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edupunkn00b · 14 hours ago

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It Was Always About Love, Ch. 5: There Lies Faith

Patton wakes with quite the hangover.

Prev - There Lies Faith - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 3433 - Rated: M - CW: hangover, non-graphic and brief references to nausea and vomiting, caning and corporal punishment

Morning’s come, bright and cheery and loud and I really wish it hadn’t. My head’s just throbbing, a steel vise clamped down tight on my temples, my forehead, behind my eyes. Something crawled into my mouth while I was sleeping and died, smothered in the cotton coating my tongue. I crack open my eyes.

Big mistake.

Blinding light pours in from the window at my head and oh, feck it all my skull’s ready to split open like walnut. Everything hurts. My chest, my face, my bones.

Eyes squeezed shut, I lie still, trying to figure out what woke me.

It’s my phone.

Buzzing merrily away in my pocket, my phone is warm—too warm—and quiet, the morning alarm muffled from where it’s stuck between my leg and the mattress. I roll over—oh, another mistake.

I make it to the toilet just in time.

I sit on the tile floor, bowed before the bowl like I’m at mass. The thought’s enough to make me heave again. Finally it stops and I sit back against the wall, jammed between the cold porcelain of the tub and the bowl. I can’t reach the sink so I turn on the bath tap for a little water to splash on my face and rinse out my mouth.

My phone alarm’s still going off.

Feck it all. I pull it out just as the poor thing’s battery icon flashing red. But not before I catch a glimpse of a notification from Re. I stab at the screen, hands trembling. Relief that he’s messaged me twists up with fear at what his message might say.

My phone dies before the message can load.

I push myself up to my feet and wobble a moment. I think more might come up but there’s nothing left to hurl. I stumble back into the bedroom and out to living room for a charger.

I get a look at the time over the stove. It’s already half past eight. I’ve got closing tonight.

And I’m meant to be there by nine.

Shaking, I shove my phone back in my pocket and scurry back to the bedroom. If I hurry, really get the lead out, I’ll make it. I can charge my phone at the café. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to.

I stagger past the bathroom mirror and stop when I see my shirt.

The flash of baby blue, the new-to-me shirt I found at Bloomsbury. The new-to-me shirt I wore for our big date.

Last night crashes down on me all at once and I grip the sink, fighting back another rise of my gorge. Declan’s eyes, Janus’ eyes, staring me down. The last person on the whole blessed planet he ever wanted to see again.

The person I never dared dreamed I might get to see again.

Logan, his kind eyes going hard so quick, sending me away. “I am confident Remus will call you…”

Re, hurt and shocked and turning away from me. Taking care of Macushla. Taking care of Janus.

“Janus,” I whisper. “Janus, Janus, Janus.”

I’d dreamt of him. Of his arms around me, his hand on my cheek, his voice in my ear. Angry, but alive and full of light and energy.

He carried me and brought me home, put me to bed. He was here in the flat. I drag my fingers through my hair, fighting the tangles. It was so real, I can feel his hands helping me up. He was here.

He was here.

Spinning, almost too fast, I go back to my room. He’s not there. He’s not in the living room, either. I check the door.

The auto lock is on but not the deadbolt. It’ll only lock from the outside with the key.

He was here.

The sunlight’s brighter in the living room, stabbing through my eyes and into my head. I pull out my phone. I should call Virgil to tell I’m late. Call Re to… I don’t know what else there is to say but sorry.

I stab at the screen for a while, trying to figure out why it won’t wake up when I remember I let it die. I put it back in my pocket and stumble to the shower. I might just make it before the morning rush. Then I’ll figure out the rest.

The end of the queue is practically at the door by the time I manage to drag my sorry arse to the café. Virgil looks up when I enter but doesn’t say anything to me, just finishes the double latte he’s working on and passes it to his waiting customer with a thin smile.

A squeal from the milk steamer stabs through my brain, but I push on a smile and my apron and wash my hands before taking the next customer in line.

We get through the rush before too long. My smile crackles, brittle but still there, as I tackle the mess I’ve managed to make. Cocoa powder is everywhere, congealing in the three separate puddles of milk I’ve dribbled across the countertop. I’d knocked over a whole stack of take away cups and burnt two fingers on the milk wand.

I haven’t been this clumsy since my first day.

“Y’know…” Virgil keeps his voice low, glancing out at the last few customers lingering over their cups. “When you didn’t show at nine, I figured you weren’t gonna show at all.” His eyes are down on the drip trays as he empties them.

I try but can't remember him actually looking at me all morning.

Still I nod as I wipe at the drying espresso and whip I’d spilled all over my apron. The shaking in my hands isn’t getting any better. At least I didn’t tip over anyone’s cup on them. Yet, I guess.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my own voice crackling through my brain. “I…” My throat closes up and I try to put my customer smile back on but it’s just not working. “I didn’t mean to let you down. Won’t—” The bell over the door clangs and I jump, the ringing loud and sharp and rattling in my brain. “Won’t happen again,” I promise and turn to the couple that saunters in, laughing.

Virgil gives the customers a little smile then heads to the back. He comes back out after I’ve served them their drinks, hands me a fresh apron and slides a bottle of apple juice by my hand. “Sip it,” he mutters, still not really looking at me. “I’ll help the hangover.”

“I have a—”

“You’re feckin’ trollied.”

A hangover. Right. I crack open the bottle and take a slow sip. It’s cold and sickly sweet on my tongue and I feel it all the way down, but at least it stays down. I have another sip.

“Thanks,” I whisper. The door jangles again but it’s the couple leaving, arm-in-arm and laughing as they clutch their coffees and stroll down the pavement together. Morning rush over, the café’s empty, except for us.

Virgil just watches my feet, arms crossed over his chest. I drink a little more then stop when my stomach yells that it’s had enough.

“L texted me,” he finally says. I look up like it’s some big mystery what Logan might've told him. The burning coals behind Virgil’s eyes dashes any hope the conversation might've been kind.

I nod, and take off my soiled apron. I don’t know what to say. I don’t think there’s anything I can say. The door jangles again, breaking the silence between us. A mom and two little kids. They take about a million years to order and by the time we’re done with them, we’ve got three sets of new customers queued up again.

The rest of the shift went just like that. We’d get the line down, Virgil would linger, glaring near me but not actually looking at me. As soon as he’d start to ask what happened, another customer would pop in.

Finally, we were just a few minutes out from closing. Virgil seemed to have given up on leaving and stayed with me to close up, clearly waiting to lock the door and to let me have it.

The street was quiet and empty and he shook his head as he counted out the first till. “Y’know, you’d told me you’d done some shite you weren’t proud of, but…”

He looks up when the door jangles one last time, but I keep my eyes down on The Beast, not-quite-hiding behind its big copper belly. My smile’s just a little too brittle for another customer.

“Hey, mate” Virgil drawls in his very-much-not-for-customers voice.

Had I only imagined hearing the door? Did the customer just poke their head in and leave? “I’ll lock up,” he says and slides out from behind the counter, till tucked under one arm. It’s only then that I look, too.

It isn’t a customer at the door. It’s Janus.

He stands in front of the door, both hands clutching a small back from Aldi's. He rocks back and forth, heel to toe, impatient or uncertain. Or angry.

Hair smooth and swept back from his face, it catches the golden light spilling in from outside. He’s dressed in posh-looking trousers, wide legged and flowy, thin against the afternoon’s heat but probably more expensive than every stitch of clothing in my closet put together. His shirt is open half-way down his chest and flashes a bit of skin as he nods at Virgil.

“I wonder if you might grant me a bit of time alone with Pá—Patton?” he asks him, pointedly not looking in my direction.

Virgil frowns a bit and meets his eyes. “If that’s what you want, yeah, ‘course,” he says. Virgil shoots me a look then takes the other till and retreats to the back.

“You… ye brought me home last night,” I say. All throughout the day, fleeting memories of last night have blended with my dreams but I’m mostly sure I didn’t imagine him being there. “Thank you.”

“It was daft of you,” he says, looking down at his hands instead of at me. “An' recklessly stupid and dang’rous t' go drinkin’ o’ yer own. Anythin’ could’ve happ’ned t' ye—” His mouth clicks shut and, fingers flexing on his shopping bag, he takes a slow breath before continuing. “It’s foolish to drink alone, particularly if you are an inexperienced drinker.”

“Aye,” I nod. “I didn’…” I hadn’t meant to get drunk. Hadn’t meant to drink at all, and definitely don’t plan on it ever again, but… I don’t suppose that matters much right now. “Aye,” I say again. “Thank you fer… for lookin’ out fer me.”

He puts the bag down on the table next to him and crosses his arms. “How much of last night do you recall?”

There was a flash of fear and then his hand on my shoulder. He’s yelling, then everything’s quiet. I can’t tell if the walk home was a dream or real, his arms around me, his voice gentle in my ear. I shake my head. “I… I’m not really sure. I know—I think ye were in my flat? An’… an’” My eyebrows knit together until my head feels ready to pop. I have this picture of a man from the pub, bawling on the floor. “You… you got that bloke to leave me alone.”

His eyes widen and at first I think maybe that was just part of my dream but he shrugs. “Lovely excuse to smack down a wanker who had it coming.”

“Oh… right,” I nod and my cheeks burn. Sure, Páidí, he’s gonna fight somebody for you. “Well, still… thanks,” I finish lamely. “I… I’m glad you came out. Did you want… Can I get you a…” I pick up a cup and give it a little wiggle. Virgil wouldn’t mind if I made him a drink on house, right?

“I didn’t come out for… here,” he protests, looking around the shop. His gaze lingers on a new series of sketches Re’d brought in last week. We’d already sold two of them.

I put down the cup. “Oh.”

“It was…” He reaches for his pocket then stops and gestures at the bag he’d been carrying. “It was… Your—Virgil's shop was merely on my path,” he shrugs again, chin lifted high and avoiding my eyes.

The way he used to avoid Sister Mary Kelly's eyes when he hadn’t done that day’s reading and she called on him first.

“Aye,” I say, wincing at the hope I hear in my own voice.

He hears it, too.

“Don’t go reading anything into this, we aren’t—” He cuts himself off and grabs the bag. Before I can stop him, he turns toward the door and fumbles with the lock. “We’re—there’s no ‘we.’ I… To be completely honest,” he continues, flipping back his hair, “I’m surprised I even recognized you. I was certain you’d forgotten all about me.”

"I never forgot you, Macushla.” The word just spills out, but he doesn’t look up and I think, I hope, maybe he didn’t catch it. “I thought I'd lost you forever… I thought … I thought you’d died."

“Yes, you—” Again, he stops himself, hand hovering over his pocket as he turns back to glare at me. “Well, that was the idea, after all. No-one wants a dead teenager back. Not even Father Brighton.”

"I did," I whisper. "I know how wrong all of it was. How wrong I was. Ma—Janus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for…” My voice trails away, swallowed up by the bright red scar cutting across his face. “I’m sorry.”

"You don't actually expect a few words to make it all better, do you?"

"No, I don’t. ‘Course I don’t. I just…” I can almost feel his body curled close to mine, my arm wrapped around his shoulders. “I just wanted you to know how right you were. And how… how much I missed you. We…”

“There’s no ‘we,’” he reminds me, voice shaking from the stress he puts on it. “And the one ‘we’ you are a part of, you’ve managed to cock up, as well.”

“Oh.”

Re’s eyes burning into mine. “You’re fucking Páidí?”

“Aye,” I say. “Re.”

“'Re'", he repeats, teeth clenched. "The one—” His voice cracks and I look up to see tears glistening in his eyes. “The one bleeding’ person you should’ve bared your feckin’ soul to an’ you don’t tell ‘im?”

“I was—” I swallow back my excuses and make myself meet his eyes. “Yer right. I should have told Re. I should have told him a long time ago. Might’ve saved us all… this.”

“It would’ve. He wouldn’t’ve carried on with you if he’d known.” His voice wavered, like maybe he wasn’t sure.

Or may just that he wished I’d had the guts to do what I should’ve.

"I know," I nod. “If I’d had any idea who…” I let out a slow breath and nod. “I’m… I'm still just really glad you're alive and you're safe and Re loves you so, so much. And I—“ And I love you, too dances on the tip of my tongue.

His look rips my words from the air and I close my mouth.

"So what do you think I'm meant to do with you now?”

His arms wrapped around me, kisses in my hair. A sob sits in my throat. “I’m whatever you want me to be to you."

Lips thin, he stares back at me. “And if I told you I wanted you to disappear?”

My eyes burn but I nod. “Aye,” I whisper, my voice failing. Apron twisted between my fingers, I pull at the hem, like I can pull him back to me. “Aye, you’d never see me again.”

Chin held high, he glares back at me. “And if I told you to never speak to Remus again?"

"Like… no’ even t'…" A cold empty ache squeezes my chest, radiating out down my arms and all the way through my fingers. My hands start to shake and I shove them in my pockets. I have to force the words from my mouth. “No’ even t’ break things off with ‘im? You wan’ me t’ jus’… ghost him?"

"Yes."

"I'll… I'll stay away from you and I'll leave Remus, I promise… but I have t’ a’ least say goodbye t’ him."

“No, that's not what I want." He stands tall, shoulders back and head held high. His gaze burns until I can't stand it anymore and I look away. "I want you to just go. Don't speak to him, don’t call him, don’t message him. I want you to excise yourself from his life and go.”

Just imagining leaving him like that tangles my stomach into a knot. Re knows where I work. I’d need to disappear from the shop, ignore his calls… Even if Re hated me for what I’d done, Logan was right. Re was too kind to not be at least a little worried if I just slipped off the face of the earth. Wouldn’t he—

I look up and Janus is watching me with eyes I don’t recognize.

"Please… I… I can't. Let me at least explain to him.” I step out from behind the counter and he takes a step back. I stop. “Please, Janus. I’ll tell him… I dunno, anything ye want. I won't blame you, I promise. But I hafta… I hafta say somethin’. I can' jus’… I—I can't."

Something flashes in his eyes and that's when I realize. This isn't him. He loves Re too much to let him be hurt, to let me hurt him like that. Let alone to be the trigger of it all.

"Perhaps you have changed a little then."

Janus turns and walks to the door. Just before he steps through completely, he looks back over his shoulder. "Good. Because if you ever betrayed Re like you did me, for any reason, I’d have to kill you. And that's not another test and that's not a threat. Simply… information.”

"Aye," I whisper and Janus slips out into the night.

The door jangles as it slowly closes behind him and my feet move automatically to close and lock it. I draw the shades and pull off my apron, the stink of spilled cream coming off of it nauseating.

“What the fuck did you do?”

I yelp at the sound of Virgil’s voice behind me. I’d forgotten he was still here.

“I… We…” I look down at the floor. I don’t know where to begin.

“Re told me some about Janus’ ex, the one who sang and sicced the priests on him.” He shakes his head and takes a half step back, eying me. "How could you do that to him? He was your friend, he was your—"

The cane whistles through the air. The wet crack of contact.

"We love each other!" I cry. "The scripture says 'The greatest of these is love! The greatest of these is—'"

The cane swings again. And again. And again.

"Love means helping him be saved, Páidí, not helping him sin."

"I thought I was doing the right thing."

Virgil sucks his teeth and turns away. "How the fuck is ratting him out doing the right thing?"

So I tell him. I tell him about sneaking off together in the woods, about our book, about our classes. About our plan.

I tell him how I was to go down first, through the back stairs. How Janus’ window let out onto a tiny terrace he could climb down. How we’d meet in the shadows underneath, grab his bag and run.

I tell him what happened when Father Brighton discovered both our passports were missing from his office.

I tell him everything.

When I'm done, Virgil's quiet for a while. Then he pulls the apron from my hands.

I try to remember how much money is left in my account. Rent's due in two weeks and I'm pretty sure I've got enough to cover it but not much more. There might be just enough time to find another job before—

"Go. Go tell them what you just told me. They need to hear it from you.” Virgil unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

I pat my pockets. I’d never charged my phone so it’s still there, still dead. “I should call—”

“Go.” He watches my hands and shakes his head. “I’ll let them know you're on your way."

#final chapter is coming tomorrow!#sanders sides #tss #sasi #sanders sides fanfiction #ts remus #ts janus #ts logan #ts patton #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #Janus Woods #Patton Hart #Remus Khan #human au #ts virgil #virgil sanders

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edupunkn00b · 2 days ago

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It Was Always About Love, Ch. 5: There Lies Faith

Patton wakes with quite the hangover.

Prev - There Lies Faith - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 3433 - Rated: M - CW: hangover, non-graphic and brief references to nausea and vomiting, caning and corporal punishment

Big mistake.

Blinding light pours in from the window at my head and oh, feck it all my skull’s ready to split open like walnut. Everything hurts. My chest, my face, my bones.

Eyes squeezed shut, I lie still, trying to figure out what woke me.

It’s my phone.

Buzzing merrily away in my pocket, my phone is warm—too warm—and quiet, the morning alarm muffled from where it’s stuck between my leg and the mattress. I roll over—oh, another mistake.

I make it to the toilet just in time.

My phone alarm’s still going off.

My phone dies before the message can load.

I push myself up to my feet and wobble a moment. I think more might come up but there’s nothing left to hurl. I stumble back into the bedroom and out to living room for a charger.

I get a look at the time over the stove. It’s already half past eight. I’ve got closing tonight.

And I’m meant to be there by nine.

I stagger past the bathroom mirror and stop when I see my shirt.

The flash of baby blue, the new-to-me shirt I found at Bloomsbury. The new-to-me shirt I wore for our big date.

The person I never dared dreamed I might get to see again.

Logan, his kind eyes going hard so quick, sending me away. “I am confident Remus will call you…”

Re, hurt and shocked and turning away from me. Taking care of Macushla. Taking care of Janus.

“Janus,” I whisper. “Janus, Janus, Janus.”

I’d dreamt of him. Of his arms around me, his hand on my cheek, his voice in my ear. Angry, but alive and full of light and energy.

He carried me and brought me home, put me to bed. He was here in the flat. I drag my fingers through my hair, fighting the tangles. It was so real, I can feel his hands helping me up. He was here.

He was here.

Spinning, almost too fast, I go back to my room. He’s not there. He’s not in the living room, either. I check the door.

The auto lock is on but not the deadbolt. It’ll only lock from the outside with the key.

He was here.

A squeal from the milk steamer stabs through my brain, but I push on a smile and my apron and wash my hands before taking the next customer in line.

I haven’t been this clumsy since my first day.

I try but can't remember him actually looking at me all morning.

“I have a—”

“You’re feckin’ trollied.”

A hangover. Right. I crack open the bottle and take a slow sip. It’s cold and sickly sweet on my tongue and I feel it all the way down, but at least it stays down. I have another sip.

Virgil just watches my feet, arms crossed over his chest. I drink a little more then stop when my stomach yells that it’s had enough.

“L texted me,” he finally says. I look up like it’s some big mystery what Logan might've told him. The burning coals behind Virgil’s eyes dashes any hope the conversation might've been kind.

Finally, we were just a few minutes out from closing. Virgil seemed to have given up on leaving and stayed with me to close up, clearly waiting to lock the door and to let me have it.

The street was quiet and empty and he shook his head as he counted out the first till. “Y’know, you’d told me you’d done some shite you weren’t proud of, but…”

He looks up when the door jangles one last time, but I keep my eyes down on The Beast, not-quite-hiding behind its big copper belly. My smile’s just a little too brittle for another customer.

“Hey, mate” Virgil drawls in his very-much-not-for-customers voice.

It isn’t a customer at the door. It’s Janus.

He stands in front of the door, both hands clutching a small back from Aldi's. He rocks back and forth, heel to toe, impatient or uncertain. Or angry.

“I wonder if you might grant me a bit of time alone with Pá—Patton?” he asks him, pointedly not looking in my direction.

Virgil frowns a bit and meets his eyes. “If that’s what you want, yeah, ‘course,” he says. Virgil shoots me a look then takes the other till and retreats to the back.

He puts the bag down on the table next to him and crosses his arms. “How much of last night do you recall?”

His eyes widen and at first I think maybe that was just part of my dream but he shrugs. “Lovely excuse to smack down a wanker who had it coming.”

“I didn’t come out for… here,” he protests, looking around the shop. His gaze lingers on a new series of sketches Re’d brought in last week. We’d already sold two of them.

I put down the cup. “Oh.”

The way he used to avoid Sister Mary Kelly's eyes when he hadn’t done that day’s reading and she called on him first.

“Aye,” I say, wincing at the hope I hear in my own voice.

He hears it, too.

"You don't actually expect a few words to make it all better, do you?"

“There’s no ‘we,’” he reminds me, voice shaking from the stress he puts on it. “And the one ‘we’ you are a part of, you’ve managed to cock up, as well.”

“Oh.”

Re’s eyes burning into mine. “You’re fucking Páidí?”

“Aye,” I say. “Re.”

“I was—” I swallow back my excuses and make myself meet his eyes. “Yer right. I should have told Re. I should have told him a long time ago. Might’ve saved us all… this.”

“It would’ve. He wouldn’t’ve carried on with you if he’d known.” His voice wavered, like maybe he wasn’t sure.

Or may just that he wished I’d had the guts to do what I should’ve.

His look rips my words from the air and I close my mouth.

"So what do you think I'm meant to do with you now?”

His arms wrapped around me, kisses in my hair. A sob sits in my throat. “I’m whatever you want me to be to you."

Lips thin, he stares back at me. “And if I told you I wanted you to disappear?”

My eyes burn but I nod. “Aye,” I whisper, my voice failing. Apron twisted between my fingers, I pull at the hem, like I can pull him back to me. “Aye, you’d never see me again.”

Chin held high, he glares back at me. “And if I told you to never speak to Remus again?"

"Yes."

"I'll… I'll stay away from you and I'll leave Remus, I promise… but I have t’ a’ least say goodbye t’ him."

I look up and Janus is watching me with eyes I don’t recognize.

Something flashes in his eyes and that's when I realize. This isn't him. He loves Re too much to let him be hurt, to let me hurt him like that. Let alone to be the trigger of it all.

"Perhaps you have changed a little then."

"Aye," I whisper and Janus slips out into the night.

The door jangles as it slowly closes behind him and my feet move automatically to close and lock it. I draw the shades and pull off my apron, the stink of spilled cream coming off of it nauseating.

“What the fuck did you do?”

I yelp at the sound of Virgil’s voice behind me. I’d forgotten he was still here.

“I… We…” I look down at the floor. I don’t know where to begin.

The cane whistles through the air. The wet crack of contact.

"We love each other!" I cry. "The scripture says 'The greatest of these is love! The greatest of these is—'"

The cane swings again. And again. And again.

"Love means helping him be saved, Páidí, not helping him sin."

"I thought I was doing the right thing."

Virgil sucks his teeth and turns away. "How the fuck is ratting him out doing the right thing?"

So I tell him. I tell him about sneaking off together in the woods, about our book, about our classes. About our plan.

I tell him how I was to go down first, through the back stairs. How Janus’ window let out onto a tiny terrace he could climb down. How we’d meet in the shadows underneath, grab his bag and run.

I tell him what happened when Father Brighton discovered both our passports were missing from his office.

I tell him everything.

When I'm done, Virgil's quiet for a while. Then he pulls the apron from my hands.

"Go. Go tell them what you just told me. They need to hear it from you.” Virgil unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

I pat my pockets. I’d never charged my phone so it’s still there, still dead. “I should call—”

“Go.” He watches my hands and shakes his head. “I’ll let them know you're on your way."

#sanders sides #tss #sasi #sanders sides fanfiction #ts remus #ts janus #ts logan #ts patton #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #Janus Woods #Patton Hart #Remus Khan #human au #ts virgil #virgil sanders

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edupunkn00b · 3 days ago

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sometimes instead of “why can’t they just be friends” i think it should be “why can’t they also be friends” because sometimes shipping feels much too much like forcing two pretty characters to kiss and be intimate without actually being interested in the dynamic the two people have. what about hanging out together. what about why they like being in each others company. what do they argue about. how do they patch things up. what do they laugh about.

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edupunkn00b · 4 days ago

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Question of the day!!!

#i present for your consideration #logan and virgil together

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edupunkn00b · 4 days ago

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non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc

#my family is _almost_ used to me suddenly turning off the water‚ wiping suds off on my pants‚ and scribbling furiously for a minute or two #the final scene of It Was Always About Love came from this

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edupunkn00b · 4 days ago

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I'm about to have a hot take and I would say it shouldn't be controversial but this is Tumblr so who knows.

A few weeks ago, I saw Jurassic Park for the first time, and there is a scene in there I think every aspiring filmwriter should be forced to watch and dissect. You may be thinking it's a Big Moment, like the timing on getting the power back on, or whatsisface IT guy shutting down the system to go steal embryos. You may think it's the kids and whatsisface who kinda looks like but isn't Harrison Ford* seeing the brontosauruses for the first time. Or the moment the first T-rex crashes the fence. But it's not any of those.

No, it's when Ellie finds Hammond in the dining room and he's eating whatever was supposed to be served for dessert and he's like "it was melting. I didn't want it to go to waste."

Because there is so much humanity in that line. It's not some big, grand theme statement. But I guarantee each and every one of us has been in a situation where life is going to hell in a handbasket for whatever reason, and we sit down and we may not be crying outwardly but we're screaming inside, and we wash the dishes. Or fold the laundry. Or eat the leftover Chinese so it won't be thrown away. We have exactly one point of control over one tiny little thing that seems (and often is) absolutely futile, and fuck it all, we need that control. Just for a moment. Just to feel something that isn't black screaming despair.

Hammond's guests and grandchildren are in grave danger. There is nothing he can do about it. Ellie's fiance is one of those guests. There's nothing she can do about it. They're in a severe thunderstorm in a place with mostly dirt roads in the middle of the night and all of the power is out and there are animals that dwarf skyscrapers outside. They. Can. Do. Nothing.

So they sit down and they eat the ice cream.

And then when Ellie says "it is good," Hammond just very quietly says "spared no expense."

His entire dream is in ruins. I know in the book he's more morally dubious, but in the movie I think he really genuinely believed he was doing something that could be wonderful and got stars in his eyes. In this moment he's grieving the potential loss of his grandchildren. The knowledge that even if (if!!) they survive, they will likely never see him the same way again--nor will his children. He's grieving because his beautiful dream has killed multiple people and he's realized he created a nightmare. He's grieving because he's in a hell of his own making and there's nothing he can do about any of this.

The animatronics are amazing, the CGI is top-notch (especially for its era), the story is solid, the cinematography is ace, but the moment that made that movie to me was that scene in the dining room lit only by the lightning, where two terrified human beings eat a dessert they almost certainly aren't really tasting, and say "it was melting" and "it is good" because if either of them says what they're really thinking, even breathes so much as a "do you think--", they will both scream until they go insane.

We've none of us faced dinosaurs run amok but we've all of us eaten the ice cream. And I think every prospective filmwriter out there, and a whole lot of shitty execs who wouldn't know a real emotion if it danced naked in front of a neon sign, need to see that scene and be forced to really sit with it.

I think movies would be the better for it.

*I would apologize for only learning half of these characters' and/or actors' names but frankly my facial recognition was already bad and has gotten worse in the last couple of years so you'll just have to deal with that.

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edupunkn00b · 4 days ago

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Call for prompts? Time to get my brain going!

@tsseventhub and @sanders-sides-events can you help spread the word? 💚💙💛

Call for Prompts! Intruloceit Week Starts Oct. 5 💚💙💛

Intruloceit Week starts October 5, 2025! Send in your prompts today!

#intruloceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #sasi #tss #ts logan #ts remus #ts janus #intruloceit week 2025

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edupunkn00b · 4 days ago

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It Was Always About Love, Ch. 4: Hope's Battle

Janus, Remus, and Logan recover together after last night's revelation.

Prev - Hope's Battle - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 4444 - Rated: M - CW: angst and comfort.

Our bed's warm beneath me when I wake. Comfortably warm, that AC me and Jannie finally caved and bought a couple years back more than earning its keep. The sky's bright outside, bleeding through my eyelids, but I'm not alone in the bed so it can't be all that late in the day.

I sigh and hold Jannie closer. I'm not fucking ready to open my eyes just yet. Last night… Fuck, I’m not ready to even think about last night, either. I sigh again, my fingers twisted in Jannie’s shirt. The material feels different, not his silk from last night, but a soft, nubby linen weave. Did he get up and change? Shit, that meant he'd probably had a nightm—

I open my eyes. My face is smooshed against Logan's deep blue shirt. I look up.

Logan's sitting propped up, my head, the whole top half of my body just sprawled all over his. He's smiling down at me. "Good morning, Remus."

"Oh, fuck, mate, sorry," I mutter. It takes me a minute but I peel away from his body and sit up next to him. My tired ass brain imagines he follows my movement. “’Morning…” I drag my hand down my face and try force my brain’s gears to move. “Didn't mean to lay all over you like that."

Logan clears his throat, still smiling, just a bit. "Last night was difficult, and not just for Jay. You… you were resting comfortably." He lays his hand on my arm, gentle. Familiar. I realize I'd woken up with his hand on my back. "I was loathe to disturb you."

"Thanks, mate." I smile back at him. The light from the window brightens the usual midnight blue of his eyes, turning them a mix of indigo and chinese blue.

Fuck, Jannie was a lucky man.

"Did you sleep well?" His eyes are on mine, examining my face like I'm a suspect Rembrandt. Or a 'copy' he thinks just might be real.

The phantom feel of a hand in my hair sends a cozy shiver down my spine and I nod. "Too good." I yawn and stretch and the rest of the night crashes down on my head. "Fuck, where's Jannie?"

“We’ve been texting.” Logan raises his phone. "He's downstairs, now, cooking. He was genuinely pleased to hear you were sleeping."

I grab my own phone, shaking away the last cobwebs of the night. There are a fuckton of messages in our group chat, loads of back and forth between Logan and Jannie. Too much to read at once. How long had I been sleeping like that, stretched out all over him?

I scroll further. Not a word from Carrot Cake. But three missed calls from—

"Oh, fuck, Emile—" I throw back the covers. "What hap—"

"Jay went down to Emile's last night," Logan's voice is low and steady and it stills me even more than his hand on my shoulder. His fingers slide up and he brushes my cheek. "Everyone's safe."

I suck in a breath and nod. "Okay. But who—"

Hand still on my cheek, Logan meets my eyes. "Jay went to Emile’s and escorted Patton back to his flat last night."

"Holy fuck," I leap up, stumbling when my feet tangle in the sheets. “Pat doesn’t dri—“

"They are both… adequate. See for yourself,” Logan says, voice slow and careful. His hand grips mine, steadying me. His other reaches for my phone from where I'd abandoned it under the covers. With a small smile, he passes it to me. I scroll through the conversation, clinging to the seeming normalcy of Jannie's responses. Logan meets my eyes when I look up.

"I…" I look down at my phone and then over to the door, frozen. I wanna split myself in two, one body to jump down and pull Jannie close.

The other to go find out what the fuck is going on with Carrot Cake.

Logan's watching me, sharp eyes catching every movement. "It is natural to feel conflicted when one's heart is figuratively torn in different directions."

I can't help my smile. How the fuck does he do that? One look and he knows everything in my head. Well, almost everything. I try to laugh. “Might feel a bit o’ conflict if your heart’s literally torn in different directions, too.”

Logan tries to hide it behind his little glasses maneuver, but a tiny smile pulls at his lips. "Indeed." Then he taps my phone, eyes serious. "Which direction are you going to go in this morning?"

I don't have to think about it. "Jannie needs me." Fuck, and I need him right now, too.

"Would sending a message to Patton would help ease your conflict?" He grips my shoulder again. "I can give you some privacy if you’d prefer to call him.“

"Nah," I shake my head. I don't really want Logan to go anywhere, either. I tap out a message then start over, simpler. I hit send before I can overthink it and almost drop the phone I’m shaking so hard.

Logan takes my hand again. His grip's cool and strong. "Shall we go talk to Jay, then?"

"Yeah," I say, pocketing my phone. We're both still in last night's clothes but changing can wait for later. I look down and I'm holding on to Logan's hand like it's a fucking blankie. I should let go. I've invaded his personal space enough for one day. Fuck, for the night and the day.

But he smiles and squeezes my hand. "We shall figure this out together,” he says and I follow him down the stairs.

Jannie's got my big apron draped over last night’s clothes and has been cooking up a storm. The scent of browned butter and garlic, spiced choley, and bright green onions reminds me we all skipped dinner last night. Jannie's got two pans sizzling and a third ready to go. He’s beating something in the big copper bowl as we approach.

"Jannie." I have just enough sense to let him set down the bowl before I throw myself against his back, arms wrapped tight around his middle. His arms cover mine with a little hum and he smiles at Logan over his shoulder.

"Good morning, loves,” he says to us, voice rough. Fuck, he’s been crying.

I hug him a little tighter.

"May I?" Logan asks, reaching for the whisk Jannie's still holding.

I peek past him to see what he’s been making. Scrambled eggs. "Had a craving?" I ask, pressing kisses against his should.

He nods and turns in my arms, melting into my hold. Face buried in the crook of my neck, he shudders, a hitch in his breathing as he lets out a soft sob.

"I've got you," I whisper. "We've got you."

One arm clinging to me, he reaches for Logan's. "I know." Turning to lay his head on my shoulder, he breathes in, still shaky. "I know, Muse. Thank you."

Logan clicks off the stove top and sets the bowl on the counter before drawing close, sandwiching Jannie between us. I feel Logan slide one arm around Jannie's middle, muscles flexing against me, too, as he strokes Jannie's hip. Logan's other hand stretches all the way to reach my back.

Jannie lets out a shuddering breath, drooping in our hold. "Would it help to talk?" I whisper into his hair.

He burrows closer and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he whispers. "He…" he starts, then shakes his head again.

There are a thousand ways he could finish that sentence, a thousand things that could've happened between them last night. I swallow back my questions and nuzzle the side of Jannie's head.

Jannie's text hadn't said much beyond that he'd brought Carrot Cake home and that he was now safe. Didn't say if he'd been hurt, didn't say what state he'd been in when he'd left.

Emile'd been running that pub for over fifteen years and he's seen some shit go down. For him to have called for help in the middle of the night, Pat had to've been in pretty bad shape.

Or in real danger.

Logan meets my eyes and asks what I can't. "Is Patton alright?"

Jannie's hands tighten on my shirt and his breath stutters, but he nods. "He's safe."

“And you?” I ask, one hand buried in his hair.

He draws closer and sighs.

Eventually, Logan peels away to finish the eggs and I get Jannie settled at the table. Our giant coffee pot is barely half-full, the little red Warm light still glowing. "Tea?" I ask, eying his nearly empty coffee cup next to the stove.

Logan passes him the cup without looking and Jannie drains the dregs. "Tea," he nods and hands over the cup.

He sits with his feet tucked up on the seat, knees hugged to his chest, and watches me pull down the box of Tetley's. "What are your plans like today?" he asks us.

"You know me," I wink at each of them and click on the kettle. "Free ballin' today."

Logan chuckles. "I've cleared my schedule," he says, scraping the bottom of the pan. "My time is yours today." He turns off the stove again and plates the food, glancing at Jannie over his shoulder. "I can stay or go whenever you wish. It's completely up to—"

Jannie grabs his hand. "Please don't go," he whispers, voice wet.

Logan lifts Jannie's hand to his lips. "I'm not going anywhere without you, then."

I lean over Jannie's chair while I wait for the kettle to boil, weaving our arms together. He tilts his head back against my belly, eyes closed. "Do you feel like knocking about at home?” I ask. “Or maybe scarf down this feast and go paint the town red?"

He sighs, eyes trailing over to his reading nook. "I think I'd like to go out," he finally says.

"There is a La Cage aux Folles-Birdcage double feature at Lexi this weekend," Logan suggests, setting down the eggs and the bangers Jannie had left warming in the oven.

The kettle finishes and Jannie doesn't loosen his grip on my arms so Logan shoots me a small smile and goes to fill our cups. I squeeze in behind Jannie in his chair and he leans back, pinning me in place. "A trip to the movies sounds wonderful," he says, nodding.

"He's been writing to me."

Jay eats only a few bites of his food before he pushes away his plate. One hand cradles his tea. The other clings to Remus’ arm wrapped over his body.

“What?" Remus looks around the house like there was a stack of letters hidden away somewhere.

"No, not in the post, but… I mean… my… paperwork in Copenhagen did the trick. The school got their hands on it. Dead children don't talk to the press and so they called off their search for me. Páidí—Patton found it. Took it. He’s…” Jay’s eyes squeeze shut. “He was leathered when I brought him home and I don't think he was in his right mind. He's…"

Jay sets down his tea and pulls Remus' arms a little tighter around himself. Shields up. "He's got this box. It's full of letters… addressed to me."

I don’t need to ask if Remus knew about the box. The shadows behind his eyes say it for him. “Did you read them?” I ask Jay.

“One of them,” he sighs. “It was… the newest? It was… still open. He…”

When Jay’s voice catches, Remus draws him closer, pressing kisses into his hair.

“I’m not the only one who still carried a torch,” Jay whispers.

With Remus' head bowed, I can’t see his face, but his whole body vibrates with his thoughts. “What would you like to do, Jay?" I grip his hands, fingers laced together. "Whatever you choose, contact, no contact… You have my full support."

“Yeah, Jannie, you know I meant it when I said you could look him up for whatever you wanted." He shrugs. “Even now that he’s…”

At Jay's lingering silence, I shift so I can properly face the both of them. I stroke Jay’s cheek until he meets my gaze. “Yours is not the only heart that matters to you in your assessment of your options, is it?"

Eyes squeezed shut, he addresses Remus’ arms curled around him. “Would you stop seeing him if I asked?"

Shock flashes over Remus’ features then softens into a knowing smile as he presses a kiss against Jay’s temple. “You wouldn't ask that of me, Jannie," he murmurs. "I know that."

"But if I did?" Jay twists around to face him.

Remus is quiet for a bit, but even with his eyes closed, I can see the tears in his lashes as he takes Jay’s hand and presses it to his heart. "Of course I would, Jannie."

Jay nods and reaches for my hand, too. "That's why I'd never ask."

“You know he tried to warn me.” The defeat in Remus’ voice stills us both and Jay and I turn to him as one. “Pat told me he'd done something awful, that he… I shoulda pushed him for more details, I shoulda—"

"And I should have come clean with you about where I was really from," Jay says, looking down at all of our hands woven together. "The fault does not lie on your shoulders, Muse."

“Does it all lie on his?" Remus looks away, like he regrets the question but couldn’t hold it back. Instead of hurt, though, Jannie looks thoughtful.

He sighs, his eyes falling shut. "I… I don't know what to think. I don’t… want to think. Not right now.”

“Okay,” Remus whispers, nuzzling against the side of his head. Just before I can change the subject, Remus’ lips curl in a stiff smile and he winks at me. "So how 'bout them Dolphins?"

Through a sort of wordless agreement, Remus and I worked together to keep Jay within literal reach while we prepared for our outing.

“I bet now you’re glad you left your trousers here last Halloween.” Remus chuckles when I step downstairs after my turn in the shower.

"At least Muse didn't steal them and shove them in the washer to get you leave them behind.”

"What can I say? It worked. Look at the bad bitch I bagged with that little move.” Remus laughs and feigns nipping at Jay's fingers where they trail down his jaw. He grins up at me. “There's plenty of space if you wanna leave more behind."

"If?" I ask, then snap my mouth shut. Remus' impulsivity is rubbing off on me. I seek out Jay's eyes; have I said too much?

"Or when," Jay says simply, one hand threaded together with Remus' as he reaches for mine.

His lightness doesn't last. Jay’s, all of our eyes, really, travel from our intertwined hands to his and Remus’, then to Remus’ other hand clutching empty air. Patton’s absence screamed in its silence and Remus brought his other arm up to curl around Jay.

“Are we ready to go?” I ask and together we help Jay to his feet and usher him out the door.

Competing with a weekend filled with festivals and unseasonably pleasant weather, the theatre is most empty, leaving us sequestered in our own little island. We sat in the darkened theatre with Jay sat between us. His tears sparkled in the flickering light spilling out from the screen and Remus and I took turns gently brushing them away.

In hindsight, perhaps a film about husbands, old flames, and fighting to prevail over homophobic obstacles wasn't the best option for avoiding certain… emotions.

But moments of levity still managed to break through.

“Bob Dole was a yassified Nixon at his absolute peak,” Jay murmurs as the last film wrapped.

I had to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. Remus didn’t bother, head thrown back as he cackled. “What, you don’t like tall, pale, and doughy?”

“You know what I like,” he says, bringing each of our hands to his heart. His smile falters, just a bit, and Remus drapes one leg over his.

“You know we’ve never fucked in a movie theatre before,” he growls loud enough for me to hear. I’m grateful the end credits are loud enough that the row in front of us likely couldn’t.

Jay smirked. “There are too many people,” he says. “Besides, are you forgetting Last Knights?”

“Ah!” Remus presses a hand over his heart, face drawn down in exaggerated outrage. “That wasn’t fucking, we were making love.”

I clear my throat to hide my laugh. “I think perhaps that is our cue to head back?”

We have a quiet lunch at Jay and Remus’ flat, the leftover bounty of that morning’s breakfast more than sufficient to sate us even after a long walk back from the theatre. As he's done all afternoon, Remus checks his phone when he thinks Jay’s not looking.

Each time, he frowns at the screen, then he puts it away, face drawn.

Each time, Jay’s looked away by the time Remus raises his eyes, a smile pressed onto his face.

"I… I nearly left was I saw it wasn't Virgil at the pub." Jay's admission is quiet. And understandable.

We're sitting together in Jay and Remus' garden, Jay cradled between us as he lays against Remus' chest, one leg crossed over mine.

Remus' hand stills in Janus' hair, briefly, before he resumes slowly carding through his hair.

"I would've made sure Emile got him home," he adds, craning his neck to catch Remus' eyes.

Remus is chewing the edge of his mustache, looking out at the clouds gathering along the horizon. “Pat doesn't drink," he finally says. "He—"

"I'd gathered as much," Jay murmurs, reaching up and stroking the back of Remus' neck. It doesn't quite hide the tremor in his hand. "He's fine, or he was, at least, when I left. He'd had two Irish Coffees."

"Emile makes 'em strong," Remus mumbles, eyebrows knit together. "One of, um, your messages said there was a… a fella?"

I had rather hoped Remus hadn't drilled in to that part of Jay's texts. Foolish, but hopeful.

Jay didn't miss his tone, either. "The bloke was just a bartick, Muse," he murmurs, looking up again. “Patton wasn’t…” He shakes his head. “The bloke latched on to him because he was drunk. I don’t think Patton even realized he was being hit on, let alone did anything to encourage it. Emile and I… we got him out of there."

Remus nods, but his eyes are still clouded. "It's really not like him to go and drown his sorrows in a bottle.”

"I wouldn't know," Jay mutters and settles back against Remus’ chest.

"I…" They both look up and it's a struggle to not look away. "I was overly… firm with him last night." My fingers trace the crease in Jay's trousers. "I… Before I came up, he… He'd wanted to go up after you. He expressed remorse and he asked me to share that with you. "I…" Understanding burns from their eyes and I look away. "I said no. I…"

I reach blindly for their hands. "I didn't realize he—that either of you—had been so young. I didn't realize you were just—"

Jay shakes his head. "Just children play acting at rebellion." He turns his head, scarred cheek pressed against Remus' chest. "With consequences."

We all watch butterflies dancing through the honeysuckle growing in the planters along the railing. “I… I’d like to go see him tomorrow,” Remus says quietly.

“I’d never stop you from following your heart, Muse,” Jay whispers. “Do you know what you'll…” His voice trails off, like he’s choosing his words with care.

Remus doesn't make him voice his worries. “Still figuring it all out.”

Jay nods, blinking slowly. His breathing steadies and his grip on our hands loosens fractionally. Exhausted after only a handful of hours' worth rest last night? Almost certainly.

Hiding from his emotions in the void of sleep? Perhaps.

Remus and I exchange a glance, a quiet, shared assent to let the conversation wind down, to let Jay escape to the questionable shelter of his dreams.

Finally, he sleeps.

When I’m certain Jay’s completely asleep, I brush the edge of Remus’ arm. He looks back at me with wet eyes. “I…" I keep my voice to a bare whisper. "I apologize for not allowing Patton to follow you last night, for not…” He starts to shake his head but I continue. “For not making it yours and Jay’s choice.”

“You were looking out for Jannie.”

I squeeze his forearm where it rests over Jay’s stomach. “And for you. I thought he… I thought… I was mistaken,” I say at last.

"It's almost too much." Still quiet, Remus' voice bursts out, rough and broken. He's holding Jay close, but his eyes are haunted. "It took me a few years to piece together just how young they'd had to've been when it all went down." He swallowed hard, adam's apple bobbing. Jay's sleeping, upper half of his body cradled in Remus’ arms. If he loses it, Jay will wake to a sobbing husband.

“And now…” He watches the slow, steady rise and fall of Jay’s chest in sleep. “Both of them… I… They’re both so hurt, Jannie especially, but Carrot Cake, too, and…” Words run dry, he rests his cheek against the top of Jay’s head. “I just want him to know he’s not alone.”

Moving slowly in case I’m overstepping, I reach for Remus' hand and brush my fingers over the back of it. He flips it over immediately, gripping mine, and looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. It occurs to me I’m not completely sure which ‘he’ Remus doesn’t want to feel alone.

I’m not completely sure the difference even matters.

“You’re not alone either, Re.” I draw closer and Remus leans back to meet me, head on my shoulder. I wrap one arm around him, the other curling around both him and Jay. He melts against me, each breath a little easier than the last. I whisper into his hair as I watch his eyes start to close. “We’ve got you, too.”

Muse and Lo’s soft whispers of comfort for me—and for each other—lulled me to sleep but I wake as the late afternoon sun washes down over the terrace. And our faces. Muse’s stomach grumbles and he shifts, that sudden, deep inhalation telling me he’s awake now, too.

I reach up behind me to cup his cheek and he turns, nuzzling against my palm. “You’re awake,” he whispers.

Lo’s quiet, his hand still and relaxed where it lays on my belly. Still sleeping. He’ll lament the damage to his circadian rhythm later, but for now, he clearly needs the rest.

I nod, stretching my fingers to play along the edges of Muse's hair. He hums, jaw flexing then relaxing under my hand. I didn’t sleep long enough to dream, and I… I’m glad I didn't. Relieved, even, that I didn’t dream of him. The ache in my chest has nothing doesn't mean I missed seeing his eyes, even in a dream.

As sleep took me, what I truly didn't miss was the catch in Muse’s voice, the regret and worry and fear all wrapped up together as he spoke to Lo.

I wish I’d known. I wish I’d known Muse had spent the last year handing his heart to someone who…

Muse’s stomach grumbled again, pulling me back to him, back to where my thoughts belonged and I turn, carefully, slowly, holding Lo’s hand in place. He’d been up late and woke early, messaging me me as I peeled and crushed and sautéed my mind back to the present. Lo needed rest.

But I needn’t’ve bothered. I look up and two gorgeous sets of eyes, espresso and indigo, my earth and my sky, look back at me.

“Gentlemen…” I smile, squeezing out the whispered cry for emeralds, my seamróga, to join them. “Shall we prepare dinner?”

“Hmm,” Muse stretches again, muscles flexing against my back. “I was going to make that curry. We’re out of coconut milk, though.”

“I could—” Lo begins but I turn and cup his cheek.

“Allow me,” I say. “A bit of a walk would…” I flex my neck, listening to it crackle. “A walk would do me some good.”

Muse’s hand finds mine and squeezes, tentative, testing. Lo glances at Muse then meets my eyes and asks for them both. “Would you prefer company or space?”

“You should stay here and keep Muse away from the ghost peppers,” I laugh.

Lo opens his mouth and I can already hear his response. You’re avoiding the question.

I kiss them both, not ready to voice the answer.

“Very well,” Lo murmurs, accepting my hand when I reach to help him and Muse up to their feet. “I shall do my best,” he says and follows Muse to the kitchen as I go to the door.

“Okay, let’s chop up some peppers, then,” Muse laughs over the scrape of his favorite knife against the whetstone.

“Remus…” Their voices bathe me in warmth as I slip on my shoes and open the door. “I believe Jay asked for no ghost peppers in this recipe.”

“That’s not what I heard…”

By the time I arrive at Oseyo's, I’m greeted by dark windows and a big Closed sign. I stare at the locked doors for several breaths, daring them to magically open. It’s not as though they’re the only shop in town. Aldi’s is just a few more blocks up the street.

But so is Virgil’s café.

Fuck it. I turn and stomp gracelessly toward the grocer’s. This is my city, not his, and I won’t let him keep me from enjoying it. I can walk past the shop without thinking of him. I can walk past the shop without slowing my pace to search for those copper curls.

I can walk past without stopping and watching him struggle with one of the gargantuan machines Virgil insists makes the place look authentic.

A cackling knot of tourists—how they hell did they even find this street?—spill out onto the pavement beside me and Virgil spots me from the edge of the window. He looks at me, eyebrows raised behind his silly emo bangs but I shake my head and continue on my way to pick up the milk.

Muse and Lo are waiting for me.

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edupunkn00b · 4 days ago

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Every Where, Chapter 1: Coffee Shop

Logan peered through the window at the man inside. Thick, glossy mustache and a stark silver streak in his hair. Soft, full lips ready to grin or smirk or sneer. Bright green glinting behind shadowed eyelids. It was definitely Remus. Logan had finally found him. Again.

Written for AUGust (a throw back to @tsspromptmonth's 2021 list) If you've read Decoherence, you'll know I can't quite get the idea of Logan and Remus searching for—and finding—each other across the multiverse.

It's Logan's turn to do the searching.

Coffee Shop - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Slouched over the table closest to the door, Remus yawned and checked his watch again. Still the wrong side of dawn’s butt crack, but the next interviewee was now fifteen minutes late. The first interviewee should’ve been there a half hour ago. Elbows on the table and one hand holding up his head, he poked at the three-inch stack of interview folders Remy had dumped on him at the end of yesterday’s shift.

“Congratulations, babes!” Remy slipped him a new name badge, Shift Manager embossed below his name. He sipped his iced coffee and smirked past the straw. “You’re promoted to manager!”

“Fuck, thanks!” Remus swapped out the badge. His old one was looking a little ragged. “Do I get a bump in pay?”

“Yup, an extra forty-five cents an hour and you get to run the interviews tomorrow. First one’s at five fifteen a.m.” He’d waved as he slipped through the door. “Byeee, bitch!”

A tall figure dressed in creased slacks and polished shoes approached the door, a briefcase in one hand. The rest of him—him? Maybe?—was obscured by the big Closed sign on the door. Fuck. He knew he shoulda taken a table in the back.

The customer rapped on the glass, four curt knocks.

Rolling his eyes, Remus heaved himself up to his feet and peeled back the sign. “Sorry, we’re closed.” He pointed at the sign and shrugged. “We open at seven on Sundays. Wanna come back?”

The man tilted his head to one side, deep blue eyes gazing back at his through thick black frames. Remus didn’t usually go for the nerdy types this guy… he made it work.

He searched his eyes like he was looking for… Fuck if Remus knew. At any rate he didn’t find it, whatever it was, and he raised his briefcase. “I have an interview.”

“The fuck…” Remus muttered but unlocked the door. “Here?” he asked, looking him up and down. The shoes and slacks were just the start. Dude was in a full-on suit, pressed shirt and tie with a matching pocket square. He looked good, but most of the kids showing for barista interviews didn’t remember to wear half the time.

“You have an interview here?” Remus asked, certain he’d missed something. Maybe the guy just wanted a cup of coffee before an interview somewhere else… Somewhere important.

“Yes,” the man nodded and checked his watch. “I am thirty-four minutes early, though, I…” He looked over his shoulder through the window. “I can wait outside if that would be more appropriate?”

“Nah, um,” Remus shook his head and waved a hand at an empty chair where he’d camped out with the interview files. He poked his head through the door and looked up and down the sidewalk. The city was still stretching and yawning and the Sleepy Bean was the only spark of light on the sleepy street. Shrugging, he closed and locked the door again.

The man sat with a rod-straight back, briefcase on the floor next to the chair. His hands were folded in front of him, resting lightly on an open manilla envelope. A resume sat on one side and a few sheets of graph paper sat on the other, covered margin to margin in neatly hand-printed notes.

Remus sat down at his own seat and started flipping through the folders. “So you’re the six-thirty…” He checked the list. 6:30: Sanders, Logan. He opened the folder and double-checked the Position field on the form Remy’d printed out from their online service.

Barista

“You wanna be a barista?” he asked, not really bothering to hide his disbelief. Fuck, his forehead was so scrunched up in confusion it was actually starting to hurt and he put down the application long enough to rub away a bit of the ache. He scanned the guy’s resume. “But you’re a… a fucking chemical engineer.”

“Post-doctoral candidate,” the guy—Logan—corrected, adjusting his glasses. “On a… temporary sabbatical.” He squared his shoulders, muscles twitching in his jaw. He paused, watching Remus’ face.

Remus couldn’t help the weird little tingle at the back of his head that told him the guy was expecting something from him. Something beyond the obvious job offer, he guessed.

When Remus just stared back at him, Logan nodded and continued. “I believe my skills will translate well to this field, particularly the ability to learn quickly, to memorize and adhere to detailed recipes and lab—restaurant safety protocols and—”

“Wanna start now?” Remus closed the application. “I don’t think the slackers scheduled before you are showing up.”

His stoic almost-smile faltered and he frowned down at his notes. “I… I believed we had already started the interview, but yet, of course, please…” His face shifted back into a mostly neutral near smile and he nodded. “I am prepared for any question you may ask.”

“Nah, man, I mean do you want to start the job now?” Remus gestured at the line of steamers, grinders and espresso machines behind the counter. “It’s really a hands-on sort of assessment we need anyway. You showed up on time and you’re clean,” Remus added with a shrug. “You're already ahead of the game."

The frown returned and Logan looked pointedly at the stack of folders at Remus’ elbow. “Do you not have other applicants to assess?”

Remus did, but something told him they’d just all be a waste of time anyway and he grinned. “Not really.”

This time, when Logan searched his eyes, he found something there that painted a little smile on his face.

Damn, he looked good when he smiled.

“Very well,” Logan said and slipped his folder back into his briefcase. “I can start right now.”

#sanders sides #sasi #tss #intrulogical #ts logan #ts remus #logan sanders #remus sanders #AUgust challenge #Day 1: Coffee Shop

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