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It certainly wasn't every day that Logan came back to the apartment to find his roommate in tears, but he could hardly call it a rare occurrence either. Roman was prone to...extreme shows of emotion over a great many things, and Logan, who had difficulty interpreting the reactions of others on most days, often wasn't sure how seriously he should take it. Over the months during which the two of them had been cohabitating together, Logan had seen Roman cry about a failed audition (serious), a stubbed toe (not particularly serious), an uncommonly pretty boy that he saw on the bus who disembarked before he had the chance to talk to him (not at all serious, if you asked Logan), several songs (undetermined), a fight with his parents (definitely serious) and his brother having managed to land a boyfriend (judgment pending until Logan could gather more information about both Roman's brother and said boyfriend).
Which was all to say, when Logan arrived at their door to the sight of Roman curled up and sobbing into one of the cushions of their couch, he found himself freezing momentarily, not unlike the cliche of a deer caught on the freeway, because action may indeed have been needed, but Logan didn't have the slightest clue where to start.
Inquiry must necessarily come first, he supposed.
"Are you...alright?" he asked.
When Roman looked up at him briefly, eyes red and painful looking amid the overall redder mess of his face, only to begin crying harder, Logan came to the conclusion that this event was almost certainly serious, and pushed himself toward further action.
"A moment."
He set his bag on the recliner and left the living room for the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and set it on the table in front of Roman before digging through his bag for the package of tissues and the small bottle of ibuprofen he usually carried with him. He showed Roman both, to the result of an immediate blank stare in return.
Deciding that his presence might not be immediately wanted, Logan left him to have a moment to himself while he completed his usual coming-home routine, putting his bags away and changing into indoor shoes and more comfortable clothes. He contemplated dinner—which would have been Roman's responsibility tonight. It seemed unlikely at this point that Roman's mood would improve significantly enough that he would want to handle cooking. He likewise doubted that Roman would be eager to leave the house to pick up takeout. Frowning, Logan brought out his phone.
Roman often fell back on pizza as one of his comfort foods, so that was probably a safe bet. Then, based on previous patterns involving events of high emotion, he would more than likely want something with a high sugar content.
When he returned to the living room, Roman was sitting up. He was still hugging the cushion tightly, but the water glass was half empty and the tissues had clearly been employed. The evidence of his tears were still plainly visible—and Logan noted that Roman had been wearing subtle makeup before those tears had ruined it...
Roman hadn't mentioned any recent auditions, nor any other special events that he had planned to attend that would have had him 'putting on his best face' for the occasion. It was, however, entirely possible that he had missed mention of something less noteworthy-
Perhaps a date, though Roman typically made note of those as well.
Relationship troubles, then, most likely. Unfortunate, but at least Logan felt he had enough information to properly respond to the situation.
Logan sat down on the recliner and brought out his phone, putting the first part of his plan into action. He ordered a pizza from the place nearby that Roman patronized most frequently. The second part he was less sure of. He debated, briefly, whether he should save the money and simply head back out himself instead. But Roman had fallen apart crying in the living room, and despite having regained some measure of his composure he was still sitting there rather than having relocated himself to his room. To Logan, that seemed a likely sign that he would prefer not to be left alone...
Part two was completed with Logan ordering a strawberry milkshake from the kitschy burger restaurant that Roman enjoyed—their burgers were adequate, but Roman had written literal poetry about those milkshakes, which even Logan had been forced to agree, after the sip that Roman had pushed on him, were very much worthy of verse.
With that much taken care of, Logan at last turned his full attention to his roommate, who was staring at him almost guardedly.
Ah... Perhaps he had waited a bit too long to address Roman directly.
"I've taken care of dinner for tonight so that you needn't worry about it," Logan said, putting his phone away. "Did you...want to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?" Roman asked hoarsely.
Logan wasn't sure there was a way to honestly answer that question without having it come off as condescending, because surely Roman must know that his distress was obvious. Instead he merely raised an eyebrow and waited until Roman finally gave in with a shuddering sigh.
"It was a date," Roman said miserably, squeezing the couch cushion. "Kind of a spontaneous thing. It went bad..."
Logan nodded along—very briefly pleased with this confirmation of his hypothesis, though he at least had the tact not to show it in the face of Roman's clear distress.
"If you're feeling up to divulging further details," Logan said, "I'm more than willing to listen."
Roman seemed noticeably leery of the idea—indeed, he seemed to contemplate sharing those details with what Logan thought looked uncomfortably similar to dread.
"It started out fine, we both talked about film for a while," Roman managed at last, shoulders hunched defensively as he squeezed the couch cushion almost violently. "Then the topic turned to my acting, and then to art, and...well, he decided I wasn't smart enough for him."
And normally Logan was much better at processing information, but that certainly took a moment longer than necessary to compute.
"He what?"
"Okay, I guess if that wasn't accurate or detailed enough," Roman responded in a huff, discarding some of his earlier nerves for anger, "what he actually said was that he couldn't date a 'vapid airhead who paints dragons and fairies and has fantasies about making it in Hollywood'."
Logan felt his jaw tighten.
"It doesn't sound to me like he was worth the tears," he finally managed to say. "I'm sorry that his words affected you so."
"I'm not sure I was even crying over him," Roman managed, shoving himself back into the cushions as if he thought he could hide in them. "Just, you know, the fact that he's not actually wrong."
His voice carried the first painful hints that the tears were threatening to return, and Logan found a distinct and alarming anger pushing itself up within his chest.
"Falsehood."
Roman stared at him a moment, seeming somewhat startled by the pronunciation—or perhaps simply by its volume, as it had come out dangerously close to a shout. But the shock wore away into something more...disbelieving.
"Come on, Specs," Roman said wearily. "I appreciate the effort, but you of all people can't deny that I'm a bit, well..."
Logan wished he could take solace in the fact that Roman seemed reluctant to repeat those things about himself outright, but that didn't make the knowledge that he seemingly agreed with those sentiments—nor, especially, his belief that Logan would share them—any less...heartbreaking.
"I wholeheartedly deny it," Logan said. "In fact, I would say that such statements only serve to prove that his opinions are shallow and unworthy, and I would implore you not to give them any further consideration if at all possible."
Roman let out a snort.
"Right," Roman managed. "Because you're notably a fan of my whole...everything. I mean...you've made a lot of the same complaints"
Logan took a moment—took a breath to try and quell the outrage that was trying to make itself heard in his voice—for while he knew that his anger was warranted, the last thing he needed was for Roman to mistake that he was angry at him.
(And, unfortunately, Roman's accusation was not factually incorrect, but there was a clear misunderstanding within it that urgently needed to be addressed.)
"You are many things, Roman," Logan said, "and several of them are exasperating, but you are by no means vapid or unintelligent, or whatever other denigrating thing he may have said. And I assure you, I am indeed a fan of a great many more things about you."
"Name one," Roman challenged.
Fortunately, Logan had always been very good at surprise tests, because suddenly this felt like one that he couldn't afford to fail.
"You aren't always the most attentive," Logan began, frowning as he realized that was probably not the best way to open up, "nor does remembering things always come easy for you, but you apply yourself admirably when something attracts your focus. In fact you're an impressively fast learner when something holds your interest. While I'm not always particularly moved by the subject matter of your paintings, only an ignorant fool would make the mistake of thinking they aren't technically skilled. Your application of color and contrast are both remarkable, and I may not be tremendously interested in 'painted dragons and fairies' but I've never failed to find the compositions of your paintings striking."
Roman stared back at him, expression still disbelieving—if perhaps, now, a little stunned—and so Logan simply forged ahead.
"And I may not have made any secret of my biases against theater," Logan continued, "but I have never been anything but impressed with your talents in that regard, especially taking your difficulties with memorization into account. And my skepticism that Hollywood is an achievable goal has more to do with the industry itself than any lack of ability on your part."
Logan thought that Roman might have begun to look a bit dazed, but at this point he was almost afraid to stop.
"While I don't always understand the things that drive you," Logan said, "your passion is always admirable. And if your wit sometimes frustrates me, it's often because I've never been the best at intuiting how appropriate it would be to quip back. You're tremendously sensitive, and yet the way that you continue putting yourself out there, regardless, shows nothing but the most enviable amount of courage. In fact-"
He was surprised to find himself interrupted by a knock at the door, and it took him several seconds more to process that's what it was, and to realize what it was for-
"I- Excuse me."
(It was probably not the best move he could have made, walking away from Roman's expression of frozen and almost alarmed bafflement, but he didn't want the delivery driver to be left waiting.)
By the time Logan returned with Roman's milkshake and the bag that had come with it, Roman had recovered from some of his shock. His confusion, however, still remained—and, indeed, grew as he laid eyes on the items in Logan's hands.
"What is this?"
"A strawberry milkshake and apple fritter donut holes from Flippers' Burgers," Logan answered, setting them on the table in front of him. "I don't know how well they will pair with the pizza that is still on its way, but it's been my observation that you typically handle upset through the consumption of grease and sugar, and...you've shown a particular fondness for them."
Roman stared at him a few moments more, his confusion having turned suddenly pensive, like he was trying to solve some manner of puzzle.
"You know, Logan..." Roman managed slowly, "I've noticed some things about you, too."
"Oh?"
Roman nodded as he reached for his milkshake, stirring it with the straw. He stood up and took a sip, eyes closing briefly in obvious enjoyment.
"You are very attentive," Roman said. "And you're very good at remembering things. When they attract your interest."
"I- Thank you?"
Roman smiled, stepping in close, and-
...oh.
"And you liked these too, didn't you?" Roman asked, lifting milkshake. "Would you like a taste?"
His mouth suddenly dry, Logan decided that he very much would.
(And it was a taste worthy of verse indeed.)