crazy little thing called love
(this is my secret santa fic for @ethospathoslogan !!! MERRY BITCHMAS JORDS, PETTY BITCH WIFE, LOML, ILY!!! and merry bitchmas to all of you, have some gay fluff <3
SUMMARY: logan deals with facts, with objectivity and reason and rationale. he also deals with his boyfriend, who is the exact opposite of those in every way. and logan can't help loving him for it.
(OR: logan tries to figure out how to propose to roman on christmas.)
PAIRINGS: romantic logince, background romantic moxiety, the barest smidge of background remile
WORD COUNT: ~5600
TW: v mild anxiety, passing mention of past depression (nothing srs, this is a happy fic i promise)
read on ao3!!!
*~*~*~*~*
Logan pushes away from his microscope with a sigh, smoothing his hands down the crisp white front of his lab coat. Normally, he’d just stretch and pour himself some of the crappy coffee Patton makes in their ancient Keurig and get right back to his research, but tonight, something feels . . . off. He can normally focus on his work for hours at a time, zoning out and ignoring everything else completely, but tonight . . .
Tonight, he’s distracted. There’s a weight in his pocket, and it grows heavier with every passing second. All he wants to do is go home, put on sweatpants that are a little too small and a sweatshirt that’s a little too large, and drag Roman into bed with him. He wants to wrap his arms around Roman’s torso and have Roman snuggle up to his waist and bury his face into Roman’s soft, coffee-scented hair.
Roman is his boyfriend, and Roman is the love of his life. But Logan no longer wants Roman to be his boyfriend.
He wants Roman to be his fiancé.
There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, a soft “Behind you”, and then his boss steps into his field of vision. Patton has some kind of plant matter smeared all over his cheeks, and there’s a crown of bright red roses in his hair. “Logan!” he says; Logan realizes he’s been calling his name for the past five minutes or so.
“I - I apologize, Doctor Tarian, I -”
“Logan, please. I’ve told you to call me Patton!”
“I . . . apologize, P - Patton. I was merely lost in thought.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Logan! It’s getting late, you must be exhausted!”
“I am normally here far later than this,” Logan argues. “It is often inconsequential. But tonight, there is something off. I cannot put my finger on it, but I do not feel . . . right.”
“Well, could that be because it’s Christmas Eve?”
Logan snaps his head up from where it’s been leaning towards his microscope again. “It - it is what?!”
Patton pulls his phone out and shows Logan the lockscreen. It’s a photo of Patton and his husband (one of the baristas at Roman’s shop), but Logan is fixated on the date: December 24.
“Oh . . . oh my stars. It is Christmas Eve, and I . . . I am . . .” “Going home?” Patton suggests. “I know Virgil said the shop was closing early today, so I promised I would close the lab early too. We’ve got dinner plans. And by dinner plans, I mean I’m going to make breadcrumb fried chicken and he’s going to make noodles with sour cream and we’re going to eat store-bought cake and watch Christmas movies.”
He tilts his head at Logan, and the light glints off his glasses, adding an eerie, intelligent luminescence to his bright blue eyes. “What are you going to do tonight, Logan?”
Logan doesn’t know why he does it. He’s been working here for almost two years, and despite the fact that Patton is by all accounts incredibly friendly and personable, Logan’s been hesitant to open up to him. Still, he finds himself reaching into the pocket of his lab coat and pulling out a small, black velvet box.
“I . . . I may . . . I may propose to my boyfriend. I don’t know.”
Patton hums in consideration before hopping up onto a clear area of Logan’s lab table, swinging his legs. “Why don’t you know?”
“Wh . . . what?”
“Well, you seem hesitant to propose. Why is that? Do you have qualms about the concept of marriage?”
Logan shakes his head. “No, I - marriage is an institution, and one that has not always been readily available to the non-heterosexuals. I am not averse to participating. Additionally, there are excellent tax benefits.”
Patton giggles a little. “Tax benefits,” he mutters. “Okay, so there’s financial motivation. Have you known your boyfriend a long time?”
Logan nods. “Roman and I met in college. I often snuck into the auditorium after hours to do my work in solitude, and one night I snuck in there to find that I was not alone. He was practicing for an upcoming audition, and he was . . . breathtaking.”
Patton hums appreciatively.
“We were friends for three years. He finally asked me out our senior year, in the most dramatic fashion possible. I have never known him to do anything less than the most dramatic option, now that I think about it . . .”
Logan giggles - giggles - a little when he thinks about Roman. By all accounts, they shouldn’t work. He can be arrogant and short-tempered, and Roman is passionate and hot-headed, and they’re both so stubborn that compromise is often way out of the picture. And yet, someone, they work. Logan doesn’t pretend to know how, but they do.
“Roman is . . . Roman is everything to me. I love Roman - hell, I think I may be in love with Roman. I just . . . I don’t know if he feels the same way. He says that he loves me, and it is typical to love the person with whom you are engaged in a romantic partnership, but - but I still find myself hesitating. And I - I do not know why that is, because logically, I am being stupid, but -”
“Lo, you’re a brilliant scientist, but this isn’t something that you can work out with logic and numbers,” Patton says softly. “I think that’s why you’re hesitating. Because it’s feelings. And feelings are a non-quantifiable entity, as you’re so fond of putting in your reports.”
Logan blushes. “You . . . actually read those?”
“I’m your boss, Logan. It’s kind of my job to ‘actually read’ what you put on my desk.”
Logan fiddles with the eyepiece of his microscope. “You . . . are correct. I enjoy concrete data. I prefer to know exactly what is happening at all time. I like to be certain - I like to have all the facts. But with something like this, with . . . with someone like this, I . . . I cannot be certain. It is impossible for me to know exactly what Roman is thinking at any given moment in time.”
“Logan, when Virgil proposed to me, do you think he knew my exact thought process?”
“Well, no, but from my limited understanding, you and Virgil have known each other almost your entire lives. He had significantly more data on which to build his estimate of your response to his proposal than I do, and -”
“Poor Virgil was so nervous about what I’d say that he almost threw up. And keep in mind, this was after we’d been living together for years and had been discussing the topic of marriage on and off for a few months.”
“But he still proposed?”
Patton shifts his left hand subtly, letting the harsh fluorescent lighting gleam off the simple silver band on his finger. “I’m married to him, aren’t I?”
“That is . . . correct . . .”
Patton twists his wedding band as he talks. “I know it can be difficult to talk about feelings, Logan. They’re nothing like the hard sciences. You can’t write out a data sheet and plot a graph of someone’s love for you, as easy as that would make things. There’s very little concrete evidence here.”
Logan feels his heart sink straight through his body and shatter against the pavement. “I . . . I did make a . . . a spreadsheet . . .”
Patton’s eyes widen. “You . . . plotted a spreadsheet . . . of Roman’s love for you?”
“K . . . kind of . . .?”
Patton stares at him for a moment, and then he throws his head backwards and he laughs. Patton’s laugh is deep and full-bodied, and even though Logan suspects that he’s being laughed at, he can’t help but laugh a little himself. Patton is just the kind of person who makes everyone around him happy.
“Logan, you’re a treat, you really are,” he says, shoving his glasses out of the way and wiping at his eyes. “That is absolutely something that you would do.”
“I . . . I don’t think it’s working,” Logan says softly. “The whole point of the graph was to help me get over my irrational terror of proposing to Roman, and yet i still find myself shaking at the prospect! We have discussed the concept of marriage at multiple points, and we have both said that we would be open and amicable to the idea of marrying each other. Why, then, does the entire concept fill me with such terror and anticipation!”
He pushes angrily away from his desk, sending his chair whirling around in circles with the force. Rather than planting his feet and stopping the spin, he whips across the lab, narrowly managing to avoid collision with the wall. Patton hops off the table and follows Logan’s erratic path across the lab.
“Have you considered that you’re nervous because you love him?”
“What? That is absurd, Patton, surely the knowledge of our love would be a comfort to me, rather than a detriment?”
“Well, think about it. You love Roman, right? You love him so much that you’re considering asking him to be your husband. He clearly means a lot to you. And even though you’ve talked about marriage before, you can’t say with 100% certainty that he’ll say yes. It’s an unknown variable, and that terrifies a scientist like you, am I right?”
“It . . . I . . . you are very good at this, Patton.”
Patton laughs a little. “Well, when your twin’s a therapist, you kind of rub off on each other.”
Logan blinks. “You have a twin?”
“Yeah! His name’s Emile, he’s super great! His fiancé works at Roman’s shop with Virgil!”
“Apparently, everyone works with Roman,” Logan says.
“Everyone you know, anyways!”
The name Patton had said finally clicks into Logan’s brain. “Wait, you mean Emile Picani is your twin brother?”
“Yep! I took Virgil’s last name when we got married!”
“Your twin . . . is my therapist.”
“Oh, really? That’s so cool - but that’s not the point! The point is, romance isn’t supposed to be neat and scientific! It’s supposed to be messy. Do you know why?”
“Love is just a reaction caused by the interaction of various neurochemicals in the brain, I do not understand why it remains so complicated!”
“Love is more than that, Logan. It’s human. And because it’s human, it’s prone to error and messiness and weirdness, and that’s what makes it wonderful! It’s not perfect, Logan, but it’s not supposed to be. We just have to do our best and hope for the best, and honestly? As long as you get to be with your loved ones, does it really matter if it’s perfect?”
“I - I am a scientist, Patton, I strive for objectivity and - and facts and - and the truth and -”
“Well, answer me this, then, Logan. Truthfully. Would you rather have a perfect, objective life without Roman, or an imperfect, subjective life with him?”
“I - Roman. I want Roman. I don’t care if it’s perfect, I don’t care if it’s subjective, I don’t care if it’s messy or imperfect or - or - I - I just want Roman, if - if he’ll have me.”
Patton smiles. “From what you’ve told me, and the horror stories Virgil tells me about how lovestruck Roman is all day, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. But if you’re really concerned, here!” He plucks the crown of bright red roses off his head and deposits it neatly onto Logan’s head.
“What . . . what am I supposed to -”
“Give it to Roman,” Patton says. “He likes flowers, right? I always see you taking them home for him when you get particularly exceptional blossoms.”
Logan blushes. “I . . . th-thank you, Patton. I am sure he’ll greatly appreciate these.”
Logan clocks out on time, for once - which is to say, approximately four hours before he normally does. He tugs his thick woolen coat more firmly around himself and carefully winds the scarf Roman knit for his last birthday around his neck. He cradles the crown of roses carefully in his gloved hands as he walks, patting the coat pocket with the ring box in it.
Roman is the love of his life. He’d given up on finding anyone who would ever accept his eccentricities, and yet Roman had taken a look at the socially awkward chemistry nerd he’d been in college and decided to give him a chance, and Logan has never felt able to repay what Roman did for him.
Roman doesn’t know it, but he’d found Logan in an incredibly dark place. Logan won’t go so far as to attribute his recovery to Roman, because that’s foolish - he’d had to recover on his own, of course, had to make the hard decisions. But Roman had taken his hands on one particularly bad night and sworn that Logan might have to do it himself, but he didn’t have to do it alone. He was the first person to ever tell Logan something like that, and it was the final catalyst Logan had needed.
He goes to therapy now, and he takes medicine for his depression and his social anxiety, and he actively works to make his life better. He’s never known how to thank Roman, or to properly express how much he means to him, but he’s determined to get it across.
Still, he can’t help the nerves that bubble in his chest. Roman is ridiculously attractive and such a talented singer and baker and he runs his own business and he volunteers at the children’s drama theater on the weekends and he’s everything that Logan wishes he could be, except better, somehow. He loves Roman so much he feels like his heart is going to explode.
Roman’s coffee shop is exactly four and a half blocks away from the lab where Logan works. He’s memorized every single possible route from his office to Roman’s shop, and while occasionally he’ll meander around and take the scenic route, he’s a man on a mission today. He takes the most direct route home, carefully clinging to the roses.
He’s paused at the sidewalk, waiting for the WALK signal to flash, when something small and white floats down from the sky and lands on one of the roses in his hands. He blinks, staring at it without comprehending as another little white thing sticks to his smudged glasses.Then another, and another, and another and another and suddenly his frazzled brain puts everything together.
It’s snowing.
In his mind, he can already hear Roman shouting. It’s SNOWING, Logan! We gotta go outside and have a snowball fight so I can deck you! Come on, come on, it’s the most magical thing about winter!
Logan watches as the little flurries melt in his fog of breath, and tips his head back to watch the flakes become fatter and fluffier. He stares into the gray sky and makes a silent resolution: if it’s still snowing tonight, he will propose to Roman. It will be a sign from the universe that he’s doing the right thing, and it will be romantic. Roman loves romantic.
Finally, he catches sight of Prince Coffee, and a little of the weight hanging on his heart lightens. The door is painted a cheerful red, a bright splash of color in the otherwise drab and dreary city. Logan carefully shifts the roses to one hand and pulls the door open. The little bell that rings when the door opens has been replaced with sleigh bells for the holiday season.
“It is Christmas Eve, it is seven minutes until closing, the coffee machines are already clean, and I do not have the time to make fucking coffee right now I just want to go the fuck home,” Virgil says. Logan can’t see him, but he assumes that the assistant manager is probably lurking underneath the counter.
“I, too, wish to go home, which is why I’m here,” Logan says drily. Virgil pops up from behind the counter, eyes wide, face flushed with embarrassment.
“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Sanders, I just -”
“Do not stress yourself, Virgil, I understand. I usually arrive home much later than this, but your husband . . . talked some sense into me. And please, you may call me Logan.”
“What did Pat say to you?”
Logan gently sets the rose crown on the counter. “Is Roman . . . sufficiently preoccupied?”
Virgil rolls his eyes. “He’s in the back prepping dough to rest overnight, and he’s got headphones on blaring show tunes. I think we’re safe. Listen, you can still hear him.”
Logan strains his ears, but he doesn’t have to listen very hard for Roman’s bright voice, belting at the top of his lungs. Virgil rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, you’re good. So, what did Pat say? Did he force you to talk about your feelings? I know Emile’s the therapist but honestly sometimes I wonder if Pat’s secretly a therapist with the way he talks sometimes . . .”
Logan laughs softly. “Well, I do not know if I would consider that forcing, but feelings were discussed, yes. Specifically . . . specifically my feelings towards Roman . . .”
Virgil’s face falls into seriousness instantly. “Oh, god, are you breaking up with him? Because I know I complain about the fact that Roman waxes poetic about you twenty-four-seven, but i’m pretty sure that the only thing worse than that would be Roman sobbing about your breakup twenty-four-seven, plus he’d be absolutely shattered and then I’d have to fight you and I don’t wanna fight anyone -”
“Virgil!” Logan says, slightly alarmed by the way Virgil is spiralling. “Calm yourself, I am not breaking up with Roman!”
“Oh - oh, you’re - you’re not?”
“Quite the opposite, actually,” Logan says, and he’s grateful that his cheeks were already flushed from the cold air outside because he’s certain that he’s blushing brightly. “I do not wish to end our relationship, but - but rather, I hope to prolong and cement it.”
He pulls the ring box out of his pocket and shows it to Virgil. His eyes go comically wide. “You . . . you’re going to propose to Roman?!”
Logan shushes him frantically, but Roman is still singing loudly and doesn’t appear to have heard anything at all. “Yes, I . . . I have had this ring for almost two weeks now . . . but I have not managed to gather the courage to propose to him. I know I am being irrational, but . . .”
“You’re not,” Virgil says immediately. “You’re not being irrational. Everyone’s nervous when they take big relationship steps like that. Patton explicitly said that he’d love to be married, and I still had three panic attacks before I managed to ask him to marry me.”
Logan runs his fingers over the soft velvet of the ring box. “He just . . . he just means so much to me . . . and I . . . I know that, despite my many strengths, expressing my emotions is far from one of them. I am good at facts. Emotions are not factual. They are subjective, and I . . . I hate it. I hate that in every other area of my life, I am articulate and concise, and yet I cannot find the words to tell the love of my life that I wish him to be mine for eternity.”
Virgil blinks, cheeks slightly pink. “Well damn, Lo, just tell him that and I’m sure that it’ll be fine!”
Logan shoves the ring box back into his pocket and ducks back behind the counter. “I have made a decision. It is snowing tonight, and Roman has always loved the so-called ‘magic’ and ‘romance’ of snowy nights. So, if it is still snowing at midnight, I will propose to him tonight.”
“Christmas proposal?” Virgil laughs. “Man, Logan, for someone who claims that you’re not very romantic, this sounds like the single most romantic thing you could do.”
“Roman is the romantic,” Logan mumbles. “He deserves the best. My best is certainly mediocre compared to what he could do, but I hope that it is at least marginally acceptable.”
“Roman loves you,” Virgil says gently. “I wasn’t kidding about him waxing poetic about you all damn day. You’re the light of his life, and I’m sure he’s going to accept your proposal.”
Logan smiles softly at Virgil, picking up the rose crown. “I hope that you and Patton have a very Merry Christmas, indeed, Virgil.”
“Same to you and Roman,” Virgil says. Logan smiles softly at him before gently pushing the kitchen door open with his shoulder.
Just as Virgil had said, Roman is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, headphones clamped firmly over his ears. He’s kneading a truly massive ball of bread dough, singing loudly. Logan looks at all of the trays of perfectly portioned dough balls sitting on almost every available surface and smiles to himself.
Roman suddenly belts out, “SOUTHERN MOTHER-FUCKING DEMOCRATIC REPUBLICANS!”
Logan can’t stop himself from laughing, because of course that’s the line that Roman chooses to shout. He expects nothing less. Roman turns to reach for another sheet pan, and he catches sight of Logan. The change is almost instantaneous - his massive smile grows three sizes wider, his eyes light up, and he’s quick to towel his hands off before pressing the pause button on his headphones and sliding them around his neck as he throws himself at Logan.
Logan catches Roman easily, feeling Roman’s arms latch around his neck and hug him tight. “Lo! You’re back so early today, my darling prince! I thought you were working late again!”
“Patton closed the lab early,” Logan says, “on account of it being Christmas Eve and all that. And . . . and I missed you. I confess that I have been working far more late evenings and early mornings than usual, and while I enjoy the knowledge that I am bringing home more money for you, I . . . I miss you.”
Roman pulls his face out from where he’s buried it in Logan’s shoulder and carefully presses their foreheads together. “Oh, Logan, mi estrella, you don’t have to work as hard as you do. You know that, don’t you? The amount of money you bring home doesn’t matter to me. I love you, not your wealth. We’re happy with what we have, aren’t we?”
Logan doesn’t mention the real reason that he’s worked so many extra hours - earning enough to buy Roman an engagement ring. Instead, he leans forward and gently kisses the flour-smeared tip of Roman’s nose. “We are, my love. We are.”
Roman smiles softly at him and leans forward to kiss Logan. He tastes like jam and coffee, and Logan gently brings one hand up to cup the back of Roman’s head. He threads his fingers through Roman’s silky-soft curls, gently scratching at his scalp, and he can feel more than hear Roman humming happily.
“I have something for you,” Logan says.
“A present? For me? But it’s not even Christmas yet!”
Logan laughs a little, sadly pulling his arms away from Roman’s waist to present the crown of roses to him. “Patton wove it out of a few of his blossoms. He thought that you might enjoy it.”
Roman carefully takes the rose crown and sets it on his head. Logan loves the way the bright red roses look nestled among Roman’s caramel curls. “Logan, mi estrella, it’s absolutely perfect! I love it so much. It’s a perfect early Christmas present, really. Thank you so much.”
Logan kisses his forehead. “Only the best for you, my rose.”
Roman blushes. “I’m just going to finish this last batch of dough so it can prove overnight, and then I’ll be up.”
“Roman, love, why are you prepping so much? Isn’t the shop closed tomorrow?”
“Yes, but it’s Christmas, and Patton invited us to his holiday party, remember? I’m bringing treats!”
Logan thinks that it’s still an awful lot of baked goods, but he isn’t going to question Roman. He’s not the one with a pastry degree, after all. “All right, my darling. I’ll meet you upstairs, then?”
Roman kisses him again, once, twice, three times, and then Logan heads upstairs. He changes into sweatpants that are a little too small and a sweatshirt that’s a little too big and puts on a pot of tea, running his finger over and over the quickly-wearing-out velvet of the ring box. He paces around the little living room of their apartment, eyes flickering between the door Roman will be coming through and the stove where the water slowly rises to a boil and the window, where the streetlight continues to illuminate fat fluffs of snow.
Roman doesn’t come upstairs until eleven thirty-six pm, and he looks absolutely exhausted. Logan pours him a mug of the tea he’s been keeping warm, and Roman quickly changes into pajamas. Logan sits down on the couch and pats his lap. “Come and cuddle with me, my rose.”
Roman yawns, tucking his body up into a neat little ball on Roman’s lap, and nuzzles into his neck. “Mi estrella, I’ve missed this,” he mumbles, letting Logan wind his arms tightly around his waist to keep his limp, sleepy body in place. “I know you’ve been working late to provide for us and stuff, but I do that too. You can come home more often.”
“I am sorry, Roman, my rose,” Logan murmurs. “I will endeavor to be home more often in the future.” He gently presses little kisses to Roman’s cheeks and temple as Roman quietly sips his tea. On any other night, Logan would let Roman fall asleep in his arms. He would take his armful of sleepy, pliant boyfriend and tuck him up in a little cocoon of blankets and crawl in next to him and curl around him.
Perhaps they will still do that later. But not right now. Right now, it’s ten minutes to midnight, and the snow shows no signs of letting up now and Logan knows what he has to do. He gently shakes Roman’s shoulder. “Roman, my rose, my love, wake up, darling.”
Roman hums, disgruntled, and opens his eyes with a sleepy grumble. “Mmmnnnn wha’s hap’nin’?”
“Dearest one, can you please put on some clothes?” Logan asks. “There are only ten minutes until midnight, and I have a time-sensitive surprise for you.” Roman rubs his eyes, sitting up slowly. Logan smiles, leaning forward to kiss him, and even though Roman is only a little bit awake he kisses back anyway.
“Only for you, mi estrella,” Roman sighs, pushing himself up off of Logan’s lap in one languid, fluid movement. Roman is long-limbed and lanky, and all of his movements look as though he’s dancing through the air. Even when he’s half awake and stumbling through the apartment to put on real pants, even when his hair is a tousled mess and his eyes are only barely open, every minute movement he makes look intentional and beautiful and perfect.
Logan can’t believe that he hasn’t married Roman sooner.
He pulls on thick pants and a thick sweatshirt and his heavy coat and scarf and gloves and knit hat, and by the time he’s dressed and Roman is ready and he’s located his keys, it’s eleven fifty-three. Logan gently leads Roman out of their apartment, out of the bakery, and down the snow-coated sidewalk.
“It’s still snowing,” Roman marvels softly, reaching the hand not tightly clutching Logan’s up to catch some of the snowflakes on his mittened palm. “It’s going to be a white Christmas after all.”
“Yes, Roman,” Logan says. “I do believe that it will be.”
“Where are we going, Lo?”
“You will see, darling.”
Logan and Roman walk two and a half blocks away from their apartment, to the river that runs through the middle of their city. There’s a footbridge leading over it as well as one for motor vehicles, and it’s the footbridge that Logan leads them over. The handrails have garlands wound around them, and street lamps perfectly spaced along the length. Logan stops under the street lamp in the exact middle of the bridge and gazes out over the length of the river, towards the ocean.
“It’s beautiful,” Roman sighs, staring out at the wide expanse of dark water. Some of the slower-moving patches near the banks have begun to freeze over, and the lights of the city reflect like shimmering water-stars.
Logan looks at Roman. “You most certainly are.”
Roman’s face is pale pink from the cold, but it turns pinker under Logan’s praise. “Logan, I -”
“Roman, this - it is not my strongest suit, so - so I ask that you have patience as I attempt to express myself.” Logan turns to stare at the water, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Roman turn to stare at him. He feels his cheeks and ears heat up as he blushes and tries to form his thoughts into something that he can say.
“I . . . I am not good with feelings. I am a scientist, Roman. I prefer things to be straightforward and objective and factual, and even though I could give you the chemical breakdown of love with my eyes closed and describe the necessary cerebral structures in my sleep. But when I look at you, I . . . all my logical thinking flies out the window and I lose my ability to form rational thought. You are . . . you represent everything in my life that I am not - you are reckless and passionate and emotional and subjective and . . . and I am . . . and I am unsure how to proceed when I am with you.”
Roman blinks. “O . . . oh . . .”
But Logan is not done yet. “And I find that wonderful.”
“Oh?”
“I met you in college, when I was in . . . a place that, God willing, I will never return to. There were many times where I feared that I would lose myself to the darkness, times that I thought I would lose all emotion in pursuit of pure logic. But you - you kept me sane. You challenged me to face my emotions, instead of ignoring them, and you helped me work towards admitting I needed help. And - and when I finally did, it was not because I wanted to make myself better for you. It was because you helped me see that . . . that I had an intrinsic worth, and that if I was to get better, it would have to be for myself and no one else. You changed my entire world view, my entire life, and I . . . I do not know that I will ever be able to thank you for all you have done for me and helped me do for myself.”
Logan finally turns away from the river and turns to look at Roman, who has gone completely scarlet. “Roman, my darling, my prince, the light and love of my life, I am never happier than when I am with you, never more at peace than when I rest in your arms, and never surer of myself than when you smile at me and tell me that you love me. I . . . I have agonized over this decision for weeks, even though the probability that you will react favorably is overwhelming. I hope that my anxiety over your response to this shows you just how much I value you and your presence within my life.”
He takes Roman’s hand in his own and slowly, carefully sinks to one knee, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out the box. Roman’s free hand goes to his mouth. “Lo, I . . .”
“I know we have spoken about this subject at length, but still, I find myself hesitating. I love you so much, Roman, more than I have ever loved anyone in my entire life, and I feared that a negative response might break me open and expose my vulnerabilities to the world. But what I failed to realize was that -”
The street lamp illuminates Roman’s caramel curls and brown irises, and Logan’s breath catches as he stares up at what he’s convinced must be an angel.
“What I failed to realize,” he whispers, “was that you, Roman, have been breaking me open the entire time. You have shattered the walls I built to protect myself, and you have seen me at my weakest and my worst and my darkest and you have loved me still. I - I know now that I have nothing to fear, and - and with that in mind, I - I have a question for you.” Logan releases Roman’s hand (which flies to join his other hand in pressing over his mouth) to open the ring box. Inside sits a simple golden band, with a small ruby set on it next to a dark blue sapphire. Light catches on the gemstones, lighting them up as though from the inside, dancing across the golden band as snowflakes land on the ring and Logan’s glasses and Roman’s hair. Roman’s eyes shine with tears.
“Roman Alejandro Prince,” Logan whispers softly, “will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
Roman doesn’t speak for a long time. His hands are pressed over his mouth, and as he blinks tears skitter down his face and glisten like diamonds on his cheeks. Slowly, he begins to nod his head up and down, gradually picking up steam until he’s frantically flinging his head up and down.
“Sí,” he chokes, wiping frantically at his cheeks as he falls to his knees to join Logan in the snow. “Mi amor, mi estrella, luz de mi vida, sí, sí, sí, me casaré contigo, I will marry you, mi estrella, te amo, te amo te quiero te quiero -”
Logan leans forward and silences Roman’s joyful rambling with a kiss as the bell tower begins to chime out the hour - twelve o’clock midnight, Christmas morning.
(The next day, when they go over to Patton’s house for Christmas, Roman is wearing his engagement ring. As Emile and Remy fawn over him and congratulate him, Patton wraps an arm around Virgil’s waist.
“I told you Logan would propose by Christmas,” he hums. Virgil hands him a $10 bill and kisses him, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, you did, Pat. Yes you did.”)
TAGLIST:
@bunny222
@phlying-squirrel
@scorching-scotch
@accio-hufflepuff-power1
@ironwoman359
@ab-artist
@a-lexicon-of-words
@samathekittycat
@confinesofpersonalknowledge
@backatthebein
@princeanxious
@serious-ppl-wear-neckties
@ascreamingstrawberry
@thekeytohappiness-is-you
@smartestowlgirl
@silverrhayn
@221b-quote
@generalfandomfabulousness
@deverick-racoma
@dkg-racoma
@starryfirefliesbloggo
@justanotherpurplebutterfly
@minshinxx
@hpjkfgw
@pearls-of-patton
@couch-potato-1890
@isdisorigionalenoughforyou
@notveryglittery
@imantisocialgetoverit
@deamondisciple
@purplepatton
@iris-sanders-athena
@magicalmayhems
@fightingswedes
@chaosgaminggirl
@book-of-charlie
@anuninspiredpoet
@wicked-delights
@bleaktuber
@purpleshipper
@c4t1l1n4
@illiani
@maxiswriting
@cutie-whore
@magnificentme513
@no-life-no-problem
@sockpansy
@ocotopushugs
@mauvelavender
@hahanoiwont
@ravenclawunicorn1
@that1theatregirl
@nightmareelmst
@bread-potato
@gaygreekboi
@drawyoursword
@thebeautyofthomas
@anxiousangelvirgil
@greeneggsandham1998
@shesavampirequeen
@phangirlandkilljoy
@sortablue
@humorlover1233
@allycat31415
@fangirltothefullest
@ashrain5
@white-spirit-of-darkness
@rejectedathena
@hedgehoghumor
@gay-and-exhausted
@vir-gull
@romanthroughthestars
@savingshae
@daughterofsomnus
@unikornavenger
@awesomelissawho
@ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2
@radioactivehelena
@ethospathoslogan
@anxietyisthebestme
@pinkeasteregg
@entpscarleharrrr
@a-snoway-afternoon
@it-is-i-music-note-anon
@tera-91
@thisismedamit
@indanegalaxy
@so-many-ships-i-have-a-fleet
@maybekatie
@forsakethegodsbeforetheydoyou
@areyousirius-noheisdead
@curlycutiekinz
@arandompasserby
@youllnevertaketheskyfromme
@shadowsoul357
@pandagirl0730
@bibbidi-bobbity-booyah
@kittycake574
@uh-r00d
@fall-chemically-atthedisco
@wolfiegamer2007
@phander-trash
@faithfulcat111
@fangsandrainbows
@redundant-statements-for-400
@adka2333
@theresneverenoughfandoms
@regen-cecilos
@pinkpandapancakes
@the-better-bard
@a-little-bit-of-ace
@bisexualellaphants
@echomist13
@pokeeevee100
@light-it-on-fire
@kaileah-kat
@thatonetuesdaywhensam
@savemefrompainfulagony
@flamingfawkes
@browniebri
@romanssippycup
@soft-transboy
@somehowsnakesblog
@lunareclipse-524
@wattysthebrokenangel
@saphael-malec102
@rieka-onyx
@booksgamesnetflix
@dragonheart905
@starrynightaurora
@dedaartist
@pattons-cardigans
@emilyinhernaturalhabitat
@dontbugmeimantisocial
@icantbeme71097
@derpiest-unicorn
@sirasanders
@tinkslittlebelle
@joyful-milkshake-observation
@redhoneysugarorange
@lunacatzuniverse
@itsausernamenotafobsong
@virgilcrofters
@cdragontogacotar
@wildheart49
@welp-im-undertale-trash
@randomrainbowslushy
@logical-but-anxious
@ebony-wolf
@morality-is-anxious-too
@angered-turtle
@shadowjag
@ihateitwhenyourejustvague
@punsterterry
@royallyroman
@rainfilledskies
@fandomsofrandom
@trust-me-i-just-get-weirder
@anxie-teaa
@moonfang03
@didnt-murder-anyone-yet
@hungry-red-panda
@holdyourbreathfornow
@forrestwyrm
@thefluffypuppyishere
@oh-star-how-the-mighty-fall
@statsvitenskap
@yty-is-a-gfeat
@wit-is-wisdom
@siren-art
@anxietyisthebestme
@randomfanderfriend
@kittengiggles-puppysnuffles
@a-saltine-in-trying-times
@queer-human-being
@thatpinkpony59
@i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing
@breloomings
@noneed4thistbh
@kikirwheeler
@the-gayest-one-of-them-all
@thegoofyseadragon
@fantasyandfairfolk
@trashysugarbaby
@bassacaglia
@justanormalfoot
@alkimara
@apologetically-anxious
@stardustedsweaterlover
@punkassplonker
@wicked-universe
@maya-tl
@magicalmayhems
@lockolocka
@whyme-tho
@starbuckssippinson
@imnotcrazy-i-swaer
@jemthebookworm
@witchybitchylesbean
@blocksavage1776
@luckybanana948
@why-should-i-tell-youu
@wouldthehill
@pheasantjj
@themainhome
@cats-vetal-miking-vomit
@merlybird500
@error-i-dunno-what-went-wrong
@bangthekobrakid
@absoluteturnip
@dragonwitch20
@goofypersona
@anyay666
@teethietoothies
@smokeyrutilequartz
@i-really-dig-the-purple
@thinniewhinnie
@cieltheanon
@alotofstupidstuff
@impossiblepentagon
@sandersidestrash1
@suspicious-sweaters
@asymmetricalgarbage8888
@lollife
@insanegoldie2
@daring-elm
@why-should-i-tell-youu2
@paperghastly
@theunoriginaldaisy
@emocatholic
@the5thcoy
@apologetically-anxious
@radioactivehelena
@llamaly
@cloudedskies29
@riley-castillo
