INFO: IF YOU HAVE MY TUMBLR AND YOU FOLLOW ME, YOU'VE MOST LIKELY SEEN THIS ALREADY BECAUSE IT WAS ON THERE FIRST FOR A LONG TIME.

Oh, hi fandom. It's me. Trying to write my second Jogan thingy. Because redqueenofprima has gotten me hooked on Skinny Love, and now I wanted to write a semi-funeral and Jogan thing on it. Also because I wanted to keep the Jogan tag updated. I check it all the time and usually it doesn't change too much unless we're flailing. xD Also, this mainly has no plot and makes no sense.

DISCLAIMER: GLEE BELONGS TO FOX AND RYAN MURPHY AND THOSE WRITERS, AND DALTON, JULIAN LARSON, AND LOGAN WRIGHT ALL BELONG TO CP COULTER.

"Now all your love is wasted, then who the hell was I?" - Skinny Love; Birdy (Cover)

We Were Never Here

Julian stands in a corner awkwardly, allowing his lack of socializing to speak for itself — he wants to be left alone right now. He has no idea how to wear a black suit like this. This was not an award show. He was no hero right now, he was no actor. He sees Logan offering condolences to his mother, because they're all so sorry for his loss.

It's a lie.

No one's as sorry as Julian.

As soon as that thought enters his mind, guilt pours through causing him to gasp. Eyes turn to him, eyes pity him. Green eyes know him.

Julian runs to a room. He's not sure where, but it's in Dwight's home, and so naturally it's somewhat dark, having an essence to it. It smells like cinnamon and green apples, and looks as though someone had decided to put a mini-library in the home with plastic, fake candles.

He hears footsteps behind him.

It didn't take him three years of losing his heart to someone to know it was Logan who makes footsteps like that. Tip, heel, tip, tip, awkward stop, and tip, heel.

Logan looks at Julian's head of hair, mouth open wide, swallowing and closing his eyes. They both know they're here. His breath hitches, because it's Julian, and he doesn't know what to do since the last time he saw the actor, he was just saving their lives.

"It's—"

Logan stops what he was going to say because Julian turns around, waiting to hear another lie, and he knows he can't do that to him. Especially not to that shade of tear rimmed eyes.

A moment passes, and Julian's eyes remain unsurprised as Logan leans forward, barely touching their lips together. The brunet only blinks for a slow second before they become stuck like that; lips barely brushing, eyes open and boring into each other.

Green eyes know him.

Then green eyes close and the lips push harder into Julian's and then it's hard to breathe. The inhale in Julian's nose is the loudest sound escaping in the room, and it breaks their silence.

Julian pulls away, reality snapping back into him. "What are you doing?"

"I—" Logan can't seem to talk. He just felt something telling him to kiss Julian, that somehow those lips would make it all alright for a moment. He should've known better though. "I'm sorry."

"Just — fuck you, Logan," Julian says, but it comes out as a whine and painful groan. And he tilts his head to the side, trying to read the blond's reaction, but nothing comes but helpless silence and an uncomfortable pause.

The actor makes a break to leave, turning around, thinking maybe now he could muster something within himself to say his own condolences and a thousand more to Dwight's mother.

"You love me, Julian," Logan reminds to nothing but himself looking sternly at the back of a head again. He feels himself losing his breath, his mouth, his ears, his nails, his eyes. The blond swallows, choking on air for a brief millisecond. "Don't forget it." He feels like such a jackass, but he needs this right now — they both do. After the funeral, Logan knew that Julian will blame himself — that he'd need some sort of relief. He may have not noticed all the stops and signs, but he was a best friend.

That's why it's no surprise when Julian turns around, hatred in his eyes, "How could I ever…forget that?"

Logan strides forward, heart leaping. "I don't know. But please — don't." He whispers, quietly and secretly.

And then, unabashedly unafraid, he surges their lips into a molding fiery. And tongue hits tongue more passionately and Logan hopes that every fiber within him is saying that this is saving him — because nothing has ever felt so right in despair.

Lovingly kisses, and a velvet touch of lips trace their way down a throat, and Julian chokes a sob suddenly.

"God—" Hot tears leak out, unattractively down his chin and neck, reaching the soft lips. "Do you even know what you're doing to me right now, Logan?"

He breathes against Julian's neck, holding him close, and he whispers frantically, "Just let me take your pain away."

Julian takes Logan's face into his hands, slightly calloused, looking into green eyes that know him. "And your pain? Yours, Logan?"

Logan smiles at him, slightly and stiffly, but it's real altogether. "I love you a little bit, Jules."

"I love you a lot," Julian jokes, only one manly tear leaking its way on the side of his face.

Logan kisses it off, and then they mold again, and Julian's hands wound their way to the blond's neck, who falls back into a leather, stiff couch. Julian straddles Logan, more focused on soft kisses and how on earth to remove the suit's blazer.

The door begins to creak, and Julian jumps off of Logan as fast as possible, hoping they could be undiscovered. However, Logan makes no notice to even move, even though he's aware of the door. He doesn't bother to fix the disheveled hair, or crumpled, half-on blazer, and wide-spread legs.

Dwight's mom walks in, and looks curiously to Julian and then to Logan, who's eyes remain focused on Logan.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Houston." He speaks monotonously, but so full of emotion, all the while, keeping the eye contact with green eyes that know him. Julian then runs out of the room to the doorway, looking back to Logan, who never once broke the eye contact. The gaze reads everything to them. They've snapped back into reality, realizing that all those touches just ruined themselves.

The glance is the last thing they have to hold onto for the night.

Who will love you?

Who will fight?

And who will fall, far behind?