Hey y'all. This chapter is dedicated to . for the review! Gosh, you guys never seem tired of Logan having panic attacks. Neither do I. Warning, I didn't mean for this to happen, but Logan swears a lot in this, so read at your own risk, I suppose? So, here you go.

Quick note: I'm utterly infatuated with how Kendall says 'What other odd things do you carry in your pockets?" during Big Time Audition, as well as Logan's line "Turn that thing and I predict a ninety percent chance of bodily harm and I'm talking about us, not them."

Anyway, tell me what lines you love from the show. If you are infatuated with these specific ones, like myself, you have a special place in my heart.

Moving on.

Enjoy!

Camille was already perfectly aware of who her boyfriend was. He was sweet, nerdy, cute, hot, adorable, all these good things. He was also naturally anxious, cautious and nervous. She knew that, she was shocked when the guys thought she didn't. Even more so when Kendall pulled her aside when she stepped into the apartment, and spoke to her quietly.

"Logan's been really on-edge the whole day. He's pretty nervous about your anniversary, actually."

"You think I don't know that? I mean, I'm nervous too," she hissed back at him as Logan greeted her with his dreamy smile and a kiss. Kendall shot her a look, then held up his hands in surrender as she shot him a look of her own.

"Hey, Camille," Logan said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. The familiar habit made her blush. "I got us reservations at Chez Fancy. We should get going. I think you look beautiful."

As if she couldn't tell by the way his mouth hung open. She slipped her hand in his, eager to leave Apartment 2J.

They walked through Palm Woods Park, which, under the night sky and moonlight gave off a very different feeling from earlier that morning, when the guys were scheming, sneaking around wearing tree hats. It was perfectly romantic.

Chez Fancy was romantic too, but in a different way. The atmosphere was more serious, not like that calm she felt back at the Palm Woods. Romantic nonetheless. And Logan had been really sweet to get reservations.

"Reservation for Mitchell," Logan said under his breath, right beside her as they walked up to the hostess stand. "Reservation for Mitchell," he repeated to the hostess, who smiled.

"Right this way," she said as she led them to a table in the corner. It was dark, a white glow cast over the table from the light fixture above.

Logan pulled out the chair for her, before taking a seat himself. He thanked the hostess after she laid two menus down on the table and departed. He smiled at her, lifting up the menu to read through the options. She did the same.

She heard Logan mutter something under his breath and instinctively looked up, in case Kendall was right after all. He seemed fine. Probably just something about the outrageous prices. Logan set the menu down.

"Do you know what you're getting?" he asked her, and she nodded. They talked about their day before the waitress appeared again and took their orders.

"Your food should be right out," she assured them, right as she turned on her heel and left again.

"Happy anniversary," Logan said. "Two years with my beautiful girlfriend."

"Two years with my gorgeous boyfriend," she replied. "My smart, sweet, amazing boyfriend."

They held hands across the table, staring into each other's eyes, like this was a movie. It was yet again another perfect moment between the two of them.

The whole night was, really, Camille mused. Their dinner was delicious, their conversation was pleasant, the music in the background was sweet, holding hands together across the table still sent chills down her spine, and this might be shallow, but Logan looked good. Really good.

Logan surprised her with a rose, which almost made her swoon and collapse on the floor right there, but she didn't know what to do with the rose. She settled for gingerly tucking it into her purse and hoped the petals didn't get crushed.

They were in the middle of splitting dessert, a chocolate lava cake, when reality broke her heart.

The waitress was quietly refilling their glasses of water, and Logan turned to thank her. His hand merely collided with the water, and the force somehow swept both glasses of water to the ground. The water sloshed out of the cups, onto the floor as the glasses broke, littering the tile with shimmering bits of glass.

The waitress stared as Logan knelt to the ground, sweeping the glass into a pile with his hands. "I'm so sorry. Is there a garbage can, a dustpan?"

She kept staring, unhelpfully. Camille glanced at her boyfriend, who was still on the ground, scooping the glass into his hands before letting it run through his fingers. "Miss?" he repeated. "I'm so sorry, is there a garbage can, a dustpan?"

But she was gone, probably running off to find someone to clean up the mess. Logan blinked and repeated himself again, loud enough to cause a few restaurant patrons to turn their heads and watch the scene unfolding before them.

Camille joined Logan and narrowly avoided knocking her head against the table. She waited before the glass had filtered completely through his hands one last time, before holding his hands in hers. She pulled them both back up to a standing position and took her seat. Logan still stood, until she came to his side and guided him to the chair.

"Logan," she whispered. "Are you okay?"

He flinched away from her hands and blinked. He placed two fingers at the base of his neck, a deviation from the usual nervous habit of his, and pressed down. "What am I supposed to do? Again, again, I went and ruined–shit, I can't—no, this—shit, shit, shit."

"Logan," she repeated. She took her seat once again, right as an older couple across from them looked away. As if they hadn't been looking just a minute ago. Camille was an actress, a good actress. These people at the restaurant were not.

What did they think this was? A car crash? Logan was not a car crash. He was not a car crash, because people would look at car crashes, stare, and turn away. They would feel bad, offer up a prayer, maybe, forget about it, and then tell anyone they could about it. And how sorry they felt. No. Logan was not a car crash.

She reached across the table for his hand again. His fingers twitched when she made contact. Reflexively, he pulled away and she did too, unsure. He had his hands balled into fists, his arms limp on the table.

"I—this is stupid, fuck, everyone's staring—I can't, I can't." Logan stared down harder at his plate, then shut his eyes. "Shit, shit, shit."

She felt his leg kick hers underneath the table, and again. She closed her eyes for a minute herself. She opened them again to find that Logan was smiling at her, and she's almost relieved. That relief is dashed away when she can still hear him muttering to himself, mostly incoherent, but she picks up a multitude of swear words. And her name.

"Camille," he murmured. "On a date, and what-–having a fucking panic attack in the middle of the fucking—shit."

She tried again to grab his hands. "Logan, you—you didn't do anything wrong. And it's all been cleaned up. This—this is the most romantic date I've ever been on in my life. Thank you."

Uncertain still if it worked, she glanced up at him. He'd gone silent. She rose from her chair for the final time, over to him. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you."

He doesn't respond so much at first, still muttering. But then he returned the hug, and accepted a kiss. He's relaxed now as they hold each other.

Logan smiled, a real one. It wavered slightly, though, which concerned her. "Logan," she whispered. "Thank you."

He laughed quietly, shyly. "You've said thank you three times."

And she doesn't care. Maybe Logan does, because he's a grammar-Nazi when he wants to be. She was being grammatically correct anyway. "I know. I just want you to know."

"That you've said thank you three times."

"That I'm thanking you."

"I know."

"And that I love you."

A pause. "I know that too."

Good.