Note: The titles of these chapters are all going to be pieces of music (mostly piano music because I love and play it myself) that I feel fit the mood of the chapter (mostly)! So, feel free to check them out, this one was written by Daughter, but I enjoy listening to the instrumental version when reading or writing. Hope you enjoy!

Pairing(s): Platonic Analogical is one of the main focus', slow burn Prinxiety, and slow burn Logicality

Warnings: Strong language (like wow), mention of panic attacks, panic attack, mention of insomnia, mention of anxiety, and arguing (?)
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When Logan wakes up the next morning, he finds it difficult to get out of bed. Having to force himself into a sitting position rather than just being able to concentrate on the work he had to get done before going out and getting lunch with Roman. Just the thought of going back to that coffee shop makes his stomach twist in fear.

He tries to ignore this feeling and simply focuses on making himself some toast and coffee. The sound of the kettle bubbling distracts him for a couple of minutes, allowing his nervous heart two minutes of relaxation before the anxiety of going back to the coffee shop for lunch returned.

The only detail about this trip to the coffee shop that made him feel any better was the fact that the barista that served them the day before might be there again. Logan, obviously, doesn't know the man's shifts, but hopes and prays that he will be there.

Because despite not even knowing who Logan is, he still tried to help in his own way, offering foods and beverages that have been known to calm anxiety. And Logan couldn't be more grateful to know that someone noticed his suffering before it got too severe to handle. Though he can feel an odd sinking feeling in his stomach as he thinks about how the person who noticed wasn't his best friend.

When the kettle finishes boiling, he snaps out of his revere and begins scooping two teaspoons of instant coffee into the mug, watching for a second as it dissolves and creates a mini witches brew. It doesn't look too appetising, but Logan simply stirs the mixture and sighs contentedly as the strong smell hits him. Perfect.

As he spreads butter on his slice of toast, he feels as if he can kind of relate to the constant scraping of the metal edge of the knife against the dry surface of the bread.

His computer chair definitely isn't as comfortable as it was the day before, but he doesn't have time to mull over that fact for long. He has work to do. Roman definitely won't be pleased if he's forced to call Logan up two days in a row.

It takes a little while for his inspiration to make a reappearance, but luckily, he manages to write five pages of work. Hm. Much less than he usually writes.

Covering his face with his hands, he takes three deep breaths. One to recognise his tension, another to bundle it up, and a third to throw it away. He almost smiles as his mother's voice murmurs those words to him, but it's not enough to wipe away the nerves pricking his neck and back. They eat away at him until he has no choice but to take a break from his work. Besides, his work under so much stress will be of terrible quality, so even if he did continue working, he'd just have to correct it all later.

He stands up and drags himself over to the couch, collapsing into the middle of it and sighing heavily. It's quite clear that he won't be able to work until this issue with that stupid coffee shop is solved, so he may as well do something else that's productive. Plan.

Planning his next chapter doesn't require too much thought- not for a first draft anyway. So, it should be easy enough to distract himself with it. Mind maps are truly his saving grace when planning a novel, or anything, really. But no matter how many drafts he does, none of them are even intelligible! Frustrated, he balls up his last attempt and throws it at his television screen.

How is this so difficult? Okay, he had a panic attack. So, what?! It isn't like he's prone to them or anything! He knows exactly what caused it, so why is it still prodding at his brain like a branding iron?

A sigh slips through his lips and he, once again, allows his head to drop into his hands. He doesn't know why the coffee shop caused him to have a panic attack. That is why his brain is forcing him to remember every sensation, everything about that damn panic attack, until he figures it all out. Perhaps it wasn't something he could see, or foresee, that caused it. Maybe his gut was screaming at him to get out before it was too late!

Normally, he'd never let such ridiculous and unlikely thoughts affect him so much. But... what if?

Cold shivers rush down his body, heating up, and then rolling right back up his spine. He can't deal with the rough hands pressing and squeezing his heart, nor can he handle the way a lump is forming in his throat. Was there a danger he was unaware of in that store? What if Roman was to be injured? He couldn't allow his best friend to get hurt. But what could he do? Roman was as stubborn as a coin stuck to the pavement; if he wants to go again, there's not a chance in this universe or any other that he'll budge. The best thing he can do is carry whatever negativity comes from returning to that place. He'll manage. Roman won't.

Soon enough, it's 12PM and he's rushing to the door after getting dressed, flying out the door to meet the man he's pretty sure will be the death of him.

The same streets. The same stores and fast food places. Nothing too interesting happening around him as he passes by Patton's old volunteer place yet again; a baby blue sign reflecting sun rays and attracting quite a few customers. Not as many as there were when Patton worked there, but still some. He can't stop the pounding in his head as he spots Roman standing at their usual meeting place. Is the pounding his head or his heart? Seriously, he can't tell anymore.

Roman's grin eases his nerves slightly; it's something familiar and something oh-so bright. "How are you feeling this morning, Lo?"

"Somewhat shaky. Perhaps we should go get food?"

Worry flashes through Roman's eyes for a split second before it is hidden away and replaced with something Logan is much more comfortable with: excitement. He listens to his best friend babble on about absolutely nothing for a few minutes, willing to stall for as much time as possible, but eventually, something Roman says catches his attention. "I actually rather enjoyed that chicken sandwich from yesterday."

Oh no. "Let's go back and get another, I am starving!"

Instead of suggesting they eat at their usual choice of sandwich shop, Logan braces himself and nods, allowing his friend to lead the way. But as they get closer to the store, Logan can feel his feet slowing down on their own. He doesn't want to go back.

"Logan? C'mon, slow coach!"

He really doesn't want to go back.

Roman's voice calls to him distantly again. "Logan?"

He can't breathe!

Without warning, he takes around five quick steps back away from the store's door. He can't go in. He doesn't want to feel that way again. Not again. Roman is staring at him with such fear and confusion that Logan can feel the familiar talons of shame clawing at his throat. He can't hear the way Roman is calling his name, begging him repeatedly to answer him. All he can hear is a deafening ring; all he can feel is burning behind his eyes; all he can see is a blurry kaleidoscope. Then, that floods away and he's sat down on the cold pavement.

His cheeks are wet and way too hot for his liking. Warm hands are holding his as an unfamiliar voice is repeating something to him, but he just can't make the words out. He desperately tries to stop focusing on the sensations, on the things he can feel. And just as he goes to close his eyes, he realises that they're already shut. "You're okay."

Who is that? He takes a chance and opens his eyes, immediately feeling nauseated and closing them again. "It's okay. You can close your eyes."

Somehow, Logan feels just a little bit safer and less vulnerable. He knows that this person is a stranger, but that doesn't mean his voice can't be a little comforting. It's gruff and maybe just a bit raspy. Or is it just the buzzing in his ears making it sound like that? "Breathe in and hold it for seven seconds."

Though he doesn't particularly feel like breathing at all in that moment, his body betrays him and sucks in a shaky breath. He exhales speedily, forgetting the stranger's instructions. But instead of being shouted at or scolded for it, he receives a breathy chuckle. "That's alright, you'll get there. Try again."

The voice is getting clearer and Logan is slowly finding that his lungs are beginning to work again. He holds it for seven seconds and then breathes out again. Finally, he gathers the strength to open his eyes and this time, the world only spins a tiny bit faster than it's supposed to. He blinks a couple of times to clear his vision before looking up, seeing Roman kneeling in front of him grasping his hands tightly and another man crouching beside him. It's the barista!

His eyes widen in surprise. "It's you."

"Oh," the man had obviously not expected Logan to remember him, "you remember me."

He doesn't sound happy, nor unhappy about that. Not quite indifferent, but not really leaning in either direction too much. Roman squeezes his hands, getting his attention and only now does Logan spot the terror glistening in his honey eyes. "Christ, what happened there?! Are you alright?!"

Logan nods hesitantly and finds it difficult to look away from his best friend, not having seen him this concerned in a while. "I... I think so. And I believe that I had a panic attack."

The stranger beside him sits fully down on the ground, crossing his legs and pulling out a bottle of water from his backpack. "You prone to these or something?" He then passes the water over to him and stifles a smile when it's gulped down in only a few seconds. "Just asking 'cause you had one yesterday too. Or am I wrong?"

It's evident that this information is new to Roman as his gaze snaps from him to the stranger and then back to him. Logan clicks his tongue and bites the inside of his cheek. "Yes, you're correct. Thank you for the beverage and muffin, by the way."

"No problem," the man says with a shrug, taking the empty bottle back from him and stuffing it back in his bag, "they don't really help me much, but I figured it was worth giving it a try."

"I didn't even give you a tip."

A snort of amusement reaches Logan's ears and he watches as the stranger shakes his head, a somewhat fond smile on his face. "Nah, man. I didn't want or expect a tip from you, don't worry about it."

As Logan opens his mouth to reply, Roman clears his throat in a way that makes it obvious he wants some attention. "Are you going to explain to me why I wasn't informed of this?"

"Of what?" Logan questioned, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"You had a panic attack yesterday!" Roman burst, throwing his arms out to his sides, barely missing the barista's shoulder. "I'm supposed to be your best friend, why didn't you say anything about this to me?"

Logan doesn't want to argue, but before he even has the chance to, the barista steps in, sending a heated glare in his best friend's direction. "Dude calm down. It's not that easy to admit."

Keeping his thoughts to himself (most of which consisted of 'oh shit' and 'watch out'), Logan watches as Roman turns to the barista with a fire in his eyes that the novelist has only ever seen when someone is correcting him or making an unwelcome move on one of his friends. "Excuse me? How the hell would you know, Surly Temple?"

"Because I deal with them myself, asshole. Not that it's any of your damn business." Oh boy. It seems as if the friendly barista could be not-so friendly at times. Though, to be fair, Roman did kind of deserve it.

The rage in Roman's eyes dull down to a half-hearted glare as he huffs out an angry sigh. "Yeah, well, whatever. Thanks for your help, I guess."

Logan realises then that neither of them even know this man's name. "My apologies, you don't even know our names yet. I'm Logan Sanders and that is Roman King." He ignores the indignant noises spilling from his best friend's mouth at being referred to as 'that' and smiles politely over at the barista, who seems to have calmed down enough to smile back at him. "What do we call you?"

"Virgil."

A unique name. Very interesting. Logan nods in acknowledgement and takes Roman's offered hand, feeling himself get pulled up to his feet. There's a semi-awkward silence for a couple of seconds before Virgil gestures to the coffee shop behind him and shrugs. "You coming in for something to eat?"

Before Logan has as chance to tell him why he will not be doing that, Roman responds gruffly. "Definitely not."

"I was asking Logan, dickhole."

Roman rolls his eyes in disgust and mumbles something about a 'sailor mouth' under his breath. Really, Logan should be sticking up for his friend, but he can't deny that the local actor is being quite the 'dickhole' right now. He turns to Virgil and smiles sadly. "I'm afraid not. It has nothing to you with you," he reassures the barista, "I just... Yesterday, my panic attack occurred as soon as I entered the building. I'm still unsure as to why."

With a nonchalant shrug, Virgil offers to get them their food and bring it out to them, as long as they actually pay for it. Logan's chest fills with warmth and he nods, asking for the sandwich choices and choosing a regular ham and cheese roll. When Roman doesn't give Virgil his own order, Logan sighs. "He'll have your chicken sandwich. Earlier, he gushed about just how delicious it was."

A smirk tugs at Virgil's lips and he hums. "Nice. I prepared that sandwich yesterday."

"Yes, well, did you prepare the chicken?" Roman asks bitterly, seemingly embarrassed at enjoying something made by 'the enemy'.

Virgil arches an eyebrow, smirk still on his face. "Yeah."

This time, Roman has nothing to say as Virgil takes their money and enters the store.