Take it Slow ♬

Your day had started with a planned 10k, which had promptly been abandoned after you twisted your ankle on a curb.

Rookie mistake.

One you know John would chide you for. He's always telling you to not run with earphones in.

You've gotta be aware of your surroundings. Especially first thing. Don't want you becoming a case.

Grudgingly, under major duress, you can admit that he has a point.

But nothing gets you through a tough run like Hole's Live Through This, so you've elected to ignore all of his advice.

It's nothing he's not used to.

Growing up in the same town, it's really a miracle that you haven't known each other for longer.

But, thanks to your sixth grade teacher and her randomised seating chart, John Logan has been a fixture in your life for a decade.

He is, undoubtedly, your closest friend.

What started with teasing and bickering had quickly grown into deep heart-to-hearts and the kind of support you could only dream of. Neither of you had stellar family lives, but when you were together it didn't matter.

Most people had assumed you'd end up together, but there's never been anything romantic between you both.

Sure, there was that one time.

When you'd just broken up with your long-term high-school boyfriend, and John had come over to comfort you, before ending the night between your legs, licking and sucking at your clit until you cried.

Both of you had agreed to never talk about it again, or do anything to jeopardise your friendship further.

That had lasted a couple of years, until Briar won the League and you'd gotten him off in the showers after everybody else had left.

You've never actually slept together, though. A moot point for most, but you feel like it holds some weight.

You're not going to be John Logan's girlfriend, and that's fine. You've got something better - you're his friend.

God, even saying that in your head sounds pathetic.

You need to get over him.

As soon as possible.

After your entirely unsuccessful run, you'd been treated to your most boring classes, made all the worse by the fact that Logan had bailed, leaving you to conquer them alone.

The apology text had been measly at best.

John. 10:32

woke up with the worst hangover

notes for today's class please??

i owe u big time

whatever you want

You'd be furious with anybody else. Hell, you would normally be furious with John.

But your car had started making weird noises when you pulled into the campus parking lot today, and you figure it's going to need some TLC.

You. 10:31

connie's sick :((( was making a weird creaking noise

Yes, your car has a name. So what?

will forgive all your egregious sins if you come and take a look at her :)

You glance back up at the professor, trying desperately to seem vaguely interested, but she lost you about thirty slides ago. Were it not for John, you would totally be failing statistics.

If he's not here, you may as well both not be.

John. 10:34. after practice? i could swing by before maxwell's thing speaking of maxwell's thing you wanna come? i can drive

In normal circumstances, that would be fine. You like Beau - a lot more than most of the football team. But one of the other waitresses at O'Malleys just transferred to NYU, leaving the rest of you to pick up her slack until they've hired somebody new.

You. 10:35. can't working the close tonight tomorrow morning?

A thumbs up reaction, and then you're left to deal with Statistics by yourself for the rest of the class.

For all intents and purposes, the rest of your day isn't quite as terrible as the start was.

You get one of your Ethics essays done in the library, and your roommate texts to say that she's visiting her boyfriend for the weekend. You have the place entirely to yourself.

It's not that you don't like her - Hayley's great. Mostly. Her cleanliness habits leave something to be desired. But your apartment is tiny, and with her boyfriend over constantly, you feel like a constant third wheel.

Even the start of your shift is pretty good. There are a couple of groups of rowdy guys, but nothing you can't handle. It's just you and Lydia tonight, the newest hire.

You slide three pitchers of draft beer across the sticky bar top, flash a sharp, customer-service smile, and cut off the loudest guy before he can even start speaking.

It's like dealing with toddlers - keep them placated, and they'll leave you be. It's an art you've practiced extensively over the years with Logan's friends.

Especially Dean.

You still remember the first time you met him - he'd spent half the night hitting on you, and then never so much as winked at you again.

Part of you wonders if John had something to do with it.

Besides, it's not like you were ever in danger of hooking up with Dean Di Laurentis. He's not your type.

You prefer your men slightly broodier. Skinnier. Longer hair. First name John, last name Logan.

Lydia, however, is drowning. She stands frozen by the register, fingers darting between options as she tries to work out what to do next. The line is growing, and her uniform is still spotless - a testament to this being her first week.

She'll reach the myriad of stains that litter your apron soon enough.

"Take the shallow end," You murmur, bumping her shoulder gently. She still jumps at the interruption. "Just do bottled beers,and I'll handle the taps."

You pour the stouts and scan the room, eyes settling on a body in the corner. He's around your age - probably another Briar student, though he could be a recent graduate.

In most circumstances, being watched doesn't bother you.

It kind of comes with the territory of being a bartender. Especially a young, female bartender, with a clientele that consists largely of men.

Something about this guy creeps you out, though.

You don't recognise him at all, which is unusual. You're pretty familiar with most of the faces that pass through here.

Maybe he's an exchange student.

It isn't until an hour later that he finally approaches the bar, ordering a gin and tonic.

He pays in cash, is perfectly polite, and insists you keep the change. His eyes also never leave yours. Not once.

"Busy night," He comments, eyes flicking towards the crowds. "You handle it well. The other girl's not doing so great, though."

A flare of annoyance washes over you on Lydia's behalf. "It's her first Friday."

"Girl like you shouldn't have to work the twilight shift on a Friday night - you got a boyfriend waiting at home for you?"

From most of your patrons, you'd accept that question as an innocent, if nosy, attempt to make conversation.

From this guy, you're terrified of the implications.

"Yeah. I do." The lie comes out clumsily, and you're sure it must be entirely unconvincing. "A hockey player."

You hope the extra detail might make the whole thing seem more believable, but you think it might just make you look more like a liar.

He smiles, a slow, knowing expression, but doesn't press it. "Lucky guy."

You fight back a shiver as he heads for his booth.

*****

Since O'Malley's is a college campus bar, it has a strict midnight curfew, even on the weekends. Most people use it as a stepping stone to parties on Greek Row or clubs in the next town over.

But after a six hour shift on top of a full day of classes, you just want to get home. The crowd begins to think, and you're endlessly glad to see that the corner where the guy was sitting is empty now. He must have left during the pre-close rush.

Lydia is leaning against the ice machine, completely wiped out. Her apron is now stained, her mascara is running, and she looks like she might cry if she has to pick up a mop.

"Go ahead and clock out, Lydia," you say, tossing your rag into the dirty linen bin. "It was a long day."

"Are you sure?" She asks, her voice small. "Don't I need to learn how to lock-up?"

You dismiss her with a wave. "We can do it another night. Go home and get some sleep," you tell her, giving her a reassuring nudge towards the back room.

She doesn't need any more convincing, scurrying out the front door. You lock it quickly behind her, one of the first things Sally taught you.

As a student, O'Malley's was once robbed at gunpoint because of an unlocked door. While a layer of glass doesn't do much when your assailant has a gun, you've still lived by her advice anyway.

You get to counting the cash, getting bored about halfway through. You've never liked maths. There's a reason you're pre-law. As your gaze drifts across the windows,your blood runs cold.

The guy from earlier is hanging out on the corner by the bar.

He's looking at you, but his body is turned towards the street, and you try to tell yourself that this is all one horrible coincidence. He's probably just waiting for a cab.

But when you glance outside again, the man is still there. He's moved back from the door, to just across the sidewalk. There's no way you can do the lock-up while he's hovering there.

Not with the way he's been ogling you all night, and the way you'd need to have your back turned for at least thirty seconds.

You also don't trust your ankle to hold for long enough to out-sprint a fully grown man.

It's been fine for walking, but anything faster than a jog makes it ache like there's no tomorrow.

You slip out your phone, trying to keep an eye on the door.

You. 00:04

johnny

are you doing anything rn?

His reply comes immediately, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes.

John. 00:04.

is this a booty call?

You swallow. John's been your best friend since you were twelve, and you're still not used to the teasing and flirting.

You. 00:05.

ha ha

but no

some guy's being weird at work and i'm the only one here

can you phone me on my walk home?

A sudden rattle at the door makes you jump. The guy is back, nose practically pressed to the glass. "I left my jacket - can you let me in to pick it up?"

Immediately, your heckles are raised, but when your gaze follows his hand, you see that there is a coat draped across one of the booths. Your heart sinks. "Sorry, sir - we have a policy - you'll have to come by tomorrow."

"Come on, sweetheart. It's right there. Would be so easy for you to get it for me. Be a doll."

"I'm sorry, I can't-"

"You can't? Or you don't want to?"

I want you to leave me the fuck alone. That's what you want to say. Except you have a feeling that would buy you a one-way trip to Murdertown.

So, you plaster a smile on your face, and decide you need back-up. "I really can't. My boss is a dick."

Sorry, Sally. You're not a dick. But I need this guy to back off.

He's trying the handle again, and you type one final message without looking to see Logan's response.

You. 00:06.

pls come

The guy shrugs, and for a single second you think that you've won.

Of course, you'd never be so lucky.

"I won't tell if you won't." There's something about the way his lips are curling into an almost sneer that makes your stomach churn.

"I'm going to be a while," you call back. "Really, it would be easier getting it tomorrow."

Another shrug. Another shiver down your spine. "I can wait. No big deal, sweetheart."

"I'm not allowed to let anybody in without a manager," You reply, trying desperately to keep your voice level. You think it works - the layer of glass between you makes you feel a whole lot better. "We have cameras. I'd get reprimanded."

A total lie.

While yes, the bar does have cameras - one of them hasn't worked since last year, and the other hasn't worked since the mid 2000s.

You're banking on this guy not knowing that.

His brow furrows a little, as he squints through the tinted glass of the window. "Don't cameras normally have a light on when they're recording?"

Your heart hammers as you try and come up with a lie. "Boss wanted them to be covert."

A silence falls, but the man still doesn't move. Part of you wishes he would just speak again - the weight of his eyes is too much.

God, you hope John gets here soon.

"Here's an idea - you can bring it out here when you're done. Then you're not letting me into the bar, and none of your precious rules are broken."

"My boyfriend's on his way!" You squeak out, panic overriding your attempts to be suave and relaxed.

At this point you're too scared to glance away and check your phone, but you can only pray that John's checked his phone.

******

You are undoubtedly the coolest and calmest person that Logan's ever met. Never once have you been phased in all his years of knowing you.

Which is why the final text you send makes his heart drop.

You hadn't even acknowledged his reply.

John. 00:05. oh shit want me to come? let me just tell the guys i'm leaving - i'll come and get you be there soon

When the 'please come' had pinged against his phone, he'd abandoned all hope of trying to find Dean, Garrett and Tucker in the crowded frat house. Instead, he'd sent a quick text over to Hannah, knowing she'd be the only one sober enough to reliably check her phone.

God, he's glad he's designated driver tonight.

The concept of this amount of worry on top of beer and tequila is not a pleasant thought.

He shoots off another text as he jogs across the street.

u okay? i'm omw rn.

Delivered.

No read receipt.

You always reply.

Even if it's just a heart. A thumbs up. A gimme ten mins, because you inevitably got talking to a regular on your way out.

You hate worrying people.

And John Logan is really fucking worried right now.

His phone stays dark.

The unease triples when he calls you, again and again - each time going straight to voicemail.

Finally, he makes another call, to campus police.

He's not taking any chances.

*****

You realise, with a chilling certainty, that the back-door to the bar is unlocked. Lydia had taken the trash out earlier, and the lock is so fidgety that you're positive she didn't do it right.

Blood running cold, there's a flash of movement from the front. He shifts again, peering through the glass, and you realise you have to get that door shut now.

You turn and run, trainers squeaking against the hardwood as you sprint through the empty bar, weaving between tables you've only just finished wiping down.

There's a dull ache in your ankle, but you have no time to consider it.

Please let it be shut.

Please let Lydia be more competent than she looks.

You shove through the kitchen doors so hard they slam against the wall, and the back entrance comes into view. Very decidedly unlocked.

The handle sits slightly turned, the lock not fully engaged, and a sob catches in your throat.

You grab it with shaking hands, yanking the door closed with every ounce of strength you have.

The lock sticks.

Of course it does.

"No, no, no..." You plead, fingers slipping from the handle as you tug.

You try again, forcing the handle up before twisting the deadbolt. It doesn't work.

Stress levels rising, you hit it with your palm.

Once-

Twice-

It clicks into place, and the latch shuts fully. You don't even get a chance to breathe a sigh of relief.

The handle jerks violently beneath your grip, and you leap back, trembling.

You press both hands over your mouth, trying to dampen any sounds that might escape as the handle twists again.

Harder this time.

Your vision blurs instantly, tears spilling before you can even process what's going on.

You have to get back to your phone. Call the police.

Except by the time you make it back to the front of the bar, he's resumed his vigil at the entrance. "There you are. I was starting to think you were ignoring me."

"Fuck off!" You shout. "I-I have friends coming, and they've called the police." Each word comes out as a choked gasp, barely audible.

"I don't get why you're being so difficult - I just want to be friends." His smile widens, and you think you might be sick. "You can give me my jacket, I can walk you home, and it'll be a happily ever after."

He tilts his head, studying the empty room. "I mean..." He shrugs. "We're practically neighbours anyway. It's the polite thing to do."

On watching your expression crumble, he continues. "You live on North Street, right?"

There's no way.

He couldn't know that. Could he?

Your knees give out beneath you, and you find yourself sliding down the back of the bar until you're curled into yourself. One hand clamps over your mouth to stop the sob escaping, while the other reaches for something - anything - that you could use as a weapon.

A small knife seems to be your best option about now.

Tears blur your vision, and you reach for your phone.

There are some messages from Logan, but you go straight for the phone. You have to call 911.

The signal indicator in the corner flickers.

One bar.

Then none.

No service.

*****

The only noise you can hear are your own sobs. It might have been seconds, or hours, but the fear in your body is too great to try and get signal. Instead, you're trapped on the floor, praying that Logan's last messages are true, and that he's on his way.

A knock at the door has you flinching, fingers curling tighter around the knife. Any attempts to steady your breathing are met with fresh waves of panic, and you can feel tears start to trickle down your cheek.

He can't get you.

The doors are locked.

He doesn't know about the rooftop, and even if he did - there's no way he'd be able to get there without a ladder. Besides, Sally usually locks up there anyway. You're too scared to check.

A familiar voice cuts through the silence, calling your name.

You've never been more relieved to see Logan in your whole life.

"Johnny," You sob, rushing towards the door, fumbling with the keys as you try and open it. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, and your face is buried in his shoulder.

His lips brush against your temple comfortingly, a hand rubbing at your back. "What the hell happened?"

Tearfully, you recount it as quickly as you can, John's brow furrowing with each added bit of information. "He knows where you live?"

You know that he'd like to kill the guy, but you can't imagine anybody being stupid enough to–

There's another bang from the back entrance.

He must be trying it again.

You flinch inadvertently, tucking yourself back into Logan's side. "I think that's him - he must have missed you getting here."

Logan's expression hardens. "Stay behind me."

Your fingers are still intertwined with his, as he leads you both out of the bar and round the back. You don't want Logan to scare him off before you can work out who he is.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

In the moonlight, Logan suddenly seems far taller and scarier than he is.

The guy turns, eyes widening a little when he sees you both. "What?"

He doesn't get another word out. Logan closes the distance in three long strides, grabs a fistful of the man's shirt, and slams him back against the brick wall.

"Does scaring women make you feel good?" Logan taunts, a slap of skin as he forces the guy back into the surface behind him. "Huh? Make you feel like a tough guy?"

"I didn't-"

"You didn't what?" Logan's grip tightens, another shove ricocheting through the quiet street. "You weren't just trying to break in to her place of work?"

"I-I just wanted to talk," He chokes out.

"Bullshit. You knew where she lives."

You wish you could enjoy the twist of terror on the man's face, but you're still so shaken you're not sure how you're still standing.

Logan continues his rant. "If you ever go near her again, I'll-"

He's cut off by sirens, as the campus police officers pull in beside the bar, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he lowers his voice, and leans in just a little further. "I'll fucking kill you."

*****

The police interview feels like it takes days. Recounting the same hour, over and over again until you think you're going crazy.

The only solace is John at your side, hand drawing soft circles onto your palm.

You answer the same questions hundreds of different ways.

When did you first notice him?

Have you seen him before?

Did he touch you?

You shake your head where you can, and nod occasionally. At certain points Logan answers for you, filling in the details that you can't quite string together anymore.

You learn that the intruder is a Jeffrey Collins - a non-Briar student who's earned quite the reputation for stalking girls around campus.

It makes you feel a little better, knowing that there are girls out there who have experienced the same thing.

The officer' expression softens when he notices your hands haven't stopped shaking.

"We'll have an officer contact you tomorrow," He says gently. "Since he made reference to your home address, we'll make sure the local department is informed. Do you have somewhere to stay–"

"Yes," Logan interjects. "She's staying with me."

Finally, you're both allowed to go, and Jeffrey is locked up in the local sheriff's department.

Your body moves on autopilot, allowing Logan to bundle you into the back of his truck, and head towards the house. Thankfully, nobody seems to be around when he leads you upstairs to his room.

You don't have the energy to explain to anybody else tonight.

He's immediately finding you clothes to sleep in, busying himself in a way that's almost overwhelming. You reach out, fingers wrapping around his wrist to slow him to a stop. "Thank you," You whisper. "For coming for me."

"I'd always come for you. Always."

His voice is sincere, and there's no doubt in his tone.

You can't tell who moves first, but suddenly your lips are on his, and your hands are in his hair. Sighing into his mouth, it's the safest you've felt all night.

It's nothing like the kisses you've shared before - this is full of sheer desperation. You could've died tonight, and John would've been none the wiser to how you really feel.

"I love you."

It's a gasp between kisses, murmured into his mouth, and you worry he misses it.

"God, I love you too." It's practically a growl, hands tightening at your waist as he walks you backwards, twisting at the last second so that you drop onto his lap. "Loved you for so long, sweet girl."

His kisses steal the words from your lungs,and all you can focus on is the way he feels against you. The three day stubble against your jaw, the denim of his jeans against your core.

"Was so scared of what I was gonna find tonight," He finally admits, mouth no less frantic as it makes against you. "Scared the shit out of me, darling."

"M'sorry, Johnny." Your hips roll against his instinctively, nails digging into his shoulders for balance.

"Mhm, say my name again," He hums.

"Johnny."

You pout when he eventually pulls back, lips following his movements. "What's wrong?"

Your mind is suddenly clouded with a whole host of insecurities. Maybe he was just feeling bad for you, and now the regret is setting in. He doesn't have the heart to let you down.

Maybe you were stupid to think that this wasn't going to be another one of your half-hook-ups, meant to be forgotten entirely.

You don't know if you can take anything else tonight, so you decide to beat him to the punch. "Shit, I'm sorry - that was so stupid, I just... I wasn't thinking. I can go, and we can forget-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Logan interrupts immediately. "What? Why would I want to forget the best kiss of my life?"

Now you're stumped. "What?"

"Babe, tonight has been awful. Truly, one for the books. You really think I want you to associate us having sex for the first time with that creep?"

Oh. You hadn't considered it like that.

He makes a good point.

"Here's what's going to happen," He continues, thumb reaching out to run over your bottom lip as he watches you intently. "You're staying with me for the weekend - maybe longer. We're gonna watch all those shitty rom-coms you love to take your mind off it, and then tomorrow night I'm taking you out for dinner-"

You can't help the interruption. "Where?"

Logan just laughs. "Augusto's. Your favourite. As if it would be anywhere else."

You linger for a second, the dread from earlier starting to seep from your shoulders. "Johnny, you really don't have to do all this. I'm fine. It was fine. "

He lets out a soft hum, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Do what? Don't think there's anything wrong with looking after my girl."

My girl.

it’s the cinnamon and clean laundry that brings him back. on the quiet nights, before the heavy silence of the present takes over, you can still trace the timeline of you and john logan.

two kids who didn't know a single thing about the world, but decided, instantly, that they knew everything about each other.

by the time you both walked across the stage at eighteen to grab your high school diplomas, you weren’t just a couple—you were a package deal.

logan was woven so deeply into the fabric of your family that his presence felt as permanent as the oak tree in the front yard.

“logan! look what i made!"

the memory is so sharp it almost stings. your little sister soleil had been five then—a tiny, chaotic blur of mismatched socks and sticky fingers.

anyone else would have patted her on the head and gone back to their phone, but logan had dropped straight to his knees on your mom’s kitchen floor, completely ignoring the grass stains on his jeans.

he had taken the lopsided paper crown she held out and placed it solemnly on his dark hair.

"for me, princess sol? i’m honored," he had said, his signature smirk softening into something so incredibly gentle it made your chest ache. he had spent the next hour letting a five-year-old boss him around the backyard, playing "royal knight" without a single complaint. he had loved your family. he had loved you.

"are you thinking about him?"

the quiet voice snaps you back. you blink, the golden memory evaporating, replaced by the cool, dim light of the kitchen.

you turn to find soleil standing in the doorway. she’s ten now—taller but she still has those same observant eyes.

"nope just... thinking," you say, offering a tight smile as you lean against the counter.

soleil walks over, hopping onto the barstool logan used to claim as his own. she traces a small scratch on the wooden counter. "do you think logan still plays hockey?" she asks quietly. "he promised he would teach me how to ice skate when i got bigger. he hasn't called in a long time."

the words twist like a knife. because how do you explain to a ten-year-old that sometimes, the boy who wore paper crowns in your backyard grows up, leaves for college, and becomes someone you only know through headlines and hearsay?

"yeah, sol," you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. "he still plays."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

it was 1:57 am. at this hour, the world was supposed to be asleep.

instead you were standing in aisle fourteen, frozen in place, staring at the glass doors of the ice cream section.

the cold air leaked through the rubber seals, dusting your bare shins with a chill that made you shiver.

you looked down at yourself, suddenly, painfully aware of exactly how you looked: a pair of wrinkled pajama shorts featuring a faded print of patrick star, a fleece sweatshirt, and a pair of cheap flip-flops that made a loud, pathetic slap against the linoleum with every step you took.

your fingers hovered over a carton of cookie dough ice cream—the exact same brand, the exact same flavor, that had once been the cure-all for every bad day you had ever had.

you had been back in this town for exactly three weeks of summer break, operating like a ghost.

you stayed inside during the day, took long scenic routes to avoid the familiar blocks, and only went out when you knew the streets would be empty.

you had managed to avoid him for two whole years. two years of passing through the same suburban grid without once crossing paths.

until tonight.

squeak.

the sharp sound of rubber soles on polished linoleum broke the quiet.

it wasn't the slow, heavy drag of a tired employee pushing a stocking cart.

it was a firm, rhythmic stride. a stride you could recognize with your eyes closed, even after twenty-four months of silence.

"i knew one day, i would find you here."

the voice didn't just startle you; it felt like a physical blow to the chest. it was deeper than you remembered, carrying the low, scratchy gravel of someone who spent his winters yelling over the roar of stadium crowds at briar university.

but the cadence—the soft, trailing way he ended his sentences—was exactly the same.

your breath hitching, your lungs freezing over. you slowly turned around, your hand still pressed flat against the cold glass of the freezer door, your flip-flops squeaking slightly.

standing at the end of the aisle, leaning with an agonizingly casual grace against a shopping cart, was john logan.

he was massive.

the boy who used to fit perfectly against your side in your parents' basement had completely filled out.

the grueling, relentless training schedule of briar's varsity hockey team had carved him into something formidable—his shoulders were impossibly broad beneath a dark charcoal hoodie, his jawline littered with stubble sharp enough to look dangerous.

his dark hair was slightly damp and messy, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look like he had just stepped out of a locker room.

but it was his eyes that anchored you to the spot.

they were a deep, intense brown—the color of warm whiskey, of dark espresso, of things that were thick and warm and rich and incredibly hard to forget. right now, those brown eyes were narrowed, tracking the rapid rise and fall of your chest with a quiet, guarded intensity.

"logan," you whispered. the name felt heavy, like a stone rolling off your tongue.

"hey," he said. his voice was soft, but there was a distinct, cool distance to it. his lips didn't curve into the easy grin you were once so used to. instead, his mouth remained a straight, hard line. "still craving cookie dough at ungodly hours?"

the silence that followed was suffocating. the air between you was dense with two years of unread texts, a blocked phone number, and a driveway screaming match that had ended with you driving away in tears.

you looked at him, and against your will, the faces of every single guy you had met on the west coast flashed behind your eyelids.

there was the polite pre-med guy from your sophomore year who bought you expensive dinners and spoke in a tone so perfectly measured it made you feel completely hollow.

there was the golden-boy surfer who tried to teach you how to ride the waves, whose laugh was loud and easy, but whose eyes never actually saw you when you spoke.

there were others—half-hearted dates, empty conversations over cheap drinks, guys who tried to touch your waist or hold your hand in crowded bars.

but none of them were john logan.

none of them possessed that fierce, protective intensity.

not a single one of them knew how to make you laugh until your ribs ached, or how to silence your worst anxieties with a single, heavy look.

he was the gold standard.

you had spent twenty-four months trying to find his ghost in other men, only to realize that nobody could ever measure up to the boy who had broken your heart.

he had ruined you for anyone else, and the sheer unfairness of it tasted like poison on your tongue.

what you didn't know—what you couldn't possibly know from the quiet, agonizing distance you had kept—was that you had done the exact same thing to him.

at briar, logan was a star.

he was a handsome, charming varsity athlete, and the girls on campus made it ridiculously easy.

but to the absolute dismay and relentless teasing of his teammates, especially dean, logan had practically lived like a monk for the last two years.

he didn't bring girls back to the house.

he didn't do the mindless, easy hookups that the rest of the team treated like breathing.

every time a girl tried to flirt with him at a party, every time someone leaned in to kiss him in a dark corner of a crowded bar, he found himself pulling back.

he was holding out for you.

as stupid and as unrealistic as it sounded to him, he couldn't shake you.

and it made him furious.

he was angry at you for blocking him, angry at you for leaving, but most of all, he was deeply annoyed because you had ruined him for anyone else.

he couldn't find a single girl who was just like you, and he hated how much power you still held over his heart without even trying.

logan took a slow, deliberate step forward, the wheels of his cart squeaking in protest. his brown eyes scanned your face, noting the way you winced, the way your fingers tightened on your sweatshirt.

seeing him step closer was like falling backward through a rip in time.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"logan, stop it! put me down, people are looking!"

your laughter echoed through the empty bakery section of this very store, bright and breathless. it was 12:14 am on a tuesday, three weeks before graduation.

logan had dragged you out of bed because you had a craving, and he never, ever said no to you.

"let them look," logan grinned, his chest vibrating against yours as he lifted you easily by the waist, spinning you around. he didn't care about the bored cashier or the fact that you both had ap exams in twelve hours.

he set you down slowly, his large hands sliding under your jacket to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

his face dipped into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a warm, lingering kiss right below your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

when he pulled back, his eyes were crinkled at the corners, filled with a terrifyingly pure, unshakeable affection.

"you're stuck with me forever, you know that, right?" he murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip. "west coast, east coast, i don't care. i'll fly out every single weekend. we're going to make this work. i'm not letting you go."

you had kind of believed him then. you had pressed your forehead against his chest, inhaling the scent of his skin, believing that the two of you were invincible.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"you're staring," logan's rough voice broke the memory, shattering it into a thousand sharp, jagged pieces.

you blinked, cold reality rushing back in.

he was standing barely three feet away from you now.

the warmth from the flashback evaporated, replaced by the bitter, icy draft of the freezer aisle.

you pulled the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands, shifting your weight in your flip-flops, wishing desperately that the cold floor would just open up and swallow you.

"i didn't think you would be in town," you managed to say, your voice tighter this time. you clutched the tub of cookie dough icecream to your chest, a pathetic, freezing shield. "you usually stay at briar for summer training."

"i came back for a couple of weeks to see some family," he said, his voice flat, his posture guarded. he crossed his arms over his broad chest, creating a physical barrier between you. "but i see you're still running on the same schedule. some habits die hard, i guess."

there was no shouting, no explosive anger, but the wall he had built was high and thick.

he wasn't the boy who used to tease you mercilessly; he was a man who had been deeply hurt, and he was keeping his guard up.

"logan, we were going to different sides of the country," you whispered, the old defense mechanism kicking in, though it felt incredibly weak now. "we would have grown to hate each other. i did what i thought was best."

"i never cared about where you were going," logan corrected quietly, his brown eyes locking onto yours with a heavy, simmering sadness. "i was proud of you. i wanted you to go to that school. what broke me was that you didn't even want to try. you just decided we were over before we even packed our bags. you decided for the both of us, blocked my number, and left. you made me feel like those years we spent together weren't even worth a shot the second things got a little complicated."

"that's not true," you said, a tear threatening to spill over your eyelashes. "it broke my heart, logan. and i... i still care. i heard about your mom."

the words hung in the cold, sterile air between you. the mention of his mother's battle with alcohol—a shadow that had hovered over his entire household and left him and his younger sibling, jules, carrying weight they were far too young to bear—made the silence turn razor-sharp.

you remembered the late-night phone calls where he would whisper to you from the hallway, exhausted and terrified, while you tried to comfort him from three miles away. you weren’t sure how to do it over three thousand miles away.

logan froze. his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

"what about her?" he asked, his voice suddenly dangerously quiet.

"i heard she's in rehab again," you murmured, taking a small, tentative step forward. your chest ached for him, the instinct to comfort him still so deeply ingrained in your bones. "i'm so sorry, logan. i know how hard it is on you. and on jules. i really—"

"don't," he quickly cut you off.

for a split second, the hard line of his jaw softens. his dark eyes flicker down, then rise to search yours with a sudden, aching vulnerability. his mouth opens, a name hovering on the very tip of his tongue. he wants to ask if soleil still makes her infamous paper crowns.

he wants to ask if she misses him. if you missed him.

but the moment passes as quickly as it came. the shutter slams down behind his eyes, the heavy wall of his anger sliding back into place. he isn't going to give you the satisfaction of knowing how much of your world he still yearns for.

a short, humorless scoff escaped his lips—a sound so hollow and bitter it made you flinch. he shook his head, looking down at the linoleum floor before raising his brown eyes back to yours, entirely guarded.

"don't act like you care now," he said, the words dripping with a quiet, devastating resentment. "if you actually cared, you wouldn't have kept me blocked. you would have reached out a long time ago when everything was falling apart. everyone else did. but you? you were too busy pretending we never happened."

he didn't know.

he had no idea that his private instagram account had been a brick wall you stared at on your loneliest nights, desperate for a glimpse of his face.

he didn't know that you had spent the last two years quietly keeping up with his life through the back door—how you had found his teammate and friend, dean di laurentis, on social media because his profile was public, zooming in on the background of his photos just to make sure logan was okay.

but you were so incredibly tired of the silence.

you were tired of the walls, tired of the assumption that you had just walked away unscathed while he bled out.

you weren't going to let this be another night where you both walked away harboring a quiet, misunderstood resentment.

you weren't going to let him believe a lie just to protect your pride.

"i blocked you because if i didn't, i would have begged you to come to california," you said, your voice cracking, but the words came out fast, desperate, and completely unfiltered. "i blocked you because every time my phone buzzed, i hoped it was you, and it was killing me. i didn't pretend we never happened, logan. i spent the last two years completely miserable."

logan flinched, his posture stiffening as he stared at you. his mouth parted slightly, the scoff dying on his lips.

"what?" he whispered.

"i didn't reach out because i thought you hated me," you pleaded, tears finally spilling over, hot against your cold cheeks.

"i thought i had ruined everything," you said, your voice cracking as you finally forced yourself to meet his eyes. "and i was terrified of hearing you tell me that you had moved on."

you took a sharp, shallow breath, looking down at your hands as if the memory alone had weight. "i sat in my dorm room and cried for hours when i heard about your mom. because i knew how much you and jules were hurting, and i hated myself for not being able to call you." you let out a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "but i didn't think i had the right to anymore. i didn't do this because it was easy."

logan didn't move, but the tension between you pulled taut, almost vibrating.

"and if you want to know the absolute worst part?" you took a step closer, the raw honesty of it stripping away whatever pride you had left. "i've tried to date. i've gone out with guys who were perfectly nice, guys who did everything right. and i couldn't stand any of them. because none of them were you."

you stopped just inches from him, your chest heaving. "you set the bar so high that i can't even look at anyone else without wishing they had your eyes, or your laugh, or the way you used to hold my hand." reaching out, your fingers hovered near his jacket before you pulled them back, curling them into a tight fist. "you ruined me, logan. so don't you dare stand there and tell me i didn't care."

the silence that followed was entirely different now. it wasn't heavy with awkwardness anymore; it was electric, thick with a truth that had been buried for two long years.

then, a loud, agonizingly slow squeal of wheels broke the high-stakes emotional gravity.

a tired-looking teenage employee pushing a towering, uncoordinated stack of blue plastic crates stopped dead at the end of the aisle.

he looked at your tear-stained face, looked at logan's defensive frame, and then looked down at the carton of cookie dough ice cream.

he blinked slowly, let out a soul-weary, minimum-wage sigh, and silently began pulling his cart backward, retreating into the canned goods section like a crab disappearing into the sand.

you let out a wet, breathless sound that was half-sob, half-gasp, hastily wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "great. we're the 2 am grocery store circus."

logan's jaw worked, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. for a fraction of a second, the tiniest, almost imperceptible ghost of a smile tugged at the very corner of his mouth, softening the hard edge of his face.

"well," his voice was quiet, the rough edge still there but momentarily lighter. "to be fair, you are having a life-altering breakdown in neon pink flip-flops and patrick star pajama shorts."

"they're comfortable," you mumbled, looking down at your toes, a faint blush warming your cheeks despite the cold.

he laughed softly but as quickly as the lighthearted beat came, it evaporated, swallowed by the cold, heavy reality of the last two years.

the silence returned, sober and demanding. logan took a slow, heavy step toward you, the distance between you evaporating until you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

he raised his hand, his fingers trembling slightly as they hovered just inches from your wet cheek, hesitating.

his hand lingered in the air, his knuckles barely brushing your cheekbone as he looked at you, utterly torn.

Logan had never really cared what major Y/N was in.

Engineering.

Cool.

She liked it. That was enough for him.

Whenever she talked about classes, he’d smile, nod, pretend to understand words like “thermodynamics” and “finite element analysis,” then kiss her forehead and ask if she wanted dinner.

It wasn’t his world.

He didn’t need it to be.

At least that was what he thought.

—

The realization came completely by accident. Logan had just finished lifting when he spotted Y/N walking across campus.

He smiled automatically. Then he noticed she wasn’t alone.

Three guys.

Two girls.

Y/N in the middle.

One guy had his backpack hanging from one shoulder while animatedly explaining something. Another laughed so hard he nearly walked into a bike rack. The blonde girl shoved him. Y/N burst into laughter.

Logan stopped walking.

“…Huh.”

He watched them disappear into the engineering building.

Then continued toward hockey practice.

He didn’t think about it again.

Not really.

Until three days later. He picked her up after class. She climbed into his truck.

“Tired?” he asked.

“So tired.”

“Long day?”

“We were in the machine shop for five hours.”

“We?”

“My project group.”

“Oh.”

She smiled absentmindedly.

“Ben almost dropped the prototype on his foot.”

Logan chuckled.

“Sounds expensive.”

“It would’ve been.”

—

Then it kept happening.

Every story started with “we.”

We stayed late.

We finished coding.

We ordered pizza.

We were in the lab.

We.

We.

We.

Logan had never met “we.” But apparently they spent more waking hours with his girlfriend than he did.

He ignored it.

Mostly because he trusted her completely. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his mind. The problem wasn’t trust. The problem was that se suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea who these people were.

—

“So…”

He asked one night while they folded laundry together.

“Who’s Ben?”

Y/N looked up.

“My lab partner.”

“And?”

She laughed.

“And what?”

“What kind of guy is he?”

She shrugged.

“Funny.”

“…Anything else?”

“Really smart.”

Logan nodded slowly.

“What about Ethan?”

“He’s the one who keeps breaking things.”

“And Noah?”

“He practically lives in the engineering building.”

“You know a lot about Noah.”

She blinked.

“…Logan.”

“What?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Are you interviewing me?”

“No.” He looked away then mumbled, “…Maybe.”

—

A week later Y/N texted him.

“Running behind. Library with my project group.”

Normally he would’ve replied with a thumbs-up.

Instead he found himself sending a different text:

“Need me to bring you dinner?”

“That’d actually be amazing ❤️”

So he did.

Completely innocent. Totally not an excuse to meet these mysterious engineering people. Definitely not.

—

The study room was louder than he expected. Equations covered every whiteboard. Coffee cups everywhere. Laptops open. Half the group arguing over calculations. The other half laughing.

Y/N looked up immediately.

“Logan!”

She stood to hug him.

He kissed her forehead before looking around.

“So these are the famous engineers.”

Introductions happened quickly.

Ben.

Ethan.

Noah.

Sarah.

Mia.

Everyone seemed… Normal. Way too normal. Ben was charismatic. Ethan looked like he’d studied nonstop for the past 48 hours. Noah was somehow six-foot-three. Logan silently decided he disliked Noah. Not because Noah had done anything. Just because he existed while tall. Why did his height even bother him? Logan couldn’t tell, but it did, it really did.

—

He stayed for twenty minutes. Mostly listening. And that’s when he noticed it.

Not flirting.

Never flirting.

Comfort.

Ben stealing Y/N’s pencil without asking. Sarah fixing Y/N’s ponytail while she typed. Noah sliding a coffee toward her because he’d grabbed everyone’s order. They all moved around each other effortlessly. Like a team. Like… family.

Logan suddenly felt like the new guy.

—

On the drive home he was quieter than usual.

Y/N noticed.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Liar.”

He smiled. “A little.”

“What is it?”

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“I don’t think I realized…”

“What?”

“…that they spend so much time with you.”

She leaned back in her seat.

“They do.”

“You know them.”

“I do.”

“They know you.”

“Mhm.”

“You have inside jokes.”

She smiled. “We’ve been building the same project for four months.”

Logan nodded. “I know.”

Silence filled the truck.

Finally he said it, “I think I’m jealous.”

She turned toward him.

“You think?”

He laughed.

“I know.”

“What are you jealous of?”

He thought about it. Then answered honestly.

“I know exactly what happens at hockey.”

She waited.

“I know the guys. I know the coaches. I know the environment. But engineering…” He shook his head. “I don’t know any of it.”

Y/n didn’t interrupt she simply listened and let Logan unravel his thoughts.

“I walk in there…” He smiled awkwardly. “…and I feel like the dumbest guy in the room.”

Y/N’s heart softened immediately. “Oh, Logan.”

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“I’m usually good at stuff.”

She laughed softly. “I’ve noticed.”

“But there…” He shrugged. “They start talking…” He imitated them. “‘The stress analysis failed because…’”

She giggled.

“And I just…” Logan spread his hands helplessly. “I have absolutely no idea what’s happening.”

She reached across the center console and took his hand.

“They don’t think you’re dumb.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.”

“I know.”

“They’re just engineers.”

He looked over.

“And you’re one of them.”

She smiled.

“I guess.”

He squeezed her hand.

“I’m proud of you.”

“You are?”

“So proud.”

A pause.

“I’m also a little jealous that they get to see you every day.”

She looked out the window, smiling to herself.

“You know…”

“Hm?”

“They’re all jealous of you.”

Logan frowned. “What?”

“They think you’re the cool one.”

He laughed.

“Seriously?”

“They think dating a hockey player is intimidating.”

Logan smiled. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“I think they’re wrong though,” Y/N chuckled.

“About what? The intimidating part? ‘Cause I can be pretty intimidat-“

“No” Y/n smiled and held Logan’s hand. “I mean the cool part.”

Logan rolled her eyes. “What?”

“I think building robots is cooler than hockey.”

He gasped dramatically.

“I’ve been replaced.”

“You have.”

“By engineers.”

“By engineers.”

He sighed.

“I guess I’ll just have to keep picking you up after lab so they remember you have a ridiculously handsome boyfriend.”

She smiled, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“I don’t think they’ll forget.”

“Good.”

“Mostly because every time you show up…” She grinned. “…the entire room suddenly sits up straighter.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe he would never understand engineering. Maybe he’d always be a little jealous of the people who got to spend twelve hours a week with her solving impossible equations.

But every afternoon, when she climbed into his truck with tired eyes and immediately reached for his hand before even buckling her seatbelt, he remembered something important. She always chose the passenger seat beside him.

“Come on man, it’s the home opener for the girls. They’re always in the arena supporting us, it’s the least we could do,” Tucker says, Logan nodding knowing he was right. The girls’ soccer team is coming off an incredible season, eager to go back to back as College Cup champions.

“Fine, fine, I’ll fucking go,” he concedes, the group cheering as he smiles, standing up and following everyone out.

Arriving at the field, the guys, Hannah and Allie file into the bleachers, finding a great spot with perfect view of the field and the players. The girls are scattered around the field, some discussing their game plans, some running drills, some stretching.

Logan had to admit, he wasn’t the biggest soccer fan. He had nothing against it, he just didn’t find it very interesting or as adrenaline inducing as other sports. His eyes trail across the field before his eyes are drawn to one of the players, practicing some ball control right by the bleachers, weaving through some tiny, orange cones. He watches the concentration on your face, how you seem so focused, yet are so effortlessly controlling the ball, not hitting a single cone in the process.

You look unreal.

The sound of the coach’s whistle snaps him out of his trance, yours as well, his eyes following you as you pick up the ball, running towards your bench. After a minute, a huddle is formed with the team before their hands go up, yelling a loud “BRIAR” and separating, heading onto the field. The crowd cheers as the game (no pun intended) kicks off.

The entire game, his eyes couldn’t be taken off you, even if someone paid him to look away. The way you commanded the field, parading good sportsmanship towards your teammates, even scoring a goal. How your face lit up as your team ran up to you, congratulating you, high 5s being passed around. The passion in your voice and body language calling out a referee when a yellow card was very incorrectly given to your teammate.

Logan thinks he may have a new favorite sport.

The team won 2-0, starting the season off on a high note, Logan crediting the win entirely to you in his head. He was completely enamored with the way this positive energy exuded off of you when you were running around the field, clearly in your element. He couldn't get you out of his head.

He follows the group out, noticing they’re making a slight turn to head towards the locker rooms. He doesn’t question it, the group hanging out and making small talk, assuming it’s just a part of the whole post-game hangout routine. Hannah’s voice yelling out a name catches his attention as his head glances over to where Hannah was looking and his heart sinks into his stomach. She didn’t just say a name, she said your name.

You’re heading towards the group, looking freshly showered, athletic bag hanging off your shoulders. You look slightly tired from the game, but as you walked closer, Logan realized just how beautiful you are. Allie and Hannah leave the guys, running over and giving you a huge hug, congratulating you, that same smile from the field reappearing on your face. The three girls chatted for a few minutes before they made their way towards the guys.

Allie introduces you to the guys, you wave and smile at them.

“Nice to meet you guys,” the softness in your voice captivating him. Your eyes trail across the four guys, your gaze lingering a split second longer on Logan’s. And he noticed.

“You have to come to Malone’s with us!” Allie exclaims, holding your free arm.

“I don’t know, I’m exhausted."

“You don’t have to stay for long, just come hang out, it’ll be super chill, I swear,” she pleads. Everyone watches the stare down you and Allie have before you finally cave in.

“Ugh fine, but only for an hour.”

“Hour and a half.”

“Hour and fifteen.”

“Deal.”

The group slowly starts making their way to the parking lot, when something possesses Logan to turn around. As he does, he sees you had stopped walking, digging in your bag with your brows furrowed, clearly trying to look for something. He heads back over to you,

“Everything okay?”

You look up and see hockey jock playboy John Logan staring at you. You hold up your phone, the item you were looking for.

“All good, hockey boy,” you say, a hint of flirtation in your voice as you walk past him. His eyes follow you as you walk ahead, slightly jogging to catch up with the group. He chuckled to himself, further intrigued by you as he also runs to catch up with everyone.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

Malone's was packed out tonight, the latest World Cup game being broadcasted on virtually every flat screen in the restaurant. Fans filled the bar stools and booths, cheering on their teams, booing when their opposing teams scored.

After hanging out for a while, the group slowly separated from each other – Hannah and Garrett found themselves at the bar, Allie and Dean meeting up with Beau – leaving you, Logan and Tucker still in the booth opposite you, chatting. Logan found himself staying silent as you and Tucker discussed the World Cup, you expressing your disappointment that your team got eliminated.

Tucker eventually excused himself to go get a refill from the bar, leaving you and Logan sitting alone. Your gaze drifts from the TV to him, your eyes giving him a once over.

“Not a big soccer fan, huh?” you ask.

“What makes you say that?”

“You just have that look. Like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“I’m here with you, I can’t complain.”

Your eyes slightly squint as you look at him, seeing right through the whole playboy flirting game.

“You have a good success rate with lines like that?” 

“You tell me.”

“To be determined,” you reply, taking a sip of your drink. He lightly chuckles as he leans his back against the back of the booth chair.

“You were really good out there tonight,” he says.

“You were watching me?”

“It was hard not to.”

His persistence was doing something to you. Something you didn’t like. Him laying it on thick was hot as fuck, you couldn’t lie.

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the randomness of the comment.

“I... wasn’t expecting you to…” he trails off. You smirk slightly seeing him get flustered.

“Good.”

“Really though, you were amazing,” he says, his eyes boring into yours as you try and find any hint of dishonesty in his voice, his eyes, his body language, anything. Coming up empty handed, you swallow your pride, a small smile forming on your lips.

“Thank you,”

“You’re welcome, gorgeous”

Your eyes roll sarcastically at the pet name, making him laugh as you both smile at each other. The hour and fifteen you meant to spend there turned into three hours, finding yourselves getting more comfortable with one another, neither of you anticipating what this thing between you two would eventually turn into.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

note - wanted to try and integrate the World Cup in here somehow, hope you liked it!! 

“That’s disgusting,” Garrett’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, “At least get a cold one.”

“Meh,” he downs the rest of his drink, “Had been nursing this one for like, an hour now.”

Garrett hums, “Not much for drinking tonight?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Not much for anything, really. Just hanging out for a bit.”

“Fair. Tough week?”

Logan chuckles, “You know it. Did Wellsy come too?”

“Yeah, going rounds trying to find a friend.” Garrett looks around the room, “Matter of fact, I better go find her. Want me to bring you a cold beer?”

“No,” he stands up from the couch, “I’ll grab it myself. Thanks, man.”

Logan heads to the kitchen, an impromptu bar made from two massive coolers, and grabs a beer out of the ice. He’s still dwelling on the fizzy feeling down his throat when he spots the backdoor leading to the backyard slightly cracked open, and a girl sitting on the bench under a few lightstrings.

Your eyes are closed, head resting on the wall behind you and seemingly taking in the nice weather, so different from the stuffy atmosphere inside. With your peaceful face illuminated by the tiny golden fairylights, Logan thinks you look like a vision. 

He’s not one to believe in love at first sight, but he does believe in talking to pretty girls.

“You good?” He says, watching your shoulders tense all of sudden, a startled look on your face. He bites back a laugh, “Sorry, just checking.”

“‘m fine,” you mutter, “Just trying to listen to what they’re playing now.”

He steps out, moving in your direction slowly, “May I sit?”

You watch him for a moment, scanning his entire demeanour before making your mind. Your eyes stop on his left hand, and he holds his canned beer up, “This is my second one,” he says, figuring out what you’re thinking, “And I just opened it. I’m not drunk, in case you’re wondering.”

Your mouth twists, biting your lip before you give him a single nod, “Okay,” you scoot over to the side, opening space for him on the bench. Logan sits on the very far corner, not wanting to scare you at all.

Nineties’ pop music plays inside the house, and Logan’s pretty sure Hannah is the one queuing the songs. He watches as you bob your head in the rhythm, “You like it?”

You hum, “Yeah. Playlist’s good, it’s just too loud inside.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “They tend to be.”

“You’re a regular at the hockey team house parties?” You ask, and it makes Logan realise you don’t know him at all. Bad for his ego, sure, but good that he has a clean slate. He doesn’t often get one of those.

“You could say that, yes.” He smirks, and you look at him like you’re trying to grasp what he meant by that. Or you’re just thinking he’s fucking weird, he thinks. Logan clears his throat, “You’ve never been over here?”

You shrug, “Maybe once during freshman year, I’m not sure. I don’t do parties that much, honestly,” you smile bashfully, “Boring, I know.”

“You don’t seem boring at all,” he says, smiling as he adjusts his position, turning his body to face you, “What brings you here, then?”

“Uh, my friend Hannah,” you smile, “She's been asking me to come ever since she started dating Garrett Graham. One of the Hockey guys, you know?”

Logan just nods, smiling, “I’ve heard of him. And how come you’ve never seen any of the hockey games?”

“It’s just not my thing,” you take a sip of your drink, like you haven’t just destroyed his entire world. He lets out a laugh, and you smile at him, “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“John. Uh, John Logan.”

He watches as your smile drops, and he’d feel slightly bad if your widened eyes weren’t so adorable. “As in Garrett’s best friend? From the hockey team?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He offers you a tight-lipped smile, “I thought you didn’t watch hockey?”

“I don’t,” you say, averting your eyes from him as you stand up from the bench, “I’m sorry, erm– Hannah talked about you, that’s all. Um, I should go find her.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he stands too, and you see a flash of earnest crossing his eyes as he steps in your direction. 

You shake your head, laughing incredulous, “No, I did that myself,” you chuckle, “I– I’ll see you around, yeah?”

And with that, you scurry back inside. 

Logan drops back into the bench, his lips curved into a tiny smile. Yeah, he’ll see you around.

“Logan, what is actually wrong with you?” Hannah shouts from halfway down the stairs. 

Logan sits in the kitchen next to Tucker as they share party leftovers for breakfast, and both Johns look up as she storms into the room. 

Tucker’s head snaps at him, “Nice meeting you,” he says solemnly as he pushes the plate of mini sandwiches in his direction "Enjoy your last meal.” 

Hannah stops in front of him, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in a way Logan only sees when Garrett is being particularly annoying.

“I’m guessing your pretty friend rattled me?”

“She was mortified,” Hannah says, then in a slightly more invested tone, “You think she’s pretty, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass her,” He answers, “I just thought it was… Nice that she didn’t know me.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, turning away from him, “You hockey players and your big fucking heads.”

“Wait, Hannah,” Logan grabs the mini sandwich plate, moving around her, “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to her next time.”

Hannah raises her eyebrow, “Next time?”

“If you bring her again. Please?” He smiles coyly, offering her the plate, “Here, turkey and spinach as an apology?”

She stares at the mini sandwiches, letting out a huff before snatching it off of his hands, “You’re lucky I’m hungry. Don’t try to be funny next time.”

He doesn’t know if it’s his luck or if you’re allowing him to find you so easily. Still, Logan murmurs a thank you to whoever’s listening when he spots you on that very same bench.

“Second time in a row,” he says, immediately disregarding Hannah's commands and being (debatably) funny, “Thought you didn’t do parties?”

You turn your head to face him, relief washing over him once he sees a smile on your face, “You’re one to talk,” you answer, “Mr. You Could Say I’m A Regular. You literally live here.”

“Which is exactly why I’m a regular,” he says, sitting down on the bench. “Sorry for not clarifying that before.”

You shake your head, chuckling, “It’s fine. Cruel, but fine.”

Logan’s hand finds his chest, feigning being offended, “Well, thank you for allowing me to rectify myself.” He says, “Why did you come back here, then?”

The yellow lighting dances over your face as you switch positions, “Hannah,” you say, simply.

“What, she dragged you here?”

“No. Can you imagine?” You look down at your cup, laughing, “No, she just said you were nice. That I should talk to you again.”

Oh, I gotta text Hannah a profound thank you after this, Logan thinks. “Yeah?” He mutters, “So it wasn’t about the good music?”

An upbeat, indie rock song plays in the background, muffled by the closed door separating you two from the inside. He doesn’t tell you that, but they’re playing his playlist tonight, a cheeky smile on his face as you rest your head in your hand, bobbing your head. 

“I don’t think I know this one, I think,” you say, “But I like it.”

“Me too.” He says, “You know, I promised Hannah I would make it up to you after leaving you mortified last time.”

You let out a surprised cackle, “Okay, mortified is a stretch,” you say through giggles, “I was mildly embarrassed.”

“Hey, her words, not mine.” He says, laughing with you, “Anyway, I was thinking– And feel free to like, I don’t know, say I’ve read this wrong, but– Um, do you think I could take you out sometime?”

You look up at him, the same glow of the fairy lights above you adorning your face and, god, you’re pretty. Logan would ask you out a hundred more times if he wasn’t waiting for an answer right now. 

“That’s a third meeting question, I think.” You smile at him, “But I can give you my number.”

He nods, the corners of his mouth going up, “I’ll take it.”

Logan’s thrilled that he gets to invite you for your third night over their house. Again, he feels extremely thankful for his friends’ disposition to party, even though this one barely counts as one. It’s a get–together at best, with his everyday housemates and their usual attachments, girlfriends, siblings and other close friends of friends. Maybe that’s why you seem much more comfortable as you walk inside, looking around.

“It’s a really nice house,” you say, “I can actually see the flooring when it’s not packed with people.”

He laughs, “Can I tell you a secret?” You nod, getting closer to him, and he takes the opportunity to drop his arm around your shoulder, “I like it much better this way.”

“Not much a party man yourself?”

Logan makes a face, scrunching his nose as he shakes his head, “It’s nice to just have music playing and chatter. Dean likes playing cards sometimes, I’m not against it.” “Me neither.” You say, like an open opportunity for invitation next time. He takes note, dragging you by your shoulders into the living room. 

You fit right into his friend group, he thinks as you sit on the couch, sandwiched between Allie and Hannah as you talk and talk — apparently Allie has heard wonders of you from her friend and was dying to meet you, in true Allie drama club fashion. He doesn’t mind losing your company for the next forty minutes, as long as he gets to watch you have a good time.

“You’re staring, loverboy,” Hannah says, his head snapping out of it, turning away from you in her direction, then again at your mocking face. He smiles, embarrassed from getting caught. 

“Sorry, hard not to,” he says, getting an eyeroll from Allie and giggles from you, which he counts as a win. “Mind if I steal her back?”

He’s asking you, you can tell because his big eyes don’t move from your face, even when his demeanour does. You give him a small nod, and he offers you his hand.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Is that even a question?” he says, moving from the living room to the kitchen, pitstopping to grab two drinks and hand you one, his arm going back to your shoulders as he leads you to the backdoor, “Our place, obviously.”

You chuckle as he closes the door behind him, your usual bench still in its place, fairy lights very much the same. The sky isn’t as dark tonight, a blue tinted colour around the both of you mixing with the yellow glimmer that decorates the backyard. You sit, and he follows you. This time, he doesn’t leave much space, and you don’t mind his legs so close to yours as you rest your head against the brickwall. 

“Is it our place now?” You ask. 

Logan does a hand motion, gesturing for you to look around, “I don’t see anyone else here,” he says, “I don’t think I was even aware of this bench until I found you here.”

“So you’re saying this is my bench,” you joke. 

“I mean, feel free to get it engraved or something. As far as I’m concerned, this is yours,” he says. 

You laugh, fingers moving across the wooden armrest, “Thank you,” you say, your hand traveling over the bench, reaching until it meets his upper arm, “And thank you.”

He shrugs, moving his face so his chin gently touches your hand on his shoulder. You touch his face, caressing his cheek like you just did with the armrest, pulling him a bit closer.

“I know I’m supposed to ask you on a date,” he murmurs, “But is it okay if I ask for a kiss now?”

You chuckle, not giving him any response but your lips touching his gently. His hand goes to your other cheek as you kiss him, the first of many kisses that backyard bench gets to witness. You giggle as Logan’s hands in your face keep you in place, continuing to press quick kisses over your mouth and face.

“I might take you up on that engraving offer, you know?” You say, “I like this place. It’s sort of romantic.”

“Sort of romantic?” He asks, his voice muffled as he presses his lips against yours again, getting a smile from you. 

Logan might just carve your initials into that bench now, make it real romance, just for you.

notes: genuine question how do we feel about the dividers. also i believe this is my biggest john logan fic so far! thank you for reading and sorryyy it took me some extra time, i'd love to hear your thoughts on it! <3

"are you cold? should i turn the heater on?" he asks calmly, softly raking his nose along your calf. oh my god. he's so close to you- so, so so, so close. "no." your voice comes out tiny, but still sure, still certain.

"no?" logan repeats, his eyes flicking up to you.

"you're warm? you're good?" he slowly caresses your calves with both hands, thumbs rubbing over your kneecaps. his fingers are calloused, but still so safe, staunch, almost. like he's got you.

then, so light and soft you almost don't notice it, logan presses a kiss to your knee. the echo of his lips on your skin sounds so delicious. you feel the sparks building, the tension that has been palpable the moment your heated kiss transitioned into taking off your clothes.

"that okay, baby?" logan asks, his big eyes again peering up at you for your consent. you suck in a deep breath. "yes— yes, it's really good," you whisper with eager nods of your head.

and your body language is telling. logan had his fill of women in his bedroom, but with you it's different. he can see your tense shoulders, your fast breathing. the way you bite your lip at the fact you don't know what's coming.

that's the reason why he sits up, his hands coming up to rest on your shoulders. "hey- hey- easy, baby," he says, laughing gently in that lighthearted way. he drags his hands over your shoulders with weight, as if washing the tension off of you. "you're juuuust okay, right? you're the boss now, okay?"

he continues palming your shoulders, and a part of you thinks it really works. he really drags the stress, the anxious feelings away, only leaving behind a filter of comfort, of warmth. of knowing you're here, with the right person for you.

"you comfortable enough?" he questions then, reaching behind you to fluff up one of his pillows, placing a slow kiss to your forehead when he's close enough to your face. readjusting your oversized tee over your shoulders. and when you nod your head yes, he smiles. a little dopey.

"you gonna let me know if you aren't?" logan says pointedly, holding your chin between two fingers. you sigh out, "i will, loge. can you just-" you push his head down a little, not all the way between your thighs, but just enough for logan to get the hint. "get back to it-" you admit breathily, shyly smiling down at him.

"yes, ma'am," logan drags himself down, back to his spot between your legs. you flex your thighs open a bit more. "i'll just be here then." he presses another wet kiss to your other knee. a quick one to the side of your thigh. his thick brown hair tickles your skin as logan massages your legs while he prods his nose into your skin. he's holding your legs open with deliberate power, but light enough for you to close your legs if you wanted to.

the closer he gets to your pussy, the wetter you get. your hands clench around his sheets, all awkward and crampy. at this point, logan's halfway between your knees and pussy, already able to smell your arousal.

"logan- john, wha- what should— where do i put my hands?"

logan pulls his face from between your legs, looks up at you with his full attention. your jaw is slack, your hair a little messy from all the writhing you're doing against his pillow.

"you can put them here-" he takes your hands, puts them on his head, feeling the soft of his hair on your fingertips. "or here," he moves down more, your hands resting on the back of his head.

it is then, you realise that logan does it all for you. he takes it slow for you. you want to do something in return. "what do you like?"

"whatever you like, baby." logan shrugs, a crooked grin on his face.

eventually your hands settle on the back of his head, logan's head lowering between your thighs again. this time, he's closer to where you need him the most. you can already feel your pussy quivering under the thin cotton of your panties, a wet patch blossoming on the gusset.

still, logan keeps kissing your very inner thighs, occasionally pinching your skin between his teeth which makes you moan lowly. and you just can't take it anymore. truly. he's driving you crazy. you're not sure if this is the teasing they talk about in the bedroom, but you truly feel yourself going insane.

"logan- why aren't you-"

the brunet huffs lowly against your covered pussy.

"i'm not gonna take them off unless you ask for them to come off," he simply says without looking up, now blatantly ignoring your pussy, pushing up your tee instead to pepper kisses over your stomach. "you decide when what happens, baby."

"don't tease, john," you whine, tugging on the thick brown locks between your fingers out of desperation and slight frustration. you're frustrated because he's so respectful. everything accustomed to your tempo, your wants and comfort.

as if logan's sole job is to please you. the sudden tug on his hair makes him grunt, tongue rolling against the skin of your stomach. "that's good- keep doin' that."

your entrance clenches around nothing, and you draw the line there. "can you take them off, please, john?" just the feeling of his warm breath between your thighs turns you on.

logan releases a warm chuckle. he places one last, chaste kiss on your abdomen before hooking his thumbs under the elastic string of your underwear.

"see, baby?" he smiles, "that wasn't so hard..."

The bass from the bar's speakers thrums through your body as you take another shot, the burn of tequila barely registering anymore. Your friends' voices blend together in a cheerful haze and you nod along to whatever they're saying, though you've lost track of the conversation about ten minutes ago.

"I should probably head back," you slur, grabbing your purse from the sticky table. "It's not that far."

"We can call you an Uber!" your friend insists, but you wave her off.

"Nonsense, it's a nice night for a walk," you declare, swaying slightly as you stand. "I'll be fine!"

The cool night air hits your face as you step outside and you take a deep breath, convinced sobriety is just around the corner. The thirty-minute walk back to the hockey house seems totally doable, even as you struggle to walk in a straight line.

Halfway there, your heel catches on an uneven patch of sidewalk. You stumble forward, arms pinwheeling in a desperate attempt to regain balance before gravity wins. The impact knocks the air from your lungs as your head connects with the pavement.

"Ouch," you mutter, sitting up slowly. Your head feels... wet? But you're too drunk to process it properly, pushing yourself to your feet and continuing your journey with a new determination.

The lights of the house come into view and you fumble with the doorknob before finally stumbling inside.

"Whoa, what the...?" Garrett's voice cuts through the noise of the living room where several guys are gathered around the TV, video game controllers in hand.

All eyes turn to you and their expressions shift from casual interest to alarm.

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters, dropping his controller.

"What happened to you?" Tucker asks, rushing toward you.

You blink, confused by their reactions. "What? I'm fine!" you insist, though your words come out slightly slurred.

"Your face," Garrett says, his eyes wide. "You're bleeding."

You reach up to touch your cheek, your fingers coming away wet and dark. "Huh," you say, more curious than concerned. "I must have fallen."

Before anyone else can move, Logan is on his feet, his expression dark with concern as he pushes through the small crowd gathering around you.

"Everyone back off," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I've got her."

His hands are gentle as he steadies you, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes your stomach flutter despite your intoxicated state.

"You need to sit down," he says softly, guiding you toward the couch.

"I'm really okay," you insist, though you wobble slightly.

Logan's jaw tightens. "You're bleeding from your head. You're not okay."

He helps you sit, his touch careful and deliberate despite the urgency in his voice. "I'll get the first aid kit," he tells the others, his tone brooking no argument. "Nobody else touches her."

As he disappears toward the bathroom, you can hear the muffled whispers of his teammates, their concern palpable. When Logan returns, he's carrying a white box with a red cross, along with a wet washcloth and a towel.

"Here," he says softly, kneeling in front of you. "Let me see."

His fingers are gentle as he tilts your head, his touch sending shivers down your spine despite the circumstances. He carefully parts your hair, his expression tightening when he finds the source of the bleeding.

"It's not too deep," he reassures you, though his voice is strained. "But it's going to need to be cleaned properly."

The cool touch of the washcloth against your skin makes you wince and Logan immediately pauses.

"Sorry," he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

As he works, his focus is entirely on you, blocking out everything else in the room. His teammates have resumed their video game, though their attention keeps drifting back to your couch.

"You didn't notice you were bleeding?" Logan asks softly, dabbing at the wound.

You shake your head, then immediately regret it as the room spins slightly. "Too drunk to feel it, I guess."

A small smile touches Logan's lips, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "Typical. You're too stubborn for your own good."

"Hey!" you protest weakly.

His fingers trace the line of your jaw, his touch sending warmth through your body. "Let me take care of you," he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Please?"

You nod, unable to form words as he continues cleaning the wound, his touch impossibly gentle. When he's finished, he places a small bandage over the cut, his fingers lingering against your skin.

"There," he says softly. "All better."

"Thank you," you whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Logan's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. "Anytime," he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

The moment is broken by Dean's voice from across the room. "Hey, Logan, your turn!"

John glances over his shoulder, his expression tightening slightly. "I'm out."

"But we're winning!"

"I said I'm out," he repeats, his tone firm as he turns his attention back to you. "You should stay here tonight. I don't want you being home alone, especially not like this."

You want to protest, but the sincerity in his eyes stops you. "Okay," you agree softly.

John's shoulders relax slightly, but then he seems to reconsider. "You can sleep in my room," he says, his voice dropping lower. "If that's okay with you. You´ll be more comfortable in there."

You give him a greatful nod and vefore you know it, he's scooping you into his arms effortlessly, one arm behind your back and the other beneath your knees. You let out a small squeak of surprise, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Logan!" you protest weakly, though you secretly love being held by him like this.

"I've got you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he carries you toward the stairs. "Just relax."

As he ascends the stairs, his teammates' teasing whistles follow you, but Logan ignores them completely. His focus is entirely on you, his grip secure and steady.

"Hey," he says softly as he reaches the top of the stairs. "You should have called me. I would have picked you up."

"I didn't want to bother you," you mumble into his shoulder.

"You're never a bother," he insists, his voice firm. "Especially not when you've been drinking. I was worried sick when I saw you walk in like that."

He pushes open his bedroom door with his foot, carefully lowering you onto his bed. The room is tidy, with hockey posters on the walls and a faint scent of his cologne that makes your head spin in a different way now.

Logan kneels beside the bed, his hand gently brushing hair away from your face. "I was really scared seeing you like that," he admits softly. "All bloody and not even realizing it."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, reaching out to touch his cheek.

He catches your hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. "Just promise me you'll call next time. Okay?"

You nod, your heart fluttering at the intensity in his eyes. "I promise."

A small smile touches Logan's lips as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. "Good."

He moves to stand up, but you catch his sleeve. "Stay?" you ask, your voice barely audible.

Logan's expression softens, and he nods without hesitation. "Of course."

He kicks off his shoes and slides into bed beside you, carefully arranging the pillows and pulling the blanket over both of you. When you instinctively curl into his side, he wraps his arm around you, holding you close against his chest.

"Comfortable?" he asks softly.

You nod, your cheek resting against his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heart. "Very."