A/N: Inspired by this week's episode. In which Logan was an ass. And Jess was perfect.

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So what are we talking here? Short novel, Kafka length, or longer?

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153 pages, front to back, table of contents to about the author. A short novel.

He didn't tell her it was epic. That it was his life story. That it was hers.

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Dos Passos, Tolstoy, or longer?

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When he wrote it, he wanted to think it would be enough. He had forced each word out through his fingertips, had pressed them to the page, with nothing but the faint hope that she would understand. That she would see that each phrase was written to praise the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she looked.

He should have known, should have heard it in the way Luke spewed out the words, venom and fire, the address to hell. He should have known it was never going to be about him.

That was the way things worked.

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Robert Musil, Proust, or longer?

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This guy is a jackass in every definition of the term. Over-confidant in voice, scared out of his wits when he sees his girlfriend talking to some guy he's never met. Jess almost wants to laugh, to sit there and laugh, as he spews out authors, showing off his Yale education.

Jess won't be the one to tell him that he'd read Salinger before Logan was old enough to spell it.

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I'm not throwing you with these names, am I?

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He stands up, grabs his jacket, walks away because it's all he can do. He silently begs her to follow him.

He thinks it's his ears playing tricks, the slap of her shoes on the cobblestone. He's wrong and she's standing before him, trying to make excuses, trying to tell him she's okay, she's not drowning in beer and bratty boys. She won't die of boredom or suffocate beneath her grandmother's horrible taste in d├ęcor.

He doesn't believe her.

He yells. He wanted to get through this without yelling, without telling her she's gone stupid or insane or she's been possessed by some sort of alien hybrid, taking over her body, but spewing out the words she'd never say.

And he wishes her a happy birthday.

And he leaves.

Some things are best kept short.