Posts by slacker

Logan followed the fall of the amber liquid into Toby’s glass with a tempted look. Was Toby’s mom okay with this? Where had Toby even pulled whiskey from?

Surprised to see the alcohol already taking effect, Logan eyed Toby wearily. However, Toby only responded to it with positive words and gestures. He looked slightly buzzed, and his warm, blissful smile was back once again (albeit slightly crooked this time around). Clearly, the alcohol was only doing him good. Logan chuckled at Toby’s friendly encouragement, the movement making his chest ache briefly. With that, he accepted a glass of his own.

Logan had originally rolled his eyes at Toby’s comment about risking his life…but then he let the concept sink in. Truthfully, Toby wasn’t wrong. He could have just watched Logan struggle from the sidelines, and Logan wouldn’t have faulted him for it. Yet…Toby hadn’t done that. He’d jumped in and used Logan as a distraction to help them both gain the upper hand. Then Logan had taken care of the lackey while Toby had Eric in a choke hold.

It had been a close call, but they’d worked together, and they’d come out on top.

"I hope you know, t-that I really a-appreciate what you did today." Logan, feeling somewhat insecure about the implications of this, hesitated before answering. He thought back to the start of the day; had he been checking on Toby, or just eavesdropping? Had he taunted Eric because Eric’s harassment of Toby had infuriated Logan, or had he simply done it to be an asshole? Had Logan refused to attack Toby because he cared about Toby, or because he was a stubborn prick?

Honestly, the answers to these questions could be one or the other, both or neither, and Logan wouldn’t know. He’d given up trying to put logic to actions a long time ago, because people were just too complicated.

Logan poured himself a glass of whiskey and chugged it, ignoring the nasty burn it left in his throat. It’s content was a higher percentage than he’d thought it would be, even with Toby’s warning. He was sure he’d be feeling better before dinner.

Finally, he pieced together the ability to respond to Toby. “I’m not even sure I know what you’re referring to, so don’t think you owe me anything. And if you did owe me, I think this room covers it.”

After another glass or two, Logan was feeling pleasantly warm and numb from the inside-out. Something about Toby’s response sounded a bit off to him, but he was feeling too whimsical to really care, much less look into it. The most important thing was that his physical pain had been virtually nullified.

For good measure, Logan poured himself another shot of whiskey. A tipsy voice at the back of his head warned him not to spill on the carpet or the bed; This used to Toby’s sister’s room! Spilling would be rude. And I don’t want to see Toby angry… Logan thought to himself, slowly (very slowly) pouring the whiskey in an attempt at being careful.

Proud that he hadn’t spilled, Logan cradled his glass and glanced up at Toby, who was flushed pink in the face. Logan wasn’t sure whether it was from embarrassment because of odd way he had phrased his words earlier or simply because he was buzzed, but he thought he looked cute either way.

Whoa there Low, slowww down.

Logan dropped his gaze, suddenly super interested in picking at his jeans. These ones were ripped, and he tended to fiddle with them subconsciously when he was bored, but he was obviously using them now as an excuse to look away.

Logan was feeling drained from the events of this evening and the effects of the alcohol. He was also very aware of his proximity to Toby. This was important because he was coming dangerously close to just leaning over and falling asleep on Toby’s shoulder.

However, he snapped back out of his sleepy mindset when he felt Toby start to absently trace at his tattoo sleeve. The gentle crawl of the other boy’s fingers along his arm made a shiver run up Logan’s spine, and he had to resist leaning into the touch. Instead, he latched onto what Toby said about his sister and thought about that for a bit. There’s an idea. I could take him to my artist, we could make a night out of it. I wanted to get another tattoo anyway…

Logan’s attention was briefly captivated by a flash of white by the doorway. Wow. If you’re seeing ghosts then you definitely had too much to drink, Low…

"H-handsome guy like yourself, I w-wonder why you do-don't date anyone."

Logan blinked slowly at that, turning back to face Toby with an expression that was almost akin to a pout. “Are you screwing with me?” He asked, as cynical as always, even despite the drinks.

Logan inspected Toby’s reaction with a fair amount of doubt. Toby looked like he was struggling to find the right words, but that could mean anything. He could be ashamed that Logan had called him out, or afraid of what Logan might do if he admitted that yes, he was just screwing with him.

However, after a few seconds of Toby’s obvious panicking, Toby moved to touch Logan again, as if that would speak for him.

It kind of did, actually. And the fact that Logan let it happen at all should have spoke volumes back, seeing as he certainly wouldn’t have put up with such a thing from anybody else.

Quite a few variables were working in Toby’s favor at the moment. The first was that they were both drunk, and Logan could still distinguish this. Therefore Toby got a bit of a pass, and Logan cared a bit less.

The second variable was that they were alone. Logan wouldn’t have let Toby anywhere near this close if they were around other people. Not at this stage, anyway.

Third, Logan miiiiight be a bit touch-starved. He just didn’t get close to people anymore. For example, the last person he’d let hug him was his mother, and that was literally years ago.

So Logan shrugged and was patient as Toby brought up the song. He was about to tease Toby for it, but then he found that he reminded himself of Eric, and that thought shut him up quick.

Logan smiled upon recognizing the song. It was a trivial, humorous thing. When he noticed Toby’s especially nervous and violent twitching, however, his smile dropped.

Logan raised his own hands and placed them firmly on Toby’s shoulders in hopes it would somehow calm him enough to relax the ticking and twitching. “Woah, woah. Fuck. It’s okay dude, you can chill. What happened?”

The song eventually ended, and Logan seemed in a surprisingly peaceful mood, aside from his lingering concern for Toby’s twitching fit. “I don’t know about crushes, but you have a pretty good taste in music,” He said with a good-natured smirk, still checking to make sure Toby was okay. “That genre practically raised me. Three Days Grace…though that’s their more recent stuff, yeah? With…what’s his name? Mark? Matt?” Logan wondered, the name not coming to him as easily as it would have if he hadn’t downed multiple glasses of whiskey.

Logan felt relieved (and maybe even a little conceited) when his rookie attempt at calming Toby actually triumphed. He didn’t fully understand Toby’s conditions; they were unfamiliar, beyond him. But he could tell that the underlying issue in that moment had been the very familiar element of unwarranted social anxiety.

Toby was back to smiling, and Logan felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. You’re not his family, Logan Heights. You’re hardly a friend. He’s not your responsibility.

There was still a sober bone somewhere in his body that kept whispering stuff like You’re getting attached. Or He’s probably just trying to protect himself, he doesn’t truly care about you. Why should you care except to make him let you stay the night?

But Logan was currently telling this voice to fuck off. If Toby screwed him over, then that would be that. Logan would probably punch him in the gut and leave with nothing but a hundred curses in his wake.

At this point, Logan was pretty good at leaving people.

So far though, Toby hadn’t done anything to make Logan want to leave. If anything, Logan was surprised that Toby hadn’t left yet, or made up some sort of excuse to kick him out.

Against all odds, the asshole and the bully victim were getting along quite well. Giving credit where it was due, Logan knew that this was mostly thanks to Toby’s patience.

But like…we even have similar tastes in music. If Toby hadn’t brought up the song on his phone, they probably wouldn’t have figured that out so easily. Logan wasn’t often keen on advertising his band preferences.

Not because I’m insecure about it or anything. It’s just nobody's business except mine. Logan asserted.

Logan was on this silly train of thought when he felt Toby grab him by the shirt collar and pull him closer. Logan was about to complain about his balance being bad enough right now, so don’t go pulling him around like a dog on a leash—

—when suddenly, Logan realized he couldn’t speak. His mouth was otherwise occupied.

Logan’s entire body went rigid from shock. Thinking about it, it shouldn’t have been much of a shock, but that didn’t change the fact that Logan was an oblivious sap.

Unresponsive to the kiss at first, his brain was running a million miles a minute and yet simultaneously coming up blank. He felt full of emotions, both good and bad, but his brain was seeing static.

Logan ended up pulling away, if only to look into Toby’s eyes. They were a dark, lovely hazel that (as he’d recently noticed) had a helpful habit of placating Logan’s cynicism. They somehow seemed to be honest, while still maintaining depth.

The honesty was what Logan was looking for, and he found it. Toby wasn’t screwing with him.

Logan couldn’t be sure if he felt the same way Toby did, but that was exactly the point. Why not find out? Besides, if things went south, he could always just blame the alcohol.

Fuck it. Logan decided, dragging Toby back into the kiss.

Logan was entranced by the atmosphere that they’d created. He was high on hormones, and still fuzzy from the whiskey. It was overall the most comfortable he’d been all day.

And it’s not like this was how he’d expected the day would turn out, obviously. If you had told him twelve hours ago that he’d be where he was right now (with Toby, in Toby’s sister’s room after a knife fight on school grounds, making out) he probably would’ve laughed hysterically and suggested that you become a professional comedian (or asked if you were trying to start something, and then threatened you should he suspect you might be keen on spreading outrageous rumors).

But present-Logan was soaking up Toby’s eager advances like a sponge would water.

There was, of course, the concern that Toby’s hands would wander from Logan's back to his front. This concern existed for multiple reasons. One, he was bruised there. Logan doubted that even the whiskey would prevent him from feeling the excited pressure of Toby’s hands on those bruises. Two, he had the scar from his heart surgery there, and, well…

Toby’s enthusiasm, however, was making Logan toss his concerns right out the window. It even made him smirk into their kiss. He playfully bit at Toby’s lip before ducking his head into the crook of Toby’s neck, just above the shoulder and near the jugular.

“Alcohol or no alcohol, that kiss was pretty brave,” Logan practically purred, his hot breath grazing Toby’s ear.

Toby eventually pulled away, though, so Logan did as well. He faced the other boy curiously.

“What’re you thinking about?” Toby had asked without a single stutter. Logan didn’t really have a problem understanding Toby though, so stutter or no stutter, he could care less.

Logan toyed with Toby’s hair as he constructed a response. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, after all. His mind was all over the place. “Just thinking about how awkward dinner’s bound to be now,” he joked, shifting his weight on the spare bed to hover closer. “That, and I was honnnnestly scared to death that your mom might walk in on us,” he admitted. His voice was low and his words were slurred, confirming that the alcohol still had a hold of him.

Logan was preening at every ounce of attention; he even tilted his chin to grant Toby a better angle. “Clara would kiiiilll me if she walked in on us…not that she’s anything like your mom, much less my mom. Your mom seems nice,” Logan rambled.

Logan felt his muscles melt like butter under the other boy’s gentle ministrations. Toby was kissing at his jaw, rubbing circles into his back, pulling him closer; the combined efforts of these and several other little things had Logan coming apart at the seams.

"Y-yeah, well I guess I'm naturally a-a brave person."

Logan snickered at that, dipping his free hand under Toby’s shirt, and then letting it wander as far down as Toby’s waist. The other hand was busy raking through Toby’s coffee-colored locks, and Logan had to admit that the sounds that Toby made in response were ridiculously encouraging. He considered straddling the other boy’s lap, just to see what his reaction would be like, before deciding he wasn’t that cruel.

Logan listened as Toby attempted to reassure him about his mother and the subject of dinner. A second son? That’s sweet of him, but I doubt that. Especially if she knew what we were up to in here.

Most parent-age adults weren’t fond of Logan and his delinquent behavior, so he wasn’t often a fan of them either. However, he would give Toby’s mom a fair chance, if just for Toby’s sake. I wonder what his mom does for work…I guess I can ask later. And where's Toby’s dad?

Before Logan could get too curious about those details, Toby had leaned forward so that their faces nearly touched. In fact, their foreheads bumped, and Logan felt the sudden urge to steal another kiss.

Logan was normally ear-blind to his heart, but he could hear the blood rushing in his own ears. Even the ticking of his artificial heart valve felt louder than ever.

Ticking. Ticci Toby. Hehe. Logan nearly laughed aloud at his own drunken conclusion. Instead, he stole that kiss he’d been thinking about earlier, pushing wisps of Toby’s dark hair back out of the boy’s face.

Toby vocally praised their touching and kissing, and Logan could’ve sworn he felt his ego swell by a mile.

“Yeah, well, I would fucking hope so. Otherwise this would be way more awkward,” Logan pointed out, kissing Toby’s nose on a drunken impulse and then proceeding to giggle at himself. “You’re in so much trouble when I can think again.”

Despite this, Logan was clinging to Toby as if he were a teddy bear.

“The whiskey worked,” Logan declared as a stupid afterthought, realizing he felt great.

Toby’s laugh did very unfair things to him, and Logan had had just about enough of their back-and-forth teasing. The only thing inhibiting him from a more…ambitious move now was the fact that he still recognized that they were both drunk; he didn’t want to have regrets later.

And it’s a good thing you went into this specifically preparing to deal with your drunk-ass self, because otherwise who knows where you would’ve ended up, He thought, slightly distraught by the fact that he and Toby would be dealing with this unexpected turn of events later, when they weren’t both drunk and drooling over each other.

The sober voice at the back of Logan’s mind was currently silent, and the drunk voice wasn’t quite sure whether that was a good sign. Luckily for Toby, drunk Logan was currently far more powerful than sober Logan, despite being held on a leash that only stretched so far.

Logan let a half-heartedly suppressed groan escape his lips at Toby’s teasing of his throat and collarbone. Logan proceeded to grab Toby by the waist, pulling him further on top of him and humming a sound of approval.

“I swear you’re gonna be the death of me,” Logan murmured into Toby’s shoulder, pissed that there was clothing in his way.

The raven-haired male stiffened slightly as Toby’s head dropped lower, only to pause at Logan’s chest. Instantly, Logan could pick out the ticking sound of his heart again; it echoed in his own ears louder than it technically should have as a shadow of anxiety creeped into his consciousness.

He wanted to raise his voice, play music, anything, so that Toby wouldn’t hear his heart and ask questions. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell people you were born with a defective heart?)

Especially seeing as Logan’s father made the deformity out to be a curse. According to him, Logan himself was a mistake, an impurity that couldn’t even survive without pieces of its body being replaced by metal and drugs thinning its blood. Logan wasn’t a human with a soul, he was a walking science project. He didn’t deserve to live while his mother had to die…

Logan wasn’t desperate enough to believe all of his father’s drunken fits, but after a while, that kind of thing stuck with you.

Toby pressed his ear against Logan’s chest, and Logan flinched from the pressure that it put on his bruises. His hold on Toby tightened, as he was unsure whether to forcibly push the other boy away. He certainly didn't want to, if it could be helped.

Toby’s comment was surprising enough for Logan to break his pained silence. “How do you even know what you’re listening to?” Logan asked, shocked that Toby seemed perfectly fond of the noise and hadn’t yet inquired about its nature.

Logan’s uneven and shuddering breath leveled back out when Toby released the pressure from his chest. He nodded along with Toby’s explanation, able to focus now that he wasn’t in as much pain.

Ah, so that’s what Toby’s mom does. That’s a decent job. And I didn’t know Toby had been homeschooled. Logan found himself suddenly curious about Toby’s early life. He was sure that Toby had been ostracized as a kid; kids could be cruel. There was always somebody like Eric, at every age and in every school. That was likely at least part of the reason why Toby’s mom had homeschooled him.

This was surprising for a lot of people, but Logan had actually been “popular” as a kid in elementary and middle school. He was the chill slacker type that had prodigy athletic talent and could get straight As, but settled for lazy Bs. Logan’s mom had always been on top of him about his grades, otherwise he probably would’ve settled for Cs.

His train of thought speeding back into the present, he was still surprised that Toby knew what a mechanical valve was at all. Not a lot of people had one, much less spoke about having one. Even when somebody needed a valve replacement, they didn’t always go mechanical.

Logan appreciated how Toby wasn’t digging for further information; he knew that if they became/stayed friends (what are we exactly, at this point?) he’d probably end up giving Toby the rundown on his condition. For now, at least, they could enjoy the moment they’d created without talking over it too much.

Toby leaned in for a kiss and Logan returned it eagerly, though his eyes were soft with exhaustion and he was honestly feeling sleepy again. All he wanted was to curl up in the bed. Possibly with Toby.

Toby pulled away and got up from the bed. Logan wanted to pout, so he did just that. “Uuuuugh. Toooobyyy,” He whined, but the other boy was already helping him to a stand.

"You must be h-hungry by now, right?" Toby asked, and Logan was struck by the fact that yes, he was. “I hadn’t been thinking about it, but now that you mention it…” He’d run out of the house earlier this morning without eating because Clara had him distracted with her usual bullshit. Also, the smell of freshly cooked salmon wafting up to them was making Logan’s mouth water and his stomach sing. He rarely ate anything as expensive and hard to prepare as salmon; he was lucky if Clara tossed him left overs. Logan’s father certainly wasn’t a chef.

Logan often prepared his own meals, and they were never anything special.

Logan trailed after Toby like a sluggish shadow, motivated solely by the prospect of fresh salmon. As they were walking to the stairs, a dog suddenly started to bark from somewhere in the house; this dog sounded so similar to Wick that Logan initially believed he must be hallucinating it altogether.

The sound was real though, and this fact became more apparent the longer Logan listened. “Toby do you…do you have a dog?” Logan had asked, surprised he hadn’t met this dog yet if it did, in fact, exist.

Toby guided Logan’s drunk ass down the stairs, but Logan persistently kept pausing to shoo the other boy away. “I’m fine Toby, I’m not an old lady. I can do the stairs by myself,” Logan mumbled indignantly, becoming slightly embarrassed when he proceeded to lose his balance and sway on a stair.

Thankfully, he made it to the bottom of the stairs in one piece. At the bottom, both boys were greeted by a white German Shephard. Logan nearly burst into tears. “Oh my god Toby, she’s gorgeous! It’s a she, right?” Logan exclaimed, the alcohol contributing to this emotional mood swing. “…Hello, what’s your name?” He asked Ghost as if she were a person, remembering then to keep his voice down so as not to intimidate her, “You remind me of my Wick…God your eyes are pretty. Does she have husky in her or was she just born like that randomly?” Logan inquired, crouching down to be on Ghost’s level. He let her approach him, but once she did, he was petting her with the enthusiasm of a child.

Drunk Logan shamelessly adored dogs.

Logan stayed behind for a few extra seconds to fawn over the dog while Toby continued into the kitchen. Of course, Logan followed eventually, but not without trying to persuade Ghost to tag along with him.

Eyes wide, Logan scanned the generous arrangement of food laid out for them. “Daaamn, Toby. Your mom is magical,” He whistled, genuinely impressed.

What sounded like the front door slamming open took Logan by surprise. Shit. Dad’s home? he panicked, before realizing that he wasn’t at home and so it certainly couldn’t be his father.

Still, Logan couldn’t shake the parallels. Toby’s dad stumbled into the kitchen, his drunken movements and voice all-too familiar. Out of habit, Logan went perfectly silent and started glancing around the room for the nearest escape route. He might’ve been under the influence, but Logan could still recognize that everything about Toby’s dad screamed danger.

Toby gently squeezed his hand in what Logan recognized to be a reassuring gesture.

And that was when Logan realized he couldn’t run away. Not if it meant leaving Toby behind.

Toby’s dad raised a hand, his intent clear, and Logan’s body kickstarted into action before his mind could catch up. He shoved Toby to the side and then behind him, not caring if the strike hit him instead. He didn’t block, for he knew from experience that blocking only made angry attackers more angry. “I’m sorry for intruding. There was a family emergency and I sprung this on Toby last-second, so please don’t blame him. I can leave immediately, just let me go grab my things.” Logan spoke in a placating manner, the words tumbling from his mouth but thankfully coming out as he intended.

Logan’s expression was calm and sculpted specifically for disarming someone. For negotiating, for reasoning. However, the second Toby’s dad turned his back on them, Logan’s fake expression fell to reveal one far more malicious. Logan was glaring daggers at the elder Rodgers’ back as his left hand leisurely toyed with the pocketknife (Eric’s pocketknife) that he still had hidden in his hoodie pocket. His eyes were cold; at the moment, they much resembled a viper’s. Most importantly, he kept Toby close.

Logan scoffed at Toby’s apology. “Don’t apologize, idiot. You are not responsible for your father. And you obviously weren’t hoping for something like this to happen,” He said, purposefully keeping his voice at an appropriate volume. His words were kind, but his tone was rough around the edges. He was still on guard and not yet willing to loosen up.

Ghost appeared out of nowhere, nudging her way in between the two boys. While his awareness remained in-tact, Logan’s rage instantly blunted as he resumed petting the sweet dog. Toby soon confirmed Logan’s suspicions about Ghost and he couldn’t help but smile softly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Well, she’s awesome, and heterochromia is literally the coolest thing ever. I have a 3-legged German Shepherd back at home named Wick…I think you and Ghost would like him. Maybe you’ll get to meet him sometime,” Logan suggested, discretely dropping Toby an invitation to get together in the future.

Logan felt the tension drain from his limbs and drunk brain only when he heard Toby’s dad start driving away. The gradually fading sound of tires on asphalt was music to his ears.

Overall, Logan had handled the bewildering appearance/disappearance of Toby’s unpleasant father rather well, aside from his earlier irritation.

His posture drooped and he kinda just leaned into Toby’s embrace. “That…that was stressful. Fuck your dad, honestly,” He said, not caring if maybe he was being a little too honest. He was too tired to care at this point. “But I’m glad it’s over with…now we can eat like starved vultures in peace,” Logan joked, before a mischievous thought made him give pause. “And,” He started, guiding Toby barely two steps to the nearest wall. Logan pinned Toby up against it, kissing him somewhat possessively, “…We can get away with a few more instances of that.”

"Y-yeah, I hate him."

The raven-haired male contemplated this for a bit. He wanted to know more about Toby’s family. The death of Toby’s sister must have thrown a wrench in their family dynamic, but Toby spoke of his father now as if they’d never gotten along.

Logan had originally suspected that the sister’s death had something to do with Toby’s father’s behavior, seeing as that’s exactly what he had witnessed occur in his own personal life. Logan’s father hadn’t handled, and still wasn’t handling, the death of Logan’s mother very well. He’d initially been depressed; he’d turned to drugs and alcohol, and had ignored Logan for months on end. One day, he had unexpectedly forced them both to move.

With the move, he had changed.

He had started trying to forget his wife entirely, rather than trying to accept her death. He met Clara and moved in with her. Nowadays he went out more often and consistently kept losing whatever shitty job he managed to acquire for the month.

Logan, of course, hated this lifestyle. He missed his mother and certainly didn’t want to pretend she’d never existed. The two remaining relatives were constantly at odds when they first moved…until their arguments started getting violent.

The parallels were uncomfortable. Still, something about Toby’s tone suggested that he’d been fighting this battle of wills since well before his sister’s death.

But right now wasn’t the time to ask invasive questions or make uncomfortable comparisons. They were a little too busy being horny teenagers to focus on the serious.

Logan was, in fact, purposefully torturing Toby. It was fun…and super hot, if he was being honest. Even drunk, Logan wasn’t about to pounce on his host for sex, but damn it if Toby wasn’t making this mindset a tricky one. “…I’ll keep that in mind,” Logan began, swiping the other boy’s bangs from his face so that their eyes could meet proper, “…but it’s not an act, you know,” He said in a low, slow voice, making sure Toby knew that he’d seen him fix his pants (and pretending he didn’t have to do the same).

“…That being said, I’m literally about to fall the fuck asleep, and I’d rather do it on a full stomach. What are your thoughts?” Logan changed the subject completely, laughing at Toby’s probable expression and gesturing to the food that they’d never eaten.

Shuffling after Toby to the kitchen table, Logan could practically feel his pupils swell in awe of the food lineup. Salmon wasn’t a particularly “fishy” fish, and so the aroma fogging up the room was rich but subdued enough to be pleasant. It reminded him of certain occasions back when his mother was alive and they used to go out to dinner as a family because she never had time to cook. His mother used to love seafood…

Pushing the nostalgic thoughts away, Logan moved to serve himself. He made sure to scoop up a generous portion of the mac and cheese because he could tell just by looking at it that it was the best mac and cheese he’d ever get the opportunity to eat.

He pulled out a chair for himself across from the one that Toby had claimed. Ghost wedged her body in between their chairs; apparently, like Wick, she was excellent at begging for scraps.

Logan watched Toby sneak Ghost some salmon under the table. “Wick has a stomach of steel, so I spoil him rotten with whatever I can scrounge up for ‘im,” Logan admitted, amusement ghosting through his voice.

Throughout dinner Logan listened curiously to Toby’s stories. A lot of them made him laugh, some of them left him thoughtful.

The birthday cake one was especially interesting. Logan had never had a sibling growing up, and it's not like Daniel counted for shit. (Clara’s son was a reclusive druggie who had been purposefully avoiding Logan ever since they first met.) “When’s your birthday?” Logan asked, still without any verbal filters in place.

The more Toby talked, the more comfortable Logan felt. He’d never been one to initiate conversation, much less small talk, but all these stories were making Toby feel far more relatable. More human, even.

Logan often felt as though he were surrounded by people who lived very different lives and had very different minds. He consequently isolated himself, which made him feel safer, but also made him feel outnumbered and alone.

Toby was different, somehow, and Logan was surprised by how quickly the little outsider had gained his trust.

He practically licked his plate clean, and only stopped after a second serving of mac and cheese. I’m gonna need to thank Toby's mom later because holy shit.

He let Toby take his plate with a grateful nod and hunched over in his chair to pet Ghost. Toby made quick work of the plates and soon Logan had to get up to join him by the doorway.

“Are you tired yet? Because I’m about to fall over. The most I think I could do now is...I don't know, a movie? Maybe?" He yawned.

Aside from the occasional street lamp, Myriad's surroundings were pleasantly dark. He could actually make out the stars, and his sensitive eyes weren't on fire for once. It was a welcome change, seeing as he'd been frequenting bright, bustling cities up until maybe five days ago. In fact I miss this. Reminds me of home, He thought, amusing himself.

Yeah right.

Jogging down the sidewalk, he easily could have passed as your typical nighttime jogger. There was no reason to suspect that he was putting distance between himself and a crime scene. At one point Myriad cut through a small patch of woods and came out on the other side where there were less houses, but more storefronts. He slowed to a casual walk as he emerged from the treeline.

If you were looking for it, you would've noticed Myriad's transition to Ethan. Initially, there were just a few discreet signals; the boy's left hand twitched and his walking pace stuttered. Then, all at once, his entire aura transformed.

His posture went from confident and comfortable to nervous and insecure. He drew up his shoulders and hunched over a little bit with his hands in his pockets, much like someone hiding from the rain would. He kept his eyes on the ground as if afraid he'd make eye contact with somebody, despite there being no one else within his general vicinity.

Well, that might not be entirely true. Ethan quickly noticed the silhouette of another male trailing after him. This newcomer wasn't inherently suspicious, but Ethan's anxiety still kicked in. He frowned, the expression hidden safely beneath his hood. Oooh, maybe you switched back too soon. No worries E, I got this, Myriad spoke "reassuringly" in his head.

Ethan's frown only deepened.

You're jumping to conclusions. Sit down and shut up, Myr, Ethan thought back, which just made the mental image of Myriad roll his eyes.

"But the stranger's trouble, E, I can tell." A random personality chimed in.

"Are you two crazy? Look at all these stores, there are bound to be cameras."

"Well, we could lead him into an alleyway and dispose of him there." Myriad suggested.

"Some serial killer you are. Can't even maintain a consistent killing style," A very familiar personality by the name of Cara taunted.

"Hey, if E's livelihood is on the line, of course I'm gonna step in," Myriad protested.

In Ethan's post-murder, anxious state, multiple personalities were slipping through his exterior like water through a cracked dam.

He spoke each personality aloud, and with each personality change, his physical mannerisms would change. One moment he was speaking in a thick New York accent, making frustrated gestures, and the next he was speaking with the vocabulary of a sassy, ten-year-old girl. It switched and switched, and the best Ethan could do was keep their conversations/arguments limited to a harsh whisper.

"Myriad if you don't get everyone to calm the fuck down this second I am going to chain myself to a tree in the woods and you'll be stuck without kills for a loooong time." Ethan threatened through grit teeth. At this point, he was half-hoping hoping the strange man behind him would hear him "talking to himself" like a loon and think twice about getting too close.

Ethan froze and stared blankly at Mason’s knife lodged in the tree, barely processing it. The blade had pierced the trunk so violently that pieces of bark and wood chip had come loose, popping off like sparks off a firework.

"Do I have your full attention now, Ethan Rook? Good. Believe me, if I wanted you dead, you would be dead." The stranger spoke suddenly, and Ethan didn’t know what to make of it.

Myriad, on the other hand, had already forged some powerful opinions on Mason: Ew, what an arrogant prick! Try that again, I fucking dare you, the serial killer challenged internally, itching to get involved.

Despite the distraction of Myriad’s threats and cursing, Ethan was able to register his stalker begin to ramble on about an “Operator”…

Holy shit guys he’s a cultist or something. What do I do?

Well, he’s taller and weighs more than you. Good aim. Knives as weapons, probably the confrontational type. On a mission that comes before tearing us up, and arrogant as all hell, Myriad supplied helpfully from his corner of Ethan’s mind. I ain’t backing off just cuz some bloat-head cult’s got its panties in a twist.

> Run, E!

> Fuck no, who does this guy think he is chucking knives at us? I say we gut him.

> It’s too risky. Pretend you’re interested in his proposal!

> Ha! He called Myriad "chivalrous".

> Kill kill kill kill.

At least these personalities were considerate enough to keep their dialogue internal when it counted.

Typically, people compare the feeling of nervousness to butterflies in their stomach. For Ethan, it felt more like having rocks and worms in his stomach, heavy and churning and gross. He wanted to retch, honestly. How does this guy even know my name?

Eight years. We’ve been doing this shit for eight years. We’ve dealt with cops, kids running at us for revenge, personal detectives, concerned neighbors...but never somebody like this, Myriad realized, both frustrated with and in awe of their peculiar situation.

Ethan watched closely as Mason moved to retrieve the knife from the tree. Once it was retrieved, he resisted to urge to let his own knife slip from the sleeve of his hoodie into his hand. (He didn’t want to appear hostile.) He discretely glanced left, where all the storefronts were located just beyond the trees.

Just a few trees between here and there. You can do this, Ethan reassured himself. He gave his hood an extra tug up so that it cast as much of his face as possible in its shadow.

We’re running? Myriad inquired, sounding disappointed. That’s no fun.

Fun isn’t exactly my main priority here, Ethan retorted. He took a small step back away from Mason, angling his body to run. “I’m not interested,” Ethan started, but Myriad took the initiative to interject, “If you’re oh-so possessive of your targets, then maybe finish them off quicker. Not my fault you’re slow.”

For the past few days, Ethan had been squatting in an old, abandoned library at the edge of town. It had been fastidiously boarded up after some trespassing teenagers had started a small fire in the far corner of it. From what Ethan had gathered, the building was supposed to have been torn down ages ago, but the process kept getting put off.

Which was all the better for Ethan, really. He’d found a weak spot in the sealed windows on the second floor; most people wouldn’t have ever noticed it because they wouldn’t have (or physically couldn’t have) climbed up to check things out.

It was a loose board. All Ethan had had to do was climb up there at night, swing the board over, break the window behind it and voilà, secret door.

If I can’t outrun him, I can definitely out-climb him. And then even if he somehow forced his way into the building, I’d have the upper hand because I know the space.

With this thought in mind, Ethan broke into a mad sprint for the town.

Once he’d reached town, Ethan contemplated screaming for help. Maybe if somebody called 911 on them, Mason would lose his cool head and retreat. It’s possible. If he really is part of a shady organization that murders people by contract, then I doubt he’d want to be the one who drew attention to it, Ethan reasoned.

Unless the cops of this town are in on it, Myriad suggested excitedly. Like the kind of thing you’d see on a horror show, where the whole town turns out to be a cult—

Sshh, let him concentrate, a voice scolded.

Regardless, Ethan quickly concluded that involving the authorities at this point was way too risky; he couldn’t keep running for the library, lest he reveal his hideout to the police, and he might even be brought in himself if he wasn’t careful.

I am not in the mood for dealing with cops. Especially after such a smooth kill; we were doing so well! If you draw attention to yourself, then you’re on your own, Myriad warned. I can handle crazy cultists with knives, but cops with guns are a beast all their own.

Fine, fine, Ethan yielded, yelping when he heard the telltale thunk of a knife just barely missing his ankle. “God fucking damn it, leave us alone!” A random personality spit. It definitely wasn’t Ethan; Ethan was too busy freaking out to be agitated, and at this point Myriad was having fun, so it wasn’t Myriad either.

Ethan avoided running in a straight line to protect himself from any follow-up flying blades. He breezed through the alleyways like a spirit, launching himself up and over chain-link fences, springing over piles of alley trash, and even swerving around a startled raccoon.

He knew he would be coming up on the library soon, and in a last-ditch effort to shake Mason off his tail, Ethan started for a rusty fire escape off a small apartment building. He’d taken note of this building’s location a few days ago, when he’d gone out scouting the area.

Instead of using the stairs, Ethan jumped. It was a small building so the escape only went two levels; once he’d pulled himself up to the second platform, he flung himself over the edge of it and onto a concrete ledge beneath the windows of the building next door. There were barely four inches to work with, but Ethan’s balance and grip strength were exceptional.

He scaled along the edge of the building for a few tentative steps before lugging himself onto the roof. He didn’t turn back to see if Mason was able to follow or if Mason was still tailing him at ground level, he just ran across the roof, hurdled over some pipes and a vent, and then threw himself off the building. He landed smoothly on a sidewalk and scrambled back to his feet to keep sprinting, his strides long and unfairly fast. Ethan had been running from people all his life, though, so that made sense.

If Mason had followed from the ground, he would’ve needed to cross a street and climb another fence.

The library was just up ahead, run-down but huge and imposing against the night sky.

Ethan perked up at the sight of the library, a little flicker of hope in his eyes. See? Easy. We’re almost there. He thought, scanning the side of the building for the wall he usually scaled to reach the second floor.

His breath was heavier now than when he’d first started running, of course, but it was even and practiced. Ethan had always found the crisp nighttime air easy to breathe, and he’d had gotten a good sleep in during the day. This, on top of the adrenaline spike from being chased by a crazy murderer, and Ethan’s energy might as well have been boundless.

Still, Ethan wasn't expecting Mason to catch up so quickly. The taller male tackled him from behind, disrupting his momentum and making them both spin into a violent crash. Ethan managed to fall correctly, all things considered. He’d learned how to fall “correctly” from years of parkour in the city. However, no matter how carefully he angled his body, nothing could counter Ethan’s bad luck as the entirety of Mason’s body weight smashed down on his arm.

His shoulder gave an audible pop and Ethan had to bite his tongue to avoid waking the whole neighborhood with a sound of pain.

Dislocated, Myriad reported immediately, and Ethan wanted to bitch slap him in the face.

Nooo fucking shit.

Ethan was too busy trying to shake off the new injury to even see Mason coming, much less escape. Mason jumped on him, making his skull knock back against the concrete (oh, fun, instant migraine) and then pinned him there. Hm. Guess you should’ve focused more on straight-up outrunning him than on losing him as a tail, Myriad observed grimly.

The smaller boy couldn’t quite see, his vision spotty and slightly wet. That didn’t stop him from reflexively jabbing a knee up into Mason’s stomach.

“Let go,” Ethan demanded, but his voice was small. His shoulder was on fire, especially in this pinned position. Not to mention he hated being touched. When Mason didn't comply, Ethan started to shiver and hyperventilate, and the only thing that prevented him from having full-blown anxiety attack was Myriad’s timely intervention.

The panicked look slowly faded, leaving Ethan a bit dead in the eyes. Then, as if he’d never been upset in the first place, his disposition morphed. Life crawled back into the boy’s eyes, and this life was far more stubborn than the one that’d existed there previously.

“Let. The fuck. Go.” Myriad echoed Ethan, his tone venomous. “Or I will spit in your stupid, ugly-ass face and I swear to God I will make it my life mission to be the bane of your existence.”