docdetective

[docdetective]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1854 - could it be love?

chapter summary: You meet Logan, a young man who is briefly stopping by in New York City. Despite both of your better judgments, you quickly realize that perhaps there's nothing wrong with falling in love.

word count: 22.2k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: ahh!! welcome to this new series! i'm very excited to start this journey with all of y'all! just a note, when i say 'character death(s)' in the warnings it means that reader is going to die at the end of every chapter. that's the entire premise of this series, which was inspired by the 11th doctor and clara (iykyk). but first, we have a lot of time to cover before we even reach the first x-men movie so strap in!

i also didn't mean for this to be as long as it is, oops

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, slow burn, illness, character deaths

series masterlist → chapter 2

You didn’t necessarily love your job, but it was better than other options available for you. You grumbled to yourself as you walked down the sidewalk of New York City, horses neighing and wheels rattling on the brick street.

The bonnet on your head protected you from the sun beating down, keeping you from further heat in your dress. You had many things to do while you were out, get the children some new clothes and toys, buy some groceries, and buy some extra cloth for when you eventually had to sew their clothing.

As you passed by a small shop, you paused, peering in through the window. A few wooden toys sat on the shelf inside, simple and sturdy. Perfect for the boys. You pushed the door open, a little bell jingling as you entered, and you made your way toward the display.

"Can I help you, miss?" The shopkeeper’s voice startled you, but you smiled politely.

"Just looking for some toys," you replied, eyes scanning the shelves.

As you picked up a carved wooden horse, the door opened again behind you, letting in a bit of fresh air and a man’s heavy footsteps. You didn’t pay it much mind until you felt a presence nearby, a little too close for comfort. You turned slightly, catching sight of a tall man with dark hair and an unshaven face, dressed in a rough shirt and worn pants, a bit out of place among the polished streets of the city.

He glanced your way, his sharp eyes catching yours for a brief moment before he looked back to the shelves.

Something about him felt different—dangerous, but not in the way that made you want to run. More like it pulled you in, made you curious.

You turned back to the toys, but your mind kept wandering back to the stranger standing nearby. You couldn’t help but glance his way again.

"Those are good for little ones," the man said, his voice rough but casual. He nodded at the toy horse in your hand. "They hold up well. Tougher than they look."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden comment. "You have experience with them?"

His lips twitched, almost a smile. "A bit. Used to make ‘em myself."

You looked him over more closely now, intrigued. "You don’t seem like the toy-making type."

His eyes flicked to yours, something amused in the way he looked at you. "Not anymore," he said, then turned his attention back to the shelves.

There was a silence between you for a moment, but it didn’t feel awkward. If anything, it felt like he didn’t mind you being there, like he was used to people drifting in and out of his space.

You finally spoke again. "I suppose these are sturdy enough for two boys, then."

"Yeah. They’ll survive a beating."

You laughed, the sound surprising you. He gave you another look, a bit more interested this time. There was something about him that made you feel seen in a way that was different from how most men looked at you.

You gathered a few more toys, careful not to spend too much, but you couldn’t resist getting something extra for the little girl you looked after. She was sweet, and it wasn’t her fault she was stuck in such a strict household.

The stranger watched you with those sharp eyes, like he could see more than what was right in front of him. You wondered what his story was, but you weren’t about to ask.

As you headed to the counter, he followed, though he didn’t buy anything. The shopkeeper took your coins, and you gathered your parcels, still feeling the man’s presence behind you.

"Thanks for the advice," you said over your shoulder, more as a courtesy than anything else.

He nodded, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Anytime."

With that, you left the shop, stepping back into the sunlight, the weight of your errands still on your shoulders. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Like maybe that wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

---

Edwin and Phillip seemed to enjoy the toy you got them, already fighting over who gets to play with it first. They were the eldest, Edwin was 9, Phillip was 7, and Ada was 6. You handed her the toy you got for her, one she got to keep all to herself.

Ada's face lit up when you handed her the small, carved doll. She held it in her hands gently, like it was the most precious thing in the world.

"For me?" she asked, her voice soft with disbelief.

You smiled and nodded. "Just for you, Ada."

Her eyes sparkled, and she hugged the doll to her chest. "Thank you!"

Edwin and Phillip were already in the middle of their tug-of-war with the wooden horse, the two boys shouting over whose turn it was.

"I had it first!" Edwin argued, pulling the toy toward him.

"You always get it first!" Phillip shot back, his voice growing louder.

You sighed and stepped in, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Why don't you take turns? If you can't share, I'll have to take it away, and no one gets to play with it."

They both groaned but reluctantly agreed, setting the horse on the floor. Edwin was a bit of a handful, but he could be sweet when he wanted to be. Phillip, the quieter one, usually followed his brother’s lead. At least Ada wasn’t much trouble.

After helping Ada settle in with her new toy, you turned to check on the boys, making sure they hadn’t already forgotten your words. But as you did, your thoughts drifted back to the man in the shop. There was something about him—something that lingered in your mind even now. He didn’t fit in with the usual crowd you saw around here, but he didn’t seem bothered by that.

It was odd, though, that someone like him would be in a toy shop of all places. You tried to shake the thought away, but it kept creeping back, a sense that your brief encounter meant more than it appeared.

Later, after the children had settled down, you found yourself with a rare quiet moment. You sat by the window, staring out at the street below, watching the people passing by. The day was winding down, the sky fading into hues of orange and pink, and yet, the man’s sharp eyes lingered in your mind.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for thinking too much about a stranger. It was just a passing moment—nothing more. You had far more important things to focus on, like taking care of the children and making sure everything ran smoothly for the household. That man, whoever he was, wasn’t part of your world.

But still, something in the back of your mind whispered that you’d see him again. And the thought of it didn’t exactly bother you.

---

The next few days were a blur of your usual routine. The children kept you busy, and you barely had a moment to yourself. But even as you went through the motions of your daily life, you couldn't help but feel that sense of something—or someone—waiting.

It was on a brisk afternoon, a few days after your encounter at the shop, when you found yourself running errands again. The streets were busier than usual, with carriages clattering over the cobblestones and people bustling past in a hurry. You had a long list of things to pick up, and the thought of weaving through the crowded market already had you dreading the trip.

As you made your way through the streets, you spotted a familiar figure standing at the corner near a fruit stand. The man from the shop. He hadn’t seen you yet, but something about the way he stood, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, watching the passersby with a quiet intensity, made you pause.

You debated for a moment. Should you approach him? Or would it seem too forward?

Before you could decide, his gaze lifted, and he spotted you. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing over his features, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching you.

You took a deep breath and made your way over, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Fancy seeing you here again," you said, trying to sound casual as you approached.

"Didn’t expect to run into you either," he replied, his voice still rough, but there was a hint of something in his tone. Amusement? Interest? You couldn’t quite place it.

"I was just running errands," you said, gesturing to the market behind you. "You know how it is."

He nodded, his eyes flicking over you for a moment before landing back on the crowd. "Yeah, I get it."

There was a beat of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it almost felt... familiar. Like talking to him wasn’t so strange after all.

"Are you from around here?" you asked, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. "Not really. Just passing through."

"Do you always pass through toy shops when you're in town?"

His lips quirked into that almost-smile again. "Only when I feel like it."

You couldn’t help but chuckle. "Mysterious, aren’t you?"

He shrugged, not giving much away. "Maybe."

You were about to ask him something else when a shout came from behind you. You turned to see one of the street vendors, an older man, calling out angrily at a young boy who had clearly tried to swipe an apple from his cart.

Before you could even react, the man next to you stepped forward. His movements were quick and fluid, like he was used to handling situations like this. He reached the boy before the vendor could get too close, gripping the kid by the collar.

"Hey," the man said, his voice low but firm. "That’s not how you do things."

The boy froze, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting to be caught so quickly.

"Put it back," the man ordered.

The boy, trembling slightly, dropped the apple back onto the cart. "I’m sorry!" he blurted out before scurrying off into the crowd.

You watched as the man exchanged a few words with the vendor, calming him down before he turned back to you, his expression unreadable.

"You didn’t have to do that," you said, surprised by how quickly he had handled the situation.

He shrugged again. "The kid’ll learn his lesson. Better this way than the other options."

You looked at him, a little more curious now. He wasn’t just some rough-around-the-edges stranger. There was something deeper to him, something that made you want to know more.

“I don’t think I caught your name the other day,” you settled on, meeting his eyes as the energy of the crowd buzzed around you both.

He gave a small nod, like he was considering whether to answer or not. "Logan," he said simply.

"Logan," you repeated, trying the name on your tongue. It suited him, rough around the edges but solid. "I’m Y/N."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he gave another slight nod, acknowledging it. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, but it felt like something unspoken passed through the space. Something that told you he wasn’t just another passerby in your life.

"Thanks for helping that kid back there," you said, breaking the quiet. "Not everyone would step in like that."

Logan shrugged like it was nothing, his eyes scanning the crowd again. "Not a big deal."

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "You do that a lot? Play the hero?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, barely there, but it was enough. "No. Just don't like seeing people get hurt when I can do something about it."

There was a gruffness to his words, but it didn’t feel forced. It felt real. And it was clear that he wasn’t the type to go around explaining himself to anyone. You liked that.

"Well, either way, it was good of you." You glanced down at the parcels in your arms, suddenly remembering the rest of your errands. "I should probably get going, before I’m late getting back."

Logan gave you a small nod, his eyes flicking down to your parcels. "You take care."

You hesitated, a part of you not wanting to walk away just yet. But what could you say? You didn’t know this man, not really, and yet you felt drawn to him in a way that was hard to explain. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he had been through more than he let on. Or maybe it was the quiet strength in him that made you feel oddly safe.

"Maybe I’ll see you around?" you offered, not wanting to make the goodbye feel so final.

Logan’s eyes met yours again, and for a moment, there was something softer in his gaze. "Yeah. Maybe."

With that, you gave him a small smile and turned to leave, weaving your way through the bustling street. As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance back once, just to see if he was still there. He was, standing where you left him, watching you go.

---

The following days fell back into your usual routine—taking care of the children, running errands, keeping the household in order. Yet, no matter how busy you were, your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. Something about him lingered in your mind, and it wasn’t just because he had helped out that kid. There was something deeper, something you couldn’t quite shake.

You found yourself wondering if he really was just passing through, or if there was more to his story than he was letting on. You didn’t know why it mattered so much, but it did.

One afternoon, as you were helping Ada tie the ribbon on her new dress, she looked up at you with her big, curious eyes.

"Y/N, are you thinking about something?" she asked innocently.

You blinked, surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you’re smiling," she said, her voice soft and sweet.

You hadn’t even realized. "Oh," you said, chuckling softly. "I guess I was just lost in thought."

Ada giggled, her small hands playing with the ribbon you had just tied. "You think about a lot of things."

"That’s because I have to keep track of all you rascals," you teased, tickling her side gently.

She squealed in delight, wriggling away from you, and you couldn’t help but laugh. But as you settled back into the moment, that same thought returned, uninvited. Logan. Would you see him again?

---

It wasn’t long before the answer came.

You were out in the market again, picking up some fresh bread for dinner. The smell of the bakery wafted through the air, warm and comforting. You had just handed over your coins to the baker when you felt that familiar presence—something just outside the edge of your awareness, like a shadow that suddenly moved.

Turning slightly, your eyes caught sight of Logan standing near a fruit cart, his hands in his pockets, watching you. It wasn’t a surprise this time, but your heart still gave a little flutter at the sight of him. You made your way over, the crowd parting as you walked.

"Logan," you greeted, a smile pulling at your lips before you could stop it.

"Y/N," he replied, nodding in acknowledgment. His expression didn’t change much, but there was something almost... pleased in his eyes. Like he had expected you to come over.

"Still passing through?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced around the busy street before answering. "Seems like I’ve been here longer than I planned."

"Any reason for that?" you asked, half-joking but also genuinely curious.

Logan looked at you for a long moment, like he was debating how much to say. Finally, he shrugged. "No reason."

You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it go. Instead, you gestured to the bread in your basket. "If you’re still around tomorrow, you should come by the park. I take the children there sometimes in the afternoons. It’s quieter than here."

Logan’s eyes flicked to yours, considering. "Maybe I will."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction from his answer. It was small, but it was something.

"Well," you said, shifting the basket on your arm. "I should get back before the boys tear the house down."

Logan smirked at that, and you felt a warmth spread through you at the sight of it. He wasn’t a man who smiled easily, but when he did, it felt like a reward.

"Take care," he said, his voice low and steady, and you couldn’t help but notice how those words made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

As you walked away, the warmth of his gaze stayed with you, lingering long after you’d turned the corner.

---

The next day, you found yourself at the park, just as you had promised. Edwin and Phillip were racing around, laughing as they chased each other, while Ada sat quietly by your side, her doll clutched in her hands.

You tried not to look around for Logan, but you couldn’t help it. Every time someone passed by, your heart gave a little jump, only to settle back down when you realized it wasn’t him.

Just as you were beginning to think he wouldn’t show, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

"Mind if I join you?" Logan’s voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you smile.

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. "Not at all."

Logan gave a nod, lowering himself onto the bench beside you. He stretched his long legs out, looking completely at ease. The sounds of the children’s laughter filled the air, and for a moment, you just sat in companionable silence.

“Boys giving you trouble?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

“They always do,” you replied, watching as Edwin tackled Phillip to the ground. “But I think they’d explode if they didn’t.”

Logan’s lips twitched at that—almost a smile. “Kids’ll do that. Got too much energy.”

You tilted your head, studying him out of the corner of your eye. “You got siblings?”

Logan paused for a second, like the question had caught him off guard. “Yeah. A brother.”

You didn’t press, sensing there was more to the story but knowing better than to pry. Instead, you turned your attention back to the children.

“Do you have any?” Logan asked, nodding toward the boys.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I look after them for the family I work for. They keep me busy, though. Might as well be mine.”

He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, resting his elbows on his knees.

“And her?” Logan nodded toward Ada, who sat a little apart from the boys, her doll tucked protectively in her arms.

“That’s Ada,” you said, smiling softly. “She’s the quiet one. A little sweet thing, really.”

“She’s got good taste,” Logan remarked, glancing at the doll in her hands.

You chuckled. “That was the least I could do for her. Life’s not exactly fun in that house.”

Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “It never is.”

You frowned, catching the weight behind his words, but before you could ask what he meant, Ada wandered over to you. She gave Logan a curious glance but stayed close by your side.

“Who’s he?” Ada whispered, gripping your sleeve.

You smiled. “This is Logan. He’s a friend.”

Logan gave her a small nod, and Ada, ever cautious, just stared at him with wide eyes. After a beat, she leaned in close to you and whispered, “He looks like a bear.”

You tried—really tried—not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway. Logan gave a low chuckle of his own, shaking his head slightly.

“Smart kid,” he murmured.

Ada, encouraged by your laughter, gave a shy smile. Then she wandered back toward the boys, apparently satisfied with Logan’s presence.

“She’s got you figured out,” you teased, grinning.

Logan’s expression softened just a bit, and he gave a small shrug. “Kids see things plain.”

You leaned back on the bench, letting yourself relax. It was strange, how easy it felt to be around him. You didn’t know much about him—hardly anything, really—but something about Logan made you feel like you didn’t need to fill the silence with useless conversation.

“Do you ever stop moving?” you asked suddenly, curious. “You said you were just passing through, but it seems like you’ve stayed a bit longer.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. He stared out at the park, his expression thoughtful.

“Sometimes,” he said finally. “Not often, though.”

“That sounds lonely.”

His jaw twitched slightly, and he turned his head to look at you. “You get used to it.”

You held his gaze for a moment, sensing that there was more beneath the surface than he was letting on. But instead of prying, you just nodded, accepting his words for what they were.

“Well, if you ever feel like staying in one place for a bit, you know where to find me,” you said lightly.

Logan’s eyes flickered with something—something you couldn’t quite name—but he gave a small nod, like he was filing that thought away.

“Appreciate it,” he murmured.

Before you could say more, Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, out of breath and covered in dirt.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Edwin shouted. “Phillip said he could run faster than me, but I totally won!”

Phillip scowled, wiping mud off his cheek. “Only because you pushed me.”

“You pushed him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at Edwin.

Edwin squirmed. “Not that hard.”

Logan snorted quietly, drawing both boys’ attention. They looked at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Who’s that?” Edwin whispered loudly, leaning closer to you.

“That’s Logan,” you said. “He’s a friend.”

Edwin tilted his head, squinting up at Logan. “You look tough.”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I get that a lot.”

“Can you fight?” Edwin asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up. “Like—like really fight?”

“Edwin!” you scolded, but Logan just gave a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Logan said. “A bit.”

“Whoa!” Edwin’s jaw dropped, clearly impressed. Phillip, more cautious, stayed quiet but kept his eyes on Logan like he was trying to figure him out.

“Alright, enough of that,” you said, gently ushering the boys away. “Go play before I make you help with dinner.”

Edwin groaned but dragged Phillip along, the two of them running back toward the trees.

You glanced at Logan, shaking your head. “You’ve got yourself some new fans, it seems.”

Logan huffed softly. “Kids are alright.”

There was a pause, and then you asked quietly, “You really do keep moving, don’t you?”

Logan looked at you, his expression serious. “Yeah.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. There was something in his eyes that told you he’d seen more than most—more than you could probably imagine.

“Well,” you said softly, “if you ever get tired of running, you know where to find me.”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

---

You saw Logan more often than not. Truth be told, you enjoyed his presence. He was different than the other men you had met, not as harsh, didn’t look down on you, or see you as an object.

One day, while walking around the market with a small basket, filled with a few apples and some bread, you looked at a carriage, rolling along the brick road with a horse in front.

“I never learned how to ride a horse,” you said, glancing at the carriage as it rolled along the cobblestone street. The words came out before you even knew why you said them, maybe just filling the space between you and Logan.

Logan, walking beside you, gave you a sidelong glance. The faintest trace of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “That right?”

You shrugged, shifting the basket in your hand. “Never had a reason to, I suppose. And it’s not exactly something you pick up living in the city.”

He made a low noise in his throat that could have been agreement. For a moment, the two of you walked in companionable silence, the sounds of the market buzzing around you—vendors calling out, the clip-clop of hooves, the soft rustle of autumn leaves underfoot.

“Wouldn’t take much to learn,” Logan said finally, his voice easy. “Reckon you’d be good at it.”

You shot him a skeptical glance. “How would you know?”

Logan gave a lazy shrug. “Just a guess.”

There was something in his tone, though—something soft and amused that made your cheeks warm. You glanced away, pretending to be very interested in a stall selling ribbons, though your attention kept drifting back to Logan.

“You know how to ride, then?” you asked after a moment, keeping your tone casual.

He nodded. “Yeah. Picked it up when I was a kid.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “Where’d you grow up?”

“Here and there,” he answered vaguely, though not unkindly. You got the sense that there was a lot more to the story—things he wasn’t ready to share. And maybe things you weren’t quite ready to ask about. Not yet, anyway.

“Would you teach me?” you asked on impulse, surprising even yourself.

Logan glanced over, one brow raised, and for a moment, you thought he might laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave a small nod, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Sure,” he said simply.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

“When?” you pressed, feeling strangely excited by the idea.

Logan thought for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the road ahead. “Next Sunday,” he decided. “There’s a place just outside the city. I know a guy who’s got a couple of good horses.”

You felt a flicker of doubt—after all, you had responsibilities, and it wasn’t as though you could just abandon the children for the day. But Logan must have noticed your hesitation because he gave you a reassuring look.

“Bring the kids,” he offered. “They can run wild while you learn.”

That made you laugh softly. “You really think I can keep up with them and learn to ride a horse?”

Logan’s lips twitched. “I’ll handle the boys if they get out of hand.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I’ve handled worse,” Logan said with a grin that made your stomach do an odd little flip.

You opened your mouth to respond, but just then, a vendor called out, advertising fresh apples, and you were drawn toward the stall. Logan followed at a leisurely pace, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

You picked a couple of apples, inspecting them before adding them to your basket. As you handed a coin to the vendor, you glanced at Logan again.

“Next Sunday, then?” you asked, as if you still needed confirmation.

Logan gave a small nod. “Next Sunday.”

Something about the way he said it—calm and certain—made you believe it would actually happen. And for the first time in a long while, you found yourself looking forward to something.

---

The boys were already running rampant in the large field, their shouts of laughter echoing across the open space. You could see Edwin trying to race Phillip again, their legs kicking up dirt as they charged back and forth. Ada, ever the quiet one, sat nearby on a stack of hay, her doll in her lap, watching them with a little smile on her face.

You stood near the horses, feeling a flutter of nervous energy in your stomach. Logan was beside you, calm as always, holding the reins of a chestnut mare with an ease that made it all look far simpler than you knew it was. He glanced over at you, his dark eyes catching yours, and you could see the trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You sure about this?” Logan asked, nodding toward the horse.

You swallowed, staring up at the mare. “Sure. How hard can it be?”

Logan gave a quiet laugh, clearly not convinced. “We’ll see.”

He held the reins steady, motioning for you to come closer. You did, taking a deep breath as you placed your hand on the saddle. The horse shifted slightly, and you jumped back a little, making Logan chuckle again.

“She’s not gonna bite,” he said, his voice low and amused.

“I know that,” you muttered, embarrassed but trying not to show it. “I just wasn’t ready.”

Logan gave a small shrug, stepping around to stand beside you. “C’mon. Foot in the stirrup. I’ll help you up.”

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. Grabbing hold of the saddle, you placed your foot in the stirrup just like he’d told you, and then you felt Logan’s hand on your waist, firm and steady. With one swift movement, he lifted you up onto the horse, and suddenly you were sitting much higher than you’d expected.

You gripped the reins tightly, your heart racing a little.

“There,” Logan said, standing back with his arms crossed. He looked up at you, giving a small nod of approval. “Not bad.”

You glanced down at him, a bit breathless. “I’m on the horse, but that doesn’t mean I can ride it.”

Logan smirked. “One step at a time, darlin’.”

He moved around to grab the reins, keeping his voice low and calm as he spoke to the mare, guiding her gently in a slow circle around the field. You held on, trying to keep yourself steady in the saddle. It wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, but every time the horse took a step, you felt your stomach flip a little.

Logan kept walking beside you, close enough that you could hear him, though his voice was quiet. “You’re doin’ fine.”

“I feel ridiculous,” you muttered, glancing over at the boys to make sure they weren’t watching. Of course, they were, but they seemed more interested in their own games than in you wobbling around on a horse.

“You look fine,” Logan said, and there was something in his tone that made you glance at him sharply.

His eyes flickered up toward yours for just a moment, and you felt that familiar warmth in your cheeks again. You looked away quickly, trying to focus on staying upright.

“You’re just sayin’ that,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Logan chuckled. “No. If you looked ridiculous, I’d tell you.”

The confidence in his voice made you smile despite yourself. You loosened your grip on the reins just a little, letting yourself relax. The horse moved steadily beneath you, her pace slow and even, and after a few moments, you realized it wasn’t so bad after all.

“You ready to try it on your own?” Logan asked, his voice easy.

You blinked. “You think I’m ready?”

“Yeah.” He handed the reins over to you, stepping back a little. “Just keep her steady. She’s not gonna take off on you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath and gripping the reins tightly as you urged the horse forward. She responded, moving into a gentle walk, and you felt a little thrill of pride. Logan walked beside you for a few more steps, watching, but then he stopped, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you guide the horse around the field on your own.

“You’re a natural,” he called out, a grin tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, feeling a bit more confident now. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

As you circled back around toward him, you slowed the horse, bringing her to a stop in front of Logan. He looked up at you, his eyes warm and approving.

“Told ya,” he said. “Not so hard, is it?”

You shook your head, smiling. “Not as hard as I thought.”

Logan reached up, taking the reins from your hands. “C’mon. Let’s get you down.”

This part felt a little trickier, but Logan was there, steadying you as you swung your leg over the saddle and slid down. His hands were firm on your waist again, and for just a moment, you were standing close enough to catch the scent of leather and something else—something distinctly Logan.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him.

Logan’s eyes held yours for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he gave a small nod, stepping back.

“Anytime,” he said, his voice low.

Before you could say anything else, the boys came running over, breathless and wild from their playing. Edwin looked up at the horse, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Can I ride next?” he asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

You glanced at Logan, raising an eyebrow. “You said you’d handle them if they got out of hand, remember?”

Logan sighed, giving you a wry smile. “Yeah, I remember.”

He looked at Edwin, then nodded toward the horse. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As Logan helped Edwin onto the horse, you stepped back, watching with a small smile. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the field, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful. You glanced at Ada, who was still sitting on the haystack, her doll in her arms, watching the scene with quiet interest.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to let yourself enjoy moments like this.

As Logan guided Edwin around the field, you found yourself watching him more than the horse. There was something about the way he moved—strong, sure, like he belonged here, like he was more comfortable in this quiet, open space than anywhere else.

And as he turned, catching your eye for just a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’d found something here worth staying for.

---

“You ever think about gettin’ outta the city?” Logan asked, his voice low. “Findin’ somewhere quieter?”

You glanced at him, a little surprised by the question. “I’ve thought about it. But… I’ve got responsibilities.”

Logan nodded slowly, his eyes distant as he stared out at the horizon. “Yeah. Responsibilities.”

The way he said it made you wonder if he was thinking about something—or someone—far away. You’d learned quickly that Logan wasn’t one to talk much about his past, and though you were curious, you didn’t push.

You turned a jar of honey over in your hand, Mr. Thomas had asked you to buy them another jar while you were out. “If I didn’t have responsibilities, I’d like to live out in a cabin, away from everything else. Sometimes things here are noisy. I’d just like to… I don’t know, exist without worryin’ about anything.”

Logan, standing beside you, his hands shoved in his pockets, gave a small grunt of agreement. "Sounds nice."

You glanced at him, curious. "You ever think about it? Leaving the city behind, finding a quiet spot somewhere?"

Logan paused for a moment, his gaze distant. "Yeah. Sometimes."

The simplicity of his answer hung in the air between you, and for a second, you wondered if he'd actually let himself think about settling down. It seemed unlikely, given how much he kept moving, but there was something in the way he said it, something almost wistful.

"You don't seem like the kind of guy who stays in one place for too long," you teased, shifting the basket in your hand as you handed the vendor a coin for the honey.

Logan shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Guess not."

You both fell into a comfortable silence as you continued walking through the market. The streets bustled with people, but somehow, with Logan by your side, it all felt a little less overwhelming. You didn't have to fill the quiet with pointless chatter. He wasn’t like the others in the city—constantly rushing, looking for something to gain. He just… existed, like you wanted to.

As you passed by a small stall selling flowers, you slowed down, your eyes catching on a bouquet of wildflowers that reminded you of something you'd see out in the countryside. Logan noticed, his eyes following your gaze.

"You like those?" he asked, nodding toward the flowers.

You smiled softly. "Yeah. They remind me of… I don’t know, freedom, I guess."

Logan gave a small chuckle. "Freedom, huh?"

You shrugged, suddenly feeling a little silly. "I know it sounds strange. It’s just… being stuck in the city all the time, I don’t get to see much of the world outside these streets."

He didn’t laugh or brush it off like most people would have. Instead, Logan looked at you for a moment, his expression serious.

"Maybe one day," he said quietly, "you’ll get that cabin. Find some peace."

There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat, but before you could respond, a commotion erupted a few stalls down. Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, laughing and out of breath, their hands full of something they clearly weren’t supposed to have.

"Y/N!" Edwin shouted, holding up a small sack of apples. "Look what we got!"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "And how exactly did you 'get' those?"

Phillip, ever the quieter one, shifted nervously on his feet. "We didn’t steal them! Mr. Turner gave them to us after we helped him with his cart."

You glanced over to where Mr. Turner, a kind old man who often sold apples at the market, was smiling and waving in your direction.

"Alright," you said, sighing with relief. "But you’d better not be causing any trouble."

Logan chuckled under his breath, watching the boys with amusement. "They’re just having fun."

"Yeah, until someone gets hurt," you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile at their excitement.

Edwin, noticing Logan for the first time, grinned. "Hey, Logan! You ever been in a real fight?"

Logan smirked, glancing at you before turning back to the boys. "A couple."

Edwin’s eyes lit up. "Tell us about one!"

"Edwin," you warned, shaking your head. "Logan doesn’t have time to tell you all his stories."

But Logan didn’t seem to mind. He crouched down to the boys’ level, his expression serious as he spoke in that low, gravelly voice of his.

"Alright, but just one. There was this guy… big, tough-looking fella, thought he could take me down. We were out in the middle of nowhere, no one around for miles. He comes at me with this huge stick, thinking that’ll be enough."

Edwin and Phillip leaned in, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.

"So, what happened?" Edwin asked, barely able to contain himself.

Logan’s smirk deepened. "Let’s just say, he learned real quick not to mess with me."

The boys erupted into laughter, completely captivated by the idea of Logan taking down some big, burly guy.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. "You’re gonna give them ideas, you know."

Logan stood, shrugging casually. "Kids need a little excitement."

"Not too much," you muttered, though you were grateful for the way he interacted with them. Most men in the city didn’t have the patience for children, especially not boys as wild as Edwin and Phillip.

As the boys ran off again, Logan glanced over at you, his expression softening just a bit.

"They look up to you," he said quietly.

You looked down, shrugging. "They’re good kids. Just need someone to look after them."

Logan was quiet for a moment, watching the boys as they disappeared into the crowd. Then, almost as if the thought had just occurred to him, he turned back to you.

"You ever think about having your own?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You hadn’t really thought about it—not seriously, anyway. Your life was too full of other people’s children, other people’s problems.

"I don’t know," you said slowly, glancing up at him. "Maybe someday. If I ever get that cabin, I might think about it."

Logan nodded, but didn’t say anything more. He just walked beside you, the two of you falling back into that easy, comfortable silence.

It wasn’t until later, as you lay in bed that night, that you found yourself thinking about his question again. The idea of a quiet life, away from the noise and chaos of the city, didn’t seem so impossible anymore—not when you imagined Logan there with you.

---

One night, after you had put the boys to sleep and were in Ada’s room to read a story to her, she asked you a question. “Why aren’t you like mama and papa?”

You raised your head from the book you were reading to her, “what do you mean?”

Her lips formed a small pout, “mama has papa, but you don’t have anyone.”

You blinked, caught off guard by Ada’s question. Her innocent curiosity made your heart ache, but you kept your voice steady.

“Well, sweetie,” you started, trying to find the right words, “sometimes, people are just on their own for a little while. It doesn’t mean they won’t find someone. Maybe they just haven’t yet.”

Ada considered this, her small brow furrowed in thought. “But you’re so nice. Why doesn’t anyone love you?”

The simplicity of the question stung more than it should have. You chuckled softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s not that simple, Ada. But thank you for saying that.”

She didn’t seem satisfied with your answer, her tiny face still scrunched up in confusion. “Don’t you get lonely?”

You hesitated, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. The truth was, sometimes you did. Even though you were surrounded by people—taking care of the children, managing the house—you couldn’t deny that feeling creeping in every now and then.

“I have you, don’t I?” you finally said, smiling down at her. “And Edwin and Phillip. You three keep me pretty busy.”

Ada giggled softly at that, settling into her blankets. “I guess. But I think you should find someone, like mama did.”

You gave her a light kiss on the forehead, smoothing down her hair. “Maybe one day, kiddo.”

Ada yawned, her eyes drooping as sleep crept up on her. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Ada,” you whispered, watching her drift off. You stayed there for a moment longer, thinking about her words, before quietly slipping out of the room.

The house was silent as you made your way down the hall, but your mind was anything but. Her innocent question stirred something inside of you, a longing that you hadn’t let yourself fully acknowledge. It wasn’t like you to dwell on what you didn’t have, but maybe… maybe Ada was right. Maybe there was something missing.

But it wasn’t something you could focus on right now. You had responsibilities. This family depended on you, and that was enough for now. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

As you reached your room and closed the door behind you, you caught sight of the bouquet of wildflowers Logan had quietly bought earlier in the day. You hadn’t noticed him purchase them at the market, but when you returned to the house, they were there on the doorstep, a small note attached that simply read, Thought you’d like these.

You smiled to yourself, gently picking up the flowers and placing them in a vase by the window. You hadn’t thought much about having someone of your own, but as you looked at the flowers, you couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like.

And, for the first time in a long while, the idea didn’t seem so far away.

---

The next few days passed quietly, with Logan visiting you at the market more frequently, though neither of you mentioned the wildflowers. There was an unspoken understanding between you—neither of you rushed things, but the connection was undeniably growing.

One afternoon, as you sat outside with Ada on your lap, reading her a story, Logan appeared at the gate. The children spotted him first, of course, and Edwin ran over, grinning ear to ear.

“Logan! You’re back!” he shouted, tugging at Logan’s coat. “Did you bring us any stories?”

Logan gave a soft grunt, glancing over at you with a smirk. “I might have one or two left.”

You shook your head, amused. “They’ll never leave you alone if you keep telling them stories, you know.”

Logan crouched down, ruffling Edwin’s hair. “I don’t mind,” he said, his gaze softening as he glanced at Ada in your lap. “How’re you doin’, kid?”

Ada looked up from the book and smiled shyly, giving him a small wave. “Hi, Logan.”

He smiled, the sight of the children always easing something in him, though he didn’t let it show too much.

As the kids ran off to play, Logan took a seat beside you on the bench. The two of you sat in silence for a while, watching the children chase each other across the yard.

“They’re good kids,” Logan said finally, breaking the quiet.

“They are,” you agreed. “They’ve got a lot of love to give, and not always enough people around to give it to.”

Logan turned his head slightly, his eyes studying you. “That include you?”

You looked down, fidgeting with your skirt. “Maybe. I spend so much time looking after everyone else, sometimes I forget there’s more to life than just… this.”

Logan didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly. Then, his voice low, he asked, “You ever think about finding something more?”

You turned to him, surprised by the question. “I don’t know if I’ve let myself think that far ahead,” you admitted, your heart beating a little faster under his gaze.

Logan looked away, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was holding something back. “Maybe you should.”

The weight of his words lingered in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a pull—a possibility of something beyond the life you’d built here. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to dream about until now.

But before either of you could say more, the children’s laughter echoed through the yard, and the moment passed. Still, the feeling stayed with you long after Logan left that evening.

---

The sky had taken on that soft orange hue of evening, the kind that made the whole world feel suspended between day and night. You and Logan walked side by side along the Hudson River, the sound of water gently lapping against the shore mixing with the distant hum of the city. It had become your routine over the past few weeks, these evening walks—quiet, almost intimate, even though neither of you said much.

Today, though, something felt different. Logan had been quieter than usual, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the fading sunlight. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

Logan nodded, though his expression didn’t quite match the motion. “Yeah, just… thinkin’.”

“About?”

He stopped walking, turning to face the river. You followed his gaze, watching the way the sun’s reflection danced on the surface of the water. After a long moment, he spoke.

“I’ve never really… had this before,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Y’know, just… bein’ with someone like this. Feels kinda strange.”

You smiled softly, stepping closer to him, close enough that your arm brushed against his. “Strange in a good way?”

Logan let out a short, almost nervous chuckle. “Yeah. In a good way.”

The two of you stood there, side by side, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. You could feel the warmth of his presence, his arm just barely touching yours, and it sent a small thrill through you. You hadn’t been sure at first if what you felt for Logan was mutual—he was quiet, reserved, hard to read—but moments like this, when the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, made it clear. There was something unspoken between you, something neither of you had dared to put into words.

After a while, you turned to face him, studying the way his brow was furrowed, like he was deep in thought.

“Logan,” you said softly.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a kind of intensity that made your heart skip a beat. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with something unsaid.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers slipping into his. Logan stiffened at the touch, his eyes flicking down to where your hands were joined, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he stepped closer, his fingers curling around yours, holding on a little tighter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before either,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s gaze softened, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to let something more vulnerable show through. He hesitated, like he was trying to find the right words, but then decided words weren’t necessary.

Instead, he took a small step forward, his free hand coming up to gently cup the side of your face. His touch was warm, rough, but there was a surprising tenderness in the way his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, his eyes flicking between yours as if asking for permission.

When you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance.

The kiss was soft, almost tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. But the second your lips met his, something inside you seemed to melt, and you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. Logan responded in kind, his grip on your hand tightening as he pulled you closer, the space between you disappearing entirely.

For a moment, it was just the two of you—the sound of the river fading away, the world narrowing down to the warmth of Logan’s lips against yours, the feel of his hand cradling your face like you were something precious.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier, your foreheads resting against each other as you stood there, wrapped in the soft glow of the setting sun.

Logan’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a small, almost sheepish smile. “Didn’t think I’d be kissin’ you tonight.”

You laughed softly, still a little breathless. “Neither did I.”

He pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head as he held you against him. The two of you stood there in the fading light, wrapped up in each other, the world beyond the river momentarily forgotten.

---

Logan thought back to your conversation about living in a cabin more than he cared to admit. The thought of it seemed nice, peaceful, and dare he say it perfect.

After a few weeks of being together, Logan had made a decision and scrounged up any money he could before buying a modest ring from a jeweler. He wasn’t going to propose yet but carrying the ring in his pocket felt right.

He had been coming over to the Thomases’ sprawling estate more often, whether it was walking with you from the market to the large house or even just stopping by of his own will. At first, it had been an occasional thing—a quiet visit here, a quick walk there—but lately, Logan found himself looking for excuses just to be around. You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the way your eyes lit up when you saw him made him feel something unfamiliar, something good.

One late afternoon, Logan leaned against the garden gate, watching as you knelt by a row of flowers, tending to them with your usual care. He couldn’t help but admire the sight—your sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, a small smile on your lips as you worked. It made something in his chest tighten. He fingered the ring in his pocket, feeling its weight. He had no plan to use it anytime soon, but carrying it felt right, like a promise to himself.

You glanced up, catching his eye, and smiled, wiping your hands on your apron as you stood. "Back again, Logan?"

"Guess so," he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thought you might need a hand."

"Well, I could always use one," you teased, stepping closer to him. "But you don’t strike me as the gardening type."

Logan chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, pulling you a little closer. "Not much of a gardener, no. But I can stand here and look good while you do all the work."

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t let go of his hand. The easy banter between you had become natural, and the affection between you had grown, unspoken but undeniable. After a moment, you tugged him toward a bench under a nearby tree.

“Sit with me for a minute,” you said softly. “I’ve been out here all day.”

He followed, sitting beside you as the evening breeze rustled the leaves above. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun began to set. Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the warm light catching the curve of your face.

“You ever think this is enough?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but clear.

You looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

Logan hesitated, his fingers still laced with yours. “Just… this. Bein’ together. Doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

You smiled softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I think it is enough,” you said after a moment. “I like this, Logan. I like us.”

His heart beat a little faster at your words, and without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. It wasn’t a big gesture, but it felt natural, like something he’d been wanting to do for a while. You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes, your lips curving into a gentle smile.

“You keep that up, and I’m never gonna let you go,” you teased, though there was something softer, almost serious, in your tone.

Logan smirked, pulling you closer until your legs brushed against his. “Don’t see a reason to.”

Your fingers traced absent patterns on the back of his hand, your touch light and thoughtful. “You know, I used to wonder if I’d ever feel this way about someone,” you admitted softly, your eyes focused on your hands. “If I’d ever meet someone who made me feel… like this.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, watching you, feeling the warmth of your words settle deep inside him. He’d never thought he’d find someone who made him feel like this either—like he didn’t have to keep moving, like maybe he’d found something worth staying for. He wanted to tell you that, to say what he was feeling, but the words stuck in his throat. So instead, he squeezed your hand, hoping you’d understand what he couldn’t say yet.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you, the pull, was undeniable. Logan leaned in, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, tender, like both of you were taking your time, savoring the moment. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and for a second, the world outside the garden didn’t exist.

“I could stay like this forever,” you whispered, your breath warm against his lips.

Logan’s hand tightened on yours. “Maybe we will,” he murmured back, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You smiled, your eyes soft as you leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sweet. When you pulled back this time, you didn’t say anything, just settled into his side, your head resting against his chest as the two of you watched the sky shift into shades of pink and orange.

The world outside may have been complicated, full of responsibilities and noise, but here, with Logan beside you, it felt simple. Peaceful. Like this was all that mattered.

---

One late afternoon, you were sitting on the porch with Ada and the boys, telling them stories while they played at your feet. Logan leaned against the fence, watching you from a distance, his heart swelling at the sight of you surrounded by the children, laughing and carefree.

“You look like you’re thinkin’ about somethin’ serious,” your voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. You stood up, walking over to him, a teasing smile on your face.

Logan shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just thinkin’ about how you handle those kids like it’s nothin’.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Trust me, it’s something. They’re a handful.”

Logan smiled, reaching out to take your hand. “You’re good at it. I like watchin’ you with them.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly at his compliment, and you glanced down, trying to hide the small smile playing at your lips. “Well, you’re not so bad with them yourself. Edwin won’t stop talking about that story you told him.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Kid’s got a wild imagination.”

You leaned in closer, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. “Maybe he gets that from you.”

He smirked, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “Think so?”

“I know so,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his neck.

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of you, standing in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Logan’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin before he leaned down and kissed you, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of your lips against his.

When he pulled back, your eyes were half-closed, your expression soft and content. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What are we doing?”

He looked at you, his thumb still tracing soft circles on your cheek. “Doin’ what feels right.”

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah. It does feel right.”

The sound of the children’s laughter broke the quiet moment between you, and you both turned to see Ada running toward you, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could. “Y/N! Y/N!” she shouted, her face flushed with excitement. “Come play with us!”

You laughed, pulling away from Logan just enough to crouch down and catch Ada in your arms. “Alright, alright! I’m coming.”

As you stood, you glanced back at Logan, your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. He gave you a small nod, his lips quirking into a smile, and you turned back to the children, running off with them into the yard.

Logan watched you for a while longer, his hand slipping into his pocket where the small ring rested. It wasn’t time yet, but someday, maybe he’d ask. Someday, when the moment was right.

For now, this was enough.

And for the first time in his life, that was all Logan wanted.

---

“Mrs. Thomas is sick. She wanted me to pick up some things for her before the doctor comes to check her out,” you explained, adding a sprig of thyme to your basket and handing the vendor a coin.

Logan stood beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching you with a casual ease that had become second nature to him. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t heavy—just curious.

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Probably just a cold. She’s been coughing a bit, but Mr. Thomas thinks she’ll be fine.”

Logan’s jaw ticked slightly, his eyes following the movement of your hand as it tucked the hair behind your ear. “You sure you should be around her if she’s sick?”

You smiled at his concern, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “It’s part of the job, Logan. Besides, I’ve been with her every day. If I was going to get sick, it would’ve happened by now.”

He frowned, not entirely convinced, but let it drop. You were stubborn like that—always brushing things off when they concerned you.

As you moved from stall to stall, picking out fresh herbs, bread, and tea, Logan trailed beside you, a silent presence at your side. It was comfortable—natural, even. You could feel him close, his arm brushing yours now and then, and though neither of you said much, it was the kind of quiet that felt good.

When you handed the grocer a coin for a small loaf of bread, Logan’s voice broke the easy silence. “You want me to walk you back?”

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Trying to sneak more time with me?”

Logan grinned, his hands still tucked in his coat pockets. “Maybe.”

Your laugh was soft and warm, and Logan swore it was one of his favorite sounds.

“You don’t have to, but I won’t say no if you want to,” you teased, shifting the basket on your hip. “The Thomases live all the way across town, though.”

Logan rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Don’t mind.”

With that settled, the two of you set off toward the Thomases’ estate, falling into step beside each other. The streets bustled with the usual afternoon crowds—vendors hawking their goods, carts rattling down cobbled roads, children darting through the streets. Yet somehow, it felt like the two of you existed in your own little world, insulated from the noise of the city.

“You been working much?” you asked after a moment, glancing sideways at him.

Logan nodded. “Yeah. Couple of odd jobs here and there.”

“Same ones?”

“Mostly.” He paused, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Not much call for a guy like me who’s no good with flowers.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. “Well, I’m sure someone will take pity on you eventually.”

He bumped his shoulder against yours gently. “You already did.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face. “Lucky you.”

The walk was long, but neither of you minded. You pointed out things along the way—shops you liked, shortcuts you’d found, little bits of the city you’d come to know well in your time working for the Thomases. Logan listened, his attention fixed on you, and though he didn’t say much, you could tell he was soaking up every word.

When the two of you reached the tall iron gates of the Thomases' estate, you hesitated, lingering just a bit longer with Logan at the edge of the garden.

“Thanks for walking me,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over his for the briefest second.

“Anytime,” he murmured, catching your hand before you could pull it away. He gave it a squeeze, his eyes lingering on yours. “You alright?”

You nodded. “I’m fine, Logan. Just worried about Mrs. Thomas, I guess.”

He studied you for a beat longer, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the back of your hand. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

You gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. I will.”

Neither of you moved at first, as if caught in a moment you weren’t quite ready to let go of. Logan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you—right there at the gate, with the late afternoon sun warming your skin and the scent of lavender drifting from the garden.

But instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to leave you breathless.

“See you soon,” he murmured against your skin.

You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest. “See you soon,” you whispered back.

Logan stepped away, his hands reluctantly slipping from yours, and you watched as he made his way back down the path. He didn’t look back, but somehow, you knew that he felt the same pull you did—the one that always seemed to draw you closer, no matter how far apart you were.

With a soft sigh, you turned and pushed open the gate, your basket swinging gently at your side as you made your way toward the house. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawn.

You didn’t know it yet, but the weight of that moment—of Logan’s hand in yours, of the way his kiss had felt against your skin—would stay with you. It would become one of those memories you’d carry in the quiet hours, long after everything had changed.

But for now, it was just another afternoon. And that was enough.

You slipped inside the Thomases’ estate, greeted by the familiar smell of baked bread and lavender from the garden. The children’s laughter echoed faintly from upstairs, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the unease you felt about Mrs. Thomas.

As you moved through the grand hallway, the weight of Logan’s lingering kiss on your temple stayed with you, soft and comforting. His presence, though absent now, always seemed to cling to the air around you like the warmth of a hearth after a long day.

“Y/N!” Edwin’s voice called from the top of the stairs. You looked up to find him peering down at you, his unruly curls falling into his eyes. “Can we go to the park after tea? Phillip says he can run faster than me, but I bet I’ll beat him this time.”

You smiled up at him, though your thoughts were still on Mrs. Thomas. “We’ll see about that, Edwin. But let’s check in on your mother first, alright?”

He nodded, though his face fell a little, understanding the importance of that moment.

Making your way to Mrs. Thomas’s room, you found the air heavier, a staleness clinging to it that made you pause at the door. You knocked softly before entering, the creak of the door barely disturbing the quiet. Mrs. Thomas lay in bed, propped up by pillows, her face pale and drawn. Her once vibrant eyes were duller now, and the small cough you had heard earlier seemed more persistent, rattling in her chest.

“Mrs. Thomas,” you said gently, approaching her bedside with the basket of fresh supplies. “I’ve brought some thyme and tea. The doctor will be here later this week.”

Mrs. Thomas offered a faint smile, though it barely touched her lips. “Thank you, dear. You’re always so thoughtful,” she said, her voice raspy. She shifted slightly, wincing at the effort it took. “I’m sure it’s just a little cold.”

You forced a smile, though something inside you tugged with worry. “Of course. Just a little cold.”

After a few more moments, you excused yourself, promising to return later. The house felt stifling, the sense of something being wrong making your chest tighten. Logan had been right to be concerned. But you brushed it aside, focusing on the children.

A few hours later, after Edwin had indeed beaten Phillip in a race through the park, and Ada had insisted on collecting wildflowers for her mother, the three children were settled with tea. You were cleaning up the kitchen when a familiar knock came at the back door.

Opening it, you found Logan leaning against the frame, that easy smile already softening the tension in your shoulders.

“Thought you might like some company,” he said, stepping inside and pulling you into a gentle embrace. The warmth of his arms around you instantly melted away the weight of the afternoon, and for a moment, you simply leaned into him, breathing him in.

“Good timing,” you murmured into his chest. “The kids are winding down for the night. Edwin’s convinced he’s going to be the fastest man in the world.”

Logan chuckled, his chest vibrating against your cheek. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to challenge him one day.”

You smiled, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “He’d love that.”

There was a beat of quiet as Logan’s hand came up to brush a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering just under your jaw. His gaze softened, searching yours for something. It was moments like this—small, tender—that reminded you just how much you’d come to care for him in these past few weeks.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Just… worried about Mrs. Thomas. I don’t know, Logan, she seems worse than she’s letting on.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, his hands slipping down to rest on your waist. “She’s tough, right? She’ll pull through.”

You nodded again, though the doubt lingered. “I hope so.”

Logan leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, the weight of his presence anchoring you. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

“I will,” you whispered, your hands resting on his chest.

He pulled back just enough to catch your lips in a slow, gentle kiss. It was familiar, the way his mouth moved against yours—steady, comforting, with that undercurrent of longing that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface between you two. When you finally parted, his thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze still locked on yours.

“I hate leaving you here,” he murmured, the frustration clear in his voice. “Especially with her sick.”

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, Logan. Go home, get some rest.”

He gave a small grunt, clearly not thrilled with the idea of leaving, but he knew better than to argue when you got like this—determined and stubborn.

With a sigh, he leaned in once more, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Alright. But I’m checking in tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest grew at his protectiveness.

Logan gave you one last smile before turning to head back out into the night, his coat swaying as he disappeared into the shadows. You watched him go, the familiar tug in your chest pulling at you again, but this time it wasn’t just affection. It was worry—a gnawing sense of unease that had been creeping in since that afternoon in the market.

You stood there at the back door for a moment longer, staring into the empty street, wondering if Logan could feel it too—the quiet, unspoken fear that something was about to change.

---

The next few days passed quietly, the routine of the Thomases’ household carrying on as usual—though the coughs from Mrs. Thomas’s room seemed to grow more frequent, more strained. You tried not to think too much of it, telling yourself it was only a cold, that the doctor would sort it out when he came to visit. But there was a part of you, small but insistent, that couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at your thoughts.

The children kept you busy, of course. Edwin was endlessly energetic, challenging Phillip to races and daring Ada to climb the low trees in the garden, much to your chagrin. Ada, sweet and delicate, clung to your side like a shadow, her small hand often finding yours as she babbled on about her imaginary tea parties and grand adventures. In their presence, it was easy to forget the worry in the back of your mind—at least for a little while.

But then, in the quiet moments—like when you helped Mrs. Thomas to her bed after one of her coughing fits, or when the house seemed far too still after the children had fallen asleep—your thoughts would drift back to Logan. To the way he had kissed your forehead that day at the back door, how his hand had lingered in yours just a second longer than usual, as if he’d sensed it too. That something was wrong.

You found yourself waiting for him. Every evening, as the sun dipped low over the city and the shadows lengthened in the streets, you listened for that familiar knock at the back door. And every evening, without fail, he would come—never too late, never too early, always arriving when you needed him most.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting at the small table in the kitchen, a pot of tea cooling beside you, when the soft knock came. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it, your heart lifting in that familiar way as you crossed the room and opened the door.

Logan stood there, his dark hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze, his expression soft but watchful. He gave you that crooked smile that always seemed to make everything feel lighter, as if the world wasn’t such a heavy place when he was around.

“Thought I might find you here,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

You shrugged, the smile still playing on your lips. “Where else would I be?”

He chuckled, moving to lean against the counter, his eyes flicking briefly to the teapot on the table. “You drinking alone?”

“For now,” you teased, pouring him a cup. “But I suppose I can share.”

Logan took the cup from you, his fingers brushing yours in that familiar way, sending a small, warm spark through your skin. He didn’t move to sit, though. Instead, he stayed close, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to read something in your face.

“What?” you asked softly, the weight of his stare making your heart flutter.

“Just checking in,” he said, his voice lower, more serious than before. “You look tired.”

You gave a small, weary laugh, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Logan. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Mrs. Thomas?” he guessed, sipping his tea.

You nodded, glancing at the floor. “She’s getting worse. I’m trying not to worry, but… I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, and he set his cup down, moving to stand beside you. His hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “If you need me to do anything—get more medicine, fetch the doctor sooner—you just say the word.”

You met his gaze, your chest tightening at the concern etched into his face. He always made you feel safe, even when you didn’t want to admit how scared you were. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it gently.

“I know,” you murmured. “Thank you.”

For a moment, the room was quiet again, the sounds of the city muted by the walls of the house. You could hear the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth, the distant hum of life outside, but here, in this small space, it felt like it was just the two of you. Just the two of you, and the warmth of his hand on your shoulder.

Logan shifted slightly, turning to face you more fully, his other hand coming to rest at your waist. He tugged you closer, his expression softening as he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in that tender way that always made your heart skip. But this time, he didn’t stop there. He tilted your chin up gently, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“C’mere,” he whispered, and you didn’t need any more coaxing.

Your arms slid up around his neck, pulling him in as his lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was soft at first, tender, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, a sense of urgency you hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the weight of the unspoken worry hanging between you, or maybe it was just that every time you kissed him, it felt like it could be the last. Either way, you melted into him, savoring the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hands tightened around your waist as if he didn’t want to let you go.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling with his, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he let out a long, slow sigh.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You hadn’t meant to say it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. The thought of being alone with your worries, of facing the uncertainty of Mrs. Thomas’s illness by yourself, suddenly felt unbearable.

Logan’s eyes opened, his gaze soft but searching as he studied your face. “You sure?”

You nodded, your hands still resting at the nape of his neck. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. With a soft, reassuring smile, he nodded and pressed another kiss to your temple. “Alright. I’m here.”

---

The doctor had come by some days later bringing by news, Mrs. Thomas had tuberculosis. He gave her at least another month to live.

Mr. Thomas had instructed you to not let the kids near her as often, to make sure they don’t get sick. He didn’t seem to care much about Logan spending the night with you, or letting the kids be around him.

Logan had been spending more nights with you, by your request. It wasn’t something you talked about, just a quiet understanding between the two of you. The nights felt warmer with him beside you, the weight of the world a little lighter when you could lean against him. He never made a big deal out of it either. It was just...natural.

Tonight was no different. You sat by the fire in the small parlor, the children long since asleep upstairs. The flicker of the flames cast shadows across the room, and you caught yourself glancing toward the door, waiting for that familiar knock.

When it came, it was soft, almost hesitant. But you smiled, already rising to your feet to let him in. Logan stepped inside, brushing off the chill of the night as he shook the snow from his coat.

“Snow’s picking up out there,” he muttered, shrugging off the heavy coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d get here before it got too bad.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as you watched him. “I’m glad you did.”

He crossed the room, and without another word, his arms wrapped around you. You melted into his chest, resting your head against him as the fire crackled in the hearth. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand running down your back.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

You sighed, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s… everything with Mrs. Thomas, the kids… I’m trying to keep it together.”

Logan frowned, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you said softly. “But I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t,” he repeated, his eyes searching yours. “I’m here.”

That simple statement hit you harder than you expected. You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. He responded instantly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss as if he needed it as much as you did. It was slow and tender, and you found yourself pulling him closer, trying to forget the weight of everything else, if only for a moment.

When you finally pulled back, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You should sleep,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted.”

“Will you stay?” you asked, your voice small.

“Always,” he said without hesitation.

---

The nights blurred together. Logan was there more often than not, sometimes waiting for you when you finished putting the children to bed, other times arriving late after a day spent working. You hadn’t asked where he went during the day, and he hadn’t volunteered the information. It didn’t matter. When he was with you, everything else seemed to fade into the background.

The children, especially Ada, had continued asking why she couldn’t see her mother as often. It had broke your heart to tell her and the boys that their mom was sick, not going any further than that.

“They’ll understand one day,” Logan had said, trying to comfort you as you sat by the fire one evening. His arm was around your shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

You nodded, but the heaviness in your chest wouldn’t lift.

“I just want to help,” you murmured. “But I can’t.”

Logan was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice low. “You’re doing more than you think, Y/N. Just being here for the kids, for her... it matters.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. There was something in the way he looked at you, something deeper than the usual concern. It was a look that made your heart skip, that made you realize just how much he had become a part of your life in such a short time.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before brushing his lips against yours in a slow, gentle kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing that connection, needing him.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Logan’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his touch soothing.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, as if the words alone could make everything right.

And for a moment, they did.

---

You could tell that after a month and a half, Mrs. Thomas didn’t have much time left. Maybe a week at the most. She was so young, barely 30 years old, and already having to face the inevitable. Her coughing had become more violent, her body thinner with each passing day, and the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She was fading right before your eyes.

It had been a long day. The kids were more restless than usual, likely sensing the shift in the household. You’d spent most of the afternoon calming Edwin and Ada while trying to keep Phillip out of trouble. Ada, in particular, had been clingy, holding onto your skirt as you moved about the house, asking you why her mother wasn’t coming out of her room anymore.

You gave her the same answer as always. “Your mama’s just resting, sweetheart.”

But even she seemed to sense something was off.

By the time the sun had started to set, you felt the exhaustion in your bones. You barely touched your dinner, pushing food around your plate before giving up entirely. It wasn’t just the physical tiredness, though. It was something deeper. A strange ache in your chest, one you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the weight of everything—Mrs. Thomas’s worsening condition, the children, Logan...

You hadn’t seen him tonight, and that small part of you that had grown used to his presence felt the void acutely. He had a way of grounding you, of making everything seem less overwhelming, if only for a little while. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were beginning to rely on him more and more.

As you climbed the stairs to check on the children, your steps felt heavier than usual. Fatigue, you told yourself. Just fatigue.

When you entered Mrs. Thomas’s room to help her settle for the night, she gave you a weak smile. “Thank you, Y/N... for everything.”

You smiled back, brushing her hair away from her face as you helped her lie down. “Don’t mention it. You just rest.”

Her breathing was shallow, the sound rattling in her chest. You tried not to let it show on your face, but inside, that gnawing worry had grown into a full-fledged fear. You knew the end was coming soon. You just hoped the children wouldn’t have to watch her fade.

---

Later that night, after the house had fallen quiet and the children were asleep, you sat by the small fire in the kitchen. You stared at the flickering flames, trying to let the warmth chase away the chill in your bones, but it wasn’t working.

You weren’t surprised when you heard the soft knock at the back door. Logan’s timing had always been impeccable, showing up when you needed him most, even if you hadn’t called for him. You rose from your seat and opened the door, letting him in with a small, tired smile.

“Cold out there,” he muttered, brushing the snow from his shoulders before stepping inside. He took one look at your face, and his brows furrowed. “You look exhausted, Y/N.”

You waved him off, shutting the door behind him. “It’s been a long day. Mrs. Thomas is...”

He didn’t need you to finish. He’d been coming by enough to know how bad things had gotten.

Logan crossed the small space between you and placed a hand on your arm. “You should be resting too. When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

You let out a tired laugh, shaking your head. “What is that again?”

“Y/N,” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and concern. “You can’t keep running yourself ragged. You’re no good to the kids if you get sick.”

His words hit a little too close to home. That lingering ache in your chest hadn’t gone away, and now, with him standing so close, it seemed to press harder, making it difficult to breathe. You ignored it, trying to focus on his warm hand still resting on your arm, grounding you.

“I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, leaning against him just slightly. “I just... I need you here. That’s all.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he slipped his arms around you, pulling you close. You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth enveloped you. It felt like everything else faded away when you were in his arms—like the weight of the world wasn’t quite so heavy.

“I’m here,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You stayed like that for a moment, just holding onto him, letting his presence soothe the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. His hands ran up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, and you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders sagging as the tension melted away.

But that ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it seemed to settle deeper, a dull, persistent throb that you couldn’t quite shake.

“I don’t know how much longer she has,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Maybe a week. And the kids... I don’t know how to explain it to them.”

Logan sighed, his breath warm against your hair. “You’ll find the right words when the time comes. You always do.”

You weren’t sure about that, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting against his chest. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could see the same worry you felt reflected in his gaze. But there was something else too—something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat.

Before you could say anything, Logan leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—just gentle, like he was trying to tell you without words that he was there, that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.

You kissed him back, your fingers curling into his shirt as you pulled him closer. For a few seconds, it was just the two of you, the world outside forgotten. But when you finally pulled back, the ache in your chest flared again, sharper this time, making you wince slightly.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, concern flashing across his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “Just... tired, I guess.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it either. Instead, he kissed your forehead softly, his hands still holding you close. “You need to sleep. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

You nodded, letting him lead you to your small bedroom. As you lay down, Logan settled beside you, his arm draped around your waist as he pulled you close. You nestled against him, the warmth of his body soothing, but even as you drifted off to sleep, that strange ache lingered, a quiet reminder that something wasn’t right.

---

Over the next few days, you tried to ignore the fatigue that seemed to cling to you like a heavy blanket. You told yourself it was just the stress, the worry about Mrs. Thomas and the kids. But the truth was, deep down, you knew it was more than that.

Mr. Thomas had been around the house more often, spending almost every moment with his wife before she passed. It would only be a matter of days now. Her condition had deteriorated to the point where she was barely conscious most of the time, her labored breathing a constant reminder of the inevitable.

You moved quietly through the house, keeping the children occupied as best you could. Edwin and Phillip were rambunctious as always, but Ada had grown more subdued. She didn’t ask about her mother as often, as if sensing the unspoken truth everyone was trying to shield her from. You noticed how she clung to your side even more than usual, her small hands gripping your skirts, her wide eyes watching you with a kind of quiet understanding that broke your heart.

It was late afternoon, and the house was eerily quiet. The children were playing in the parlor, their laughter muffled behind the closed doors. You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when a wave of exhaustion hit you. Your legs felt heavy, your chest tight. You hadn’t been sleeping well, the stress of Mrs. Thomas’s condition weighing on you, but this was different. Your appetite had been lacking for days, though you’d convinced yourself it was just nerves.

You leaned against the counter, taking a slow, deep breath to steady yourself. It would pass. You just needed rest.

Logan wasn’t due to visit tonight. He had mentioned something about work keeping him late, and you didn’t want to ask him to come by, though the ache in your chest—the one you tried to ignore—longed for his presence.

Shaking off the lingering fatigue, you made your way upstairs to check on Mrs. Thomas. As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard her soft, raspy breathing. You hesitated outside the door, your hand resting on the doorknob for a moment, before slowly opening it and stepping inside.

Mr. Thomas sat at his wife’s bedside, holding her hand gently. He glanced up at you, his face pale and drawn, the exhaustion of weeks of worry evident in his eyes. You gave him a small, comforting smile, though you weren’t sure how much comfort you could offer.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep and emotion. "For everything."

You nodded, moving to the other side of the bed to check on Mrs. Thomas. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and uneven. She didn’t stir when you adjusted the blankets around her. The room was stifling, the air heavy with the scent of sickness, and you fought the urge to cough, your throat suddenly dry.

“She’s peaceful,” you murmured softly, glancing at Mr. Thomas.

He nodded but didn’t say anything. His gaze was fixed on his wife, his hand never leaving hers.

You stayed for a moment longer, but the fatigue creeping up your spine forced you to excuse yourself. As you descended the stairs, your legs felt weaker than before, and a dull ache had settled in your chest. You rubbed absently at your throat, trying to shake off the discomfort. It was nothing, you told yourself. Just tired.

The evening stretched on, the children finally quieting down for bed. You tucked them in, lingering for a moment by Ada’s bedside. She reached for your hand, her tiny fingers curling around yours.

“Will Mama be better soon?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “She’s resting, sweetheart,” you said softly. “Just keep being brave, alright?”

Ada nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep, though the worry didn’t leave her small face.

Once they were all asleep, you returned downstairs, your body feeling heavier with each step. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. You sat by the fireplace, staring into the dying flames, and let the silence of the house settle over you.

And then there was a soft knock at the back door.

Your heart lifted despite the exhaustion weighing you down. You rose slowly and crossed the room, opening the door to find Logan standing there, snowflakes dusting his hair and coat. He gave you a crooked smile, his eyes scanning your face with concern.

“You look tired,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Really tired.”

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though the weariness in your voice betrayed you. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I finished earlier than I thought,” he said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d check on you.”

Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. You melted into him, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of his body seeped into yours. For a moment, the ache in your chest seemed to ease, the fatigue lifting just a little.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Logan pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he studied your face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “I’m here.”

His lips met yours in a slow, tender kiss, and you felt the tension in your body begin to unravel. The warmth of his mouth, the familiar strength of his hands holding you close—it was all you needed in that moment. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“You need to rest,” he murmured. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I will,” you promised, though you didn’t want to leave his arms just yet. You leaned into him, letting his presence chase away the exhaustion for a little longer.

---

The funeral was only 6 days later, 4 days after Mrs. Thomas’ passing. She was buried at the Prospect Cemetery at a small affair with rich people you had only heard of in passing.

The funeral was a somber affair. Mrs. Thomas was laid to rest under a sky that threatened snow, and you stood a little ways back, holding Ada’s hand tightly. She had been unusually quiet since her mother’s passing, and even Edwin and Phillip had sensed the weight of the occasion, their usual energy tempered by the somber mood.

You glanced around at the crowd gathered—a sea of dark, expensive fabrics, murmured condolences, and familiar faces. Most of the people you recognized only by name or through brief encounters at the Thomas house. They didn’t seem to belong to the world you inhabited, their whispered conversations and distant gazes a reminder of the divide between their lives and yours.

Mr. Thomas stood near the front, his face a mask of stoicism as he accepted words of sympathy. His children had not left your side, and you knew why. They found more comfort in you than in the strangers who seemed to only appear during tragedies. You didn’t blame them.

As the ceremony came to a close, Ada tugged at your hand. "Can we go home now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of rustling leaves and shifting boots in the cold.

You nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We can, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”

You caught Mr. Thomas’s eye as he stepped away from the others. He gave you a weary nod, and you knew it was time to leave. You guided the children back to the carriage, helping them inside before following. The ride home was silent, save for the occasional sniffle from Ada and the creaking of the carriage wheels on the cobbled streets.

---

Back at the house, the quiet felt heavier than before. You could feel the weight of grief settling over everything, and it seemed to seep into your bones, making the fatigue that had been gnawing at you for days feel unbearable. Once the children were settled, you retreated to the kitchen, needing a moment to yourself.

But the moment you sat down, the ache in your chest flared up again, sharper this time. You tried to breathe through it, but the tightness only seemed to get worse. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you pressed a hand to your throat, willing it to pass. It felt like something more than just exhaustion now. Something was wrong, but you didn’t have time to worry about it.

The back door creaked open, and you startled, your hand flying to your chest as Logan stepped in. His eyes immediately found yours, narrowing in concern.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but urgent as he crossed the room. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as you tried to stand. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

But Logan wasn’t buying it. His hand caught yours, and he gently pulled you to him, his other hand resting on your waist. “You’ve been tired for days,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. “And you look worse now than you did a week ago.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, leaning into his warmth without thinking. “Just... everything with Mrs. Thomas. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just held you there, his thumb brushing slow circles against your hip. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “You need to rest. You’re running yourself into the ground, and I don’t want—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you cut him off, shaking your head as you buried your face in his chest. “I just... I just want to stay like this for a while. Can we do that?”

Logan’s arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We can stay like this as long as you need,” he whispered.

The warmth of his embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest, calmed the rapid beating of your heart. It didn’t make the ache in your chest go away, but it dulled the edges for a little while. You stayed like that, your bodies swaying slightly, as if rocking back and forth would somehow soothe the turmoil inside you both.

After a long stretch of silence, Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his gaze soft but serious. “You’ve gotta start taking care of yourself,” he murmured. “I mean it, Y/N.”

“I will,” you promised, though you weren’t sure how much of it was for him and how much was for yourself. You could see the worry etched in his features, and it made your heart ache in a different way. “I just... I don’t want to leave the kids right now. They need me.”

Logan sighed, shaking his head slightly. “They need you alive and healthy, not running yourself ragged.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of stepping away—of not being there for them when they needed you most—made your stomach turn.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I’m all they have right now.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently, his lips lingering against yours in a way that felt both comforting and urgent, as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N,” he murmured. “I’m here. Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. It was moments like this, in the quiet after the storm, that made everything feel bearable, even when the exhaustion seemed impossible to shake. You didn’t want to think about what came next—the inevitable questions from the children, the grief that would continue to hang over the house like a dark cloud.

For now, you just wanted to be here, with Logan, in this fleeting moment of peace.

---

Over the next few days, that small cough persisted, annoying but easy to brush off at first. You told yourself it was just the cold weather, or maybe the exhaustion still clinging to you. But it stuck around, and soon it wasn’t just a cough. Your chest felt heavier, and there were moments where you had to stop to catch your breath.

You didn’t say anything to Logan the first few nights he visited, not wanting to worry him. It wasn’t like you were coughing up blood or anything, and you figured it would pass, just like the fatigue had started to. But when he saw you rubbing your chest again, his eyes narrowed with concern.

“You’ve been coughing a lot,” Logan said one evening, his arm draped casually over your shoulder as you leaned into him by the fire. The warmth of the flames helped ease the tightness in your chest, but even then, it felt harder to breathe than it had before.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, tucking your legs under you and snuggling closer to him, hoping to avoid the conversation. “It’s just the cold. Everyone’s getting sick this time of year.”

Logan tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Y/N, don’t pull that. I know you, and you’re coughing more than you should be. This isn’t just a cold.”

You sighed, not wanting to argue, but the exhaustion weighed on you, and fighting him off seemed too tiring. “Okay, maybe it’s not just a cold,” you admitted, glancing at him. “But it’s nothing serious. I’m just run down.”

Logan’s fingers gently traced up your arm, his touch familiar and grounding. He looked at you with that steady gaze of his, the one that made you feel safe. “You need to rest. Real rest, not just five minutes of sleep here and there between looking after the kids.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile, reaching up to touch his face. “I know. But they need me right now, especially Ada. She’s not taking this well, and I can’t just leave her.”

Logan leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re no good to them if you collapse from exhaustion.”

The way he said it—so serious, so protective—it made your chest ache in a different way. You knew he was right, but the thought of taking a step back when the kids were still hurting felt impossible.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, but your voice wavered just enough that Logan picked up on it.

He kissed you softly, slow and gentle, like he was trying to pour all of his concern into that one kiss. When he pulled back, his hand lingered on the side of your face. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself, Y/N,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

You looked at him, feeling the weight of his words, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you didn’t have to do everything on your own.

But the next morning, as you moved through the house and got the kids ready for the day, the cough came back with a vengeance. It left you winded, gripping the counter to steady yourself as your breath caught in your throat. Ada was tugging at your skirt, asking for something, but the ringing in your ears made it hard to focus.

“Y/N?” her small voice called, but everything sounded distant.

You forced yourself to smile, pushing through the wave of dizziness. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you said, though it was more for you than her. The ache in your chest was sharper now, and for the first time, a flicker of real fear crossed your mind.

That evening, when Logan came by, you didn’t have the energy to hide how bad you felt. The second he walked through the door, he saw it in your face.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice urgent as he rushed to your side. “What the hell happened? You look worse.”

You tried to brush it off, but the cough came again, harsher this time, and Logan’s eyes darkened with worry. His hands were on you, steadying you as you leaned into him, the warmth of his body grounding you again.

“You’re not fine,” he said, his tone more serious now. “I should’ve done something sooner.”

“Logan, don’t—”

“I’m taking you to a doctor,” he interrupted, his jaw set. “No arguing.”

You wanted to protest, but the truth was, you didn’t have the strength to fight him. You were too tired, too worn down, and part of you was scared. So you nodded, letting him pull you into his arms as if holding you close would make everything better.

“I’m here,” Logan whispered against your hair, his voice soft and filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re not going through this alone.”

---

The next morning, Logan arrived earlier than usual. He wasn’t taking any chances, especially after the night before. You’d barely slept, your coughing keeping you awake for most of it, and when you did manage to drift off, it was only in short, restless intervals.

Logan helped you into the carriage he’d hired, his hands lingering on your arms longer than necessary, his brow furrowed with worry. He hadn’t said much since arriving, just a quiet “Mornin’” before ushering you outside. His concern was written all over his face, even though he tried to hide it behind a mask of calm.

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes as the carriage bumped along the cobbled streets. Each breath felt heavier, the tightness in your chest worsening by the day. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew this was more than just a cold. The cough had settled deep, rattling in your lungs, and even though you tried to convince yourself it was nothing serious, the thought that it could be something more was gnawing at you.

Logan sat beside you, his knee pressed against yours as he kept a protective hand on your leg. Every so often, you’d feel his gaze on you, watching, as if checking to make sure you were still holding on. The warmth of his presence was a comfort, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

When the carriage finally stopped, you opened your eyes and saw the modest sign hanging above the doctor's office. Logan didn’t waste any time helping you down, his arm tight around your waist as you made your way inside.

The waiting room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. Logan barely let go of you the entire time, his arm never leaving your waist, and when the doctor finally called you in, Logan made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Inside the small exam room, the doctor—a middle-aged man with silver hair and a kind face—greeted you both with a nod. His expression shifted when he looked at you, though, his eyes softening in a way that made your stomach churn with nerves.

“How long have you had the cough, miss?” the doctor asked as you sat down, Logan standing right behind you.

“A few days,” you said, your voice raspy and weak. “Maybe a little longer.”

The doctor frowned slightly, moving closer to examine you. “And the fatigue? Any weight loss?”

You nodded. “Yes... I’ve been really tired, and I haven’t had much of an appetite.”

Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was there. The doctor continued his examination, listening to your chest with a stethoscope, his brow furrowing as he moved from side to side.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back, letting out a slow breath. He met your eyes, and you knew immediately that it wasn’t good.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he began, his voice gentle. “But given your symptoms and the sound of your lungs, I believe you may have contracted tuberculosis.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight. You felt Logan tense behind you, his grip on your shoulder tightening ever so slightly.

Tuberculosis.

The sickness that had taken Mrs. Thomas. The same one that had been lingering in the house for weeks.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You’d heard the stories—the way it ravaged families, the way it spread so easily. You’d seen it firsthand with Mrs. Thomas, watching her waste away before your eyes.

“How... how bad is it?” Logan’s voice was rough, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

The doctor glanced at him, his expression serious. “It’s hard to say right now. Tuberculosis can vary greatly in severity. We’ll need to monitor her closely. Rest, proper care, and keeping her away from others as much as possible will be essential.”

You tried to swallow, but your throat felt tight. “What... what do we do now?”

The doctor sighed. “We’ll start with treatment to help ease the symptoms—medicinal herbs, rest, and a strict diet. It’s crucial that you avoid any further exertion. You’ll need to isolate yourself to prevent it from spreading.”

You nodded, but your mind was spinning. The thought of being confined, of having to stay away from the children—it made your chest tighten even more. How were you supposed to care for them when you couldn’t even take care of yourself?

Logan crouched down in front of you, his eyes searching yours as he held your hands in his. “We’ll figure this out, okay?” he said softly. “You’ll rest, and I’ll help with the kids. You’re not doing this alone.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want Logan to see how scared you really were.

“I don’t want to leave them,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “They need me.”

“I know,” Logan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand. “But they need you healthy, Y/N. And I need you healthy.”

You looked at him, your heart aching at the sight of his worry. He was trying so hard to be strong for you, to keep it together, but you could see the fear in his eyes—the same fear you felt deep in your bones.

“We’ll get through this,” he said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? Not without a fight.”

You nodded, squeezing his hands as tightly as you could. Logan stayed close, his presence a steady, comforting force as the weight of the diagnosis settled over you both.

---

Weeks passed, and the house became quieter. The children were kept at a distance, the once lively home now feeling more like a tomb as you spent your days in bed, trying to gather what little strength you had left. Logan had taken over your duties, ensuring the children were cared for while also staying close to you.

Your body grew weaker with each passing day, the illness creeping deeper into your lungs. The once mild cough had turned into something far more painful, leaving you breathless and exhausted after every fit. You knew, deep down, that the end was approaching. You could feel it in the way your energy dwindled, the way even opening your eyes took effort.

Logan, on the other hand, refused to give up. He never spoke of what was coming, never let on that he saw the same inevitable truth. Instead, he clung to hope, pushing you to eat, to drink, to rest. His presence was a constant, grounding you even in your weakest moments.

Sometimes you even talked about the future, the one you knew you would never have, and the one Logan hoped you would, with him.

Your coughing fit had died down for now, leaving you in bed with your head resting against Logan’s shoulder. His arm was wrapped protectively around you, and the warmth of his body gave you a sense of comfort, even when the pain in your chest didn’t. You took in a shaky breath and spoke softly.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” you murmured, your voice still weak. “Maybe two.”

Logan shifted slightly, his chin resting on top of your head. “Yeah? What kind?”

You shrugged, smiling a little. “Doesn’t really matter. I just like the idea of having something waiting for me at home, you know? Something happy to see me, no matter what kind of day I’ve had.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’d be a good dog mom.”

You looked up at him, a playful glint in your tired eyes. “You think?”

“Definitely. You’ve already got all the practice with the kids.” He paused, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. “Except maybe the dog would be less trouble.”

You laughed, but it turned into a cough, and you quickly brought a hand to your mouth. Logan tensed beside you, waiting until the coughing subsided before speaking again.

“You’re gonna get better, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice firm, but the edge of worry was clear. “We’ll get you that dog. Or two.”

You didn’t respond right away. You wanted to believe him—really, you did—but each day you felt weaker, and it was getting harder to ignore the reality of your situation. But you also didn’t want to drag him down with your fears, so you leaned into him instead, letting the moment linger.

You put your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him, “how many kids would you want?”

Logan looked at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Kids, huh?” His voice was warm, teasing, but there was something tender in the way he looked at you, like he was imagining it for real.

“Yeah,” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes searching his face. “I know it’s kind of silly to think about right now, but... I like the idea. You?”

He took a breath, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Never really thought much about it until you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Until me?”

Logan chuckled softly. “Yeah. Before you, I wasn’t really thinkin’ about things like... a future, you know? I didn’t even know if I’d stay in the city long. But now... now I think about things I never used to.” He paused, glancing down at your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. “Like kids, and... us.”

Your heart fluttered at that, the weight of his words settling in. He’d never said anything like that before—nothing about the future beyond today or tomorrow. It wasn’t like either of you knew what was coming, especially now, but hearing him say that he thought about you in that way made everything feel more real. More possible.

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “So, how many then? Two? Three?”

Logan laughed quietly. “Two sounds good. Just enough to keep us on our toes, but not so many we lose our minds.”

You giggled, a sound that quickly turned into a cough, and Logan’s smile faded a little, worry creeping back into his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just held you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from everything bad in the world.

Once the cough subsided, you leaned your head back against his chest. “I think you’d be a good dad, Logan.”

His hand stilled against your arm. “You think?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “You’re good with the kids now, even if you don’t realize it. They like you, trust you. You’d protect them... care for them.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, and you could feel the weight of his thoughts. “I’d try,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence—it was enough to make you forget, for just a little while, how weak you felt. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of him, of this moment, even though you knew it wouldn’t last.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like?” you asked quietly. “If we didn’t have to worry about... this.” You gestured vaguely, meaning the illness, the uncertainty, all of it.

“All the time,” Logan murmured. “But we’ve still got time, Y/N. I’m not giving up on you.”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him. “You really think we’ll make it through this?”

Logan’s gaze was unwavering. “I know we will.”

His confidence, his belief in you, in this, made your heart ache in the best way. You wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto that hope, even though the fear lingered in the back of your mind.

“You don’t have to be so tough all the time,” Logan said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “It’s okay to lean on me.”

You looked at him, your chest tight for a different reason now. “I know.”

And you did. Logan was always there, steady and unshakable, even when you felt like you were falling apart. You didn’t have to do this alone, even if part of you still felt like you should.

Logan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. “I’m with you, Y/N,” he whispered. “No matter what.”

You closed your eyes again, savoring the warmth of his kiss, the feeling of his arms around you. For now, that was enough.

But even as you rested against him, part of you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that your time was running out.

---

Logan hated the fact that everything you said was in past tense. How you would’ve liked to learn how to bake bread in that cabin you wanted.

How you would’ve liked to learn how to crochet.

Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a quiet intensity. You had been talking again, your voice soft and tired, about all the things you wished you had more time to do. It was starting to drive him crazy—the way you spoke in past tense, like you were already halfway gone.

“Would’ve liked to learn how to crochet,” he repeated softly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. I always thought it’d be nice to make something with my hands. You know, like a blanket or something... for the cabin.”

Logan’s chest tightened. He hated this—hated that you were talking about all these little dreams like they were out of reach. He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N,” he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “You’ll still have time for all that.”

You met his gaze, your eyes soft but filled with something else—something that made his heart ache. “Logan...”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t get to talk like that. We’re gonna get you through this.”

You let out a soft sigh, your hand coming up to touch his cheek. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know. It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Logan said quickly, though the way he gripped your hand a little tighter gave him away. He wasn’t ready to admit it—to you, to himself—that the thought of losing you scared him more than anything he’d ever faced.

You smiled faintly, shifting on the bed so you could lean into him. “I know you, Logan. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

Logan felt his throat tighten as you pressed closer to him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest, trying to hold on to the moment for as long as he could. Your body felt so fragile against his, like you could break if he held you too tight. But he needed to feel you, to remind himself that you were still here.

“Don’t,” Logan said, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t talk like that.” He looked away for a second, trying to regain control of the storm raging inside him. He didn’t want to hear the finality in your voice, didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility that you might slip away from him.

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you touched his cheek. “Logan, you know as well as I do...”

“No,” he repeated, cutting you off again, his voice gruff but shaky. His hand covered yours, pressing it gently against his face. “I’m not losing you. I don’t care what the doctor says. We’ll fight this. We’ll get through it.”

There was a long silence between you, the air heavy with the unspoken truth. You didn’t have the heart to argue with him, but you knew. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your body was failing you little by little every day. But Logan’s refusal to accept that reality made you love him even more, even if it hurt.

You gave him a sad smile, your eyes locking with his. “I love you, Logan.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The weight of those words—words you’d both danced around but never truly said—hit him like a punch to the gut. He leaned in close, his forehead resting against yours, his voice barely a whisper.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice breaking just a little.

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his words wash over you. It wasn’t fair, any of this. You’d only just begun to imagine a life with him, and now that future was slipping through your fingers.

Logan held you tighter, his arms wrapped around you as if he could protect you from everything, even death. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, before pressing a final, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t passionate or desperate—just soft, filled with all the love he hadn’t yet had the chance to show you.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your skin. “Always.”

And for a moment, despite the pain, despite everything, you believed him. Because even if the future was uncertain, even if you didn’t have much time left, you had this. You had him. And for now, that was enough.

---

Nothing had worked, and nothing was working.

You had already accepted your fate, but Logan couldn’t—no matter how many times you tried to explain. He kept his focus on you, his stubborn hope unwavering, even though you both knew time was running out.

“You’re gonna be fine, Y/N. You’ll see,” he said softly, sitting beside you on the bed. He brushed a hand through your hair, his touch gentle, but the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss.

You looked up at him, your chest tight—not from the sickness, but from the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment. “Logan... we need to talk about this.”

He shook his head immediately, his jaw clenched. “No, we don’t. We don’t have to talk about anything like that. You’re gonna get better, and we’ll figure everything out.” His voice cracked just a little at the end, betraying the fear he was trying to hide.

You reached for his hand, your fingers trembling as they closed around his. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to spend what little time we have left lying to ourselves.”

Logan looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. “But I can’t... I can’t think about losing you.”

“You don’t have to think about it,” you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But we need to be honest with each other. I’m not getting better, Logan. We both know that.”

His whole body tensed beside you, and he turned his head away as if looking anywhere but at you would somehow make your words less real. “I can’t... I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and leaned closer, pressing your lips softly to his jaw. “I love you, Logan. That’s all that matters to me right now.”

His breath hitched, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, holding you as if he could protect you from the inevitable, his arms tightening around you.

After a while, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I love you too. More than anything. That’s why I’m not giving up.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your heart breaking for him. “I know you’re trying to protect me... but I don’t want you to carry this alone. I need you to be here with me, in this moment, not fighting something we can’t change.”

Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a second, the wall he’d built around himself seemed to crack. “I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to just... be.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “You can let go.”

His eyes softened, and before you could say anything else, Logan leaned in and kissed you—soft, but with an intensity that made your heart ache. It was a kiss that said everything he couldn’t put into words: the fear, the love, the desperation to hold onto whatever time you had left.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, your hand still resting on his cheek. “We don’t have to say goodbye yet. Just stay with me. That’s all I want.”

Logan didn’t respond with words. Instead, he held you tighter, his arms wrapping around you as if he could keep you with him through sheer willpower alone. You could feel the tremble in his hands, the way his breath hitched every now and then like he was fighting back tears.

For a while, you both stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into nothingness. There was no cough, no sickness, no uncertainty—just the warmth of Logan’s body against yours and the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand.

Eventually, you spoke, your voice barely audible. “I wish we had more time.”

Logan’s grip tightened slightly. “Me too.”

You felt a lump in your throat, but you forced a small smile. “You know... if things were different, I think we’d have had a pretty good life together.”

Logan’s voice was thick with emotion as he replied, “We still will. Somehow... someday.”

You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Maybe in another life.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel the way his body stiffened, like he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—even in another life.

“You don’t have to be alone, Logan,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with all the love you had left. “Promise me you won’t shut yourself off.”

He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was rough and raw. “I can’t promise that.”

You smiled faintly, knowing that was the best you were going to get from him. “Just... don’t forget me.”

Logan leaned down and pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long time. “I could never forget you.”

The room was quiet after that, the only sound the soft rustling of the blankets as Logan adjusted you in his arms, pulling you closer.

You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creeping in again, but this time it didn’t feel so overwhelming. With Logan’s warmth surrounding you, with his quiet strength holding you up, you felt at peace.

---

You had passed away in your sleep that night, in Logan’s arms. He had stayed up, something in his subconscious telling him to keep his eye on you.

And he did, he felt you take your last breath; one that didn’t seem as painful as when you were awake.

Logan held you close, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he realized what had just happened. His mind refused to process it, refused to accept that this was it. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with breaths that felt foreign in his own body. You weren’t moving anymore, not even the faintest stir.

For a long time, he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair, willing his warmth into your body as if that could somehow bring you back.

"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice broken. He lifted his head slightly, his thumb brushing your cold cheek. "Please... wake up."

There was no answer.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat burning, his chest tightening. His hand trembled as it caressed your face, fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear like he’d done a hundred times before. But this time, there was no playful smile in return. No teasing comment about how messy your hair always was.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He let out a shaky breath, his other hand clutching the bedsheet, the weight of what had happened finally starting to crush him. He knew this moment was coming—he’d known it for weeks, maybe even months—but now that it was here, it didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how it had come to this, how someone as full of life as you could just... stop.

“Y/N... don’t do this... please,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible as if saying it any louder would make it more true. His hand lingered on your cheek, hoping for even the smallest sign that you’d take another breath.

But nothing came.

He stayed like that for a long time, just holding you, feeling the weight of your stillness.

Logan had never felt so powerless in his life. For all the things he could do, for all the strength in his bones, none of it could save you. His healing couldn’t save you. The realization cut him deeper than any wound ever had.

At some point, he felt his chest tremble, felt the tears start to burn at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t cried in years, maybe ever—not like this—but he couldn’t stop it now. Not when he’d lost you.

“I... I love you,” he choked out, the words falling from his lips like a confession, like an apology for not saying it enough while you were still here to hear it. He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice breaking again. “I love you so much...”

The room was silent, except for the sound of Logan’s ragged breathing and the ticking of the old clock in the corner, each second passing with an agonizing slowness. He wished he could turn it back, go back to when you were still here—laughing, talking, smiling. Anything but this.

But he couldn’t.

And the weight of that realization shattered him.

For the first time in his life, Logan had no fight left in him. Not for this. Not without you.

i'm not gonna lie, i definitely started crying while writing those last few scenes, even though i knew how it was gonna end

just a little note for everyone (i'll probably add this at the end of every chapter just cause it helped me when writing) in this chapter, logan is 22 years old and reader is around the same age.

tags: @seasonofthenerd @golden-ebony @planetxella @tighrenicotine @wittyjasontodd @cherrypieyourface @tumharisakhi @person-005 @zaggprincess2

[docdetective]

Logan going to a Halloween party with Wade and Laura because it will be funnnnnn! (their words)

someone complementing him on what a good Wolverine costume he has

*extends claws*

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Now that Logan had something to look forward to, the week crawled by painfully slow. Each day seemed to stretch, time dragging like a weight as he wandered through the wilderness, his senses on high alert. He didn’t return to the cabin much, choosing to stay out all night when he knew her plane hadn’t returned. Andi’s story about tranquilizing that bear on her own kept echoing in his mind, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. The thought of her out there, alone, dealing with men and animals alone didn't sit right with him, however confident she was about it. 

Logically, he knew she was able to cover a wide area in her plane, a far wider area than he could ever cover in a day, but it gave him some purpose, and if anything happened to her, he knew he could never forgive himself. It was one thing to not be able to protect Jean from many many powerful mutants, it was quite another to protect a human from an attack from a bear. That would be quick and easy work. 

As he walked, the memory of that snowball fight replayed in his mind. The way she’d laughed, the way she hadn’t backed down even when he’d cornered her. She was fearless in a way that was both irritating and... something else he didn’t want to define. He didn’t like thinking about it, didn’t like the way his thoughts kept drifting back to her in those quiet moments when he wasn’t actively focusing on anything else.

It made him feel better, to be out of the cabin, with a purpose, however unnecessary it probably was. 

Andi carried on with her life as usual, except now there was an undercurrent of contentment she hadn’t felt in years. Something to look forward to, something other than the usual distractions of TV and knitting. There was the anticipation of conversation, of sharing her meals—simple things she hadn’t experienced in so long, that she had convinced herself she didn't need. It was strange how a new presence could slip into her routine and change the very texture of her days, but she couldn’t deny that Logan’s existence had done just that.

She was careful not to let thoughts of him interfere with her job, and she would never let it affect her flying. But when she was alone, when she had nothing to occupy her mind, he was there, his face sharp in her memory, the strong lines of his jaw, the messy cowlicks in his hair that softened his otherwise rugged exterior. And his eyes. Those intense eyes that always seemed to be watching her so closely, like she was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

There were so many unknowns about him, so many reasons she should be cautious.  She didn’t know him, not really. But despite that, there was something about him that her gut said wasn’t a threat. She couldn’t explain it, but deep down, she knew he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her, at least. He was dangerous in the way a storm could be dangerous, unpredictable, powerful, but not malicious. 

Tuesday morning finally came, and since there was no urgent reason for Andi to be out in the bush, she spent the morning calling some of the other remote rangers in the area to compile reports, then working on her latest knitting project. She had never really told Logan a time and so they had ended up cooking together after he arrived, but this time, she wanted to get right into their Friends binge. She put together a meal into a dish and put it back in the fridge, ready to throw in the oven whenever he decided to present himself. 

Andi was facing the windows as she knit, and couldn't help but smile when she saw his figure approaching. She didn’t wait for his knock, but flung open the door as he climbed the stairs. 

“Hey, neighbor,” she greeted, her smile bright enough to chase away the lingering chill that had followed him inside. He felt his own expression soften, a rare reaction he’d started to expect when she was around.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked, stepping inside and taking in the familiar warmth of her space. It felt like a small sanctuary, one that he had started to look forward to more than he would admit.

“Absolutely, I’m starving.” Andi moved into the kitchen. “I’ve got snacks to start, and we can start Friends while dinner’s in the oven. 

“You really know how to spoil a guy,” he followed her into the kitchen as she put the casserole in. 

She turned around, and started handing him bowls. “I didn’t know what you'd like so I made a selection.” 

Logan watched with a sudden feeling of... what? Something gnawing at the edge of his mind, a sensation he wasn't used to and definitely didn’t want to explore, but it left him feeling warm and cozy, like sliding into a warm bed on a cold cold night. The way she handed him the bowls, so casual, like this was something they did all the time. It was simple, almost domestic. 

He set the bowls down on the counter, glancing sideways at her as she busied herself with the snacks. This was different. Completely different from anything he'd let himself be a part of in a long time. He didn't know why it was happening now—why, of all places and people, this was the one thing he couldn't just walk away from.

"Selection, huh?" he muttered, leaning against the counter, watching her with that familiar half-scowl. "You trying to fatten me up?"

She laughed, that soft, unguarded sound that seemed to come so easily around him. "Hey, if you're not gonna eat it, I will."

Logan's eyes drifted over her, and he felt something tug at him—something he tried to push down. This was stupid. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. She was human, normal, a far cry from the kind of life he was meant for. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. He couldn’t drag her into the kind of mess that followed him, not with what he was.

But then, she turned to him with that bright, easy smile again, her eyes catching his for just a moment too long. He felt that familiar warmth creeping up, the same one that had been growing since the night in the snow.

He clenched his jaw, trying to shake it off. "You really don’t gotta go through all this trouble," he added, his tone rough but lacking the bite. 

Andi gave him a sideways glance as she finished putting the casserole in the oven. “Trouble? This is barely any work, Logan. You act like I cooked a five-course meal or something.”

He shrugged, his hands moving idly over the bowl of popcorn. “Just seems like a lot of fuss for just me.”

“Well, I figured you’d appreciate the variety,” she teased, coming over to stand next to him, brushing her hand lightly across his as she grabbed a bowl of chips. “Didn’t want you thinking I’m a lazy host.”

Logan felt that familiar tension spike in his chest, the briefest contact of her fingers sending an unsettling warmth through him. He didn’t like it—didn’t like how easily she could make him feel something he hadn’t felt in years. And for what? She didn’t even know him, not really. She didn’t know the half of it.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, trying to shake off the feeling. “You’re spoiling me, and I don’t like it.”

Andi laughed, and there was something so carefree in the sound that it tugged at something deep inside him. “Too bad. You’re gonna get used to it.” She nudged him with her elbow, not seeing the way he stiffened, trying to keep himself at arm’s length.

Logan snorted, accepting the bowl. She was fearless in the most ridiculous ways. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get used to me sticking around too much. I’m not exactly prime company."

"Sure," she said, her eyes narrowing playfully. "But you keep coming back."

Logan felt the air shift between them, just for a second. That pull he’d been trying to ignore. Damn it, she was right. He did keep coming back. And he didn’t have a good reason why.

He froze for a moment, processing that thought, but she brushed past him, leading the way to the couch, and Logan followed,  He settled onto the worn cushions next to her, the warmth of her presence close but not too close. He should’ve been comfortable, but his mind wouldn’t let him settle. Not with her right there.

He shifted, adjusting himself on the couch, realizing it wasn’t the cushions or the stiffness that was bugging him. It was something else. He wasn’t supposed to get comfortable anywhere—not here, not with anyone.

But he was. That’s what scared him.

Five episodes in, Andi collected the dishes from between them and put them in the sink.

I’ll do those tomorrow. 

The time with Logan was now something she craved, to look over and watch that tough expression melt into a smile at something stupid on the TV. Or the way his head would tilt back as he ate, his eyes fluttering closed and whole lanky body actually relaxed for once. From her view, she saw his low chuckle and shoulders shake as he laughed at the scene, those damned cowlicks ever present. 

She wiped her hands on a dish towel, trying to shake the feeling creeping over her. They were just watching Friends , just hanging out, but it had started to feel like more than that. She caught herself watching for his reactions, feeling a flicker of warmth whenever he laughed at a scene or muttered some sarcastic comment under his breath.

“You gonna stand there staring all night or join me?” Logan’s voice cut through her thoughts, a teasing edge to it.

Andi snapped out of her daze, her cheeks flushing slightly as she crossed back to the couch. “Sorry, I was just thinking how funny it is that you of all people are so into this show.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smirk. “Yeah, well, you put it on. I’m just... indulging your weird tastes.”

“Uh-huh,” she shot back, sitting down beside him. “You’re laughing harder than I am, admit it.”

“Dream on.” He glanced over at her, his expression softening just a fraction as he held her gaze until she looked away.

Andi turned her head back to the show, but she was no longer paying attention to the plot. The way he looked at her, the way his gaze had lingered, sent butterflies swirling in her stomach. Andi felt as if she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even though they were on opposite sides of the couch. She could smell the faint scent of woodsmoke mixed with something distinctly him—something warm and masculine that made her heart race.

Since their first meeting, there was something about his rugged handsomeness, the way his strong jawline caught the light, and those intense eyes that seemed to see straight through her that drew her in, making her pulse quicken. She couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt, and it sent her thoughts spiraling. She caught herself imagining what it would be like to lean closer, run her hands through his hair, kiss him. But with those thoughts came a wave of uncertainty. He probably didn’t feel the same. He was obviously up here alone for a reason, and was likely only here for the meal. 

Each time he laughed, that low, rumbling sound that sent warmth flooding through her, she felt the urge to reach out, to pull him closer, but she hesitated, keeping to her side of the couch, sneaking glances.

The time ticked on, each episode passing. Andi wouldn’t admit it, but she was not keeping up with the plot anymore, her eyes didn’t want to stay open, but she didn't want the night to end. But he was here, and happy. She was happy, and he was filling something within her soul she didn’t know was empty. 

–

–

Logan stirred, blinking his eyes open slowly. The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of the TV playing the last few minutes of Friends.He groaned quietly, his mind hazy as he adjusted to being awake. For a moment, he didn’t move, disoriented by the unfamiliar feeling of waking up without the usual jolt of adrenaline or edge of panic. His mind was foggy, peaceful even.

Warmth. Not his own.

He froze, instinctively holding his breath. His gaze dropped to where Andi lay, down the quilt, as he registered where her legs barely brushed against his under the covers, one hand reached back and resting on his hip. Instantly, his chest tightened, and he froze, like any movement might shatter the strange quiet between them. Their legs were barely touching beneath the covers, but that subtle point of contact of her hand sent a wave of something through him, something he didn’t want to put a name to.

She was still there, asleep beside him. It wasn’t some hazy dream. She was real, and worse—he liked it. Too much.

He lay there for a moment, watching her sleep quietly. She looked so peaceful, wrapped up in the blankets like she belonged there, beside him. The tension that usually gnawed at him had disappeared. He’d slept better than he had in years, no nightmares, no panic, just calm. Andi had trusted him enough to fall asleep next to him, and his chest tightened with something dangerously close to affection. It felt too good, too right.

His pulse quickened as the reality of the situation hit him hard. 

  Shit.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to piece together his thoughts. He had slept well, too well, with no nightmares, no waking in a panic, no claws coming out. Just peaceful, dreamless sleep, something he hadn’t experienced in years. It should have been a relief, but instead, it filled him with a quiet sense of dread. Because the reason he had slept so easily was lying right beside him .

Andi. The strong, beautiful woman that just happened to be out here in the middle of nowhere with him. Who's couch he had fallen asleep on. 

Her breathing was soft, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She looked peaceful, her arm tucked under her head, eyelashes resting softly against her cheek. He could hear her heartbeat, and it was steady, calm.  She had trusted him enough to fall asleep beside him, and more than that, he hadn’t hurt her. He hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat, claws ready to strike. Somehow, being around her had quelled that constant undercurrent of tension he always carried. For the first time in a long time, Logan had felt like himself. He hadn’t been running. He hadn’t been on guard. He had just been.

He watched her face, his expression softening without his permission. She looked so vulnerable, so trusting. It hit him like a punch to the gut, how much he wanted to stay in this moment, how much he wanted to stay forever and stay by her side, make sure she’d be safe. 

But now, as he stared at her sleeping form, that peace started to evaporate, replaced by a growing sense of unease. What the hell was he doing here? He wasn’t supposed to get comfortable like this, wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not with her. She was human—normal. She had no idea who he really was, what he was capable of. The thoughts churned in his mind, gnawing at him like a wound that wouldn’t close.

His mind started to spiral, the memories creeping in, uninvited. Jean. The way she had smiled at him, how he had thought—no, believed—he had found a home with her and at the X-mansion. And then how it had all fallen apart, how his love for her had destroyed everything. His fists clenched at the thought, and he could feel the phantom pain of his claws cutting through his skin, just as they had cut through so many others.

And then there was Marie. The memory of her limp body in his arms, his claws embedded in her chest. He had nearly killed her, and that was the reality of it. He was a weapon, always a threat to those closest to him, even when he didn’t mean to be.

His breath hitched slightly, his chest tightening as he looked at Andi again. The thought of her lying in his arms, bleeding because of him, made him feel sick. He was so damned worried about keeping her safe from bears, from wild animals, but the truth was, the biggest threat to her safety was him.

He glanced at her again, the rationalization picking up speed in his mind. She didn’t know who he really was—what he was capable of. The quiet moments, the banter, the way she trusted him... she had no idea what he was, and whatever trust she had placed in him would be gone in an instant. Hell, he could barely keep himself from going off the rails most days. If he let himself get even closer, if she shared the same feeling for him, it wouldn’t end well.

He shifted slightly, pulling away from her just a fraction, testing the distance. His mind churned, working through the steps logically. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. He was a ticking time bomb, and when he went off, she’d be caught in the blast.

His claws itched beneath his skin, a dark reminder of the thing he carried with him, always lurking beneath the surface. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He wasn’t the guy who could be around her like this, not without fucking it up. She deserved better. Someone who wouldn’t wake up with claws out, ready to hurt her by accident.

He pulled away just enough to put some distance between them. Every inch felt like pulling teeth, the weight of the decision heavy in his chest. He wanted to stay. He wanted to, more than he’d admit, but staying wasn’t an option. He knew how this would end if he didn’t get out now.

He glanced at her again, the rise and fall of her chest steady as she slept, blissfully unaware of the storm inside his head. She looked so damn peaceful, trusting. That’s what tore him up the most. She trusted him. And he had no business being the guy she trusted. The guy she was letting in.

Logan sat up, the quilts rustling as he moved. A physical distance was easier to create than the mental one. He had to go. He had to walk out before this spiraled any more than it already had. He couldn’t give her the chance to wake up and make it harder than it already was to leave, to run, to create a distance she was so fucking good at closing.

He forced himself to his feet, the warmth of her proximity slipping away as he stood there, staring down at her one last time. It felt like someone had twisted a knife in his chest, but he didn’t flinch. This was what he had to do. If he really cared, he’d leave now, before he dragged her deeper into his darkness. And he did care about her, far too much.

Logan made his way to the door, each step heavier than the last. His body felt sluggish, like it was dragging through mud, weighed down by something more than just the usual fatigue. Every fiber of him screamed to turn around, to just lay back down, and pretend for a little longer that he wasn’t who he was—that he could stay here with her and have this. But he couldn’t.

His hand rested on the doorknob, cold metal under his palm, and he stood frozen, staring at it as if it held the answer to some question he wasn’t ready to ask. His throat tightened, a bitter lump forming there as the realization washed over him again. The truth he’d been running from, the one he kept shoving down, clawing its way back up.

I can’t stay and play house. I’m a monster. 

He could picture it so clearly in his head: a life where none of this mattered. Where he wasn’t what he was, a mutant, a weapon. He could be normal, a guy who could enjoy waking up next to someone without the fear of hurting them, of losing control. 

But he wasn’t any other man. And that dream, that ridiculous, fleeting hope, evaporated the moment he remembered what lay beneath his skin. The claws. The violence. The endless baggage. All the reasons he had to keep his distance from people like her, as strong as she was, she wouldn’t be able to handle him.

His chest burned, a low ache spreading beneath his ribs, an emptiness that had been filled by her, and now was quickly being drained, that could never be truly filled. No matter how much he wanted this—wanted her—it would always be just out of reach. Because he wasn’t made for this kind of life. He wasn’t made to have what everyone else did, what normal people had. It wasn’t for him. It never had been.

His grip tightened on the knob, knuckles turning white as he clenched it harder than he meant to. The pain in his chest twisted, like something sharp was lodged there, stabbing deeper the longer he stayed. His muscles ached, but not from exhaustion—from something worse. Something inside him wanted out, but it stayed locked behind years of walls and defenses he couldn’t let crumble. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths as the weight of it all bore down on him. His heart was hammering now, blood roaring in his ears. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and the air felt thick, suffocating. 

Logan exhaled a shuddering breath, his fingers slowly slipping from the knob as he braced himself. The door felt like a barrier, one he wasn’t ready to cross. His throat tightened again, the bitterness of it all rising up, hot and sharp, but he swallowed it down. He had to. This was what he had to do.

He couldn’t stay, because the moment he let himself believe he could have this, it would all come crashing down. And he’d be the one to destroy it.

With one last glance over his shoulder at Andi—peaceful, still asleep, her face illuminated softly by the flickering TV light—he let go of the doorknob, stepping back. The urge to walk back to her, to stay, surged inside him like a tidal wave, but he buried it, pushing it deep down where it belonged.

He turned back to the door and finally forced it open, the cold air from the hallway seeping in. It bit at his skin, sharp and biting, but it didn’t compare to the cold settling in his chest as he stepped through, leaving behind what he could never have. He shut it quickly, not warning the cold air to wake her up. She wouldn’t understand, even if he could find the words to explain. She would think she could though, and he could picture it now. 

He shook his head to clear the picture and started walking, then running, the claws coming out as he fell to his knees in the dark forest, the pain in his heart finally something that fucking mutation couldn’t heal. 

Previous Part Next Part

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

The next Tuesday rolled around for Andi, relatively quickly. There was a bear to track, his collar having been somehow rubbed off and it was her job to safely tranquilize him and put it back on. Saturday, she left early in the morning to fly a few hours south to meet up with the other remotely stationed rangers to discuss plans of action as the spring months grew closer. 

She smiled as the plane climbed away from the river, the world growing smaller as she got higher. This was the best part of her job, doing what she loved and her commute being in the sky. The sub-zero temperatures sometimes made starting it a challenge, but once in the air, the performance was unmatched of any other time of year. She decided to take a small detour and fly over Logan's cabin. It was out of her way, but she hadn’t seen him since he had shut her door, and dare she say, she missed his gruffness, even though in all of their encounters had been spaced apart by multiple weeks. 

Logan was out running, his breath icing as soon as it left his nose,  when Andi’s plane whizzed over the trees. He watched it ascend, and thought about how different it was to the x-men jet. That was only in the air for a mission. Not for fighting, she flew just to fly.

Logan, on the other hand, glanced up at the plane’s roar, catching a glimpse of the metallic flash through the trees. He knew it was her without a doubt. She always did that—flying not because she had to, but because she loved it. That was something he couldn’t quite wrap his head around. For him, flying had always been a necessity, a means to an end. But for Andi, it was freedom, plain and simple.

It was a freedom that represented her as a person, and he could feel himself growing addicted, craving her presence. 

There was the longstanding invitation to her home, and Tuesday was only two days away. 

Fuck it. 

When Tuesday came, Logan approached Andi’s cabin more confidently, anticipation had easily crept in and taken over any doubts holding him back. The cabin, with its inviting warmth and the promise of Andi’s company, had become an unexpected refuge from the isolation he usually embraced.

As he neared, he saw her perched precariously on the pontoon of her plane, fiddling with something underneath the wing, holding a rag in one hand. The sight of her, focused and absorbed, made something in his chest tighten. She was always in control, always handling things by herself.

“You know,” he finally drawled, his voice rough from the chill. “You should pay more attention to your surroundings when you're out here alone.”

Andi jolted, a rag slipping from her fingers as she turned sharply toward him, her eyes wide before she relaxed, recognizing his voice. 

“And why would I?” she retorted, a smirk forming. “I’m the only one out here, remember?”

“Until you’re not,” Logan replied, arms crossed, his usual brooding stance.

Andi threw the rag at him with a grin. “You care an awful lot.”

“I’ve seen enough to know better,” he muttered, his voice quieter but still laced with a bite. “You’ve been lucky so far.”

She jumped down from the pontoon to the dock, studying his face, not letting his intensity rattle her. “Logan, I’ve been out here alone for years. Hell, the other day, I tranquilized a full-grown grizzly by myself. I’m perfectly capable.”

She found the concern amusing. If only he knew what she was capable of, he’d be the one concerned for his own safety, like all the other humans when they saw her reveal her powers. 

Logan’s jaw clenched, his arms still crossed, the brooding edge not leaving his face. He didn’t respond, just gave her a long, hard look that said more than words ever could. He knew full well how even the most powerful mutants could be brought down, let alone a human out here alone. But he couldn't tell her that. 

She didn’t wait for his reply, instead brushing past him and heading toward the cabin. Logan stood there for a moment, staring after her, still irritated but not quite sure where to direct the feeling. He wasn’t used to caring about anyone’s safety for a long time, and the sudden urge of protectiveness wasn’t a feeling he was ready for. 

“Come on, grumpy,” she called over her shoulder, breaking his thoughts. “You coming inside or are you gonna stand there freezing your ass off?”

Logan grunted, shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed her toward the cabin. 

Logan’s boots crunched on the snow as he followed, his steps heavy with that trademark scowl of his. Andi leaned casually against the porch railing, pretending not to notice the way his shoulders seemed tense, his jaw set in that irritated-but-not-really-mad way she had come to recognize. There was something about how he moved, always alert, always scanning the trees, that tugged at her. Like he was waiting for something to jump out of the shadows.

Her eyes drifted, not quite intentionally, to the way his jacket stretched over those broad shoulders, and before she could stop herself, she found her gaze traveling lower. She couldn't even admit it to herself, but damn, the man filled out a pair of jeans. The ruggedness, the way he moved—it was hard not to notice. Her thoughts wandered back to that second meeting in the middle of the night at the river, when he’d stood shirtless, dripping, muscles tight and defined under the icy water. She’d tried to play it cool then, but the image had stuck with her, more than she’d like to admit.

And now, here he was, sulking up to her cabin like it was some big inconvenience for him to be there. But she knew better.He had shown up, after all.

Still watching him, decided she needed to snap herself out of it. She was staring a little too long, and the warmth creeping up her neck wasn’t from the cold outside. She wasn’t about to let herself get caught up in those thoughts, and heaven forbid he found out what she was thinking about. 

To distract herself, she shoved her hand into the snow piled up on the porch railing, and then was struck with a mischievous thought to maybe snap him out of whatever train of thought he was thinking about. She casually leaned there, and waited for him make eye contact with her 

The cold bite of the snow jolted her out of her internal dialogue, and she formed a snowball, waiting until Logan was just a few steps away before tossing it right at his chest.

Logan stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her in disbelief. His hip was now damp with snow, the outline revealing the exact spot the snow had made an impact. 

“Real mature,” Logan grunted, glancing up at her with a raised brow.

She gave him an innocent look that made his heart jump a bit, already preparing another snowball. “Just thought you needed to cool off a little.”

A small, incredulous smirk on his face barely masked his growing amusement. “You’re gonna start that with me?”

Without missing a beat, she lobbed a second snowball at him, hitting him squarely on the shoulder.

He growled playfully, shaking it off. “You’re going to regret that,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his lips as he crouched down to gather his own snow.

Andi’s response was to circle around him off the porch, moving away from the cabin and towards the treeline. 

Logan sighed, shaking his head, but his competitive streak flared up. He bent down and scooped up a snowball of his own. He tried to ignore his natural enhanced reflexes, and lobbed his own in her general direction, but it missed spectacularly, exploding against the trunk of a tree.

 “Great shot, Logan,” Andi called, and clapped mockingly at him.

“You’re a menace,” he muttered, but there was no bite to his words.

“Yeah, but you’re smiling,” Andi pointed out, her voice teasing.

Logan’s eyes flicked toward her, and for once, he didn’t try to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t get used to it.” He narrowed his eyes, determination settling in.

 He gathered more snow, packing it tightly and eyeing her as she moved away from him. Before she knew it, he had launched it right at her chest, the snow exploding on impact.

Andi gasped dramatically, stumbling back a little. “Oh, it’s on now.”

“Bring it, princess,” he challenged, gathering more snow, but he knew they were playing by different rules. He could have ended the game quickly if he wanted to, but what would be the fun in that?

Andi paused mid-throw, her cheeks warming slightly. The nickname, casual and playful, struck a chord deep inside her. She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Princess? Really? You think I need a tiara and a castle to kick your ass?”

“Guess you’ll have to prove it,” Logan chuckled, his gaze steady, and there was something in the way he looked at her that made her pulse quicken.

Her response was to run off, hoping to lose him in the trees for a moment while she had time to pack another snowball, and collect her thoughts. 

He followed, gathering more snow, moving silently through the trees after her, his enhanced senses guiding him. He didn’t need to see her to know where she was, he could hear her breath, the soft crunch of her boots as she circled around.

He let her throw hers, ducking away from it at the last moment. 

With a smirk, he lobbed the snowball to his right, not even turning to look as he kept moving. It hit her squarely in the leg, and Andi yelped, stumbling as she spun to face him. “How the hell—” she started, laughing through her surprise.

Logan finally turned to look at her, raising a brow. “Told you, you can’t hide from me.”

Andi, refusing to back down, scooped up a handful of snow and threw it in his direction, even as she moved to flank him. She was fearless, and it was intoxicating.

They danced around the trees, each of them tossing snowballs, laughter echoing in the crisp air. Logan felt the tension from earlier dissipate, replaced by a rush of exhilaration that exceeded any of his nights in icy rivers or letting his feelings out on trees.  He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. 

Finally, Logan closed the distance between them, cornering her near the side of the cabin. He reached out, catching her wrist in mid-throw, his hand cool from the snow. “Alright, enough. I win.”

“You wish,” she shot back breathlessly, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion. There was a playful defiance in her eyes, and for a moment, they were both just standing there, so close the heat from their bodies cut through the chill in the air.

Logan’s grip on her wrist loosened, but he didn’t pull away immediately. He caught the flicker of surprise in her eyes, as if she wasn’t expecting him to be so close, so suddenly. And neither was he. It was rare for him to let anyone in like this, and it made his chest feel tighter, a discomfort he wasn’t used to but couldn’t deny.

After a beat, he let her go, stepping back and clearing his throat, his gruff exterior snapping back into place. “Let’s get inside before you catch frostbite.”

Andi watched as Logan stepped back, the moment breaking like ice cracking beneath their feet. She blinked, a rush of confusion and excitement swirling in her chest, but before she could say anything, he turned, already heading back toward the cabin. She hurried to catch up, her heart racing as they walked side by side.

The snow crunched beneath their boots, the sound mingling with the crisp silence of the evening. The trees stood tall around them, their branches heavy with white, forming a picturesque winter wonderland. Yet, it felt different now, the familiar scenery charged with a newfound energy between them.

The inviting warmth enveloped them as they stepped inside, the flickering light of the fireplace casting soft shadows across the room.

​​Andi immediately turned the TV on to some kind of sitcom, tossing the remote onto the table in front of the couch. The bright screen flickered to life, filling the room with a warm glow that contrasted with the snowy world outside.

“I’m going to change, and then we can start dinner.” She rushed up the stairs, letting herself think about what the hell had happened out there in the snow between them. The moment he had caught her wrist, it had felt electric. She could still feel the coolness of his hand against her skin, the surprise in his eyes mirroring her own. 

Logan settled onto the couch, letting the show wash over him. The characters bickered and joked, their exaggerated antics pulling an eye roll from him. He didn’t get the humor, but he found the absurdity oddly captivating.

When Andi returned, she found Logan sitting on the couch, his attention glued to the TV. The glow of the screen highlighted his rugged features, and for a moment, she simply admired how relaxed he looked, almost… normal. There was something intoxicating about seeing him like this, unguarded, enjoying such a simple thing as a TV show.

“Having fun?” she asked, her curiosity piqued as she took in his expression.

Logan shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It seems funny.”

“What?? You’ve never seen Friends ??” She couldn’t believe it, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“Nope.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’ll have to catch me up.”

Andi’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “That I can do. Come on, help me with dinner.”

Logan took a knife, his movements steady as he sliced through the vegetables Andi set in front of him. The rhythmic sound of the blade on the cutting board was oddly soothing, and he found himself caught up in the simplicity of the task.

Once dinner was ready, they settled on the couch with bowls of pasta, the aroma rich and inviting. As the opening credits of Friends rolled, Logan couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging wash over him. It was new and uncomfortable, yet exhilarating.

They settled back under the blankets after dinner with steaming mugs of cocoa. Logan took a sip, grimacing slightly at the sweetness. “This is way too sugary,” he muttered, but the warmth of it was undeniable.

“It’s called comfort food, Logan. Ever heard of it?”Andi shot him a playful look and received a glare back in return.

Logan felt a strange sense of belonging creep in, and he quickly shoved it aside. He let himself be drawn into the absurdity of the show, even if he’d never openly admit he was enjoying it.

As the characters bickered on screen, Logan found himself occasionally chuckling despite his best efforts to maintain his stoic facade. Every chuckle from Logan made Andi’s heart flutter; he was allowing himself to engage, even if just a little.

She glanced at him, the flickering firelight dancing across his face, and for the first time, she allowed herself to hope. Maybe he could let her in, just a little. Maybe they could be something more than just two people thrown together in the wilderness.

Previous Part Next Part

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Tuesday rolled around, the cold wind biting at Logan’s face as he trudged toward Andi’s cabin. He wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to this. Hell, he wasn’t even sure why he was still here, but something about Andi’s presence clawed at him—soothing, yet unsettling. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t pry. She didn’t look at him like he was something dangerous. Maybe that was the problem. She should. But here he was, a man who’d ripped himself apart more times than he could count, invited to dinner by someone too sweet, too gentle for the kind of mess he brought with him. He should’ve said no. Should’ve stayed in his hole.

Andi spent the day as usual; tracking, writing, flying. She made sure to get back to her cabin earlier than she usually would, showering and making sure to get her bread rising in the brief hope Logan would show up. She really almost didn’t believe he would, he was so terribly distant. He had seemed to enjoy their time together at his cabin, until he shut down. But Andi needed to stop thinking about it, trying to unravel all of his behavior as if she really knew him. He was just a strange man, and they had just happened to be brought together because they were the only people in a twenty mile radius.

As he neared her cabin, the warm glow from the windows lit up the snow-covered clearing. Logan’s hand hovered over the door for a second longer than it should’ve before he knocked softly, just like he had that first time, asking for batteries. He shoved his hands in his pockets while waiting for her to answer, and idly noticed the cobweb hanging above the door.

Andi heard the knock, and instantly her mind flew to really the only person it could be. The only person that would hike out in the weather to her cabin. The only person she wanted in her cabin, and, she realized, the only person who had ever seen it but her.

Andi opened the door to find Logan standing there, slightly hunched against the cold, his features shadowed in the dim light. For a moment, they stood there, almost startled by each other’s presence. Logan’s intense gaze met hers, and it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. The cozy outfit she wore, a soft pullover and sweatpants, was meant to make her feel comfortable, but she could see his eyes flicker, and it sent a thrill through her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” she teased lightly as he walked inside.

“Thought I’d at least show up once before you wrote me off,” Logan said, his tone dry, but there was a smirk at the edge of his lips.

He stepped into the warmth of her cabin as she stepped back to let him in, the smell of something cooking hitting him immediately. He took in the living room in front of him, the plush rug covering the tiny space between the fireplace and the couch. To the side was a television occupying a small area of an overflowing bookcase. Quilts were stacked in a basket behind the sofa, and Logan ran his hand along the one laying on the back of the couch as he walked by it into the kitchen. It was cozy in a way that made his own cabin look like a prison. Andi lived here, really lived, while he was just... hiding.

Plants hung from the windowsills lining the kitchen counters, and he ducked his head as he continued on to look at the open pantry shelves. Andi had stocked them well, all neatly labeled, jam, fruit, vegetables. He wondered if she bought them or grew them somewhere.

She would. 

He couldn’t help but admire that about her. She didn’t just exist out here; she lived. It was so different from the way he was scraping by, hiding. So unlike “his” cabin, with its bare utility and even barer shelves.

The kitchen table only had one chair and it was pushed back against the wall, and he realized she was sitting there when he had knocked. Only one chair. She had seemed surprised when she had seen him at first, that there was nobody else around, and it was apparent this house was tailored for her, and no guests. But she had invited him anyway.

Andi watched him move through her space hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure where to put himself. She could see the tension in his frame, like a wild animal unsure if it was safe. She didn’t mind, but was anxiously awaiting him to say something. He had stopped, and she broke the silence.

“The rest is over here,” She started walking around the corner to behind the living room wall, where two doors sat open. One led to a flight of stairs, the other, a bathroom, surprisingly nice with a clawfoot tub and shower. “Bathroom, and my bedroom is upstairs.”

Logan took it all in. She trusted him, enough to invite him to her home, and to show him around like he belonged there. He simply nodded to Andi to acknowledge the tour, and leaned against the doorframe to peer over her shoulder to the stairs leading up, effectively keeping her in the corridor, unable to get past him back to the kitchen. She cleared her throat and met his eyes after a few moments, realizing how big he really was in her space. She pointed around him to the kitchen with eyebrows raised, and he immediately took his arm from the doorframe over her to lead the way back into the living area.

Logan followed her back into the living room, his eyes scanning the space again, this time with a more focused intensity. The cabin was small, but in a way that felt personal, like each thing had its place, chosen for comfort, not just survival. He found himself almost…envious. It was clear she lived here with purpose, with roots. His own cabin was a place of escape, nothing more, bare walls that echoed his need for isolation. But here, in Andi’s space, there was a warmth he couldn’t deny—even if it unsettled him.

It was warmer here than he’d expected. More than just the fire crackling merrily in front of him, there was something about the way she’d built her life, full of little touches that screamed home. He hated that word, though. Home wasn’t something he could have. Home was for people who stayed, people who belonged.

“Nice place,” Logan muttered, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it by the door, making his shoulder relax as he pushed away thoughts of the school, the time he had truly felt like he was home.

“Thanks,” Andi replied, watching him closely as if checking to see how he was settling in. “Make yourself comfortable."

Andi moved past him to check on the pot simmering on the stove. Her movements were unhurried, but he could see a certain tension in the way her hands hovered for a moment longer than necessary. She was nervous. Not in a bad way, but like she was waiting for him to either relax or bolt. He wasn’t sure which it would be yet. He couldn’t make out what she was cooking, but it smelled good. Beneath that, too, was a scent he couldn’t quite place. It tugged at something deep inside him, something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Don’t get comfortable, he reminded himself.

Nothing good ever comes from getting comfortable. 

“You make all that stuff yourself?” Logan asked, motioning with his chin toward the jars on the shelves. “The jams, the…whatever that is?” He almost winced at how awkward it sounded coming out, but conversation wasn’t his strong suit, and making small talk felt like pulling teeth.

Andi glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes catching the light from the stove. “Yeah, most of it. My grandmother taught me. I grow a lot of it during the summer. Keeps me busy when I’m not working.”

Logan nodded. It made sense. She wasn’t the type to sit around doing nothing. And yet, that same quiet energy was what drew him in. She wasn’t pushing him, wasn’t asking the questions he dreaded, ones about the past, or why he was out here, alone. She just let him be.

“You don’t get tired of it?” he asked, surprising himself with the question. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Being alone all the time?”

Andi turned fully toward him, wiping her hands on a towel as she leaned back against the counter. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I like the quiet. I like…this.” She gestured around the cabin, the soft light flickering off the walls. “It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. I don’t need more.”

Logan grunted, unsure how to respond. That was the difference between them. She had chosen this life, crafted it out of something meaningful. He was just here because he didn’t know where else to be. He didn’t belong anywhere, not anymore. He was just running from everything and everyone.

Andi tilted her head, studying him for a moment. “What about you? Do you like the quiet?”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

It wasn’t a real answer, but it was the best she was going to get. He wasn’t about to pour his soul out in the middle of her kitchen. Not when he was still trying to figure out why the hell he was here at all.

"Dinners almost ready," Andi’s voice broke the silence, and Logan glanced over at her. “We’ll have to eat on the couch, I’ve only got one chair.”

She was watching him, waiting for something. His answer? A sign he wasn’t going to shut down again? Logan glanced at the couch when Andi mentioned the lack of seating options, giving a noncommittal grunt.

“Works for me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself in this setting. Andi nodded, moving toward the stove to finish up the meal, leaving Logan to take in the room again. The cozy warmth of the cabin wrapped around him, and despite himself, he felt an odd sense of calm. He hadn’t expected to feel anything like that here—or anywhere, really. It was unsettling. He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the fire as it crackled in the hearth.

“You’re really out here on your own,” he said, almost to himself. Andi glanced over her shoulder, giving him a quick smile. “Guess so. But I’ve got everything I need.” She turned back to stir the pot, her movements calm, unhurried. “I’m not someone that needs lots of human interaction. I had some bad experiences, this is heaven compared to the rat-race in the city." 

Logan nodded but didn’t respond. He could see that about her. She wasn’t hiding from the world like he was; she was choosing this life. There was a strength in that—a strength he didn’t have. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. For once, he didn’t feel the need to fill it with pointless conversation, and Andi didn’t push him to either.

When she finally turned back with two bowls in hand, she handed him one before sitting down on the couch. “Hope you like dinner,” she said, her voice light, almost teasing. “It’s not fancy, but it’s filling.”

Logan took a seat next to her, the heat from the plate warming his hands as he muttered, “I’ve learned not picky, and it looks good.” They ate in silence for a while, the only sound the occasional clink of utensils against the plates. It was strange, this quiet domesticity. He wasn’t used to it, wasn’t used to someone caring enough to make him dinner or share their space without asking for something in return.

As they finished, Andi leaned back against the couch, her bowl resting in her lap. “So,” she started, glancing over at him, “you’re not a fan of civilization either, huh?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, but there was no pressure in her question, just curiosity. He shrugged. “Too many people asking too many questions.”

“Lucky for you, I’m not much for questions.” Andi smirked, her green eyes twinkling with amusement and sarcasm.

Logan’s lips twitched, almost a smile, but he stopped it before it could form fully. “Yeah. I noticed.”

She shrugged, setting her bowl on the floor. “I figure if you want to share, you will. I already know you aren’t here just to jump in my bed for lack of women in the Alaskan wilderness, so take your time.”

Logan grunted in response, not sure what to make of that. It was a rare thing, finding someone who wasn’t trying to dig into his past, pry open the doors he kept firmly shut. And yet, there was something about Andi that made him feel…less on edge.

Andi smiled at him slumped over the arm of the couch as he ate his second helping. He was adorable when he wasn’t tense, the little cowlicks in his hair reminding her of a bobcat.

Logan looked up, caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise turning into a smirk.“What?”

“Nothing,” Andi said, trying to suppress her smile. “Just thinking about whoever cut your hair needs their license taken away.”

He faked being offended. “There's so many barbers out here, I did it myself.’ He ran his hand over the cowlicks. “And these are natural.”

Andi had the inexplicable urge to lean over and run her hand through them before she caught herself. Didn’t need to make him run off like a scared little animal, and she wanted to make sure she kept him around for awhile longer. The warmth of the fire, the ease of the conversation, it was getting to him. He could feel himself relaxing, and that was dangerous. He’d been alone for so long, the idea of being comfortable around someone felt foreign. But here he was, sitting next to her, sharing a meal like he wasn’t just passing through.

The weight of her gaze pulled at Logan in a way he wasn’t quite prepared for. He didn’t want to leave, the warmth of the cabin, the ease of their conversation, and the closeness that had formed between them felt too good to walk away from. He knew he shouldn't linger. She didn’t seem in any hurry to kick him out, but she had said dinner, and dinner was eaten.

He reluctantly rose from the sofa and felt Andi’s eyes follow him as he stood. “Well, I guess I should head back,” he said, attempting to sound casual, but somehow the weight of his words hung heavy between them.

“What, leaving so soon?” Andi raised an eyebrow at him, her voice teasing but her eyes serious. “I really enjoyed myself, Logan. It was lovely to talk to you and actually have someone over for once.”

“​​I can’t have you getting too used to my charming company.” He shot her a lopsided grin that reached his eyes, and Andi felt herself return it.

Her eyes crinkled with a genuine smile that Logan felt himself get a little lost in. His internal walls were falling, and fast. He quickly covered the short distance to where his jacket hung and he shrugged it on and faced her before he opened the door.

She stood, watching him from behind the couch. “I meant it Logan, I had a good time. I'll see you next Tuesday?”

“It was nice,” Logan responded, turning the doorknob. “I’ll think about it,” he said, that hint of a genuine smile crossing his face.

Andi was already starting to crave that smile, instead of the disinterested and gruff expression he kept plastered on. She gave him a little wave as he stepped out into the cold and shut the door.

She slumped sideways to the couch and pressed her face into the cushion, clutching the quilt she had draped over her lap.

He better fucking come back next week or I’ll drag him here.

He was not the nicest man, but he was a puzzle, and Andi was positive he wasn’t mean past whatever he felt like he had to put up. The guys that frequented the bar, catcalled her, and thought they could get away with poaching? Those were the real ones to stay away from. Logan? Wasn’t that.

Logan opened the door to “his” cabin and sighed, shoulders slumping. His belly was full of good food and the warmth of Andi’s company, and coming back to the cold, bare cabin left behind by summer hunters was certainly not an upgrade. He grabbed his bottle of whiskey and fell backwards on the bed, ready for the blissful floatiness of not having to think about her laugh, her eyes, or the way she looked right at him and wasn’t phased by what was his worst self.

Maybe he would go back next Tuesday, even if his mind screamed it was a bad fuckin’ idea. You’re a mutant and she'd run away the minute she knew.

His heart screamed otherwise, and he started chugging to shut it up. That was a problem for Tuesday morning.

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[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

As soon as Andi shut the door to Logan’s bedroom, the soft click of the latch echoed in the stillness. She stood and stared at it, processing the evening. She had gotten to see him lighter, laughing, even concerned when he had asked her to stay. And yet, he had shut her out so suddenly. One minute he was laughing, the next he was back to that closed-off, distant version of himself she had seen and come to expect of him. Andi’s mind whirled with a hundred questions. Had she said something wrong? No, she hadn’t really said anything before he got weird. Done something to make him pull away? She didn’t think so. If anything, they’d seemed to be getting closer. But then again, that was always how it went with men, wasn’t it? Just when things started to feel good, when she let her guard down, it all came crashing down. But this couldn’t be like that, she wasn’t in any kind of relationship with him, really not even friendship. He had only made her stay because he thought she was human and susceptible to the storm. 

Her senses were on overdrive as she tried to listen for any movement outside her door. There was none, except for her own heartbeat thudding in her ears. It was really to be expected, he had sat down on the couch and probably was trying to fall asleep. Andi then became acutely aware of the fact she herself had made no noise since entering, and attempted to tiptoe to the bed, gingerly taking off her boots and sliding under the covers. They smelled like how she could imagine he’d smell, pine and woodsmoke. She clenched her hands around the blanket, feeling its softness but registering none of the comfort it offered. Her heart ached, and she didn’t even know why. It wasn’t as if Logan had promised her anything. Hell, the only reason he had asked her to stay was because of the storm and because he obviously couldn't know about the mutant thing. 

Her mind replayed the entire night, seeing how he laughed, seemed relaxed. She suddenly remembered the other night, shirtless in the woods, and she shuddered. 

God, he's attractive.  

Andi’s jaw clenched as she stared at the ceiling, frustrated by how he got under her skin. She barely knew him. A few chance encounters, a weirdly tense dinner, and suddenly he had her twisting up in knots? It was absurd. He could be anyone. Some unhinged hermit hiding out in the woods for who knows what reason. She wasn’t naive; people didn’t come out here unless they had a reason. Life was hard in the deep winter bush, and he obviously was neither hunter or fisherman. 

As unfortunate as it was, life didn’t just hand you a handsome stranger with a tragic backstory, and if it did, the "tragic" part would inevitably come back to bite. 

But no matter how much she tried to rationalize it, push away the feelings creeping into her chest, there was no denying how she had felt when he let his guard down and actually smiled. There had been a lightness in his eyes Andi was sad to see return when he had said goodnight.

Logan lay on the couch in the front room, his body tense and rigid despite the apparent comfort of his surroundings. He could still hear her, the faint rustle of her movement through the walls, the blankets rustling. He had felt bad how she had stopped just inside the door and stood there for multiple minutes, not moving, probably the effect of him bidding her such a curt goodnight. 

He stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but the storm brewing inside his chest. What the hell am I doing? He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself, but all he could think about was how she had looked at him tonight. How she had smiled, how easily they’d talked. How good it had felt—for just a brief moment to let his guard down, to laugh with her like everything wasn’t a goddamn disaster and he wasn’t hiding up here just for the reason every time he felt like this someone got hurt. Or was dead. 

He closed his eyes, but refused to sleep. He would not let her hear his nightmares, scare her away further with his claws. He would sit here, replay the moments of the night, the urbane comfort of the soup, the fire, Andi’s laugh. 

He wanted to be close to her. He wanted to let her in, to see if maybe someone like her could handle whatever broken pieces of himself he had left. But the thought of her seeing him as anything other than what she thought he was-some rough-around-the-edges woodsman-made his stomach turn.

But damn, he wanted to.

It doesn’t matter what you want, he told himself. He couldn’t let himself get involved with her. It would only end badly, for both of them. He wouldn’t be able to control his nightmares, and being able to sleep with a woman is almost an entry level requirement for being in a relationship. Not that she would want a relationship with him, after all, he had been the one to force her to stay. He was getting too far ahead of himself for something that could never be a possibility. 

He was just lonely, the dinner they had shared bringing back the better memories of being with the X-men, the companionship, someone always around to talk to. 

Logan gritted his teeth, the familiar tension creeping into his muscles. His body was tired, but his mind was wide awake, running over every worst-case scenario. He could already see it; the way it would fall apart if he let himself get close. She’d get hurt, or worse, and it would be on him. He couldn’t live with that. He wouldn’t.

She deserves better than me, he thought bitterly. She didn’t know what kind of danger she was in just by being near him, and she never would. Because he wouldn’t let her find out. He’d keep his distance, like he always did. 

He had forced her to stay the night, and while he had enjoyed the rare company, it was a dangerous game. He could keep up a friendly façade, and if he ran into her, he would be friendly, buthe needed to keep it strictly platonic. If he let her in, let her be friends, even more then, someone would find out he was a mutant, he could hurt her, and then his safe haven would go to shit.

She would be safe, and he would remain undisturbed. Any deeper connection would put them both at risk, and he couldn’t afford that. It wasn’t worth the potential consequences.

He sat up around 6, and added wood to the fire to start some water boiling. She looked like someone that would enjoy tea, and there was a whole box of it in the pantry. He contemplated breakfast. She would need some kind of sustenance before hiking home, which Logan was sure she would insist on as soon as she saw the snow had stopped falling. 

There was the leftover soup and flatbread. He went hunting around in the shelves and found a dusty can of peaches, tossing it in the air with a satisfied tug of his lips. He set the flatbread on the cast iron grill over the fire, and the soup in another pot next to the water. 

Andi woke to the smell of food cooking and the sound of Logan moving around in the kitchen. She yawned, sitting up in bed, her muscles sore from a restless night. She glanced out the window and saw the snow had stopped. Good. She could leave. That was the plan, right? Get out of his hair, get back to her cabin, and try to forget this ever happened.

But when she stepped out into the main room, her resolve wavered. Logan was standing by the stove, his hair a mess, half-dressed in a sweatshirt and a white tank top. He looked ridiculously…cuddly.

 He looked up as she entered, and Andi thought she saw his eyes briefly soften before he glanced away.

“You’re up,” he muttered, placing a plate on the table.

Andi blinked, regaining her composure. “Uh, yeah. Good morning to you too, I guess.” She stepped closer, noting the table already set. “Thank you for breakfast.”

Logan turned then, one eyebrow raised. “Nothin’ fancy. And I couldn’t have you hiking back on an empty stomach.”

“Very considerate,” she said, raising an eyebrow as she sat down. “Is this your way of saying sorry for turning the inside of this cabin colder than the outside last night?”

Logan’s lips twitched—just barely. “I said goodnight, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she agreed, sipping the tea he’d poured her. “Just didn’t realize it was code for ‘go away, we’re done here.’”

He glanced at her, a little surprised by her bluntness, but it was kind of nice, having the sarcasm returned to him. He also could admit it, he was cold last night. And was supposed to be continuing that coldness right now. Instead, he sat across from her, breaking off a piece of bread and chewing methodically. 

Logan cleared his throat, breaking her thoughts. “You heading back right after this?”

Andi nodded, a part of her disappointed she’d be leaving so soon, but if she was getting angsty Logan, she didn’t want to stick around. “Yeah, the snow has stopped and I figured I’d get out of your hair before you decide to brood again.”

He looked at her then, and for a moment, the guarded expression he usually wore softened. “You want less brood, you picked the wrong guy.”

“I’m starting to figure that out,” Andi said, her voice lighter than the words. “But may I remind you that it was not I that insisted on my staying?”

Logan glanced away, his jaw tightening. “It’s what anyone should have done.”

“I can see you are here for a reason, Logan, and you don’t have to tell me that reason. But many people wouldn’t have let me stay in the circumstance, or taken advantage of it. It was kind.” Andi said, meaning every word. As curious as she was about the intricacies of his personality and story, they were obviously personal. She could understand that.

Logan’s lips tugged into a faint smile, and they finished breakfast in companionable silence, neither of them feeling the need to fill the quiet with more conversation. When they were done, Andi stood up, stretching before grabbing her coat.

“I should get going,” she said, though part of her wasn’t as eager to leave as she’d expected. “Snow looks deep, and I’ve got a long trek ahead.”

She wasn’t worried about the snow, not one bit. But in this position, a human would probably have to worry about the snow’s depth.

Logan stood too, his expression unreadable. “I’ll walk you out.”

Andi nodded, pulling her coat on as they stepped outside. The cold air hit her face, crisp and biting, but the sun was shining. 

They walked together to the edge of the woods, neither saying much, the snow crunching beneath their boots. As they reached the path that would lead her back to her cabin, Andi stopped.

“It really was nice, Logan, to have dinner with someone up here that isn’t in possession of a shotgun.” Andi turned towards him. “When you feel like it, you're quite fun, you know.”

Logan stood a few feet away, his arms crossed as studied her with an unreadable expression. “Fun, huh?” There was a flicker of something in his eyes, maybe amusement, maybe something else.

Andi shrugged, pulling her coat tighter around herself. “Well, as fun as someone who half the time repeats what I say can be, but yes, really.”

Logan’s lips twitched, his version of a smile. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she shot back, though there was warmth in her tone. Her grin dropped as she met his eyes. “If you'd ever like to come to dinner, make it a regular thing, you know where my cabin is.”

Logan's mind reeled a bit and he frowned at her. After his moodiness, she was inviting him to her home, regularly? “I’ll think about it. Tuesdays?”

Andi tried not to laugh at his trying not to seem obvious and accept the offer. “Anytime, just show up.”

“Maybe I will,” Logan said, a familiar warmth curling around his belly as he watched her walk away. Just like the soup, Andi was quickly warming the parts he so desperately kept locked away.

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[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere Masterlist

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

“What on earth do you normally eat?” she said, realizing she hadn’t seen any kind of meat, or cold items, not even jerky or tuna.

Logan thought quick. The real reason was, he hadn’t really been eating. “I was due for a supply run. Not only out of batteries. The storm is inconvenient as hell.”

It didn’t sound convincing to his ears, but logistically, he didn’t see any reason why she wouldn’t believe him. She wouldn’t know how much protein a human would have to consume to achieve his build, she worked with wild animals, not a personal trainer.

He figured he got away with it as she started collecting items and piling them on the table. He was suddenly ultra conscious of the cabin’s cleanliness. And where would she sleep? Not in the bedroom filled with empty whiskey bottles.

He put the batteries in the radio and set it to a channel he hoped she would like, muttering a quick “I’ll be right back.” As she set a pot of water to boil on the stove.

When he returned ten minutes later, from his frantic cleanup of the bedroom, Andi was humming along to the song blaring, something Logan didn’t recognize, about going to church. It made him think of Nightcrawler, of all of them in the kitchen together at the mansion. Marie and Kitty always wanting him to join in on karaoke. He shook his head. Not the time. Couldn’t scare her away into the storm by being emotional.

Andi was quite proud of herself for actually planning out a decent meal out of the scraps he had. As he reentered the main area of the cabin from the door he had disappeared into, she nodded down towards the pile of potatoes and onions.

“Want to start chopping?” She was knuckles deep in a bowl filled with some kind of sticky dough. She hoped he didn’t mind her telling him what to do, but she'd be damned if she had to do all of the cooking. He quietly moved to find a knife, and Andi watched with relief she hadn’t fucked anything up.

Logan found a knife in the drawer, and set to work on the pile of potatoes and onions in front of him, noting with some amusement how dull the blade seemed compared to his claws. The rhythmic sound of his knife against the cutting board filled the cabin, accompanied by the crackling of the fire and the soft music emanating from the radio.

They worked in sync, the tension between them still present, but it had mellowed. The sharp edge of it had dulled into something quieter. Andi could sense Logan’s unease, and she felt a little off-kilter herself. He certainly didn’t seem like a threat,if anything, he seemed more intent on avoiding her than anything else. Still, the thought crossed her mind. Was he trying to get something out of this situation?

She dismissed it. Logan didn’t strike her as the type of guy to manipulate her into bed. In fact, he seemed more confused by her presence than opportunistic. She glanced at him now and then, catching him doing the same. He wasn’t grumpy like before, but he was still closed off. Guarded. There was a tension in him, like he was trying to keep something under wraps, but she couldn’t figure out what.

Andi kept herself busy kneading the dough, but her eyes occasionally flicked to Logan as well, trying to read him. He wasn’t grumpy, not like the last time they met, but he was quiet. Guarded. She wondered if that was just his way or if it had something to do with her being here. There was a tension in the air, like he was on edge, but it wasn’t hostile. More like...nervous?

“Are you always this talkative?” Andi asked, her voice light, hoping to break the silence without making it awkward.

Logan didn’t look up from the chopping but smirked slightly, just a twitch of his lips. “Depends. Are you always this bossy?”

She raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the teasing tone. Not what she had expected. “Only when I have to be.” “Fair enough,” he replied, his eyes finally meeting hers briefly. There was a flicker of amusement there, but it vanished as quickly as it came. “I’m not used to having company, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Andi softened, sensing that maybe she’d hit closer to the truth than she realized. She was aware that Logan was something of a recluse, but this felt deeper than that. “Neither am I,” she admitted, focusing on her dough again, shaping it into rough rounds. She wasn’t exactly the type to hang out with neighbors, either. “I usually am up here completely alone all winter. The ones that stick it out don’t have much in common with me.”

Logan nodded, but didn’t respond, regretting not trying to carry the conversation when the silence returned, but it felt a little more comfortable now.

After a few more minutes, Logan set the chopped onions and potatoes aside. Andi glanced at the neat little piles and gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks. You’re better at this than I expected.”

He snorted softly, leaning against the counter, the irony. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

Andi smiled, but again was hit with the realization he was no typical rough Alaskan hunter.. His movements were too precise, too calculated, even in something as simple as chopping vegetables. And there was the matter of his physique. He clearly wasn’t surviving on canned and dried food. As the soup simmered and the flatbread baked in the small oven, Andi leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Logan as he stoked the fire. He moved with a quiet efficiency, but there was a restlessness about him, like he was constantly keeping himself in check.

“So,” she ventured, her tone deliberately overly casual, “what do you do up here all day? Besides chop wood in your living room, that is.”

Logan paused, his expression tightening for a fraction of a second before he shrugged. “Keep to myself. Hike, fish when the river’s not frozen.” He gestured outside vaguely. “Helps to keep the mind occupied.”

There it was again, that vagueness Andi wished she could find out the reason behind. Something unspoken. Andi wasn’t sure if he was deflecting or if he just didn’t want to talk about whatever it was that kept him out here.

The simplicity of his answer caught her off guard. She’d expected him to dodge the question again, but there was something raw in the way he said it. As if he hadn’t meant to be so honest..

Andi decided it was a good time to check the bread in the oven, pulling it out once the edges turned golden. The evening was settling into a comfortable rhythm, and neither seemed eager to disturb it.

Logan set the table in silence, his hands moving with a certain economy, two bowls, two spoons, and the pile of flatbread placed in the center. It was simple, almost domestic, and the thought stirred something uncomfortable in him. He wasn’t used to this; sharing a space, a meal. It felt... intimate, even though it wasn’t supposed to be.

Andi ladled the soup into the bowls, feeling Logan’s presence behind her, handing him the full bowl. They sat down, across from one another at the small wooden table. The crackle of the fire and the storm outside were the only sounds as they dug into the meal.

Andi blew on her spoon before taking a bite, her eyes lighting up as the rich flavors hit her tongue. Logan watched her expression and realized he was ravenous from the smell, and quickly shoved the hot soup in his mouth, closing his eyes as the warmth traveled to his belly. It wasn’t just the physical warmth, but the wave of emotional warmth it brought him. Sitting at a table, with someone that admittedly, was there of his urging, but seemed to be comfortable and was good company. The months of only existing had not taken a toll on his body, but as he felt his brain relax, this was good for him. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had missed the domesticity of the school, of talking with someone that wasn’t scared of him.

Andi glanced up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s not bad for canned goods and some old potatoes.”

“Better than anything I’ve eaten in a long time,” Logan said, and Andi caught the genuine expression on his face. He wasn’t lying, she could tell from the instant relaxation into his chair how much he suddenly warmed up to her.

“It was a mutual effort.” Andi grinned at him from over her bowl. “I’m surprised you know how to cook at all, actually, with what was on your shelves.”

Logan snorted, dipping a piece of the bread into the soup. “Yeah, well, when you’re out in the middle of nowhere, you learn to fend for yourself. I’m no chef, but I won’t starve.” She smirked, leaning back in her chair. “I half expected you to just hunt something down and eat it raw.”

Logan’s lips twitched into the hint of a smile. “That’s a last resort. Don’t want to scare off the neighbors.” Andi snorted, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Yeah, all those neighbors around here. The trees would really freak out."

Logan gave her a sideways glance, the corners of his mouth still tugged upward. "You never know. There might be a squirrel or two keeping tabs on me." “Oh, definitely. I can see it now, a squirrel patrol reporting back about the strange guy who lives in the cabin. ‘He’s chopping firewood again, fellas. Same guy, same routine. Real suspicious. Better tell the forest ranger.’”

Logan chuckled, a low rumble that Andi found oddly comforting, and she realized it was the first time he had really laughed. She leaned in a little, her smile playful as she held his gaze. He felt himself melt a little into that gaze, the laugh coming from deep inside his chest, a foreign sensation.

Logan paused, his expression faltering just for a second before he masked it again. “I’m just a guy who likes to keep to himself. Nothing special.”

“‘Nothing special,’” Andi repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, right. You walk around like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, you can’t sleep, and somehow you manage to chop firewood indoors, making a total mess of the place. Sure, nothing special at all.”

Logan shot her a look. “I didn’t say I was neat about it.”

She laughed, the sound light and genuine, and for a moment, the tension that had been building all night seemed to ease. Logan found himself relaxing, letting the conversation flow in a way he hadn’t expected.

“I’ll admit,” Andi said, swirling her spoon in the bowl, “I didn’t think you’d be this decent to hang out with. You’ve got that whole lone wolf vibe down, and I figured you’d just grunt through dinner and call it a night.”

Logan tilted his head. “And yet, here you are.” “Excuse me, I’m here because you wouldn’t let me leave.” A hint of a challenge in her voice. “You know, I feel like you owe me the story of why you're up here in the dead of winter if I’m going to be trapped here with you all night. You’re not like the other men that stick around.”

Logan raised his eyebrows, clearly deflecting. “You always this nosy?”

Andi grinned, leaning her chin on her hand. “Only when I’m snowed in with a guy who chops wood in the living room.”

He shook his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips, as much as he didn’t want to tell her the truth. “Fair enough.” She watched him for a beat, realizing he wasn’t going to elaborate. She couldn’t be too upset, if he had asked her, she wouldn’t be telling him, either. “I don’t know, Logan. You’re kind of growing on me. I never thought I’d say that about a guy who broods for a living.”

“Brooding’s a full-time job, sweetheart.” he replied, deadpan, which made Andi snicker.

“Well,” she said, finishing off her bowl, “next time I need someone to sulk in the corner while I make dinner, I’ll know where to go.” Logan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And I’ll know who to call when I run out of ideas for making soup.”

“Deal,” she said, smiling despite herself. For a brief moment, it felt like the walls between them weren’t so high.

They finished their second helping with companionable silence, and slowly the awkwardness between them lessened. Andi had never been the type to feel uncomfortable in silence, it was something she had grown used to in the wild. But with Logan, it was different. He seemed like a man who carried too much, weighed down by whatever shadows he was trying to escape. And yet, sitting here, eating soup across the table from her, he almost seemed... normal.

He was glad to see she didn’t seem bothered by the quiet. In fact, she looked almost content, sitting there, wrapped in the warmth of the cabin. When he had insisted she stay, he hadn’t thought through this part, the part where he had to be in her presence for hours on end, feeling the pressure to entertain her. When she finished, she stood and carried both bowls to the small sink. Logan followed her with his gaze, then got up to help her clean up. As he moved beside her, the proximity felt charged, but neither of them acknowledged it. They washed the dishes in silence, their movements synchronized, careful not to brush against each other. Andi could feel his presence, though, a solid, grounding force at her side.

Once the dishes were done, they both lingered by the sink, neither knowing exactly what to do next. The fire crackled softly behind them, casting a warm glow across the room. Outside, the storm continued its relentless assault on the world beyond the cabin walls, but in here, it was still.

Logan cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "You can take the bedroom," he said, nodding toward the door he had disappeared through earlier. "I'll sleep out here."

Andi hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice soft but steady. "I don't mind taking the couch."

Logan just nodded once and sat down on the sofa, staring into the fire. The subtle shift in his posture made it clear: the conversation was over. Andi felt strangely dismissed, like she was being gently pushed out of the moment they had just shared.

The finality in his body language left no room for argument, and Andi didn’t press him further. She nodded, her steps measured as she made her way toward the bedroom. The room was simple, but cleaner then she had expected, the bed piled high with blankets.

Before closing the door, Andi glanced back at him. Logan remained by the fire, his broad back turned to her, his stance rigid as if he were bracing himself against something unseen.

"Goodnight, Logan," she said softly, her voice carrying across the still room.

Previous Part Next Part

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Two days later Logan found himself trudging through the deep snow toward Andi’s cabin, muttering to himself. He could handle a lot; freezing temperatures, isolation, nightmares that gnawed at his mind—but the damn radio dying on him was pushing it. Batteries for the radio. Of course, the damn thing had to die. How had he forgotten to grab some the last time he was in town?

Deep down, he knew why. Because he had made a beeline to the nearest bar, and then was drunk enough to sleep in the forest that night. He also knew it was a two day’s hike to the nearest town that hadn't been boarded up for the winter, and that he really didn’t need to ask Andi. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do with his time, why save it? She had piqued his interest, he could admit that much.

He followed the river south, remembering Andi had said about five miles. He was surprised he hadn’t come across it before, but things could hide beyond bends in rivers, valleys, and behind the towering rock formations. When he saw a plane on pontoons in front of a cabin, he knew it must be hers.

Of course it was across the widest part of the entire river.

Smart, though, to keep people away, he could admit.

 Unfortunately for him, he was on the wrong side.

With a muttered curse, he turned upstream, trudging back toward the feeder river where he could cross easily, without showing up in wet, frozen clothes.

Three hours later, he was finally on the correct side of the river, and quickly approaching her door. She had said to stop by anytime.. But it would be just his luck that she would be out on one of her many walks.

He knocked.

Andi was in the middle of making soup, looking forward to the comforting flavors and warmth as she watched tv and knit, her usual afternoon routine. A rap at the door startled her, and she readied her powers in one hand as she opened the door with the other.

As she opened the door, her brow raised in curiosity, the smell of warmth and food spilling out into the cold air, making Logan’s head swim with memories of the school. He shook away the memory and focused on Andi’s face.

“Logan,” she said, a frown appeared, but a small smile played at her lips as the power in her hand diminished behind the door. “Wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

Logan shifted his weight, feeling suddenly awkward. “Didn’t mean to bother you. My radio’s dead. Was wondering if you had any extra batteries lying around.”

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, a glint of amusement in her eyes, clearly picking up on his uncomfortableness. “I don’t really use batteries, I’m sorry.”

Logan frowned, confused. “What? How do you manage up here without ‘em? You have a radio, don’t you?”

He looked over her shoulder to the cozy front room. Sure enough, a radio sat, along with a television and a small sofa piled with blankets.

Andi thought quick. “A generator. But it’s a pain in the ass to haul the fuel for it.”

Logan let himself be disappointed, and quickly turned away, shoulders hunched, to start his lonely hike back, with not even the radio to accompany him.

“Good to see you!” Andi called out, a cheery smile beaming across her face as he left.

She really was glad to see him, glad he had sought out her, even for batteries. A shame she didn’t need them, she thought, as the radio fired on, surrounded by a green aura.

As he walked away, he let his lips turn up a bit and ducked his head. That had felt nice, even if she had meant it in a sarcastic way. Maybe he missed interaction a little more than he had thought.

Andi was in his dreams that night, stuck across the river as he struggled to get to her. He awoke, claws out, snarling at the wall, and remembered, this is why he has to stay here. Unattached from others.

The next afternoon, Logan decided a warm fire sounded good, even though his body didn’t need warmth to survive, realized he was craving the coziness he had caught a glimpse of through Andi's door.

 Snow was falling heavily, in what he assumed was the last big snow of the year. It had started late that morning, and had only increased in intensity, which ruined his buy batteries today plan. He may be able to trek through the snow perfectly fine physically, but the snow would likely cover his footsteps, and he was enjoying the borrowed cabin more than he would like to admit to not be able to find it again.

He was halfway through chopping firewood, in the middle of the living room floor, when he heard footsteps on the front porch. People didn’t just show up at his place, especially not in the middle of a storm. He cursed under his breath, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crossed the small cabin to the door, When he opened the door, his pulse quickened at the sight of Andi, snow clinging to her hair, eyes bright despite the growing tempest behind her.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked, his voice sharper than intended.

Andi gave a half-smile, unfazed, holding out a brown paper bag in her gloved hands. “Good to see you too. I brought you something”

Logan opened the bag and pulled out a pack of batteries, his frown deepening as he looked from them to her face, trying to make sense of her showing up in the middle of a blizzard, like it was the most natural thing in the world, to give him batteries.“You didn’t need to do that.”

“You needed some, and I went to town with the plane this morning,” she said, offering the pack with a nonchalant shrug. “Figured you wouldn’t be going anywhere, and you seemed to be upset about your radio.”

Logan wanted to contradict, say it took a hell of a lot more to make him upset than having no music, but she was right. It was the one thing that quieted his mind a bit.

He didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t used to people doing things for him, least of all showing up in the middle of a blizzard to hand-deliver something. It felt... personal. Too personal.

Andi shrugged again, her demeanor casual, as she took in his rapidly changing expressions. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’ll see you around? At midnight in the middle of the river?”

She turned away laughing, and Logan frowned as he watched her go down the steps. So many things he wanted to say, so many thoughts running through his head, paralyzing him. Usually in this position, he would start fighting, but instead, his brain said freeze.

He glanced past her, toward the window, where the snow was already starting to build up. The storm was just getting started, and the wind was picking up speed, rattling the window panes. A new thought pushed its way to the forefront of his brain.

“Did you walk?” he said, his voice tense as he realized the distance to her cabin, the fact she couldn't have taken the plane, and he hadn’t seen any kind of off road vehicle at her cabin. “It’s getting worse, you won’t make it back.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk. “What, worried about me?”

She hoped he dropped it, that he didn’t care enough to argue further. He certainly seemed to be the type, but the dumbfounded expression he had worn which she presented the batteries had said otherwise. “I’ve walked through worse,” Andi replied, brushing off his concern. “I’ll be fine.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. She had no idea. “You’re not going back out in that.”

Her brow lifted, her posture relaxing in defiance. “I’m not staying.”

“You don’t get it,” he snapped, stepping closer. “This storm’s going to get worse. You won’t make it ten feet before the snow covers the trail.”

Andi crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “I’ve handled storms before. I’ll manage.”

Logan’s pulse raced, the frustration rising. He wasn’t used to this, someone pushing back, someone challenging his instinct to protect. “I’m not letting you leave. Not in this.”

Her eyes flashed with defiance, her voice sharp. “You don’t need to let me do anything, Logan. I’m fine. I’m not some fragile…”

“I know you’re not,” he cut her off, stepping even closer, the heat between them almost palpable. “But you’re human, Andi. You think you’re tough, but you’re not invincible. And I’m not letting you get lost out there.”

Logan, you don’t understand. 

She stiffened at his words, her eyes flickering with something he couldn’t read. For a second, he thought she might push back harder.

Logan’s pulse quickened. He wasn’t used to someone pushing back. But something about her stubbornness, her refusal to back down, stirred something inside him. He hated it, and yet, he admired it. But this wasn’t about pride. This was about her safety.

His voice dropped, quieter but no less intense. “Please. Just stay. One night.”

She sighed, her resolve faltering just enough. “Fine. I’ll stay.” The victory felt hollow in his chest, but he nodded, his jaw tight. “Just for the night.”

Logan let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and held the door open for her, following her in.

Andi glanced around the cabin as her eyes adjusted, noticing the sparse furnishings, the obvious wood splitting that had been happening in the middle of the living room floor, the rug rolled up neatly against the wall. It was clear Logan didn’t spend much time thinking about comfort, the cabin almost looked like it had been boarded up for the winter.

The silence that settled between them was thick, uncomfortable. She moved toward the fire, glancing around at the sparse cabin, clearly taking in the bare essentials. He felt a surge of awkwardness, the space suddenly feeling too personal, too exposed. He wasn’t used to having people here. Especially not her.

Logan suddenly saw the mess of bark and wood chips on the floor, silently berating himself with deciding to do that today, and busied himself sweeping them up and dumping them outside.

Andi hovered near the table off of the living room, the silence between them growing heavy. She was aware of him, more than she’d like to admit. There was something about him, something guarded, like he was constantly holding himself back, but also those flashes of smiles, sarcasm, even the protectiveness as he almost seemed fearful of her leaving. She poked around in the kitchen while he swept.

“You hungry?” He asked after dumping the wood dust out onto the snow. “There's not much, but...”

Andi walked over to the small kitchen, opening a few cupboards. He was right. The shelves held mostly canned goods and a few dried items that would probably last a nuclear winter. Beans, peas, dried unions hanging from the rafters, slightly wrinkled but still edible potatoes in a bucket. Some jars of what she hoped was flour and sugar.

Not much, especially considering his physique.

Her mind flashed back to him shirtless, emerging from the river, but she hurriedly got her mind back to the onions. Those thoughts while snowed into a cabin with him would make for a very long night.

Previous Part Next Part

[docdetective]

go about things the wrong way

description. LOGAN HOWLETT proves himself to be a bit of a hypocrite

includes. SMUT 18+, age gap (reader is implied to be mid20s, logan assumed to be mid30s), protected piv, denial is a river in egypt logan fucks them younger, logan calls reader "kid", insomnia trope, slightly brat reader, remnants of angst, set during early x-men

wc. 5k

a/n: photo creds unknown. title from how soon is now? by the smiths

You should be in your own bedroom. 

It’s a nice room, decorated better than your childhood room in your parent’s house, likely because you’ve grown since your mint green and chevron phase. It’s silent in your room, no other inhabitants except you and your pet fish that was somehow still hanging on. There’s no reason for you to leave your room, it has everything you need. But it’s not right. 

The loneliness is uncomfortable amidst your inability to sleep. It hovers over your bed, staring down at your shuffling frame as you try multiple positions, each one leaving you as restless as the last. You know that’s why you venture off to the kitchen, the search for companionship outweighing the desire for a treat. You just need to talk to someone, remind yourself that you aren’t all alone. There are other people like you, and you live with them. You’re safe. 

You ended up finding what you desired—a non-freezer burnt ice cream bar buried beneath frozen waffles, and a warm body to stand opposite of as you steadily made your way through it. 

You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, maybe not even yourself, but you had hoped to run into Logan the entire time. Ever since his return you had been itching to get a glimpse of him, but between shadowing Storm, Scott, and Jean, and tending to whatever menial chore Professor Xavier tasked you with, you didn’t have any time for run-ins. Nothing but quick passing in the hallway where you were too shy to do much other than meet his eye for a second, wave, and then scurry along towards the end of the hallway. 

But you had gotten what you wanted when you heard the soft thud of feet followed by the sound of Logan speaking. 

“Is there another one of those?” 

You face him with your mouth stuffed with ice cream. It takes you a second to chew enough to speak around the food without making a complete fool of yourself in front of Logan. 

“This is the last one …” you swallow, ignoring the sting of the cold at the back of your throat. “Sorry.”

Logan shrugs like it’s no big deal and he steps to the fridge. You move out of the way, even though you weren’t really in the way at all, and try to be casual as you chew the remains of your bar, ignoring the sudden warmth in your body now that he’s here. 

Logan doesn’t say anything. You watch the top half of his body disappear as he reaches into the fridge for something, coming out after a minute and some soft shuffling later with a beer bottle in his hand. You don’t know when it got there, and you’re amazed that it was still there and not stolen by some eager teenager. You try not to stare as he takes his first sip, but you sneak a few glances. 

You finish your sandwich, throwing the wrapper out in the drawer trash can and trying your best to ignore Logan’s eyes on you the entire time. He gets halfway through his beer before he says something. 

Leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle and one arm tucked across his chest, he asks, “Can’t sleep, right?”

You nod, not shocked at all that he has you pegged. It’s not unsurprising for a mutant in this place to be unable to sleep. 

Logan nods as if he understands and you know he does, you remember the incident with Rogue just a year or so ago, that and the stories you hear about him wandering the halls at night. It’s why you’d always been so eager to slip down here during restless nights, constantly hoping that this would happen to you. 

And now that it has happened, you don’t know what to do. There’s not much for you to discuss with Logan, the two of you don’t have all that much in common. He’s far older than you, for starters, at least a decade and a half on you from what you’ve gathered. He’s been gone for a while, but you think the others have caught him up on everything that he’s missed already. 

So you just build onto what you have. 

“I just can’t fall asleep. Every time I start, I shake myself awake.” 

Logan takes a swig from his beer and pulls his lips tight, a face of sympathy sliding over his features—eyebrows pinched, lips downturned, eyes a little narrowed. 

“Yeah?” You nod your head. “Sounds horrible, kid.”

Kid. You know you’re younger than him, it’s obvious, but you’re not a kid. You don’t see why he thinks of you that way. Rogue and Bobby are kids and you’re older than them. More mature, no longer a student but now practically a teacher. 

You don’t want Logan to see you as a kid. You know what you want him to see you as, but it seems to become more and more impossible by the day. 

You don’t say anything, lifting your foot enough to press the toe of your slippers into the cleaned grout between the tiles at your feet. 

“Tell you what,” he begins, promoting your head to lift, “next time that happens to you, you come find me, alright? I know how much it sucks to be alone like that so if you need me, come find me.”

That’s what you did. 

After you left the kitchen, finally letting your grin break free since no one was around to see it during the trek back to your room, you told yourself you would only go to Logan if you needed him. 

You tried to sleep, snuggling yourself in a cocoon of blankets and pillows around your head. You lit a candle, counted sheep, made up scenarios to doze off (ones that definitely didn’t involve Logan tenderly holding your hand and stroking your cheek and—), but nothing seemed to work. 

So you found yourself standing in the doorway of Logan’s bedroom, one hand still on the doorknob and the other toying with a loose thread at the bottom of your tee shirt. The bedroom is dark, save for the moonlight peeking through his opened curtains, but from the hallway light behind your back you can see Logan’s frame under the sheets. 

His back faces you until you harshly whisper his name, which at the call of he lifts his head, looking at you, and then rolls over completely to click the lamp on his nightstand on. 

“What’s wrong, kid?”

You feel so meek when you explain, like you are a kid, crawling to your parents after a nightmare. 

“You told me to come find you.”

His squint relaxes. His entire frame relaxes actually. He sits up, jerking his head in a beckon. You click the door shut behind you as softly as you can, approaching the bed timidly until you stand on the other side. 

And then you just hover. You stand there hesitantly, staring down at the slightly unmade side of the bed. Logan doesn’t say anything for a minute, but once the silence and hesitance stretches to an uncomfortable end, he speaks up, his voice groggier and raspier than it was before. 

“You gonna sleep from there? Is that some mutant power that I didn’t know about?” He says it like he’s teasing you, and when you look at him you can see the small smile on his lips. It’s similar to the one he sports when he’s messing with Scott but with more softness in his eyes. 

You scoff, trying to play it cool when Logan lifts the sheets for you and you climb under them. This side of the bed is cold and unused and you wonder if you’re the first person to use it. 

You get as comfortable as you possibly can. You fluff the pillow and create the perfect indent for your head, you pull the sheets up to your shoulders, you lay on your side and face the window, and then when Logan clicks the light off, you close your eyes and try to sleep. 

You don’t know how you thought this would be any better than struggling to sleep in your own bed, because it’s so much worse. 

In your own bed, you were left with the out-of-reach fantasies of Logan. You laid in bed, giggling to yourself as you imagined what it would be like to lay next to Logan. You filled your head with blurry images of Logan’s frame, what he would look like with his eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. You tried to imagine the heat of his body in the cold of your room, trying to change your body temperature just with a thought. 

But now it’s all right beside you, left there for you to catalogue so you could never forget this moment. 

The feeling of his body so close yet so far from yours. The sound of his breathing. The smell of his body wash and the way it lingered on his sheets. You’re finally in Logan’s bedroom, but you’re not getting what you want. You truly don’t think you ever will. 

It’s impossible for you to sleep now. You try to keep your tossing and turning to a minimum, only moving when absolutely necessary and doing so with tentativeness. You’re trying to be meticulous with your movements, all with a goal to disturb Logan as little as possible. You’re a guest here, after all. 

But even if he wasn’t an attentive mutant you knew he would’ve eventually gotten fed up. 

He calls your name, soft yet sounding like a warning, and you’re quick to apologize. 

He doesn’t say anything else for a second, then, “Whatever’s on your mind, squash it. Jus’ let it go.”

You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do when you say, “Easier said than done.”

Logan shifts and turns around until he’s facing you. You stay facing the window. 

“What usually turns your mind off?” he asks. “A glass of warm milk?” 

When you laugh it’s halfhearted and maybe this is the final indicator that something about you is off. 

“Look at me.” You obey embarrassingly quickly. 

You can’t really see him in the dark, but the white light from outside illuminates the slope of his nose and the apples of his cheeks. You can sort of see his eyes too, the usually light green darker because of the environment, but the shadowy fan of his eyelashes is as distinct as usual. 

“Seriously, tell me what’s going on. Anything I can help you with?” He lets the question linger in the air for a second before adding on. “You need me to rough a few kids up? You being bullied?” He says it like a joke.

“No,” you say. 

Logan makes an ‘ah’ sound. “Yeah I’m sure you could handle yourself.” The sheets lift again. “Come ‘ere.”

Shit, shit, shit. 

You listen to him, scooting closer until you’re wrapped in Logan’s arms, enveloped in his warmth. It’s nice and comfortable, the sound of Logan’s heart right next to your ear, the security of his arms wrapped around your frame. 

“Does this help you?”

You hum affirmatively, already starting to feel more comfortable than you had before. Your heart beats painfully hard in your chest and you start to get self-conscious, knowing that Logan can definitely hear it.

Right on cue, he laughs a bit against your head. 

“Nervous?”

“No.” God, you’re so obvious. 

Logan’s laugh grows until he’s snickering, doing a terrible job of stifling his laughter. “‘s alright,” he eventually says. “Nothing wrong with that.”

You make yourself as comfortable as possible, pressing your back to Logan’s chest, trying to ignore the hard feeling of his body behind you. You can basically feel everything, the plane of his chest pushing through his tee, the ridge of his sweatpants against your lower back, his legs against yours—tempting you to intertwine them together, his feet hanging right under yours. You’re not exactly dressed for this and your shirt has ridden up, bunched at the top of your ass and exposing your panties. You wonder if he knows. You wonder if he cares. 

This is helping you a lot, but there’s still something on your mind. Something you need to solve before you can go off to sleep. 

You don’t know what it is that makes you confident, that makes you want to ruin a good moment. Maybe it’s the dark providing you comfort, but you lay it all out. 

“You treat me like a kid.”

Logan takes a second. You can just barely make out the hitch in his voice. “...Yeah?”

You’re glad he can’t see you when you pout. It wouldn’t have done much to help your case. “I’m not a kid, Logan. You don’t treat Rogue like a kid.”

“Rogue is different.”

“How? I’m older than her.”

“Just … can we not argue?”

“We’re not arguing.”

“Yeah? Then whaddya call this?”

“A conversation between two adults.”

He hums as if he’s unconvinced. 

You won’t let it go. “How is Rogue different?”

“Go to sleep,” he admonishes.

“Can’t. Not until you answer my question.”

Logan sighs. “‘cause I’m not attracted to her, alright?”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Wait … what?

You’re sure your silence is enough to express your confusion because Logan adds on. 

“I’m trying to set boundaries between us, kid—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He corrects himself with the use of your name instead, but it comes out the same way. “We need boundaries between the two of us. You think I don’t see how you look at me? ‘s not good.”

“If you’re setting boundaries why did you invite me in here.”

“Because I wanted to help you.”

Why is he making you feel crazy? He just told you he’s attracted to you, but he wants to set boundaries? There are barely any boundaries here. You’re alone with him, in his bedroom, tucked away at the end of the hall surrounded by mostly empty bedrooms instead of bedrooms of asleep mutants, curled up against his chest. This is the most opportune time, yet he didn’t want to make a move.

Maybe you were reading too much into it. 

You go to pull away from Logan’s embrace but he keeps you pulled tight to his chest. 

“Don’t do that,” he says it like a command and just to piss him off you consider pulling away. But you’re really comfortable and this is a comfort you aren’t sure you’re ever going to find again. 

“Just go to sleep, alright,” he says your name again, much softer this time. He says it like he’s coaxing you like your name is the final tune in a lullaby. 

Maybe Logan has other powers you aren’t aware of because just that one sentence is enough for you to let it go and submit to the sudden exhaustion that settles over your body like a weighted blanket. 

You don’t know if Logan’s been avoiding you. Mostly because you’ve been avoiding him.

It’s not often that the two of you would have to run into each other, but there were a few times when Professor Xavier extended the invitation to observe an upcoming class, and you declined upon learning that Logan would be subbing. 

You kept your distance as much as you could, even keeping yourself locked up in your bedroom throughout the night, no matter how restless you got. You were miserable, not only because you wanted to be near Logan, but because you were fucking exhausted. 

You could barely stay awake throughout the day, always sneaking off for power naps, taking whatever you could get even if it was only five minutes. 

But you finally have the rest of the afternoon to yourself and you intend to use it to sleep. Uncaring of how much it threw off your sleep schedule, you just needed a solid half hour curled up at the foot of your made bed like a dog, sleeping to your heart's content. 

Of course, it’s on your way up to your room that you run into Logan. You try to ignore him, continuing your path up the stairs, praying that Logan will continue on his path downstairs. 

You don’t know what it is about you that says come talk to me! but Logan stops in his journey, turning to face you. He calls your name, continuing even when you don’t respond. He follows your trek up the stairs and down the hallway, always right on your heels and within arm's reach. 

By the time your hand reaches for your bedroom door, Logan is practically breathing down your neck. 

You know there’s no avoiding him now, but you also don’t want to. 

You stand still, hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for Logan to say his piece. 

“Why’d you lead me to your bedroom?” The way he says it, with such arrogance and assurance woven into that same joking manner as if he wasn’t the one who turned you down just a few nights ago. 

“Fuck off, Logan. I just wanna get some sleep.”

You twist the knob and this is what wakes Logan up. “Okay, wait.” His hand reaches out and rests on your elbow. Just this one touch strikes you still. “Will you look at me?”

You turn around, trying to keep your gaze hard even as you take in his appearance for the first time in days. 

The bags under his eyes, the relaxed smile that’s constantly on his face when he’s around you, the thickness of his eyebrows, the points in his hair. You’re staring at his hair, wondering if it’s naturally like that or if he does it himself, and when you look at his eyes again there isn’t a connection. He’s staring at your lips instead. 

You lift your eyebrows impatiently, already imagining the sleep you’ll get after you ruminate until you can’t form a coherent thought. 

Logan opens his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry if you got a little hurt from the other night. Is just this age gap and your little crush is not gonna wor—”

You’re already turning around, deciding whatever else he’s going to say isn’t important at all, but Logan stops you. His movements are fluid, they flow naturally from his body and straight into yours, causing you to move with a coordination you didn’t expect. He spins you back around and pulls you straight to his chest, your hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, while his hands rest on your hips and your cheek. 

The movement is quick, it happens within a couple of seconds, and it makes the moment after feel so much longer. Nothing but shared blinks as Logan looks at your lips and you look at his. You’re so close to him, even closer than you were the other night, but neither of you makes a move. 

You’re considering making the first move, opening your mouth as if to ask him a question that was still unknown to you, but then Logan’s grip on your cheek tightens as if he’s holding you still and he moves in closer, and closer, and closer until his lips ghost over yours. 

In the end, it’s you who crosses the bridge. 

Your lips touch, sandwiched together, but neither of you do anything. Not until you take a tiny step closer, really nothing but an adjustment of your feet, is Logan pulling you into him. He digs his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, that one hand possessing all of the aggression that doesn’t exist in the hand holding your cheek. 

It’s like the touch of two different men—one who wants to devour you whole and the other who wants to treasure you. You hope that they’re able to coexist as you desperately want both. 

You let Logan kiss you feverishly, an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen him display settling in his lips. The Logan you knew was always relaxed, walking around the mansion with a carefree, practically laissez-faire, attitude. He didn’t meddle, he kept his hands to himself, always wrapped around a cigar or a beer. 

But now those hands were wrapped around you for the second time this week. 

You press your hands into the shoulder of his white tee shirt, starting to slide them up towards his hair before you resist. You want to get comfortable kissing him, but you’re still out in the hallway. 

Having the same thought, Logan pulls away from your lips with enough time to open the door, latch his hands onto your hips, and blindly steer you backward until you’re in the room. He stares down at you the entire time, that same smirk on his lips as he kicks the door closed behind him with a single boot. 

And then he has you pressed against the wood, sandwiched between a rock and a hard place. 

He looks at you for a second, his gaze lingering, and then he gets back to it. 

If even possible, Logan has more passion this time around. He sinks his hands to your thighs, pulling one up by his hip. He slots his legs into the opening until your center is hovering over his thigh. You don’t know what to expect, but when he flexes the muscle and presses his limb right up against you, you’re already trying to get more. 

Logan smiles as he kisses you, clearly entertained by your anguished need to get off. He doesn’t verbally reassure you, he doesn’t help you grind yourself down, he doesn’t do anything but continue kissing you. 

When you need to come up for air, knocking your head back into mahogany as you intake large gulps, Logan dips his head down and explores as much skin as he can. He creates a path of kisses from your jaw, down your neck, to the exposed parts of your chest. 

You tilt your head down, locking your hand into his hair and trying to redirect his lips back to yours, but he stops you with a hand pinching your cheeks. 

His eyes flick back and forth between yours, nothing but mischief and arrogance in the green. You wrap a hand around his wrist with the initial want to tug him away, but you like the hold he has you in. You like the look in his eyes. 

“Good?” His voice is softer than his grip. 

You nod, trying to grin as best as you can when your lips are forcibly puckered. 

Logan smiles right back at you. “You got a rubber?”

You nod again, scurrying to your nightstand once Logan lets you go. He tells you to get on the bed and you take the liberty of throwing your shirt off and bra as you go. You have enough sense to step out of your shoes, unclasp your jeans, and tug the zipper down in the path. 

By the time you’re sitting on your bed, you can feel the anxiety thrumming through your body. It’s a good kind, the kind you’ve been seeing less and less of lately. You’re still a little tired and still desiring a solid nap, but it can definitely wait. This is your main priority. 

Logan speaks to you as he undresses. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks as he’s pulling his tee over his head. When you nod, he moves to his belt, thick but deft fingers undoing it and leaving it hanging open and hooked into his belt loops. 

“You tell me if you wanna stop,” he says as he pulls his jeans down, stepping out of them right after he steps out of his boots. You give him a look and he clocks it immediately. 

“You think you can take it, bub?” He laughs. “Yeah? Don’t you think you’re talkin’ a big game?”

Petulantly, you roll your eyes. “Logan, I’m not a fucking kid, I’ll be fine.”

Wrong. So, so, so stupidly wrong. 

You are fine, but the sight of Logan’s dick sends nerves down your spine. You’ve talked yourself up, you can’t go back, so you do what you can. You let him peel your jeans and panties off, hoping you look as seductive as he does. You keep your eyes on his abdomen, tracing the vein that runs from the right of his navel down to his cock, breathing as well as you can while Logan lines himself up. The first push burns, just like you expect it to, but you adjust quicker than you thought. Eventually, all you can feel is pleasure. You’re so full when he’s only halfway in you. You feel stuffed as soon as he bottoms out, his heavy ball sack resting flush against you, a thick forest of pubes pressed against your cunt. 

Logan is so much, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. Hovering and staring down at you as his hips rock into yours, slowly and experimentally at first. It’s not until you draw a leg up over his hips that he increases the strength of his rocks. 

He has one hand keeping himself steady and the other holding your waist. It’s so intimate, and not only because he’s fucking you, but because he’s staring down at you the entire time, his teeth bared as he watches you for every single reaction. His eyes rake down your body, watching the way your tits jiggle before dipping lower to watch the way he’s entering you. You can’t see his gaze, but you can feel it, the weight of it comparable to the weight of his cock in you. 

There’s an inhuman nature to it, hidden deep below the surface as if he’s trying to hold back, but it’s there. You’re made aware of it when you clench around him and he growls. It comes from the back of his throat but it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. It’s so Logan, you don’t think anyone other than him could make a sound like that as erotic as it is. You want to hear him more, you want your moans to blend together amongst the four walls of your bedroom, but he keeps his sounds to himself. It’s like there’s a disconnect between the both of you, like Logan’s still holding back even though he’s balls deep in you. 

“Logan,” you whine, getting his attention. He looks at you with concern in his eyes, his hips slowing down. You shake your head, pushing more towards him. “Please,” you beg, praying he knows exactly what you want. 

“What? What d’you want?”

“More.”

Logan gets rougher. He’s grinding up into you like his life depends on it, blunt nails delving into your skin as if he wants to break it. You wish he would. You aren’t regenerative like he is, but you still desire the broken skin, the beads of blood, the marks left behind. 

You’re thinking about it, eyes lidded and falling closed when Logan knocks his forehead into yours once. He moans, closed-mouthed as his head lolls to the side, a shiver shaking him from the bottom of the spine up. 

“Jesus, baby,” he says. It’s all he says, but it’s more than enough. He keeps going, digging his tip into you deeper and deeper until it feels like he’s swimming in your guts. 

He drags his head down until he can wrap his lips around one of your nipples, licking and sucking before moving on to give the other one the same treatment. You desperately want him to mark you up, you want a reminder that this—the thing you’ve been wanting since Storm and Scott came back with two new mutants in tow—actually happened. Bravely, you reach out and tangle your hand in his hair, surprisingly softer than you thought it would be. You don’t hold him down much, just enough to communicate what you want nonverbally. And then after a few tortuous seconds of hesitation, his lips wrap around the skin atop your left breast and he sucks. The strength in it stings, it reminds you just how strong Logan is, but it feels so good. 

Unexpectedly, you feel your muscles seize. It starts in your tummy, deep down near where Logan’s been massaging, and then it just doesn’t stop, likely because he doesn’t stop. 

It’s like he’s spurred on by the feeling of you cumming, motivated by the way your back arches and you reach for the heavens as you clench around his cock. 

He gets a burst of energy, fucking you like he has something to prove when really it’s you with something to prove. 

You’re overstimulated, struggling to keep up with Logan, but you don’t want to tap out. You talked a big game, you can’t back down now. So you remain silent while Logan pulls another orgasm out of you, hoping he won’t notice the way your eyes brew tears without your consent and the way your lips quirk with the impending request to slow down. 

Of course, he notices. 

He’s grinning with sympathy—you don’t know if it’s sincere or faux—when he takes a hand and strokes your cheekbone. 

“I see ya, kid. Feels good, yeah?”

For some reason, when he calls you kid like this, you don’t completely hate it. 

There’s no point in lying, so you nod. 

“So tight,” he winces, eyebrows pinched together as he flashes his teeth, a dimple in his right cheek appearing with it. 

Just as you didn’t warn him before, he doesn’t warn you when he cums. You feel it though, the way his thrusts get sloppier and faster just before he gives you one punctual one, and then you feel the confined warmth of his cum shooting into the condom. 

You wish you weren’t as exhausted as you were, because the next time you’re conscious, it’s dark out and the bedsheet is covering your body. You’re hot, hotter than you usually want to be when you’re sleeping, but you’re bare naked. That and you only have a thin sheet covering your body. 

It doesn’t take much investigation to figure out what’s making you so hot, not when it’s attached to your back with one meaty bicep slung around your neck and keeping you pulled against him. It takes you a bit to fall asleep, but once you do, you’re out for the rest of the night. 

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Although Logan had initially found a sense of safety, not from others, but from himself, and now that stillness was turning sour, quickly. The books left behind in the cabin had offered him a brief distraction, something to occupy his mind, but they weren’t enough to keep the edges from fraying. The nightmares had lessened in frequency but not in their intensity. He could manage a few hours of sleep now before jerking awake, heart racing, sweat dampening his skin. When they did come, they were brutal; Jean's face flashing before him, her nightdress soaked in crimson, Marie, her wide, terror-stricken eyes staring up at him as his hands— his hands—coming away wet with her blood. Those memories wrapped around his brain like barbed wire, tightening each night until he could barely breathe.

The wilderness here had been a refuge, a place where the world couldn’t reach him, where he couldn’t hurt anyone else. The icy, vast landscape mirrored the cold inside him, a perfect place to vanish. No one asked questions here, no one pried. He remembered his meeting with the forest ranger, Andi, but she had not bothered him in the two weeks since, so it was just him, the mountains, and the snow. Out here, he didn’t have to think, didn’t have to remember.

He knew he could leave. Any day, he could walk down to the town, catch a bus, and disappear back into civilization. But that thought terrified him more than the isolation. Because Logan knew, deep down, if he went back…what if he wouldn’t be able to control it. There was no hiding in towns, cities, full of cell phones and mutant hating people. He had come out here to get away, to keep the world at a distance, to stop himself from hurting anyone else. In the city, it was only a matter of time before something triggered the rage inside him. A wrong word, a bad memory, and he’d snap. He could already see it; fists flying, blood splattering, faces twisted in pain. The regret, even if they had deserved it, knowing he would be hunted himself.

The wilderness had given him space, a way to control himself. Out here, there was no one to hurt, no one to accidentally destroy, and he could let loose when he needed. He found satisfaction in hurting those that were breaking the law, and there was no telling on him. But it wasn’t enough anymore. He could feel it growing again, the old anger, the old instincts. It scared him—how easy it would be to fall back into it. To let the claws come out and feel the rush of violence take over. He’d lashed out at trees more than once, the feel of his blades tearing into wood, bark splitting under his fists, just to stop the tension from overwhelming him. But even that was losing its edge.

He paced the cabin, hands itching to draw the claws, to do something to stop the restless energy from spiraling out of control. Staring out the frost-covered window, he knew it wasn’t just the wilderness trapping him. He was trapped by his own fear, by the knowledge that he was a ticking time bomb that simply couldn't die, as much as he may want it. 

He snatched the small radio off of the bedside table and ran into the woods, stopping at the edge of a riverbank and stripping his shirt. The icy water shocked his head and instantly he felt relief. He lay down on a shallow rock and let the cold fill his senses as the northern lights danced above.

The nights stretched endlessly as winter dug its claws deeper into the wilderness. For Andi, the isolation wasn’t a punishment—it was a blessing. The cold, the snow, the silence all felt like home. 

As the dark winter months passed, Andi settled into the routine of nights that reached far below freezing temperatures and days with no sun. It was so highly unlikely anyone would ever survive without a set shelter, she thankfully put humans out of her mind and got to focus on the part she loved most, nature in its most unblemished state. This was when she felt true peace, stepping outside and filling her lungs with the crisp air that came with the negative temperatures. The only sounds were the soft thumps of the snow falling from the branches, the swoosh of a bird’s wings, and the rush of water flowing down the river. 

She stepped carefully through the snow, her breath misting in the freezing air, as the colors of the Aurora flickered above her. The energy in the lights danced across her skin, teasing the edges of her control. She could feel it building, the same way it always did, a pulse in time with the shifting lights in the sky.

Suddenly, she stopped. Her heightened senses tingled, and she turned in a slow circle, scanning the trees around her.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him, the hulking shadow that was undeniably familiar- the man she had met a few weeks prior, Logan. He stood at the edge of the treeline, half-hidden in shadow, his bare chest catching the faint glow of the lights above. 

Andi blinked, caught off guard, not sensing immediate danger, but taking in the scene for a second. The man radiated a primal kind of intensity that made her skin prickle—not fear, but something else entirely, as he looked at her through his eyebrows. He could be dangerous, she could tell, but not the same kind of dangerous as humans usually were.  

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone at this time of night,” Logan said, almost apologetically, his posture relaxing as he stepped towards her. 

Andi took a breath, forcing herself to act casual despite the thrum of energy buzzing beneath her skin. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone either,” she said, her voice steady. “But that seems to be a running theme with our encounters, because nothing screams normal like someone shirtless in freezing temperatures.”

Logan huffed, his breath coming out in steamy clouds in the cold air.  “Normal? I think you’ve got the wrong guy for that. Let’s just say I’ve got a high tolerance for freezing my ass off.”

Andi gave a little laugh in return. The guy was funny, too. Certainly didn’t explain how it was physically possible to ice bathe in the winter, but he definitely wasn’t a greasy poacher. 

Logan's gaze was intense, sweeping over her like he was trying to figure her out, too. “And I could ask you the same thing, you’re walking in the woods, alone.”

Andi shrugged, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, though it wasn’t the cold she was trying to guard against. “I like the quiet. The sky’s beautiful tonight.” She glanced up, letting her eyes flicker toward the Northern Lights. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, following her gaze. “It is.”

For a moment, they both stood in silence, watching the lights shimmer and pulse in the dark sky. The colors twisted and bled into each other, casting faint reflections on the snow around them. 

She turned back to him, studying him for a moment. “You live nearby? I’ve only seen one other cabin from my plane, and it's about 5 miles north of  here.”

So she’s the one with the damned plane. “That’s mine.”

“Hmm,” she said, her curiosity piqued. She couldn’t help but be intrigued by him. There was an air of mystery, something deep that he wasn’t saying. And despite herself, she wanted to know more. “Seems like we’re neighbors then.”

“Guess so,” Logan replied, and let his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk, surprising himself. It was fleeting, but it caught her attention. He had a nice face when he wasn’t scowling.

Andi studied him for a second longer, her eyes flicking over the hard lines of his shoulders, the rough edges of his jaw. She caught herself, her face warming in spite of the cold. He was handsome in a wild, dangerous way that she hadn’t let herself notice before.

He shrugged on a flannel and started buttoning, his large hands surprisingly nimbly doing up the buttons, too fast, in Andi’s opinion. She had no company up here, and especially no views like that.

He finished and nodded in her direction, the scowl back. “I’ll leave you alone.” 

The words resonated with both of them, him, realizing he couldn’t get attached, and her, sad to see him leave. It had been some time since she had had a conversation with someone other than a sketchy hunter, and although their interactions had been short, she found herself hoping they would run into each other again.

Previous Part Next Part

[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Logan was slumped over the couch in an unoccupied cabin he had found the night before, a bottle of bourbon in one hand. From what he had seen, the area was remote enough. There weren't any other cabins in the area, and if there were, they were probably empty at this time of year. He could admit to himself the luxury of a real bed would be a nice change while its owners were away, and it was early in the winter season.

He explored the small building quickly. A living and kitchen area with a banged up plaid couch, a wood stove for both heat and cooking, and a simple table. One door led to a bedroom with a double bed, another to a tiny rough bathroom. Logan winced at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. Dirt streaks all over his clothes, his hair grown to his shoulders. He let his claws come out and started hacking at his hair.

After his hair was back to a reasonably short length, he slumped down on the bed,pulled the heavy quilt over his body, and closed his eyes, letting all of the air out of his lungs in an attempt to relax. His thoughts started straying to Jean, the team, and he sat up, swung his legs over the bed, and stalked to the kitchen to grab another couple of bottles, chugging both before passing out before his liver could catch up.

A few hours later, he awoke, and stared at the bottle in his hand, the other empty on the floor, before setting it down with a sigh. The memories that he couldn't shake from his mind had been relentless last night, and no amount of alcohol could drown them out, especially with his healing factor. He needed to move, to get out of the cabin, to do something.  He came out here to suffer, and here he was trying to be normal again. 

Andi, meanwhile, was completing her preflight routine on her plane, ready to head slightly north and work her way down to the coordinates of the claw marks from the air. She wanted to double check her maps were correct, and that there weren't any buildings, or other strange activity, in the area. If there were any camps, that would certainly indicate poaching. Heaven forbid the marks came from an injured animal. 

Andi was making smooth grids in the air, flying low enough to see the terrain clearly. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; no camps pitched, no other cabins except hers and the summer home, which still looked unoccupied. She decided it was worth checking the summer cabin from the ground.

Landing her plane back at her house, she grabbed her pack and began hiking toward the summer cabin. The strange marks were still bugging her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, something that should have been easily explainable wasn’t, and that didn’t sit well with her.

Logan continued his sulk through the woods, moving forward with determination but no real goal in sight. He growled at the sky as another plane flew overhead, the engine noise fading away after what felt like an eternity. For the last two hours, it had been nonstop. At first, he had been on edge, but now, he was more annoyed than anything. No one knew he was here, and there was no one around to see the marks he had left on the trees. It had been some time since he'd had any unfortunate encounters with humans, the last being two weeks ago in a small town, over illegal fishing, and that suited him just fine.

His nose caught a scent, distinct and out of place among the usual smells of pine, snow, and cold air. It was a person, but certainly not a woodsman like he might have expected. Logan went on alert, instincts kicking in as he circled back towards it. His curiosity was piqued, but the remoteness of the area made him suspicious. Who the hell was out here?

As Andi trekked through the woods, the sound of rustling leaves and snapping branches caught her attention. She paused, narrowing her eyes and adjusting her pack, ready to face whatever might be there. Moving quietly, her footsteps barely made a sound as she approached the source.

Suddenly, she locked eyes with a man, half hidden behind a tree, his hand clenched in a fist by his side. He was wearing a tan coat, zipped up against the cold, jeans, and boots, he looked like any other woodsman sticking out the winter in the bush, except the fact he looked a little too picture perfect ideal. Normally, they were skinny little weasel men, putting up a tough front but backed up with nothing but a gun and his friends. This man was tall, and broad, and probably had a hell ton of muscle under that coat. His hair was wild, sticking up on both sides, with no hat, no greasy slick.  She felt like suddenly she was in a movie, nobody actually looked like this in the middle of nowhere. She stopped, her muscles tensing as she took him in. 

He did the same, surprised by the eye contact, the fact it was a woman. A very pretty woman, her eyes showing some surprise, but seeing no weapon on him probably put her at ease. If only she knew how much more dangerous he was than a gun. He looked her over, brow drawn together, hands stuffed tightly in pockets. She was very well equipped for the weather, hardy boots, pants, jacket, backpack. He noted no weapon on her, either, and his eyes met hers once again.

She took a step towards him, but there was still a guarded wariness in his eyes that made her pause. 

Andi was the first to speak, her voice friendly and confident, masking any of the unease that had been nagging at her since she first saw those marks. “Didn’t expect to run into anyone out here,” she said, a hint of curiosity in her tone. “This place is usually pretty deserted this time of year.”

Logan eyed her warily, his gruff exterior making itself show. “Could say the same,” he replied, his voice low and rough. He hadn’t expected to meet anyone, especially someone who seemed so at ease in the wilderness. “What are you doing out here?”

“Work,” Andi answered with a shrug, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I track wildlife for the Forest Service. Helps keep the ecosystem in balance, you know?”

Logan grunted in response, not particularly interested in small talk but unable to just walk away either. It was strange, someone being out here in the dead of winter, especially a woman. It wasn’t that he doubted her capability, but he couldn’t help the protective instinct that flared up, even though he barely knew her. “You’re not worried about being out here alone?” he asked, his tone gruffer than he intended.

Her friendly smile dropped and he sensed the hint of wariness. “Should I be?”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Bears aren’t the only things up here. The only people around this time of year aren’t usually friendly.” 

“I can take care of myself.” she said, meeting his gaze without flinching. There was something in her eyes, a knowing look that made him pause. It wasn’t arrogance, but rather a deep-seated confidence that came from experience. She wasn’t just bluffing, she believed it.

For a moment, Logan considered turning away, leaving her to her work and retreating back to his solitude. 

“I’m Andi” she said, extending a hand. 

Logan stared at her hand for a moment before finally taking it. “Logan,” he said gruffly.

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” Andi replied, her smile genuine. “I’ve got a cabin not too far from here. If you ever need anything, feel free to stop by.”

He nodded, still a bit taken aback by her friendliness. It had been so long since anyone had treated him like a normal person, without fear or suspicion. She didn’t seem to be fazed by his gruffness, even though he knew she must be more discerning with many others. If not, she certainly wouldn't still be standing in front of him alone. It was strange, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

As she turned to leave, Andi glanced back at him, her eyes lingering on the direction she had come from. “By the way,” she said casually, “you wouldn’t happen to have seen any weird animal behavior up here, would you? I’ve noticed some unusual signs, and I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.”

Logan kept his face impassive. “Can’t say I have.” 

She nodded slowly, as if considering his words. “I’ll keep looking,” she said, her tone thoughtful. But there was a glint in her eyes that told him she wasn’t entirely convinced.

With a nod in his direction, Andi turned and headed back toward her cabin, leaving Logan standing there, more unsettled than he’d care to admit. He watched her go, her figure disappearing into the trees. 

Logan walked away, slightly confused. He should have been angry at the fact the area was, in fact, inhabited, and he’d need to move that night before she suspected anything. She hadn’t seemed alarmed at his appearance, not even at the fact he definitely looked like he was one of the wild woodsmen he had warned her about. He stopped at the riverbank and sighed as he caught his reflection. Filthy, beard far overgrown, those damned cowlicks sticking straight out from his head. How she hadn’t immediately run away, he didn't know.

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[docdetective]

In The Woods Somewhere

Chapter one

Logan growled a little as a small plane skimmed just over the treetops. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, as one of the main types of transportation in the remote Alaskan bush, but it ruined the illusion of being completely alone. And that was why he was here. In a self imposed exile, away from responsibilities, the X-Men, and everything he had failed. For the first few months, he had slept on the ground, the few belongings he kept under a tarp next to him, his head propped up against a tree. He just kept moving, no particular goal in sight, he had an inexplicable need to keep moving. He mused it was the animal in him, just as the pattern in the migrating geese as the seasons changed. Trudging through the rain, then the snow, waking up in the morning and shaking it off his body. That was becoming a nuisance, he thought.

As he came across small towns, he would frequent the bars to drown in a little whiskey for a few hours, and a cigar, if he was feeling particularly out of place. In his wet flannel, long hair, and boots, he looked like any other woodsman braving the winter. On his way back into the woods those nights, he let the wolverine take over, and took out his anger and disappointment on the trees. The sensation of splintering wood under his claws was satisfying, though fleeting. It was a temporary release, a way to keep the inner turmoil at bay. But it never lasted. The rage always crept back, like a persistent shadow, reminding him of the things he couldn’t escape. He found solace in the wild. The cold air bit at his skin, the icy wind stung his face, but it made him feel alive, present. The physical discomfort grounded him in a way that nothing else could. Here, in the frozen wilderness, he could be the animal without fear of judgment, without the burden of others’ expectations. Even in this self-imposed exile, Logan couldn’t completely escape his past. The memories were always there, lurking just beneath the surface. Every crackle of the fire, every rustle in the brush, reminded him of battles fought, friends lost, and the endless cycle of violence that defined his existence.

Some nights, when the wind howled through the trees, he swore he could hear the ghosts of his past whispering his name, mocking him for his attempt to find peace in a world that had never offered him any. One evening, after a particularly brutal storm had passed, Logan stood on the edge of a frozen lake, staring at the reflection of the northern lights in the ice. The colors danced and shifted, a stark contrast to the darkness within him. A fascinating sight, such a beautiful difference to why he was here. He wondered if there was anything left of the man he used to be, or if he was now just a creature of the wild. The thought didn’t scare him. In fact, it was comforting in a way. To be the beast meant to be free, unburdened by the complexities of human emotion, of pain, of loss. For now, though, he would take what little peace he could find in the solitude of the Alaskan wilderness. He would let the snow cover his tracks, the trees hide his scars, and the silence drown out the noise of the past. At least until the next plane flew overhead, reminding him that he was never truly alone.

Andi looked out the window as she flew over the treetops. She loved to fly, the freedom it provided her to reach the most remote areas of the wilderness was a thrill she never tired of. As a behavior analyst and tracker for the Forest Service, Andi's job took her to places where few dared to venture. Her expertise in studying wildlife patterns and tracking elusive species had earned her a reputation for being one of the best, something her male counterparts certainly couldn't believe, with the amount of poachers she had had a hand in apprehending.

Locating the riverbank she called her home, she descended, skillfully guiding the small plane through the narrow valley. The dense forest below seemed impenetrable, a vast sea of green stretching out in every direction. She spotted a small clearing near the riverbank and smoothly landed on the pontoons attached to the bottom of her plane, the water gently rippling as she brought the aircraft to a stop. Her home, a small cabin, sat at the edge of a riverbank where her plane was able to land. Andi jumped out, her boots splashing lightly in the shallow water as she secured it to the dock jutting out from the bank. She unloaded the supplies from town, then attached her belt and adjusted her backpack, double-checking the supplies she had meticulously prepared for her mission of the day. It was a short trek easily accessible from her home, locating the tracking signal of one of the older bears in the area, affectionately nicknamed Zorro. Although it was early to hibernate, his signal had stopped moving, and it was Andi’s job to find out if it had fallen off, he had went to sleep early, or heaven forbid, humans had taken it off. She moved easily and confidently, this area had only one other small cabin that belonged to someone that hadn’t stuck around for the winter, so she wasn’t worried about humans in the area for once. Thankfully, when she reached the coordinates of the tracker, Zorro was found slumbering peacefully in a dug out area under a rock outcropping. Andi noted this and radioed the information back, then decided to take a different route back to her cabin, knowing the area quite well. It was rare to have such a short task for her days’ work, and she wanted to explore a bit more on foot before heading back.

Humming along to the song stuck in her head, Andi traversed a bit west before heading back north parallel to her cabin. She always had a good supply of snacks to occupy her on her journeys, and a dried apricot was halfway in her mouth when she stopped short and all senses went on alert. Ahead of her, many trees bore the usual sign of grizzlies, long claw marks dragged in the bark. Unlike all times she had seen this occurrence on one or two trees at a time, however, every tree was slashed in an unmistakable path leading forwards. She put her hand against one. It seemed cleaner, deeper than the ones she was used to seeing. She frowned. Grizzly bears and their claws were noted as being one of the strongest animals to exist, and if they didn’t make these marks, what on earth did.

Next Part

[docdetective]

Bewitched

˖⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

bewitched masterlist

cw: 1800s mentality on marriage and women, pinning, bickering, enemies to lovers

pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: as of right now, i'm not sure how long this series will be but i'm so excited for it! i tried to the reader as universal as possible but i did have to give her some sort of last name, so if that isn't your thing, you can always change it to fit. after the set up, i'll probably drop the last name.

bridgerton lore: ton (high society), debuting (when you begin dating/looking for a partner), spinster (an unmarried woman)

main masterlist

in early june, everyone returned back to england for this season and whispers of a french woman joining the ton spread around. one morning at breakfast, marie howlett was reading one of the gossip columns aloud to her family when her eldest brother, james walked into join them at the table.

"it says she's staying with her aunt, lady worthington. she is four and twenty and the only child. her passions are literature and painting. apparently, the queen has one of her paintings in her home..."

"she sounds lovely. doesn't she, james?" their mother said, hoping her boy was listening.

"she's a spinster." he says, eating some of the fruit on the table. "that's not viscountess material."

"the queen seems to find her to be diamond material." marie jabs.

james has never fallen for one of the diamonds. sure, their beauty is prominent and sometimes they can hold an intellectual conversation but for the most part they are simply shoved forward so the queen can take credit for their marriage.

"i have more important priorities this season."

"well, this season you should prioritize finding a viscountess." their mother bit at him.

during this time every year his mother gives james the same speech over and over again. the marriage speech. ever since his father died during battle, james has been plagued with not only his grief but also the weight of replacing his father and eventually having to find a replacement for his mother as well. instead of focusing on marriage, james kept himself busy either working or traveling and keeping his family afloat.

"mama, i promise i will find a wife at some point." james sighs. "i just haven't met anyone that can handle being my viscountess."

"what about the red headed girl from last season? you seemed to fancy her quite a bit."

"she married lord summers this past spring."

"and the munroe girl?"

"she's interested in mister brooks."

all his mother does is sigh in response to the news. he takes this as the perfect chance to escape the interrogation.

luckily for james, there was always an excuse to avoid marriage. in the past he's gotten close to making that walk down the aisle but something always held him back. he's never believed much in love or marriage past it's convenience. sure, he believed it was the blueprint of life, to take a wife and start a family but his marriage is seen as a much bigger deal.

all the mamas in the ton were practically throwing their daughters in his direction. at balls, he's always forcing marie to dance with him because if not, he will be forced to socialize with these young unintellectual girls who only value him for his money and title. james didn't want to have to nurture these girls. he would take care of his wife but he wanted someone who was independent from him.

ever since his father died in the war, james has always been guarded of his feelings. especially, when it came to love. when he went with his mother to identify his father's body, james swore on that day that he would never let love destroy him like it did his mother.

"remember, marie is debuting tonight at the first ball of the season." his mother called after him. "don't be late."

"i wouldn't miss it." he smiles at his little sister before dashing out the door and back to his study.

˖⋆࿐໋

a rainbow of silks are spread across your bed as you try to figure out what to wear tonight. if your mother was here, she would know exactly what would look best on you. it's only been three months since her passing yet the ache in your chest grows stronger day by day.

"what are you thinking of wearing tonight?" your aunt asks, lingering in the doorway.

"i'm not sure yet." you sigh, picking at the pretty gowns. "i like the light blue one."

arguably, it was the prettiest in the pile. so simple, you hoped to blend in among the wash of colors in the room tonight. the boning of the corset poked the left side of your ribs a little but beauty is pain.

as you got ready, the nerves started to kick in. by now you should be on your second or third child and pregnant with the next. why was love taking so long to find you?

ever since you were a little girl, you were a hopeless romantic. dreaming of your first kiss and getting married to your knight in shining armor. back home, there was a cruel joke that you were the girl before the wife. you get just close enough before they end it. afraid that the curse would travel with you.

"don't worry." you aunt hums, brushing your hair. "the queen picked you as her diamond for a reason."

"i know, i know." you nod, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. "i just wish mother was here with me."

"i do too, dear."

"she should've seen me married."

a small tear rolls down your pink painted cheeks. it feels like you let her down by not taking a husband before her illness got worse.

men have it so easy. there's no pressure from society put on them. you can marry at fifty to a nineteen year old if you so please because you know that they will marry you out of fear and desperation.

"who says she can't?" your aunts smile reflected in the mirror. "she's still looking down on you, probably working on sending you a lord or a duke for a husband as we speak."

"amusing." you giggle.

"imagine a viscount or a prince!"

both of you laugh at the possibility. viscounts and princes were usually swept up quickly in high society. all of them probably have pregnant wives by now.

"don't get too ahead of yourself."

˖⋆࿐໋

the queens ball was unlike anything you had ever seen. beautiful gardens, bright lights, and people gathered everywhere. inside the ballroom, the chandelier lights almost blind you.

like a hawk, lady chamberlain spots you two. she is an older lady and a close family friend. you haven't seen her since you were a little girl, surprised that she was able to recognize you.

"lady worthington and miss bowery, lovely to see you here!" the woman smiled, wrapping her arms around both of you.

"hello, lady chamberlain." you smile, feeling slightly at ease seeing a familiar face here.

"you look marvelous, sweetie." she smiles, taking in your appearance. at least someone appreciated all the bells and whistles that went into your dress for this evening. "truly like a diamond."

"thank you." you curtsy. a warm rose color rises to the surface of your cheeks at her compliment.

"let's go find that viscount i've told your aunt about." she says.

suddenly, she's pulling you and your aunt over to meet everyone.

quite some time has passed and yet you've only met barton's and a few lords. from one eligible bachelor to the next, it was the same process. you introduce yourself, dance, ask a bit about each other, jump into talks of marriage and children. it was all a bit overwhelming to say the least.

there's no news on a prince yet but lady chamberlain was holding out for a viscount while your aunt held out for a duke. meanwhile, you just needed someone with charm and charisma to save you from these godawful men of the ton.

"i'm going to get a drink." you announce, one the music ends.

in one of the dim corners of the room there was a refreshment table where you poured a hefty amount of wine into your glass and down as much of it –in a very unlady like manner– as you could before another person could find you.

it wasn't long until someone behind you clears their voice loudly.

"i was unaware that they taught women to drink like soldiers in france..."

you spin around quickly to face the man in front of you. he is gorgeous and... huge. dawned in white puffy shirt and a tight black vest with detailed buttons. he towered over you intimidatingly with a small smirk creeping on his lips from shocked expression.

"i-i deeply apologize, my lord. it was just grape juice." you laugh nervously, avoiding his piercing stare.

"hm..." he hums, lifting his hand up and letting his thumb swiftly glide under your lip to catch the bit of liquid there. you watch in awe as he licks the bit of wine off his thumb with a soft groan. "they must make 'grape juice' different in france."

never in your whole life have you been left so speechless. a gentleman has never done more so than touch your hand, let alone act so scandalous. with a satisfied smirk, the man walks away to join a small group of young women. thank goodness that no one seemed to have noticed.

"miss bowery!" lady chamberlain called after you. "i want you to come meet the howletts."

swiftly, you get back to her as she approach a mother and daughter. both of them were stunningly and wore expensive looking gowns with luxurious jewels. lady chamberlains wide smile only made you grow more anxious.

"meet lady howlett and her daughter, the honorable, marie howlett." lady chamberlain introduced.

"lovely to meet you." you say, bowing gracefully before them.

"where is viscount james?" lady chamberlain asks.

"oh! he should be around here somewhere..." the woman looked behind the two of you until she flagged someone down. “there he is!”

the moment that you looked up at the viscount, you feared your heart might explode right then and there. silently pray to the gods above that he won't mention your previous encounter.

"miss bowery, this is my son, viscount james logan howlett." lady howlett announces proudly.

"what a pleasure to meet you, miss bowery." james smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.

"as is it for me, my lord." you curtsy politely, feeling hot under his gaze.

a cloud of lust fogs james mind at the words, my lord fell from your pretty, slightly berry colored lips. the lower his eyes drift from your face, the tighter his trousers get. every exquisite curve is highlighted by the way that the silk fell on your frame, reminding him of the goddesses he had only seen in the finest of paintings.

"might you wish to accompany me to a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

you nod, offering him your gloved hand in return.

the two of you make your way to the dance floor with everyone else. the orchestra begins and you quickly fall in sync with each other.

"how are you enjoying england?" james asks.

"it's quite lovely." you lie.

"better than france?" he questioned with a small tilt of his head.

"no." you giggle softly. "nowhere on earth is better than home."

"i suppose i cannot argue with that."

"have you journed to france?"

"once. when i was younger, i went with my father. he loved france."

"that's why my mother left england. she fell in love with my father when she visited france."

"they must be true romantics."

"oh, most definitely." you smile.

carefully, logan spins you twice. never letting you stumble over your own two feet like most men would.

"i truly am sorry for earlier, my lord. that was completely unacceptable for a–"

"it's alright, sweetheart." the viscount cut you off with a chuckle. "your secret is safe with me."

james looks down to see your big round eyes sparkle up at him with great appreciation. there's a unique feeling blooming deep in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on.

"i heard from some mamas that you are seeking to wed this season." you say, looking elsewhere as the two of you pull apart.

"seeking is such a complex word." he sighs amusingly.

"i imagine it would be difficult to find a future viscountess."

"you have no idea."

all around you, you can see the women openly fawning over the viscount. some fan themselves while other clutch their jewels with either anger at you or lust for him. any of those women would duel to be in your shoes right now.

"do you have a desire to be viscountess?" his question made your heartbeat increase, pounding in your chest.

as a young girl, you watched your family struggle in order to survive so it would be a lie to say that you don't dream of having a tittle. you have a father back in france to take care of in his elder age. but love was your main desire. you would marry a sweet common man as long as he loved you.

"i desire to be loved." you tell him.

the answer caught james off guard. the women of the ton had no issue telling him to his face that they want his tittle or money. none of those women actually cared about love.

"well, my darling, you are quite the fool to be seeking out something as pure as love in a place such as this." james says, pulling you so close that you can feel his heartbeat in his chest and his eyes darken.

"don't be so cock-sure, viscount howlett. i am no fool at all." you glare angrily up at him. "i wish you well on your journey to find such a bird-witted viscountess."

the song ends and you are quick to make an exit. hot on your heels, james follows you outside. perhaps you shouldn't have insulted the viscount to his face but you didn't quite care anymore. this night has been a bust and you aren't any closer to marriage then you were before walking in here.

"miss, bowery..." a man calls, capturing your attention. "would you accompany me to a dance?"

based on the man's appearance, he seems even more important that the viscount. he was definitely the opposite of james. this man wore light grey in places where james wore black. this man had a sweet smile where james had a scowl.

"her dance card is full." the voice behind you threatened.

the gentleman's face fell a little.

"actually, i have one last spot open on my dance card." you smile, showing him the tag tied to your right wrist which had exactly one spot open. "i would love to accompany you..."

"prince harrison." he grins.

you hum, offering your hand. the prince leans down and kissed your gloved fingers before sweeping you off to the dance floor again.

james fumed as he watched you walk away with the prince. lady howlett spots her son alone and walks over to him.

“please tell me that you did not scare off this seasons diamond, james.” lady howlett asked in a low whisper.

“i’m gonna call a carriage” he growls, annoyed.

“dear!”

his mother called after him but he couldn’t care to turn around and stay here any longer.

˖⋆࿐໋

on the carriage ride alone, james is stuck with the image of you. your beauty and the pain in your eyes when james called you a fool. oddly enough, james enjoyed the way you bit back at him. he just wishes that he hadn’t offended you.

apparently you must not be that hurt if you accepted a dance from harrison of all people. not because he wanted to court you but because harrison was barely considered a prince and was a poor excuse of a man. never having to lift a finger a day in his life. never knowing a single struggle. the prince was insufferable.

perhaps it was in james best interest to forget about the beautiful woman he met this evening. she is this seasons diamond after all, desired by too many. james wasn't known to chase the things he desired.

──★

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