#aamour

“Just making sure.”

Next to Patton, Valerie shovelled a spoonful of chocolate pudding into her mouth before giving Patton a big grin. “So what had you so distracted there, Mister Plato?” she teased, poking the plastic spoon in Patton’s direction.

“Oh, you know… just thinking,” was the vague reply, delivered offhandedly as he glanced at the empty spot beside Sloane. Contrary to his previous protest, he still seemed distracted. “Where did Corbin go?”

“Bathroom, I think. Or maybe he just got tired of waiting for you to tell us what you were thinking about,” said Valerie, tossing any semblance of subtlety out the window with a raise of her brows. There was an expectant lull in the conversation as the two friends waited for Patton to fill them in. When it became clear that he wasn’t about to, she turned to Sloane with a roll of her eyes. “Guess we have to figure this out on our own. Hmm, let’s see. What new factors have entered Patton’s life recently that could be distracting him this much?”

Sloane caught the meaningful lilt in his feisty friend’s voice without missing a beat. “Well, I can think of at least one thing. One person, to be precise.” He tapped his chin with another fry, pretending to think hard. “What was his name again?”

“Leonard? Liam? Maybe Luke? Something with an L. Cute tutor guy, right? The one with the swoopy hair and —”

“And dreamy eyes —”

“Okay, alright, fine! Enough!” broke in Patton, red as a tomato. “First of all, his name is Logan, okay? Which I know you know — Sloane, he’s in the same grade as you, for crying out loud!” 

Sloane, to his credit, at least had the decency to pretend to be sheepish, even if his best efforts couldn’t mask the impish gleam in his eye. The same could not be said of Valerie. “So you were thinking about him!” she said, triumphant. “Damn, I’m good.”

“Um, actually, no. For once.” The tips of his ears had begun reverting to their regular shade for a moment, but now the bright red glow returned, twice as strong as before. The words hanging on Patton’s lips couldn’t get out fast enough. “I mean, don’t get me wrong — I’ll be the first to admit that he does have just the cutest hair and eyes, and he’s super smart, which is obviously a plus, and it’s so adorable the way that he’s always adjusting his glasses and necktie as if they’re not already perfectly in line with the rest of his outfit — hey, speaking of, have you noticed how you never see him wear the same necktie twice? Where is he even getting those things from? D’you think he might have some kind of secret necktie stash or—?”

“Patton. Breathe.”

“Right, okay, sorry, I... yeah." Patton clamped his lips together as he sucked in a huge breath through his nose, grateful for the timely reminder. What were we talking about again?

“You’re still avoiding the question,” supplied Valerie. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. If it’s not thoughts of cute necktie tutor guy distracting you, then...?” 

“Oh! Well, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this to you guys yet, but there’s this one really nice guy who works at the library where Logan and I meet up for our sessions. His name is Virgil. Super sweet guy, really cool nails.”

“Aha!” Valerie leaned forward. “So Logan’s getting some competition now, is that it?”

Patton laughed freely at that. “Oh, no — ha! — no way. He’s, like, twenty years old; pretty much the same as Roman, probably. No, we’re just friends. At least,” he added, furrowing his brow, “I think we’re friends. He seems pretty shy, though, and we’ve only really talked twice, so maybe he doesn’t actually consider me a friend yet?”

“Acquaintances, then.”

“Sure. Close acquaintances. Anyway, we were having a pretty nice chat while I was waiting for my mom to come pick me up from my session yesterday. He kind of fell asleep halfway through, but —”

“Back up,” Sloane interrupted, “fell asleep?” At Patton’s nod: “Sheesh, man. I thought you said he was this ‘super sweet person’.” He made little air quotes with his fingers as he spoke. “Checking out mid-chat doesn’t exactly scream sweetness. You’re sure you’re not just too nice to realize his true colours or whatever?”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t jump to conclusions yet. I was just about to get to that. See, the poor guy had an absolutely exhausting day yesterday. He told me all about it after his, uh, energy crash. Because I invited him to, not because he just decided on his own to go ahead and dump his worries on me,” Patton added as he saw Sloane readying another protest. “But, see, here’s the thing: I don’t think that the whole streak of bad luck was the only reason for Virgil’s stormy mood yesterday. I mean, maybe I’m just overthinking, but both times I’ve talked to him so far, he’s just had this kind of… permanent tiredness. Not as in I-want-to-take-a-nap tired. This feels way deeper than that. Almost hollow.

“You should see the way Virgil carries himself. His shoulders are always curled in, for one, like if he makes himself smaller, the empty whateverness inside of him will get smaller too. And he keeps his hands really close to his chest when he’s not typing or knitting or something, like he always needs to be ready to shield himself from someone trying to reach in and tear that hole any larger. And he never smiles without ducking his head a little, as if...”

Noticing for the first time since he’d begun his strange monologue how blank his friends’ faces had grown, Patton trailed off sheepishly. 

“You know what? Never mind,” he dismissed. “I didn’t mean for that to get so heavy. Sorry. Um, so yeah.” Patton shifted in his seat uncomfortably he continued while he turned to address Valerie, who was so lost that her eyes were fixed on a point above Patton’s head as she tried to understand.

“Patton, if I may…”

Oh, wait. So that’s what Valerie was staring at! Hearing the new voice join their conversation, Patton turned around with a delighted smile. “Corbin, you’re back!” he cheered, all thoughts of holes in chests disappearing to the back of his mind as he leapt to his feet to greet the new arrival.

“Oh my g— you’re just as bad as Sloane,” grumbled Corbin in response before sliding back into his spot next to his boyfriend. Contrary to the studious disinterest he’d been feigning at first, Corbin couldn’t resist giving Sloane a quick but affectionate smooch on the cheek. He waited until his arm was wrapped securely around his boyfriend’s shoulder before continuing, the sting of his words somewhat dampened by the way Sloane was already nestling into the crook of his arm, almost purring in contentment. “Seriously, do none of you have any chill? At all? I was gone for less than five minutes.” 

“Sure, but I missed you!” Patton said with a pout.

“Looks like you didn’t miss my pretzel sticks,” shot back Corbin, gesturing to the now-empty container in the middle of the table. “That was basically full when I left!”

“Sorry, Corbin,” chorused the three friends, not sounding sorry in the slightest. 

“Yeah, yeah, save it. Anyway,” continued Corbin, turning to Patton, “I couldn’t help but overhear your desperate plight.”

“He means he was eavesdropping.”

Corbin lifted an eyebrow at his boyfriend’s interruption. “It’s not eavesdropping if I would have been a part of the conversation in the first place anyway!”

“Mm, not how it works.”

“You shush or I’m taking this arm away.” Taking Sloane’s protesting whine as a sign of surrender, Corbin returned his attention to his cousin. “Patton, I totally get where you’re coming from. I think that this library guy just needs a friend.”

Patton’s forehead creased. “A friend? But I’ve already been trying to be his friend!”

“Yeah, but… look, obviously, it’s great that you’re already spending time with this guy —”

“Virgil.”

“— sure — spending time with Virgil after your sessions. Super thoughtful of you. But honestly, you know as well as I do that half an hour of small talk twice a week is hardly enough time to really get to know someone.” Corbin idly messed with Sloane’s hair as he spoke. “Not that I don’t think those half-hours are helping — I’m sure they are! I just… you said that he’s older than us, right?”

Still listening attentively, Patton nodded. “A few years.”

“Well, then, maybe you could try introducing him to someone else around the same age. Someone with a little more control over their own schedule than a high school student would have. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Uh… sure do.” Patton did not.

A fact which did not escape his cousin’s notice. Corbin exhaled. “Alright, here’s the thing. It’s not that I doubt your ability to befriend someone older than you. I know you, Patton, you could probably make friends with a rock if you put your mind to it. Actually, scratch that — you have made friends with a rock, haven’t you? Remember Percy and Pierre, your ‘twin’ pebbles from when you were in, what, grade two?”

In spite of himself, Patton laughed. He remembered, all right. “Pretty sure I might have paid more attention to the well-being of those rocks than I did to myself.”

“Okay, yeah, see? That’s my point exactly. You’re a really friendly, caring, all-around great guy — impossible not to like. But if I’ve learned anything from all those post-secondary preparation lectures they make you attend in twelfth grade, it’s that uni students’ schedules and high school ones don’t always mix; they might be busy in the mornings and evenings with classes and work, but have most of their afternoon open, or vice versa. It’s a mess.” Corbin shrugged. “Hey, if anyone could make a friendship thrive under those weird hours, it’s you. But I still think it might be a better idea to find someone who’s around the same age as this Virgil guy.”

While Patton thoughtfully processed his cousin’s suggestion, the table lapsed into comfortable silence for a spell. Across the table, Valerie finished the last of her chicken and rice. It was as she was screwing the lid back onto her thermos that a question appeared to hit her. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Valerie had to give voice to her curiosity: “Hey, Corbin, it seems like you really know what you’re talking about. If it’s alright to ask, why is that? Are you speaking from experience, or...?”

She trailed off as both she and Patton noticed the worried expression Sloane now wore. He shifted on the cafeteria bench to glance up at Corbin. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to,” he murmured.

“No, it’s fine.” Corbin punctuated his words with another bite of his apple, which he took his time chewing, carefully formulating his answer before swallowing to speak again: “When I first entered ninth grade — so, two years ago, you and Pat would’ve still been in seventh — I was... going through a bit of a rough patch. That was around the time my dad packed his stuff, and a few weeks later, my mother started to drink. A lot more than she should have, probably. 

“Patton, you might remember that we weren’t at the family reunion that Christmas. That’s because neither of us were in any shape to go to a party; things had gotten really messy at home, to the point where I was skipping school almost every day to make sure she didn’t — uh, to take care of her.” Corbin rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Long, long, long story short? First semester of high school was not a great time.”

Valerie blew out her cheeks. “That... sucks, Corbin. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. Things got better.” Down came Corbin’s hand as he glanced at Sloane, whose head hadn’t moved from Corbin’s shoulder since he sat down. The moment his eyes fell on his boyfriend’s face, it was almost as if Patton could see his walls coming down, too. “And believe it or not, the improvement began in History class, of all possible places.”

“Our teacher’s seating plan put us next to each other.”

“I was trying to get some dramatic buildup going there, but… yeah, basically. My home situation was a little better by second semester, so I started coming to class more often. Sloane moved from Clivesdale right around the same time. As luck would have it, he wound up next to me for homeroom. The fresh transfer and the kid who never came to school. Probably the only thing we had in common besides a similar desk arrangement was the fact that neither of us had any friends, though not for lack of trying on Sloane’s part.”

“I baked cookies for everyone my second week there! Cookies, and no one besides Corbin even tried one!”

“Dang, so that’s how your whole love story began? Cookies?” quipped Valerie. “Those must’ve been some good baked goods.”

Corbin snorted. “No. I mean, yeah, they were good cookies, but it would have taken a tray a day to break through the angst-barriers shielding me from the rest of the world back then. No, it was that dumb A Moment in Time project. You know, the one where you and a partner have to prepare a full-length presentation to ‘transform the classroom’ and ‘take your peers back’ to a decade they assign you?”

Patton nodded. He remembered it well. 

“Man, I have no idea where they come up with this stuff. Anyway, the point is, being the only ones in the class who had no pre-established connections with any other classmates, the two of us were kind of forced to partner up through process of elimination.” The last of Corbin’s apple slices gone, he paused to slide the container back into his lunchbox. 

Sloane picked up the narrative where he’d left off: “I ended up inviting Corbin over to my house, I think about two days before the deadline? I told him it was to put some finishing touches on our Swing in the Roaring Twenties poster, but honestly, I just wanted to get to know him a little better.”

“We both knew it was an excuse—”

“He never suspected a thing.”

“I absolutely did.”

“Not a clue. Nada. There’s a reason they call me Sloane the slick.”

“No one calls you that,” insisted Corbin. “Besides, I knew all along. Our posters had been done for a week.”

Sloane gave Corbin a playful nudge. “Then why’d you agree to come, hmm?”

“I guess... because a part of me didn’t hate the idea of having a friend,” Corbin had to concede. “Actually, I’m not sure what I was expecting to get out of our little meeting, but a total mental breakdown at a near-stranger’s house definitely wasn’t it. Took both of us by surprise. I’m… still not entirely sure why it happened.” 

Patton had his suspicions; he’d met Sloane’s mother before, and she was the epitome of sweet and affectionate. His voice softened. “Aw, Corbs.” 

To his surprise, though, Corbin smiled. “There I was, a snivelling mess on the carpet of a guy who until then had been a friendly acquaintance at best, but instead of judging me or getting uncomfortable, Sloane just… sat with me. Listened. And eventually, gave me comfort when I was ready for it. That’s where this quote-’love story’ began, Valerie — having someone to lean on was so helpful in getting me through the rest of the year, and by the time my mom finally cleaned up her act, our relationship had long since moved from partners in History class to, well, partners in just about every other sense.” 

“Corbin’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Sloane added. “Man’s witty, sweet, and so easy to talk to it’s stupid. All I really wanted after transferring here was a casual friend or two. Corbin turned out to be way more than that; he’s been my rock. My loneliness-b-gone, know what I’m sayin’? Nothing can mess with my funky flow when he’s around.”

“Hey, Sloane?” 

“Yeah?”

The corners of Corbin’s eyes crinkled affectionately. “That didn’t make any sense.”

***

By the third time the lead on the tip of his pencil snapped off, Patton could no longer ignore the voice in his head telling him to just give up for the night. He pushed his homework to the side and closed his eyes in a lazy attempt to calm the headache that had been steadily growing over the past half hour. This effort — if you could even call it that — proved futile; the image of the trigo-whatsit cosine graph he’d been staring at moments before was burned firmly in his mind’s eye. If he focused hard enough, he could even make out a colourful impression of the curvy lines faintly floating against the dark backdrop his eyelids provided. 

Patton yawned, wishing he hadn’t left his math homework for last. Talk about not making sense.

The bizarre pseudo-graph starting to psych him out, Patton opened his eyes back up with a yawn. His gaze landed on something bright blue: the cat-eared case of his phone, lying face down on the other side of his little desk so as not to distract him from the homework he was supposed to be doing. 

Fat lot of good that had done him. He’d been eyeing the thing all evening. 

Try as he might, Patton couldn’t get his lunchtime conversation with his friends out of his mind. Corbin’s story in particular had given him a lot to think about regarding Virgil’s predicament, and it hadn’t been very long after when Patton realized he knew exactly what to do. The answer was blindingly obvious in hindsight, really. 

Admittedly, he had yet to actually act upon his “master plan” — he’d been pushing the thing aside in favor of trying to make sense of his math work for most of the day. But now that Patton had, er, selflessly decided to sacrifice the completion of said work for the greater good, nothing was left to stand in his way.

Except possibly a lack of cooperation, but he could cross that bridge when he came to it.

After the briefest of internal debates, Patton’s hand reached out to make contact with something bright blue. Moments later, the brightness of a phone screen lit his features from below:

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): rooo

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): romannnn

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): roman my mannnnnnn

TheJollyJollyFoley (7:59pm): heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

le-petty-prince (8:00pm): Sorry I was just watching the clock change from 7:59 to 8

le-petty-prince (8:00pm): What can I do for you pattington bear?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:00pm): ooh new nickname :DDD

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:01pm): anyways i just wanted to ask a question for science reasons

le-petty-prince (8:01pm): Well that sounds completely normal and not at all suspicious even the slightest amount! Ask away, O Vaguely Cryptic One

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:02pm): you ever wish you had friends

le-petty-prince (8:02pm): ???

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:02pm): wait no that came out weird let me try again

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:03pm): “how would you like to add a new friend to to your already existing large roster of many cool and awesome friends” <<< pretend thats what i said the first time pls

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:07pm): u still there?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:12pm): hello?

When a few more minutes of waiting yielded no response, Patton’s brow furrowed. What if he had accidentally offended his older brother? 

Just as he was seriously starting to worry he’d blown it, though, his phone vibrated in his hands:

le-petty-prince (8:21pm): Sorry. Back. Monet says hi

le-petty-prince (8:21pm): Anyway!! Im intrigued!

With a sigh of relief, Patton tapped out his instinctive response:

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:21pm): hi intrigued im pat ;))

le-petty-prince (8:22pm): Funny

le-petty-prince (8:22pm): Now call me crazy but something tells me there was a little more than ordinary curiosity motivating this Friend Roster Expansion hypothetical

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): science reasons, roman, i told you

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): ..but yeah also another less sciencey thing

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:23pm): well i guess he could be sciencey? V was playing minesweeper last time we talked which seems like a smart-people kind of game but idk where exactly it would fall on the spectrum of scienciness

le-petty-prince (8:24pm): To be fair, its gotta take great courage to play minesweeper in public. Whoever this V person is, I deem them worthy of my respect

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:24pm): i assure you it was a very cool and respectable thing

le-petty-prince (8:24pm): In that case, I would be honoured to meet such an indisputably Cool Guy

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:25pm): !!! YESS

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:25pm): ok so i was thinking you and V could maybe meet up over coffee or something? theres this one really cute place that opened up recently, best cronuts youll ever taste <33

le-petty-prince (8:26pm): Ngl cronuts sound EXQUISITE right now

le-petty-prince (8:26pm): Why dont you send me their contact and I can try to schedule something, say next week?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:26pm): ooh uh

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:27pm): thats the thing

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:27pm): i kind of dont really have any of V’s contact info BUT!! he works at the library so i’ll see him on friday and i can set up a time and place for you two then!!

le-petty-prince (8:28pm): Hmmhm

le-petty-prince (8:28pm): Funky circumstances but I trust your judgement! If you like V this much then Im sure he must be a real grand guy, I cannot wait to meet him!!!

le-petty-prince (8:29pm): Oh shoot sorry I need to go, Ive got a date to get ready for. Im super into this though so we can work out the details tomorrow, capiche?

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:29pm): caposh~

TheJollyJollyFoley (8:30pm): be safe!! dont have TOOOO much fun ;)))

le-petty-prince (8:33pm): Pfft. Bye dingus

***

“I just don’t get it!”

“Heard you the first time, bud,” quipped Valerie through a wry smile and a bite of celery. “You’re absolutely sure you didn’t… I don’t know, misinterpret something?”

“Yeah, I — no! Maybe?” Patton first tossed his phone onto the cafeteria table, then his hands into the air, frustrated. “I just don’t know why the sudden change in heart, Val. You know?”

“Who knows?”

“I know!”

“Okay, no. Press pause.” All eyes at the table turned to Corbin, who in turn was squinting through his glasses at Patton. “Guys, I’m barely following. Could you maybe explain what’s going on one more time?”

“Alright, you remember how I was telling you about Virgil yesterday? Lonely librarian guy? And you told everyone your and Sloane’s backstory and recommended I play friend-Cupid and all that jazz, right?” At Corbin’s nod: “Well, I tried it with Roman, and everything seemed to be going just peachy last night. He seemed really excited! But now all of a sudden… well, here.” Patton retrieved his phone to show his tablemates the messages. “Look.” 

le-petty-prince (11:12am): As I was saying though: I do hate to rain on your parade but to be frank I think Im uhh

le-petty-prince (11:13am): Good? Friendwise I mean

le-petty-prince (11:13am): Real sweet of you to reach out though

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:13am): wait what? really??

le-petty-prince (11:14am): Sorry there are just so many complications

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Im unbelievably busy these days, for one

le-petty-prince (11:15am): So so busy

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Student life, man. Busy with college

le-petty-prince (11:15am): Essays and stuff

le-petty-prince (11:16am): Look frankly I hardly even get to see my other friends anymore, if I went through with this the chances are pretty good that Id meet him for cronuts or whatever this one time and then never find time to hang out with him again

le-petty-prince (11:16am): Which just seems boorish. It would probably do more harm than good for poor V frankly

The last text appeared as Patton’s friends were still reading; with a frown, Valerie handed Patton’s phone back to him. “He is acting kind of weird.”

“Right? I’ve got to get to the bottom of this.” Patton looked up at his friends apologetically. “Is it okay with you guys if I text at the table today?”

An indifferent shrug was his response. “Go nuts, man.”

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:17am): hey ro? can i be straight with you for a sec?

le-petty-prince (11:18am): Good luck with that

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): -_-

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): no points for the gay joke today, however tasteful it may have been. serious business here

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:18am): roman, what changed your mind really?

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Huh

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Wdym

le-petty-prince (11:19am): Didnt I just say? Haha

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:20am): mm i dont think you did

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:20am): you keep talking about “complications” and youre using the word “frankly” a lot and i know for a fact that you only ever use those words when youre hiding somethin

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:21am): nice try though!! but i did grow up in the same house as you did so im gonna need you to give it another go

le-petty-prince (11:22am): I dont know why youre being so weird about this pat

le-petty-prince (11:23am): I mean sheesh maybe I really am busy okay?

le-petty-prince (11:23am): And for the record that maybe is actually a resounding REALLY

le-petty-prince (11:23am): Look see I didnt even say anything to do with frankness that time! Absolutely zero traces of frank in this honest fellows messages right now

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:24am): -___-

le-petty-prince (11:24am): Frank? Whos that? Dont ask roman, he wouldnt be able to answer you!!

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:24am): -_______-

le-petty-prince (11:25am): Okay sorry youre right Im done

le-petty-prince (11:25am): Seriously though I dont understand how this warrants such a fuss? I just thought it over some more and realized it would actually be a bad idea to meet V for aforementioned reasons, et cetera et cetera. Why does that have to be such a big deal

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): i…

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): okay youre right i dont really know

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:26am): i guess this is just a really quick turnaround and it doesnt seem like something youd typically do??

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:27am): i mean you were all for it yesterday. you said, and i quote, “I cannot wait to meet him!!!”

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:27am): THREE exclamation marks and all!!! 

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:28am): besides, maybe college is busy but theres no reason you should be any busier now than youve always been and

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:28am): whew. sorry for being pushy. i didnt mean to sound like i dont respect your choice, ig im disappointed is all :(

le-petty-prince (11:29am): No thats ok

le-petty-prince (11:30am): Ill tell you what. You said youd see V on friday right? And todays thursday.

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:30am): uh

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:30am): yeah..

le-petty-prince (11:31am): So hows this: Ill think it over some more during rehearsal this evening, and if I have another change of heart Ill get back to you tomorrow.

TheJollyJollyFoley (11:31am): !!!!!!!!

le-petty-prince (11:32am): Its still not a yes!! 

le-petty-prince (11:32am): But… consider me solidly in Maybe territory.

le-petty-prince (11:32am): Capiche?

***

The majority of “tomorrow” had come and gone, and Patton still had yet to hear from his brother. 

He’d been glued to his phone all day, checking his messages with a near-obsessive frequency in hopes that Roman might text him to say he’d come to his senses after all… but as Patton buckled into the passenger seat of his mother’s tan SUV on its way to the library, he had to admit the odds were getting pretty slim. 

His mother, misinterpreting his solemn expression, shot him a quizzical glance out of the corner of her eye. “I thought you said the tutoring was going well.”

Before Patton could answer her, a quiet chime sounded from within his backpack — barely audible, but Patton’s ears had been piqued for it all day. Instantly, he scrambled to retrieve the bright blue source of the sound, perking up as he saw the screen was already illuminated. As Patton read over the contents of the notification, a wide grin spread across his face.

“Yeah,” Patton said out loud, addressing his mother with his words even as his fingers were already moving to type out a reply to someone else. “Tutoring’s great.”

le-petty-prince (3:44pm): Ah, what the hell. Im in.

***

A/N: me, rushing in more than a month late, starbucks cup in one hand and this update in the other: HEY GUYS DONT FORGET TO LIKE COMMENT AND RING TH -- wait where did everyone go

for real though, i'm so so sorry about how long this mediocre chapter took to go up!! this was the first chapter that i HADN'T finished the rough draft stage of during nanowrimo, and i huuuugely underestimated how long the unfinished portion would turn out to be. couple that with this weird writer's block that's been following me around wherever i go for a little over three months, and, well... you'll end up with this ^^; thank you so much for sticking with me though, and i hope it was at least semi-worth the wait?

[next chapter]

General: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas @fandersfic-patton @fandersfic-roman @fandersfic-logicality @fandersfic-prinxiety

From the moment he’d opened his eyes that morning, he knew from the silence in his dorm room that something was wrong: he’d slept in past his alarm. A lot. Though he hadn’t even stopped to entertain the notion of breakfast before leaving, Virgil ended up almost forty-five minutes late to his morning class (which of course just had to be all the way on the other side of campus) -- which would have been a bad enough start to the day on its own, but things only had only gone downhill from there. 

After finally showing up to said morning class, huffing and puffing all the way, Virgil realized that in his rush he’d forgotten to pack his textbooks and pencil case into his bag. With no options left, he was forced to ask the moody-looking girl sitting next to him if he could borrow a pencil and share textbooks for the day. The girl let him have the supplies without any argument, but after burning under the heat of her glare for the rest of class, Virgil almost wished he hadn’t asked.

Virgil figured that things should start turning around for him after lunch, though. After all, if there was one thing he could rely on to never let him down, it was food. 

Right?

For lunch, Virgil bought a sandwich as usual from the sketchy-but-cheap on-campus kitchen that he and many other JMSC students got most, if not all, of their meals from. He barely got a single bite in before his teeth hit something hard. Wanting to know what he’d nearly chipped his tooth on, Virgil peeled apart the sandwich to see a long fake nail that definitely didn’t belong to him. 

“Agh!” Virgil dropped the sandwich with a yelp. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew…” He was hungry, but not that hungry. 

Still, he had already paid for the sandwich, and the last thing he wanted was to have to buy another — he was already living on a very fragile budget as it was. He briefly debated taking the sandwich up to the kitchen and asking for another one, or at least for his money back, but the thought of marching right into a possible confrontation made his stomach turn even more than the sandwich had.

Instead, Virgil dug around until he found some dusty candy in the bottom of his bag, probably left over from one of those overcrowded college fair things that he had been unfortunate enough to get caught up in during his first month back at school. He sighed. Better than nothing. Those tacky hard candies ended up the closest thing resembling lunch that Virgil ate that day.

Things went from “bad” to “just freakin’ awful” during his afternoon commute to work. All the running around without having had anything to eat but a handful of candy all day had taken its toll; Virgil was exhausted. So much so that, when he boarded the bus at last, he immediately sat down on the first and only empty seat he saw… without stopping to wonder why, in a bus as packed as the one he was currently on, there were even any empty seats in the first place. 

He recognized his mistake the moment the seat of his pants touched the chair: it was soaking wet. Virgil jumped up immediately, praying that the dirty liquid he had just sat in was only melted snow and nothing worse than that.

When Virgil finally arrived at the library, his pants had at least dried, but his dignity wasn’t quite so easily fixed. And then came the last straw — as soon as he got to the kids’ section, which he always spent the beginning of his shift tidying up, he was greeted with the sight of many, many picture books that had been ripped off of the shelves and scattered carelessly all over the floor. A few loose pages pulled free from book bindings had been crumpled up and thrown into the mix as well. It looked like a miniature tornado had raged its way through the area, and worst of all, there was nary a parent nor a child in sight to take responsibility. 

Now Virgil, at last finished cleaning up the section and painstakingly taping pages back into books where they belonged, wanted nothing more than to sink straight through his cushy desk chair and into a thousand-year-long sleep. Heck, a light nap would do. 

No way was he going to add “get fired” to the ever-growing series of unfortunate events that kept coming at him, though, so instead he settled for the knowledge that he ought to be catching a bit of a break now. Around this time of day, Virgil usually didn’t have much to do; most patrons had either already left for lunch or would just now be coming in — thank goodness. Cheering up a little at the thought, Virgil began rummaging through his black tote bag to find his knitting needles, ready to unwind both his yarn and his thoughts at last.

Ten seconds later, he realized that he’d forgotten his needles at home. 

Virgil’s head dropped to his desk perhaps just a little too hard. Why does the entire universe hate me? 

To be fair, this was probably for the better anyway. With all of the rotten luck he’d been having today, he would probably have ended up dropping a full row of stitches, or stabbing himself through the finger with one of the thin metal needles, or something equally as ridiculous and outlandish and exactly the kind of thing that he might do. At least this way he wouldn’t be able to hurt himself with his own stupidity any further, right?

Dropping his tote back down onto the ground, Virgil sighed as he resigned himself to three or four hours of boredom. The tips of his fingers tapped out an aimless rhythm against the smoothly polished surface of the library desk he sat behind. There wasn’t much else to do, besides listen to his stomach’s occasional rumbling complaints as he tried not to fall asleep where he was (whether from hunger or boredom, he wasn’t quite sure). 

Maybe the library computers have Minesweeper or something installed on them. Probably not — Virgil was half-convinced the monitor on his desk could be dated back to the prehistoric era — but it couldn’t hurt to check, right?

***

“No! Argh!” Virgil whisper-yelled, collapsing back in his chair with finality. Pixelated letters blinked on the screen in front of him, their red colour so needlessly bright it was almost insulting: Game Over — Try again? In response, Virgil moved his mouse to click the x in the upper-right corner of the window where he’d just had Minesweeper open for the past hour or so. “Okay — I’m done. Get out! Don’t you make me play your stupid game, or see your stupid face, ever again ,” the frustrated young man threatened, jabbing an accusatory finger at his dinosaur computer. 

Virgil was very aware that what he was saying didn’t make an ounce of sense, since it was hardly like he had anything else to do until someone came to ask a question or check a book out… but at this point, he was so beyond caring about making sense anymore. Besides, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear him —  

“Um, Virgil?”

“Ah!” exclaimed Virgil, starting in his seat. He looked away from the computer to see Patton Foley standing in front of him, eyes widened in concern. “Ah,” he said again, much quieter this time. Virgil must have gotten so engrossed in his game that he hadn’t heard the tell-tale whoosh of the doors opening and closing when Patton entered. “Patton. I, uh, didn’t see you there. How’re you doing?” he greeted the boy, mentally crossing his fingers in hopes that by some miracle, Patton hadn’t heard him talking to his own computer just now.

No such luck. “Virgil, what’s wrong?” Patton wanted to know, ignoring Virgil’s question in favour of asking one of his own. “You seem really upset. Are you feeling okay?” 

Virgil nodded, began to give an awkward thumbs-up over the desk, thought better of it, and brought his hand back down. “Oh, yeah, totally okay. The okay-est. I was just... getting heated over something dumb, is all.” Desperate to end the conversation as soon as possible, he made a show of squinting at his wristwatch, accompanied by an exaggerated gasp as he flapped a hand at Patton to shoo the boy into the next room. “Oh no, you’re going to be late to your session! You’d better hurry, Pat!”

“Wait, what? I could have sworn that I was, like, twenty minutes early, last time I checked.” Patton glanced up at the analog clock mounted on the wall behind him and studied it for quite some time before giving up and admitting, “I can’t read that thing. Still,” he continued, putting his hands on his hips with an unimpressed stare, “I don’t believe you.”

“Wh — about the time?”

“No. Well, I guess that too. I mean, you’re not even wearing a watch —” Patton gestured at Virgil’s wrist, which Virgil, cheeks aflame, only now recognized was indeed bare — “but that’s not what I meant and you know it. You look like, um… just like a raging...” His hands gestured vaguely. “How do I put this in a way that doesn’t make me sound mean?”

“Gee, thanks,” mumbled Virgil. “That bad?”

“Sorry. But, uh, yeah. It just seems like you’ve had a rough day, you know? Like, obviously you’re tired ’cause of how you’re all slumped over, and frustrated ‘cause you keep trying to keep your fists from clenching, and —”

A loud, unhappy growl suddenly interrupted Patton’s list of concerns. Either a) someone was about to be mauled by a bear, or b) after having barely eaten a thing all day, Virgil’s stomach had decided to bite back. 

Both Virgil and Patton knew perfectly well which of those two options was the correct one. 

Without another word, Patton reached into his backpack and pulled out a sealed zip-lock bag filled with assorted nuts — cashews, almonds, peanuts, and more, plus what looked to be a few semi-sweet chocolate chips and raisins thrown into the mix. After looking Virgil sternly in the eye, he tossed the bag onto Virgil’s desk. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing,” said the boy as he did so.

A moment passed while Virgil processed, staring blankly at the trail mix. Okay, thanks for showing me your food, I guess, he almost said — then all of a sudden the tired man was fully awake as he realized that Patton wasn’t showing, but rather giving.

“Wait — hang on, no no no no no! Patton, I can’t take your stuff,” protested Virgil. He grabbed the bag of trail mix and thrust it back in the general direction of where Patton had been, but when he looked up again he saw that Patton was not standing where he had been at all. The oddly paternal boy had apparently anticipated that Virgil would argue and was already walking towards the next room. 

Without missing a beat, Patton argued, “Why not? You obviously need it way more than I do.” He tilted his head with a curious stare. “You’re not allergic to nuts or anything like that, right?”

“Well, no, but —”

“But nothing. Come on, Virgil, eat. You’ll feel way better after, I promise.” Satisfied, Patton turned to walk away.

“Patton!” Virgil stood up, still holding out the plastic zip-lock bag. “Come back, Patton!”

“Uh-oh, no can do,” chirped Patton with a shrug, widening his eyes. “I’m going to be late to my tutoring session, remember? You told me so yourself.” His expression of mock-innocence melted into a mischievous grin. “Talk to you later, Virgil!”

Pretending not to hear Virgil’s spluttered protests, Patton rounded the bend and disappeared from sight. It quickly grew apparent that he wouldn’t be coming back, at which point the librarian was left with no other option but to sit back down, assorted nuts in hand.

Still, Virgil wasn’t admitting defeat yet. It didn’t matter how much the boy insisted; as far as he was concerned, the contents of this little bag still belonged wholly to Patton, and to Patton they would return at the end of the boy’s tutoring session. He wasn’t that hungry, anyway.

Rather unceremoniously, Virgil dropped the plastic bag on his desk next to the computer monitor, then tried his best to turn his focus elsewhere. It wasn’t long before he found himself eyeing the Minesweeper shortcut —

Nope, never again, Virgil reminded himself.

Perhaps he would just… go re-shelve some books. Yes, that was a good idea. There were self-checkout terminals for a reason, anyway; Virgil didn’t always have to be sitting behind his desk. And when he’d finished shelving, he could go check to ensure all the books were aligned properly, fix up some of the displays, clean out his desk drawers… 

Hastily, Virgil set up a little card on his desk to read Back Soon. Once that was done, he got to his feet, for once in his life glad for the busywork. At least it’d be a nice distraction from, well, everything else.

All too soon, though, the chores were finished and Virgil was sent firmly back to square one. Not to mention, after his trip through the library’s several floors, Virgil was even more hungry than before, and suddenly the meager portion of trail mix seemed a much more tempting treat. He could almost hear the semisweet chocolate chips calling his name. 

Perhaps he’d been a little hasty in rejecting this delicious donation that Patton had so freely insisted on giving him. Besides, wasn’t it rude to turn down a gift? 

Maybe, Virgil pondered, I could just have an almond or two…

***

True to his word, Virgil had only had two almonds. At first.

Then he’d had two more.

Then some cashews, a couple of pecans, a handful of raisins, some chocolate chips…

Before Virgil knew it, the plastic bag was empty — but his stomach was full, or at least full- er . And though he did feel a little guilty for having finished the entire bag, there was definitely a notable decrease in crankiness as well. Patton hadn’t been kidding, it seemed.

The clock now read 6:11; Virgil was sitting up straight, comparatively attentive, watching carefully to see when (if?) Patton would be coming back to retrieve the bag he had left behind. His and Logan’s session should have ended just over ten minutes ago, assuming that Logan was still as precise with his schedules as Virgil had always known him to be, so Virgil expected to be seeing the cheerful boy any moment now…

Aha — there he is. The first thing Virgil saw was the tip of a familiar scuffed sneaker, untied shoelace flopping forward. The rest of the shoe’s owner soon followed, the boy’s face breaking out into a goofy grin the second that he saw Virgil. “So? Did you eat?” 

In response, Virgil held up the empty bag, sheepish. “Couldn’t help myself. Turns out, you were right; I feel way better now. Thanks so much, Patton.” Then, after a moment’s pause, “Seriously though — you didn’t have to give that to me. My well-being is none of your responsibility. You know that, right?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, of course I do! But just because I don’t have to do something doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t , you know? And there was no way I’d have been able to stomach the thing anyway, after seeing how hungry you were and knowing that I could have done something to help. It’d be like that time I was on the swings in second grade and...” As Patton chattered on, he quickly began to veer off-topic, moving from peanuts to playgrounds to everything in between. The conversation jumped around so quickly that Virgil found himself mentally backtracking in the conversation more than a few times to try and figure out how they’d gotten there. 

And yet, all the while, the ever-present smile on Patton’s face never wavered for a second — and before long, Virgil caught himself smiling back. In spite of (or perhaps because of) the lack of substance the boy’s sentences held, the carefree jumps from topic to topic were a more than welcome distraction after such a long day. 

It was so much better than the typical small talk Virgil was accustomed to having to deal with, too: instead of constantly stressing over saying the right thing, all Virgil needed to do was nod along with an occasional “mhm” or “I see”. Patton could handle the rest. The boy didn’t seem likely to run out of things to talk about anytime soon.

And thank goodness for that, because Patton’s voice, chipper and energetic though it was, was... oddly relaxing, too. A round, rich, mellow sort of warmth lingered behind the boy’s every word, and Virgil could almost feel himself sinking into it. (He’d describe the tone as “fatherly” if he’d ever experienced that kind of fondness from his own father before, but alas.)

As Virgil’s focus shifted from Patton’s words to the strange warmth, a feeling he could only describe as a sort of golden glow began to collect in a swirling haze at his core before spreading outwards to fill his entire body, from the tallest hair on his head to the very tip of his littlest toe. As it spread, the dark, angry tension from a rough day’s work simply melted away, replaced with this delicate brightness that left his whole body feeling several pounds lighter, but for one little bit:

As the rest of Virgil’s muscles relaxed, his eyelids began to grow awfully heavy.

***

“…gil! Virgil, wake up!”

Virgil’s head lifted with a jolt, blinking blearily as a fearful face swam into view. Still half-asleep, he watched as its expression changed from concern to relief the instant its owner saw that Virgil was coming to. 

“I’m sorry!” the wide-eyed boy was exclaiming. “I know you’re tired, and I totally would have let you keep sleeping, except you’re still at work and I don’t want you getting fired!”

At that, Virgil’s mind quite suddenly cleared. The world seemed to come into focus as his dark eyes darted around to take in his surroundings, only then realizing where it was that he’d found himself. 

Suffice it to say, this was not Virgil’s dorm room. 

“Oh, sh—” 

Virgil hastily pushed himself off his desk, silently praying that he hadn’t drooled on the fancy wood. This was unbelievable — he had fallen asleep at work, before it was even seven, in the middle of a conversation. What must poor Patton be thinking? Virgil opened his mouth to apologise. Couldn’t think of a good way to start. Closed it again, deciding that all the words in the entire library wouldn’t be enough to describe the shame and humiliation he was feeling right now. 

Instead, he settled for thanking Patton profusely for waking him up before someone else had noticed and told his boss. First the snacks, now this — the List of Ways that Patton Foley Has Saved Virgil’s Skin would only continue to grow, it seemed.

Patton acknowledged Virgil’s gratitude with a tight nod and an uncharacteristically mirthless laugh. “Jeez, I can’t believe it,” he said, echoing Virgil’s own sentiments at first, but catching the librarian off guard with his next sentence: “I actually managed to bore you to sleep, huh?” 

“Hang on, what?” If Virgil hadn’t been fully awake before, he definitely was after hearing that. 

“I mean, my parents always told me it was bound to happen someday, but I always figured they were joking, you know? I never thought it was actually possible.” Patton gazed ponderously at the wall behind Virgil’s head. “Wow.”

“Wait — come on, Pat, that’s not —” Virgil shook his head as he struggled to get the words out. “Don’t you even think about blaming yourself for this. You weren’t boring me at all, I promise! I’ve just — I’ve had a really long day. Nothing against you.” 

The words were true, but Patton still seemed doubtful. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Virgil explained how the combination of the quiet library, the stress of the day, and Virgil’s own lack of nourishment was what had caused him to fall asleep just now — not, as Patton had apparently assumed, a lack of interest in their conversation. “To be honest, the trail mix you gave me was just about the first thing I’ve eaten all day, so —”

Patton’s brows shot up at that. “The first thing?” the boy interrupted, seeming incredulous. “Virgil, I knew you weren’t taking care of yourself, but I didn’t realize it was that bad! No wonder you fell asleep — I don’t think I’d have been able to make it past noon running on an empty stomach like you!”

“Yeah, well,” shrugged an unconcerned Virgil, “it’s not like I make a habit of it or anything. Today’s just not my day, I guess.” He glanced away as he finished speaking, pretending not to feel Patton’s intense gaze on him. A brief pause.

Of course, Patton was the one to break the silence. “Virgil.” Voice equal parts gentle and firm, he continued: “What exactly happened to you today? Besides not eating breakfast or lunch or dinner, obviously.”

“Um. Well. It was just... one of those days, I doubt you really want to hear —”

“Gonna stop you right there.” Patton’s hands were back on his hips. “I’m asking ‘cause I care. Just tell me what’s wrong, okay? Get everything off your chest and you’ll feel way better.”

Had it been any other day, Virgil probably would have resisted much more. The whole getting-everything-off-his-chest thing didn’t come naturally to him; doing so always felt uncomfortably like he was dumping his problems onto other people to solve, which (at least in his mind) only increased the amount of stress in the world. 

On this particular evening, however, Virgil was simply too tired to put up a fight — and the truth was, the over-worked, under-loved young man really did need someone to vent to. 

A treacherous, albeit not entirely unwelcome, thought: Maybe just this once?

Patton remained insistent. A handful of halfhearted protests later, Virgil caved.

Well… to some degree.

The truth: although his mental health had always had perhaps more than its fair share of highs and lows, he seemed to be seeing less and less “highs” lately. That wasn’t to say they weren’t there — it wouldn’t be fair for Virgil to claim his entire month had been terrible — but they were definitely starting to seem fewer and farther between. 

It seemed likely that all of this frustration had been building up inside of him for a while, then. At the root of it all? Virgil wasn’t sure, but he suspected it had something to do with the event that had occurred around the same time as his mental health had first begun deteriorating again: he had been on his way home from work one day when he was hit with a sudden, inescapable, unspeakably intense sense of loneliness. 

He had been living independently for almost two years, but that day must have been the first time it registered in Virgil’s mind just how on-his-own he truly was now. Having moved out of his hometown to pursue a degree while almost everyone else in his graduating class had settled into the trades, working at the library and attending his classes were pretty much the closest thing to a social life Virgil had. Around campus, he barely had ahold of anyone’s name, let alone their friendship, and spending time with his parents for fun was a laughable notion.

He supposed he should consider himself lucky — at least he got plenty of time to unwind by himself, right? Still, even the shyest, most introverted person of them all would wither without the company of other people from time to time, and Virgil was no exception. And although the brief time spent chatting with Patton last week had been nice, the boy was so much younger than he was and there was only so much that the two could talk about sitting in a library for thirty minutes at the end of the day. 

The fact was, Virgil craved a real friend. Just one. Was that so much to ask?

All this and more was going through Virgil’s head, but fortunately, he was just awake enough to exercise a little self-control and keep those particular thoughts to himself. Patton had invited him to rant, yes, but the poor boy had already done more than enough for Virgil that day without having to put up with deep-rooted insecurities and desires suddenly coming out of left field to boot. 

So instead, Virgil absently relayed the day’s misfortunes, laying the blame on that which seemed like the most immediately obvious source of distress. Did it help? A little bit. But in the silence that followed, the weight of words unsaid pressed heavy.

Finally, Patton broke the hollow silence with a “Wow.” Despite Virgil’s efforts to water down the stress of the day, he seemed stunned. “That is… a lot. All that bad luck in one day? Sheesh, I can’t imagine...”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, well. You know. At least the world seems to be done throwing things at me for now,” he said, making an effort to sound much more unconcerned than he actually felt; the waves of pity he could feel emanating from Patton were starting to smother. Sensing Patton wasn’t convinced, he kept going: “Plus, you came along to give me chocolate chips and have a chat… and didn’t even ditch me when I accidentally crashed in the middle of it all. If that’s not a sign that things are going to get better, then I don’t know what is.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, though. There must be something else I can do,” mumbled Patton.

“Hey, forget it.” Virgil waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Really. You don’t control what happens to me, right? This was never your mess to fix in the first place.”

“I guess…” Patton’s expression remained pensive; his eyebrows knit together, his mouth puckered loosely, his nose slightly scrunched so that its many freckles were drawn into a tight formation. He was thinking hard — but what about? Virgil opened his mouth to ask. 

Before he had the chance, though, Patton’s eyes flitted to the window as the boy caught sight of something. “Oh,” he said, breaking out of his thoughtful trance in an instant, “I think that’s my mom’s car.” Patton shifted the backpack straps on his shoulders. “Sorry, Virgil, I gotta go. It was really nice talking to you again!” 

“See you around, then,” replied Virgil, waving a two-fingered salute as he watched Patton begin strolling to the glass doors. “Don’t forget to — uh — wear your seat belt, or… whatever.” That was a thing that responsible adult figures said, right?

Patton, to his credit, went along with it. “Don’t worry, I will. I mean, I won’t. Or… gah, words can be tough! ” He gave a good-natured laugh before clarifying: “ What I mean is, I’ll wear the seat belt. Thanks, Virgil!” 

As sudden as that, the boy was gone, and with him went almost the very last scrap of Virgil’s leftover energy for the day; the doors having swung shut, Virgil’s eyelids were threatening to follow suit.

But — no, no, he couldn’t fall asleep again. After all, he wouldn’t have Patton to wake him up this time. There must be some other distraction Virgil could leverage, at least for a little bit…

Out of the corner of his eye, a weary librarian caught sight of a tempting-looking Minesweeper icon, vivid and bright on his dusty computer screen.

***

[next chapter]

General: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker @kazykazu @theres-no-winning-on-christmas​

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

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

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

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

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

Oh sh— 

“Did you just make a dad joke?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not in the slightest.”

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

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

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

 …is exactly what Logan did not say. 

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

Then again…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, at least his hands were free. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the Crofter’s. 

Good gracious, the Crofter’s. 

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

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

“Patton,” Logan broke in softly.

The boy seemed to choke. “Um. Yes?”

“I… That was…” 

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

“... adequate. Thank you.”

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

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

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

"Do you really mean that, though?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you insist…”

***

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

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

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

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

Not tonight, though. 

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

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

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

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

He could think of no better candidates than his fathers. 

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

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

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

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

And yet...

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

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

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

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

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

A conspiratorial whisper: Because we’ve got superpowers!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With adjectives,” Toby supplied helpfully. 

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

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

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

“Huh… how about the third session?”

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

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

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

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

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

Rambling. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan’s eyes widened. 

“I mean, uh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never mind, this was a mistake.”

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

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

“Wh — Toby!”

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

No answer.

“Lo?”

“Actually...” Logan began. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I... huh? What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

Everything I wish to be —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were — were due for some — 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

[next chapter]

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It was true, though — Logan had been walking on sunshine for weeks in anticipation of this moment. How could he not? Today was the day of his first-ever session in his new tutoring job; a day he’d spent long days and longer nights preparing for. Logan had even gone so far as to create and rehearse a script that contained everything he intended to say, word-for-word. Every detail he could think of, he had planned, all the way down to the exact outfit he’d wear — a freshly-ironed black polo paired with his best blue necktie was the perfect way to passively say, this young man means business. Knowing how crucial a good first impression would be to their overall success, Logan had done everything in his power to ensure that today’s session would run perfectly. It had taken every second that he could spare (and quite a few that he couldn’t), but he didn’t mind. After all, Logan had been completely convinced that all his efforts were bound to pay off in the end.

Oh, what a fool he’d been.

You see, it was only once Logan was watching this unsettlingly energetic thing come careening around the corner did he realise that in all of his careful planning, he’d forgotten to factor in one major variable: the student himself. And a single glance was all it took for Logan to realise that his mistake would cost him dearly.

Not only is he late, he’s completely out of breath. And he’s not even bothering to hide it… just look at that gaping mouth, Logan’s narrowed eyes had immediately observed. Smudged glasses, uncombed hair, grass-stained sneakers — one of which is untied, mind you — oh, and now he’s gone and sent books flying everywhere.

So much for first impressions, I suppose.

With the introduction of this new limiting factor, the future wasn’t looking too bright, to say the least. But if there was one thing that Logan’s extensive collection of award-winning science fair projects had taught him, it was to never waste time trying to control the uncontrollable. So, notebook clutched in one hand and tenaciously holding back doubts with the other, Logan had launched with great determination into the script that he’d practiced so many times before.

It took all of five minutes to grind that determination into the dust. Every single time he paused for breath, the freckled boy seated crookedly in front of him would take it as an invitation to start chattering away at a speed that would give even the most accomplished of auctioneers a run for their money. Poor Logan could hardly keep up with his student, let alone settle him down long enough to get through even the first paragraph.

Finally, he had been forced to abandon his perfectly-crafted script in favour of a much less elegant approach: a simple and to-the-point list of questions. Though it physically pained Logan to abandon the result of so many tears shed and sleepless nights passed, he’d rather finish things the “alkali way” (or, as the cool kids preferred, the “basic way”) than never finish them at all. And if he’s going to talk anyway, Logan reasoned, I might as well give him something productive to talk about. Surely then we’ll be able to stay on-topic.

No such luck. Logan’s first question got no more than a noncommittal shrug before Parker — or was it Patrick? No, he was quite certain that the boy’s name was Parker — was off again, running his mouth a mile a minute, dropping awful puns and grammatically incorrect sentences all over the previously pristine carpet. The poor librarians would have some cleaning up to do later.

Okay, so plan B didn’t work either. Nothing to worry about, though, Logan pretended to believe. I’ve still got twenty-four letters to get through.

To be fair, Plan C was really more of a coping mechanism than an actual step-by-step plan. A surprisingly effective way of releasing pent-up stress and frustration, this longtime favourite involved imagining, in vivid detail, the source of that frustration being slowly and painfully fed into a running wood chipper.

What?

Some might think this cruel. Logan preferred to call it merciful; after all, at least he was limiting his vengeance to the hypothetical realm. An added bonus was that, in the interest of ensuring the utmost accuracy, it had compelled him to familiarize himself with the inner workings of wood chippers. So really, Plan C was a win-win for all parties involved.

As you might have guessed by now, dealing with annoying people never really had been Logan’s strong suit.

Actually, make that dealing with people in general. In hindsight, signing up to work with Sandford Secondary’s peer-to-peer tutoring program had definitely not been the best idea he’d ever had, in that case. Not because he wasn’t qualified — complex formulas and sentence structure he could handle in his sleep. But teaching those same concepts to a student who apparently had no intention of listening, he most certainly could not.

Really, Logan should have known better than to believe that he could ever be successful in any job that depended so much on one’s ability to work with others. Why couldn’t he have chosen something with more facts and numbers?

Facts and numbers were predictable. They always fit neatly into categories of right or wrong, true or false, black or white. Social interaction was so much messier. With no structure, no set of rules, and no procedure to follow, the whole thing was really nothing more than haphazard guesswork, a real-life game of hangman where every wrong word brings you one pen-stroke closer to game over. Bearing all that in mind, Logan had never understood how some people could so easily waltz up to strangers and just begin “bonding” like it was nothing.

And frankly, he didn’t particularly want to understand. Why would anyone choose to while away their life building those fragile houses of cards; vocabulary cards filled with only empty words? Did no one realise that a single misplaced breath is all would take to knock everything down in an instant? Why waste time trying desperately to convince your peers that you’re worth their love, when you could instead be hard at work earning their respect? In Logan’s experience, relationships of any kind — romantic, platonic, even familial — were always sloppy at best when built on love. Respect, on the other hand… respect was real.

This attitude, by the way, was an entirely objective worldview that had nothing to do with the fact that Logan didn’t exactly have many romantic or platonic relationships to choose from. Correlation, not causation.

Besides. Not that he cared.

Taking a deep breath, Logan forced himself to focus back on the session. (That makes one of us, he couldn’t help thinking.) Speaking of empty words… Parker, or Patrick, or whatever-his-name-was, had somehow been ceaselessly talking about corn for —  Logan checked his watch — over seven minutes now. They were getting nowhere, fast.

If Logan allowed the boy to keep this up, the two of them would end up leaving the library having accomplished absolutely nothing at all. That simply would not do. His student’s attitude may not be ideal, but he’d be damned if he let his own standards slip because of it.

After taking a brief pause to collect himself and his thoughts, Logan stood abruptly, causing the freckled boy to cut himself off mid-sentence.

Slowly, deliberately, he moved to stare out the large windows framing the section of the library where the two of them were seated, so that his back was turned and his face was hidden from the other boy.

Then, voice dripping with contempt, he spoke.

“Let me make one thing clear. I am not here to make friends, and neither should you be. I am here to teach, and as of yesterday, I was under the impression that you are here to learn. However, your behaviour so far has led me to believe that perhaps I was mistaken. For once in my life, I find myself praying that I will be proven wrong.

“Now, I don’t know what kind of merry tomfoolery you were expecting from our session today, but I do know exactly what I was expecting, and exactly what I have prepared for you. And since you clearly do not seem interested in steering this session anywhere productive, I suggest that you hand the reins to me and do exactly as I instruct from here on out. I have prepared a rigid agenda for how we will be spending this time together, and I intend to follow it. I expect you to do the same. Be aware that this agenda includes absolutely no icebreakers; we can’t afford to waste any more of our valuable lesson time, especially not on childish games.

“Starting right now, you will answer my questions so I can develop a plan for what we need to accomplish, and you will answer them without distraction. When you are not answering questions, you will hold your tongue like your entire future depends on it. Because it very well might. Is that understood —” just in time, he suddenly remembered the boy’s name — “is that understood, Patton?”

The following moment of quiet, the first one since Patton had stepped foot in the library, was answer enough for Logan.

“Good. I trust this will not be a discussion that we will need to have again, then.”

With that, Logan returned to his seat, carefully scrutinizing Patton once more to see if he could spot any differences. He didn’t need to try too hard. Patton’s transformation was so drastic, it was almost…  

Unnerving. The vigor from earlier had all but disappeared — thank goodness — but with its departure came a distinct dullness to the eyes framed in those round-rimmed glasses. And where Patton had previously been nearly falling out of his seat with barely contained energy, he now slumped inwards as if the words that Logan had spoken were actually physically crushing him.

At the sight, Logan couldn’t help but feel the tiniest glimmer of guilt. Perhaps he hadn’t needed to lay the scolding on quite so heavily. What if I overdid it?

A second later, Logan remembered he didn’t care.

Excellent. This shall be ideal. The brief moment of weakness over, Logan settled back down into the library’s comfortable couch. “What are your academic strengths?” he read off his notebook.

“Uhh, I’m… nice, sometimes. I guess.”  

Logan let out a deep sigh. A wood-chipper-shaped silhouette flickered in the back of his mind.

Most likely seeing his teacher’s disapproval of the vague answer, Patton hurried to add, “I mean, I can be pretty patient when it comes to worksheets. It always takes a really long time for me to finish my homework, so I… kind of have to be, you know?”

“Hm. Is that it?”

“That’s all I can come up with right now. Um, sorry.”

“I see.” Pencil scratched across paper as Logan scribbled down (a paraphrased version of) Patton’s response. In the otherwise unbroken silence, the sound grated loudly against Logan’s ears. He hurried to finish so he could move on to the next question. “Academic weaknesses?”

This time, Patton’s answered without even a moment’s hesitation. “Focus. Organization. Time management. Anything related to math or numbers, really. I’m not good at taking risks. My work is always sloppy and hard to read. It takes me a long time to wrap my head around new concepts.” He rattled off one item after another, a strange mix of confidence and detachment, almost as if reading off an invisible script that he’d already recited — or heard recited to him — many times before.

Logan wasn’t sure what to say to that. Here was another reason he hated socialising; people always had this odd tendency to hyper-fixate on what needed to be fixed rather than what they already had going for them, a tendency that Logan couldn’t imagine was healthy or even at all helpful. There’s so much beauty mixed in with the bad, and yet you choose to ignore it all? Worst of all, these senseless “social blinkers” meant that Logan had no chance of getting an accurate idea of Patton’s actual strengths and weaknesses. There was no way that every item on that list of shortcomings that Patton had just blazed through could actually apply, right?

Logan decided not to push the question, though; experience had taught him that calling others out on their poor logic didn’t often end well. I’ll just have to figure that part out myself, I suppose. Instead, he adjusted his thick glasses, wrote down one or two items from Patton’s list of weaknesses, and read aloud the next question.

And the next, and the next. They were really tearing through the conversation now; Patton’s answers seemed to get shorter and more succinct with every second that passed. Not that Logan was complaining. In fact, he was nothing but grateful for Patton’s newfound intense focus. It seemed his brief speech had done the trick.

Sooner than expected, a quiet trill interrupted the two of them. He checked his phone to see that his alarm had gone off. The session was over.

Had it really been two hours already? It had felt like so much less than that.

Shutting off the alarm, Logan turned to face his student. “Well, that marks the end of our session. I… appreciated your cooperation, Patton. We may have gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but your focus in the second half of the session was sufficient to convince me that we won’t have too many problems from here on out.”

This time, Patton said nothing at all, settling instead for a wordless nod.

“Next week, I will have worksheets prepared for you. In the meantime, your homework is to write me a page, single-spaced, telling me a little bit more about short-and long-term educational goals. Full sentences only, please.” Logan flipped his notebook shut. “I look forward to reading your writing for the first time,” he lied.

In response, Patton picked up his backpack and started to walk away. He only made it about three steps, though, before turning back and opening his mouth. Logan waited.

The words never came. After the briefest of pauses, Patton’s mouth closed, lips pressed firmly together, perhaps to suppress whatever he’d been wanting to say.

As watched the child disappear around the corner, a thought arose unbidden:

For some reason, Patton seemed so much smaller leaving the library than he had looked when he was entering.

***

[next chapter]

A/N: Okay. Even though it's only chapter two, I have a LOT to say. Most of this is about the fic in general rather than the chapter, so... it's LONG. I'm sorry. In the interest of not putting you to sleep, let's speed-round this.

The first chapter of AAmour was the very first thing I ever wrote for the Sanders Sides fandom. I based that chapter almost ENTIRELY on a oneshot comic by @the-pastel-peach.

Two months later, I was planning for NaNoWriMo 2018 (a challenge where authors write 50k in 30 days). Long story short, I decided that I'd like to try finishing AAmour.

I didn't.

I did hit 50k, but I only made it to chapter ten. I still want to finish this thing though, so I've decided to edit and post what I already wrote, one chapter a month, and then write the second half of AAmour during NaNoWriMo 2019.

I'm already late with this first chapter because my dumb brain decided I needed to do a complete rewrite a week before posting, but in the future I'd like to post a chapter on the first day of every month.

Almost everything after chapter one is my own work. I say "almost" because I picked @residentanchor's brain a lot during the planning phase.

So yes, I may still be writing a high school AU, but this is no longer @the-pastel-peach​'s high school AU. Besides Logan's last name (I couldn’t resist -- the pun game was too strong) and the first chapter, any similarities to their version of the AU are completely coincidental; in fact, I've barely looked at theirs because I didn't want to risk any subconscious copying.

Also heeeeyyyyyy this is my 200th post that’s pretty nifty--

I think that about covers it. Thank you so, so much for reading -- both the chapter and my ridiculously long author’s note!! See you soon, lovelies. Take care <3

General tag list: @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide

AAmour tag list: @romanticsanders @thatrandomautist @thelowlysatsuma @mirror2thespirit @pokii-jonas