A/N: This was going to be a 2-shot, but now it's an "I have no idea how long this will be" shot.
"Knock, knock. Anyone home?"
As much as I'd like to say my voice was friendly and inviting to Logan to come open his damn front door so I could get away from here as soon as possible, it may have come across as cranky and annoyed. But in my defense, I was cranky and annoyed.
After all, this was all his fault. If he didn't have idiot friends who stopped by out of nowhere with no warning, I wouldn't have had to run out with my tail between my legs in shame. I hid in the bathroom, and Mr. Echolls brought me my bag. If I had been able to leave on my own accord, I would have made sure I had all my books.
I continued pounding on the door, calling out door-based clichés and pacing the front stoop until Aaron Echolls opened the door. He was wearing a robe, with a towel slung over his shoulders and wet hair.
"Veronica! What a surprise. I was in the shower; I hope you haven't been knocking long."
"Just a second or two," I lied. "I left my book here a couple nights ago. Can I come in and look for it?"
Aaron stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. I did, making a beeline for the couch and peering under it.
Dust bunnies, some skittles, and a pen. No Salinger. Crap.
I slammed my hand on the ground in frustration, causing a dust bunny to pop off the ground and blow in my face. I fanned it away, and gave up my spot on the floor, sneezing the crap out.
Don't they have a housekeeper?
"Ah, irony. Gesundheit," Logan's wry, albeit hoarse, voice reached my ear.
I caught him leaning on the door frame to the living room, staring at me in amusement. He had apparently taken my command to rest seriously, if his flannel pants and sleep mussed hair was any indication.
"Danke." I sat down on the couch (that was not harboring my homework), and gave him a once over. "You look even crappier than before."
"You know, that's what I love about you V: Your bedside manner." He held his fist in front of his face and coughed lightly into it, giving me a tired smile when he was done.
"You know me," I replied. "I tell it like it is."
"My dad says I'm just going through an awkward phase," he joked. When I didn't laugh, he frowned. "My humor isn't doing it for you? How about my dashing good looks?"
Before I could reply to that, Mr. dashing-good-looks himself started sniffling again. He pointed to the coffee table. "Can you hand me the klee-heh.." He held his wrist under his nose and gestured a little wildly to where I assumed they normally had a box of tissues.
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, but I was saved having to answer by his repeat performance of 'cafeteria sneezing jag in A minor.' ACCHOO! HEhh…"
It pretty much went on from there, and as he continued to sound like one of Snow White's dwarves I started feeling a little bad for him, and glanced looked away to give him some privacy.
When he had regained control, as evidenced by the heavy breathing and low chuckles, I gave him my attention again.
"On a scale of one to ten, how humiliated should I be?" He asked, hands on his knees and looking at the floor.
"About what? Sneezing your head off in front of me or asking for an invisible Kleenex box?"
"Uhhh…" Logan looked up and his red-rimmed eyes were damp and brimming with embarrassment. "Both?'
I pretended to give it some thought. "Three on the sneezing, since you can't help it. But seven on not knowing what's on your own coffee table."
He nodded, rubbing his hand across his forehead like he was in pain. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.
"I'll get you Kleenex, if you get me my book."
"Book?" Though it wasn't a foreign look on his face, Logan looked genuinely confused.
"Yeah, book. Pieces of paper with words on them held together with glue down one side. Used in English classes. Perhaps you've heard of them." At his blank look, I relented the sarcasm. "I left it here when Dick and Beav showed up and Wallace needs to borrow it."
"Book…" he repeated. "Catcher in the Rye?"
I snapped my fingers. "A-ha! You do know what it is."
"Only book in the house, V. Should've assumed it was yours. It's in my room."
He headed up the stairs, apparently expecting me to follow him. I did, but stopped off in the bathroom first to look for Kleenex. I had to uphold my end of the bargain after all. I looked in all the cabinets, but found nothing. Did no one in the Echolls house consider themselves human enough to need tissues?
By the time I had given up on the fruitless quest and snagged an extra roll of toilet paper, Logan was gone. No worries, I knew the way to his room by heart anyway.
When I got there, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in hands, resting on his knees. Basically, the poster child for pathetic man-cold ridden adolescent.
I might not be known for my compassion, but even I could push aside my anger for a couple of minutes to help this poor sad-sack. He is definitely going to get what's coming to him.
But it can wait one more day.