The warm firelight from the hearth of the Stuart House common room flickered against the cold features of the room's only inhabitant. Normally, the commons were buzzing with overly-caffeinated students working diligently on their latest assignment. Not tonight. It was 3:30 am on a solemn and bleak Friday morning, and John Logan Wright III sat here, alone, in an oversized armchair, a hand pressed against his lips in contemplation. 3:30 am. And it was only getting later…
Logan was exhausted. He truly was. Not only had he been awake since five in the morning the previous day (making his time spent conscious almost a grueling and draining twenty-four hours), he was emotionally spent, as well. You see, every morning when he awoke, he faced the same internal question: to take them, or not to take them? And by "them", of course, he meant his medication to regulate his moods. It was a different answer each time; all relevant to what he knew he would have to deal with in the day to come. As torn as he was between loathing the immaculate numbness induced by the medication, and the overwhelming rage and melancholy felt in their absence, it was never he who made the decision.
It was them.
For some time, it was Kurt who made this decision for him. Logan saw him every other day – minimum – in Warbler rehearsal, and the occasional time throughout the campus of Dalton Academy. On those days, he would take them for Kurt's sake – he hated for Kurt to see the raw and unforgiving monsters that would rear their gruesome heads without the ease and restraint of the medication. But that didn't matter anymore. Not after their huge blowout a few months back. Logan had given up on Kurt after that – Kurt, the one person who made him feel. Kurt only wanted Blaine, and that was made perfectly clear that night. Moreso than it already was. Logan had since ceased living for the countertenor. He took his medication almost daily now, preferring the emptiness to the overwhelming emotion brought to light without them.
But, today was different. Logan didn't take them today. It wasn't his decision, like usual. But it wasn't Kurt's this time, either. It was the only other person he could tolerate enough to admit he cared for – it was his decision.
Julian Armstrong-Larson hated the medicated glaze in Logan's usually smoldering green eyes almost as much as Logan himself did. Anytime Julian noticed that shiny glare in his eye – his unnaturally calm demeanor – he would scoff, mumbling something or other about how weak Logan was. This did nothing short of pissing Logan off, and today, he told himself, was going to be a good day. He didn't want to fight with Julian about his medication. Not today. Thus, Julian decided Logan wouldn't medicate today.
Why was today meant to be a good day? Today was the day Julian was to return to Dalton after filming the newest episodes of Something Damaged. Or, at least, he was supposed to be returning. The day had waned on into night, and night into morning, and as Logan sat by the fire waiting, he was beginning to regret not taking his medication. The unwanted emotion bubbling in his chest was freaking him out – it was draining him.
"Fuck it," he mumbled to the fire, the light glinting dangerously in his emerald eyes. It was now nearing 4 am and Logan had had enough. What was this? Wasting precious time and sleep on this lying son of a bitch? No. Not anymore. With a large huff of air, he pulled himself up from the deep leather armchair, tugging his uniform straight, save his tie, which he had already loosened and was now hanging lazily around the House Prefect's neck. He had just turned his back to the fire, facing the stairs to the sleeping quarters of Stuart, when he heard a creaking and cracking of the large wooden entrance doors to the House, followed by a chilling wind.
Logan's head snapped around quickly to the source of the noise, his stormy gaze falling on one Julian Armstrong-Larson, just back from his three week engagement in Hollywood. He was wearing a black double-breasted jacket, a Dalton scarf tight around his neck and covered with tiny crystals of snow which were already beginning to melt against the roaring heat of the fire.
There was a loud thud as Julian's suitcases his the hardwood floor of the common room simultaneously. He didn't notice Logan until he had shaken out the melting snow from his brown locks and had began pulling his scarf loose from his neck. It was only then that he heard the dangerously quiet sound of the blonde boy's agitated voice.
Slightly startled, the movie star hurriedly turned around, only to be met with Logan's flustered gaze. His eyes swept over him, immediately gathering he was frustrated. He was far too easy to read.
"Logan," he greeted the teen boredly. "I didn't expect you to be conscious at this hour."
"Mm, nor did I," the blonde retorted as he watched the other pull the scarf off completely and drape it over one arm. "I was planning to sleep shortly after you arrived. 9 pm. Sharp. Remember?"
Julian eyes him incredulously, instantly realizing what this had to be about. Logan had been up waiting all night long like a worried parent after prom. But the look in Logan's eye wasn't worry. It was annoyance; he was extremely peeved, to say the least. Julian simply blew it off, picking up his suitcases at once.
"Yeah, I was a few hours late. What of it?" He flashed Logan his well-rehearsed million-dollar smile. "Is this your way of saying you missed me, Wright?" He asked in a slightly accusing tone, though he was certainly only teasing. Of course Logan didn't miss him – he simply didn't have the capacity to miss someone. Anyone.
"Excuse me if I like to see my so called 'friends' every once in a while," he grumbled in response to the other's insinuation as he shuffled by him, snatching up the suitcase from his right hand to help carry his bags to his room.
Julian trotted alongside Logan up the wide, magnificent staircase in the direction of their parallel dorm rooms. Logan, thought having many, many stormy words for the other boy, remained uncharacteristically silent as they neared Julian's room, far too exhausted at this point to remember his heavily rehearsed rage for when he returned.
Julian eyed the blonde whimsically as he fumbled for his keys to unlock the door. Noting the close proximity Logan was standing to him, he smirked amusedly. "So, you did miss me then, hm?" he inquires as he swings the door wide open. Logan pushes past him with a scoff, slinging Julian's suitcase down onto the floor in front of him.
"The only thing that missed you," he began in a cool tone, "was your room. As prefect, my duties demanded I keep your room tidy during your absence," he explained haughtily. "So, please; squash your ego."
Julian merely rolled his eyes. Logan just never changed, did he? He was so predictable. Too predictable, really. Of course he would have a response as snarky as that. Of course he wouldn't willingly admit the real reason he had been sitting up all night waiting.
…Why was he up all night waiting?
The brunette moved to a plush white armchair near the entrance of the room as Logan leaned against the wall near the same door, arms crossed in an agitated manner. Julian didn't have to look up to know Logan's piercing green eyes had found and locked on him; he could feel them boring into his skin. Julian pressed a forefinger to his temple, tiredly leaning his elbow on the arm of the chair, eyes shut in exasperation and exhaustion.
"Must you insist on staring at me, Logan? Why don't you go rummage through my belongings as you normally do when I return to Dalton?"
Those scorching greens narrowed to slits, his body remaining rigid against the wall. "What are you going off about now? I do no such thing," he retorted, casting his gaze briefly to Julian's suitcases. The owner of those suitcases merely chuckled, opening his eyes to glance amusedly at the other.
"Okay, Logan, because I definitely haven't caught you doing it before," he murmured, motioning with his free hand in Logan's direction. "For instance – are those not my Dunhill cufflinks your wrists are currently adorning?"
Logan subtly glanced down, slowly dipping his hands and wrists deeper into the crook of his elbows. "…once more, I've no idea what you're talking about."
Julian snickered as he sat up straighter with a disapproving shake of his head.
"Whatever you say, Logan."
"Don't patronize me."
"You're doing a fine job of that on your own, don't you think?"
Logan peeled himself from the wall, crossing to stand in front of Julian, peering down at him; arms uncrossing, hands dropping down to his side and balling into agitated fists. "Look, Julian. I'm fucking exhausted. Today has been long enough on its own without you coming home and immediately giving me hell for – "
"Aha! I was right. Those are my Dunhill cuffs," Julian noted, reaching straight out ahead of him to finger the cufflinks on Logan's left wrist.
At this touch, Logan jerks away slightly. "Don't touch me," he snarled at the remarkably calm boy in the chair who didn't seem to notice Logan had tightly grabbed his wrist to stop his touch. Julian merely gazed up at him boredly. He was clearly very used to Logan's little outburst; they had stopped phasing him years ago.
"Ooh. Temper, temper…" he teased with another light chuckle, tugging his wrist and hand free. "Just admit it," He rose from his seated position, causing Logan to take a step back. "You enjoy going through my things."
The blonde followed him with his eyes as he made his way toward his suitcases. "Why would I enjoy going through your things? I am a man of taste," he informed him, straightening his regal posture. "And you – you don't know the meaning of the word."
"Don't I?" Julian replied quietly, back still turned to him. He slowly pulls out a flowingly elegant, white, cashmere Loro Piani scarf. Pulling it from his bag, he stood from his knelt position, turning around to face Logan, whose hardened expression had transformed into one of awe at the sight: the scarf was absolutely stunning, and exactly Logan's style. He swallowed audibly.
"What's that, Jules?"
"Yours," Julian stated simply, tossing it unceremoniously into the other boys chest. Logan caught it, fingering the unbelievably velveteen material. It was perfect. Not to mention, it meant Julian had to have been thinking of him when he got it. No one did things like that for Logan, and he appreciated it. A smile tugged at his lips and left as soon as it came at the thought of that alone. He clears his throat.
"Thanks, but no thanks. This is hideous," he lies blatantly, his expression rigid once more as e throws it back in Julian's direction. "It doesn't even suit me. And frankly, it doesn't much flatter you, either. I suggest giving it to Derek, or something."
"Derek doesn't wear scarves." Julian frowns.
Logan snatches the scarf back, gazing down at it almost affectionately. "In that case…" His voice drops to one just above a whisper. "I'll just give it to Kurt."
Julian's warm gaze turned icey at mention of Logan's fellow Warbler. "Kurt? Oh."
"Yes, Kurt," he responded coolly, folding the scarf up and placing it carelessly in an inner pocket of his blazer, eyes locked on Julian's. "You say that like it surprises you. You know how I feel about –"
Logan raises an eyebrow at Julian's sudden shortness. He had been teasing him since he arrived, and suddenly he appeared to want nothing else to do with him.
"…right," Logan mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. "Um, well. I've been up all night waiting on your slow ass to get here. I'm gonna, uh, head to bed."
He turned around to face the door, only able to take a few steps toward it before being forced to pause.
"Like hell you are," Julian hissed.
Logan spun around. "Excuse me?" He asked incredulously.
"Give me that scarf back."
"Fuck you, no. You already gave it to me."
"Yeah, I gave it to you. Not Kurt," Julian extended his hand expectantly.
Logan scoffed and turned back around wordlessly, heading toward the door again. Julian didn't take too well to this. He stormed up after Logan, who by this point had the door open. He reached ahead of him, pushing it shut roughly.
"Give me the scarf, Logan."
Julian's tone took the blonde off guard. He never used such a harsh tone with Logan. Ever. Unless they were fighting. Which they weren't. Logan cocked an eyebrow, wondering why their vibes had suddenly turned sour.
Julian growled at this answer, reaching inside of Logan's blazer and fishing for the scarf unsuccessfully.
"What the hell, Julian? Get the fuck off of me!" Logan screeched, raising both arms to shove him away with open palms. Julian stumbled backward empty handed, crashing into a chair with the force. He immediately rebounded, back on his feet in seconds.
"I didn't spend hundreds of dollars on that for you to turn around and give it to someone who doesn't even care about you, Logan. You doing this isn't going to make him want you like you seem to think it will."
Logan's eyes narrowed, the tiredness that shone from them earlier disappearing, replaced with a seething annoyance instead. "You like to humor the idea that you know what goes on in my life. You don't," he snaps, advancing toward him. "Maybe if you stayed here for more than a fucking day you might, but no. You always run off and leave me here. Alone. You know nothing. Now. If you'll excuse me," he grumbled, making his way toward the door once more.
"You think I want to just up and leave you all the time? God," he laughed dryly, "It takes you weeks to get over yourself when I finally come back. And right when we're finally good again, my schedule forces me away. Then I get to come home and do it all over again. You think that's fun for me?" Logan opened his mouth to speak, turning around from where he was stopped in his tracks listening, but was cut off once more by him. "Not to mention the last few times I've come back, your head has been so far up Kurt's ass, you haven't even had the time to be upset that I've been gone, you – "
"What is your hold up with Kurt, Julian? Jesus, that's, like, the hundredth time you've mentioned him in the last twenty seconds. If I remember correctly, you're one of the biggest advocates of getting us together." Logan eyed him, waiting on an explanation. Julian said nothing, simply dropping his gaze to the floor. Logan noticed this vulnerability and pounced on it hungrily. "I'm waiting, Larson." He prompts, stepping toward him.
Julian rolls his eyes, his expression returning to its usual annoyance once more. "There's no hold up, Logan. God, how can you be so fucking dense? That wasn't even the point of what I was saying! But, of course, you latch on to that part. Because I was talking about him. Case and point," he grumbled, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You know what, never mind. Forget I said anything. Keep the scarf. I don't care. Give it to Kurt. Make him happy."
The prefect simply couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had been prepared to raise hell on Julian as soon as he saw him, but he hadn't. Instead, Julian was giving him all the hell in the world and about Kurt nonetheless. Kurt. The Kurt he had recently given up on. And now he had to rehash this all over again, via Julian.
"I will," Logan responds coolly, appearing in such a way that he wasn't angry at all in the midst of regaining his regal posture and composure. He didn't bother to mention he and Kurt hadn't spoken in months. "And he will look absolutely ravishing in it. All thanks to me and my fabulous taste."
Julian's face was red with rage and distaste at this point but he couldn't go back on what he said, no matter how much the thought of Kurt in possession of that scarf ate him up inside. He knew if he ever saw Kurt actually wearing it, he'd probably rip it from his neck right then and there.
"You do that," he states simply. "And get the hell out of my room."
He didn't have to ask Logan twice. He turned on his heels, balling up his fists by his sides as he stormed from the room, slamming the door hard behind him. The paintings on Julian's wall shook with the force and one even fell off from its holder. He heard Julian curse Logan loudly and smirked a wicked smirk as he slammed his own door, hoping Julian would hear and it would only cause him more agitation.
There was so much shit running through his exhausted mind that he could hardly stand it. It had taken every single ounce of self control in him – which wasn't much – not to lay Julian out as soon as he brought Kurt into the conversation. So, instead, the decorative and very expensive antique record player on his wardrobe ended up being the direction his frustration was taken out. He picked it up and slung it hard against the near wall, letting out a loud grunt as he did so. The player promptly splintered and shattered into pieces as Logan huffed angrily. It hardly helped his situation.
He quickly shrugged off his blazer, letting it fall to the floor. He flung his tie from his neck, throwing it down beside the blazer before throwing himself down onto his bed, face down, much like a child who didn't get his way. Breathing heavily into his pillow, he tried to relax himself to no avail. It was now 5:23 am, and he was growing more frustrated by the second, realizing he was meant to wake in two hours for class.
His eyelids were closing against his will. Sleep was trying to take him. But his mind was refusing to let it happen. He let out an agitated, muffled scream into his pillow before flipping over roughly onto his back, staring up into the neverending darkness of his ceiling. After a few moments of lying in silence, he slowly sat up, letting out a loud sigh. He reached beside his bed on the floor, aimlessly feeling around until he felt his blazer. His heart rate increased as he slowly slid his hand inside, his fingers brushing against that beautiful and now familiar softness of the scarf. With a sharp intake of breath, he slowly pulls it out and up onto the bed with him.
He layed back onto the bed, leaning on his side. Closing his eyes heavily, he clutches the scarf to his chest, arms tight around it. His mind seemed to quiet down, and it frightened him. This sort of peace only found him when he was heavily medicated. As he inhaled deeply, he breathed in Julian's cologne which he assumed was on the scarf from being mixed in with Julian's clothes for so long. He didn't mind. Not at all. Actually, he liked it, he thought. This thought plagued him, but also lulled him into the most pacific slumber he'd experienced in the last few years.
And everything was alright in this moment.