Chapter Text
Now, you might be thinking about Remy right now. Because I flickered between him and Logan a lot in the first chapter. However, you may have noticed that I took you along to follow Logan around for the majority of the last chapter. This is true. So, while Logan gets himself sorted at home, let’s check in with Remy Louis, shall we? What’s he up to?
Well, Remy is currently lying on his bed. It’s big and beautiful, and bathed in the warm light of the setting sun that filters through the curtains of his first class bedroom window. The mattress is covered with bright white sheets and duvets, with gold and silver accents, that match the fluffy carpet, the bedroom is a sleep heaven.
Remy’s pride and joy, his leather jacket, has been carefully hung over the doorknob of his closet. His stiletto shoes have been kicked off somewhere near the front entrance way, alongside a second pair that aren’t his own. They belong to the young man who lies on his back underneath Remy. Remy, who is currently pressing featherlight kisses down the other’s neck.
Emile hums appreciatively, as he laces his fingers into the strands of Remy’s hair. The whole scene is relaxed, and unrushed. It’s sweet, and soft. Casual, and unheated. This is familiar. They’ve done this before.
I can’t really explain to you what their relationship is in terms that already exist. To be fair, Remy and Emile don’t really know what to call it either. They like to think that they stand somewhere around the vicinity of friends. Because they aren’t friends with benefits, and they certainly aren’t dating. They’re just… their own definition of friends?
Remy carefully slots his lips against Emile’s. There’s no urgency, or lechery. It holds only cotton candy and the warm hug of steam that wafts from morning coffee. The two of them have never gone any further than this. It’s only delicate kisses, and nothing beyond that. However, it’s not that Emile would refuse if Remy offered. In fact, Remy has no idea if Emile would say no or not, because he has too many reservations to ever bring it up. So, they don't really talk about it. About them. About what any of this means.
Because, there are only two things in this world that truly terrify Remy. He’d never say what, if anyone were to ask. So, I’ll tell you myself. Remy Louis is only truly terrified of two things. The first, is Deceit. The second, is Emile Picani. Or, more specifically, the idea of having to confront the feelings that he has towards Emile Picani. Remy has a reputation, you see. He’s the homewrecker. He’s maintaining a string of one-night stands. He doesn’t particularly care who it’s with. He’s fair game on all fronts, and is very well known by the staff at almost every bar in the city. His reputation precedes him. He has his rules, though, which we’ve heard earlier. One night, all night, no cuddles, and no repeats. He never spends the night with the same person twice.
This is, perhaps, one of the many reasons Remy is scared to think too long about Emile Picani. He keeps things casual, and gentle, and refuses to talk about it. Maybe, it’s because Remy thinks that the way he’s slept around puts him below Emile, and Remy will tarnish him. Maybe, it’s because Emile makes Remy want to break his own rules, the ones that have protected his cold and caged heart for years. Maybe, it’s because Remy wants to cuddle. Maybe, it’s because Remy knows that if he gives in, he’s going to want more than one night. Maybe, it’s because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he admits that he wants to invite Emile to break the rules with him. Maybe, it’s because he’s scared that if he does, Emile will say no.
Or maybe, it’s because he’s scared that Emile will say yes.
“Mm… Remy?” Emile breathes out, as he gives Remy’s hair a gentle tug. Remy just hums in acknowledgment from where his lips are attached to Emile’s collarbone.
“Rem--Remy, wait.”
Remy pulls away, letting Emile guide him up by his hair. “What is it?” He asks, a little breathless.
“Can we talk about this?” Emile asks, quiet words filling the small space between them. “Please?”
“About what, doll?” Remy asks, as he leans down to pepper more kisses along Emile’s jaw.
“No, no, Remy, stop.” Emile protests, hand untangling from Remy’s hair in favour of pushing up weakly against his shoulders.
Remy does so, eyebrows knitting together in concern. He pushes himself up, so he’s sitting back on his heels, kneeling to the side of Emile’s form on the bed. Emile sits up, too. He props himself up on his elbows, before elevating further, pushing himself to sit with his back against the headboard. “We can’t keep avoiding this conversation.”
“What conversation, Emi?” Remy says, trying to ignore the way his heart clenches inside his chest.
Emile cuts right to the chase. “What are we? Are we…” He falters, when he sees the way Remy’s eyes flash with something akin to horror. “...together? Like, dating?” He finishes, twisting his fingers into the bedcovers.
Silence hangs in the air, clinging to their shoulders like deadweight.
“Well, we haven’t exactly been on a date, have we?” Remy says, when he manages to find his voice. “I don’t really date .”
Emile bites his lip. “I know... But, I don’t really have casual sex.”
Remy frowns. “But, we haven’t--”
“No, we haven’t. But--”
“Why can’t we just keep things the way that they are?” Remy asks, setting a hand on Emile’s leg. “It’s not dating, but we aren’t… you know.” He says, inflecting the last words.
“I don’t think that I can do that.” Emile says, shaking his head. “I’d just be setting myself up for--” He cuts himself off, burying his face in his hands.
“...Setting yourself up for what?” Remy’s voice is so quiet, it’s almost inaudible.
Emile just shakes his head. “Do you care about me? In… that way?” Emile asks, prying his fingers away from where they’re hooked over his glasses. But, he continues to avoid eye contact.
“I…” Remy falters, and then his hand pulls back and away from Emile’s leg quickly. He looks like Emile just accused him of a crime. His mouth feels dry, and his voice dissipates like smoke. His mind is white, and he can’t think of anything to say or do except just stare at Emile with wide eyes.
But, that’s enough of an answer for Emile. He shuts his eyes tightly closed. “Okay... Okay.” He says, before pushing himself away from Remy, and towards the edge of the bed. He stands up, and reaches for his tie, which hangs over the handle of the nightstand. Remy can’t manage to do anything but watch as Emile loops it around his neck. “I should go.” He whispers.
“Emile-- Emile, wait.” Remy says, standing up and following the other out of the bedroom and down towards the front door. “I’m sorry, I just can’t--”
“I know.” Emile says, as he pulls on his shoes. “And that’s why we can’t do this anymore.”
“No, please, wait--”
Emile gives him a sad smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Remy.”
Remy stands there, staring at the spot where Emile had been standing for a long time after Emile leaves.
--
“You should have seen the look he gave me, Virgil.”
Meanwhile, Logan is pacing the kitchen, having now changed out of his work clothes, and is now dressed in an older pair of jeans and one of Virgil’s hoodies. Virgil himself is trying to get Logan to sit down and eat the grilled cheese that he’s made for him, to no avail. Virgil has half given up, and has started eating his own sandwich while watching his boyfriend recount his day, which is proving to be rather entertaining. Virgil tries to mask his laugh by ducking his head. However, Logan doesn’t miss it.
“I’m serious, Virge. Dee might be the single most horrendous person I’ve ever met. He’s not happy unless everyone around him is panicked, nauseous, or suicidal-- And they all worship him!” He says, coursing a hand through his hair, which already stands on end.
He rounds on Virgil. “And they all act like they’re curing cancer!” He throws out a hand exasperatedly. “But in reality, they’re just spending indispensable time and energy on things that don’t even matter. They pour over these minute details, and for what? So that they can spend an extra three-hundred thousand dollars reshooting something tomorrow, that was likely perfectly fine to begin with! Just to sell people things that they don’t really need.”
Virgil reaches out, and grabs Logan’s wrist. “Logan, Logan. Come eat. Maybe it’ll help you feel better? Also if you don’t soon, I’m going to eat yours for you.”
Logan sighs, and sinks into the seat across from Virgil at the table with a huff. He takes a bite of his sandwich, and suddenly realizes just how hungry he is. He hasn’t eaten anything all day. He takes another bite. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I’m just-- It was a long day.”
“Yeah, seems like it.” Virgil’s voice is soft with the lace of sympathy embroidered in his tone. He reaches across the table, to tenderly take one of Logan’s hands in his own.
Logan smiles at him gratefully. “It just felt like I couldn’t do anything right.”
“Why don’t you just quit?” Virgil suggests, with a shrug.
Logan shakes his head. “No.” He says, with a sudden quiet determination. “I’m not going to let them bully me out of a job that could really help me get started with my career. Especially after the first day. I just have to make it the year, then I can leave. I can’t let Deceit get to me. I won’t.”
--
And so, he doesn’t. He spends all night researching the history of Runway, and reading up on everything he can find about Deceit and his brand. Virgil even helps, by flipping through various newspaper articles and issues of Runway Magazine, and quizzing Logan on various facts and people, like they’re studying for a test.
The next day, Logan walks into the office with his head held high. He greets Deceit brightly and respectfully when he passes, quickly hanging up his jacket when Deceit drops it on his desk. He tucks the gloves into the pocket, just as he’d seen Remy do the day before. Logan then hands Deceit his coffee, which he has waiting for him in a tray. Deceit takes it, before saying: “Get Isaac on the phone. I need to discuss fonts with him.”
Logan immediately reaches for the phone on his desk, and neglects his phone book, instead dialing the number from memory. He presses the receiver to his ear, and it rings twice before Isaac picks up. “Good morning, I have Deceit calling.”
“Wonderful.” Logan says, before handing the phone to Deceit, who looks a bit surprised. Dee quickly covers it up, though, and strides away to his office without so much as a thank you, phone in one hand, coffee in the other.
Logan sits down in his desk chair, and flips open his notebook, crossing out the top few items on his long list of tasks. He looks up when he catches sight of Remy entering the bullpen out of the corner of his eye. Remy’s eyes are concealed by his sunglasses, and he’s flicking through his clipboard quickly, his newly manicured nails click as he does so.
“Good morning, Remy. I brought you a coffee, as well.” Logan says, trying to recreate Patton’s friendly smile on his face, though it feels foreign. He pulls the drink he’d gotten for Remy from the tray, and holds it out towards the first assistant. Remy hesitates, before taking it from him gingerly, and to Logan’s surprise, he doesn’t say a word.
“Did you have a good evening yesterday?” Logan asks, trying to make polite conversation.
“Yep.” Is all Remy says, before walking past him, and out of the bullpen. He drops the untouched coffee into a trash can on the way out.
--
It’s a couple of weeks later, when Virgil and Logan sit across from each other at an upscale, quiet restaurant. The former is pouring the bottle of rosé that they’d ordered into each of their glasses. He sets the bottle down, and looks up at Logan. They smile at each other.
“So, how are you feeling about work now?” Virgil asks. “You certainly seem to be hating it less.”
“Well, I’m getting better at it, certainly.” Logan says with a small nod, before he takes a sip of his wine.
“At what? Being a secretary?” Virgil teases.
Logan sets down his glass, and rolls his eyes a little, but he’s smiling. “I’m an executive assistant.”
Virgil smirks, playfully holding his hands up defensively. “Whatever you say.”
“I’m getting better at the job, now I just need to get Deceit to… like me, I suppose.” Logan explains.
“Well, I’m glad you’re off the clock now.” Virgil says. “It feels like I’ve hardly seen you since this all started.”
Logan’s expression is apologetic. “I know. Hopefully it will only be a few more months. The opportunities I’ll get from this job will be so valuable. You know, Remy is going to something called fashion week in the fall. He’ll meet editors and writers from every important media outlet--”
Just then, Logan’s cell phone rings. His hand jumps to his pocket out of instinct, and he checks the caller ID.
Deceit.
Logan’s eyes flicker up to his boyfriend. “I’m sorry, Virge. I have to answer this.”
Virgil just nods, and Logan quickly excuses himself. He answers the phone as he steps out of the restaurant. “Hello?”
Deceit is, at this time, actually in Miami. He had gone out for a consultation with one of his elite designer friends. I will, for the purposes of you being able to understand what’s happening, share with you what it is that Deceit is saying to Logan at this time. If you would, just allow me to exploit your suspension of disbelief momentarily.
“My flight is cancelled.” Deceit says. “Due to some absurd weather issue.”
“I’m sorry to hear tha--”
“I have to get home. Tonight. Cassidy has a recital at school tomorrow morning.”
Logan turns around, to see Virgil has followed him out of the restaurant. “Absolutely, Dee. Let me see what I can do.”
Logan hangs up, and looks at his boyfriend wearily. “I’m so sorry, Virgil. I need to deal with this.”
--
Virgil lounges on their bed, watching Logan pace about the room frantically, chewing at his fingernails as he calls airline after airline.
“Hello? Yes, I need an airplane from Miami to New York.”
Virgil is in his pyjamas now, having given up on the night they were supposed to have had tonight.
“Tonight. As soon as possible, actually.” Logan pauses for the clerk on the other end of the line to speak. “No, no, that’s too late.”
When he hangs up, Logan all but falls onto the bed next to Virgil. He hides his face in his hands. “I don’t know what else to do. He’s going to kill me.” He mutters.
“Don’t you mean he’s going to figuratively kill you?” Virgil prods, trying to lighten the mood, as he reaches to pull Logan into his side. But Logan shakes his head. Virgil sighs, and wraps his arm around Logan’s shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
Logan simply shakes his head again.
--
Logan stands inside of Deceit’s office. Deceit is in his expensive swivel chair, with one leg crossed over the other, with his back to Logan. He’s looking out of his horizon view of the city, the reflecting sun paints the office in a dangerous glinting gold. Logan has his head bowed, and he continues to adjust his glasses nervously.
“Cassidy’s recital was wonderful.” Deceit says, eventually. His voice is so, so quiet, and yet it pierces Logan with startling precision. “Everyone loved it. Except for me, of course… because I wasn’t there. ”
“I’m so sorry, Dee.” Logan fumbles, desperately.
Deceit turns away from the window to look at Logan, black and golden gaze narrow and coldblooded. “Do you know why I hired you?” He asks, slowly leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. He doesn’t wait for Logan to answer, which is good for Logan, because he isn’t sure that his voice could work if it tried.
“I always hire the same type of people. People who are stylish, slender, and who read my magazine like it’s their bible.” He says, slowly, never breaking eye contact with Logan. “And they often turn out to be disappointing and stupid.”
Logan blanches. It’s impossible for Logan’s stomach to twist inside out, but it sure feels like it’s trying to.
“But you… You, with your fancy resume and your so-called work ethic … I thought that you would be different.” He says. “Against all of everyone’s expectations, I took a chance, and hired the smart, ugly one.”
Logan’s eyes widen.
“I had hope, you see.” Deceit drawls, folding his hands on his desk in a way that’s way too calm for the tensity of the situation. “I always have hope.” And somehow, it feels like Deceit is shouting, screaming. Yet, his voice never raises above an almost-whisper. “But you’re just as disappointing as everyone else.”
“I-I did everything I could--”
“That’ll be all.” Deceit bites, and points to the door.
Logan stands there a minute, rooted in place. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.
Deceit stands, and leans over his desk aggressively. “ Get out. ”
And he does.
As soon as the door to the office closes, Logan’s running. He can feel his eyes well up, and he rams the heel of his hand up and under his glasses to wipe away the tears that he won’t let fall, because he refuses to cry in front of them. He pushes towards the hallway, brushing past Remy, who’s waiting for him.
“Excuse me, where do you think you’re--” Remy starts, but the rest of the accusation falls on deaf ears, as Logan keeps running.
--
Remus Deetz looks up in surprise when he hears the door to his office slam open. He’s even more surprised to see Logan Christie standing in the doorway, legs weak, and hands shaking.
“He hates me, Remus.” Logan says, his voice is a broken whisper.
Remus doesn’t even lower his pen. “And that’s my problem, because…?” He feigns thought, making a show of coming to a faux realization. “Oh wait, that’s right. It’s not.”
Logan ignores the comment, moving to stand across from Remus, on the other side of his desk. “It’s like I’m completely beneath his contempt , somehow. I don’t know what to do.”
Remus has begun writing again, leaving his critics on a sheet of a suit design. He just shrugs. “Quit.” He says it so nonchalantly, so offhandedly, that it’s as if he’s commenting on the weather.
Logan stops, and just looks at him. “What?”
Remus sighs, and finally sets down his pen. “Look, Lolo. We could replace you in five minutes. With someone who really wants this job.”
Logan almost scoffs. “I do want this job. I’m very grateful to be working for Deceit. It just seems like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”
“Puh- lease .” Remus says, leaning back in his chair, and kicking his feet up onto his desk leisurely. “Stop stroking yourself. You’re not trying. You’re whining.”
Logan looks shocked. Remus just raises his eyebrows. “What do you want me to say? Poor you? Dee’s picking on you?” He shakes his head, reaching for his pen, and twiddling it between his fingers absentmindedly. “He’s just doing his job . You need to wake up, Lolo. You’re working at the place that first published some of the major artists of the century. And what they make is even better than normal art, because you live your life in it-- Well, maybe not you , but some people.” He says. Logan just stares at him, and Remus stares right back. “This is more than just a magazine. It’s a beacon of hope for a lot of people. It’s a beacon of hope for me. It’s a recluse for, say, a young boy growing up with six brothers, pretending to go to soccer practice when he was actually at a sewing club and reading Runway at night under the covers with a flashlight.”
Remus picks up steam as he speaks, tossing his pen down with a clatter, and standing up now. His hair is backcombed and his eyes wild. “You have no idea how these halls, and this business, have shaped lives. And worst of all? You don’t care. Because this is just a stepping stone for you. People would die to work here, while you deign to. And you want me to feel bad for you when Dee doesn’t give you a kiss on the forehead and a gold star for doing your homework?”
“Okay, fine!” Logan shouts, cutting Remus off. He leans forward, and grips the edge of the desk like a lifeline. So tight, that his knuckles go white. “You’re right. I know that this is my big break, and I’m the one screwing it up. I-- I’ll work harder, I promise. But…”
Logan slowly looks up at Remus, his expression suddenly quite shy. “There’s one thing that I can’t do myself.”
Remus’ face drops when he realizes what Logan’s asking. As soon as it dawns on him, he’s shaking his head quickly, frantically. “Oh, no. Nuh-uh.”
“You’re the fashion director .” Logan pushes, eyes pleading.
“Even I have my limits.” Remus retorts.
“Please, Remus. I can’t do it myself, I’ll have no clue what I’m doing.” He glances around the room, before sighing, and lowering his voice. “Don’t make me beg.”
Remus’ eyebrow quirks upwards, and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Kinky.” Then he looks Logan over, thinking…
“Okay, fine. On two conditions.” Remus says.
Logan brightens immediately, looking hopeful. “What?”
“You’ll take everything I give you.” Remus says, holding up one finger. He then raises a second. “And you’ll like it.”
Logan nods. “I can do that.”
--
Later, Remy is sitting at his desk, fingers paused mid-word over his keyboard. His attention has drifted over to a certain blonde-haired editor, who’s currently talking to one of the designers on the other side of the bullpen. His hands clench tightly, carving crescent moons into his palms, as he averts his gaze. He focuses instead on the elevator, which dings as the doors slide open to reveal a young man.
He’s wearing dark grey skinny jeans, that are cuffed at the bottom, and complimented by a silver-studded belt. His hair is impeccable, and his makeup immaculate. The shirt he wears is french tucked. A light grey high-neck made of silk. The jacket he wears hangs off of his shoulders, but his arms aren’t through the sleeves. His hands are preoccupied typing on his phone. He doesn’t look up as he walks into the bullpen, high heels click-clacking underneath him.
If it weren’t for the fact that he’s wearing those traditional black-rimmed glasses, Remy wouldn’t have even recognized him.
“Logan, what--?”
The phone on Logan’s desk begins to ring, and Remy just gapes at him as Logan folds his legs behind it. Logan picks up the receiver smoothly, without even acknowledging Remy. “Deceit’s office. Oh, he’s not in. Yes, I’ll leave word.”
He hangs up, and Remy is still gawking at him over the rim of his darkly shaded sunglasses.
Logan looks over at him, and a very Remus-esche smirk flashes across his face. Logan curls his tongue around a mocking of Remy’s usual tone. “Staring is rude, babes.” Logan says, clippedly.
--
Logan is waiting for Virgil when he gets off work. He leans against the wall of the building, new jacket tossed over one shoulder, and almost bouncing in anticipation.
When Virgil comes into view, his hands are wrapped around his computer, which he’s sliding into its case as he starts down the street towards his bus stop. He zips up the bag, and walks right past Logan.
Then, he stops. He’s mid-stride when he falters, something catching his attention. Virgil takes a step backwards, and slowly turns around. He looks Logan over once, twice, before just staring at him, stunned.
“What do you think?” Logan asks, bashfully. He rubs the back of his neck, betraying his awkwardness.
Virgil takes a moment to find his voice. “I… I think we need to get out of here before my boyfriend sees me with you.”
Logan laughs, and Virgil does too. It’s only a second before their fingers are entwined, and Logan’s pulling Virgil down the street towards the bus that they’re seconds away from missing.