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do Patton and Logan hang much in your human au? what do they do? Or like their dynamic lol
yes yes! They were the “og 2” if you can call them that- they met and hit it off (in their own way) in freshman year of high school. They picked up Roman the next year and the three of them have been like this 🤞ever since. Uhhhh shuffles around in my bag
here have this silly sketchy thing about the origins of the onesies
Do we have ourselves a classic case of BRAINSWAP?!
A/N: my story for @intrualityweek !! I am not sure if body swap AUs are à la mode but I wrote one anyway!! (Or brain swap as the Duke himself says). Sorry if Remus is ooc, I tried to get as close as possible as a very ace person.
Prompt: surprise duo. sooo much mutual pining, Pat has chronic pain
Warnings: alcohol mention, panic attack, lots of cursing because it’s Remus
Hope you enjoy!! -Fliss
—
What the fuck is that fucking noise?
Remus’s first thought of the day did not fill him with hope and promise. He would swear on Roman’s life that he did not set this alarm. Though how much that meant honestly depended on the day.
He shot up, wondering which of his roommates thought this was funny. Then quickly appreciated that these were not his bedsheets. This claustrophobic single bed was not his. Whose room was he in.
He found the source of the noise, on the desk across the room, impossible to shut it off without getting out of bed. It had one of them phone charms on it, blue sparkly beads. Remus wasn’t sure what purpose those things had, other than collecting bacteria. Then he remembered - he’d thought that before, he’d seen that exact phone charm before! As well as the sky blue polka dot case, it belonged to none other than his brother Roman’s best friend, the almost annoyingly perfect Patton Hart. No, actually. Scratch the ‘almost’.
Scrunching his eyes against the light coming in from around the curtains, he took in his surroundings. Plushies taking up half the bed, cute posters of cartoon animals on the walls, fairy lights and a pin board which could not physically fit any more photos on it. If this was Patton’s room, it was exactly how he would have imagined it. One question remained - how the actual fuck did he get here?
His vision was so blurry. Had he drank last night? His mind quickly concocted a story - he’d been out with his friends and had a bit too much, even for him, Patton had been in the library until the early hours, because of course he had, they’d bumped into each other on the street and he’d decided oh-so-kindly that Remus was in such a bad state that he couldn’t possibly let him go home alone, not even if it was entirely his own fault for drinking so sinfully excessively, and oh-so-generously gave up his own bed and oh-so-saintly spent the night on the sofa… yeah, right. If Patton had seen him that drunk, he’d probably give that disapproving expression, that little frown, almost a pout, and sarcastically wish him luck getting home. Or cross the street and ignore him altogether. And, besides, Remus now remembered he actually went to bed early last night, thank you very much, in his own bed after submitting an assignment at the last minute. What the fuck. What the fuck was going on.
The fatal moment of understanding came a few seconds later, when his eyes fell on a small wall-mounted mirror in the far corner of the room. He had to move slightly to be able to see himself. Or rather, see that he was not himself. Not his frame, much smaller and leaner. Not his hair, much thicker and curlier. Definitely not his pyjamas. What kind of crazy person wore a hoodie to sleep in April? The same psychopath who sets an alarm for 7am, of course. Patton Hart.
What the actual fuck. After few seconds of rummaging around, he discovered where those thick, round glasses were kept and put them on, returning to the mirror. Wow. Patton had bad bedhead.
Stumbling back in disbelief, he nearly tripped over something. He picked up a small rabbit plushie with pale blue clothes which looked very old and very loved. The poor bunny had obviously been in Remus’s… Patton’s arms when he woke up, and was thrown carelessly across the room in the commotion of turning off the alarm. He put it carefully back on the bed and sat beside it, bouncing his leg in agitation, trying to work out what the fuck to do.
—
When Patton awoke to silence, he didn’t even open his eyes. He squeezed them shut tighter, knowing he needed as much sleep as possible before his alarm. Something smelt a little off. Kind of smelt like… could you dream smells? Why would he be dreaming about… Patton didn’t know, he was too tired, he turned over and drifted back off to sleep…
——
What the fuck should he do?! Remus doubted there was any useful advice online about this, though he was tempted to add it to Patton’s search history anyway, for him to find later. Perhaps he should search for some other things too… he grinned to himself, thinking of how Patton would squirm as he tried to explain. Should he prank call people from Patton’s number? Switch around all his contacts? Take over his perfectly curated Instagram? The possibilities were endless.
But when he picked up Patton’s phone, the sound of beads jangling, his lock screen lit up and Remus actually focused on the picture. It was Patton and Roman on the beach that was a thirty minute drive from their college, hugging each other and both grinning from ear to ear. Suddenly he didn’t feel like meddling anymore.
Remus sighed heavily. He should probably get Patton ready for whatever the fuck he thought he needed to be awake at 7am for. He made his way over to the desk where Patton’s laptop sat, hoping to be able to access his calendar without a password. On the chair, he noticed some clothes neatly folded, ready for the day. Oh yeah. Getting dressed might be a good idea.
A blue polo shirt and brown cargos, his signature grey cat hoodie as the April mornings were still definitively chilly. Typical Patton. But not being in control of one’s own body was a special occasion! And, Remus believed, this called for a special outfit. He rifled through Patton’s wardrobe and quickly found what he was looking for. A knit jumper, the exact blue of Patton’s eyes. He wore it to Roman’s plays, to the Christmas party, in the beach trip photo - clearly it was one of his favourites. He paired it with some embroidered jeans which, in Remus’ humble opinion, suited Patton perfectly. He dressed quickly, keeping his eyes closed as much as possible. He admired his outfit choice in the mirror, wearing also a mischievous grin that looked entirely out of place on Patton’s face. What could he add to this ensemble? He could give the perfect boy a tattoo. Or a piercing… actually, Patton had mentioned wanting his ears pierced but not being allowed, something about heart problems, maybe killing the little guy was a step too far.
Now, to sort out that bedhead, because even someone as utterly careless as Remus wouldn’t let him leave the house looking like that. Patton’s hair was just as soft as it looked. He probably had a seventeen-step hair routine. Probably learnt it from Roman. Remus hoped that whatever this fuckery was wouldn’t last, because Lord knew he was unable to maintain that kind of bullshit, but he still hated the thought of Patton’s lovely curls being sad and uncared for.
——
Patton opened his eyes again, this time feeling slightly more awake. Immediately after sitting up and rubbing his eyes he realised three things almost at the exact same time:
1. This was not his room.
2. He could see perfectly without glasses on.
3. His feet were way too far away from him.
Had he been changed in the night? This was some seriously Alice-in-Wonderland shit. Could this be his room? Had his roommates snuck in while he slept and somehow managed to change all his decorations? Including hang a massive progress pride flag on the wall? He had to take that down - his mother was coming to visit this weekend and if she knew he was … Patton froze. He’d stood up in a panic and began to pace and the floor was so far away. He ran a hand through his hair and it didn’t feel right, the hand or the hair. What was happening? Who had done this to him? He searched his unfamiliar surroundings for a mirror but couldn’t find even a little one, finally he grabbed the phone on the bedside table and scrambled to get the camera open and what he saw made him want to scream but he slapped a hand to his mouth just in time.
At least it was a face he recognised. The moustache, the remains of yesterday’s eyeliner not properly removed, Patton had never seen those bright, overconfident green eyes full of fear before.
Nothing could ever have prepared him to look at his reflection and see the face of Remus Kingsley staring back at him. The last face he wanted to see.
No… no, it couldn’t be! This had to be a nightmare!
———
Remus was so good at this shit. He’d managed to get access to Patton’s timetable, had scrawled the day’s activities, times and locations on a piece of paper he could refer to later, fed Patton some jam on toast for breakfast (what kind of university student was affording fucking Crofters?), brushed his teeth, packed his bag including his lunch (pre-prepared the night before in a tupperware he recognised as it was Roman’s originally), and set off towards campus. And still running ahead of schedule! What did Patton think he needed all this time for in the morning?
There were only a few people in the lecture room when he got there, one of them being that nerd in the blue tie - shit, what was his fucking name?
“Salutations, Patton.”
Shit shit shit, Remus had seen this guy before, Pat brought him along to Roman’s party, he left early, what was his name what was his name what was his
“Patton? Are you quite alright?”
Logan! That was his name!
“Yeah Logan, I’m good.” Remus leant back in his chair. He was amazing at this.
The other man’s eyes narrowed behind his square glasses. Shit. That didn’t sound like Patton at all, did it? Remus fought the urge to turn around and walk out right then and there. He hadn’t realised, and definitely should have, that the day on campus would be the world’s most soul-sucking 9-5, involving Remus having to act his ass off to convince students and professors alike that he was the real Patton. The star student, the helpful classmate and responsible, caring friend, not some impostor who for some unknown reason had been cursed Freaky Friday style to live Patton’s Perfect Life! Except it was Tuesday.
“Are you certain?” Logan asked, eyebrows raised in concern. “Not to imply you are willingly communicating a falsehood,” he added quickly.
Remus cleared his throat. Here went nothing.
“Yeah, kiddo, sorry! Just a teensy bit tired today. This semester is really taking it out of me. Don’t you worry about me, though!”
A big smile, dimples and all, sealed the deal. Give him a fucking Oscar already.
“Yes, the workload is elevated compared to previous semesters. Is it the essay you’re struggling with?”
“Gosh, well, it’s just… it’s everything, really! I’ve started the essay, but I’m not sure my points are really what the professors are looking for, and the lectures are so tough at the moment. Who knew psychology could be so… mind-boggling, am I right?”
Got a pun in there, perfect. Make way, Janus, there was a new Master of Deception in town! Except Remus knew he couldn’t get away with being vague, Logan was about to ask him technical questions about psychology which he, an art student, was in no way equipped to answer, and was about to announce he needed the bathroom when he was saved by the arrival of someone else into their conversation. He had no trouble remembering Virgil’s name, no mistaking that purple hoodie and dark eyeshadow, but the wordplay he used to remember it was a pun he doubted Patton would make.
“Hiya, Virge, how are you today?” A little wave, surely even Roman would praise these acting choices.
“Oh, you know, the usual.” They smirked as he took their seat next to Patton.
Did he greet his friends every day with all the enthusiasm of a tumblr text post from 2013?Remus fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“Good morning, Virgil,” came Logan’s voice. “Patton was just expressing his anxieties about our academic work as of late.”
“Pat, if you’re anxious, that says a lot about how the rest of us should be feeling.”
“I don’t think that’s true, kiddo! I’m sure you’re doing great!” Remus patted Virgil’s shoulder. Patton seemed like the kind of guy to be affectionate with his friends, but it still felt weird for Remus to do it, and from the way Virgil tensed, he definitely noticed something was off.
“But there is no shame in not doing great, I’m sure you know this, Patton. Is it anything I can help with? We could go over the material together, or I could come with you to speak to Professor Sanders, I’m sure he’d be happy to offer you any support you -“
Fuck, how was Remus supposed to know that one throwaway comment about being tired would lead to the fucking Spanish Inquisition? Pat’s friends clearly fucking worshipped him.
“Logan, I’m fine, I promise!” Wait no fuck shit that came out too angry. He swore he even saw Logan flinch a little. Thank god the lecture was starting. End scene or whatever.
He tried to write down everything the Sanders guy said, but he talked way too fucking fast, and Remus’ mind quickly began to wander. Why had Logan been so concerned the moment Patton mentioned being a little bit tired? By the end he was hardly writing anything down. He hoped Logan and Virgil wouldn’t notice that either.
———
Patton was nearly twenty minutes into a panic attack and Virgil’s breathing exercises were doing absolutely nothing to help. Tears streamed down his face as he stifled his shallow, gasping breaths. Thank goodness he was an expert in how to have a breakdown quietly.
Why had this happened to him? What was happening to his body? What should he do? What should he do? What should he do what should he do what should he
His eyes fell on a pair of nearly-destroyed black headphones on the shelf and he was happy to discover they connected to Remus’s Spotify on his phone automatically. He dreaded to think what Remus usually listened to, he was only looking for one thing, the only thing that was certain to calm him down.
Remus would know someone had messed with his account, but Patton didn’t care as he finally found something like calm when the Steven Universe soundtrack filled his ears. He sat with his eyes closed, listening to Pearl’s wisdom about how real strength came from within, but he snapped back to his senses when a song, still from season one, gave him more clarity than he’d had all morning.
“I’ve never seen you look like this before
Isn’t it nice to find yourself somewhere different?
Why don’t you just let yourself just be whoever you are?”
Remus would probably call it a stupid kids’ show. But Steven was always there for Patton, somehow always had the right advice for him.
Patton then decided that he was going to live Remus’s life as well as he possibly could. Focus on what he could actually control. He could not control what was happening to his own body in the meantime. And, besides, ignorance was probably bliss. Right? Right. He could deal with it later. He could deal with everything. But the prospect of some time free from his responsibilities? To see what someone else’s life was like? Sue him, he was more than a little tempted.
So. What should he do?
No, seriously, what did Remus do all day?
Patton realised how little he knew about his best friend’s brother. He was an art student? But Patton probably could have guessed that anyway from the abstract painting which sat on an easel in the corner of the room. A swirling mixture of foresty shades of green. It was pretty, though Patton didn’t claim to understand it at all. He didn’t dare touch Remus’s masterpiece. It was probably for his end of semester grade. In fact, just being in the same room as it made him a little nervous. Maybe he should get outside.
What did Remus do all day? He still hadn’t answered the question. He rode a bike? It was his method of transportation, but maybe he rode it for fun sometimes as well? It sounded fun to Patton, anyway.
Before he knew it he was wearing Remus’s green helmet and speeding towards town, down the hill way too fast, God knows he could never do this in his own body. He laughed way too loud and didn’t care who heard him, it was sort of nice to feel so free for once.
That feeling didn’t last long before he was struck by a horrible realisation. What if he met himself, met Remus while in the busy town centre? Would Remus yell at him for messing with his stuff?
Would he think to go there? Patton’s anxiety was somewhat placated by the fact that he had never seen Remus emerge before lunchtime, the other man had probably shut off the 7am alarm and gone straight back to sleep. But, just to be safe, Patton decided to head somewhere quieter. He decided to take Remus to one of his favourite spots, a trail through the woods he was convinced only he knew about.
————
By the end of the day, Remus was aching practically everywhere from the waist down, in ways he thought only old people could ache. It had started to creep up slowly before lunch, he could almost ignore it until it got louder and louder as Remus practically dragged Patton’s aching body from class to class, barely possessing the energy to keep up his acting.
Was Patton sick? Hurt? He felt Patton‘s left hip grind against its socket with every step he took back towards the house, hoping he remembered the way. This couldn’t be normal. And yet Pat had never mentioned it in all the time they’d spent together. Which was a fair amount, given Patton’s best friend was Remus’s brother. Maybe Patton just didn’t want Remus to get to know him well.
Remus arrived back at Patton’s house starving but almost in too much pain to continue standing. The pain was dull and throbbing and unlike anything he had ever felt before. Was this how Patton felt every day when he got home? And then had to cook and do chores and study and do volunteer work and hang out with friends and do all the other things that were necessitated by being Mister Perfect? Remus didn’t know if he even had the strength to make it back up the stairs to Patton’s room.
————
Patton couldn’t believe how much energy he still had when he arrived back at the house. He’d ran around the woods, climbed trees, seen bunnies and deer and luckily spent hours without encountering another human being, without anyone having any expectations of him, as Remus or as himself. And this had taken seemingly no toll on Remus’s body. No aches and pains, no exhaustion, literally nothing. Apart from the fact he was now very, very hungry.
What did Remus have to cook with… which stuff in the kitchen was even his… suddenly, ordering food seemed very tempting. As long as he kept it as cheap as possible, he hoped Remus wouldn’t mind a small hit to his bank account, and luckily Face ID was working. Patton supposed Apple had never accounted for circumstances such as these.
As he sat on the green sheets, eating pizza and hugging his knees in a way Remus had probably never sat before in his life, Patton had been aware for a while that, after his joy ride over the hills of town and through the woods, poor Remus did stink just a little bit. He had been diligently avoiding Remus’ roommates but even more diligently avoiding, if he possibly could, the need to shower, although he was not sure how much longer this could reasonably last.
Patton prayed that whatever this was would be over again tomorrow morning, as suddenly and bizarrely as it had started. For all it creaked and ached, He wanted his own body back. Needed his own life back. Patton had spent the entire day assuming Remus was in his body, trying to dispel anxieties about what he couldn’t control, but then the thought occurred to him that he had no real reason to believe his assumption was true. Perhaps his body was still lying empty and vacant in his bed, like Reese Witherspoon in that movie he and Roman watched… Just Like Heaven, was that its name? But then where was Remus? Was his spirit restlessly wandering the city? Could he be a ghost if neither of them were dead? No, because then he would definitely have come to haunt Patton by now, even when in his own body one of Remus’s favourite hobbies was giving Patton a fright.
He supposed that was the only explanation, then. Remus had been living Patton’s life all day, and was definitely doing a horrible job of it. He would have to explain his absence - Remus wouldn’t have managed to get him to class on time, couldn’t do all the studying he had planned for that day. Remus didn’t even know it was routine to kiss every one of his plushies before bed, Hoppy (his childhood rabbit) last. If Remus was really in his body… Patton sighed. He was probably strong enough to deal with the pain. He had probably laughed it off like it was nothing and gone to the gym or something and would brag about it next time they saw each other. He was probably using Hoppy as a ping-pong ball.
—————
The pain improved a little as Remus sat down on Patton’s bed, next to the old rabbit again. He’d found an ample supply of medication in Patton’s room, but he had no idea about dosage and didn’t dare put any drugs into a body that wasn’t his. But Remus did not doubt that at least some of these Patton probably needed to take daily, and maybe this neglect was why all these aches had grown throughout the day. If he texted his own phone, would Patton respond? He would probably freak out, he was probably meant to take some of these in the morning, maybe some at lunch… Remus, quickly going in the direction of in-too-much-pain-to-think-straight eventually found paracetamol. Surely Patton couldn’t begrudge him for taking some of that. What if Patton woke up back in his own body tomorrow and he was still in this much pain, or even more, because of Remus’ carelessness? He needed to give poor Patton some dinner as well. But standing up to cook would only tire Pat’s body out even more so Remus did not feel up to doing that. Ordering pizza seemed like the best option, even if it would cost some of Patton’s money. From what Remus had seen today, all his nice clothes, the latest iPad and even a couple of designer perfumes, Mister Rich Boy would probably be fine.
With the pizza and paracetamol thoroughly consumed, Remus now felt very sleepy. When he was just on the verge of sleep he remembered something. He grabbed the rabbit and hugged it to his chest, wanting Patton to have his childhood toy close if they swapped back in the morning.
He didn’t set an alarm though. He’d decided Patton deserved a lie-in. And he didn’t want another rude awakening if he was still in Patton’s body come the morning.
—————
The next day, Patton opened his eyes incredibly slowly, almost afraid of what he might see.
Blue bedsheets. Fairy lights on the walls. Something soft pressed against his cheek… Hoppy!
Patton jumped out of bed and continued to jump for joy, hugging and kissing Hoppy, whom he never ever wanted to be apart from ever again.
He shuffled over to his bedroom mirror to confirm… yep, he was himself again! That horrible trick, whatever it was, was over!
He grabbed his phone, filled with extra willingness to take on the day, to repair what damages had been done, and was greeted with no less than seventeen missed calls from Virgil.
Upon calling back, his friend picked up after two rings.
“Pat! Pat, are you ok? You weren’t in class this morning, we’re really worried.”
Just… just this morning? Patton glanced at the time. 12:17pm. Jesus. Remus had obviously neglected to set his alarm, but… Virgil wasn’t asking where Patton was yesterday? Only today? Did Remus actually make it to class? He must have acted strange, that must be why Virgil sounded so worried, but this was way more than he’d expected of the man he sometimes thought must be nocturnal.
“Pat? You alright, bud?”
For a very brief moment, Patton thought about telling him the truth. Would anyone believe him? Would Logan? Would Roman?
“I’m fine, Virgil! Just overslept! I’ll be there this afternoon, don’t you worry, kiddo!”
No. No, he wouldn’t be mentioning it to anyone.
——————
They didn’t meet until over a week later. Patton did that thing where he very obviously clocked Remus then very deliberately moved to the other side of the street. He knew he’d left his room a mess but come on. Did Patton seriously not want to talk about Freaky Tuesday?
“Pat! Patton!” He called across the street, waving frantically.
“Oh! Hello!” Patton said, accompanied by the most forced smile Remus had ever seen. He hoped Patton hadn’t been forced to act much on that fateful day, because clearly he was fucking awful at it.
“How have you been?” Remus asked pointedly.
“I’ve been good! What about you?” somehow Patton’s smile was even more false than before.
“You’ve been good?” Remus cocked an eyebrow.
“Yeah!”
“You’ve been good and normal?”
“Mm-hm!”
“Normal and not weird?”
“Nope!”
“Nothing weird happened to you lately?”
“Nuh-uh!” But Patton was looking at the floor now.
“Not even last Tuesday?”
“Umm…”
“AH-HA! So it did happen to you too!” he almost shrieked.
“Remus, keep your voice down! Yeah, it did, but it seems to be back to normal now! So… it’s all okay? I’ll see you later?” He turned to go.
Remus sighed, defeated.
“Was it really that bad to be me for a day?”
Patton stopped in his tracks, paused for a long moment and finally said,
“No, actually. I rode your bike.”
Remus smiled. “I could tell you’d moved it.”
Another awkward silence. Remus forced himself to ask the question that had been eating at his mind for nine days.
“Pat… and you don’t have to answer this…”
Patton already felt the colour rise to his cheeks.
“By the end of the day, I felt like… is that normal for you?”
“Some days, yeah.”
“I… I could never tell.”
Patton shrugged.
“You don’t have to hide it, you know. Does it hurt right now?”
“Not really, but I can feel it starting to.”
“Please go home and rest.”
“Yeah, I think I’m actually gonna. Being you taught me I need rest days sometimes. If I try and push through it makes it ten times worse.”
Being Patton had taught Remus some valuable lessons, too. But his heart broke as he realised that being in Remus’ body had maybe given Patton one of the first pain-free days of his life.
“Ok. That sounds like a good idea.”
Remus clearly wasn’t wanted here. He turned to leave, and was just contemplating what he should eat for dinner when he heard Patton’s voice call after him.
“Re, wait!”
He turned around just in time for Patton to practically run into him. Oh, wait - this was a hug? Patton was hugging him?
“I’m sorry,” he said into Remus’ shirt.
“What for?”
“For acting like a real…” Patton visibly struggled to find a word “…b-hole towards you! I thought you’d be careless in my body. But… I got to class the next day and no one asked me where I’d been. You didn’t trigger a bad flare-up. I woke up hugging Hoppy! You… actually looked after me! If anyone was careless, it was me!”
“You rode around on my bike and ordered pizza? Pat, were they really the most careless things you could think of to do? Sounds like an average day in my life! Do you think you should’ve worked on my painting? Wanted to feel productive, Patty?”
“No, of course not, I wouldn’t dream of -“
“Yeah, correct answer! In fact, if you’d touched it I would’ve bashed your little head in with that spike ball prop thing from Roman’s show!”
Patton looked completely horrified.
“Joking! Pat, of course I’m joking, don’t look like that!”
“Sorry!”
“And stop apologising so fucking much! I don’t even work on the painting every day, only when I feel inspired. Some days I just… do nothing! Sounds like you needed a rest day, too. Like you actually had fun, even by my standards! Well… apart from the going to sleep early. And sober. But other than that, sounds like we both did what the other would normally do. Sounds like… actually, we know each other pretty well.”
He thought of suggesting that they should get to know each other better some time, but maybe he’d save that for when Patton wasn’t having a flare-up.
Tentatively, Remus’ hand found Patton’s curls, even softer than he remembered. Patton’s little sigh was all the answer he needed for right now.
Maybe all of this had been for a reason.
hope you enjoyed <333 -Fliss
title: "and others feed the ground" rating: T genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending warnings: migraines, panic attacks, food, logan angst, platonic analogical and platonic logicality vibes description: It takes a while for Logan to realize that if he wants anything to get better, if he wants the others to talk to him and comfort him the way he desperately craves it...
Well. They aren't mind readers, now are they? He's going to have to tell them. (lyrics from faith marie "toxic thoughts", idea from @gammija and their post here !!)
Oh, dear, I don't wanna be a burden But could you please be a little more concerned with The overactive mind of a believer The toxic thoughts of an overachiever
i.
Logan's not even sure what starts him off this time. Something- there's something about the interplay between Roman and Dec- Janus and Thomas- and it just makes him feel like he's about to burst free of his skin suit. Everything is suddenly too much, and he can't take it. He can't take another day of being ignored, of being pushed aside, because Thomas refused to listen to reason. And he understands, or at least, he tries to, he tries to remember that Thomas is a much more fanciful person than Logan can even comprehend, that creativity and fantasy and the lofty ideals of 'self care' are important to him.
But self care is also doing things like a load of laundry. Or the dishes. Or vacuuming. It's eating a vegetable and a fruit or two. It's drinking water, even if you need to add a dash of flavoring in some way. It's going to bed at a reasonable time.
He would have thought De- Janus would have been on his side about this, but for some reason, the idea of Thomas going to a late night movie with Nico when he has done nothing all weekend has turned Janus's brain off, and he thinks it would be "good for Thomas's mental health."
And if someone could actually explain how that were possible, he would back down. He would understand. But he needs...something. Something more. Something than "why don't you ever think of Thomas, Logan" as if Logan can do anything else.
It doesn't help that Roman and Dece- Janus argue all the time, even when they agree, so Logan also has a pounding headache developing. He does not want to be here anymore. He does not want to stand here, trying not to clutch at his tie or his pockets too tightly, while he feels like his skin is buzzing and wants to be removed post haste, and like everything is too loud. He knows that it is objectively not loud enough to damage his eardrums. But it feels like it must be, and he doesn't like that. It makes him unsettled. Wrong.
Logan doesn't want to be wrong.
"Thomas, do what you like," he blurts out, the others' words coming to a jangling halt as everyone stops to peer at him, looks of confusion and/or annoyance stamped on everyone's faces. "I require- ehm- goodbye."
And with that, cheeks burning in shame, Logan sinks out, collapsing into a puddle on the neat blue covers of his bed.
That could have gone so much better, he berates himself. The sting of tears in the corners of his eyes is unacceptable. Disgusting. He's better than this. This is not logical. There is nothing to cry over!
But he can't seem to stem the steady, slow drip of tears down his cheeks, not even when he hugs a pillow to his chest, or tugs the covers loosely over his hips. It feels better (his skin is no longer vibrating, his ears are no longer overwhelmed), but he's still...wrong.
Logic is wrong.
He doesn't know how to fix it. This has- it's been coming up for a while, over and over, and he doesn't know how to fix it. He's afraid he can't fix it. There's no way to fix it. And one day, Logan will just shatter into a thousand pieces and never be able to glue himself back together.
Footsteps, in the hallway. Logan freezes. He can't bear it right now if someone opens the door. There's a light tap, a pause, and then another light tap. Virgil. It's Virgil outside Logan's door. Virgil was up there with him, but seemed even more anxious than Logan at the proposal on the table.
"Logan?" comes Virgil's voice, soft and hesitant. "Are you in there? Are you alright?"
This is a familiar dance. Logan stifles a sigh in his pillow.
"I'm fine," he calls back. He ruthlessly shoves down the desire that follows, the one that pleads silently for Virgil to not believe him, to open the door anyway, to hug him or maybe just sit quietly with him, to listen to him, to watch documentaries with him (he always enjoys Virgil's colorfully scathing commentary). To just be there, be a comforting presence, reassure him that he's not wrong for being frustrated, he's not wrong for feeling ignored...
But, as it usually goes-
"Okay, if you're sure," Virgil calls dutifully back. Logan listens to his footsteps retreat down the hallway. He sighs, pretending the ache in his throat is from earlier. Maybe it is. Maybe he just didn't notice until now. It is preposterous to think that Logic requires something as inane as a hug.
ii.
It's not even a video session with Thomas that upsets him this time. It is Remus, bursting dramatically into the kitchen and shoving past Logan, causing him to spill his coffee down his shirt. Thankfully, it is no longer piping hot, and he will not suffer any injury.
Unfortunately, it's still humiliating to be standing there, watching Remus try to wash his own backside through his pants with the kitchen sponge, as Roman tries to wrestle it away from him, and Patton and Janus exchange amused looks. He's certain at least one of those looks is directed at him. Because he must look absolutely ridiculous like this. How can anyone take him and what he has to say seriously, when he is damp and espresso-scented? His face flames.
He knows it was an accident and that logically, this should not affect anyone's opinion of him one bit. But this is the other sides he's talking about, and they operate on emotions all the time. Logan doesn't think he can bear it, if anyone laughs at him. He just can't. Call it a failure if you want, he certainly feels like one.
"Logan!" Patton exclaims, finally realizing what's happened. "Hey-"
Logan sinks out without a word, disappearing into his attached bathroom so that he can remove his coffee-drenched shirt and tie. It has even splattered over his pants, he realizes with dismay, shucking them off, too. It is uncomfortable, left in his underwear, but he will manage. He always does.
He has just finished dealing with his stained outfit and started to put on a clean one, when someone knocks on the door. It's a quick, enthusiastic rat-a-tat-tat, and he knows who it is even before they open their mouth.
"Oh, Logan, sweetie, are you okay? It wasn't hot, was it? Are you hurt? Should I come in?"
"I'm fine, Patton," Logan almost snaps back, as he adjusts his tie in the mirror. "It wasn't hot. I will be fine."
"Well..." Patton trails off. Longing suddenly swells in Logan, fierce and painful. He doesn't even know what he wants, not really, just not...this. He wants Patton to tell him that it's okay, to help him get a fresh cup of coffee, to provide that soft stream of chatter that Logan enjoys so much in the right headspace. To make jam thumbprint cookies with him later, perhaps, the ones with Crofters, where he's not laughed at or mocked for enjoying their jam. The room where 'infinitesimal' goes to die.
But the words die in his throat, unspoken, and Patton leaves. Logan lets his head fall against the wall, frustration building up in his head in a whole new way.
It's not fair. He can't articulate why, but it's just not.
Patton wouldn't do it anyway, probably. Logan is probably being ridiculous about a simple spill. It's fine.
iii.
It doesn't help the next day that Virgil gets a panic attack in the middle of the living room.
They're all piled in there, working on various activities. Logan is on his laptop, studiously attempting to rearrange Thomas's schedule to fit in all he needs to do (it's not going well), and Patton's curled up on the couch, scrolling through his phone and looking at cat and dog videos (the sound is on low, but Logan knows a meow when he hears it). Roman and Remus are bent over something in the corner, arguing in relatively quiet tones (for them, that is), and Janus is sipping a cup of tea, head slightly tilted and bobbing along to what appears to be music no one else can hear. He also keeps snickering into his glove when Remus makes a particularly scathing or witty reply.
And then there's Virgil. Virgil, slouched on the floor with his phone, but when Logan glances up for a moment, he notices that Virgil's hands are trembling, barely able to hold onto the device. The eye shadow under Virgil's eyes is darkening on its own, streaking down his cheeks.
"Virgil?" Logan speaks, concern spiking.
"I-" Virgil's phone drops, unheeded, to the carpet, as he wraps his arms around his bent knees, burying his face in them. He's still shaking, and Logan can hear a sob or two escape.
"Sweetheart," Patton exclaims, alarmed, as he hurries over. He doesn't touch Virgil, not yet, but he sits down near him. "Breathe, sweetie," Patton says, but Virgil seems too far gone to notice.
"Patton," Logan says. Patton looks up at him, wide-eyed behind his glasses. "Patton, tap the rhythm on his hand," Logan continues, demonstrating on his own wrist. "Four, seven, eight. There you go." Patton's shoulders straighten with determination as he begins firmly tapping it out, matching taps with his words.
When Logan looks back up, Janus is staring at him, a little pale around the mouth.
"Terrible suggestion indeed, Logan," De- Janus murmurs, but he can see the uncertainty in Janus's mismatched eyes, the way his gaze keeps tracking what's happening with the anxious side. Roman and Remus haven't noticed, but that might be because Remus has just poured an entire bucket of neon green slime over Roman's head.
"You scoundrel!" is all Logan hears Roman shout, before he turns his attention back to Virgil and Patton. Virgil's breathing has slowed down, though it is still a little shaky. He keeps apologizing for his tears in between breaths, and it hurts to hear that, just a little. Hurts to hear that Virgil still considers himself such a burden, for such things as crying. Of course Virgil can cry. He should cry. It only makes sense.
"Thanks, Pat," Virgil says, once he's finally calmed down and caught his breath. "I owe you one."
"Oh, of course you don't," Patton says, squeezing him against his own side. Virgil is pliant under Patton's grip. Clearly accepting of the moral side's hugs. Logan doesn't understand what that's like. He thinks he wants to.
"Logan reminded me to tap the breathing pattern, by the way!" Patton adds on. Virgil looks up, and Logan freezes, struck by the gratitude in Virgil's face.
"Thanks, Lo," Virgil says. His smile is soft. Logan's face goes red.
"Any time," he says stiffly.
iv.
Logan feels horrible.
He had been ignoring it all day, certain that he could persevere through the tasks required for this afternoon, but his migraine apparently had other plans, for it's knocked him flat. No pre-video meeting, no calendar adjustments, no going over anything, no editing.
No, it's time for Logan to lie in his dark room and try not to whimper too loudly in pain. Because that will only make it hurt more. Not to mention the nausea that surges up his throat every time he thinks of doing anything.
He's heard footsteps all day, people passing each other in the hallway, so he doesn't think of anything unusual with the next pair, until they tap on his door.
"Logan?" It's Patton again. "I haven't seen you all day...is everything okay? Are you in there?"
For a moment, Logan can't help but fantasize. Can't help but imagine Patton creaking open the door, hands already full of the perfect tray of migraine remedies. Patton would bustle around and fluff up his pillows and help him take some pain medicine. He would be quiet, calming, let Logan get some rest, while still being present. He wouldn't be alone anymore. Perhaps they could even nap together, could wrap themselves up in his comforter and cuddle until Patton is called away on other duties. Sleep always helps his migraines.
He wants to curl up and rest his head on Patton's shoulder and drift off to sleep. His eyes sting again as he realizes that he hasn't even answered the other side yet.
"I'm okay," Logan croaks back. "Just- bad headache. It will ease soon," he lies. He has no idea how long it will last. It could be hours, or days, or even weeks. He hopes it is not weeks. That would be near impossible, if he could not handle his duties anymore. What would Thomas think?
"Tell me if you need anything," Patton adds, and retreats back down the hall. Logan groans, wishing to be incinerated on the spot. Why is he being like this? He could have all of the comfort he desired if he could just make himself ask for it.
Maybe it isn't logical to have all of these feelings. Surely, logically, he can ignore the yearning for comfort, the desire for a soothing word. To be taken care of, the way he sees the others take care of each other. Maybe it's unreasonable to assume that anyone wants to hear how dismissal makes him feel.
But he is not just Logic. He is Logan.
And Logan wants a hug.
And maybe it is logical, instead, not to assume that the others will just know what he wants. Hasn't he demanded his boundaries be respected this whole time? Haven't they tried? Has he not seen the effort put forth to not just assume what he wants or needs, and instead rely on him to tell them?
Logan would have groaned if he wasn't in so much pain.
Is this all a problem of his own making?
v.
If it is, it's not as easy as just opening his mouth and asking for comfort. He discovers that quickly the next morning, when he comes down the stairs, still bleary-eyed and groggy from his migraine the previous day, to see Patton bustling around the kitchen, making breakfast. He's already started the coffee going, and the familiar smell makes Logan's eyes sting.
"Logan!" Patton exclaims when he spots him, setting the spatula down and coming forward, stopping just shy of him. It hits him that Patton has still made an effort to keep his voice quiet. "How's your head? Did the migraine go away?"
"It is adequate," Logan says, clearing his throat. "And it- it seems to have finished, yes." You could ask now, his heart suggests. He is not accustomed to trying to listen to it. Go on, ask for a hug.
Patton turns back to the eggs he is absolutely not burning (they're meant to look like that), and Logan clears his throat again. This cannot be that difficult. The others do it all the time. Virgil does it all the time, and he is the embodiment of anxiety.
"Patton, could I-" The words stick in his throat, clogging up his vocal cords. Patton looks back at him, inquisitive.
"Yes, Logan?"
"Get past you to the mugs," falls out of Logan's defeated mouth.
"Of course!" Patton chirps, squeezing himself closer to the stove. "There you go!" With nothing else to do but what he's said, Logan slips past Morality to snag a mug. His favorite is already washed and in the cupboard. The dark blue one with constellations.
"Thank you," Logan says. It is not just for the cleared path to the mugs.
As he sits at the table, watching Patton make breakfast (he would offer to help, but Patton has a system, apparently, and Logan isn't entirely sure what it is) and sipping his coffee, he ponders. All right. If simply blurting it out won't work, then what will? Does he need to practice in the mirror instead? He has achieved some success with practicing cue cards in the mirror before.
Is it too much to start with asking Patton? Perhaps he could ask someone else first? He has had several pleasant conversations with Virgil before. And Virgil doesn't feel the need to fill a room with noise, either. They have passed many days and evenings simply sitting quietly, doing their own things. Yet he knows that Virgil enjoys things like hugs, so he would not be demanding too much of someone touch averse, he thinks.
It is not much of a plan, especially not for him, but Logan isn't entirely sure what else to do. He could try to research it, how to communicate his wants and needs more effectively, but the simplest way to do that is to encourage Thomas to research those things, and while he would be delighted if Thomas did that, he thinks it would raise questions with the others.
Later, Logan finally determines, as the others fill the kitchen, noisy and jostling each other for space. Virgil slides into a chair next to him and gives him a tired nod. The shadows under his eyes are worse this morning, suggesting a sleepless night.
"Good morning," Logan tells him quietly. "You look like you could use some coffee."
"I'll get it in a sec," Virgil says, with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Migraine gone?" He adds, peering at Logan. Logan nods. Virgil smiles at him. "Wicked," he says, then faceplants into the table.
vi.
"I would appreciate it if we could exchange a hug," Logan carefully recites, staring at himself in the mirror on the wall. He looks like the robotic puppet he was turned into, he realizes with disgust.
"Could you hug me?" He tries again. "I would like one. If that is alright, of course. I would never want to pressure you or demand an expression of comfort if-"
No, that's terrible, too. He can practically see Patton's face scrunch up in confusion, or Roman laugh at him. The worst part is, he thinks Roman would still hug him. But how could he enjoy it then? After being mocked? Laughed at? It already feels sometimes like the others' continued dismissal of him and his purpose hurts far more than Remus's physical weaponry. Remus can chuck knives and explosives at Logan all he wants, they have no effect.
But words?
Logan swallows. His face is pale in the mirror. He has lines on his forehead and around his eyes. Faint shadows under his eyes. He looks tired. He grabs hold of his own elbows, shoulders slumping inward.
"Could I have a hug?" He asks his reflection. "I don't feel well."
He brightens. Could that- is that enough-
It has to be, right? It sounds similar enough to some of the things he has heard the others say. Roman is usually more melodramatic, at least if it comes to physical malady. Virgil usually just makes grabby hands at whoever's closest. He's not sure what Janus or Remus do. Remus has fallen on Roman's head from the ceiling before. Is that a call to physical comfort or physical violence? Or both? Patton's unbelievably cuddly, always wanting to hold hands or pat someone's back or brush their hair away from their face.
But that is not all Logan needs to practice.
"That...hurt my feelings," he tries to say, but the words are stiff, stilted. They don't come out properly. They hitch in his throat, make his chest ache. Like he's not allowed to say them. Like he's not allowed to have them.
Someone taps on his door.
"Video rehearsal!" Roman's exuberant tones carry through the wood. "Come on, Specs!"
"Coming," Logan calls back, striving to control his tone. He looks at his reflection and straightens his tie. He still looks tired, but that can't be helped. Hopefully the others will chalk it up to his migraine. Hopefully Thomas will chalk it up to that.
vii.
By thirty minutes in, Logan's head is pounding again. He feels physically ill. The arguments are the same he's always heard, and he's so tired of being ignored. Of being pushed aside. Like Thomas doesn't need his contributions. Like Thomas doesn't need logical thinking. He doesn't understand. They've been through all of this before. Do they not know that it's hurting him, or do they simply not care?
After a particularly scathing crack about his schedule writing skills from Creativity, Logan's simply had enough. He'd like to see Roman write them. Hasn't he been trying recently? To remember that Thomas needs space to create, as well? To let Roman have his moment, his "time in the spotlight," as it were? Has Logan not encouraged him to let his brother assist? To stop dismissing Remus's contributions as nothing but pointless, juvenile drivel? He doesn't see the point of creativity, not really, but he knows Thomas does. He wants what's best for Thomas.
Logan's tried so hard and it's all- it doesn't matter, it's pointless, and he-
He sinks out without a word. All of his practice attempts in front of the mirror mock him. As if anyone would hug him now. As if anyone would want to listen to his point of view now. He's behaving like a child throwing a temper tantrum, just leaving without even saying anything this time. Tears spill down reddened cheeks as he sits glumly on the edge of the bed.
And then Virgil knocks on the door.
"Lo?" He calls, and the sound is so gentle. "Are you okay? What happened?"
Logan opens his mouth, ready to say that he's fine, then pauses. Is this also not practice?
"No, I'm not," he says instead, forcing out the words. "I- I am tired of being mocked. I- I am frustrated, and I do not like it."
"Lo, can I come in?" Virgil asks. Logan nods, then remembers Virgil can't see him.
"Yes, you may," Logan says. Virgil gently turns the doorknob, opening the door and slipping inside. He closes the door behind him, something Logan appreciates. He doesn't want anybody to gawk at his possible emotional breakdown.
"Hey," Virgil says softly. "Can I sit next to you?" Now, Logan nods. Virgil sits down gingerly on the edge of his comforter and bumps his shoulder against Logan's.
"You know, I thought no one would ever listen to me if I wasn't an asshole," Virgil says, seemingly out of nowhere. "It's taken a really long time to figure out I don't have to do that. That maybe people will just...listen to me, if we can all actually, y'know, talk. Better said than done in this mind palace, I know, but yeah. You helped with that."
"I don't think I know how to do that," Logan says. His voice is hoarse. "I- I was practicing earlier." He reddens out to his ears at the admission.
"Yeah?" Virgil asks. He smiles at Logan. "What did you practice?"
"Can I have a hug?" Logan asks in a small voice. "I don't feel well."
"Of course you can," Virgil says, and wraps hoodie-clad arms around Logan. The position is slightly awkward, and Logan doesn't know what to do with himself, but it is warm and soft and he-
He really likes it.
"Do you think you'd like a movie night?" Virgil asks, not letting go. "We could watch one of your favorites."
"As long as Roman does not rig the vote in favor of Frozen again," Logan replies, his voice muffled. Virgil laughs. "I refuse to watch that movie again."
"Same, bestie," Virgil says. He shifts, and Logan is speaking before he realizes he is.
"Please don't let go yet."
"I won't," Virgil says, his voice soft. "I've got you, Logan."
"Thank you," Logan says. He is exhausted again. He knows this is only the beginning, that he will have to practice this like any other skill. He will have to work at it, because it does not come naturally. But maybe-
Maybe he can still succeed.
Patton: HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE!!!
Thomas: What's up with Patton?
Logan: He's trying to yell mental health and well-being into us.
Patton: I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU!!!
Roman, teary: ... It's working.
Patton: Hey Logan, what are the strongest days of the week?
Logan: I’m not sur—
Patton: Saturday and Sunday! The rest are WEAK days!
Logan:
Patton: :D
Patton: Hey come back-
Patton: I would fight a bear for you! Though, not a grizzly one, or a panda bear, maybe just a care bear?
Logan: Ah, the bear minimum.
Patton:
Logan, a small smile on his face:
Patton: This is the best day of my life.
Remus: I can take a bear too, if you know what I mean!
Logan: What do you mean?
Roman, dragging Remus away: And that's enough inside time for today, OUT.
Yk what I cant stop thinking ab.. logan gave Patton the hoodie he wears over shoulders all the time, even though it was mostly just to update his costume.. HE WEARS IT EVERYWHERE EVERYDAY. DO YOU GUYS GET WHAT IM SAYING?
logan is in physical pain but he doesn’t want to upset patton
