A/N: I do not own Glee or Logan Wright.

Short series dedicated to one of the best portrayals of mental illness that I have seen on this site.

It is not surprising that Logan plays chess well.

He is born into that sort of family - the militia classes that became too rich and too urban. In the twentieth century they play their wars in black and white and enamel. His father gives him his first set, one side only, as the tradition flows. White. The queen fits naturally to his palm. Logan holds first love in his hands, and laughs at how swiftly she can move. How swiftly she makes his blood move.

"All the ways about here belong to me."

It is surprising that he sings. Beautifully.

His mother treats it like an ornament, stroking his blonde hair and coaxing him to sing when they have guests for dinner. His father, though he has no ear for music, is an expert of imperfections and employs a music teacher for the boy.

The tutor stands him in front of the mirror in his bedroom. Touches his mouth, opening it around the do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti - do.

His teeth glint in the glass. Enamel.

Logan smiles when his first tooth comes loose, under his curious tongue, and puts it in his chess box where the felt lining will prevent damage. No one asks about the first tooth, or the second.

When he is eleven he has enough to match the pieces. Incisors are pawns, while canines replace his knights and his bishops. Rooks and royalty are marked by molars.

He plays alone now. The other children at his school are loud in every way, their talking, their walking, their dry, heavy breathing. Logan sings to himself, and plays his left hand against his right. Or against his reflection. They both play well, and reflections are quiet creatures.

TBC - doubtless this one shot will make more sense in a chapter or so. Please review.