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Chapter Text

“Black air and seven seas, all rotten through

But what can you do?

I don't know how I'm meant to act with all of you lot.” 

– ”Save It For Later,” The English Beat

“Logan! Spot me a $10?” 

“Finn, you know my policy.” 

“Just once more? With feeling? Please?” 

Logan Huntzberger and his friends Colin and Finn stood around the open bar like barnacles on a algae-ridden boat. Between the three of them, they’d consumed at least forty drinks over the course of the night. Marty Cassidy knew it too. When he lost track of how many drinks he was pouring, he started tabulating it on a lone paper napkin just to keep up with them. 

“ Well , for our old bartending pal–what was it–Mason?”

Marty answered quickly, forcing a tight smile. “It’s Marty.” 

“Right, Marty! I can’t tell you how much we appreciate the drinks, man.”

“Just doing my job.” Marty replied, eyes downcast and wiping down a freshly washed tumbler. 

"Sure, but even I’m humble enough to admit I can’t make an Old Fashioned as well as you can.” Logan grinned, leaning on the bar just a little too much. 

“Thanks.” Marty said, shaking his head, fighting an eye roll.  

“I’m completely serious. That seventh one in particular really hit the spot. Colin and Finn can attest to that.” 

“Easily—“ Finn nodded. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Colin interjected. “Logan is normally a heavy weight, but your particular blends easily make him go the way of Bardolph—oh, my apologies, I shouldn't assume. Have you read Henry V ?” 

Marty blinked, enduring the conversational whiplash with unprecedented restraint. 

“Of course.” 

“My mistake. I wasn’t sure if your public high school education covered it. Don’t they normally just go for the basic tragedies like Romeo & Juliet ?” Colin asked, more to Logan and Finn than Marty. 

"As if they’d know," Marty thought to himself. 

“Colin, don’t be an ass.” Logan warned. 

“How can I be an ass if I’m simply relaying the facts? The American education system, for all its naive aspirations, is no more than a low-cost daycare center. The kiddies just don’t stand a chance these days.” 

“I think the kiddies do just fine,” Marty retorted, his normally laid-back voice walking the fine line between sarcasm and rage. 

“Oh yes! No Child Left Behind is definitely a sign America’s kids are on their way to achieving truly great things. Tell us! How exactly did you , a product of our incredible public school system, end up here, waiting on us , for $2 an hour plus tips?”

Marty set down the tumbler he was holding, afraid he might crush it in his fist. 

“I’m not ashamed of going to public school, if that’s what you’re implying. Nor am I embarrassed to have to work for a living.” 

“Hey, no one is implying anything here. It’s all in good fun.” Logan said, attempting to ease the growing tension. 

“Yeah, Mason . Why don’t you lighten up a little?” 

“Why don’t you exercise some of those manners you supposedly learned at boarding school and get off it?” Marty snarled. 

“Oh, I’ve got a few of them waiting for you up my—” Colin sneered, reaching out to grab Marty by the collar. 

“Hey, hey hey! Calm down, you two.” Logan barreled over to stand between them, his drunken sloppiness forgotten in the face of conflict. “This is still my party. I paid for it. I won’t have you two ruining a good time with your petty class dispute. We get it. This isn’t a primary debate, for God’s sake. Colin, have a drink.” 

“As you wish, Master.” Colin backed away, his eyes never leaving Marty’s. He grabbed one of the half-filled champagne flutes on the side of the bar and gulped it down in one swallow. Logan rolled his eyes playfully, before turning back to face Marty. Smiling brightly, Logan offered him a crisp $100 bill for his troubles. 

“Square?” 

Logan’s single-word reply felt like a slap. And yet, to the casual observer, it was almost polite. It was so non-offensive, in fact, that Marty couldn’t even let his disgust show, lest the generous tip he was owed be snatched away from him. 

Logan Huntzberger was used to throwing around the fact that he had money. Like his father and grandfather before him, he solved all of his problems with the bills tucked neatly into the inner-lining pockets of his luxury suit jackets. For most people— frat brothers, university administrators, and utterly desperate gold diggers—this sort of behavior was acceptable—preferrable, even. To Marty, it was just pathetic. 

He had tended bar at four of Logan Huntzberger’s functions over the last year. The first three were fairly normal, or, as normal as a party can be for the Ivy League legacies. Presumably exhausted by the high society parties put on by their stuffy parents, Logan and his friends always opted for the most unsophisticated of affairs, all done in the name of irony. The themes were purposefully gauche, like “What Happens In Vegas…” or “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Dorm!” They’d laugh themselves silly at the prospect of anyone celebrating real parties in such a fashion. Marty might have laughed right along with them, had he ever been invited to one. He hadn’t, because why would they invite the scholarship kid to their exclusive nights of intrigue and debauchery? 

Unless, of course, he could tend the bar. 

The fourth one was different. It was secretive. Logan didn’t even call to confirm the date or time. Instead, he left a cryptic note inside Marty’s mailbox with the single line: 

“Come to Phelps Gate at midnight tonight. Wear your penguin suit.” 

Marty, now dependent on catering jobs and afraid of what might happen if he didn’t show up, did as he was told. That night, he was blindfolded, led to a car, and driven an ungodly amount of time to an undisclosed location. Once inside, he was released into the kitchen with the rest of the help and asked to tend the bar for the evening. He had no choice but to agree. 

What he saw in the main space was startling. Everyone wore gorilla masks and formal attire. It was nothing like Logan’s previous parties. He could not distinguish between any one person. Worst of all, he was not permitted to speak unless there was a dire emergency. At the end of it, he signed a non-disclosure agreement, before he was blindfolded again, forced into another car, and driven back to campus in silence. That strange party had been in May, just before the end of his second semester, and ever since, he’d been at a loss. Who were these strange, ridiculously wealthy kids taunting him with their family money? Why on earth did they feel the need to gag, blindfold, and kidnap the help just to avoid a potential lawsuit? With what money could Marty or any of the rest of their usual servants actually sue those entitled brats? 

Also, he would never sue them. While it was impossible to admit to any of his friends, particularly someone like Rory Gilmore, who had money but never flaunted it, he needed their money. Logan’s outrageous parties were some of the only bearable ones. Too many of the other Hartford and New Haven affairs were stuffy, overrated, and paid like shit. Even if Logan’s excess and passive callousness were, at times, ridiculously over the top, at least Marty was getting paid. 

Logan didn’t call him again until the first part of August. It was later in the afternoon, just after he’d gotten back to Rockville from DC on the metrobus. He was eating a slice of watermelon in his kitchen when a high pitched ring came from the hall landline. Marty picked it up without a second thought. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, Marty?” Logan’s easy voice slipped through the receiver. 

“Speaking,” Marty said, placing the watermelon slice on a plate. 

“Are you planning to be around New Haven anytime this month?” 

“August? No, not until the end of the month for move-in.” 

“Could you be? I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Uh, okay. I could drive up for a night. What did you have in mind?” 

“I’m throwing a little party for this girl I’m seeing. It’s stupid, but hey, you’re good with them!” 

“Them?” 

“ Women , Marty. You put them at ease.” 

“Thanks?” 

“Plus, you make a fine Cosmopolitan, if I remember correctly.” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Good, you’ll have to make about a hundred of them, knowing her friends. Have you seen this Sex and the City show? Ashlee is obsessed with how it ended.” 

“I think my mom has.” 

Logan laughed. It was the first time Marty ever heard it. It was melodic in a way he didn’t expect. It melted out of Logan’s mouth like butter. One couldn’t help but be enchanted by it. All Marty could think was “Must be nice not to sound like a dying donkey every time someone makes a joke or a snide comment.”  

“Good man! I’ll follow up in a few days with the details. Just make sure you wear some sort of black button down shirt that doesn’t look like it’s been through the laundry too many times. Women can always tell, you know?” 

Marty nodded quickly, before realizing he hadn’t actually said anything in reply. 

“I’ll do my best.” 

“We need better than your best, sailor.” 

“Okay. I’ll buy something.” 

“Better.” 

The party went off without a hitch. The birthday girl—Ashlee—was plumb tickled by the endless amounts of Cosmos and champagne. Her friends were just as pleased by Marty’s choice of button-down and bad jokes. By the end of the night, her friends convinced her to go home with them for a slumber party. From what Marty could see, Logan was peeved and continued to drink heavily for the next hour-and-half. Finn and Colin remained with him in solidarity. Also, they couldn’t have landed any of the women in Ashlee’s gaggle of hot friends if they tried. 

So, there they were. 

Marty nodded. “We’re square.”

“Great.” Logan smirked, turning back to face the empty room. It was full of discarded rose bouquets and pink tulle tablecloths. The DJ was long gone, having played a steady rotation of Rhianna, Kayne West, and whatever other Top 40 hits Ashlee preferred. Without the music, alcohol, and too-short cocktail dresses, it easily could have been mistaken for a kid’s party.

“Shall we?” Colin asked, heading in the direction of the elevator. 

“Can we stop by O’Furley’s first? I want to see it before the hordes of Yalies descend on it come September.” 

“It’s well-past midnight, Finn.” Logan chided. 

“And?”

“Don’t you think we should just head back to the hotel?” Logan asked, turning to face the bar once more. He sounded uncharacteristically exhausted. 

“Why must you two always underestimate my desire to get completely sloshed every hour of the day?”

Colin shook his head. “It’s not that we underestimate it, we just wonder if your burning desire for booze negatively affects your burning desire for—.” Colin’s gaze drifted downward towards Finn’s pants. 

“How dare you!” 

“ Oh , I’m not implying anything, Finn. Please take a xanax before you lose all touch with reality.” Colin teased, before Finn ran over to place him in a playful headlock. 

“You two go ahead.” Logan said, staring into his half-full drink. 

Finn and Colin dropped their comedy bit and turned to face him, mouths open and eyes wide. Marty almost laughed, but then he realized what Logan said. Their faces then echoed those of Cheech and Chong. 

“What? Why?” Finn asked. 

“Did a worm eat your brain, Huntzberger?” 

“No, nothing like that. I just need to settle up with my good pal, Matty.” Logan learned over the bar to slap Marty on the back. Marty tried his best not to flinch. 

“It’s Marty,” he reminded Logan. 

Logan snapped in Marty’s face. “Right. Sorry, it's the whiskey, you understand?” 

“I don’t,” Colin said warily. 

“Me neither.” Finn readily agreed. 

“Come on, Logan. Let’s just get out of here.” 

Colin pushed Logan to stand up from the barstool. Logan swatted at him, causing Colin to try and pull him up by the armpits. Then, Logan said something Marty could have never predicted. 

“No. I just told you guys. I need to settle up. I’ll be along to meet you both later.” 

Something in Logan’s tone seemed to make Finn and Colin think twice about questioning him again. They stood there for a moment, looking at each other in confusion and utter disbelief. Finally, they nodded, as if appeased. Finn said, “Okay. I guess you can just meet us at O’Furleys when you’re finished here.” He snuck a quick, suspicious glance at Marty. 

“I’ll do that.” Logan said, nodding dismissively.  

“Please do,” Colin said, annoyed.  

“And please let us know when your trip to Crazy Town ends, so we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming. You’re our wingman, Logan. Without you, we’re just two assholes trotting endlessly for girls who want nothing to do with us.” Finn said, pouting. 

Marty laughed out loud, causing the two knuckleheads in question to shoot him a death glare. He turned away towards the back of the bar to hide his lingering smirk. Colin and Finn proceeded to walk comically slowly towards the exit, in case Logan changed his mind. Logan, pretty intent on looking deep into the soul of his Old Fashioned, stayed exactly where he was. Colin and Finn finally bid him adieu and gave Marty one last flip of the bird. Marty turned just in time to see it and returned the gesture. 

Then, to Logan, he asked, ”What is there to settle up? You paid me the flat fee a week ago.” 

“Nothing. I just wanted to be alone.” 

“Oh, do you want me to go, or—“ 

“No. You’re just the bartender. For all intents and purposes, I am alone.” 

“I don’t know what to say to that.” 

“Just finish cleaning up, and then get the fuck out.” Logan snapped. 

Marty just stared. “Uh, did I do something to offend you?” 

“I don’t know, Marcy , did you?” 

“Logan, I don’t know what your problem is, but—“ 

“We’re not on a first name basis here, sailor. It’s Mr. Huntzberger to you .” 

Logan’s words and face read as completely serious, but his sagging body language and slurred words seemed to scream, “I’m drunk, don’t listen to me.” Marty felt the laugh rise up from his throat before he could stop it. 

“That’s funny.” Marty quipped, fighting a chuckle. 

“What?” Logan demanded. 

“What you just said. It’s so ridiculous that it’s actually kind of funny.” 

“Are you laughing at me?” 

“So what if I am?” 

Logan pointed at Marty, as if to threaten him. “Don’t forget who I am. I could snatch that tip right out of your grubby little hands, if I wanted to.” 

“Sure, you could if you wanted to, but then, how does that look?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Marty leaned back on the counter behind him. “I read about your family…your reputation. I don’t think your dad would look too kindly on you drunkenly stealing from the help.”

Logan’s brown eyes turned a slick, pitch black. With his pupils already dilated from the alcohol, his irises looked like swirling black holes. Marty would be terrified to look if Logan still had his faculties about him. Now, he obviously didn’t. Every other word out of his mouth was slurred. The guy was just looking for a fight.  

“You’re on thin ice. Tread lightly, Marty.” 

“Oh, so now you remember my name?” 

“What?” 

“You always seem to conveniently forget it around your lackeys and the girl of the week.” 

“What I say and do around my friends is of no concern to you. You’re just the bartender.” 

Marty held his hands up in surrender. “Whatever you say, Huntzberger.” 

Logan was not finished. “Why do you care anyway? We’re paying you well. What’s the harm in calling you a few wrong names?” 

“Oh, nothing. After all, I’m just the help.” 

“Yes, you are just the help. Normally, the help doesn’t laugh in their superior’s faces and make jokes at their expense. That’s normally grounds for an immediate dismissal and a swift kick in the ass from security.” 

“You’re right.” Marty admitted, successfully chastened. “I’m sorry. Call me whatever name you want.” 

“That’s what I thought.” Logan said, smiling triumphantly. 

“The thing is, though–” 

“Oh, here we go.” 

“The thing is though, I’m in the same classrooms and dorms and dining halls as you during the school year.” 

“Your point?” 

“I’m not your family’s maid or the chauffeur. I’m just a guy that tends bar at the parties you throw for your endless parade of friends.” 

“That still makes you an employee of mine. I’m paying you money for a job.” 

“That’s fine. I accept that.” 

“So, what’s your problem?” 

“I just wonder why you seem to remember my name on the phone or long after everyone has left the party, but you purposefully pretend otherwise when they’re around. I don’t get it.” 

Logan blinked. By this point, his eyes had glazed over and his smile had turned into an open-mouthed gape. Maybe this was no longer a fair spar between two intellectual equals. Maybe Logan Huntzberger was just too far gone. 

Marty found the smallest bit of empathy left in his body for the guy, leaned into the bar, and said, “Hey, look. I’m not trying to be a smart ass. I just want to figure out why you act the way you do around them, when, to me, you’ve been pretty cool.”  

Logan looked up and, with renewed arrogance, said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Marty sighed. “Okay, whatever you say. I’m almost done here anyway, and then, I’m gone.” 

Marty turned to wipe the back counter with a wet rag. 

“That would be super, sailor.” 

Marty stopped and slowly turned back to face him. “Sailor?” 

“Yeah, sailor. It’s just a nickname.” 

Marty could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Could you pick something else?” 

Logan forced his elbows up on the bar and leaned in closer. “Why? What’s wrong with ‘sailor,’ sailor ?” 

“Because I’m not a sailor, Logan. Stop using it.” 

Sensing the abrupt shift in tone, Logan seized on the opportunity with malice. 

“Ooh, did I catch a sore spot?” 

“No, just stop calling me that. Pick literally any other nickname. You can call me fuck-face, for all I care. Just not ‘sailor.’” 

“Okay, fuck-face, if that’s what you want.” 

“It is.” 

Logan’s eyes widened with glee. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t mind if I tell Colin and Finn to call you ‘fuck-face’ for the rest of time?” 

“I’m seriously telling you to use literally any other epithet to refer to me. Can you manage that?!” 

Marty’s little outburst brought Logan out of his sorry, drunken stupor long enough for him to notice the thing Marty tried his damndest to hide. His smirk was dismaying. One never really knew with these rich guys. Maybe he had a whole fleet of big, beefy guys on speed dial. Maybe with the click on a button, they’d be here in minutes to pummel him to the ground and beat him senseless. Maybe Logan had the power to humiliate him for the rest of his college career using God knows what intel he’d gathered. 

Marty feared all of this, and yet—

“Do you come from a military family, Marty?” 

It was another one of those non-offensive questions Marty couldn’t refute, even if it felt like a punch in the gut. 

“Why do you care, Logan?” 

“I don’t. I’m just making conversation.” 

“Right.” 

“I just can’t for the life of me figure out why a moniker like ‘sailor’ would piss you off so much, unless there was something to that anger.” 

Marty sighed, feeling caught. “My dad was in the Navy, as were his father and grandfather before him.” 

Logan looked genuinely surprised. “Really? Well, good on me for correctly guessing the sailor thing. You definitely have the build for it.” 

“The what ?!”

“Well, you definitely don’t look like a Marine. You’re too smart to be in the Army. You took the sailor thing too seriously for it to be the freakin’ Coast Guard. It’s gotta be either the Navy or the Air Force.” 

“I’m not in the military, Logan.”

“You’re practically a legacy!” 

“No, that’s you, Mr. Pulitzer.” 

“Can’t argue with that, now, can I?” 

“Nope.” 

“So, why aren’t you deployed off the coast of Guam or something right now?” 

“Why would I be–?” 

“If you’re this fourth generation heir apparent of the U.S. Navy, why didn’t you enlist?” 

Marty shrugged, gathering the last of the champagne flutes.  

“Just wasn’t in the cards for me.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I’m the youngest of three brothers. The first two took that route, to varying success, and I–it just wasn’t my scene.” 

“Why not?” Logan challenged, taking a long sip of his drink. 

Marty let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t particularly want to live on a ship in the middle of the ocean for months on end with a bunch of smelly, horny guys.” 

“Don’t you live in a dorm?” 

“Ah, but there are enough girls on the first and second floors to stave off the loneliness.” 

“Touché,” Logan relented, laughing a little. 

There it was again: the laugh that slid from his mouth like warm butter. Marty made it a point to memorize people’s laughs. As a student of comedy, it was his mission to bring out the most authentic and full-throated laughs from everyone he met. Somehow, he’d gotten this one out of Logan twice, without even meaning to do it. For some inexplicable reason, Marty didn’t actively despise the sound of it. 

Yes, he was painfully jealous of Logan’s ease and charm. Yes, the guy’s access to money, connections, and girls gave Marty too many reasons to listen to the little green monster on his too-broad shoulder. Everything about Logan Huntzberger drove Marty nuts: his perfect hair, his perfect grades, and his utterly perfect life. It was all just so infuriating. 

Still, something about Logan was unnerving in a way Marty couldn’t explain away with his hatred. It was a feeling held in the deepest part of his gut, one typically reserved for scenes in films that brought on memories he didn’t want to look at too hard or too long. Marty would sometimes see Logan at parties or around campus, and his insides would twist themselves into tight knots. He easily turned this strange feeling into “God, get a load of this asshole.” 

Tonight, it wasn’t working. 

“What brought you to Yale?” Logan asked, unprompted. 

“I’m an English major with a cinema studies minor.” 

“Have we got ourselves a little screenwriter?” 

“No way. I don’t write films. I just watch ‘em.” 

“Why not make cinema studies your major then?” 

“My dad wouldn’t exactly be thrilled if I followed my passions all the way down into unemployment.” 

“The same can be said of an English degree.” 

“Not if you become a teacher.”

Logan scoffed. “Why on God’s green Earth would you go and do something like that?” 

“Because my mom is a high school English teacher.” Marty said, looking up and smiling slightly. 

Logan looked surprised. “Oh. Well, that’s—sweet?” 

Marty looked back, incredulous. Logan laughed awkwardly and admitted, “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to compliment middle class virtue without it sounding condescending.” 

Marty shrugged. “You’re not wrong, exactly. Even the teacher thing is a compromise.” 

“Well then, fuck-face, what do you want to do?” 

Marty laughed out loud, before realizing no one had ever asked him that question, not even his mother. Everyone always told him what he should do. He was used to that. He’d spent so much of his life living in the shadows of his older brothers. 

Stephen was perfect . He was the oldest and completely untouchable. He’d been accepted to the Naval Academy after scoring in the sixtieth percentile on the ASVAB Test. He graduated with honors and moved up the ranks fairly quickly. He’d served all over the world, and now held a cushy job in Norfolk at the Naval Station. As if that wasn’t nearly enough prestige, Stephen met and married his wife at the ripe age of twenty-five. Now, ten years later, they were still going strong with two boys and a dog. 

Cole—well, he was decidedly less than perfect. 

Marty, having been a late in life pregnancy for his overbearing mother, fell somewhere in the middle. He was clearly his mother’s favorite—her baby boy—and that fact prevented his strict father from treating him too harshly. Like his mother, he liked to read and planned to become a high school English teacher. Unlike his mother, he preferred to spend most of his free time devouring 80s B-movies and Japanese cinema. He liked watching endless amounts of the Marx Brothers on VHS and listening to Nichols and May on the vinyl he inherited from his grandfather. He treated Saturday Night Live like church, always making time every Saturday at 11:30pm to watch. He’d even seen some of the shitty seasons from the early 80s. 

Marty approached his life with an enduring sense of humor, which never seemed to impress anyone outside of his small circle of Yale friends. Even his mother would tell him how important it was to get serious, especially since he took the “alternative path”. He fiercely rejected his patrilineal naval inheritance and spent every waking moment trying to live that decision down by studying long hours and working endless catering jobs, all so he could afford to keep his scholarship. For all the prestige going to Yale might bring others, to Marty’s father–or, his Uncle, it was an ill-suited path for one of his boys. The old man had tried in vain to persuade Marty to, at the very least, enlist and spend a few years giving his life to his country before joining the Ivy Leaguers on the GI Bill. That was the correct path. 

Marty wouldn’t have it. He would not become his brother and live a life he didn’t want, just to please others. He was going to—well, he wasn’t sure yet, but that’s what Yale was for: he was going to find himself there. 

“I like bartending.” He admitted. 

“That’s not exactly a long-term career goal, though. Why go to Yale if you could just bartend for me from here until kingdom come?” Logan gave a cheeky, almost boyish grin. There it was again–the weird feeling turning over and over in Marty’s gut. 

“At Yale, I can read as many books and watch as many films as I want without my dad telling me I’m wasting my life every day.” 

“If I had a nickel for every time my old man used that exact phrase to describe me, I’d have a fortune of my own.” 

The once cheeky grin had twisted into a bitter frown. In the light of day, it would be easy to assume Logan Huntzberger, in all his infinite privilege and entitlement, was a guy incapable of self-reflection. It would be easy to assume he lacked self-awareness and lived his life according to his most unreasonable and unrealistic whims, like a child given all the sweets in the world. When Marty thought about Logan, he saw Mike TV and Augustus Gloop. He’d practically giggle to himself imagining Logan drowning in chocolate or trapped in a TV set. Hell, he once thought about Logan’s face getting eaten by rabid squirrels. These cruel fantasies were the only things his wandering brain could think up to get through Logan’s outlandish parties. Sure, they were mean, but Logan had all the money and girls in the world. Hadn’t he already won? 

It was harder to accept these things about Logan in the shadows of the pink and purple strobes fluttering around the ballroom. He stared listlessly into his empty glass. His face took on a certain melancholy typically reserved for those devoid of any meaning in their lives. It was the most vulnerable Logan had ever looked in the many months they’d known of each other. 

Whiskey really was the truth serum, after all. 

“He thinks you’re wasting your life away at Yale University? You’d think most fathers would be thrilled by the prospect.” 

“Mmm, more like I’m wasting my time with parties like this and friends like Colin and Finn.” Logan said bitterly. He pushed his glass towards Marty to clean and turned in his barstool to look out over the tables and decorations. 

“Maybe he’s right.” Marty said, unhelpfully. He meant it to be inspiring, like “Maybe you need to meet some guys who aren’t assholes and stop dating women for sport.” Then again, somehow, Marty’s attempts at comfort always got messed up somehow. 

Logan spun around, eyes flaming. “Excuse me? What did you just say?” 

Marty shrank back immediately. “I’m–I’m sorry, that was—that was completely out of line.” 

“Yes. It was.” 

“I’m sorry.”

Logan scoffed, stood up, and started walking about the ballroom. Out of nowhere, he started ripping down pink streamers one by one. He kicked cardboard cutouts of the Sex and the City ladies and tore a few of the pink tulle tablecloths in half. He picked up a bouquet of roses and threw it on the hardwood floor. It shattered, causing Logan to jump back and sit down at one of the empty tables. Marty only stared, before quickly washing and drying Logan’s glass in the bar sink. 

“Logan—“ He started, walking out from behind the bar. 

“Oh, don’t start.” Logan said, rubbing his temples. 

“I was just gonna say, I’m, uh, done cleaning the bar.” 

Logan looked up to meet Marty’s gaze, eyes red. 

“Oh.” 

Marty held up his thumb and pointed towards the exit. “I can—I’m gonna leave, unless you need any more help?” 

Logan waved at him dismissively. “No, the clean up crew is arriving in the morning. Go ahead.” 

“Okay.” 

Marty stuffed his tips deep into his left pants pocket. Grabbing his backpack, he shuffled towards the exit, before calling out over his shoulder, “Bye, Logan. Have a good night.” 

Logan sent him a curt nod. Marty reached the elevators, pushed the “down” button. By the time he‘d walked in, turned around, and looked up, Logan’s arm slipped haphazardly through the large metal doors. The doors opened abruptly to reveal him, hurried and panting. 

“What the—!? Logan? What are you doing?” 

“Thought I’d go down with you, Marty. See you off.” 

“Uh—okay. Sure.” 

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Logan asked, “Hey, do you need a ride anywhere?” 

“Nope. I drove here from my parents in Maryland.” 

Logan looked up, his mouth gaping. “Wait, let me get this straight. You drove here from Maryland just to tend bar at my party?” 

The surprised, almost amused expression on Logan’s face indicated whatever caused his previous rich boy tantrum was now far from his mind. 

“Technically, it was Ashlee’s party. And, yeah. I needed the cash.” 

“I bet you have a job back home, though, don’t you?” 

Marty nodded. “I had a Summer internship at the State Department in DC. It ended last week.” 

“Whoa, how did you manage to score that?” 

Marty shrugged. “Dad, brother, Navy…” 

“Really?” 

“Yup.” Marty said, grateful the conversation was almost over. 

The elevator dinged. The doors opened. The two of them walked out and on towards the building’s exit. 

“Guess I’ll see you around this semester?” Logan said, pushing the gold bar on the glass door with his left hand. 

“Guess so.” Marty agreed, walking out in front of Logan. He got about five steps towards his car when—

“Hey, Marty?” Logan asked. 

“Yeah?” Marty replied, turning back to face him. 

“Let me put you up somewhere. I’d feel pretty crappy if you drove back to Maryland at this hour and got hit by a drunk driver or something.” 

Marty shook his head. “No thanks. You paid me plenty for this job. It’s not that long of a drive, especially this time of night. 95 is a breeze.” He let the long “ee” sound fall out of his mouth. 

“I’m going back to the hotel anyway.” Logan insisted. “I got a few rooms cause I didn’t want to go home tonight and face the disappointment on Shira’s pinched, wine-flushed face. Why don’t you follow me there and just crash with us until the morning?” 

“Logan—“ 

“My drunkenness has faded and in its place is unwavering stubbornness. You can’t say no to me.”  

“I bet you tell all the girls that.” 

“I’ll allow that not-so-thinly-veiled remark if you just come back with me and crash for a few hours.” 

It was tempting, but not because of the free room or the continental breakfast. It was tempting because he’d driven all day, worked a six-hour party, and played therapist to a playboy for the last thirty minutes. All he wanted to do was sleep. Also, Logan was one step removed from being totally wasted, and it might be funny to watch him puke his guts at 3AM. 

“Okay, I’ll stay, but there’s no way you’re driving in this state.” Marty pointed to Logan’s ruffled, untucked shirt and wrinkled slacks. "Don't you have a car service?” 

Logan looked around for a moment, as if he half-expected there to be one already waiting for him. When he realized his cell phone was dead and the parking lot was well and truly empty, he said, “Ashlee and the girls must have taken it.” 

Marty sighed. “Alright, come on. Just tell me how to get there.”

Chapter Text

“Two wrongs make it all alright tonight…” 

-“Split Screen Sadness,” John Mayer

Half-an-hour later, Marty was sitting in the most expensive hotel room he’d ever seen. 

European-sized pillows lined the pair of queen beds. They were covered in white, large thread count linens. Marty ran his fingertips across the bed topper, amazed to find it wasn’t scratchy or remotely thread bare. The walls were painted a tasteful eggshell color, rather than covered in textured wallpapers typically found in most hotels. The desk and entertainment system were both made of dark mahogany wood. The side chair was covered in a blue colonialist style pattern detailing hunters, hound dogs, and little foxes. 

While Logan procured ice and snacks, Marty explored the room with awe and complete disbelief. He wandered around in a daze and picked up each and every little thing, from the fancy pen and pad sitting on the desk, to the bathroom soaps and three-ply toilet paper filling the exquisitely-designed water closet. To call it a “bathroom” would have been insulting to the pristine Spanish tile floors and marble countertops.  

Marty heard himself scoff and gasp audibly at each new discovery. He couldn’t believe any of it was real. It had to be some sort of drug-induced hallucination. Maybe Logan had slipped him something that night so they could bring him here, tie him up, and take turns riding him like a donkey so they could spread photos of the entire thing. He wouldn’t put it past those drunken jerks. It would be just his luck that they’d humiliate him like that. 

“I hope you like pine nuts and tequila. That’s all those assholes left in the mini bar.” 

Marty walked out of the bathroom to see Logan with his arms full of pine nuts and six teeny tiny bottles of expensive tequila. 

“I thought they went to O’Furley’s.” 

“So did I. I went to their room to raid their minibar, but they were already there, laying on the floor and chugging tiny bottles of whiskey in under twenty seconds like their lives depended on it.” 

“You’ve got some great friends there, Huntzberger.” 

Logan grinned. “They have their moments.” He laid out his stash across the desk so they could make their choices. 

“Name one.” 

“Finn once saved me from drowning.” Logan said. 

“What?” Marty asked, eyes wide. 

“Pro tip: Don’t go skinny dipping after chugging eight beers and four shots of vodka. Apparently, it’s not good for you.” 

“Where was this?” 

“We went to Jamaica the summer after freshman year. It was all fun and games until the medics got there and lectured me about the dangers of swimming and drinking while I was completely naked under one of those thermal blankets. I hate to admit it, but I could barely understand a word they said, even though they must have been speaking English. Colin had a Jamaican nanny when he was a kid so he translated for us.” 

“Jesus.” Marty said, reaching for one of the tiny bottles. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig. He regretted it instantly, but kept nursing the thing anyway.  

“That’s not even the most insane thing we’ve ever done. You should see us when we go to Aspen. The tales I could tell…” 

“Aspen?” 

“Don’t tell me—you’ve never been to Aspen?” 

Marty frowned. “Not that I remember.” 

“That’s a shame. It’s no Chamonix-Mont-Blanc, but it’s a quaint weekend get-away.” 

“Logan, why am I here?” 

“What do you mean? I thought you were here to sleep.” 

“I am, but it looks like all you want to do is drink some more and brag about French chateaus and Jamaican vacations.” 

“Do you want me to leave? The hallway floor is quite comfortable, I hear.”

“No, I just want you to stop acting like you’re better than me.” 

“What makes you think—“ 

“Oh, Logan. Come on.” 

“What??” 

“Are you really that drunk or just completely oblivious?” 

“I’ll--admit my faculties are impaired slightly, but I’m not an idiot. We’re just having a conversation!” 

“One I’m not rich enough to have, apparently.” Marty mumbled. 

“What is up with you and the money thing? You never shut up about it!” 

“Because I don’t have any!” 

“I’m not sure how that’s my fault.” 

“It’s not! But you could be a little more…normal.” 

Logan gestured to the room. “This is my normal.” 

“Because you only hang out with guys like Colin and Finn! All you know is money and doing ridiculously stupid shit, all so your parents can waltz in afterwards and clean up your messes. Not all of us have that luxury.” Marty snapped. 

“I’m not sure what this has to do with us eating a few pine nuts, Marty.” Logan said, holding up a canister of them. 

“It has everything to do with it. I could never afford to stay in a place like this, much less partake in the mini bar’s numerous goodies.” 

“I wouldn’t say numerous, but—“ 

“See! That’s exactly my point. You don’t even see how badly most of us have it.” 

“Yes, because a guy who goes to Yale and gets to do whatever he wants with his life has it so bad. You have no idea how lucky you are. You get to parade around school as a free agent, dating and living exactly how you want.” 

“But it’s all at a cost. I’m on scholarship , Logan. I have to tend bar at your outrageous parties just to be able to feed myself.” 

“What about your family? Surely they’re paying for—” 

“Nope. I’m completely on my own. That was the deal. I had to make all this happen on my own . And you?” Marty scoffed. “You get to spend as much money as you want and act like an asshole because everyone is too scared to tell you the truth.” 

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the truth about me, then? What could you tell me that I don’t already think about myself?” 

“You’re a baby , Logan.” 

“ Excuse me?” 

“You’re an entitled little trust fund brat, and if you weren’t so charming, handsome, and rich, no one would put up with it.” 

Logan bit his lip and fell backwards on the bed. “God, stop flirting with me.” 

What?

“I—huh? what?” 

Logan sighed. “This has happened before. I’m sorry I can’t reciprocate, Marty, but you know my needs are mostly met by those of the opposite sex.” 

“You cannot be serious.” 

“Oh, but I am. I know how it is. I went to an all boy’s boarding school. When the drinks come out and there are no girls to be had, some guys—well, you know.” 

“You’re insane. I’m not flirting with you. I’m telling you off for being such a self-righteous jerk.” 

“Same difference,” Logan smirked. 

“Are you really telling me you interpret every single outright condemnation of your character and behavior as someone flirting with you?” 

“How else would I take it?“ 

“Wow.” 

“What?” 

“I knew you were kind of an asshole, but I didn’t think you were that much of a narcissist.” 

“Hey, I’m not a narcissist. I think about everyone else all the time. I planned a whole party for this chick I’ve known for all of a month.” 

“How thoughtful of you.” 

“What makes you think you know anything about me, anyway?” 

“Besides the fact that you flaunt your life around campus like a peacock? All of you rich entitled brats are the same.” 

Logan sat up and stood, index finger pointed in Marty’s face. “You have no fucking clue what my life is like! Every single day of it is scheduled down to the last second. I don’t get to build a life like you, reading, being, and studying whatever I want. I’m not permitted to have a life of my own. My future is planned, my bags are packed, and my lot in life is set. It’s been set since the day I was born. After graduation, I’m headed straight for a corner office in my father’s company, whether I want it or not. How dare you call me entitled and spoiled when all that’s in front of me is family obligation and utter fucking misery.” 

Marty’s eyes widened in disbelief. He shook his head, feeling the rage right behind his eyeballs. 

“Oh right, because I have no idea what it’s like to have a dynastic plan laid out for me, all the way down to the shoes I’m supposed to wear. But you know what? I chose differently. Yes, it sucks when I’m walking home late after an event, exhausted and ready to die, but the thing is— it’s mine and mine alone.” 

“Well, good for you.” Logan taunted. “It’s a luxury you shouldn’t waste.” 

“So is the good fortune you were born into, Logan. You don’t have to blow it all on parties, trips, and alcohol. You could get a minor in whatever you want, take some new classes.” 

“Oh, fuck off, Marty.” 

Marty finally sat down next to him on the bed.

“I’m serious, Logan. What is it you’re actually passionate about?” 

“I don’t even know! I hate school. I’m a decent student, but I can’t stand sitting there like a jackass and pretending to care beyond outright besmirching my family’s good name. I just don’t care.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Logan, come on. I’ve read your stuff in the paper. You’re not a bad writer. You have interesting opinions on just about everything, especially business and the economy. Your education isn’t a waste. Fucking use it.” 

Logan gave him side-eye. “You’ve read my work in the Daily News ?” 

The smirk on Logan’s face almost– almost– made Marty blush. He really hated how easily Logan waltzed through every social interaction. One could almost believe he was someone worthy of trusting and liking. Then, as always, he’d say some truly out-of-touch or unwarranted thing, and Marty couldn’t even be offended because it wasn’t really offensive. It was just the swagger with which he said things that made Marty want to throttle him. 

“Well, sure. A friend of mine writes for it too, so I find myself picking it up from time to time.” 

“Friend, huh? I wouldn’t read a school paper, even if Colin or Finn wrote for it.” 

Marty shrugged. “Well, maybe that’s the difference between you and me. Maybe I’m just a better friend.” 

“No, I think you’ve got a thing for this ‘friend’ that goes beyond feelings of the platonic variety. It’s a girl, isn’t it?” 

Marty blushed against his will. “I mean, yes it’s a girl, but I wouldn’t say I like her like—that.” 

“Riiiiight.” 

“I mean, not that she isn’t pretty, smart, and a generally great person. She is! I mean, she might be the smartest girl I’ve ever met—the smartest person really. And she’s like, stunning in the way she has no idea. She doesn’t even have to try . She just is .” 

“Woah.” Logan said, eyes wide. 

“What?” 

“Little Marty has a crush!” Logan poked Marty in the ribs. He yelped. 

“No, I don’t!” 

“The Nile isn’t just a river in Egypt, my good man.” 

“Geez, Logan, will you lay off it?! Not everyone is interested in fucking every woman under twenty-five in a ten mile radius.” 

“No, but you certainly want to take that one for a spin.” 

“Gross. I’m leaving now.” Marty stood up, but Logan pulled him back down by the forearm. 

“Marty, just admit you have a thing for this girl!” 

“No! This is stupid. I should have just gone home.”

“Marty, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just say it!”

“Fine! I like her, okay?! Are you happy now?!” 

“Oh, just plum pleased, really.” Logan lifted his chin in triumph. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Marty went to fiddle with a loose thread on his black jeans. 

“Why not?” 

“Cause she’d—she’d never go for me.” 

“Again I ask: why not?” 

“Look at me! I’m a glorified cocktail waiter. I’m broke, awkward, and too fucking tall.” 

“Maybe broke, awkward giants with a knack for making great drinks turn her on. Girls have been into much weirder stuff.” 

Marty gave him an incredulous look. “Wow, yeah, thanks for that. I feel much better now.” 

Logan wrapped his arm around Marty’s shoulder. Marty resisted the urge to flinch. 

“Oh, come on, Marty. You never know unless you try! Besides, if I were a certain kind of girl, I’d be ecstatic if you took me to the sock hop.” 

“Jesus Christ, why am I even talking to you about this?” 

“Because I doubt any of your loser sophomore friends could help you out in the girl department more than I can.” 

Marty nodded reluctantly. ”You are Yale’s resident man slut.” 

“Ah, don’t make me blush.” 

“Ha! As if.” A weird goat laugh bubbled up and out of his throat.

“Well—maybe you could.” The temperature in the room dropped a solid ten degrees. 

“What do you mean?” Marty looked over at Logan, something unknown stirring in his gut. 

“I mean—well, as Yale’s resident man slut…I’ve been known to…dabble.” 

“Dabble?” Marty asked, dumbly. 

Logan rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Marty, do I have to spell it out for you? It’s not exactly something I discuss openly, but—you know, all boys boarding school and all that.” 

Marty’s brow furrowed…then. 

Oh.  

Marty gulped. “So, you’re—” 

“Gay? God, no. At least, not in that way.” 

“Right, and which way would that be?” 

Logan waved him off. “Oh, you know. Like obsessed with Angels in America and Cabaret ? Grew up on Gloria Estefan and Madonna? The poor kid from Laramie, Wyoming? That kind. That’s definitely not me.” 

“Okay.”

“More like–well, more like this kind.” 

Logan’s hand moved two inches closer to Marty’s thigh, barely touching him. Marty stared at Logan’s hand. His mouth fell open, before he promptly closed it. As if he’d been burned, Logan rescinded his offer. 

“Sorry–uh, sorry. Fuck. I thought–uh, fuck . Nevermind.” Logan stood up abruptly and walked towards the bathroom. He held and rubbed at his chest, just above his heart. 

At that, Marty’s mouth fell open again. “You thought…what?” 

When his gaze returned, Logan’s eyes were glassy. “I don’t know what I thought.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Marty. I’m sure.” 

“Okay, cause you know, I mean—you could tell me if—” 

Logan was already pulling his suit jacket off a wooden hanger from the closet. 

“Oh, save it, Cassidy. I don’t need whatever pseudo-Freudian psychoanalysis you learned in Psych 101 last year telling me what or who I am based on a single drunken mistake.” 

“Relax, Logan. I wasn’t! I was just–” 

“I don’t want to hear this. I’m going to crash with Colin and Finn. You can have the room.” Logan said, gesturing towards the room with a flourish. 

Marty stood. “Logan, wait–” 

“If you’re not out of here by 7AM, there will be trouble. Got it?” 

Marty walked a few steps closer. “Logan—“ 

“ God , what? What do you want ?” Logan practically spit the words at him. 

“I–I get it.” 

“You get what ?”

“There’s–” Marty rubbed at the back of his neck. “There’s another reason why my dad cut me out of his life.” 

“There is?” Logan asked, standing by the door, hand already poised on the handle to leave. 

Marty looked down, ashamed. “Well, it was more what he assumed, but he wasn’t wrong exactly .” 

“Wrong about what?” 

Marty looked up, his own eyes pricking with tears. Logan clenched his jaw. Something passed between the two of them. Some new, odd sense of closeness was realized. Suddenly, it all made sense–the overcompensating, the parties, the bucking against his father’s rigidity…why Logan pretended not to know his name. It all matched his own desperate attempts at keeping up appearances. It all fell into the narrative of “normalcy” Marty had never quite mastered.  It was like, “Oh–wow. You too?” 

“You don’t have to go to Colin and Finn’s room.” Marty said firmly. 

“No?” 

“No.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“For?” Logan asked, laying his jacket over an upholstered bench. 

“I just—I didn’t know that you, and now I know that you, and I–uh–” 

Logan smirked. “You’re rambling. Spit it out, Marty.” 

“I dabble,” Marty blurted. “–too.” 

It was Logan’s turn to look surprised. “Oh?” 

Marty nodded. 

Then, Logan smiled, and for a second, Marty wondered if he should turn back. He couldn’t imagine this going well. Even if–well, even if this was a thing tonight, what would stop Logan from telling the entire Yale student body that Marty came onto him in a drunken stupor or something? What was to stop Logan, Colin, and Finn from mercilessly bullying him over this?

He’d done it all once before, when his father–no, Uncle – caught him in the basement with another kid from AV Club. He’d been through the ringer already, when he’d been forced to go to confession and detail everything to Father McKellen, only to be told to recite ten Hail Mary’s and promise never to do it again. He could not do this again, even if Logan’s dark eyes beckoned him ever closer. 

“Well, then–” Logan said. 

“Wait,” Marty said, turning away. 

“What is it now?” 

“You’ll find some way to use this against me.” 

“Will I?” 

“You will. It’s your MO. Casual cruelty.” 

Logan frowned. “This is different.” 

“How so?” Marty asked, turning back to face him. Logan was only a few feet away, but walked closer still. Marty felt himself backing up until his calves hit the front of the armchair. 

“Because I have more to lose, fuck-face.” 

“You do?”

“Obviously. How do you think it would look if Mitchum Huntzberger’s son was found canoodling with the help after dark? A guy , no less?” 

Marty frowned. “You’re talking me out of this.” 

“That implies you were into it.” 

“I—” 

“Marty, relax. We don’t have to do anything. The simple notion that you would be into it is pretty much all I give a shit about.” 

“What makes you think—“ 

Before Marty could finish his sentence, Logan was kissing him. 

It was—curious. It was nothing like Marty expected it to be. The last time he did this, the kid from AV club was just one of his loser friends. They’d been horsing around, got a little carried away, and ended up horizontal on the couch in his parents’ basement. It was awkward and weird and only sort of enjoyable. It lasted maybe three minutes before his dad found them there. Marty joked to his best friend Carrey later on that it was a shame he went through so much grief for kissing a guy, when it wasn’t even that good . 

This was—well, it wasn’t good, exactly. It was baffling. To have Yale’s resident man whore’s hands on his face, neck, and torso was simultaneously bizarre and, dare he think it, exciting. 

Logan pulled away slowly, his ragged breath lingering just the slightest bit away from Marty’s lips. He must have sensed his trepidation. 

“Is this—“ 

Marty nodded vigorously. “Keep going.” 

And they were at it again. Marty finally responded in kind and pulled Logan in by the belt buckle. Logan came  along easily and landed square against Marty’s lower hips. Marty was startled by his own control, his strange urge to push and prod the guy he hated an hour ago. He felt oddly powerful in this context. He felt like he could tell Logan what to do and Logan would be equally enthralled by the shift in dynamic.

Maybe he still hated Logan Huntzberger, but the flip side of that hate was some strange desire to devour him. Some part of him–the twisty gut stuff, probably–wanted to know Logan the way he wanted to know girls like Rory Gilmore. To trace their skin with his fingertips and memorize their back moles. It was almost too weird for words—too absurd. To want someone he actively despised was fun in a way wanting someone he liked never was. Liking Rory was tortuous. He thought about her constantly, wishing he could stop being such a big lug and ask her out once and for all. He could be the stable guy she longed for, considering her exes were chaotic, stupid, or both for letting her slip away. He’d never do anything to hurt her. He really liked her. 

But this—kissing Logan was exhilarating . Was it the tequila talking? 

At some point, they’d found themselves plastered up against the wall, Logan pliant and panting in his ear. They were a mix of tongues, hands, and groins. Logan tasted like liquor and smelled like luxury cologne. Marty couldn’t place the brand to save his life, but the notes were something dark and sinister, but also sweet, like vanilla and leather. Logan groaned against his mouth and grasped at his waist. It was godly in a way going to Sunday Mass never could be. In that moment, Marty realized he wanted nothing more than to see Logan staring up at him, mouth full of--

Wait, what? Where the fuck did that come from? 

Marty let go and fell away, immediately beginning to pace the length of the room. 

Blurry-eyed and dazed, Logan asked, “Hey, what gives? I was enjoying that.” 

“Jesus, Logan. What are we doing ?” 

“Fucking, hopefully.” 

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Logan, this is insanity. We’re like…hooking up! What the fuck?” 

Logan pursed his lips. “Well, do you want to stop?” 

“I—what?” Marty stood still, looking up at him. 

“We can stop, if you want.” 

“Stop?” 

“Sure. I’m not trying to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” 

“I—I don’t.” 

“You don’t–what?” 

“I don’t want to stop. I just want you to acknowledge this is weird .” 

“Why?” 

“Because it is. Logan, I work for you.” 

Logan shrugged. “It isn’t that weird for me.” 

“Why not?” 

Logan sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. He bit his lip and looked off towards the far window. Maybe he was drunk, but it didn’t read that way. He didn’t speak for the longest time. Then–

“It can’t be any weirder than the rest of my life. Yes, I like women, booze, and partying, but sometimes, I wish there was something else too. Despite what you may think, I’ve always tried to do what was expected of me. I’ve failed on almost all accounts but am still well-aware of the consequences if any of it goes south. Basically, I’m well-acquainted with the feeling of living a lie. At least, here, I’m doing something because it feels right , you know? I know you think this–whatever it is we are–is weird, but to me, it feels right.” 

Marty’s stomach twisted again, but this time, he recognized it for what it was. It was so many things wrapped up in one physical motion. It was arousal and desire as much as it was empathy and warmth. There was something else in there too–something akin to fear. Logan’s vulnerability was scarier than his cruelty. To watch as someone usually so poised and in control speak so candidly about the jagged edges of his so-called perfect life–well, it reminded Marty that Logan was more than just his short-term employer or the rich, blonde asshole from Yale.  Logan was also a human being capable of feeling the same emotion Marty had felt his entire life. It was difficult to name, but it was there all the same. They were outsiders, looking in on their lives through the window, present but never a part of. How strange to have found another soul like him, in the most unlikely of people. 

“My dad isn’t really my dad.” Marty admitted blankly. 

“What do you mean?” Logan asked. 

“My–my Uncle Jerry is my real dad.” 

Marty watched as Logan’s face went through all the different stages of grief. Then, he said, “As in, your mom had an affair with your dad’s brother? Or–uh, something worse?” 

“The former.” Marty said, sitting down on the side of the bed. 

“Oh.”

“I just found out this summer.” 

Logan exhaled loudly. “...Oh.” 

“Yeah, so–I get the whole living a lie thing. I guess I was too.” 

Logan nodded, swallowing back something harsh. “So, then–” 

“I’m sorry I assumed all that stuff about you.” 

“Well, you weren’t entirely wrong. I am a little spoiled. I’m also just stuck in a world I don’t like.”

“Could you–could you ever leave?” 

Logan shook his head, wandering over to sit at the foot of the bed. 

“No. That’s not an option.” 

“Why not?” 

“Aside from the promise of money and inheritance, I can’t leave my mom and sister. Mitchum can choke for all I care, but those two need me.” 

Marty nodded. “I guess I can understand that.” 

“This is all I have that's mine.” Logan said, letting his hand trail up and down Marty’s forearm. 

“You mean–”

“This part of myself–I don’t share it with anyone else.” 

“Me neither.” Marty agreed. 

“So–” 

“So–” 

Their eyes met, and suddenly, it was like the entire world stood aside so they could be there–together. It meant nothing, but it also meant everything. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Logan said.

Three hours later, Marty woke to soft snoring. 

Logan was splayed out beside him, naked and pretty in the way only blonde men can be. Careful not to wake him, Marty got up, took a piss, and shoved his clothes back on, allowing himself a few quick glances at Logan’s sleeping figure. He snuck out of the hotel room before the clock struck 7:15am. 

To wake up beside him would have been a mistake. 

Who’s to say what the hungover Huntzberger might say in the wake of what they’d done? As Marty drove the five hours back to Maryland, he contemplated the way Logan’s fists coiled in his curly hair, how surprised he was to learn Logan let all pretenses go once the lights went out. Marty considered an alternate universe in which he would have stayed–what they could have whispered to each other in the early morning light. 

‘No way,’ he thought. There is to be none of that. Yes, the night was fun and stupid and surprising, but that was it. There was to be no pining or fantasies of would’ve, could’ve, should’ve. It was done. He’d be surprised if Logan remembered any of it at all. 

He drove back to the suburban house in Maryland that no longer felt like home–back, to the parents he no longer trusted and the Uncle-turned-father he didn’t recognize. He made a new plan for the new academic year. 

Step 1: Reconnect with Rory Gilmore. 

Step 2: If she’s single, ask her out. 

Step 3: Avoid Logan Huntzberger like the plague.