Work Text:
Heat slowly builds in Logan's chest cavity. It starts in his heart and crawls and clings to his lungs and rakes down into his arms and into his fingers. It spreads across his shoulders; shocking and prickling. The sparks are begging, revolting, beseeching in his head and into his mouth.
And for a moment, he feels rebellious. Defiant. Just for a moment. The feeling is barely flickering.
But the feeling is rising and that's all the moment he needs.
"You used to be nice."
There are lights glaring in the corner of his vision and a camera— unmoving, unblinking— as it bores a hole into the side of Logan's head. Sparse green light on the camera reflects on Logan's glasses and Logan reflects in the camera's eye.
He is squeezing his tie. Fingers wrapped very tightly around the fabric. His still mouth partially open from his... outburst . Thomas is staring at him, eyebrows furrowed... he looks utterly lost. His mouth is one thin line and his cheeks are slender; there is not a single word on his tongue as he narrows his eyes. Tilting his head slightly, like a confused dog, like what Logan had just blurted out didn't comprehend in his mind. Or as if he didn't hear him at all (it's familiar).
And Logan is staring at Thomas.
"What are you on about, calculator watch?" Logan can hear Roman distantly from across the room. A little speck of dust on the floor— all of them are. Roman, Patton, Virgil, they're all infinitesimal. They're the empty spaces in between the words on his schedule.
"You... used to be nice..." Logan repeats, " kind. " Fingers running up and down his tie; a safety net.
He remembers distinct words, blaring in his head as if it's his morning alarm.
"But who do you really want to scream that at?"
He squeezes his eyes shut. Multicoloured stars dance in the abyss.
The sound of feet running down the stairs, clothes being ripped off their hangers and tossed to the floor callously, a box kicked, and empty promises that taste like the yellow of a lemon. ( "Another day, Logan, I promise." ) The door clicks shut. And Logan is standing there.
Alone.
He feels his clipboard go cold underneath his fingers, despite him never releasing it from his iron tight grip.
Logan opens his eyes, pressure building in his head. It beats against the inside of his skull. "Or... did you never used to be?"
His world towers over him... or perhaps... his sun (his star) is a better word. Bright and blinding and blazing. Logan feels as if he is orbiting around Him, absorbing as much heat as he can get without reaching forward and simply touching Him (he's worried he'd get burned). Logan is the earth. Needing the sun in order to breathe and survive . The Sun doesn't need him , though. Peacefully spinning. Blissfully unaware of the planets around him. The same planets that are colliding with each other without His connection. The same connection that is slipping through his fingers.
His Sun is enormous in front of Logan.
And Logan realises he's infinitesimal, too.
"Oh god," Logan says.
He pauses.
"Maybe you never used to be."