#lelo

Something was off. Logan set his keys in the bowl with a halting sort of care. The living room looked fine. A tentative sniff didn’t reveal smoke or gas from the stove, or anything else untoward. “Soleil?” he called.

No answer. Worrying, but not a reason for panic. Logan doubled back to put his shoes properly on the rack. Leo could be at the store. Maybe even out for a walk, or coffee, regardless of the fact that he didn’t like caffeine after lunch. He could be napping, but it wasn’t the kind of quiet Logan associated with long, comfortable afternoons at home. It was stiff and charged as a static-thick sheet.

“Leo?” he tried again, poking his head into the kitchen. Empty. Dishes in the sink, still. Crumbs littered the counter and ground their way into the grout. Logan grimaced and added it to his mental list of chores.

There was a noise from the other room, the one they had converted into a den when it became clear nobody was going to use the third bedroom. “Hi. Sorry, hi, I’m in here.”

Logan dropped his phone and wallet onto the countertop and did his best to nonchalantly hustle down the short hall. The door was ajar. He hesitated at the doorknob and settled for a knock instead. “Le?” he asked quietly. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m decent.”

“Not worried about that.” Permission was permission, but Logan opened the door slow enough that Leo could change his mind. No protest came.

Leo was sitting on the floor, crosslegged, with a cookbook open in front of him. He sniffed when Logan entered, nose twitching to the side. “Julia Child.”

“Who?”

“She makes—it’s…” He waved one hand at the pages, wiping his nose with the other. Logan watched him shake his head and look to the ceiling as if it had answers. “God, sorry, I’m a mess.”

“No,” Logan said. “No, not at all. Can I…?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Leo’s cheeks were pink. His crystal-blue eyes were too bright from the beginnings of tears, stubbornly held back as Logan took a seat on the floor across from him. He didn’t pull away when Logan took one hand in both of his own. Leo’s palm was clammy.

“Hey.” He ducked his head to try and catch Leo’s eyes. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Leo gestured at the cookbook again, like it explained everything. “There’s a billion recipes in this thing. They’re literally foolproof. She wrote it so any shmuck in America could make real French food because she loved it so much. It’s—you can feel it when you read, she just loves food and cooking and—and her family, and everything.”

Logan rubbed his thumb along the inside of Leo’s wrist. “Okay.”

“I hate it all.”

“Oh.”

“It all sounds awful.” He blinked fast. A single tear escaped, making it all the way to the corner of his eye before it was banished on his shirtsleeve. “I love this book and everything sounds fucking vile.”

“That’s alright,” Logan said quickly, sweeping his thumb under Leo’s eye. His expression had gone a bit vacant as he stared down at the book. “Le, it’s fine. You don’t have to make anything at all.”

Leo’s lower lip wobbled hard. Logan’s stomach bottomed out. “I was gonna find some things to test for Finn’s birthday and it was gonna be so good because I love Julia and I love cooking but it’s not working ‘n it’s terrible.”

The last word cracked hard. Leo ran harsh hands over the sides of his neck a few times and let out a trembling breath. His next few inhales were short and sharp, dutiful in their attempts to keep back the flood. Logan closed the book carefully. “Have you been in here all morning?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Leo groaned and finally looked back at him, but only seemed more upset. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask how your workout went. How’s Cap, was it fun?”

“Leo.”

“No, I want to know.” Leo straightened up a bit and nodded, sniffling. He gave Logan’s knee a pat. “Tell me everything.”

“It was a workout,” Logan answered. He held Leo’s gaze a moment longer than was usually comfortable. Something gave way, and Leo’s jaw went tight to leash it. “It was fine. What happened?”

The tip of his nose went red to match the high of his cheeks. His mouth turned down at the sides in a picture-perfect frown, his eyes went glassy again, and Logan barely had time to collect him in his arms before the first sob broke past Leo’s diligently fortified walls. “I’m a fucking mess,” he managed between uneven breaths.

“No,” Logan soothed, running his hand up and down Leo’s hitching back. “No, you’re not a mess.”

“I’m crying over a book for no reason.”

Logan made a soft sound and held him tighter. “There’s a reason.”

“Yeah,” Leo confessed miserably.

“Want to talk about it?”

Leo shook his head in the bend of Logan’s shoulder. His hands were twisted tight in Logan’s shirt, as if Logan would ever leave. “Birthdays matter to me,” he whispered after a time.

Logan laid his palm flat over the back of his neck.

“They make people feel special. I want…god, Logan, it matters to me that you two feel special, it matters so much. My mom and I pick recipes out of this thing all the time, and I just—I’m really only good at a couple things and I can’t even get this one right.”

“No.” What a horrifying thought. Logan squeezed him tight. “No, Le, that’s not true. You’re good at so many things. You’re smart, you’re funny, you beat Finn’s grandmother at cards, you—nobody else I know can walk on their hands.”

He rested their foreheads together, but kept his hand at Leo’s nape.

“You’re multilingual,” he continued, only tripping a little on the syllables. It almost made Leo smile. "You can make friends with anyone. You can play baseball and football better than half the team, probably more. Finn’s birthday will be special because you’re there, not because of any food you do or don’t make.”

Leo was quiet for a long moment. He was blotchy and salty and somehow still the prettiest thing Logan had ever seen.

“You’re also handsome when you cry, which—” Logan cut himself off with a tsk, but Leo laughed for real that time. A good warmth heated his cheeks and Logan brushed the last bit of tears away. “So unfair. Lá. You’re wonderful. You’re not a mess, but I love you either way.”

Logan had learned not to mind it when Leo looked at him like a puck skidding loose. His throat bobbed. “I don’t know what to do when you say things like that,” he finally said. “But thank you.”

Logan whisked a hand between them. “Don’t. You can thank me when I make you popcorn.”

“What?”

“Up, up, allez. You haven’t eaten anything since, what, a muffin for breakfast? It’s past noon.” It was small wonder he felt so terrible. Leo let him pull him to his feet and into the living room, where Logan deposited him on the armchair by the window and pulled the blinds up to let the sun in. “Sit.”

“I…”

“Stay there,” he ordered as he headed for the kitchen. Popcorn, salt, paprika. In Leo’s world, sadness required crunchy, salty remedies.

Leo was just where Logan left him when he returned with a bowl of seasoned popcorn, Gatorade, and a kiss for the top of his head and each cheek. “Thanks,” Leo whispered into his shoulder.

“Eat. Drink. We’ll think about dinner later.”

They were alike in many ways, Leo and himself. For one, they found coddling to be the pinnacle of embarrassment. Logan was the last person to judge; allowing others the space to offer care was a skill in which all three of them scored low marks. Logan thought of it as a very contained and self-sufficient group project on frequent occasion.

He made himself useful while Leo recovered. Loudly, visibly useful, away from the kitchen door so Leo knew he wasn’t lurking. He got the dishwasher loaded, the sink cleared, and the countertops scrubbed shiny before a body pressed against his back and arms came around him.

“Hi.”

“Bonjour.”

His shoulder was the perfect height for Logan to lay his head back. Leo’s eyes were still faintly red-rimmed. He radiated more heat than usual, but he smiled when Logan lifted his heels and set them back down on the tops of Leo’s socked feet. “Do you feel better?”

“Oui. Thanks for cleaning.”

“Easy enough.” The bones of Leo’s wrist were so fine for such a large person. He reminded Logan of a willow tree, flexible and strong.

“Did you rinse after the gym? You smell good.”

“Ouais.” He smiled when Leo buried his nose in his hair. “Hmm. What are we having?”

Leo went still. “Oh. Uh, I don’t…I mean, I hadn’t really decided.”

“No, no.” Logan reached back and brought Leo’s head around with a nudge to his jaw. He raised his eyebrows. “What do you want to eat? Right now. More than anything.”

“Gumbo. With cornbread.”

Exactly as he predicted. “Teach me.”

Leo chest stuttered to a halt. “What?”

“Any shmuck in America, ouais? I’m a shmuck. Currently in America. Teach me how.” Logan ran his second knuckle in a straight line from the hinge below Leo’s ear to the notch or his chin. “I want to learn. I’ll put music on. Who needs cookbooks, eh?”

Leo was quiet for a few seconds, then made a funny little growling sound and held Logan so tight he laughed. He released him with a firm slap to the ass. “Go get a cutting board.”

He washed the vegetables; Leo showed him how to sharpen the knives, plural, because cutting vegetables required a different one than cutting meat. He lit a candle while Leo retrieved onions from the fridge, one-third of a ‘trinity’ Logan had never heard of but had smelled a thousand times in their home. Leo worked his knife around the top of the green peppers with expert precision until the seed center popped free, only to move behind Logan and adjust his wrists so he could slice the good part into thin sticks. They were wildly uneven at first. He was slow in his newness. Leo made no comments about it.

They dragged out the heavy-bottomed pot Leo used for everything he cared about and Logan watched him swirl flour and oil until it was a rich golden-brown, into which he poured their mountain of vegetables and worked them around until every (awkward) cube was coated. Steam billowed up, crisp and tangy with the pepper and onion. Logan was quicker with mincing the garlic cloves while Leo measured chicken broth into a side bowl. He gave the vegetables an occasional mix to let them release their moisture. Logan refused to call it ‘sweating’—he had a nicer time listening to Leo’s jazz and watching the roux thicken it into a creamy mess without that connotation.

The first thirty minutes were a busy-handed race that culminated in bay leaves and seasoning that had no measurements. Leo gave him an apologetic and fond look when Logan finally caved to ask how many teaspoons he was supposed to use, when memorizing Leo’s movements grew impossible with the number of spice jars involved.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said through a smile and a kiss to his forehead. “I’m a terrible teacher.”

Logan frowned, swatting him with a dishtowel. “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I’ve never done it before.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Leo squinted down at the pot. “Have you ever boned raw chicken?”

“What the fuck?”

“No,” Leo said quickly, and grabbed his shoulders when Logan reeled back. He was laughing, for reasons Logan couldn’t fathom. “No, no, I’m sure you did some crazy shit in college, but—no, have you ever taken the bones out of a piece of chicken? That’s what I was asking. Removing the bones.”

“Tabarnak, Leo.” Logan pressed a hand over his heart and tried to find his breath. “God. No. I haven’t.”

“Good. On both counts,” Leo added after a second’s pause.

Logan whacked him with the towel again. “Disgusting.”

“I’m sorry, that’s such a horrifying thought,” Leo snickered. “I mean, frat life and everything—”

“Leo.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Leo left a brief burst of kisses on his jaw. “I’m sorry. You’re being so patient with me. We were having such a sweet moment. Okay, I got this chicken for something else, so it still has the bone and skin, right?”

“D’accord.”

“It’s on the label if you’re ever worried,” Leo added, pulling two packages of chicken over. “The thighs are best for gumbo because they have more fat. You can use breasts in a pinch, but they get dry easier.”

Logan pressed his lips together as hard as he could.

“Say it, or I will.”

”You do tend to prefer thighs to breasts.”

They shared a crisp high-five before Leo cracked the seal of both containers. “Cutting board, flat knife. That’s all you need. Take a piece like this and find the edge of the skin along the top. If we leave this on, it’ll get weird in the broth.”

“Weird?”

“Do you like boiled skin?” Logan wrinkled his nose. “Exactly. I might fry this later so it gets crispy. It’s good in pasta. Okay, big rule: once you touch the chicken, you don’t touch anything else. We’re sterilizing the counters when we’re done, too. Raw chicken equals salmonella, I don’t care how fresh it is.”

“No raw chicken,” Logan repeated. “Got it.”

“The skin is only connected to the flesh by a little bit of connective tissue,” Leo explained. “Stop making that face, you beat living people up for money. If you hold that thicker edge, and pull this way…”

Like magic, the skin began separating from the meat under Leo’s careful guidance. With only a few tugs and a single flash of his knife, it had been removed in one perfect piece. Logan shook his head. “You should be a professional.”

“Hush.” But he was pleased. Logan could tell. “Your turn. It’s okay if it’s not perfect right away.”

Logan shot him a playful glare. “I haven’t even started.”

“That’s why I gave you two.”

It was a challenge, now. Leo knew what he was doing. Logan did his best to mimic him, gripping the thicker edge and pulling as gently as he could so it didn’t rip.

“It’s dead, Lo, you don’t have to be nice.”

“I don’t want it to tear!”

“It won’t. Make me proud. Commit to the chicken.”

“I take it back, your teaching skills need work.”

“Feel free to give Finn a performance review when he gets home.”

“What, is he the boss?” Logan laughed. A bit more force behind his pull did, in fact, start to work. “He wouldn’t even want to touch this.”

“Way too slimy,” Leo agreed. “It’s why he was us to be so brave for him.”

Us. Like Logan got to be part of the cooking crew. “I like it when you say that.”

“What?”

“When you call yourself brave.” He cast a quick look at Leo between pulls. “It’s true.”

“Commit to the chicken, Ten.”

The rest of the peeling went without issue and with much giggling, but Leo made him get serious again when it was time for the bones. Logan watched him in utter fascination as he coaxed his knife along the curve of the bone and seemed to roll it out with no effort, joints and all.

Logan looked down at his own, then up at Leo. “I’m going to butcher this thing. Show me again.”

Leo went slower, made his movements more dramatic, and not for one second did it feel like he was making fun of Logan. In fact, he seemed eager every time he checked back to make sure Logan was following. Even when Logan struggled through his own uneven cuts, he made no comments about the fair bit of meat still remaining on the bone. He got a good work! and a just like that, yeah. Leo was kind enough to start the last one for him. It wasn’t so hard after that.

Cutting the meat into large cubes was easier than the vegetables; Leo complimented his consistent sizing and meant it. They went right into the boiling broth with everything else to cook for the next several hours. “Almost done,” Leo noted once their cutting boards and knives were in the dishwasher. “If it’s too spicy, I’ll add some lemon and honey. But last official step: andouille.”

“French?”

“Cajun, so, in a way.” Leo took a familiar package out of the fridge and set it on the counter. “I always have some.”

“I know. I see it in there all the time.”

Leo blinked. “Oh. Well, it’s delicious. Do you really pay attention to what I keep in there?”

Logan frowned. “I live here. I eat things. I know what you like.”

Leo took a new knife down from the magnetic strip stuck to the side of the cabinet, shaking his head. “Yeah, I—sorry, that still gets me sometimes.”

“What?”

Leo didn’t answer until four links of sausage had been cut into half-moons and tossed into the stew as well. He rinsed his hands in the sink and twisted the dishtowel in his fingers, and finally passed it back to Logan with a half-smile. “You pay really close attention to me.” He scuffed a knuckle against Logan’s cheekbone. “And you prove it. It matters to you.”

“Can I feed that man to an alligator?”

Leo barked a laugh.

“Please?” Logan pressed, catching him around the waist when he turned to replace the pot’s lid. “Please. It would make me feel better.”

“I won’t stop you,” Leo conceded. Logan took his weight easily when he leaned back. “But I can’t condone it either.”

“I prefer begging forgiveness than permission.”

“Woof woof.”

“Ouais, always.” Logan pushed up on his toes to kiss the nape of Leo’s neck and drag his teeth under his ear. “For you.”

“And Finn.”

“Finn doesn’t need that from me.”

“I don’t need it, either,” Leo pointed out.

As if. Logan rested his chin on Leo’s shoulder and held him tight. “You’re my goalie. It’s my job to protect you.”

“Hmm.” His heart was beating fast under Logan’s palm. They swayed until the song played out and slid into the next. “We’ll save the cornbread for thirty minutes before we eat. Heard from Finn?”

“Olli got a flat tire, says he’ll be home around six.”

“We have so much time,” Leo sighed, turning in his arms to drape his wrists over Logan’s shoulders and press their foreheads together. Logan loved breathing the same air as him. “What are we going to do?” Leo whispered.

“Teach me to cook more?”