Work Text:
Roman was dimly aware of being in that half-asleep state where he was technically conscious, but not yet truly awake.
There was a feeling, however, of something being out of place— something not quite right, nagging at his mind to rouse and pay attention.
“Soft!”
Roman’s eyes snapped open, thoughts sharpening into focus.
“What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Roman is the sun.”
Pushing himself up on his hands, Roman searched until his eyes fell on a figure standing in front of the open bay doors that led into Thomas’s imagination, silhouetted against the moonlight, a gentle breeze fluttering the curtains on either side of them.
And just as quickly, Roman’s thoughts stalled out.
“…Logan?”
Roman was definitely still asleep. There was no way that Thomas’s logical side was standing in his bedroom, reciting Shakespeare. He had to be dreaming.
Logan went on as though he hadn’t heard. “Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief.” He gestured vaguely in Roman’s direction. “That thou her maid art far more fair than she.”
…Or maybe he was hallucinating.
Roman stared, not quite sure what to make of it. Why on Earth was Logan in his room at this time of night? Scratch that— why was Logan reciting Act 2, Scene 2 of Romeo and Juliet, in Roman’s room, at midnight??
Roman was very confused, and somewhat concerned.
“Logan… what’s going on?” He slowly stood up from the edge of his bed, never letting his eyes leave Logan. “Are you feeling all right?”
Perhaps Logan was sick? Roman edged forward, reaching for the other side’s forehead to check if he was feverish. Instead of answering, Logan skirted a few steps away, evading Roman’s outstretched hand.
“Be not her maid since she is envious,” was the only response he offered. “Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off!”
The creative side was now more than somewhat concerned, quickly turning into alarmed. Something was clearly not right. And now Roman was struck by a new, worrying thought:
What if being in Roman’s room was affecting Logan? Making him act like… this?
“Logan, I don’t think you’re feeling quite like yourself, right now,” Roman said, keeping his voice soft and high and hopefully non-threatening. “Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll set you to rights?”
Again Roman tried to reach out, this time to take Logan’s hand, with the intention of gently steering the other side back out of his room and into a more neutral space. But Logan continued to back away from him, shifting from Romeo and Juliet into Sonnet 106: “When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, and beauty making beautiful old rhyme in prose of ladies dead, and lovely knights…”
As the words fell from Logan’s lips, he backed all the way through the still-open doors, into the imagination proper; Roman froze.
The imagination was the absolute last place Logan should be wandering around, with the state he was in.
“Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best,” Logan murmured. “Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow…”
Part of Roman wanted to leap forward, to grab the other side and yank him back— but he also worried that if he moved too suddenly, Logan might bolt. He knew he should probably go get the help of the others, but Roman didn’t trust that Logan wouldn’t wander off on his own.
Even as he stood there, debating over what to do, Logan drifted a few steps further, saying, “I see their antique pen would have expressed even such a beauty as you master now.”
Roman was left with little choice but to follow.
And so it went: Logan reciting, Roman following, every so often trying to entreat Logan to stop or to come to him— trying to slip closer when he thought Logan might not notice.
And yet Logan wouldn’t allow Roman to reach him. He continued to retreat, dancing away from Roman’s grasp, and never once losing his iambic meter.
“So all their praises are but prophecies of this our time, all you prefiguring,” Logan declared, circling around a tree, as Roman tried very hard not to let out a sound of aggravation. “And, for they looked but with divining eyes, they had not skill enough your worth to sing.”
“Yes, thank you, Logan, I do appreciate the compliment.” Why hadn’t Roman had the sense to change his outfit from pajamas into his usual regal attire when he had the chance? He couldn’t exactly focus enough at the moment, not that Logan was really giving him an opportunity. “I would appreciate it more if you would stay in one spot.”
“For we, which now behold these present days, had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise,” Logan replied.
“Mmmmmmhhh…”
By now, they were well and truly entrenched in the imagination, deep within the woods that were the realm’s usual default state. Roman was growing increasingly frustrated, as well as determined to stop Logan— who, oddly enough, seemed to grow increasingly anxious, even desperate to evade Roman’s attempts to interrupt his recitation.
“Logan, come on.” Roman was jogging at this point, and exceedingly aware of how barefooted he was. “Can you please stop and think about what you’re doing right now? Emphasis on the stop part of that??” He fumbled for a few steps, hissing at whatever it was that had just stabbed into his foot. “Logan!”
Surprisingly, Logan did hesitate, pausing long enough to turn and glimpse back at Roman. “He speaks yet he says nothing: what of that?” he wondered aloud. “His eye discourses; I will answer it.”
Roman grimaced back at him.
“I am too bold, ‘tis not to me he speaks,” Logan concluded hastily, spinning back around. “Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat his eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return!”
At this point, Logan was running outright, with Roman chasing after.
Perhaps most bizarrely, Logan never stopped reciting lines, although now they were punctuated with sharp breaths as he fled through Thomas’s imagination, Roman hot on his heels.
“But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, feed’st they lightest flame with self-substantial fuel,” he gasped, faking left then dashing right; Roman cursed behind him. “Making a famine where abundance lies, thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel!”
Roman lunged; Logan dodged.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temper— oof!!”
Roman launched himself at Logan, tackling him to the ground.
The two of them tumbled into the dirt in a heap; Roman recovered first, and before the other side could slip away, Roman sat on him— his knees straddling Logan’s legs, and his hands pinning Logan’s shoulders.
That, it seemed, was enough to get through to him.
“Roman!”
Now, finally, Logan actually addressed Roman— and was very flustered as he did. “You— what— get off of me!” His voice had gone high, and he pushed ineffectually at Roman’s arms.
“What in the world is going on??” Roman demanded instead, ignoring Logan’s protests. He tried to feel the logical side’s forehead; Logan irritably batted Roman’s hand away.
“I’m not sick!”
“Your face is bright red,” Roman pointed out in a deadpan, earning a grimace in return. “And do you mean to tell me that you’re wandering around Thomas’s imagination, reciting Shakespeare, and you’re not delirious?”
“Let me up,” Logan insisted, evading the question as he tried again to shove Roman off of him. By now even his ears were turning scarlet.
Roman didn’t budge. “How do I know you aren’t going to run off, spouting the First Folio?”
“I am fully possessed of all of my faculties, thank you,” Logan retorted, growing more irritated by the second, especially as his efforts to dislodge Roman continued to prove fruitless.
Roman at least relented enough to lean back, taking his hands from Logan’s shoulders. “Well, if that’s the case—” He swept one arm out to the side, incredulous. “Care to explain what this was all about??”
Logan’s face screwed up, until he half blurted, half shouted, “It was for your birthday!”
“…What?”
Whatever Roman had been expecting, that wasn’t it. In fact, it took him a full four seconds to process what the other side had even said, before belatedly realizing that he was still sitting on top of Logan. Roman clambered to one side, and Logan quickly righted himself.
The awkward silence continued, until at last Logan spoke, though reluctantly, embarrassed, and avoiding eye contact at all costs. “I wanted to do something special… for your birthday.”
“But it’s not even my birthday until tomorrow!” Roman protested, before doing some mental math. “Oh! I mean— I guess, by this time of night—” He caught himself, then coughed. “Sorry, not really important, I suppose. …Continue?” He gestured to Logan, trying not to wince.
Logan folded his arms in front of him, still staring at the ground. “You always know exactly what to do for everyone else on their birthday.”
“Well, I do kind of have a leg up on that one. I am the idea guy…” Roman realized a half second too late, that may not have been helpful, or tactful for that matter; Logan hunched further in on himself. Roman hastily protested, “Hey, no, you get good presents for each of us!”
Logan scoffed. “Certainly, I knows things that appeal to each of you.”
“What’s wrong with getting people things they like?”
“Nothing. It’s just— in the end, that’s what they are. Things.” Logan fiddled with some blades of grass in front of him. “When you give one of us a present, it’s heartfelt. It has meaning. I wanted…” He scrunched his eyes shut; his forehead creased. “I wanted to be able to do something like that for you.”
Roman’s expression flickered with pained understanding. “Logan…”
“I brainstormed multiple potential presents— different ideas—“ Logan caught himself short on that one, and grimaced again. “But everything I could come up with just seemed…” He glanced away. “Inadequate.”
Roman said nothing, watching Logan with wide eyes.
“…So…” Logan started again, uncharacteristically quiet, and pointedly avoiding Roman’s gaze. “I instead asked myself, what I thought you would do, given the same circumstances.” He tilted his head in Roman’s direction. “You would make a grand gesture— something important to the other person. Something personal. This seemed…” He ducked his face, still refusing to make eye contact, but Roman could see him flushing again. “It seemed like a better idea at the time,” he finished in a small voice.
Again, Roman was left trying to process— and more importantly, trying to figure out what to say that wasn’t going to make Logan feel worse than he already did.
They sat in silence for a long minute, while Roman tried to marshal his words. Then, the creative side took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
“Logan,” he started.
Roman kept a careful eye on Logan as he spoke, and also made sure to keep his voice gentle.
“I do adore the theater,” he went on after a moment. “And the fact that you would go to such lengths to try to give me a special birthday means more than words can say. But…” He gestured to their surroundings. “Shakespeare in the Park? That’s not you.”
“That was rather the point,” Logan mumbled.
Such a sentiment made Roman instinctively want to clasp a hand to his chest, pained that Logan would regard himself in such a way. Instead, Roman reached slowly for Logan’s arm; this time, the logical side didn’t pull away, but he was tense and stiff under Roman’s touch.
“Logan,” Roman chided softly, “being heartfelt means, coming from the heart—”
“I do not need an etymology lesson,” Logan said, a defensive note creeping into his tone.
“From your heart,” Roman finished, cutting off Logan’s complaint. “It’s special because it’s uniquely yours.”
Logan’s expression and tone went flat. “Mine? What can Logic offer that would make a birthday special?” He finally met Roman’s eyes— only to fix him with a droll look. “Historical events that correspond to that particular day on the Gregorian Calendar? The exact position of the stars over Gainesville the night Thomas posted your first Vine? A critique of the concept of ‘birthdays’ for mental projections with no corporeal existence—”
“What— wait, do you know that?” Roman interrupted. “The stars one, I mean. Not the one with the existential dread.”
Logan gave him another look and gestured impatiently with one hand. “Yes. Obviously.”
“Yes,” Roman answered immediately.
“Yes— what?”
“Yes, that.” At Logan’s baffled look, Roman waved to the sky overhead. “The position of the stars!”
Logan looked even more confused. “I… could make you a star chart, I suppose—”
“No, here!” Roman insisted, gesturing above them again. “Look, just—” He leaned forward, taking hold of Logan’s hand and grasping it tightly, ignoring Logan’s stammered protests. “Focus on what it’s supposed to look like. Every detail, every bit of information.”
Logan’s expression was dubious, but, after a few seconds (and another reassuring squeeze from Roman), he exhaled, and closed his eyes.
Roman watched his fellow side for several moments— the way his lips pulled to one side, the way his forehead wrinkled, the focus etched into every line of his face. But then Roman could feel the knowledge welling within Logan, like an undercurrent of sound, thrumming just below audible range, and the creative side closed his eyes as well.
He reached inside himself, for that spark that lived within him— similar to what he was feeling from Logan, and yet, wholly different. Then, his mind reached for Logan’s.
The instant they met, Roman could feel it— all of the information Logan was bringing to the surface— and let it translate through him. He felt the imagination shift around them, but didn’t open his eyes at first.
It wasn’t until he heard Logan’s gasp that Roman finally looked.
Then his mouth hung open, all powers of speech gone.
The night sky glimmered brilliantly overhead, a million facets of light sparkling like so many fairy lights. The moon was gone, and the sky was clear, without a trace of clouds or haze. Roman had allowed their imaginary stars to shine far brighter and more vibrantly than they would have actually been, with the Milky Way clearly visible as it stretched from horizon to horizon. To call the image above them ‘breathtaking’, while certainly accurate, seemed grossly understated, and both Roman and Logan stared heavenward for a long minute in appreciative silence.
“…Tell me what we’re looking at,” Roman said at last in an entreating whisper.
It took only a little coaxing on Roman’s part to convince Logan to break his reverie, and describe the various stars and constellations and planets above them. Before long, they were both laying on the ground on their backs, pointed in opposite directions but with their heads resting next to one another, as Logan pointed out the constellation Gemini.
“According Greek myth,” Logan elaborated, “the twins it depicts are specifically Castor and Pollux—”
“Brave warriors both!” Roman interjected, gesturing excitedly. “They sailed on the Argo— joined the hunt for the Calydonian Boar— and they rescued their sister, Helen of Troy, from none other than Theseus himself! And of course,” he sighed, letting one hand fall back to his chest, the other reaching wistfully to constellation in question. “What they are most famous for. Pollux, the immortal demigod son of Zeus, sacrificing half of his immortality to his dying half-brother, Castor.” Roman let out a longer sigh, resting both of his hands over his heart.
“…Yes,” Logan murmured, glancing sideways with a look of faint bemusement. Then he returned his gaze to the view above. “Thus, securing them their position among the stars,” he finished quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Roman look over at him, and though he couldn’t be sure, Logan didn’t think he imagined the smile that graced the other side’s face.
They went on in this fashion for the better part of the night: Logan describing the various celestial bodies and myths associated with them, and Roman filling in the rest of their stories in his own dramatic fashion.
In one quiet moment, when Logan was searching for the next constellation, Roman took the opportunity to take in the sky altogether, eyes roaming across every star and galaxy. Then his gaze drifted downwards and to the side, where they fell on Logan, who wore a look of intense concentration. Flecks of light reflected off the lenses of his glasses.
“Logan?”
“Mm?”
“This is perfect. Thank you.”
Roman twisted his head, and pressed a kiss to Logan’s temple. Logan, who hadn’t drawn his gaze away from the sky before, immediately snapped his head around, once again flustered and red-faced, not knowing what to say.
“I— ah— I-I… I don’t…”
“Just say, ‘happy birthday’,” Roman prompted with a small smile.
It took several seconds, but at last, Logan managed a quiet and earnest, “Happy birthday, Roman.”
“It is,” Roman agreed, nestling his head into the crook between Logan’s neck and shoulder. He was pleased to note that Logan didn’t shy away; after a moment, he even rested his own head against Roman’s jaw.
They stayed that way for the next few hours, even after they ran out of constellations and stars to name.
They were simply content to lay there, together, and take in the sky.