Work Text:
Too much. It was all too much. Weeks upon weeks of planning, scheduling, organizing, writing and rewriting piles upon piles of notes, trying to keep everyone in line and everything running smoothly in order to maximize productivity with the least amount of strain on Thomas’ well-being, both physically and mentally. And all without a single moment of respite for himself. Logan was exhausted, and it showed. He hadn’t thought it was too noticeable, barely registering Patton cautiously asking if he was okay during a particularly busy morning of sorting through Thomas’ filming schedule, and being far too engrossed with research for future videos to acknowledge Roman commenting that he looked like a mess and like he needed a nap. In reality, it was far more than a nap he needed.
After sitting with a particularly irksome bout of fatigue-induced writer’s block for long enough that his laptop screen went dark, the logical side was confronted head on, quite literally, by his own weary visage. The room was dark, but the lamp on the desk beside him allowed him to see his reflection quite clearly in the blackness of the screen, and it was shocking to say the least. His hair was in disarray, sticking out every which way and had visibly not been washed for an embarrassing number of days. His clothes were wrinkled and stained, his shirt was untucked and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck. His skin was pale and his cheeks were sunken; perhaps he had neglected to eat more often than he’d realized. But the most alarming thing of all were undoubtedly his eyes; they were bloodshot and groggy, and the bags under them could all but rival Virgil’s eyeshadow. For the first time in a very long time Logan was fully confronted by how exhausted he looked, and by extension how exhausted he felt. He’d been so caught up in his workflow that he’d forced himself to not register the tiredness, but now it had caught up with him and all at once it hit him. The strain of weeks upon weeks of non-stop work came crashing down and Logan nearly fell off his chair, forced to steady himself by propping his elbows up against the desk.
Leaning his head in his hands, he let out a groan of anguish and the sound of his own hoarse and worn voice nearly gave him goosebumps, if he had been prone to such a thing, which he of course reasoned to himself that he was not, because that entailed admitting he felt fear, which in turn opened the door for more feeling-sy (Was that even a word? He wasn’t quite sure anymore) nonsense that he did not want to dive into nor even acknowledge. But his usual put-together, well-polished facade had crumbled beneath the weight of many sleepless nights and left nothing but pure misery in its wake.
Too much. All too much. And yet not enough. Never enough. The same high standards he’d been told caused harm when applied to and enforced against the others, especially Roman, he applied tenfold to himself. Everything must be on time, correctly done, perfect. That had always been his Achilles heel. He was perfectionist to a fault, and even though he was smart enough to know it wasn’t sustainable, he could never quite bring himself to lower the threshold for what was acceptable when it came to his work. So despite the inhuman amount of exertion he’d put himself through for the past few weeks, it wasn’t enough. The exhaustion had taken its toll not only on him, but also the product of his labor. He’d been getting writer’s block more frequently and forgetting even simple words and phrases, his brain simply too worn out to string sentences together in any logical way. His handwriting had started to become almost unreadable, to the point he’d had to resort to working exclusively on his computer, and the things he produced were simply subpar by his standards.
But instead of realizing that this was simply a sign that he needed to take a break and get some well-needed rest, Logan found it utterly humiliating. He was better than this, he should be better than this, he needed to do better, he needed to work harder. But it was too much, and now he felt too tired and dumbed down to do anything at all. Sighing, the logical side laid his head down on the desk, the polished wood cool against his feverish skin.
“Why?”, he asked out loud to no one in particular. “Why can’t I do better? I know I can do this perfectly, so why-”
“Because you seem to have forgotten everything I’ve tried to teach all of you.”
Logan flinched at the sudden realization that he wasn’t alone, but couldn’t bring himself to lift his head off the cool comfort of his desk. He simply sighed again, dejectedly.
“Hello, Janus.”
These little nightly visits weren’t unusual. Before Logan had shut himself off more or less entirely from the others due to his overpacked schedule, the deceitful side would often come visit him. They’d talk sometimes for hours about topics that intrigued them both, learn from and teach each other, getting completely caught up in conversation, usually over a glass or two of wine. Logan always appreciated these times they had together, and he had to admit he was growing quite fond of Janus, which simply made the current situation more humiliating.
Janus stepped out from the shadows beside the door and made his way across the room, the heels of his boots clacking rhythmically against the floor, muffled momentarily by the carpet in front of the desk, before stopping right beside Logan. He casually summoned a stool and sat down beside his weary companion, watching him intently.
“This plane is going down, Logan. I believe it’s about time you put on your oxygen mask. Metaphorically speaking of course, since you’re so fond of clarity.”
Even in Logan’s tired state, the hint of sarcasm in the final sentence was glaringly obvious, but he did understand the intended meaning of Janus’ statement.
“I suppose I have been working quite a lot recently.” He said, very matter of factly, trying but failing to mask his distress at having been caught in such a state.
Janus chuckled, crossing his right leg over his left and leaning slightly forward.
“That is quite the understatement.”
Logan begrudgingly opened his eyes, his eyelids heavy as lead, and glanced up at the other side. Janus couldn’t help but be disturbed by how helpless he looked. Even though he knew it was far from true, Logan usually looked so refined, pristine, indestructible. Seeing him falling apart before his eyes distressed Janus to no end, and he had put off this intervention long enough. Logan spoke again, in that horribly broken voice, still somehow trying to argue.
“But there’s so much I have left to do. I don’t have time to-”
Janus reached out and placed his hand under Logan’s chin, angling his face up towards him.
“You’ve done enough.”
Logan felt his cheeks heat up, but shook his head to the best of his abilities, not meeting the other man’s gaze.
“I’m sorry, Janus, but I’m not sure I can believe you.”
The deceitful side smiled softly and, gently laying Logan’s head back down, moved his hand up to stroke his cheek.
“I think you can.”
Stunned temporarily by the feeling of soft, warm skin against his own, Logan realized Janus was touching him with bare hands. He wasn’t wearing his gloves. Suddenly overwhelmed with emotions he couldn’t find words to describe, Logan felt his eyes sting with tears. Shutting them tightly and turning his face down towards the desk, he did his best to stifle his broken sobs. Janus moved closer, running his fingers through the logical side’s hair.
“You’ve done enough, Logan. More than enough. You deserve a break. And you need one. Badly.”
Janus looked at him with a serious expression, almost as unused to showing genuine emotions as Logan.
“We’re worried about you. I am worried about you. You know I hate begging, but.. Please, take a break. If not for yourself, then… for me.”
Giving up his resistance and with his whole being screaming for relief, Logan nodded ever so slightly and let the other man pull him to his feet and lead him to the bed. Not bothering to change clothes, Logan let himself be pushed down into the heavenly softness of his matress and immediately began dozing off. After a bit of struggle - Logan was heavier than he looked - Janus managed to pull the covers out from under him and place them over him, tucking him in like one would a sick child and gently wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks. He sat down on the side of the bed, stroking the logical side’s hair and whispering sweet affirmations even though he knew Logan was already out cold.
“You’ve done enough. You are enough. And you deserve rest.”
Still fast asleep, Logan suddenly reached out and grabbed Janus’ hand. Janus let him hold it for a while, soaking in the comforting sound of his companion’s relaxed breathing. After a few minutes of assuring himself that Logan would be quite alright on his own now, he decided it was time to head out and get some rest of his own. He’d been staying up far too long, worrying about the other man. Gently, he leaned over and placed a soft kiss on the logical side’s forehead before rising and making his exit.
“Sleep well, my love.”