[ For the first half of that long silence, Stiles keeps his eyes on Logan. He alternates between feeling like shit for being ignored, feeling like shit over the idea of leaving and being alone, and feeling like shit for expecting Logan to find it in his cold dead heart to talk to him like a human being. Stiles eventually sighs and gives up, focusing on his drink and staring at Logan's limo, trying to muster up the willpower to either clean or leave and find some other couch to crash on, but he was really hoping it'd be okay here. Logan's the only one who really knows about the dementia, so. The night terrors would have been a lot easier to stomach.
Logan says he has a kid, though, and Stiles startles out of staring into the middle distance, looking back at him. He narrows his eyes - this is a fucking minefield. He has no idea what he can say that won't set this prick off again, but he appreciates his effort too much not to try. ]
Can I... get a name? Or an age? Favorite color? Food? Are they a horse girl? A racecar boy? Democrat? Republican?
[ Are they alive - that's what he really wants to ask. Are they here. ]
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Logan says he has a kid, though, and Stiles startles out of staring into the middle distance, looking back at him. He narrows his eyes - this is a fucking minefield. He has no idea what he can say that won't set this prick off again, but he appreciates his effort too much not to try. ]
Can I... get a name? Or an age? Favorite color? Food? Are they a horse girl? A racecar boy? Democrat? Republican?
[ Are they alive - that's what he really wants to ask. Are they here. ]