I take a look around the living room. Mom's currently sitting in her armchair, stitching away at one of her embroidery projects, so hopefully, she should be busy with that for a while. Meanwhile, I know Logan's up in our bedroom, putting together a new wardrobe we got from the furniture store yesterday, meaning that this might be an ideal situation to try and sneak in a little closeness. With that in mind, I slink off towards our bedroom, where I find Logan kneeling on the carpet, poring over a set of instructions, muttering quietly. "Where the fuck does this thing go now... oh, hi, Alex. You wanna help me out?" he asks.
In return, I shake my head. "Um, I was wondering if we could, y'know... a little..." I stammer, a bit embarrassed to just say it.
Logan lets out a sigh. "Honestly, Alex, when are you just gonna tell Clair? We can't keep doing this hush-hush stuff, it's just not feasible, and she's gonna learn sooner or later anyway," he tells me, and deep down, I know he's right, but...
"I just don't want to burden her with it right now. If it turns out she doesn't approve, man, I don't know what I'd do, it'd just fuck everything up. If we just keep going like this a little longer, let her get familiar with you some more, I'm sure the time will come eventually, but..." I trail off. Really, I know that it's not entirely sensible to be acting like this, that the right thing to do is just tell her and trust in her to approve, but man, I guess I'm just so conflict-averse that I can't even countenance the idea of it right now.
Thankfully, the pensive look on Logan's face turns back to a smile. "Alright, man. I trust you with it. Go ahead," he replies. He looks so sweet with that smile, that smile reminding me every day just why I love him so much. And the way his eyes twinkle that special way, oh, it's just a delight to see. Ever so carefully, I reach up, gently cupping my hand around his cheek, and I lean in, our lips getting closer and closer...
And then, the door opens, and in steps my mom, carrying two plates with a piece of cake each on them. "Oh, honey, Logan, the cake's all cooled off now! Come on, try a piece," she says, and I quickly scramble to get some distance between us so she doesn't get the wrong idea. Still, she seems to notice my flustered reaction. "Something wrong, honey? You look all red in the face. Do you have a fever?" she then asks, setting the plates off and heading over to my side, holding her hand to my forehead.
Now I'm struggling to think of an excuse. "Uh...