#grays fics

[hydra-collector]

do you guys want to read about my messed up middle aged men

[hydra-collector]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

out here writing community fanfic in 2024? you bet

[hydra-collector]

Luke 18:14 (Good Omens Fanfiction)

"The seed which fell among the thorns, these are the ones who have heard, and as they go on their way they are choked with worries and riches and pleasures of this life, and bring no fruit to maturity." Post S2-Crowley makes some reckless decisions, thinks about Aziraphale. I like to think that mystical demon powers and drugs would have some unique interactions sometimes.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49877530

Alcohol was getting a little boring. Crowley began opting for the various stocks of hard drugs he kept in his flat’s bedroom. Currently he was driving back to the bookshop (which he claimed was more interesting to dissociate or hallucinate to, but for the most part he was quite lonely and the bookshop was homey) with a small Ziploc bag that contained a few grams of a crystally, powdery white substance. It had been ages since he’d gotten it. He couldn’t quite remember exactly what it was and didn’t bother checking.

He pulled up to the bookshop and all but fell out of the car like a hostage from a plane. He unlocked the door with a key, only because Aziraphale had given him one a few decades back, for emergencies.

“Muriel?” he called tentatively, because the last thing he wanted was to talk to an angel. No response. Good, they were out, probably examining ugly trinkets in a pawn shop. He entered the small “kitchen” and rifled through the drawers for a straw. There was a reasonably good metal one, albeit a bit old. He was sure the only reason Aziraphale had it was for because it was special, as a gift or that it had belonged to someone important. Whatever. It would work fine.

He didn’t bother measuring, just stuck the straw in the bag and sniffed until it seemed like enough. In a cabinet was a rather old bottle of wine, which he took to drink. He may as well. He took a swig as a dizzy feeling began to kick in. He climbed upstairs in no rush, focusing on every step. The first door he found led to Aziraphale’s bedroom. He wouldn’t have had one, except that he felt as though he should appear more human to any visitors, and Crowley had recommended that he try sleeping sometime back in the 1890s. He had indeed tried, and felt fairly neutral about it. He did it once or twice more, but decided that he preferred to use his bed for reading, as it was quite comfortable.

The room was well-organized, neatly arranged with a subtle but respectable layer of dust settled on just about everything. An impressive king-sized bed was set against the back wall. The headboard was large and intricate, connected to a bulky wooden frame engraved with lions, wings, and pretty swirls. The sheets were white, gold, and blue, with red accents here and there. It was expertly embroidered in floral patterns, and on top was a frankly ridiculous amount of pillows. On the far side, there was an equally gorgeous dresser next to the window’s velvet curtains. There was a large rug–all sorts of pretty colors, upon which were a number of small dressers, chests of drawers, and other containers for trinkets and books. (Aziraphale had also found that the extra room was quite useful for storage as he collected things over the years).

Crowley noticed none of this, except for the presence of a large bed and a framed picture on the dresser. He picked it up, collapsing onto the bed and taking a gulp of wine that did its very best not to spill on the exquisite sheets. Crowley watched the dust he’d kicked up drift slowly around the room, a small shaft of light from the window curtains illuminating the particles.

He had maybe done a little more than he should have. He felt himself slip away, almost, the long-term memories in his brain glossing over. He felt it all through his body, a complete detachment from the light, the sheets, the sounds of cars outside.

Crowley examined the picture.

It was… it was… he almost had it, but his capacity for remembering slipped out from underneath him.

It was, in fact, the picture that Aziraphale had slipped into his sleeve in 1941, and kept in a precious frame for decades in his bedroom. Crowley was not able to understand what it meant at the moment, but out of it emanated a terribly strong feeling of love and caring, so he clutched it to his chest. He drank more, and sat up to lean back into Aziraphale’s luxurious pillows. He held it up and stared, and kept staring. He stared for the better part of an hour, until he wasn’t so much working it out, as he was just about to actually work it out, or figure something from it, at least.

He set it down on the nearest night table and snorted more from his bag. He felt empty inside having put down the picture. Well, not empty, per se, but filled with something that was hollow.

It was about now that Aziraphale’s search for Crowley led him to the shop. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to come here, because between Muriel taking care of it and it being his primary residence on Earth, it was only a matter of time before Heaven would realize he wasn’t coming back and pursued him as a traitor on the run. The shop would be the first place they look. Nevertheless, he needed to find Crowley, so he began poking around and calling his name, only hoping the response wouldn’t be angry.

But there was no response, so he went upstairs and found his bedroom door ajar. When was the last time he’d used it? No matter. Tentatively, he opened it to find a small, unmoving figure curled up on his bed.

Crowley had not heard Aziraphale call, and would not have thought to respond if he had. He wasn’t thinking all that much at the moment. What he was doing was feeling–and currently he could feel a wonderful warmth sink down beside him and pull him closer. Inside it was a great deal of love. Far more than the picture had provided, so he leaned closer to it, and with his inadequate ability to think, wrapped his arms around it through instinct.

Aziraphale held him tightly, almost fearing that Crowley would Fall back down to Hell should he let go. He had never seen him so vulnerable, sober or not. He gently took the half-drunk bottle of wine and the bag in one hand, sliding them into his nightstand drawer. They laid like this for a few minutes, and Crowley didn’t stir. He was entranced by the rhythmic heartbeat, not pumping out blood, but love, pure love.

“Do you think you could sober up, Crowley?” said a voice from his left.

“Sober up,” another voice repeated absently, the source of which was suspiciously close to Crowley’s ears. A hand cradles his chin, tilting it upwards. Crowley’s eyes contained a hunger that an astronaut could have seen from space, if they were looking. He was gazing at something absolutely beautiful.

Aziraphale repeated his question, but Crowley couldn’t answer. He sighed, tucking the demon’s head under his arm again, and watched his chest rise and fall for almost an hour.

Finally, Crowley lifted his head, ready to come back and face his angel. Aziraphale guided him upright, though he didn’t really need it.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so, so sorry.” He didn’t know what else he could say.

Crowley still felt a bit woozy, so he urged some last few grains of powder back into the bag he got them from, and a larger bit of wine back into the bottle.

“You kept it?” he asked. Aziraphale looked at him in confusion, so he retrieved the framed picture from the other nightstand.

(What Crowley wanted to do is say: “Let’s take another,” and fish through Aziraphale’s drawers for a camera that may or may not have ended up in there. “Something to remember the darker moments by.” And guilt would flood Aziraphale, because he knew that he had created the darker moments, no matter how good his intentions were.)

But he didn’t, and Aziraphale told him lamely: “Well… I thought–it was a nice memory.” It was a token of them. It was about them being an us. It was a promise that Aziraphale never made, and didn’t keep.

Crowley chuckled, low and unconvincing. Aziraphale could practically feel the pain Crowley harbored. “Don’t worry about it.” Crowley gestured absently. “The whole Heaven thing. Finally let me get some alone time.”

“On ketamine? I seem to remember hard drugs don’t interest you unless you are exceptionally bored or, more commonly, miserable.”

“Is that what it was? Ketamine?” Crowley flashed a strained smile.

“And I rather think I will worry about it, dear,” Aziraphale leaned closer to him. Crowley looked away.

He was a demon, and he had lied. Aziraphale knew it as well as he did.

“I’ll make it up to you Crowley. I promise. For now, though, I think we’d better get a move on. Heaven will be looking for us.”

[hydra-collector]

a lonely new year

AO3

Ship: Platonic Loceit

Characters: Logan Sanders, Janus Sanders

TW: crying, food

Words:  2093

Note: My gift for the TS Winter Fic Exchange for @lost-in-thought-20. Hope you enjoy! Credit to @raspberryjamus for being a beta reader and helping me with ideas!

Summary: Logan and janus don't have anywhere to go to on New Year's. So, they find each other.

The air was frosty, snow glittering on the sidewalk. It was dark out, as it had been on his trips home for over a month. Today it was especially late, as his first bus was late and he had to pick up a few groceries for dinner. Although there was no school during winter break, Logan’s dedication to the chess club and swim team had not wavered. There had been no official meetings today, not surprising considering that it was New Year’s Eve, but he’d gone to the pool anyway just to keep it up.

It wasn’t like he was doing anything for New Year’s anyway.

There were only a few cars on the street. His bus was supposed to come in around five minutes, but the public transportation schedules were inconsistent, especially on a holiday. Patton was out with his friends, like he had been all day, and his parents were off on a short vacation somewhere that Logan had declined. That was alright. He was almost eighteen and had responsibilities here at home. Someone needed to take care of the house, and it’s not like Patton was particularly good at that.

It was the third year in a row that he’d been (mostly) at home for New Year’s. No close friends who invited him anywhere, no partner to cheesily kiss at midnight. He’d gotten used to it by now. Patton did his own thing and Logan stayed home, making his own dinner, maybe watching a show.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t had anything much of a close friend for much of that time either. He didn’t really like Patton’s best friends, Roman and Virgil, and he hadn’t consistently talked to Remus or Janus for a long time. He’d never been very adept at keeping up relationships.

Though he knew this was going to happen, (and was rather judgemental of the arbitrary concept of New Year’s anyway) he couldn’t help but feel an uncomfortable weight settle in his chest at the thought. Patton was sleeping over at Roman’s, so he would be entirely alone.

He’d assured his family that he would prefer it that way, but the weight of loneliness was still there.

The bus pulled up at long last after a few minutes, and he was enveloped by the warmth inside. He headed straight for the back of the bus, ready to all but fall asleep until his stop. Before he could, though, the bus jolted and stopped suddenly, opening the doors for someone to dash inside, panting. They weaseled the bus driver out of their fare. They turned, and Logan recognized Janus’s face.

Janus’ eyes lit up in recognition, and he dashed towards Logan. “Been ghosting me, have you?” he said, plopping down in the seat next to him, giving a cheeky grin.

Logan rolled his eyes. “I’ve been busy. Haven’t gotten the chance to say hi.” It wasn’t his intention, really. He’d been spending time on chess or swimming or schoolwork. He tried to look sincere, but he wasn’t sure if it came across.

“People are supposed to hang out with their families and partners on holidays, you know.” Janus raises his eyebrow, leaning back into the seat and shaking snow off of his coat.

“We don’t really celebrate New Year’s together. I don’t mind doing it this way.” Logan looked away from Janus, feeling discomfort at the harshness in his stare. “I’m just heading home and coming up with something to eat, then I’m going to bed. It’s just like any other day.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a loser? You should be doing something fun or exciting. Perhaps illegal. It’s a holiday, you should be enjoying yourself.”

Logan shook his head, “Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind the solitude.” He began to rub his thumb over his jeans, considering the heavy weight in his chest. “But if you, perhaps, were lonely, I wouldn’t be opposed to spending time with you instead.”

Janus let out an overdramatized gasp. “To think that I would be lonely on New Year’s. You’re hilarious, Logan.” 

Logan felt a twinge in his chest, perhaps shame. “Nevermind, then. I’ll just go home. I’m getting off in a few stops anyway.”

He didn’t look back at Janus, pulling his bag around his shoulder and standing up. Before he was even able to make it near the door, however, Janus grabbed his wrist, tugging him back towards his seat.

“I never said I wouldn’t go with you. C’mon, I know a good diner on this route.” Logan looked back, focusing on the space between Janus’ eyes.

Logan sat back down. “Alright then. It can’t be worse than my usual routine.” Janus chuckled, and Logan felt a sense of relief.

“Lovely. It’s a bit of a ride, but we shouldn’t get there too late.”

~~

“Table for two?”

Logan nodded to the waitress. He checked his watch to see that it was nearly eleven (a “bit” of a ride had turned out to be an hour long) while Janus admired the cakes set up on display. Soon, his exhaustion would catch up to him and make him loose-lipped and scattered, but at this point he didn’t really care. 

“Follow me, gentlemen.” Logan kicked Janus’ shin lightly, startling the other teenager into following him. The gesture earned him a scowl, but Janus had at least enough manners to wait until they were sitting down to say anything.

“Didn’t know you were such an asshole, Logan.” He said, pulling up his menu. Logan stared at him for a moment, considering the sentence. He’d been informed that usually when Janus said things like that, he was being sarcastic. He worried still, though, even if it wasn’t a severe incident.

“Are you going to look at the menu?” Janus lowered his, looking at Logan expectantly. 

“Mhm.” Logan said absentmindedly, the exhaustion starting to catch up with him. He didn’t feel the hunger that he knew he should as he skimmed over the menu. Nothing really seemed all that appealing at the moment.

“I think I’m going to get steak and shrimp.” Janus said, placing down his menu.

“Do you even have the money for that?” Logan asked, skeptical.

“What do you take me for, a peasant? It’s a holiday, I’m allowed to splurge. Maybe I’ll even buy yours if you’re nice.” Janus threw in a gratuitous wink, making it clear the nature of his comment. Logan looked down awkwardly. He was fairly certain that Janus’ flirts weren’t serious, but he could never tell. 

“I’m going to get something warm to drink. Maybe herbal tea. I don’t want to be up late.” 

“Staying up too late on New Year’s Eve? Hun, isn’t that the whole point? I’m getting coffee.” 

“Suit yourself, I don’t really care if you’re hyperactive at two AM.” He gently rubbed his thumb over the table, the pleasant texture easing his nerves a little.

“What are you getting to eat, anyway?”

Logan looked back at the menu. “I’ll just get a tomato soup. I’m not hungry.”

“If you say so, but you’re not getting any of my food.”

They ordered, sitting in an awkward silence afterward. Logan distracted himself by ripping up his napkin piece by piece until it was barely usable. Janus said nothing, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Logan began to wonder why he even agreed to this at all. He knew he couldn’t talk to people, especially not someone like Janus who he wasn’t sure how to act around.

“You’re really not concerned about being alone on New Year’s?” Janus said once their drinks came, pouring in unspeakable amounts of cream and sugar.

Logan paused, the smell of peppermint wafting up from his mug. He took a sip, perhaps to delay his answer. “I don’t know. I’m used to it.”

Janus furrowed his brow, not seeming satisfied with that answer. Logan wasn’t sure what he could say. He didn’t know. Maybe Janus was just here to make fun of him.

“Why aren’t you hanging out with your friends?”

Janus laughed lightly. “You are my friend, dumbass. I’m not gonna ask you here on a holiday if I don’t want to hang out.”

“But why didn’t you already have plans? What were you even doing on the bus?”

Janus sighed quietly, looking at him. “I was getting away from my parents. They didn’t want Remus to come over. They don’t like him. And if I’d gone over to his house, his parents would’ve told mine. So I just left. Got on the bus. It’s pure chance that I found you.”

Logan wasn’t sure if anything he said could be helpful. “When are you going back?”

Janus pondered it for a moment. “As late as possible. Morning, probably. At that point they’ll probably start being really upset with me. Maybe they won’t even notice if I get back early enough. They’re not gonna be happy I skipped celebrating though.”

“You are lonely, aren’t you?”

Janus nearly exploded into defensiveness before the waitress brought them their food. He quickly composed himself, thanking her and shooting a glare at Logan before starting to eat. Logan picked at his food, feeling sick to his stomach from the emotional turmoil of the night.

He cradled his tea instead, sinking into the small bit of warmth. The hunger was kicking in now, but he still didn’t feel like eating. How long has it been? How long were they going to stay here?

They sat in silence while Janus ate and Logan’s soup grew cold. The minutes ticked by, drawing nearer to midnight. Eventually he started to ignore his tea, the sick feeling in his stomach overwhelming.

“When was the last time you talked to someone just to hang out, Logan?”

He looked up from his tea, only to avoid Janus’s piercing gaze. He supposed this feeling was why he avoided having friends. Even the most subtle possibility of scorn cut deep. This was the first time in what seemed like forever that he’d done anything with a friend. Pain welled up in his chest, the first tears he’d had in a long time imminent.

It had been so long since before he’d given up on keeping friends. So long since he thought it was worth it. So long since he’d been able to ignore his worries and just talk to someone without restraint. So long since anyone had wanted to talk to him, or hang out with him.

He kept his cool. He wasn’t about to dump this all on Janus. “I… it doesn’t matter. I’m not a very sociable person, if you can’t tell.”

“But you are. I know you are. I can’t count how many times I’ve had to let you talk my ear off about one of your interests,” Janus said, smiling in amusement.

Logan couldn’t take it that way, though. The threat of tears didn’t recede, and he didn’t dare look at Janus.

“You still haven’t answered the question, love. It could be anyone. Your brother, your parents, even some random kid in your class. When was the last time you talked to someone just because you wanted to?” The question was more intense this time, and it completely overwhelmed Logan. He shouldn’t need friends. He shouldn’t deserve friends.

Tears broke the surface. “I- I don’t know. I don’t know, Janus, I’m sorry!”

He choked on his tears, trying to prevent a sob. Janus didn’t need this. It was past eleven on New Year’s Eve and he was crying in front of a night-shift waitress and his friend who he hadn’t talked to in months. Janus may as well leave now, go find someone else to bother. 

Instead, he took Logan’s hand, leaning over the table. He couldn’t see it, but Janus’s expression had softened into gentle worry and regret. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. I’m sorry for prying,” he said, his voice inconceivably gentle in a near whisper. 

“You’re right,” he continued as he leaned back, his voice a little louder. “I am lonely. I feel pathetic that the only reason I had someone to see on New Year’s is because I ran into you on the bus, running away from my problems. And maybe that’s the reason that we have to be here. For each other.”

Janus beckoned him over, taking him into a long-needed hug. He kept mumbling comforting words while Logan cried into his shoulder softly. 

The alarm beeped on Logan’s watch. It was midnight.

Both paused for a moment. “Happy New Year’s, Logan,” Janus whispered.

“Happy New Year’s, Janus.”

[hydra-collector]

46? With Logan saying something self loathing and janus jumping right to his defense

Logan sat back in his swivel chair, tiredness creeping in his eyes. The blue screen mocked him, blank pages and tables without numbers staring back at him. At least he'd finished something.

He stood up, making his way into the kitchen, getting the last jar of Crofters from the fridge and popping some bread in the toaster.

"Did you finish?"

Logan didn't jump when he heard Janus's voice, he was just a little... surprised. He composed himself, leaning slightly against the counter to face Janus, who was holding a warm mug.

"Did I scare you there? Anyway, was your unhealthy escapade to your room until it was one in the morning prove fruitful at all in getting your work done?"

Logan cleared his throat, heat rising in his cheeks slightly. "Yes, it did. Why are you awake, anyway?"

"Well, I always have a sense of when someone's lying to themself, and you were being exceptionally annoying, and I'm guessing that's because you're trying to convince yourself this is worth it."

"I'm just trying to get work done," Logan said, turning around and grabbing his toast and setting it on a plate, pulling out a knife for the jam.

"Just give up on this. You know it's not healthy, no matter how much work you get done. And I don't want any of that 'imaginary' bullshit either. You know it still affects you."

"Are you drinking coffee?"

"You're not good at changing the subject. And yes, I am."

They stood there in a moment of silence, Logan's toast half-covered in jam, Janus's coffee sending wisps of heat up in the warm light of the kitchen.

"I know this has become a regular thing," Janus said softly, interrupting the quiet. "I care about you and your health. And I'm worried about you for other reasons, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I already know I'm too fucking useless now," Logan mumbled, digging his hands into his palms.

“God, Logan, please don’t say that about yourself. Please don’t believe that. You’re so much more than that. You’re perfect, and it's not your fault if you're made to feel like you're useless.”

Logan stayed silent, though he relaxed the tension in his shoulders and hands slightly, tracing the indents in his palms.

"This is why I'm worried for you. When you say things like that, it makes me scared that there's so much more going on with you than you let on. You have to be honest about how you feel. I've only managed to catch glimpses of some very, very concerning habits. This being one of them."

"I don't feel. I'm fine," he replied, but perhaps with a bit of a tremor in his voice.

"Both lies. And you know it."

Janus approached him, placing his coffee on the counter next to Logan, touching the logical side's face gently with an ungloved hand. He traced Logan's cheek up to his eye, where water was swelling up at the edges.

"If you ever need to, know you can talk to me. I trust you to recognize problems, recognize... symptoms, but whatever's going on with you, you're going to need help through it. And if you're scared of someone else noticing, I'm the embodiment of deception. I can keep a secret."

Logan nodded slightly, seemingly physically unable to do much else.

"I love you, Logan, okay?"

And if he heard a quiet "I know," he wouldn't say it. Logan would deny such vulnerability until the day he died.

Or until the day he felt comfortable enough in his emotions to let such things flow freely.

[hydra-collector]

For the prompts, intrlogical with Remus pulling Logan away from working too hard. Only if you want to, though

"You're still up?"

Remus leaned against Logan's doorframe, his midnight snack of a bagel in hand. Logan shuffled his papers, only acknowledging Remus for a moment.

"I'm not done."

Remus entered the room, setting his bagel on Logan's desk, to his boyfriend's dismay. He pressed his hands into Logan's shoulders, gently massaging them.

"You need to go to sleep. You're so tense. And you promised you'd do better about it, remember? No later than eleven?"

Logan sighed, dropping his pencil and rubbing his own wrist. "I know. But it's hard. I've gotten used to it and... I need to get this stuff done."

"Come on, starlight. You're sleeping in my room tonight."

Remus pulled Logan's swivel chair out, pulling him up by the arms and holding his bagel in his mouth on the way out. Logan reluctantly followed him, walking hand in hand down the hall to Remus's room.

[hydra-collector]

“let’s take a five minute break” Remus to Logan.

TW: some roman, patton, and virgil negativity

Logan breathed heavily, staring at the light dent he’d made. The morningstar felt heavy in his hands, the spikes dragging on the wooden floor. Remus surely wouldn’t mind, the creative side had never really cared about keeping things intact and clean.

The multitudes of scratches in the metal danced across his vision. His arms felt tired, almost weak, from the pointless labor he’d been doing. 

He went at it again, letting heavy swing after heavy swing hit the metal, the sound ricocheting off of the walls. Remus had suggested this as a way to get his anger out (also suggesting that he imagine the faces of the light sides as he did it, which he had rejected but maybe done a little of it anyway) and it had so far seemed to be working. The activity would serve as exercise and stress relief.

Because, God, had the light sides caused him a lot of stress.

He let a particularly hard blow ring out for a minute, letting the spikes screech as they scraped across the surface while he pulled it back. He kept going, harder, harder each time. He wanted to pummel each and every one of them for their stupid feelings, and their stupid ignorance, and their stupid, stupid words-

“Hey, let’s take a five minute break.”

Remus took the morningstar from him, and he only then realized how sore and painful his hands felt. The creative side took his hand gently, leading him to sit down on the foot of the bed.

“You okay? Was that helping?”

Logan stared at his work, his hands trembling. He looked down at them, frustrated when he couldn’t get them to be still. His breath was shaky. He wasn’t sure if it was in fear, in sadness, or anger. He didn’t… couldn’t understand emotions well enough to know.

“I… no. I wanna stop.”

“Okay.”

Remus laced his fingers in Logan’s, letting him lean against the creative side. He took a deep breath, feeling tears prick at his eyes. He wanted to hide them in Remus’s chest, or not hide them at all and let himself be vulnerable. But still, he shut his eyes tight and held back.

“Do they really care so little that I have to get my anger out on a piece of metal with someone I’m supposed to hate? And now I feel- I feel-”

“It’s okay if you don’t know.”

“I feel… weak.”

He sighed, shifting closer to Remus’s warmth as the creative side set his arm around his waist. He squeezed a little, the pressure comforting.

“If the metal wasn’t helping, what do you think would?”

“Just… stay with me.”

He relaxed into Remus’s touch, head pressed against his chest.

[hydra-collector]

GIVE ME XENOGENDER LOGAN FIC NOW. YOU WANTED DEMANDS SO I'LL GIVE ONE.

TW: crying

"You okay, Lo?”

Janus’s voice was so gentle, his gloved hands holding Logan’s across the table. The logical side nodded, though comets heart raced. Xe had been meaning to come out for over a month, but star hadn’t managed to calm xemself down nearly enough every time com wanted to.

Xe had decided to just bite the bullet and tell him. There wasn’t any point in enduring the discomfort and dysphoria anymore, not when com knew that Janus would accept star in an instant.

“I’m not... I’m not-”

Xe had to take a moment to collect comself, despite knowing how understanding Janus would be. What if he didn't love star anymore? What if he was accepting but avoided Logan after that, eventually breaking up with xem? What if-

"Lo, Logan, it's okay. Anything you need to tell me, it's okay."

Star nodded again, wiping tears beginning to creep out of comets eyes. "I'm not... I'm not a man."

"Okay. That's perfectly fine, okay? I love you so much, sweetheart, and I'm so proud of you, for finding that and being confident enough to tell me."

Logan just nodded, breath still shaky.

"Do you know what you are, if not a man?"

"I'm- I'm nonbinary, but- I use- I use the term caelgender. It's- it's stupid, I-"

"No, it's not stupid, love. What does it mean? Do you want different pronouns, or a different name?"

Logan laced xir fingers in Janus's, taking a deep breath. "It's a gender that's... related to space, and objects in outer space and- all that. I'm okay with my name but I- I use star/stars, com/comet/comself, and xe/xir pronouns, but if you don't want to you can just use they/them-"

"No, Lo, I'll use them if they make you comfortable. I wanna support you, and I don't mind using those pronouns at all."

"Thank- thank you, Janus."