Unfinished Business

"Logaaaan!"

The unicorn boy who was being called to groaned, burying his face in a pillow. He scrambled to close all the windows on his laptop and clear his history, cache, everything of note, before he even considered responding. This was irritating. When their parents weren't around, he didn't see why his siblings couldn't leave him alone, permanently. What was it going to be? Logan, help me with my homework? Logan, make us food? Logan, entertain me? "I'm working!" he yelled back, without moving.

"There's somebody at the door!" Gracie said, opening his without so much as knocking. Logan jumped, then cringed. He didn't know why anyone would visit them spontaneously at this time of day. If it was a friend of Grace's, she wouldn't bother him about it, Faith didn't bring her friends home (nor did Logan), and Gideon-- he didn't have friends.

He still didn't budge, and raised an eyebrow. "Did you try waiting to see if they just… gave up and left?" He took a textbook from his bed and waved it at her. "I'm not kidding about working. It was probably someone with a package or a stupid door to door salesman, it doesn't matter."

His cheeks burned a little. Why, why, why when he was busy, every time. Living in a house with five family members who were all out to get him was already a pain, and when they weren't, apparently now outside forces needed to interfere. At least he'd started getting out more, getting real life soothing for his frustrations.

"We waited. The man didn't leave. Looks like you have to deal with it! Or you'll get in trooouuuble!" His youngest sister stuck her tongue out at him, then made a run for it. He could hear her locking herself in her own room, even as he rolled off his bed and nearly chased her, teeth grit.

Fine. Fine! Logan cautiously straightened his clothes, still wearing his school uniform, abandoning his room and warm, welcoming laptop contents for… responsibility. His siblings had notably and significantly all snuck back to their rooms or far away parts of the house, as to not be roped into that responsibility. He knew, even if they were around, this was his job. He rubbed his temples, sighed, and pasted a smile onto his face before opening the door.

"I'm so sorry you were kept waiting, sir! My parents aren't home right now, but I'm Logan Delacroix, their eldest child. How can I help you?" His smile faltered for about half a second when he took in the man's appearance, but lit back up instantly. He knew better than to let his discomfort show too directly, and was sure someone like this couldn't mean to stick around long. No problems here. He kept himself purposefully positioned so there wasn't much extra space to look into the house, out of an automatic paranoia. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine, he repeated in his head, despite that nervousness.

This atmosphere was all wrong. Even someone as deep in the denial ditch as Logan was could pick that up. He felt his insides squirm at that leering, and if he wasn't being watched, he would've shivered. His hands trembled a little. He didn't drop his own painfully polite smile.

What was this. Why was this uncomfortable person here, looking at him like that? This situation didn't make any sense. Was this going to turn into a robbery? Or worse? It could happen. Their family being targeted like this. Rich, but not too rich, not to the point that they had the best security in the world. Choosing to come by when the parents weren't around, a pretty son available, instead. His racing thoughts and theories weren't leading to anything, jumbled and irrational, but he couldn't help thinking them. His cheeks warmed lightly.

The man spoke to him with too much familiarity. He didn't understand. There was a part of him that spoke up with an idea, but that was impossible, he didn't want to consider it, biting at his cheek as he waited for an alternate explanation to come.

It didn't. He felt himself go numb as it was confirmed, instead, polarizing him from reality further, sound simply buzzing in his ears distantly. His stomach twisted violently, like his guts were being tied in knots. He scrubbed at his face quietly, eyes bleary, flickering about. For an escape, or his parents, or his siblings. Nothing. He could slam the door, then call his mother and stepfather, or simply hide. He didn't know how they'd react if he said he'd met… his father.

He didn't even know his father's name. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed again, then managed to speak up. "She told me. Not much, but she told me…" Because she didn't want him to take up his old man's mantle, she'd so desperately tried to give him a perfect instruction booklet of everything to avoid, using the individual in front of him as a cautionary tale every single chance she had. Shame burned on his cheeks now.

He was at least half disassociated right then, he thought. Everything horrible and ruining about his life was right here, after all this time, his entire life, leading up to… it was all hanging above him precariously, but not quite dropped, and he wasn't quite crushed under the weight. Perhaps, thanks to the years spent with his denial.

Denial and agonizing curiosity. He was still for a moment, seconds seeming like hours, a ticking clock sound in his head. He stopped avoiding eye contact, some terribly lucid glint in his own. "Do you want to come in? I could share what you've missed, answer any questions, and maybe you could…" He lowered his voice. "I don't even know your name." He glanced at his dad's twitchy hands, and self consciously stopped his own from the exact same motion. He opened the door further, what he'd been taught screaming at him while his instincts delighted. Gross.

Billy Graham. Logan thought, for a moment, that he recognized the name from somewhere-- but he couldn't place it, and he was too awkward to ask for clarification. How frustrating. He let his birth father into his house and shut the door behind him, the doorknob almost like it was scalding to the touch, his mind attacking his senses and hammering in the nail of mistake to him. Making sure he was self aware.

And oh, was he ever. He could feel the eyes on him, and his body was hypersensitive to touch, bristling over the hand at the small of his back, heartbeat loud in his ears, head and world spinning. He worried he was going to throw up, but also, he knew he wanted to be here. He enjoyed the sense of social taboo and anxiety. Nothing was going to happen. They were just talking. But he thought about it, in that questionable way that Logan thought about everything and everyone, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd thought about it, either.

He observed silently as Billy looked over his parents and siblings in the photo. When he giggled, Logan knew why, shifting in discomfort and embarrassment. He was the only unicorn. The implications were disgusting, and his presence was a constant reminder. Logan sat down on the same couch, but with an arms length of distance between them, a conflicting, amusing combination of caution and lack of it. Who was he even kidding, here? Himself, mostly. His family, if this went wrong and he had to lie to them. It was fine, he repeated mentally, for the fiftieth time. Good Christian families were all about putting on appearances.

"Thank you. I'm lucky to live here, despite…" He smiled, like plastic. "What I am. You. The bastard child of a rapist!" A nervous, jittery laugh followed, then quiet. "Um. Butchers, huh? I'm a pianist. Faith is going to be a banker, Gracie wants to work with horses--" he made a face, not a fan of the animals himself, "and Gideon is following after Adam, my stepfather, as a priest." He noted the last bit with a particular distaste, not bothering to hide it in front of his actual dad, hatred for his stepfather powerful.

"Pops? My grandfather?" he asked with big, curious eyes. "My mother's parents hate me. They minimize the time we're around each other as much as they can, like… the rest of my 'family'." Bitter, bitter, he was almost placing that blame on them now when it should go to the person next to him. And yet, he liked being able to note this, conspiratorially, to somebody that couldn't scold him for it. And even if he was scolded, it wouldn't matter, not from him. He ducked his head. "Does your family hate me too, or would I… be able to visit? Butchers…"

He pictured it. Logan Graham. Working with meat and red. Chopping up bodies and eating them, and shivered. Maybe that was why he had the powers he did. It would explain a lot.

Logan's cheeks burned further red, embarrassed and flustered, while his father laughed at him. He tried not to acknowledge how much he'd thought about all of this. He'd wanted to meet this man. To somehow be close to him. He lived up to every unpleasant expectation that'd been placed on him by Logan's family. It was nice to know that their desperation in trying to steer him a different way, and the disdain, hadn't been unfounded. It was nice, and disheartening.

He wished he could cry and beg them to think differently of him, to say with a confidence, now that he knew his real father, that he'd never be like him. Except, he wouldn't be able to do that, because here he was, his only true desire being to relate to someone. He could only relate to his mother in an empty, broken way. His personality and morality resembled hers because it was a cautiously copied shell. He didn't know what he was doing.

His father was horrible, yes, but it was a missing piece of a puzzle. Logan's life was nothing but repetitive, obedient motions, confusion, and shame. Perhaps it was pointless, but he'd wanted this. He wanted to put the pieces together.

"Since I was five onwards," he mumbled. He squeaked when his hand was taken, but didn't pull away, trying to continue speaking as though nothing was happening, instead. "M-my parents wanted something proper to distract me with, I believe. I ended up taking to music, so, I play the piano, sing in a choir, and I'm in charge of the music club at school…" He looked at their hands. Different textures, but similar. His heartbeat picked up with interest again.

Slowly, a hopefulness bloomed in his chest. Kind family, that didn't hate him, despite being his own blood. They might even be able love him. What a strange concept it was! What an exciting one! He smiled, genuinely, for the first time in this visit, as his heart fluttered pleasantly. He touched his warm face, biting his lip. "Thank you for telling me! I… I-I'll look into it…" He took Billy's hand with less nervousness and gave it a squeeze, then fidgeted.

"Butchery seems very… well, it wasn't what I was raised for, that's for sure, but I suppose it doesn't sound that bad, either." He peered at his father. His 'good-fer-nothing lowlife' father, appearing to be earnestly waiting for and taking in cues. "It's a bit… violent. Bloody. I think about things like that sometimes. Is it because of that? I'm not sure I can abandon music to be a butcher so suddenly, but I'd like to learn a little, nonetheless…"

"Um. Yes, that's been a strong focus. You're a very glorified cautionary tale," Logan muttered, irritable with this topic. "I've done everything asked of me, but they still…" He let that sentence trail off. He wondered if he was simply experiencing teenage rebellion, now. Sex, homosexuality, interacting with his father. The last was supposed to be the most unforgivable of them all.

He always thought there'd be… more, to it. A crippling sense of guilt, perhaps. The only thing he found now was a nervousness at the possibility of being caught. As he spent time in his father's presence like this, he relaxed, comfort settling in with every second that passed. What was wrong with him? Where was the weight of his sins, waiting to crush him, hanging above his head? It wasn't here. It wasn't anywhere.

He deflated in relief. Maybe he wasn't as fucked up as he thought, even if he was still decently fucked up either way. There was an explanation. Despite it being people instead of animals in his fantasies, that clicked. Butchers. It was in his blood, in his bones, in his heart. Family was everything, wasn't it? Logan knew that well.

His folks wouldn't approve of any of this. It was scarily exciting. Logan leaned forward unconsciously, hanging on and anticipating every word, eyes bright, glittering. "I want to! I do!" The barest specks of affection, approval, and attention seemed to do wonders for Logan. He was starved from parental love, childishly giddy. "You'd really do that?" He was surprised. Maybe there was an ulterior motivation here. Logan didn't care. His dad said he was cute, and that he was growing on him. He was very flustered.

The blunt knowledge of his father being a horrible, horrible person who did evil things-- that was shoved right to the side by personal treatment Logan enjoyed. His logical information sources that he'd internalized for years said 'the worst', but his screwy brain chemicals and thought processes immediately switched over to shouting 'the best' in appreciation. Logan gave few a happy little kicks, then threw his arms around Billy, hugging him tight, heart racing like a rabbit's. "I won't tell anyone, I promise! Thank you!"