#but nah i was clinging onto his empty promises lol

[averykedavra]

Are We There Yet

Hey look it’s losleep that might be *knocks on wood* actually somewhat short? I’m doing these prompts way out of order because I’ve accepted that I won’t finish them so I’m just doing the ones that call my name.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! You can find this fic on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away.


Pairing: QPR Losleep.

Words: 6856

Warnings: self-deprecation, food mention, arson mention, death mention, sleep deprivation, minor injury, swearing, hypothermia kind of, and this whole thing could be read as a metaphor for touch starvation

Remy is not clingy.

Okay? Okay.

He doesn’t need anybody. Sure, it’s nice when Logan holds his hand, pretty cool when Logan kisses his cheek, but if no? Remy’s fine with that. He made it like twenty-something years without the boi, after all. Besides, physical affection is ew. He only puts up with it ‘cause Logan likes it.

And if sometimes he flops into Logan’s lap and whines about work until Logan plays with his hair, that’s to annoy his babe. Not because he likes it.

And if he always sticks close to Logan? It’s because Logan drives the cold away.

Which is also not a problem. Remy likes being cold. He’s a frozen dream-come-true, a cool and collected boi, a chill and fabulous being. He’s got his jacket if things get too bad.

Besides, again, he made it twenty years without warmth.

(Twenty pretty fucking terrible years, if he’s honest, but just because he’s half-delirious sometimes from the feeling of being warm doesn’t mean he needs to be desperate about it.)

He’s not desperate. He’s not clingy. He does what he wants and his stupid partner doesn’t control him.

Remy’s not clingy, and Logan’s going away this week, and it’s fine.

“I’ll be back soon,” Logan promises for the fifth time. “You can call me if you need anything, and there’s extra groceries in the fridge, and the keys are by the door--”

“Babe, I’ll be fine.” Remy rolls his eyes. “Tbh, I think you’re more nervous about this than I am.”

“I’m not nervous,” Logan argues, although the way his eyes flicker around says otherwise. “Remember to turn off the stove, and--”

“Darling.” Remy gives Logan a kiss on the nose and enjoys the way Logan flushes and wrinkles his nose. One year of being partners and Logan still stammers under affection. Clearly, Remy needs to give him more.

(It’s just for the reaction, though. It’d be fine if Logan didn’t want kisses. Remy wouldn't sulk.)

“Starlight,” Remy says, placing another kiss on Logan’s cheek for good measure, “my good bitch, I’m capable of managing one week without burning the house down.”

“I know, I know.” Logan gives him a small smile. “I’m just--I wish you could come with me.”

“Plane tickets are fucking expensive,” Remy says, “and I’d rather go broke buying espresso than flying in some tin death trap, ‘kay? Go do your conference thing. It’ll be fine--I’ll hold down the fort.”

Logan frowns. “What fort?”

“Expression, honey.” Remy gives Logan one more kiss because he can’t help himself (but he’ll be fine without these for a week, of course.) “Good luck, show those assholes what you’re made of.”

“They’re hardly assholes.” Logan touches his forehead to Remy’s and Remy does his best not to melt in the warmth. “You’ll really be okay without me?”

“Of course,” Remy says, grinning. “My life will go on without you. I’m not that clingy.”

Something flashes over Logan’s face, but it’s gone before Remy can parse it. Logan gives him a final kiss and grabs his suitcases, pulling on a blazer that makes him look fucking stunning, in Remy’s opinion. Goddammit. Logan’s wasting his hella fine looks on some conference assholes when he could be here with Remy, sipping coffee and making fun of every episode of Gilmore Girls.

Well. What the hell does Remy care? He really does get that Logan needs to go to that conference, since Mr. Serious Professor is the only real income-giver in the household. Remy’s just a layabout who pays meager rent only on months when the coffee shop doesn’t fully fail.

He has no idea why Logan chose Remy, of all people, because he figured professor-types ought to stick together.

(He knows why. They’re soulmates. Without each other, they’re cold as ice, and tbh, Remy gets it. Logan would rather be with a mess than freezing to death. Fair enough. Still, it hurts, knowing you could be replaced with a fucking space heater.)

Logan gives Remy a little wave, and Remy gives him a cocky smile in return, adjusting his sunglasses and already planning the five-shot espresso he’s gonna use to drown his feelings.

Just one week.

This is gonna be fine.

Remy circles the end of the week on his calendar, once, twice, three times. Just so he’s not surprised. Sometimes time slips away around him and he’d like to be clothed when his partner shows up again.

He spends the rest of the evening watching TV. He heats up some macaroni, burns his tongue on it, and eats two brownies because why the hell not? It’s only like nine when he’s done, but the apartment is eerily empty. Logan’s usually busy with grading these evenings, face lit by his laptop, and Remy teases him and passes him some coffee and pulls him to bed when he’s really wrapped up.

Remy runs his hand idly over the spot where Logan usually sits.

Ugh. This is setting him on edge. He doesn’t like empty places and he has the urge to yell just to fill up the pockets of silence.

Remy makes himself one coffee. He shouldn’t. If Logan were here, he’d chide Remy and say Remy needs to sleep soon. Remy dangles his coffee mug in midair but Logan doesn’t catch it. ‘Cause Logan’s not here.

Duh, Remy, what’d you expect?

Remy chugs the coffee, tosses the mug in the sink, and tells himself he’ll clean it tomorrow.

He curls up in bed and stays on his phone until midnight. As the night wears on, he grows colder and colder. He pictures Logan flying on a plane to somewhere else, maybe sleeping with some stupid sleep mask on, his hair all messy and his glasses in his hands.

Remy’s phone vibrates.

If you’re still up, go to sleep.

Logan signs the text with a blue heart. He always does. Remy has done his goddamn best to teach Logan how emojis actually work, but Logan insists that words are “a highly more productive and lucid way of communicating.”

He always adds a heart though. Says it’s a quick way to remind Remy that he loves him.

Logan’s such a fucking sap sometimes.

(Remy ignores the fact that he’s smiling at his phone like it’s his firstborn child.)

lol hypocrite smh, he decides to write back.

I, at least, have the excuse of jet lag. Get some sleep, dear, we can talk tomorrow.

Remy sighs and doesn’t ask him to stay. He really is tired. And he’s not desperate.

He tosses his phone onto the nightstand and pulls his blankets up to his shoulders.

He’s cold.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he wakes up and he’s still cold. Damn, the universe is a bitch.

Rubbing his arms and swearing, Remy stumbles into the kitchen and fumbles for the espresso machine. He tosses a good morning behind him and then remembers Logan’s not here. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and shakes himself.

He’s not gonna think about Logan right now.

Besides, Remy could use this alone time! Right? He’s always complained about Logan getting in his personal space.

(It’s a joke. It’s a joke and Logan always sees right through it, and Remy hates it.)

Remy nods to himself. He gets dressed in his usual jacket and pulls it tighter around him, as if clothes can get rid of the cold in his chest.

He takes a sip of coffee, pulls on his sunglasses, and gets ready to face the day.

His first shift goes okay. A bunch of couples come in, giggling and blushing, and Remy can tell the newest ones from the way they cling to each other’s arms. He fucking hates the universe sometimes. Depending on how sensitive a soul is, the cold can mess with people good. Some people never find their soulmate and freeze inside and out, unable to fix it, suffering from a cold that physically doesn’t exist. It’s all in their head, or their soul, to be sentimental about it.

Soulmates are bullshit if they hurt someone for not being there enough.

And being forced to be with someone...there are problems. Remy’s heard the stories. Seen the tears. Soulmates might be “made for each other” but sometimes shit happens, and the problem is nobody can leave that mess, because soulmates and because going from warm to cold is terrifying.

(Even for the relationships that work out--like Remy’s--there’s always the undercurrent of doubt. That it’s all about the temperature, the destiny, the expectations. And not about real love. Remy tries not to think about that.)

Still, watching the younger couples trade coffees and smile, Remy gets why everyone falls in love with the idea.

He spends his lunch break staring at his phone and hoping Logan will text him. Logan’s probably asleep--time zones, right? Plus the babe always gets conked out after plane rides.

Remy could text Logan, just to know. But it hasn’t been a day yet. He’s not gonna be needy.

He does his second shift, downs two espressos, and pretends the caffeine rush eclipses the cold settling into his bones.

He only grabbed a bun for lunch, so for dinner he cooks up some chicken. Then he watches more TV. Without realizing it, he grabs several blankets and pulls them around himself until he’s a blanket burrito. It’s warm. He almost falls asleep right there but manages to drag himself to bed, because an annoying voice in the back of his brain told him Logan would be mad if Remy stayed on the couch all night.

What does it matter, though? Logan isn’t here.

Remy still goes to bed.

He piles a quilt on top of his shoulders. The weight drowns him and he drifts off to sleep.

He only wakes up once.

Logan is texting him. Remy fumbles for the phone, ridiculously excited.

I hope you are well. Talk to you tomorrow morning, if you are willing.

Remy swallows and texts back sure.

Too quick? Too desperate? Nah, Logan likes punctuality, and anyway, it says he hasn’t read the text. He probably sent it, turned his phone off, and went to sleep. Logan’s responsible like that.

Remy watches his phone for a few more seconds, sighs, and turns it over. It takes a while for him to go back to sleep.

Day two and day three are a blur. He crosses the days off on the calendar, resolving to burn it before Logan sees. He’s run out of espresso so he makes a quick trip to the grocery store. They’ve turned the air conditioning on, even though it’s fall. Remy shivers his way through the aisles. He buys Logan’s favorite ice cream without thinking and sticks it in the back of the freezer. He’ll be here in four days, after all.

Remy bites his lip, pulls on his jacket, and goes back outside.

He goes to Logan’s favorite bookshop. The door tinkles when he opens it. At least this place isn’t air conditioned, though Remy still shivers, remembering all the afternoons when Logan dragged him here. He heads for the astronomy books and runs his fingers down the shelves. He has no idea what book to get. Logan’s the smart one. Remy’s just the bitch.

He buys a few books. They have space on the cover so Remy figures Logan’ll tolerate them. It costs like twice his week’s paycheck. Remy tries not to be salty about it. It’s not like Logan’s forcing him to buy this stuff. He did it himself.

Why, he’s not sure.

It’s only when he’s walking home with a bag of books and swilling the dregs of his coffee around when he realizes he’s gonna have to find a why. He’ll have to explain to Logan why he impulse-brought the babe some books. And he’ll have to make it somehow sound not-pathetic.

Well, that’s a problem for Future Remy.

Present Remy sticks the books in a closet--is that where books go? He usually just reads cafe menus--and cooks up some fried rice for dinner. All boxed, of course. It tastes like crap. He wonders if he should buy takeout tomorrow, but he just spent a bunch of money on fucking books, so maybe not.

He takes the books back out of the closet. He slips them into place on Logan’s shelves. They’re probably out of order. Logan has a wack organization system. But they look at home on the shelf, and none of the titles seem to be repeats, so that’s cool.

Remy takes a deep breath. They smell like paper, duh. Paper and leather and Logan, just a bit. Or maybe Logan smells like books.

Okay, now that’s pathetic. Remy backs away from the bookshelf. Why’d he even buy those stupid things?

(Because he can imagine Logan did. Because that bookstore reminded him of Logan and he feels like he could summon Logan with his favorite things. Like Logan is a demon or something. Well, tbh, he is a demon if his ability to recite the periodic table is any indication. Also, demons are pretty. And Logan is unfairly pretty, with fluffy hair and dark eyes and a little scar on his cheek and a dip in his chin.)

Remy sighs and watches a bit of TV. He turns it off soon enough because the words slip through his brain and leave no trace behind. Then he grabs the vacuum and turns it up.

He never vacuums. Logan does the cleaning and the cooking. Remy does the...lounging about? And the complaining. Logan also fixes anything that’s broken. Remy--well, maybe he does the errands? He does the errands. It’s not much, though, and it suddenly hits him how much Logan does every day. He’s got a full-time job teaching some college babies how to spell, and he still cooks dinner every night.

Remy narrows his eyes, rolls up his sleeves, and vacuums.

It’s loud. Plus he can’t remember which attachment goes on the carpet and which on the floor. So he might be doing more damage than help here. But fuck it.

When he’s done, he shoves the vacuum back into the closet. Then he grabs the laundry basket and does the laundry. He gets detergent on his jacket, which is not cool, and then he has to fold the fucking laundry. Remy looks up how to fold stuff. He’s pretty sure he’s made everything wrinkly, and some of the clothes didn’t fit in the drawer so he had to smush them.

As an apology, he washes the sink. It’s not bad. Then he washes the mirror--not bad--and the bathtub--worse--and the toilet--hell on earth. By the end of it, he feels like every bit of slime and muck has been transported onto his skin.

He takes a warm shower. He keeps turning the heat up because he forgets the cold inside doesn’t match his actual temperature, and he can’t help it because for a second, it’s like he’s actually warm.

The air is freezing when he steps out. He wraps himself in three towels, stumbles into his bedroom, and throws on two pajama shirts and some extra-fluffy socks. He feels like shit. He has no idea how Logan manages to do all this stuff.

His phone vibrates as he’s collapsing into bed.

If I’m not disturbing you, would you like to talk?

Remy snorts to cover up his huge smile.

hey babe

Greetings. how was your day?

p cool.

Remy pauses before adding: did some chores.

Really? That wasn’t necessary.

im still in this apartment so ye, it was.

That reminds me. Are the groceries running out?

Something twitches in Remy’s stomach. He doesn’t know why. What, did he expect Logan to comment? To thank him? To come flying back home because Remy cleaned the sink?

(Yes. Maybe. Hopefully. It isn’t about Logan’s approval--except it is. Remy wants to know he’s not a screwup. That he did something right. That Logan can ease up because Remy can help out more. And maybe it would make the cold in his chest go away, just a bit.)

Remy sighs.

course not. it’s been like three days

I was just checking. What are you having for lunch?

already had it. it’s like midnight over here

Oh. Apologies. I’ll let you get some sleep.

Remy could say no. He could say stay with me. He could say nah, I’m bored, let’s chat.

He’s not clingy, though.

night babe

Goodnight.

Remy doesn’t even bother putting his phone away. He plugs it in and holds it next to him. It’s warm. And with the many blankets piled up on top of him, he can almost pretend Logan’s there, a fire that sears him inside and out.

He barely sleeps.

Day four is rainy. Remy usually asks Logan to drive him to work, so today he dashes down the sidewalk with an umbrella and curses wildly every time a drop of rain lands on his jacket. All the customers leave puddles on the floor. Remy has to mop them up.

He’s pissed. Pissed at nothing in particular, pissed at the customers who are all a little bit rude, pissed at the cold rattling in his chest.

(He’s more than halfway through the week and he’s barely managed to get this far. Pathetic.)

He chugs coffee right from the pot. It’s blistering hot and he can feel it trickle through him. He’s burning warm now and yet so, so cold. He bets he could burn to death and still feel freezing.

Goddammit.

Fucking soulmates.

Remy is cold. Remy is annoyed. Remy would like very much to go home.

And he gets his wish--because he slips on a puddle by the front door and his ankle skews out in a direction ankles should not go.

He’d try to stay and do his job, but his manager insists he should go home. He asks Remy if anyone’s picking him up. Remy shakes his head.

Remy should stick it out and get paid. Instead, he limps home.

His ankle isn’t swollen much, but it hurts like fuck to walk on, so he props it up on a table and watches TV. Maybe he should be doing more. He just got the afternoon off, after all. But he doesn’t fucking feel like it. So Logan can fight him.

Logan’s not here to fight him.

Ugh. Fuck Logan. Fuck soulmates. Fuck Remy’s stupid twisted ankle. Everything hurts and he wants to commit arson.

Maybe that’d warm him up.

He stays up most of the night. Logan doesn’t text him, or maybe he does and Remy doesn’t hear it over the TV. He doesn’t check. Fuck Logan. Fuck everything in the whole fucking world.

By the time it’s three in the morning, his ankle is still throbbing and he’s about to punch something.

He groans and burrows deeper into his mass of blankets. He’s still really, really cold. He wishes he wasn’t so fucking sensitive--some people feel the temperature super acutely, and Remy’s one of them. Usually he likes being acute, or, more accurately, a-cute piece of ass. This, though? This fucking blows.

Remy drifts in and out of a doze for the rest of the night. He dreams he’s sinking into a frozen lake and nobody’s there to help. He wakes up to the credits playing and his ankle sparkling with hot pain.

Hot pain that he almost doesn’t mind at this point, since it’s a respite from the cold.

Fucking soulmates.

Remy hopes Logan never comes back. He’ll just freeze to death sad and alone and that’d serve Logan right.

(He doesn’t mean that. He never does. Logan would probably be sad if Remy died. And Remy likes being alive. He’s just...he’s just unraveling right now, a snarled mess of red-hot wire in his head, burning his thoughts but never warming the rest of him.)

Remy pulls a pillow out of his head.

He feels like shit, everything’s on fire except cold, and morning is a long way away.

When morning comes, he calls in sick. Because he still feels like shit. Except the special kind of shit he always feels like after pulling an all-nighter. His back is stiff and his ankle throbs dully and his eyes itch. The TV stayed on all night. Remy wonders if that contributes to the electricity bill--Logan always handles that kind of thing.

Logan always handles everything.

Can Logan handle Remy? Well, so far, he’s done alright.

Remy’s hard to handle sometimes, though.

Like now. He’s pretty sure if Logan saw him right now, he’d finally give up on the idea of soulmates.

Remy eats some chips for breakfast, binges a few shows, and eats more chips for lunch. He’s still hungry. Apparently chips aren’t that filling. Bullshit. Chips should count as food.

He nods off mid-afternoon and sleeps through dinner. His stomach is growling when he wakes up. He barely notices, though. It’s the cold that he really feels. It’s like he woke up made of ice, and any movement will shatter his joints and send him crashing to the ground in a pile of frozen splinters.

Dramatic? Yes. Justified? Also yes.

He feels like he’s on fucking fire. Except it’s cold instead of warm and there’s no way to put the fire out.

It’s supposed to be just the chest, but it feels like his whole body. From the tips of his toes to his hair follicles to his eyelashes to his chipped nails. Every blood vessel in his body is frozen, every patch of skin is icy, and when he blinks, he’s surprised no frost comes off of his eyelids.

Fuck, it hurts.

Why does he have to be so sensitive? Why can’t he last one week without his soulmate? Why did the universe look at Remy and decide hey, that’s the bitch we should saddle with super fucking sensitivity to this soulmate shit, so he becomes a clingy bitch and drags everyone else down with him?

Remy works his way into a sitting position and grabs for his phone. An unanswered text from Logan lights up.

How are you doing?

I’m chilling, Remy writes back.

Which is technically true.

(And besides, no need to worry Logan. He can’t do anything about the situation right now, so whining about it would only make Remy look like a mess. Besides, Logan would probably be annoyed--annoyed that his soulmate can’t handle it, that his soulmate won’t shut up, that his soulmate is Remy who’s just entirely wrong for him in every single fucking way.)

Logan doesn’t answer the text. He’s probably busy or asleep.

Remy feels so, so cold.

He frantically searches up solutions for soulmate-induced chills. He has flashbacks to middle and high school, back before he found Logan, cold every morning. People complained he was faking it, that there was no way it felt that bad, and eventually Remy learned to stop talking about it. Later the doctors told him he was abnormally sensitive, and even later he found out that Logan lived miles and miles away.

It had all been kind of justified. But that didn’t make him feel any better.

And today it just makes him feel worse. Great. Five days without his soulmate and he’s slipping back into old habits. Five days without his soulmate and he’s curled up on the couch and trying to find a way to make the cold leave.

Needy? Yes. Desperate? Yes. Justified? Yes, but also, not really.

All the tips involve stuff Remy can’t muster up the urge to go and find. He settles for rubbing at his skin, his wrists, his sides and his knees. For a second there’s a bit of relief, and then gone. It’s like itchy mosquito bites--the moment he warms one patch of skin, another starts aching with cold.

And he’s still hungry. And his ankle still hurts.

Remy curls deeper in the blankets and imagines Logan, Logan pressing a kiss to his hairline, Logan running a hand down his side, Logan close to him and Logan warm, like a bonfire Remy can never touch. Logan is the fucking sun and Remy is a cold, distant planet, trying his damn hardest to get close but knowing he’s just a blip on the radar. Logan can light up the world on his own. Without Logan, Remy can’t do jack-shit.

Remy is spinning through the universe, and it is dark and cold and really, really lonely.

He tugs a blanket over his head and tries to sleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s day six, and his eyelids are stuck together and he wishes fervently for coffee.

He fumbles for his phone. Logan’s texted him. Remy can’t muster up a smile.

It’s a long text. A paragraph. Logan’s walking Remy through his day? Cute. Logan’s so cute.

Remy tries to read it, but his eyes slip closed again and his stomach rumbles and his ankle stings and maybe he’ll just sleep until Logan gets here again, maybe he’ll enter hibernation--

He should answer Logan’s text.

He should call a friend. He’s pretty sure he has some, though he can’t remember why.

He should--maybe he should call 911.

But nah.

Remy’s not clingy, right?

He’s fine.

The phone slips from his hand as he falls back asleep.

Remy’s heard, somewhere, that having hypothermia means you get really warm right before you die. The cold kills you without you even feeling it.

And he can’t die from this. But he does wake up warm and that’s probably not a good sign.

Remy grabs his phone and checks the time. It’s...twelve. Twelve on the day Logan’s returning--and he’s returning at three.

Fuck, shit, fuck--

Remy scrambles to his feet, every bone in his body groaning in complaint. He feels like he got run over by a truck and he probably looks that way, too. His stomach is growling and his hands are shaking and his ankle doesn’t hurt anymore but it also won’t move the way it’s supposed to. He grabs his sunglasses and pulls them on, checking his phone’s texts.

A few texts from his manager. Because yeah, he just missed two extra days of work without even calling the guy. Fuck. Remy’ll have to work overtime or it’ll come down to Logan to pay the bills, and Remy doesn’t want to be even more useless.

One text from Logan.

I’m on the plane. I can’t wait to see you!

Remy wishes the feeling was mutual.

He pulls on his jacket and takes a look around. The living room is a mess of blankets that drown the couch and spill out onto the floor. The TV is blinking--Remy must have sat on the remote. He thwaps the side a few times until it turns off. Maybe he broke it. Well, problem for Future Remy.

Remy bundles up most of the blankets and shoves them haphazardly into the closet. Then he grabs the chip bags and throws them out. He’s starving--he pulls out a yogurt cup and downs it, then makes himself a triple-shot espresso. It’s scalding hot and he almost feels warm drinking it.

He doesn’t feel warm.

He doesn’t feel cold, either.

He feels--well, he’s not sure how he feels. Better, maybe? He’s definitely less of a lump. But everything’s kind of numb and lukewarm and hazy, and his hands won’t stop trembling.

He makes himself another coffee, just for good measure.

The sun streams through the window. Standing in it usually warms Remy up--today it makes him feel cold. He steps into the shadows and they skate over him comfortably. Chilly and numbing and safe, and this is very worrying, and maybe he should call a doctor.

Eh, Logan’ll be back soon. So it’s fine.

Remy tries to remember everything he should do. He was gonna explain to Logan why he bought those books. And what happened to his ankle. And why he hasn’t texted back. And how shitty everything’s been--well, no, not that last one.

Right! Right. The calendar. Throw it out so Remy doesn’t look desperate.

Remy stumbles over to the calendar and tears it down. It’s only marked halfway to today, because he’d given up on crossing off the days, but it’s still irritating to see.

Logan will be here soon.

Remy’s phone vibrates.

Logan’s in the airport. He’s driving home.

For some reason, Remy’s heart starts to race.

(Because the apartment is a mess. Because there are more astronomy books than there used to be. Because Remy looks like a dead rat. Because he hasn’t gone to work. Because Logan will see this mess and realize what a mess Remy is without him.)

Probably, the coffee didn’t help. Remy still takes a sip of it because the familiar taste helps ground him.

Okay. Logan’s getting here soon. And Remy will be warm. And everything will be fine. Everything will be fine and Remy can explain things later, when he’s warm.

He can feel Logan in his chest. Maybe that's why he woke up so warm--because Logan’s near. Logan’s near, and Logan’s close, and this should be enough.

It’s not.

Remy’s still numb in his extremities and trembling in his hands. He’s growing warmer but not fast enough. Logan’s not here yet and it hurts.

(Desperate.)

Yeah, he’s fucking desperate.

He paces back and forth across the kitchen. Back and forth. Back and forth. The exercise sends little tingles up his legs. He’s lukewarm right now. And it’s almost as painful as the cold, being so close to warmth but not quite there, hanging in limbo.

Remy checks his phone again and again and again.

He doesn’t text Logan, though. That’d be really needy.

Time ticks on and Remy wonders if the world has frozen instead of him.

He wants to scream. He wants to throw open the door and run to wherever Logan is and collapse in his arms and never leave. He wants to be near Logan. He wants to be with Logan. He wants Logan to never leave.

He wants.

Remy paces and back and forth and wants, more than he’s ever let himself before.

He probably looks so pathetic.

Maybe Logan’s late. Maybe Logan’s stopping to get groceries. Maybe Logan got mugged, or maybe Logan just isn’t here yet because it isn’t time yet, and Remy’s waiting--

A key turns in the lock.

Remy almost drops his coffee. He scrambles for it and manages to slam it on the counter. Then he puts his arm next to it, stares at the window, and tries to look nonchalant.

The door opens.

Logan.

Logan, his partner, his starlight.

Remy wants to run to him and tackle him and never let him go.

“Oh, hey, babes,” he says instead, glancing at Logan. “Back already? Time flies.”

“Don’t mention flying,” Logan complains, closing the door behind him and rubbing his eyes. “My flight back was a nightmare.”

“Really? Spill the tea, babe!” Remy casually grabs one of Logan’s suitcases. “I’ll cut a bitch if they fucked with you.”

“It was a baby,” Logan complains.

“Oh, damn, can’t kill it, can I?” Remy leans in to give Logan a quick kiss on the cheek and veers away just as quickly. Logan is a furnace. Remy’s melting in the proximity and he wants to get far away and he wants to burrow into the center of the warmth and let it envelop him.

Logan gives Remy an odd look. Remy grins and takes another sip of coffee.

“How are you?” Logan asks, peeling off his jacket. “You didn’t text me back. Were you busy?”

Remy shrugs. “Busy, bingeing Riverdale, what’s the difference?”

“Riverdale is a ridiculous show.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Logan rolls his eyes and leans in to press a kiss to Remy’s forehead. “I’m glad to be back, dear.”

And Remy almost shoves him away.

He realizes the instant he’s done so that he’s made a mistake. Logan’s staring at him in open confusion and--oh no--a bit of hurt.

“Is something wrong?” Logan asks. His voice is way too soft.

(He’s too close. He’s too far. Remy is going to burn up from the pure kindness in Logan’s eyes because fuck is he clingy.)

“Remy?” Logan asks.

Remy’s gone too long without talking.

“’Course I’m fine, babe.” Remy laughs. “You must be tired, right? Jet-lag and all that jazz. C’mon, let’s put your stuff away.”

Logan gives Remy a searching look. “We don’t have to right away. We can...watch a movie? Or cuddle, if you’d like.”

“Nah, you’re probably exhausted.” Remy tosses his coffee into the sink and waves at Logan to follow him. “I’ll get your stuff and you can go to bed, it’s fine--”

“Remy,” Logan says.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Remy looks back. Logan’s eyebrows are pulled together and he’s almost glowing in the afternoon sun. He’s tired. Remy can tell. Bags are smudged under his eyes and his hair is rumpled up. (Remy would reach out and rumple it more if he dared to get any closer.)

So why is he still here?

“Lo,” Remy says, and it comes out softer than he wanted. “Talk later. Sleep now.”

“Talk now, thank you.” Logan steps closer and Remy steps back. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Remy protests.

“Are you?” Logan reaches for his hand and Remy pulls it towards his chest. “I--I apologize if I’m overstepping, I promise I didn’t mean to alarm you--”

Remy takes another step back. Logan’s too close and too warm and too--

His twisted ankle slips.

He falls towards the kitchen floor and braces himself.

Warm.

Searing warmth around his chest.

Logan caught him.

Logan caught him and is holding him upright, eyes wide, face inches from Remy’s own. Where his skin meets Remy’s skin? Fire. Explosions of fireworks and the warmth of a hot bath and Remy’s missed this. Fuck, he’s missed this.

“Are you alright?” Logan asks.

Remy opens his mouth to say something and doesn’t.

“I--” Logan moves to step back. “Apologies, I didn’t want you to fall--”

No.

Maybe Remy’s clingy, but no, Logan is not moving away.

Remy throws his arms around Logan’s shoulders and curls into him.

Logan makes a small noise before returning the hug, hand coming up to cup Remy’s neck. It sears his skin and Remy should be in pain. He’s not. He actually whines, turning his face into Logan’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Dear,” Logan whispers. His hand rubs down Remy’s side and Remy shudders. “Could you tell me what’s going on?”

Remy looks up, and his whole body is warm, and he realizes far too late that he’s starting to cry.

“Oh." Logan looks absolutely terrified. “Remy, what’s wrong?”

Remy doesn’t know how to say absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. So he settles for clinging to Logan’s shirt and disappearing into the warmth again, letting Logan hold him, knowing soon he’ll have to pull away but unwilling to let soon be now.

“Remy, dearest.” Logan brushes a kiss over Remy’s forehead and Remy whines again, goddammit. “Please, I can’t help you unless you talk to me. Or if you’re not ready, at least--at least signal to me what I can do?”

Don’t let go.

Fuck, Logan, don’t let go.

“Sorry,” Remy mutters, and tries to force himself to move out of Logan’s arms. “I--sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Logan sounds even more confused and upset. “Remy, I’m very confused right now.”

“I--” Remy manages to scoot a little bit away from Logan. The cold hits him like a blast and he shivers. “Don’t mind me.”

Logan reaches out and catches Remy’s hand. He folds it in his own. Remy stares at it and looks up, and he realizes his vision is blurring. Shit. He’s crying over held hands--he really is pathetic.

“Remy.”

Remy almost gasps as Logan presses their hands to his chest. Remy can feel Logan’s heartbeat, fluttering under his fingers.

“Remy, please,” Logan insists. “I’m worried.”

“I--you--” Remy tries to roll his eyes. “I’ve just...missed you, is all.”

“Oh?”

“And it’s--” Remy shrinks into himself, looking away. “I’m not trying to be needy or anything. But it’s--y’know. It’s been kinda cold without you.”

“Oh.”

Remy stares at his feet, eyes stinging.

“Remy, dearest, please look at me.” Logan’s voice is unexpectedly soft. “You’re cold?”

Remy nods.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“You couldn’t have done anything about it,” Remy points out.

“I still would have liked to know.” Logan places two fingers under Remy’s chin and tilts it up. Remy’s eyes meet Logan’s--Logan is so pretty, with those dark eyes and that ruffled hair and such a concerned look on his face. (Remy doesn’t deserve him.)

“Would you like to cuddle now?” Logan asks. “It will probably help.”

Remy shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t--” Remy waves a hand. “You’re tired.”

“I’m not, and even if I was, you’re more important.” Logan sighs. “We can even cuddle in bed and I can sleep, if it’s that necessary for you.”

“No thanks,” Remy says, trying to wipe away his tears surreptitiously. “I don’t need that.”

“But you want it,” Logan says. “Don’t you?”

Remy presses his lips together.

“Remy. Dearest.” Logan looks pained. “Why aren’t you letting yourself get what you want?”

Something stabs into Remy’s heart and stays there.

“I love you,” Logan pleads. “You’re cold. I--I’m afraid I don’t see what the problem is--”

“Because you don’t want to!” Remy bursts out.

“I don’t--what?” Logan looks utterly bewildered. “Of course I want you to be happy and warm!”

“But you don’t want--you can’t want--” Remy waves an arm at the kitchen, then at himself. “I’m just being clingy, it’s fine--”

“Clingy?” Logan repeats. And now he looks heartbroken.

“Yeah, needy, desperate, whatever.” Remy shrugs. “I’m just sensitive, it’s really fine.”

“Remy. Remy, please.” Logan shakes his head. “Remy, I love you.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Logan asks. “I love you and I want you to be happy and I treasure your company. It’s not a burden on me to support you.”

“But you always support me!” Remy fires back. “You do all the work and I just lounge around! I don’t--you’re just stuck with me ‘cause I’m your fucking soulmate!”

There’s a long, frozen silence.

“I’m sorry,” Remy whispers. “Really am, starlight.”

“No.” Logan squares his shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ever made you think you weren’t good enough for me.”

“What?” Remy asks.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you believe I felt ‘stuck’ with you. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you didn’t contribute anything to this relationship. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel needy for wanting comfort.”

Remy swallows.

“I’m sorry if--” Logan shakes his head. “Do you remember the time I got a flat tire and you singlehandledly convinced several different people to drive us, in small increments, to a repair shop?”

“Yes?” Remy blinks a few times. “What’s this have to do with--”

“Do you remember the time one of my students almost dropped out and I cried because I thought I’d failed them, and you helped me reach out to them? They graduated, dearest. With a solid B minus.”

“I know, but--”

“Do you remember all the times you send me to bed for sleeping late?” Logan continues. “Do you remember all the afternoons you flopped on my lap and watched TV with me? Do you remember how you always let me talk about whatever I’d like and you always listen?”

Remy stares at Logan.

“I love you,” Logan says desperately, “and you have helped me so much, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. Soulmate or no, I love you. And I will always support you, without hesitation, just as much as you’ve supported me.”

Logan opens his arms. “So...if you’d like to, I think you might like a hug?”

Remy presses a hand to his mouth. “I--”

“It’s okay,” Logan says. “You’re not desperate. You just need help right now.”

Remy chokes back a sob and collapses into Logan’s arms.

“Shh,” Logan whispers as Remy starts to cry. “Shh, I’ve got you, I’m here.”

“I missed you,” Remy confesses.

“I know. I missed you too.”

“I love you.” Remy suddenly feels he needs to say it. “I love you so much, starlight.”

“I know.” Remy can hear the trace of a smile in Logan’s voice. “And I’m all the better for it.”

They stand there a long time, Remy sinking into the warmth, head on Logan’s shoulder and arms tucked around his waist. There are things they could be doing. Logan still needs sleep and Remy hasn’t eaten much and they’ve got jobs and lives and a million little things to put back in order.

For now, though, it’s just them in an empty kitchen.

Remy feels like his chest is on fire.

It’s not uncomfortable, though. It’s like the flame of a hearth, guiding him home. Telling him he’s right where he needs to be. And so is Logan.

Together. In each other’s arms. Smiling.

And fuck, Remy feels like he could touch the sun.

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#losleep #remy sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #ts remy #ts logan #qpr losleep #averywrites #human au #soulmate au #ts shorts remy #tw self-deprecation #look they're soft and i'm soft and it's nine at night #idk what u want from me