Intruality Is My Medicine [But So Is Chocolate]

•.•A Generic Mistletoe Fic•.•

Date: 23.12.19
Ship: Logicality
Type: Fluff, light angst
Words: 1336

~•~

December first.

  Mistletoe.

  Damned mistletoe.

  Death, big and or small, dangled above their heads daringly. The glossy white berries glared at him. Logan glared back. Fluttering leaves like eyelashes, it tried tempting with its mockery of puppy-dog eyes. He wasn't sure if he was being dared to eat the berries, or ignore the basic principles of consent. Neither option appealed.

  Tradition.

  Damned tradition.

  What was so important about it? How could "But it's tradition!" be a valid argument when it's so vulnerable to subjectivity. Tradition was only obeyed when convenient, and burned and spit on otherwise (like it most often should be).

  No.

  He refused.

  How was he expected to burden him with an unwanted kiss because of the mere pretence of seizure berries looming above the two, high and smug with tradition's permission? Mistletoe stole the meaning, the intimacy, and consent. A kiss under mistletoe was like assuming the ocean was only as deep as it was clear: That stars were only as big as your naked eyes told you so. Shallow as a puddle, small as a firefly, trivial as a handshake.

  If a kiss ever were to happen between them (especially the first), it would be on their own terms, rather under an understanding of boundaries, with full knowledge of requited affections. And certainly not with an audience hidden horribly next to the lamp obnoxiously screeching and taking photos, Roman.

  Logan side stepped out of the kitchen doorway.

  When his eyes settled on Patton, still frozen in the doorway, his cold glare melted as the tension in his jaw slacked. Patton was taking quick shallow breaths that visibly flexed his rib cage. His eyes were wide, and they took a moment catching up to track Logan's movement.

  Strangely, Logan felt himself not in the mood for giving a big lecture. Clutching the cup of coffee he came to the kitchen for, he escaped back to his room.

  He refused. He ignored the mistletoe.

~•~

December twenty third.

  "Salutations, Patton," Logan said, leaning on the kitchen doorway with otherwise impeccable posture. A question was tucked under his tongue, ready to spit out at the first opportunity.

  Patton startled mid-step as he looked through the cupboards. "Oh! Hi—" Patton chirped, spinning on the balls of his feet to face him, "Oh, uh, Logy!" But he reflexively whipped back around as soon as he saw Logan. Finding Patton in the kitchen was unsurprising. Lately, Patton had been popping in and out of the kitchen very frequently. He always found some excuse, "Silly me, I forgot a napkin," and, "Silly me, I forgot my, uh, chopsticks?" Frankly, Logan didn't think Patton really was so forgetful, in his humble opinion.

  Tipping his head back, Logan's stare locked on the white seizure berries. They had been joined by tinsel framing the doorway, as well as a few Christmas ornaments over the course of December. Everything was love heart themed or had a red pallet. Although cheesy and confusing (why were they here when they had a perfectly good Christmas tree—), Logan had to admit, the decorations had a charm to it that the mistletoe wasn't contributing towards.