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edupunkn00b · 15 days ago

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On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 12: The Wrong Prince

Graphical representation of the Lorenz attractor, a simulation of the 'butterfly effect.'

Prev - The Wrong Prince - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC - 1646 - Rated: T - CW: Swearing (Remus swearing? Why, I never…)

It's back! Stuck in the Croft universe, Logan from the Logince universe frantically calls the only R. Prince in his contacts. R. Prince picks up.

💔 October 31, 2024

Sweaty and out of breath, Remus slid to the edge of the makeshift dance floor, a steady boom-boom-spat filling his ears. Fishing out a cold bottle of something from the ice tub closest him, he gulped down half of it and grinned.

He'd really out done himself this year.

In a little over an hour, Remus and a mighty army of brand-spanking new legal interns has transformed the big conference room into a dance club worthy of this year's QLaw Halloween party.

Balloons carpeted the floor, bouncing and flying into the air with the movement of the dancers. Long tables lined the walls, filled with drinks and food and candy. Anchored to each corner and synced to the music, tall banks of flashing lamps sent a pattern of sparkling lights over the dancers. Trickier to see under the stage lights, the dancer's earbuds flashed to the same beat, all hooked into the same AV system.

They'd converted the cavernous intern room into a costume staging area, with spots to fix makeup and tall mirrors he'd dragged in from his latest exhibit. One of the interns had even create a Stitch Bitch repair station where they put their amateur cosplaying skills to good use, ready to help the inevitable ripped seam or crooked wig.

Designated as a calm space, the library was decked out with drinks and food, then the lights were dimmed and Remus had drawn a big sign on the front door: Tiny voices inside only! Or Cthulu will come getcha.

The only spots left untouched by the party army's work had been reception—gotta at least attempt to keep up the appearance of a buttoned-down legal firm—and a few of the attorney's offices, including Jannie's.

The current song faded, a fresh track rising up to meet it. "Key change!" he sang aloud, raising his water bottle to Jannie on the other side of the dance floor. Decked out in a perfect replica of Elton John's pink feather… extravaganza, he wasn't hard to find. Jannie'd been pulled into a group dance, the younger lawyers insistent their Attorney-in-Charge had to know the steps to a now nearly over-played Chappell Roan song.

Remus laughed. By the time the law geeks knew all the words, the song was D-E-A-D dead-to-go.

Without much warning, the music pouring through his earbuds was interrupted by his phone's override. Somebody in his contacts. He scanned the crowd, wondering who he knew—who he wanted to know—that wasn't already at the party. He pulled it out of his pocket and blinked down at the name.

It was the only person in his contacts he'd listed by their actual, full name.

Logan Croft.

"Heya, Logan," he said in his normal voice. With the music only playing through their headsets, he neither had to worry about being heard over the phone nor anyone listening in.

Not that he ever really gave a fuck about that.

"Ro?" he croaked, sounding confused.

Remus closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. Why did that hurt so fucking much?

"Wrong Prince, man," he muttered, ready to end the call. "You've reached Ro's better-looking brother."

"Re?" he asked, voice weak and spacey as fuck. "Oh, thank god, Re… Re, please, I'm—" He groaned, breathing heavily against the mic. "I—I—I don't know… I don't exactly know where… Well, I…"

Remus' hurt fizzled out along with his annoyance and he ticked up the volume on the call. "Hey, man, are you okay?"

"She didn't take it," he half-laughed. The rest came out like a sob. Yeah, definitely high and not having a good time of it. "It was on the stairs. Grey, all grey, she didn't see it. She didn't take it. I have it."

"What? Logan, what are you—" Muffled movement blasted through the phone, and something scraped over the phone mic. "Listen, Logan, where are you? Are you home?" He listened intently for the tell-tale sound of a turn signal or motor. "You're not driving or anything, are you?"

Breathing heavy, he gasped back. "No… No, of course not, I…" He whimpered then, phone pressed so close to his face Remus could hear a hard swallow. "I… I need… Is Ro…"

His voice faded away, distracted or too doped up on whatever the hell he'd taken to finish his sentence. Remus would've sworn the call dropped but for the ragged breathing on the other end. "What do you need, man?" Remus prompted, biting back the question caught behind his teeth. What the fuck do you want with Ro?

"I'm—" Logan gasped over the phone, voice dropping to a whisper. "Shit, she's home. She's home, I—I—I have to go. Please… I'm…" More movement, then Logan whined, pained and quiet. "Don't come. Don't come, okay? Please? Stay with Ro, I'll call later. I prom—"

With a beep, the call dropped. Or was ended.

Remus’ thumb hovered over the bright green ‘redial’ icon for a long moment before stabbing it. It didn't even ring.

‘Hello, you have reached Logan Croft. Please leave a brief message and I shall return your call as soon as possible. If you are in crisis, please dial or text two-zero-six—’

Hanging up, Remus shook his head. He scrolled idly through his contacts. For a second he even wondered if should call the cops. Shit. No good would ever come of that.

He sucked in a deep breath. Man, he was getting paranoid. Not every Karen was a… Karen. Or whatever the fuck her name was. Dude was just a little fucked up and drunk dialed Ro. He laughed humorlessly. Maybe the guy wasn't as straight as Jannie seemed to think.

“Now, now, Muse…” Jannie’s voice purred just behind him, both arms wrapping around his middle. Arching up over both of them, Jannie's feather mantle softened the harsh stage lights around them into a rosy glow. Remus’ eyes slipped shut and he leaned back with a low hum.

Jannie nuzzled his ear. “You’re looking entirely too stressed for a party.”

Still gripping the phone, he tapped one end against the opposite palm. You could rip the cigs from his hand but this habit was here to stay. “Yeah… got a… Got a weird call.”

Janus turned Remus in his arms to face him. He searched his eyes. “Prank weird or stalking weird?” he asked, jaw set like he was ready to jump right into his fucking phone and wipe out whoever was on the other end.

“I… Neither?" he finally said, shaking his head. "It was Croft—uh, Logan.”

“What the hell did he want?” Janus’ scowl deepened. “He didn’t even show up for work today. Called out sick.”

“He called out?” The guy had sounded pretty fucked up. Remus could hardly imagine him coherent enough to dial him. Clearly he hadn’t been.

“Well, his wife called reception.” Jannie rolled his eyes, more annoyance than usual slipping out. ”Grace said it sounded like he was hungover. But… why was he calling you?”

“That’s the thing, he thought he’d called Ro.” He scratched at his arm. The tiny handful of people who knew the both of them—actually knew ̛them—could fit in Jannie's office. He'd thought he was done with that bullshit.

Jannie gently pulled his hand away and wrapped both Remus' arms around his own back. It had been a long fucking time since he’d last been confused for Ro. But Logan hadn’t even sounded disappointed to have gotten him instead, just… relieved he’d gotten somebody he knew on the line. Relieved he'd gotten him.

‘Re? Oh, thank god, Re… Please, I’m—’

Shaking his head, Remus shoved the thought away.

“I was unaware Ro knew him outside of…” Jannie made a face like he’d gotten a mouthful of bad kimchi and Remus shrugged.

“He doesn't." Remus shook his head. "Didn't? Not since college, at least." He met Jannie's eyes. "I… I gave Logan my number back then… After he told me… y'know, to talk to Ro?”

Guilt drew up Jannie’s mouth into a thin, pinched line and he looked away.

“Hey, hey, hey… Ro’s good now." Their eyes traveled as one to find him out on the dance floor, happily teaching the interns… fuck, was he trying to teach them the Electric Slide?

Snorting softly, Remus stroked Jannie's cheek, gently turning up his face so their eyes could meet. “That prick fooled a fuckton of people. And the instant you knew what he was all about, you took care of it and kicked his ass outta here.”

"I need to be faster next time," he muttered, almost to himself. "If… Fuck…" Brow still pinched even as he leaned in to Remus' touch, Jannie looked out over the party-goers. It hadn't escaped either of their attention that the party was easily twice as large as last year's, with far fewer of the attorneys and interns bailing after they gave the boss a little face time and made excuses to sneak away.

Had that one creep's presence really been that much of deterrent for folks to enjoy a party? Sure as fuck seemed like it. In fact… Remus scanned the gathering, ticking off the few he'd seen in the library, they were only missing three or four people this year. Two were taking kids trick-or-treating. One legitimately left early with a headache.

And one of them had still managed to make something of an appearance. By phone at least.

'She didn't take it. She didn't see it. She didn't take it.'

Slimy cold worms wrestled in Remus' gut, squirming their way up into his chest. Old friends he'd chalked up to common jealousy.

Remus looked out over the crowd, gnawing at his mustache. What if it was something else?

"Hey, Jannie," he murmured, rubbing Jannie's knuckles back and forth over his mouth. "What do you know about Logan's wife?"

#sanders sides #tss #sasi #ts logan #logan sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #Kelly Croft - OC #Remus Prince #Janus Prince nee Pater

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edupunkn00b · 2 days ago

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On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 14: A Broken Heart on Valentine's Day

Graphical representation of a Lorenz attractor, a model for the Chaos theory.

Logan Croft makes a decision.

Prev - A Broken Heart on Valentine's Day - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

On the long drive back from Bellingham, a text from Kelly popped up in Logan’s notifications. He took the next exit and pulled into a darkened gas station to read it.

"Plans changed. I'm on my way now to see my parents. I'll be back Tuesday night."

Logan slumped in his seat, staring down at the message. ‘Plans changed.’Plans changed?

Yes, plans had changed.

She had changed the plans, the entire family’s plans, suddenly deciding this was the perfect weekend for them to have time alone, to rediscover each other, to… She changed the family’s plans, upending the boys’ road trip home down the coast, the Thanksgiving dinner Logan had mapped out, the brainstorming they’d all planned to help Pat decide which college to fall back on if he didn’t get his first choice.

Trembling, Logan fought the urge to scream, to shout, to pound the steering wheel, blast the horn. To pitch his phone into the windshield, gun the engine and drive straight into the nearest median.

He took a deep breath and let the phone drop onto the empty passenger seat beside him instead.

Plans changed. Plans change.

He and the boys could still do all they’d planned. They could still have the Thanksgiving they’d originally planned for. He could turn the car around, get back on the highway and head north to get his boys and spend a quiet—if slightly shorter—holiday together. Setting the phone back into its dashboard mount, his finger hovered over the navigation app.

Another text message popped up. This one was from Virgil.

It was a somewhat blurry photo of all three of his sons—all four, actually. Four bright flour-dusted smiles turned to the camera as Patton appeared to be leading them through making something sticky and doughy and terrifically messy. They looked like they were having a blast.

“Pat’s in good hands Dad! Have a good weekend!!!!!!!!”

Yes, Logan could turn around and utterly disrupt their plans for a second time. He checked the route and traffic. If he was careful—and lucky—he’d get there just before midnight. Ring the bell and rouse them from their beds. More realistically, ring the bell at midnight and interrupt whatever movie marathon they’d begun.

Or…

Or he could grant them some peace and allow them to enjoy their weekend together uninterrupted.

In the end it wasn’t all that difficult a decision. Logan tapped the navigation back and shifted gears, following the route back home.

Thanks to a punctured tire just eight exits from home, Logan’s car crawled the final stretch at just 35 miles per hour on the spare. Finally home, he set down the keys just as the kitchen clock flashed over to 1:55. Physically exhausted, the drive and the day’s events had left his mind entirely too keyed up for sleep. He’d never been one to find driving relaxing and, heavy with fresh worry—it would be a trial to have a fresh tire installed over the holiday weekend in time to pick up Patton—he paced the hall, gnawing the edge of his nail until he tasted copper.

Shaking himself loose of his anxious stupor, Logan poked aimlessly in the refrigerator before finally having some juice—he promised himself he’d eat a proper meal in the morning—and headed upstairs for bed.

Moving more on autopilot than actual thought, Logan scrubbed his face then flossed and brushed his teeth. He stripped off his clothes, pulled on his pajama bottoms and reached for the top.

Before he fastened the first button, he paused and peeled the top back off. He stared down at it for a long moment before folding it back up and returning it to its spot in his drawer. He did the same with his pants. Feeling more than a little foolish but driven by an impulse he didn’t dare speak aloud, he slipped out to the hall closet in nothing but his boxers.

Working quickly, he rooted through the top shelf until he found what he was looking for: an old electric blanket. It was clean and smelled faintly of cedar moth repellant and dryer sheets. After returning to their bedroom, he plugged it in next to his nightstand.

The tiny orange light on the controls glowed.

He turned the dial to high and draped it over his side of the bed, pulling the blanket and his book close to his chest. As the blanket warmed against his mostly bare skin, he tucked it tightly around his body, the heat and the pressure nearly enough to trick himself into feeling like he had in his dreams; warm, strong arms wrapped around him, the comfort of holding and being held. The comfort of having someone close and caring and unselfish in their affection.

He felt safe and warm and… loved.

Happier than he’d been—in this bed, at least—in a long, long time, he smiled to himself and opened his book where he’d left off.

‘The two-body problem is easy. Newton solved it completely. Each body—the earth and the moon, for example—travels in a perfect ellipse…’

His eyes stuttered over the next passage, certain he’d read it before.

‘The three-body problem is hard, and worse than hard—‘

Remus’ laughter in his ears.

“’Worse than hard…’” he’d cackled, one hand sliding along Logan’s thigh as Janus chuckled beside him. He’d shivered, body reacting to the welcome touch even as he teasingly fought to maintain a stoic expression.

Remus continued. “I think the hard problem of three bodies is quite easy to solve…”

Logan gasped when Remus’ hand moved further up his thigh and at his nod, Janus plucked the book up and marked his page.

“It’s a fun problem to solve, too… “ Remus’ voice went low and he slid closer under the covers as Janus turned down the lights. “Here, lemme show you…”

But that dream had been weeks ago. Logan thumbed through the remaining pages of the book—most of them, in fact. He’d been slowly, very slowly working his way through this tome. His marginalia stopped on the current page. He had not somehow mixed up the pages or lost his place, restarting at an earlier chapter.

Alone in his room, in his and his wife’s bedroom, the phantom memories of partners he did not have fresh against his lips and his skin, fantasized whispered words of their love in his ears, Logan hugged the book to his chest. Tears pricked his eyes.

What the hell was he doing?

If he could so clearly imagine finding and maintaining such love, what was keeping him from that kind of happiness right now, in his real life? Was he simply getting in his own way? Was it all just him holding back, shutting down and grey rocking, blocking himself from rekindling genuine love and maybe even passion in his marriage? Not in some impossible fantasy he’d dreamt up, but his real, actual marriage?

The marriage he’d come closer to abandoning than he wanted to admit.

Surely, even if he could snap his fingers and trade his real life for some fantasy, those other relationships would have challenges of their own. Roadblocks and fights, miscommunication and hurt feelings. Was it only in his dreams he could attract—and keep—the affection of those gorgeous, kind, brilliant men?

For heaven’s sake, in some of his dreams, Logan was in a relationship with Janus, his boss who—at absolute best—reviled him, barely tolerating his presence in the office and that only because of his casework and brief writing. Back in law school, Janus had actively despised him.

Even in a dreamworld where those golden eyes looked at his with softness and caring, Logan must have worked to earnhis affection, to earn his respect.

It was past time Logan strove to earn that same affection from his wife. And with just as much fervor. She’d loved him once. He would find a way to be the man she needed him to be so she could love him again. She hadn’t always been like this, hot then cold, with the boys afraid to share the most basic parts of themself with her.

He could find a way to rekindle the kindness she’d once held in her heart.

Pen in hand, Logan flipped to the mostly blank title page of the previous chapter and began to write. Eddies in a stream, it was up to him to change the course of his life. Starting right the fuck now.

The winter months crawled by.

But Logan’s determination to make his marriage work, to make his life work only grew stronger.

When Kelly messaged three days into her Thanksgiving trip with her parents, explaining she needed to extend her time there by a week and a half, Logan called back, extinguishing the disappointment in his tone as he left a voicemail to assure her he would miss her but that he understood and had everything handled at home.

When Kelly announced at the start of February that she wanted to stay in for her birthday that year, that she was tired of the crowds and the overdone laced heart decorations at all her favorite restaurants, Logan canceled their reservation at Jazz Alley and planned a special evening at home. Her favorite meal, her favorite wine. The antique birthstone pendant from Isadora’s.

And when Kelly sent him a text fifteen minutes before she was due home for that birthday dinner, Logan was slow to open the message, a sinking in his heart warning him what it would say before he even had to read it.

“Plans changed. I’ll be home Sunday.”

Water running, vegetable scrubber still in one hand, Logan stood in the center of the kitchen for a long time, staring down at his phone.

Pat wasn’t home, joyously spending mid-winter break with his brothers, the trip itself a well-earned reward for pushing up his GPA. Eyes burning, Logan didn’t need to school his expression into one of patience and understanding and strength. Didn’t need to keep his smile. To keep the despair at bay. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could if he’d tried and he felt lucky Patton wasn’t there in that moment.

Gratitude and guilt collided in his chest, horrified at his own thoughts.

Logan turned off the water then blew out the tapers in the centerpiece and sank down into the closest chair. Between a bout of interminable insomnia, several frantic of weeks doubling up his court calendar to arrange for the time away, then shuttling Patton up to Bellingham last night, he was… drained.

He’d he’d left the bourguignon to rest on the stove… Might as well let it finish before packing it away in the refrigerator. Assessing the half-made table, he sighed. He wrapped the still-warm bread in a towel and stretched plastic wrap over the partially-made salad before refrigerating it. With a little extra effort, he finally wedged the swollen cork back into the wine bottle. Doubtless, it would be drunk another night.

Finally, he pushed aside the place setting in front of him. Arms crossed atop the table, he laid down his head and wept.

“Lo?”

The hand resting on his arm was warm and… strong. A pan sizzled faintly, turmeric and ginger and cardamon wafting to where he lay. He blinked, fuzzy, soft light filtering down from the tops of the packed bookcases across from him.

Bookcases?

The hand moved up to his cheek. “I’m terribly sorry to wake you, my dear, but you’d never forgive us for letting you sleep through our dinner.”

“Or for trashing your circadian rhythm!” another voice laughed from a little further away. “Dinner is ready, by the way! Come and get it while it’s hot…”

Slowly, Logan recognized Janus and Remus’ voices and smiled.

“Only dinner is hot and ready for us?” he chuckled, squeezing Janus’ hand as he helped him sit up.

Remus laughed, music unhitching the tight knot behind Logan’s sternum. “Well if you wanted desert first, all you had to do was ask!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Janus scolded, flushed cheeks and crooked smile undoing his efforts to appear stern. Remus winked at him over Janus’ shoulder.

The welcome comfort of Janus’ arm circling his waist and Remus’ lascivious grin reminded him just how long it had been since he’d dreamt of them. The last had been… perhaps December? Perhaps even earlier than that.

Janus stroked his hip, leaning close as Remus draped himself over the counter, unabashedly watching them. Logan could swim forever in the love and want pouring from their gazes.

God, how he’d missed this. How he’d missed them.

“Why don’t one of you help me serve and we can get this show on the road?” On his feet, the warm glow of the lights, the scent of spice and books and clay and… them filling the air, a rush of energy danced under Logan’s skin.

“I’d be happy to,” he said, turning to Janus. “If that’s alright with you?”

Head cocked, Janus peered at him for a moment before nodding. “Of course, Lo,” he said before leaning in for a kiss. “I’ll handle the table,” he added with a little smile. “Neither of you heathens know how to lay the forks properly, anyway.”

“Ah!” Remus gasped from the kitchen, trying and failing not to laugh. “Are you implying I don’t know how to fork you properly, Jannie?”

Eyebrows dancing, Janus smirked. “I suppose we’ll need to find out later, won’t we?”

A pot holder went flying through the little window between the kitchen and the dining room. “Just for that, Lo Lo and I will make you watch while he gives me a good forking tonight.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Janus chuckled, smoothing out the tablecloth. “I get winner, by the way.”

Logan stood listening to their flirting, his earlier bravado weak before their easy back and forth. During a lull when Janus left to fetch more candles, Logan stepped closer to Remus. “You said you needed help?”

Turning so Logan could make out what was printed on his apron—The Chef Suggests You Try the Sausage, with a big arrow pointing down—Remus grinned at him. “Oh, yes,” he said, carefully scooping up a bit of curry from a bubbling pot. Full lips pursed, he blew at the steaming dab of of food before tapping it at Logan’s bottom lip. “Open up,” he sang.

The warmth flooding his cheeks had nothing to do with the chilis in the sauce.

“Delicious,” Logan murmured after he’d chewed, courage blooming under the heat of Remus’ answering smirk. “The curry tastes good, too.”

“Well, now I have to try it,” he laughed, turning toward the stove before feinting and spinning around. He pulled Logan close with one hand and captured his mouth in a slow kiss, humming when Logan belatedly kissed back.

“Oh, that is delicious,” he whispered against his lips when Logan broke away, breathless. Remus kissed down his jaw and his neck, mustache tickling the sensitive skin. “Sure you don’t want to just pack this all up and head upstairs first?”

“Tempting,” Janus’ voice was behind them. “The last time we tried that, Muse, we set off the smoke alarms when we forgot to turn off the back burner.”

Laughing, Remus pulled Logan closer with one arm and spun him. Tucked close with his back to Remus’ chest, he caught the flirty heat in Janus’ eyes and laughed at the way Remus brandished the spoon still clutched in his other hand. “Who forgot to turn off the back burner?”

Logan held his breath, watching as Janus smiled and plucked the spoon from his hand. Remus shimmied behind him, anticipation thick between the three of them. Slowly, Janus lowered his head and brought Remus’ fingers to his lips. He kissed each softly before nipping at his thumb.

With his other hand, Janus drew them both closer until Logan was pressed tight between them. He whispered near Logan’s ear, goosebumps sprouting where warm breath caressed his skin. “Can either of you blame me for being easily distracted when such glory is within my grasp?”

A shiver went down Logan’s spine and he shook his head. “I certainly cannot,” he whispered back.

Mouthing gently at Logan’s earlobe, Janus chuckled when Remus’ stomach growled loudly behind him. “I believe we have other bodily needs to attend to first. I know what kind of care you give yourself on big cooking days, Muse.”

“Booo,” Remus laughed, holding them both tighter.

Janus loosened his grip just enough to drag a hand through Remus’ hair. “Now, now… you’ll need your energy for what I have planned for us tonight.”

His low, barely voiced groan rumbled against Logan’s back and Remus nodded. “Fine,” he huffed., sounding put upon. But when Logan looked back, he was grinning, heat in his gaze. “I suppose you’ll all have to enjoy the wonderful meal I’ve prepared you first.”

“Excellent,” Janus murmured. He kissed Remus, then Logan and released them both. “I have something quick to attend to upstairs and I’ll be right down.”

Logan and Remus watched him float up the stairs. He turned just before he disappeared behind the banister and blew them one more kiss.

“Okay, time to show off,” Remus laughed, opening the cabinet over the refrigerator and pulling down a heavy ceramic dish.

Glazed in a full spectrum of painted hearts, the dish—a tureen, judging by the matching lid Remus pulled down next—was smooth and shaped like an open heart. The lid fit perfectly, gleaming gold and green and Logan’s favorite shade of blue. The green matched Remus’ hair. And the yellow… If Logan had to guess Janus’ favorite color, it would be that buttery, almost golden shade of yellow he wore nearly every day.

Remus held it proudly, fingers curled reverently around the handles. It was almost certainly his own creation.

“It’s beautiful,” Logan whispered.

“You always say that,” Remus blushed—flustered for the first time Logan had seen, well, dreamt by something less than salacious. “But thank you, Lo Lo,” he grinned, handing him the work of art.

Hands shaking, Logan clutched the heavy dish, feeling a bit like he had the first time he’d held Remy in the hospital.

“You can help me serve,” Remus said, already moving to the stove.

Cold doubt squeezed his chest as he looked down at the intricate work of art in his hands. “And you’re quite certain it’s… It’s acceptable to use your work to serve? I… I don’t know…” He gave it back, waiting until Remus’ long fingers wrapped around the handles before dropping his own hands.

Remus’ smile never faltered, but he tilted his head, eyes narrowed at him for a long, long moment before answering. “Of course it’s acceptable, Lo Lo,” he said, nodding. He pressed the heavy ceramic dish back into Logan’s hands. “It’s what I made it for.”

Accepting the tureen with both hands, he took a deep breath and fought to control the tremor running through him. “I shall be very careful with it,” he said, palms pressed tight against the smooth glazed surface to fight the sense of slipping. Turning, Logan set it down on the counter beside him before he lost his grip.

“You always are,” Remus grinned, turning off the stove. Spicy steam billowed when he lifted the lid on the cooking pot. “Here, if you can hold it for me, I’ll add the curry.”

Hands trembling, he lifted the tureen and cradled it in his arms as he slowly brought it closer to Remus.

Inches, inches from the stove, the tureen leapt from his hands, hitting the oven handle before bouncing and striking the floor.

Logan dove after it, fingers grazing the smooth handle. He failed to save it.

With a sickening crack, Remus’ dish hit the stone tile and broke into a dozen sharp chunks.

“Oh my god, no…” Logan whispered. He dropped to his knees, gathering the shards. Pricking his fingers, his palms, the edges grew red, matching the hearts Remus had so painstakingly glazed on the outside.

“Lo Lo?” Remus crouched near him, wiping his own hands on the apron. Logan found another piece by his knee.

“I’m sorry…” he choked out, unable to meet his eyes, afraid to see the anger and the hurt and the disappointment he was certain they held. For the first time ever, he wished he would just wake up. “Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, Remus, I—“ Throat closing, Logan’s breath stuttered. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he scooped up the last piece, cradling the shattered remains of Remus’ art, of his heart, in his palms. “I’m so, so sorry.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sasi #tss #ts logan #ts remus #ts janus #logan sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #intruloceit #Logan Croft #Remus Prince #Janus Prince nee Pater #Kelly Croft - OC

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