When He Sees Me | Logicality

4. The Story of Tonight

Roman walked down the tiled floors, the fluorescent lights burning sunspots in his vision. As he walks, he remembers the last time he was here, walking the school halls. It's hardly changed at all, he reflects. Aside from a few well-needed renovations, the building stays exactly the same, as if frozen in time.

One thing is different, though. When he turns a corner, Roman sees a new plaque, shiny compared to the others that are dulled by time. Logan Sanders, it read. Everytime he sees it, it fills Roman with a sense of pride, remembering when they were all roommates in university, eating ramen noodles and staying up for days on end. How far the three of them have come.

A bell rings, interrupting Roman's train of thought, and he almost gets flattened by a train of young people streaming from classrooms. Holy hell. It's almost like being back in high school all over again.

When the doorway is empty, Roman walks in to see Logan at the front of the classroom, wiping down the whiteboard of the formulas and equations scrawled on it, messy but legible.

Logan turns, hair slightly messed from the day's events, wearing his signature black shirt and blue tie combo. He doesn't exactly smile when he sees Roman, but he definitely loses some of his tired aura. "Roman," he says, surprised, but only slightly, at his presence. "I wasn't expecting you."

Roman smiles awkwardly and moves further into the room. "Just wanted to check in on you is all. I was wondering if you'd like to go get something to eat?" It isn't a question, but it trails off into one when Logan turns and continues to erase the writing. Roman takes into account the tightness in Logan's shoulders and the slight shake in his hands. Things are starting to fall into place; the rehearsal the night before, Virgil asking him to stop by and check on Logan, and also the fact that Logan just simply hasn't been himself.

Roman takes a breath and another step closer. Deciding to press the question, he continues, "Virgil is working late tonight, so I thought we could go out. It's been a while since we got to hang out, hasn't it?"

There's a sigh, then Logan puts down the brush, back still turned. "We are both busy men, Roman. You know that. I have essays to mark."

"Logan, you teach math."

"Physics, algebra, and calculus, actually," he says, finally making eye contact with Roman. "And my IB classes have been writing mathematical essays and I need to get them marked, then upload the marks into the server."

"Take one night off," Roman says, pulling up a chair at Logan's desk. "You fucking need it. Look at yourself. You're going to work yourself into an early grave, and you know it."

After a moment of hesitation, Logan breaks, falling into his seat heavily. He runs his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up at all ends. Loosening his tie, he say, exhaustion bleeding into his words, "Let's go, then."

--

Normally, Logan would never be caught dead in such an establishment, but today he just didn't have the energy to protest when Roman suggested a bar just down the road from his apartment. The air was dim and heavy, filled with the weight of each conversation. Sliding onto a bar stool, Roman ordered something with a tiny umbrella and Logan just got a Scotch, on the rocks.

"So what is it you'd like to talk about?" Logan asked, finding the burning liquid strangely exhilarating. "Was there anything in particular, or...?"

His companion stirred his mimosa absently, as if searching for words. Clearing his throat, Roman says , "I don't know, really. You're having a hard time, Logan. That's obvious. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. So I just wanted you to know that you're not alone."

Logan just stares, his brain rebooting. Out of everything he expected Roman to say, that wasn't it.

"Shut up," Roman says. "You're not the only smart one."

"I didn't say anything?"

"Shut up."

Chuckling, Logan went back to his whisky, the atmosphere lightened somehow.

Three drinks later

"We should stop," Roman hiccoughed, but he makes no move to dispose of his second dry martini. "There's work tomorrow."

Shaking his head, Logan holds up two more fingers. "Bartender! Two more!" he cheers. He's riding a wave of euphoria, one that he never wants to come down from, and damn the consequences.

"Not today, logic!" Logan announced, and clinks his newest glass against Roman's.

Five drinks later

The room spins.

Completely wasted, Roman mumbles, "I'm going to be sick," but Logan doesn't hear him. He's chatting with someone in an orange hat about science, even getting a little misty-eyed over Newton's three laws of motion.

"Buddy, I think you need to go home," they say, watching Logan sway as he slurs about how the third law helped explain the physics behind lift and it's real-world applications.

"Nah," he says, obviously not worried about blacking out. "Now, John--"

"Joan."

"Right, sorry. Anyways, if you look at the shape of the airplane's wing--"

One drink later

"I am never going drinking with you ever again. Ever. Go die," Roman moans, his stomach turning over every time the car went around a corner. Logan is sprawling over the backseat, giggling about Pythagoras.

Joan had called the pair an Uber, since they are clearly not in any condition to find their own way home, and when the car had shown up, Logan had nearly cried at having to leave his new friend behind. He refused to go until they had promised to come find him at the university.