The Prince, The Gangster, The Teacher, And The Poet (Sander Sides Fanfic)

Chapter Three-The Teacher

TW: Mentions of deadnames, but quick correction for those aware.

Logan watched as the guards walked past the front of the store, one holding his slightly bleeding friend. He sighed and put his head in his hands. As soon as the theft happened, his father had come downstairs, closing the store. He was fine with it, Logan hadn't planned to work the counter all day, but he was hoping that he could have a little more time to finish his book. The prince coming in was a surprise, he hadn't expected that, and had had to double-check it actually was him a few times, but he refused to tell his father. It would just be something else that would be hung over his head, how the prince went to HIS shop and bought one of HIS masks, and how Logan should stop trying to be a teacher or tutor and start learning how to make and sell trinkets. But mainly learn how to talk to people.

"Lola?" His father called from upstairs, and Logan flinched. "Wait, sorry. Logan?" Logan nodded, relaxing a little. At least his father caught it this time.

"Yes?" He looked up the stairs, pretending to clean up some of the sparkles that had fallen on the ground after people had been looking at the masks. All he really wanted was to finish the chapter. If he could finish the chapter, he wouldn't be distracted for the rest of the day. 

"Could you come up here for a moment? I need to give you something." Logan resisted the urge to groan, getting his bookmark he had made with his father's before... well, just before. It was worn and had obviously been through many books, the tassels that were braided to stop the fraying on the ends were starting to come undone, and Logan made a promise to himself to redo the braid again that night. 

He made his way upstairs, putting the book back on one of the overrun bookshelves that lined the stairway. He was actually surprised when there weren't any that had flowed onto the stairs, making it harder to walk to where his father was calling. 

When he finally made it to the top floor, his room was down the hall and to the left, and his father's room was just across the hall, but that wasn't where the voice was coming from. He wandered into the living room, where he saw his father sitting on the floor with pictures, and items spread out around him. Logan sighed.

"Hey." His dad waved him over. "Sit down." Logan took a seat next to him, in a space that had been obviously made for him. 

"Hello." His voice was smaller then he gave it permission to be. He recognized a lot of the stuff surrounding them, some are pictures and some are  "What are you doing?" He knew what he was doing. He wasn't sure why he asked. But there was a happiness that shone through his dad's eyes, and Logan relaxed.

"Just looking through your dad's old things." Logan sighed again, softer this time, watching his father's eyes get misty.

"You talk about him as if he were dead." Logan's dad wasn't dead. He had to remind himself sometimes, but he wasn't.

"Lo, he left three years ago." Logan swallowed. He had left, but it wasn't as if there weren't letters or presents. Leaving for adventure was something his father had very much been against, but dad did it anyway, just as things normally happened. His father said that it was one of the reasons he fell in love. But being gone for three years meant he missed a lot. Every letter for Logan was still addressed to Lola.

He shook off the thought, turning back to his dad. "Yes, but he continues to send letters. He is still alive, yet you look as if you are about to cry every time I bring him up. Therefore, my statement is correct. You talk about him as if he were dead." Logan didn't meet his father's eyes, picking at something on his shirt. Probably dried chocolate from the cookies he made that morning. "He's not dead."

"Right." There was something careful about his dad's tone that he didn't appreciate, but he wasn't going to say anything about it. "Anyway, I called you up here for a reason." This piqued Logan's interest, and his father was obviously waiting for a response.