Logan remembers. LoVe suggested. S3 spoilers.
Something his mom had said to him once floated through his mind. It was an annoying word to him right now, made even more tiresome because his mom had said it as a platitude. He simply hated when one word or phrase clung to his mind like the hook from the latest pop-tart tripe.
He could almost see the word dropping from her lips. It was a stupid looking word when written. But, it sounded lovely when spoken out loud. It sounded like somewhere a hero would go when he died.
Maybe it sounded like a hero. A ancient Greek hero.
Logan nodded at his own musings, staring up at the sand colored ceiling in the Presidential Suite. Why did they decorate this room to look like the fucking ocean? I mean, we're so near to the damn thing! Why not something... different? Something I can't see if I drive three miles?
And then the word skittered across his mind again. Skidding to halt and crashing into his silent rant, making it dissipate in an almost physical way. Halcyon.
"Halcyon days, punkin. That's what high school is. They should be your best memories, you know," Lynn Echolls had murmured to him one day, so long ago. He remembered that she had put her hand on his right shoulder and leaned down to him. Her breath hadn't smelled like cigarettes or booze. And her eyes had been sincere and bright. Logan had smiled back at her.
Logan had been streaking through the house, chasing an errant and soiled soccer ball. He had gleefully been reliving a victorious Junior Varsity game just one week before he was about to begin as a freshman at Neptune High. Logan couldn't really remember if he had been nervous about high school. But, of course, he was an Echolls. Nothing scared him. He snickered aloud into the empty bedroom.
His father had captured the ball neatly beneath the toe of his shoe. Logan remembered how the ball had looked there. It was dirty, grass-stained and scuffed, trapped between the polished Venetian marble floor and a shining black wingtip. He also remembered his father's glare.
Of course, as soon as Lynn appeared behind her son, the look faded and he coaxed a flat smile across his face. "Be careful now, Logan. I don't want you breaking anything. Darling?"
Lynn walked around her son and placed her bronzed arm in her husband's. She had been wearing a black dress that shimmered along the daring neckline. And, in kind, Aaron was wearing a black tuxedo. They must have been on their way to some event. Logan hadn't cared. He certainly didn't care now.
"Yes, darling. Careful," his mother had agreed. Of course, she hadn't meant it. Logan knew by her grin. Logan could always tell the difference when she agreed or when she was only humoring Aaron.
That's when she'd said it. She let go of her husband's arm and nodded toward the foyer beyond. "I'll be right there. I just want to say goodbye to our boy." She'd smiled a dazzling smile at him. As his father skirted around him, he patted him on the shoulder. His left shoulder. A small circular burn mark was just beginning to scab over on his left shoulder. He tried not to wince at his father's "casual" touch.
Lynn either didn't notice or she didn't care to notice. Instead, she'd placed that well-manicured hand on Logan's right shoulder. And, for the first time in a long while, it wasn't just the well-manicured hand of Lynn Echolls. It was the hand that had wiped tears and bandaged scraped knees and showed him which keys to tap on the piano to make a simple song for her. His mother's hand.
Logan smiled as she said it. And he turned the word over and over in his mind and on his tongue.
The word even tasted good. The gentle way his tongue almost scraped the roof oh his mouth in the middle if he didn't rush it. And, when he did rush it, he liked the little whistle of air that rushed from his lungs to his lips.
He smiled up at the sand ceiling. / Maybe it's more of a pumpkin color after all /.
And as he rolled over onto his side to study the garish green numbers on the digital clock display, he remembered Clemmons using the same word to describe the college years to come at commencement.
Logan snorted a half-laugh. / Use one stupid word to pass the buck. Maybe it goes on like that forever until retirement. Halcyon days, all of them /.
As the digital clock flickered to read two-oh-nine, he heard a noise at the door. A familiar swish and the lock disengaging with a quiet, yet resonant, click. The door swung inward and her voice tentatively floated through the suite, calling to him.
He smiled and stretched out across the bed, once more looking up at the ceiling. He knew she'd find him.
/ Halcyon days, indeed /.