you again for everything =) ♥️
Aww, thank you! I’m glad I could make you happy and help you find comfort. (Part of why this took so long is because I wasn’t ready to give up this kind message)
Divided Attention
Word Count: 1150
Logan didn’t want to be there. He wanted to curl up with his boyfriend, shoving his face into the soft material of his hoodie, and forget the world existed. He knew he didn’t deserve that. So, instead, he tried to focus on his work. Tried being the operative word there. He couldn’t seem to get his brain to focus as he looked at his To-Do list and was overwhelmed with everything he needed to do. His playlist had ended an hour ago, leaving him in uncomfortable silence as he attempted to get things done.
Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose with his wrist, Logan clicked his pen and looked back down at the math problem in front of him. He could reason his way through almost any paper as long as there was some smidge of research or personal opinion involved. Math was not his strong suit- in fact, it was his worst enemy. He could feel his mental energy draining just looking at the large project in front of him.
The most frustrating thing about this semester was not the work he was doing, nor was it the course subjects he was taking. He knew he should be enjoying these subjects more than he was as he specifically chose them due to his interests. Instead, what frustrated him was that projects and assignments were reaching a due date but previous ones of a similar nature had yet to be graded. He was doing work that built upon itself without having the necessary feedback to know if he was even improving. Instead, he was just getting more and more frustrated.
That delay from the morning had taken up most of his mental energy and he was having trouble just focusing. The hour grew later as he stared at his pages and his long list that never grew any shorter, due dates sitting next to assignments seeming to mock his short attention span.
Logan looked back down at his page, determined to focus. Looking at the instructions again, he wrote out in simple words what was being asked of him. Some of these problems were worded weirdly, he would have to ask Virgil to decipher it later. Virgil, his wonderful boyfriend, had always been so much better at math than he was despite taking a more artistic degree while Logan pursued a scientific degree and career.
Once the instructions were written out in such simple language he was sure a toddler could understand them, Logan could not handle any more math at the moment. So, he moved on to his next class that had deadlines right around the weekend: philosophy. A class he’d specifically chosen to learn more about a subject he was already interested in. One that turned out to have not only the most bone-dry textbook attached that was like nails on a chalkboard to get through, but he was doing all online classes so he didn’t even have a lecture to fall back on. Luckily, there was a PowerPoint given that was as good as the textbook for dummies if he skimmed the book with it.
Doing that, he managed to get through the PowerPoint set and cross something off the list. He still had to respond to a question in the discussion forum and the assignment would be over. He pulled up the site he usually used to write as it forced him to focus on that and nothing else but the words didn’t seem to come. He understood the content, had been talking to Virgil about it just the night before and had understood it completely. Now, however, it was like he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned about the subject.
Picking one aspect of it, he ran with that one thought until he’d gotten past the word count. He had to edit it down to something that actually pertained to the question but still had enough to post and call it a day in that regard. The history discussion wasn’t due until later so he ignored it for now.
Finally, he stretched, hearing his back pop. His water had been empty for almost two hours now and he’d hardly moved in his attempts to override his executive dysfunction with brute force. Sighing, he stood and made his way out of his study and into the main room. Virgil was humming as he stirred a cup of a steaming drink on his way back to the couch but paused when he saw Logan.
“Hey, babe! How’s the studying going?” He asked with a smile.
Logan hadn’t realized just how tired he was until he teared up at just the sound of Virgil’s voice. Virgil’s eyes widened at Logan’s tear-filled ones, setting his drink on the nearest flat surface. “Okay, hey buddy, it’s okay.” He walked forward and opened his arms, a silent but firm invitation for Logan.
The tired neurodivergent almost dove into his boyfriend’s embrace, snuggling close and gripping him tightly, running his fingers over the familiar fabric of the oversized hoodie Virgil wore at all hours of the day. He released a sob as one of Virgil’s hands ran over his back, the other going into Logan’s hair to gently scratch at his scalp.
“How long have you been working, darling?”
Logan shook his head. “Lost track of time. No clue. Not done yet.”
Virgil clucked his tongue. “Alright, it’s break time. Do you want to cuddle on the couch and read for a bit or take a nap on the bed?”
Logan let out another sob. “Don’t make me choose, please.”
Virgil pressed a kiss to his temple. “Okay, how about we snuggle on the couch for a bit, maybe read, but mostly just spend time with each other?” Getting a nod, Virgil scooped his very stressed boyfriend into a bridal carry before moving to the couch. He set him down and pulled away, earning a whine.
“I’ll be back in a moment, just wanted to grab my hot chocolate.”
Logan made a noise between a groan and a whine. “Too hot for hot chocolate.” He felt Virgil’s hand on his forehead briefly before a kiss was placed there and his boyfriend was gone. A few seconds later, he was back, sitting down and pulling Logan into his side. Logan paused for just enough time to take his glasses off and place them vaguely on the ground somewhere before practically smashing his face into Virgil’s shoulder and doing his best to just stay in one piece.
Virgil’s hand came up again and started running through Logan’s hair. Any thought of decorum that he’d had went out the window at that action, leaving him a shaking and sobbing mess that Virgil gathered in his arms and into his lap. Soft shushing noises came from above Logan as he curled up in the comfort that was Virgil, eventually tiring himself into sleeping.
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