Tally Marks (Prinxiety and Logicality)

Fake Burns and a Good Liar

Logan started his day as normal. He listened to Patton cooking breakfast in the back of his mind, reading quietly over the arm of the living room couch; his excellent planning skills had given them all a free weekend after a long couple days of work.

He vaguely registered the sound of the oven opening and shutting, but didn't comment on it. Patton likely just remembered some new delectable cookie recipe he wanted to test, to surprise them all. And, sure enough, a minute later he could smell cinnamon in the air around him, mixing pleasantly with the usual eggs and toast. Him and Patton were the only sides to partake in this meal together, as Roman ate between 'breaks in his creative process', as he always worded it when Patton fretted over him about not eating properly. Virgil didn't partake, instead taking the time off from the late nights he worked. The caring trait always, always saved him a plate.

It felt akin to a tradition, in his opinion. Though he doubted Patton shared such a...sentimental outlook on the matter...it still meant more to him than he would ever admit aloud. He reached up to skim his left collarbone with his thumb, holding the book in one hand.

A loud gasp broke out accompanied by a clang of metal. Logan jumped, his eyes trained towards the kitchen. The house went suddenly silent, the commotion upsetting the morning peace.

"Patton?" Logan yelled, his voice a bit too loud in his ears. Patton didn't respond. "Patton? Can you hear me?" He tried again, pulse twanging uncomfortably beneath his skin. Seconds later, and still not a word from Patton. Assuming the worst, he sprang from his seat and practically ran the short distance to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway at the sight before him.

Patton had fallen back against the countertop next to the sink, staring aghast at his right hand, his other clutched firmly over his mouth. His face was a portrait of stunned horror, eyes wide and immobile from the one spot on his hand. The oven lay open, and a upturned tray sat atop several scattered cinnamon-sugar cookies, broken and squished from their fall.

"Patton? Are you alright?"

Patton's head nodded slowly, not looking at him. Logan let out a breath, moving to step over the large mess. As he did so, however, the moral side's concentration finally broke. His eyes met Logan's, terrified, before he straightened up and adopted a wide false smile, balling his hands quickly into his chest. Logan startled at the abrupt change, stopping abruptly. Consequently, he got stuck in an awkward half-lunge, perfectly splayed over the mess, undecided on whether to proceed in his goal to comfort Patton or step away.

Impulsive tendency getting the best of him, he threw his weight forward to surpass the heap of ruined confectionery, but overbalanced, landing clumsily and too close to the already-petrified baker. Their eyes locked momentarily, sharing one undefined, endless moment. Neither of them spoke as Logan shuffled back, apologetic, hoping he could convey more in silence than words.

It took some time for Logan to recover from that.

Eventually, in what felt like minutes, he coughed. "Patton, what happened here?" His voice betrayed him with a mild tremor. It was nothing, however, compared to the utter wreck of Patton's.

"Hey Logi, I uh, I, uh...hi! Do you, um, need something? What are you up to? Well anyway I've just been baking, like usual, and then I saw..." Patton trailed off a bit, clenching his wrist "...I saw how lovely the new recipe turned out, oh they were beautiful, just splendid, and you know I like my sweets, yessir! So uh I'd let you try but now they're on the floor and even though I cleaned yesterday you might get dust or hair or something gross in your mouth and get sick and it'd be bad, and, and," His breath caught in his throat, halfway between a wheeze and hacking.

Logan's mouth gaped. "Patton."

The moral trait sighed, holding his face in his unburdened hand, curling the other into a soft fist. "Sorry, Lo..."

"It's alright, of course, Patton. Panic is a common response to unexpected damaging stimuli." He said, thankful for the adrenaline draining from the situation. Patton's brow furrowed, cocking his head slightly. Logan blinked back, feeling even more confused than Patton looked.

"Your hand? When you burnt it on the cookie sheet. You did burn it, did you not?"

Patton eyes lit up. "Yeah...yeah! That's why I'm embarrassed. Obviously. I burned myself, when I, with the cookie sheet." He sighed, all his nervousness seemingly vanished as he nodded, hand still held against his chest.

'We really are terrible liars.' Logan thought, dully. He didn't comment on this to Patton; he figured it unkind to interrogate him so blatantly.

"You have burnt yourself many times before, so I suppose I'm not entirely surprised. It must still be painful, may I please see?" He said, stepping only close enough to reach his own hand in what he hoped looked like a comforting gesture.

Patton clutched it subtly harder to his sternum. "No, you can't see it!" He barked.

Logan's face hardened. The concern in his eyes disappeared, almost completely. Something about the way Patton had said 'you'. As in, 'anyone but you'.

Emotions, simple emotions, fogged his mind like harmful chemical gases: anger, confusion, and grief. Primarily the latter, which, he was an expert in concealing.

Patton's face worried, his uncharacteristic offense dropping immediately. "Logan, wait, that isn't what I meant."

"Then what did you mean? How may I perceive that statement any other way?" Logan sighed, anger leaving despite himself. Patton hadn't meant to lash out, of course he knew that.

"I just-" Patton bit his bottom lip, glancing down into the palm of his hand. "-I...don't wanna show you the, uh, burn. It looks worse than it really is. You know," He chuckled, placing his hands behind his back and stepping innocently closer, a grin and puppy-eyes playing his lips. "Hard to think I might be capable of treating an injury without your assistance," His typical bubbly tone twisted itself into an almost suggestive manner, and he leaned forward just a fraction of an inch. "Sometimes I wonder how I'd make it if you weren't always there to protect me."

Logan's eyes went wide, but he refused to let his face heat up or, even worse, actually respond to such a statement. That was out of the question. So he said nothing. If Logan was an optimistic side, he might've thought Patton seemed a bit disappointed in his lack of participation.

"Well anyway," Patton chirped, resuming the conversation as if nothing had caused a Logan's heart rate to double within the last few seconds, ", you can go back to your reading. I need to uh...treat this burn, and clean the kitchen. We might be a little late to start breakfast, but," He shrugged.

"I can clean the kitchen, and perhaps resume the breakfast if I'm really not permitted to help treat your injury."

His vitality weakened under Patton's starry gaze. "It's clearly the least I can do, I mean...you cook for all of us every day, and-"

Patton enveloped him in a gentle hug. He stood, calm yet breathless, before softly wrapping his arms above Patton's waist, careful, like he might break him at any moment.

"Thank you, Logan." Patton breathed into his chest. Logan nodded silently, squeezing just a little tighter.

They slowly disconnected, Patton glancing at Logan one last time before rushing off to the bathroom. Logan grazed his thumb over his collarbone, where Patton's head had been moments earlier, smiling sadly once he knew no one could see.