This was supposed to be short x_X *headdesk*. I blame Logan.

Anyway. This is Jogan. And now I'm going through Juliark withdrawal, so I'm going to go write more of that.

Memories (which are not in chronological order) are in italics. I don't own "Rolling in the Deep", and Julian (and his dad), Logan (and his dad), Derek and Clark belong to Miss CP Coulter, creator of the Dalton!verse (get better, Mama CP!). Oh, and Kurt belongs to the creators of Glee, which I also don't own.

…

The air is thick with humidity, a strange North American summer in the midst of nowhere.

Julian Larson leans against a tree, the rough bark cutting into his back and settling as though it belongs there. The dirt shifts around his shoes as he lets his feet find their place beneath him, sinking slightly into the rich earth surrounding them. The blades of grass shimmer with reflected light.

"So," he says, his voice cutting into the silent air painfully – wrong in all this heat, too loud for the forest – "are you just going to stand there, or do you feel like actually saying something?"

Logan Wright stands at a diagonal some feet away, white shirt untucked, balanced pose unbroken by the shifting of weight.

"What do you want me to say?"

Julian raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't look amused. "Since when have you needed me to tell you what to say?" Logan doesn't respond, and Julian skins a blade of grass he's plucked up from the ground, letting its juices stain his fingers. "I don't care. Say anything you want."

"Did you dye your hair?"

Julian looks up, his face immobile, and stares at Logan for a few seconds – almost admonishing, as if somehow that wasn't the question that Logan should have asked – before he turns back to the blade of grass in his hand, stripping it down, its skeleton falling to the crumpled ground before him.

"No. It gets lighter in the summer. Sun, and all that."

Logan, responseless, rests noiselessly. He's more in tune with their surroundings than Julian is. He understands the setting in which they've been placed, this silence. The gentle breeze that shakes the leaves on the trees, the whispering of the animal life as it settles into the evening.

Or maybe Julian just doesn't care.

"You're certainly chatty," he remarks, and the last strand of green falls from his fingertips into the dirt below him.

Fine, then. If Julian wants him to talk, Logan will talk.

"I've been following the news. That girl you're dating. Natalie."

"Natalie Dupont. Her ancestors came from France."

Logan ignores this. "Still not out, huh?"

Julian does not shy away. "I'm not gay, Logan. I can date girls if I want to."

"And do you want to?"

Julian reaches into his pocket, where's he's kept a daffodil. He crushes it between his thumb and forefinger as he replies. "That doesn't concern you, now does it?"

"Was that meant to be a question?"

"No."

Logan tilts his head, green eyes narrowed. "You're always so confident, Larson."

"You're always so interfering, Wright," Julian counters smoothly, the yellow of the flower mixing in with the green that already lies plastered against his thumb, stained by the rub of dying grass.

Logan looks away from the movie star, backing up until his spine hits a nearby tree, leaning against it for support.

"You shouldn't lead people on, Larson. It's hardly genteel."

"Despite what you may think, Wright, you do not have the authority to tell me what to do. Whatever small power you held over my decision-making vanished when you dumped me two years ago."

His words are blunt; the force with which they hit Logan is not. He looks away, wishing he could see just a hint of civilization beyond the dirt road that winds past the small area they're currently residing in.

The forest is quiet.

…

"Here."

Natalie looks up, slightly startled, to find Julian in front of her, leaning slightly against the table she's working at.

In his hand is a collection of sunflowers.

Natalie's face lights up. "Thank you," she says, taking the flowers gratefully and selecting a tall vase in which to put them.

"And so?" Julian asks, coming towards her so that he can wrap an arm around her waist.

She smiles apologetically and shakes her head.

Julian snaps his fingers in disappointment. "Ah well." She smiles as he leans forward to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. "I'll get it right some day."

…

The sky is heavy. Dark. Full, as if any minute it will unleash its tears onto the world below. It drizzles for a few minutes, sprinkling water as if to threaten the two boys who are leaning against the trees, and then disappearing as if it has no energy left with which to do so.

"So. What have you been up to recently?"

Logan looks over at Julian, who is leaning against his tree, ripping grass to shreds.

He looks away. "Not much. University, and so forth."

"You go to Princeton, like your dad wanted?"

Logan shakes his head. "No. USC, like I wanted."

Julian nods. "Good."

The silence passes like a spider's web, threading itself into invisibility, or infinity, or both.

Logan looks up at the sky. "It's getting to be dark."

An astute observation. Julian, leaning against the tree, decides not to say it out loud.

"Julian…" Logan sighs and thrusts his hands through his blond hair, muttering incoherently to himself. Then he drops them and considers his – friend? – carefully. "Why did you take me here?"

"I didn't take you anywhere. I came and you followed."

Logan stares. "Why here?"

"It's the one place paparazzi won't look."

"There's any number of clearings along this pathway. And yet – you chose this one."

Julian tilts his head back against the tree and closes his eyes. "My father took me camping here when I was younger."

Logan watches as Julian opens his eyes once again, brown orbs glowing with some undiscovered emotion. The wind tosses his hair ever so slightly, and it brushes against the top of his neck.

He's beautiful.

Logan rips his gaze away so he can examine the ground. He shoves away from his tree, searching the grass as if he can remember.

"There." He gestures to a spot on the ground. Julian doesn't look. "It's right there that we made love under these stars."

Out of the spectrum of responses he's expecting to hear (or maybe he doesn't know; he just doesn't know anymore), Julian's laugh is not included.

"We fucked. Get your terminology right."

Logan turns to him, no hate in his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

Julian doesn't answer. He's a star, shining brightly in the middle of a dark universe.

"Two years," says Logan.

"What of it?" Julian's voice is unruffled.

"Two years, and you never contacted me. No texts, no emails, no Skype, Facebook, phone calls – nothing."

"So?"

"So?" Logan turns to face the celebrity, eyes glowing despite medication. "Did you suddenly decide you couldn't be friends with me anymore, or what?"

"I could fly to the goddamn moon," Julian replies with sudden heat. "I didn't want to be your friend."

Why not? Logan wants to scream at him. What did I ever do to you that was so goddamn terrible? But he knows what Julian will say.

The evening passes on.

…

"God, this suit is so stifling. I always wanted to wear sweatpants to one of these premiers, see what the press would do." Julian undoes his tie and drapes it over the back of a nearby chair before turning his attention back to his jacket.

"You could go in polka-dot pajamas and people would think it was fantastic," mutters Logan absent-mindedly from his place next to Julian's window.

Julian casts him an inquisitive glance, but makes no immediate reply. "I got an offer for another movie the other day," he mentions after a few moments of silence. "Thank God we're graduating soon. I'll finally be able to give my undivided attention to one project for once."

Logan snorts. Julian either doesn't hear him or acts as if he doesn't.

Silence blooms, unbroken by words, until Julian continues.

"Speaking of graduation, you'd better not jeopardize yours by staying in my room any longer. Curfew pasted hours ago. Seriously, why'd you even stay awake to watch the entire premiere, much less to wait for me to get back? Those things are boring as shit, anyway."

He stops himself before his speech turns into a ramble. He usually doesn't do this, filling the silence with idle chatter, but something is wrong. The air is too thick.

"I can't," says Logan quietly, and Julian doesn't know what he's referring to until he continues. "I have to talk to you."

Julian walks to his dresser and pulls out a large T-shirt. "Then talk."

Still, Logan is so silent that Julian turns around, shirt in hand, ready to ask him what's wrong – and that's when he speaks.

"I don't want to be with you anymore."

Julian stills, and suddenly…everything is very quiet.

He pulls the shirt over his head, cotton against skin that is too smooth, too warm.

"You're breaking up with me?"

Oddly detached, too calm. Placid.

Logan looks away, as if he hates the expression. "Yes."

Julian is very quiet for a moment until he reaches back to the tag on the inside of his T-shirt, straightening it down so that it doesn't brush against his skin.

"I see. Any particular reason?"

The tone of his voice – so calm, so reasonable – seems to infuriate Logan.

"Don't pull that shit with me, Jules! You know it's been bothering me since the start."

Julian pulls at the hem of his shirt so that it lies flat, all the while staring at Logan, eyes lucid and expressionless.

"You're breaking up with me because I'm not out," he says clearly, and Logan's not sure if he's asking it as a question or stating it as a fact. Who knows what's going on in Julian's head nowadays, anyway?

His green eyes burn, the self-possessed, almost serene air of Julian's temper cutting to his core. He was going to be so composed when telling Julian, so sincere. Because Julian mattered. He was his friend, and Logan cared about Julian more than he cared about himself. He had forgone medication just to be true to him. Julian didn't need his last romantic memory of Logan to include that film over his eyes, the sheeted mist that made every word he spoke less and less meaningful.

But that stuck-up primadonna found a way to control the situation, just like he always did.

"Yes. That's why," Logan says, trying to bury the passion in his body.

He looks up to see that Julian has ditched his suit trousers and has pulled on familiar grey sweatpants.

"I was right" is all he says. Logan desperately wants to read his eyes, but they're empty. Not guarded, just…blank.

What do you mean? he wants to ask, but his lips are numb.

"I was right," Julian repeats, pulling back the covers of his bed. "You should go."

Logan stays silent for a moment before he rises and leaves the room without a sound.

Julian turns off the light.

…

Loose edges will fray; I guess that's why I'm dead
The notes of music will be as they might
Rise in the depths of the careless, free night
And sink to the dead when the angels have spoken

…

Julian shrugs away from his tree. "Hand me those wildflowers, would you?" he requests, pointing to the colorful clump at Logan's feet.

Logan doesn't say anything, doesn't question why Julian can't, or won't, do it himself. He bends down and plucks up the stems. Julian comes forward to retrieve them, and Logan hands them over. Julian doesn't let their fingers brush.

"Thanks."

"Why?"

Julian begins to sort the plants before he answers, long stems shuffling through his fingers. "Natalie likes them. I bring her flowers all the time. He pauses. "But I need to find her favorite kind."

Logan stares at him, soaking him in as if he can't get enough. "Julian…I'm sorry."

Julian doesn't reply, doesn't even look at him – just continues organizing his flowers.

"There's that saying – 'out of sight, out of mind'? And then there's the whole 'distance makes the heart grow fonder' thing. I bet you can guess which one applies to me."

And still, still, Julian says nothing.

"I would take you back in a heartbeat if I could," Logan says.

"You can't."

(It's okay; he doesn't need a whole heart to function. Years of practice. No need to let Julian know that his world is falling apart.)

Finally, finally, Julian stops shuffling those stupid flowers and lets his hands fall to his sides.

"I'm coming out tomorrow," he says, looking directly at Logan, not batting an eye. "At the award ceremony. And not because I need to." Logan doesn't make any response, and Julian scoffs. "What, still so morose? You always wanted me to show the world who I was. Well, here goes. Goodbye, Logan."

He turns and begins to make his way towards the dirt pathway he'd traveled down just a few hours earlier.

"Julian."

He stops. Doesn't turn around.

Logan doesn't know what he's going to say until his mouth opens.

"I've been seeing a doctor – he's really good. He got me a new kind of medication, but he says I can stop taking it starting tomorrow."

Julian turns, his face clear and inexpressive. "I'm happy for you," he says quietly, and though his eyes are dead, his voice is heart-achingly sincere.

He leaves without another sound.

…

My name is Logan Wright.

It was exactly one year ago, to this day, that I broke up with the boy I never fell out of love with.

It's been a longer time since Kurt came back to Dalton with news of his old school's new Glee project – Lady Gaga's "Born This Way" with T-shirts to match.

If I had one of those shirts, I know exactly what it would say.

Regrets everything

…

"Mr. Larson!"

Julian turns around, lips extended in an easy grin. "What can I do for you, doll?" he asks as the reporter rushes up to him with her cameramen.

"I'm very well, thank you, yes," she pants as Julian looks on, amused. "We hope you're enjoying your evening so far; we just wanted to take the liberty of addressing a few questions."

Sitting on the couch in his room, Logan rolls his eyes.

"Go ahead," Julian replies, and Logan wonders if anyone else can see the twinkle in his eyes.

"The fact is, Mr. Larson, that there were some – " Here the "reporter" pauses, making a rolling motion with her free hand as she attempts to choose the desired word. " – rumors, that you were seen leaving a gay bar some time ago."

"That's interesting, considering I'm not gay," Julian replies casually, one eyebrow raised.

Logan frowns at his TV. The glimmer in Julian's eye remains.

"Yes, well – you see, there were also sightings on the set of your latest film – that have come up recently, you see – of you and your co-star – your male co-star – talking intimately and laughing together."

Logan almost gets up and leaves. The idiocy of some people. What he does not expect is Julian's response.

"Oh, you mean Zack. Well, that makes sense, considering we were boyfriends. But that's all irrelevant right now. Natalie's the only for me."

For the first time, Logan pays attention to the young brunette at Julian's side as the actor hugs her close and gives her a kiss on the cheek, which subsequently blossoms pink with her blush.

"And now if you'll excuse us," Julian continues, leading Natalie away with his arm around her waist as the reporter gapes, mouth open like a not particularly attractive bass. "Have a good rest of your evening."

Logan sinks back onto his couch with a chuckle. Of course Julian would come out like that, throwing what will quickly grow to be one of Hollywood's biggest stories into the middle of a sentence and waltzing off as though it's no big deal.

Logan watches absently as the camera team ditches Johnny Depp in favor of chasing after Julian and making him elaborate – no, he's not gay. Yes, he's bisexual. Well, that would mean that the fan girls still had a chance, but he's with Natalie now, and he's not planning on changing that any time soon.

But Logan has heard it all before. Slowly, slowly, his gaze shifts over to Natalie. The girl by his side.

Natalie, standing there quietly, an exceptional smile on her pink lips, blonde streaks in her brown hair.

Natalie, who is standing next to Julian tonight.

Not Logan.

…

Natalie arranges the carnations and leans forward to breathe in their scent. When she turns, Julian is standing beside her, one eyebrow raised in anticipation.

She gives a small laugh and shakes her head. "Sorry, J."

He sighs. "Oh well. One of these days. I will find your favorite flower, I swear."

She smiles warmly. "I'm sure you will."

Julian moves forward (to stroke her cheek? To hug her? To wrap his arms around her waist? One of those), but the clock chimes at that moment, echoing throughout the house. A chorus of chirping begins and magnifies itself in seconds, filling the living room with demanding tweets.

"Guess that means it's time to feed the birds," she says, and Julian smiles as she moves away to interrupt their impatient song.

…

The sky is dark, not even speckled with stars. The night is so old it's almost morning, the hour so obscene that it's not fit to be graced by any divine presence.

It's winter, and at some point in the night the heater must have stopped working, because Julian suddenly finds himself wishing that he had the warmth of the thick blanket he'd pushed to the floor earlier that night. Instead of searching for it, he reaches forward with one hand, subconsciously seeking the warmth of a body that is not his own.

"Hey."

Julian's head jerks up in surprise, not expecting to hear that voice emerging from the night silence. His gaze lands immediately on green eyes, their color intense and soft at the same time.

Logan reaches forward with a hand to cradle Julian's cheek, and the actor leans into it, closing his eyes and sighing softly.

"What's wrong? Why are you awake?" Logan asks, shifting closer, and Julian smiles sheepishly before trembling slightly, his exposed skin sensitive to the temperature of the room around them.

"I was cold," he admits softly, and moves his head across the pillow, searching for the warmth of Logan's chest, before abandoning that plan in favor of looking up into his green eyes, warm within themselves, deep with tenderness.

"I can fix that," Logan whispers, and Julian shivers when he feels the light layer of the bed sheets rise around his body. He can also feel it when Logan tucks them around his shoulders, but he's not really warm until Logan wraps his arms around Julian and moves forward until their noses are touching, enveloping Julian in a safe cocoon of warmth.

Julian smiles in thanks and reaches forward to place his palms flat against the expanse of Logan's bare chest. He scoots in even closer, nuzzling his way into blond hair, and breathes deeply. Logan smells like trees.

Julian doesn't see it, but the plants outside his window are moving slightly in the winter wind, ever green despite the season. He pulls back, and Logan is staring at him, jade eyes glowing.

"I love you," Julian whispers softly, and Logan gives him a smile that rivals the sun.

"I love you too," he says, and leans forward to breathe him in deep.

These are the moments they live for.

…

Logan shoves his hands into his hair, hard, elbows planted on his knees.

He can't stay like this. Internship be damned, he can't stay like this, with Julian so close (so close, and not near at all).

He's taking an airplane out of here.

…

Please understand, it's not that I don't car
But time leaves these scars that are very, very deep
And very hard to heal.

…

One last time – going in to a flower shop. The last time he'll be in this city, so long as Julian lives here.

Logan has always liked flower shops. He won't tell anyone, but they remind him of Julian. He doesn't know why. Julian has never particularly liked receiving flowers, and he has developed an aversion to roses, especially red ones, for obvious reasons. Nor does his cologne smell like flowers.

But still, the resemblance is there. Maybe it's their mutual fragility, their imperfect beauty.

Or maybe it's just the closest he can get to trees.

Logan steps up to the counter, waiting for the lady in front of him to finish. He doesn't even know what he's doing here – a waste of money; he has no one to give flowers to. He'll probably just donate them to a homeless shelter to cheer up the atmosphere, or something.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Logan turns his head –

And sees Natalie Dupont.

He's pretty sure his mouth open and closes several times in the pathetic imitation of a goldfish before he catches himself and clears his throat.

"Natalie?" he asks tentatively, taking a small step forward. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her pretty face hardly altered by makeup – but the eyes are the same.

She blinks a few times, and then raises her eyebrows in a somewhat hopeful manner. "Do I know you?"

Logan shakes his head, both to clear it and to answer her. "No. Sorry." He should just hand over the flowers and go (who is he kidding; he shouldn't even be here in the first place), but her expression, so open and confused and inviting, asks him to go on. "It's just – I knew Julian. In high school," he blurts out.

She doesn't seem to be bothered by his inarticulacy – in fact, her face brightens.

"Oh! What's your name?"

"Logan Wright."

She tilts her head slightly, considering him. "I don't think I ever heard him mention you…but then again, I have a terrible memory." She laughs quietly. "So, you were his – friend?"

Logan blinks and clears his throat. "Uh – well, sort of. That is to say – " He stops, uncharacteristically flustered, and shakes his head. "Yes. I was his friend. But – " He stops again, faltering, and looks at her. Her. Her face clear, non-judgmental, tilted as if to ask, "Yes?" "I was also his boyfriend," he says.

She smiles. "That's wonderful." He doesn't know why she says it. She's known him for less than a minute.

But…she's being sincere.

He considers her, this girl standing before him, a girl with scars on her neck and a sparkle in her eye and, most probably, a kind of lightness in her heart, and he feels compelled to ask it.

"Is he treating you right?"

His body is taking over, asking all the questions, demanding all the answers. Surely it's the other way around – anyone who's lucky enough to have Julian should be interrogated thoroughly until it's been proven that they're good enough for him –

But Logan wants to know.

She smiles (she doesn't tire; her lips are made for it). "He's the best boyfriend I ever had," she says, and her words ache with warmth.

Logan nods. "Good."

He looks down at the table, and there's a slightly awkward silence before he remembers that – right, he's supposed to be buying flowers. The paper in his hand shuffles as he moves his hand upwards and lifts his head, but before he can say anything, Natalie is speaking.

"Look, Logan…" She begins tentatively and pauses before she finishes, considering him carefully. Then she sighs slightly (just a small exhale to release a puff of air) and continues. "Would you like to go to dinner with us next week? We were going to go to a restaurant with a friend, but Clark's aunt fell ill and he had to cancel. So…you could come instead, if you'd like."

Logan looks down again, at his fingers wrapped around the paper base of the flowers.

"I…I don't think Julian wants to see me."

"I'm sure he'd love to see an old friend – "

"No, I – " He stops and looks at her inquisitive face. "It's complicated." He takes in a large breath as she looks at him kindly, willing him to go on. "I – I was stupid, and I dumped him, and I met him the other day and I'm pretty sure he still hates me."

"It sounds like you two need to spend some time together," she answers calmly, and smiles.

Logan looks at her.

…

Julian hands her the Jacob's Ladder and watches as she pins it to her hair.

"I thought I'd try blue, since it's your favorite color and all," he says.

She smiles. "It's not my favorite flower, but it is the thought that counts," she says, and kisses him on the cheek.

"Nat, I – " he begins, and then stops, sighing. "I really don't see why we have to do this."

She smiles and leans forward to straighten his tie. "Not 'we'. It's between you and Logan."

"Between – Natalie, I don't owe Logan anything. There's nothing I need to give him."

"If you won't do it for him," she says, picking up her purse, "then please – do it for yourself."

The restaurant is crowded; thankfully, they've reserved a table. Logan comes in just as they're sitting down.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," he says automatically.

"You're not, actually," Natalie replies, offering him a smile. She places one hand on the table top, clutching her purse with the other, and makes to sit down. Without thinking, Logan's hand immediately shoots forward to pull back her chair…

And collides with Julian's hand, reaching forward to do the same exact thing. Logan withdraws as if shocked by lightning, and Julian pointedly ignores him. If she notices anything, Natalie doesn't say so.

As soon as they're all seated, Natalie purposefully begins a conversation about the delicacies the restaurant has to offer and what, in particular, she would recommend.

"Julian tells me that you have many allergies," she says to Logan, whose eyes flicker directly to Julian's face. He doesn't look up.

"It's not to worry," Natalie continues, seemingly oblivious to their non-interaction. "They've got a great selection here."

Logan cranks out a weak smile. "I'm sure they do," he says softly, and his eyes fall to the menu in front of him.

"They've changed the price of this salad." Logan's head jerks up to see Julian perusing his menu intently. "It used to be fifty cents cheaper." Natalie watches as Logan stares at Julian until the latter lifts his head and catches him doing so. "What?"

Logan looks away.

The waiter comes and leaves – delivers their drinks, leaves again, takes their order, leaves again. By the time their food arrives, they've covered a broad range of topics – Art Deco, men's fashion, politics (Logan manages to redirect the course of that conversation fairly quickly), foreign cooking, literature…

Natalie shifts a curl of hair away from her face subtly, eyes tracing the faces of the two men beside her. Julian is gesturing, his face molding into many different expressions as he digs deeper into their discussion, lengthening his rant about amateur performers.

And then her gaze shifts to Logan.

Logan is not even aware that he's staring until well after Julian's rant is over. Absently, it's true, he can feel the intensity of his gaze, sensing that perhaps it's a bit too strong, a tad intense –

But he can't help himself. Because Julian…is being himself.

Every gesture that he makes – Logan memorizes the curves of his hands and the paths of his fingers flickering through the air. He blinks, and Logan traces the brushing of his eyelashes, almost painted gold in the artificial light. He leans forward, and Logan blesses the hairs on the back of his neck. He laughs –

Good Lord. He laughs. Logan's eyes fall to his lips, and they're never going to be ready to let go.

Natalie's eyes widen. Oh.

Julian stills, his point made, his speech ended, and his gaze – his gaze is drawn toward Logan's eyes, drinking him in, hypnotized.

Natalie watches, fascinated. It's only a few seconds – just a few, brief seconds that Julian's and Logan's gazes are locked, combined, but it's like watching the earth stand still.

Logan is plain, almost sick with loss, unintentionally boring his gaze into Julian's. And Julian…

Julian stares, blinks, eyes widening slightly…and then Natalie sees more than she's ever seen before.

Logan stands up so abruptly that he nearly knocks over his chair, and everything is lost.

"I need to go," he blurts out hurriedly. "Bathroom. Excuse me."

Natalie watches him leave, slightly shocked, and Julian stares forward into nothingness, his hand securing its grip on the table in front of them, his fingers biting into the cloth.

Thankfully, no one else is in the bathroom. Logan heads straight to the sink and leans his forehead against the cold mirror as sweat trickles down his neck. His mouth is dry, his head spinning, his chest heaving – and he almost feels like he's holding back sobs.

He opens his eyes slowly, and in the soft lighting of the bathroom, he can see that they're agitated, specks of fever dancing through his irises and melting into the lost chasms of his pupils.

Shit.

…

"I feel like…there's no way to win."

Clark looks at his friend unhappily. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you."

Julian groans, banging his head forward onto the table. "Why can't he just leave me alone? I was so much happier without him here – just with Natalie."

Clark looks at his hands and wonders if what he wants to ask will be stepping over some invisible line. "Were you…when you first got together with her, were you just looking for a way to forget him?"

Julian lifts his head and stares into the blackness of his coffee. "I hope not," he says at last, his voice almost desperate. "I hope I sensed that – in her, there's something special. I know I do now." He pauses. "She's worth so much more than that. You know?"

Clark knows.

…

Red sun, a burning sky
(Listen, paramours; your time has come)
God wants to shed the humility of your skin
And see you last in the mud that will sink you

…

"I'm going to break up with Julian."

Clark considers her, sitting across the table from him. Her long fingers wrap around the Styrofoam mug of liquid in front of her.

"Because of Logan?" he asks, pushing back blond hair as it falls into his eyes.

"He…have you ever seen them together?" she asks, grey eyes flickering with ever-present specks of green. "It's like watching a dance."

Clark smiles. "You really are a performer," he says.

"It's true, though," she says, not letting herself be distracted. "They know each other."

Clark doesn't know what to do – what he should encourage her to do. "You know him as well," he reminds her softly.

She shakes her head – not in disagreement, but in some sort of resignation.

"Yes," she whispers. "And that's why I'm doing this."

Clark watches as Natalie leaves the coffee shop, a gust of summer wind blowing her hair as she steps away.

…

Derek Seigerson has never particularly liked formal events.

Firstly, he has to be very tactful about which girlfriend he selects to invite to said event.

Secondly, he needs to create very specific excuses to provide for the rest of the girlfriends who know about said event and are not invited.

And thirdly, he inevitably spends the majority of said events fleeing from said girlfriends who are not invited to said events but decide to come anyway in the hopes of finding their boyfriend and making him explain himself.

But, in his opinion, graduation is the worst, and not just because neither of his friends will talk to him and he has, therefore, no one to hide behind.

The worst part is seeing both of them.

Logan, miserable. Not defiant, but hollow, aching, possessed by a terrible silence that Derek never would have thought his body capable of sustaining, especially in its un-medicated state.

And Julian, walking up on to that stage, smiling tightly at the three adults waiting to give him his diploma and to shake his hand, one thought clearly written out across his face and on his heart:

I can't wait to get the hell out of here.

…

The scars of your love
They leave me breathless
I can't help feeling
We could've had it all

Could've had it all…

Logan barely notices when the book goes flying through the still air and crashes against the wall of his room. Someone who knows him might be concerned, seeing him act this way, but he knows better. He's not acting like this of rage. He's acting this way because it's one thing in this world that he can control.

His hands are shaking, his mind falling apart. He has to see Julian. He has to see Julian.

This is fucking killing him. He's only known Natalie for a few days and still, he practically loves her and feels horrible for what he wants to do – but he has to see Julian. He needs to do whatever possible to convince him to take him back, even if it means falling to his knees and begging.

Although how he's going to manage that without grabbing Julian, pinning him to the nearest wall and kissing him senseless is a bit beyond him at the moment.

But he has to try.

Logan runs out of his room without turning off the lights, the door only shutting in reaction to the force with which he grabs it.

Julian might be at that café on the corner of those two ridiculously long streets – it's a favorite hang-out of his. Sure enough, when Logan jerks open the door, Julian is just standing up next to a small café table, talking to the person across from him. As he does so, his hand accidentally loses its grip on what it was holding before –

And a grey engagement ring box clatters open onto the ground, its ring shining spectacularly inside.

The bell stationed at the top of the café door rings and Julian's friend shifts his gaze.

"Hey, was that your friend that just left?" he asks, absent-mindedly digging into his wallet to get some money for the check. "That – uh – that Logan guy?"

Julian, having scooped up the box and snapped it shut, straightens and turns to stare at the now-empty doorway intently.

"Didn't see him," he says quietly.

The friend shrugs. "Ah well. So – what do you think about the ring? You think Jacey will like it?"

Julian smiles – "It's perfect" – and hands him the box.

When Logan gets back home, he heads straight for the shower and turns the water on too hot, so that it burns his skin, staining it red. He stands there for so long that the water reduces itself in size and temperature until it is only a trickle of ice-cold liquid bleeding out of the showerhead, across his broad shoulders and finally down the shower curtain before it disappears into the drain.

…

My name is Natalie Dupont, and I'm a dancer. My dream was always to be on Broadway – dancing, singing, acting.

Last year I got into a car crash that took my friend's life and my ability to sing. Nowadays, I make my living as an actress – listening to songbirds and selling flowers.

Today, things took another turn – unexpected, unprovoked. I met a boy.

A boy named Julian.

…

Julian looks at her, eyes wide. "I don't want to break up with you," he says.

Natalie hugs the shawl around her shoulders more closely. "I know," she says. "But you won't want to be with me forever."

"Natalie, I love you."

She smiles crookedly, a broken angle stretched across the panes of her face. "I know. But you don't love me like you love him."

Julian steps forward. "Natalie, Logan broke up with me in high school."

"And my father beat me when I was just a child," she reminds him as gently as she possibly can. "But that doesn't mean the scars have disappeared by now."

He looks away, and she can see a single, glassy tear make its way down his cheek.

Silence stretches its way between them, creating its invisible, indivisible wall, marred only by the cracks of time.

"I'm sorry," says Julian at last, his voice rough. Unrefined.

"I'm not," she says. Julian turns to see her smiling (smiling, smiling – always smiling). "I'm glad I met you."

Julian looks at her, the girl with the damaged vocal chords and a pure heart, who loves embroidery and painting and shivers in fear of thunder storms. A girl who plays the organ and dances in fields of clovers.

Natalie pulls him close, into a hug, and neither let go until it's very, very late.

…

My name is Julian Larson.

And I just don't know what to do anymore.

…

Logan Wright leans against a tree, the rough bark cutting into his back and settling as though it belongs there. The dirt shifts around his shoes as he lets his feet find their place beneath him, sinking slightly into the rich earth surrounding them. The water drips from the leaves above him and creates trails across his skin.

It's evening, and, despite what Logan's been intending to do all week, he's never left the city. He'll probably just finish his internship quietly, get on a plane, fly back to his university and never hear from Julian again.

And that's the way it should be. (Don't think about it. Don't think about how Julian chose this clearing. Don't think about the remembrance of green trees.)

Footsteps.

Logan's head jerks up, almost involuntarily. He doesn't know what he's looking for – he's not even hoping to see Julian again (he can't expect that – he won't. He won't expect him).

But of course it is Julian who is walking towards him at that moment. His footsteps are soft, sinking into water-drenched grass. He stops a few yards away.

Logan blinks as a drop of water falls right below his eye and slides down his cheek.

"Why are you here?" he asks, and he's surprised when his voice carries all the way over to Julian, quiet as it is. The actor smiles crookedly.

"You came," he says. "And I followed."

…

"Hey."

Natalie looks up, startled, to find Clark beside her, hovering next to the park bench that she's sitting on.

"H-hi," she returns.

"So." Quietly, he takes a seat next to her. Her gaze drops, head turning to look out over the blue pond in front of them.

"So," she repeats.

"I take it you ended things with Julian?"

Her gaze lifts. "Yes. I guess it was just…the right time, but the wrong person. You know?"

"No." Natalie jolts in surprise, and suddenly she's confronted with sky-blue eyes. "I've only ever known the right person. But it's never been the right time."

She blinks, and he shifts, pulling, out of his pocket, a single violet, which she takes.

"Do you like it?" he asks softly.

She turns, and all she sees in front of her are blue, blue eyes.

"Yes." She smiles – gently, quietly.

"It's my favorite flower."

…

Logan stares at him for a minute before looking away. (Don't think about how beautiful he is. Don't.)

"I'm here for an internship," he explains quietly, talking to the tree next to him. "And then it's back to USC in the fall."

If Julian steps forward, Logan doesn't hear it.

"If I called you while you were at university," says Julian, his voice penetrating the summer softness, "would you answer?"

"Why would you call me?" asks Logan, still conversing with the tree to his right. Rough bark in front of his eyes, a shade of brown. Not the brown he wants.

"Logan." Now he can hear it, when Julian steps forward. "You told me once that you'd always tell me the truth." (A long time ago – so long ago.) "You've said a lot of things since then, but none of them have been lies. So I'm asking you now: if I ask you a question, will you answer it honestly?"

Unwillingly, without telling his muscles to move, Logan turns to look at him, green eyes still.

"Yes."

Two hearts beat in summer silence as Julian looks away, and then back.

"Do you love me?"

Logan blinks slowly, willing his chest to rise and fall normally.

I would take you back in a heartbeat if I could.

We made love under these stars.

There's not much doubt, but Julian wants to hear it.

Logan looks, and looks. (At him. Julian, who looks even more beautiful in the moonlight, who likes butterfly kisses and loves to watch the way the trees move in the wind.)

"Yes."

His heart, still inside his chest, cracks just a little bit more.

Julian looks away again, brown eyes shining with something akin to – hurt? (Hurt? That doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense anymore.)

"Natalie broke up with me," he whispers quietly, voice breaking.

Logan looks at the tear running down his face. (His heart is screaming. His heart is screaming.)

"I'm sorry," he says, like an overdue apology. "Really, really – sorry."

The wind rushes past the actor in a sudden gush, and even in this summer heat, Julian shudders.

"I'm cold," he whispers.

Logan looks at his feet.

"You can fix it, if you want," he continues.

Logan takes the few steps forward, and they collide, Logan pulling Julian to his chest and keeping him there, hugging him in the summer, two hearts beating themselves into synchronization.

"I think…I forgive you," says Julian from his place, pressed against Logan's chest, and Logan sighs down his neck, shivering in something akin to relief.

All around them, the summer silences itself as another memory prints itself onto the cool breeze, leaving them with the grass, the winding road and the memory of trees.

…

Sooo…what I've learned from this is that Natalie likes to smile a lot.

On an unrelated note, many thanks to the lovely memoryoftrees1.tumblr.com for letting me borrow her name. Less than three all the way.