angst central

Logan’s movements fully halt, and he stops his hand from picking up another red solo cup from the floor. Everyone else in the house also freezes, heads turning to eagerly listen to whatever Logan has to say. Ever since the boys stood as eyewitness to his cruel behavior towards you a few weeks ago, they now have no idea what to expect from Logan.

Right now, he feels like a foreign specimen placed under a microscope for his friends to closely scrutinize. Surprisingly, he believes that he actually deserves it.

“I was gonna apologize,” Logan says quietly, eyes scanning over the streamers lying on the ground. “But Kendall interrupted us.”

For a while, everyone stays quiet, as if they’re absorbing Logan’s words, before Dean breaks the silence.

“Really?” He scoffs, blue eyes narrowing towards Logan, but he drops the judgy tone when seeing the look on Logan’s face. “Uh…well, that’s interesting.”

His reply irritates Logan, who just goes back to picking up trash and shoving them forcefully in the garbage bag. Luckily, everyone else notices the sudden change in his demeanor, so Tucker suggests that they step out and start tidying up the backyard.

Dean and Beau follow him out, but Garrett stays behind, leaning against the arm of the couch. He doesn’t even continue picking trash from the floor. He just watches at Logan with crossed arms.

Garrett’s stare only unnerves Logan even more.

“G, what do you want to say?” Logan sighs, garbage bag falling onto the floor as he rakes his hands through his hair. “What, do you not want to ‘poke the bear’ now or something? Just fucking say it.”

Sometime over the past few weeks, John quickly became aware of his friends’ newfound sentiment of him. It didn’t take a genius to detect their frustration. One time, he opened up the kitchen cupboard to find that someone had finished his cereal without telling him. And when he calmly asked his roommates if they’d finished the box, Dean retorted with an incredibly jackass answer.

“Shit, guys. I don’t think we should tell him who ate from his precious little cereal box. We don’t wanna accidentally poke the bear and make us his prey.”

John immediately stepped out of the kitchen before he could punch the fuckass smirk off of Dean’s face at seven thirty in the morning.

But in this moment, Logan’s surprised by the apparent lack of animosity in Garrett’s expression.

“Nothing, Logan,” Garrett states, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. I guess I wanted to make sure you two were alright.”

Both Logan and Garrett have somewhat repatched their relationship. When Logan admitted that he wasn’t fully over you, Garrett knew that his best friend was being sincere. Now, he knows that Logan is actively trying to let go of his pride.

“I mean, we’re definitely not alright,” Logan groans, his body dropping dropping onto the lounge chair across from Garrett. “Is it bad to say that…I don’t know, that I’m kind of glad that I didn’t apologize to her tonight? She was pretty drunk. It doesn’t feel right to have that conversation while she’s not sober.”

“Dude, that’s the most sane thing you’ve said in fucking ages.”

For the first time in a while, Logan lets out a small, but genuine laugh, which elicits a slight smile out of Garrett.

“So, I’m not going crazy anymore?”

“I fucking hope not,” Garrett quips, and Logan feels a tiny, featherlight weight being lifted off his chest. It feels good to finally joke around with his best friend.

He hates that his friends are treading lightly around him. But in a twisted yet ironic sort of fashion, the feeling is mutual. Logan himself is also walking on eggshells around his friends, because these past few weeks have turned him into a person that he no longer recognizes in the mirror.

Because every time you were brought up in a conversation, his skin would burn to a hundred degrees, regardless of the context. Whenever you were casually mentioned, even in the most neutral way possible, his mouth immediately shriveled up, and he always had to excuse himself from the room.

Anything and everything would trigger Logan, transporting him back to the night when you stared into his eyes and declared, with a ghastly level of certainty, that you had stopped loving him.

“When do you want to apologize to her?”

“Before the semester ends, at least. I don’t know where to meet her, though,” Logan admits, gnawing on his bottom lip. Initially, he planned on speaking with you after one of your home meets, but he doesn’t want to startle you.

You also haven’t been attending some of your competitions, which admittedly sets off a few alarms in his mind. You were never one to miss this many of your meets. In high school, he diligently attended as many meets as he could’ve, and he knows how seriously you take your craft. You were even selected for the Olympic trials in junior year.

However, Logan knows your “high school Y/N” better than “Briar University Y/N.” He doesn’t know how much he has missed over the past two years, and despite failing to process his hostility for the majority of that time, the lack of insight into your life has killed him.

Who knows how much you have changed since then?

“When working on our group project, Y/N told me that she’s still living at her old house in Munsen,” Garrett brainstorms out loud, his hand rubbing behind his neck. “I would suggest that you go there, but I don’t know if that’s going to be too much.”

The same one-story, brick walled bungalow with the tattered rocking chair on the front porch? The same house with your dad’s flourishing vegetable garden, along with the gazebo lined with fairy lights?

The same house where John planned his proposal to you?

His stomach painfully churns when the image of your house pops in his head. There’s no way that he could meet with you there.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’d be good for either of us,” Logan says with a crack in his voice that Garrett definitely hears. “Too much history there. But I really need to think of a place soon. I need to apologize for how I behaved towards her recently…and how I acted to her a few years ago, too.”

The sudden confession surprises both Logan and Garrett. The latter notices Logan’s downturned eyes and the deep frown on his face, and pushes himself off the arm of the couch, stepping closer towards his best friend.

“John, if you ever need to talk about what happened, I’m here,” Garrett asserts, voice rougher than usual. “You’re always welcome to talk to me about what she did.”

And Logan, failing for the millionth time this semester to control his emotions, lets out a mournful chuckle, feeling that familiar aching pressure on his heart.

“It’s not about what she did, actually. It’s about what she didn’t do.”

The following night, he dreams of you.

He swears on his mother’s life that he genuinely felt you lying down next to him. But unlike his other dreams, you were in his current full-size bed, and not his dingy childhood bedroom. Unlike what he initially believed, you were his present, and not his past.

“I’m sorry for everything,” You had whispered into his ear, your left palm tenderly brushing over his cheek. He shamelessly leaned into your touch, his face finding shelter in your hand. “I was stupid and I should’ve told you earlier. I hated walking away from you that night.”

Logan had instantly wrapped a protective hand around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him. He felt your heartbeat vibrating against his chest. He wanted to physically imprint that sensation on his body, marking himself as yours for life.

“Don’t worry about that, Y/N,” He murmured, moving his lips to your neck and relishing in the way you held your breath each time his kisses landed on your skin. “We’re together now. That’s what matters.”

Your signature playful grin had surfaced yet again, and Logan smiled when seeing the light in your eyes.

“So, I guess that means we have some missed time we have to make up for, huh?”

“Oh, I think I like the sound of that,” He saw the goosebumps trailing down your arms when his raspy voice tickled your skin. The teasing look in your eyes only spurred him on even more.

“I’m sorry, you ‘think’ you like the sound of that? Wow, so are you not sure—”

Logan had pressed his mouth to yours, savoring the sweet moan that emerged from your throat. He had no idea how long he stayed with his lips on yours, and he forced himself to pull away.

He had the audacity to smirk at how breathless you became.

“Baby, I’m pretty damn sure.”

He wakes up shortly afterwards, hands grasping his sheets as he searched for you. His eyes dart around his room to find a trace of you. Maybe he could find one of your diving one pieces, or your Padmé costume, or even a hair tie. Anything would suffice.

After a couple of minutes of searching for you in vain, Logan’s head slumps into his palms, elbows digging into his knees. He pulls at his hair as he chastises himself, wondering why he thought you would be in his bedroom of all places at 2:30 AM on a Monday.

His body suddenly carries himself to his closet, and once he opens the door, his eyes fall upon the cardboard box below him. Your full name, written clumsily by Logan with a black sharpie, stares right back at him, practically taunting him to just open the box.

With trembling hands, he rips a part of the cardboard.

He sees the small velvet box nestled cozily in the corner.

No.

Logan fiercely shoves the box away from him, shutting his closet door with a “thud” so loud, it could’ve awoken his roommates.

With erratic breaths and weak legs, he forces every muscle in his body to return back to his bed, desperately wanting to go back to sleep without dreaming of you.

But he automatically reaches for his phone, and naturally, as the self-proclaimed masochist that he is, he types your number on his keypad. Even though he immediately deleted your contact after you broke up with him, he still knows your phone number like the back of his hand. The ten digits are forever engraved in his brain. Hell, he memorized it as soon as you agreed to go on a date with him on the first day of ninth grade. And six years later, he continues to carry your number with him like a security blanket he refuses to go of.

Now, the number on his screen glares at him. He analyzes every digit, eyes squinting over the 508 area code that he also shares in his number.

The screen fades to black, showing a the logo of a dead battery. He makes no move to charge it.

On the Friday before Thanksgiving break, Tucker invites everyone over for a chill Friendsgiving before his roommates and friends leave Hastings to spend the break with their families. When Logan hears that Tucker invited you, he feels an overwhelming sense of both relief and dread. He finally has an opportunity to speak with you.

“You’re cool with Y/N now?” Tucker casually asks as he pulls some freshly baked bread from the oven, immediately swatting Dean’s hands away. The four roommates are around the kitchen island, assisting Tucker with his chef duties.

Logan stills on the counter, his knife pausing in place on top of the cutting board. But surprisingly, he recovers quite quickly.

“I guess. I want to make amends with her, at the very least,” He confesses, instinctively waiting for Dean to retort back at him. Shockingly enough, the blond only nods at him.

“That’s good. She’s a great person to talk to,” Garrett says, elbows leaning on the counter. “But, Kendall told me that Y/N hasn’t been hanging out with her and the rest of the team for the past few weeks. I don’t know, I guess I’m surprised that she agreed to come to Friendsgiving.”

That piece of information also unsettles Logan. In high school, you were the one dragging him to social events, repeatedly convincing him to let loose and “just have a little fun, John.” Even with your family struggles, you always said “yes” to every invite, always ensuring someone’s birthday party or pre-game into your busy schedule. To this day, Logan doesn’t know how the fuck you balanced it all.

“If there’s anything that this past year has shown me, it’s that life is so fucking short, Johnny. I never want to take anything for granted,” You had explained to him at a party your classmate had thrown to celebrate the end of the tenth grade school year. “It’s up to ourselves to make the most out of our shitty lives. How else can we continue to keep on living?”

“Wow, babe, you should put that on a Hallmark card,” He had joked, taking a sip of his beer. He waited for you to give him a smartass response. But the sincerity in your voice proved him otherwise.

“I mean it, John. I’m sick of surviving. I’m only sixteen and I just want to live. And I have the best person by my side to do it with.”

Your words completely melted him.

Logan still holds a lot of admiration for you. A pit grows deeper in his stomach after hearing how much you have changed since then.

“She’s been going to her meets, though. Right, Garrett?” Tucker asks, beginning to slice the bread. Logan still hasn’t picked up his knife yet.

“Yeah, she has. She’s gone to all of them in November, so that’s good.”

“It’s not like her to have missed this many in a row,” Logan mutters quietly to himself, forgetting that he isn’t alone in the kitchen. Garrett slides closer to him.

“It’s definitely strange, but it seems like she’s back on track. We haven’t been to her meets in a while, though. There’s one coming up against Eastland after the break.”

“Oh, we’re definitely going,” Dean chimes in, swiftly stealing a slice of bread when Tucker’s back is turned away. “Beau also told me that there’s some Olympic coaches going to that meet in particular. Something about selecting divers for the Olympic trials.”

“If she’s selected, then it’ll be her second time making it to the trials,” Logan says, allowing himself to feel some sort of pride for you. “She wasn’t selected for the Olympic team that year, but she was only sixteen.”

“Still, that’s impressive as fuck,” Dean emphasizes, and for maybe the first time in their years of knowing each other, Logan finally agreed on something with Dean. “We should go.”

“Are you going to bring Allie with you as well?” Garrett smirks at the blond, and Logan feels that familiar, wonderful sensation of satisfaction crawling up his spine whenever Dean blushes in front of the guys.

He stumbles over his words for a good minute, and Logan’s smile only widens. He missed engaging in this banter with his roommates, especially when the banter comes at Dean’s expense.

“I mean, I don’t know if that’s appropriate,” Dean shrugs, beginning to walk away from the kitchen. “I asked Y/N out. I don’t know how Allie would feel knowing we’re going not to see the other divers, but to see Y/N specifically.”

“Bro, I cannot believe those words fell out your mouth,” Garrett laughs, shaking his head at Dean. Logan joins in on the laughter, and he’s secretly proud of himself that he didn’t freak out at the mere mention of Dean asking you out several weeks ago.

“Yeah, I think we entered another dimension or something,” Logan quips, to which Dean responds by raising both of his middle fingers.

Meanwhile, Tucker stands near the cutting board, clearly frustrated with how Logan just abandoned his incredibly simple task of slicing the carrots.

“Gentlemen! Get back to work, for fuck’s sake. Our guests are arriving in two hours,” Tucker yells at them, and before turning back towards the counter, he narrows his eyes at Dean. “And blue eyes, I know your greedy ass stole a fucking slice from my Sourdough loaf.”

Logan spends the following two hours submitting to Tucker’s demands, scouring his closet for a decent shirt to wear, and pacing his room at a hundred miles per hour. He’s been waiting to talk to you, to apologize to you, but he can’t seem to get any of his thoughts together. He wrote some of his thoughts down on a notepad, but scratched every single one of them out.

Y/N, I don’t think I’m completely over you.

When Dean said that he wanted to ask you out, I debated on slicing his head open with a guillotine. I still might. Just give me the word.

I’m so fucking sorry for how I treated you. That was so fucking fucked up. I’m such a fuck up. But you fucked me up first—

Yeah, Logan was clearly struggling on how to word his apology in a way that was fair both to you and to him. He wants to acknowledge the hurt he caused you while also tending to his own wounds.

“Where the fuck is everybody?” He hears Tucker shout from downstairs. “People are coming over now, so you better get your asses down—oh fuck, someone’s at the door.”

Logan’s heart drops when hearing Tucker’s last sentence, glaring at himself in the mirror. His hair is messy. His shirt is wrinkled. His eyebags are atrocious.

But he would hate to keep you waiting downstairs, so he pulls on a simple flannel and heads down before Tucker could yell at him again.

His chest pounds with an unbearable ache as he walks down, preparing himself to see you for the first time since Halloween.

But amidst everyone, he doesn’t see you.

“Logan! What’s up?” Kendall goes to give him a side hug, which he reciprocates, but his eyes are locked on the front door the entire time.

“Hey, Kendall. Wasn’t Y/N coming with you guys?”

“Oh, um,” She stutters, which increases Logan’s anxiety tenfold. “She called me an hour ago saying she had to take care of an emergency, and that she’ll try to make it later.”

“Shit, that doesn’t sound good,” Dean says from behind her, pointedly looking at Logan to gauge his reaction.

Logan tries to keep his face from falling, but he fails, miserably. Kendall notices, and tilts her head at him.

“Um, was there something you needed to talk to her about?”

His eyes widen, and he begins to stumble over his words, because while all of his roommates know about his past with you, he still doesn’t know if Kendall is in the loop as well.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a personal matter,” Logan finally manages to say, voice dropping at the end of his sentence. Luckily, Kendall doesn’t persist, only giving him a certain look that he can’t understand.

Thirty minutes pass, and you still haven’t showed up. Logan is trying his best to engage in the conversations on the couch, but he often wanders off mid-sentence, his head occupied with thoughts of you.

Why is she not here?

When he ambles towards the kitchen to grab a much-needed bottle of beer, his body freezes when seeing Garrett and Beau huddled closely together, whispering intensely.

He swears he hears your name.

“Everything good here?”

His voice clearly startles both of them as they jump apart from each other, fervently shaking their heads.

Logan clears his throat. “You sure? Also, when did you get here, Beau?”

“Oh, I just came here a bit before the girls to help Tuck with the cooking,” The brunet quickly clarifies, eyes wandering over the place. Garrett’s glancing at the ground, which confuses Logan even more.

“G, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Garrett contends, using his captain voice. Logan’s hands feel numb as he grips the kitchen counter.

“Are you sure? Because I swear I heard—”

“Jesus, Logan, it’s nothing. Drop it,” Garrett repeats with a stony look in his eyes, walking out of the kitchen. Logan exchanges a look with Beau, who only raises his hands in defense.

Tucker’s voice abruptly booms across the house as he announces that “y’all, dinner is finally fucking ready.”

Everyone clusters around the dining room table, commenting and praising Tucker at the absolute fierce he’s prepared. Garrett and Beau join in on the conversation, but Logan’s still glaring at both of them. Unfortunately, the two boys ignore his stares. He taps his fingers restlessly on his plate.

What is going on?

Everything begins to fall apart before dinner even starts.

As Nour is scrolling on her phone before eating, she gasps loudly, and everyone whips their heads towards her.

“Oh my God,” She mutters under her breath. Lexi, another one of your diving teammates, glances at Nour’s screen, and her eyes widen in response. “Holy shit.”

Garrett and Beau visibly stiffen, shoulders as rigid as boards. Sweat slowly drips down on Logan’s neck, despite it being almost winter in Massachusetts.

“What’s happening?”

Nour looks up from her phone, voice shaky as she tries to reply to Logan. “Y/N—”

“No,” Garrett asserts, drawing in a sharp inhale from his nose. “Don’t say anything.”

“Say anything about what?” Logan snaps at Garrett, fingers still trembling.

“It’s none of our business,” Beau states in a calmer voice, trying to ease some of the tension. “Guys, just stay off of Instagram.”

Naturally, Logan reaches for his phone, which Garrett swipes from his grasp. Logan’s jaw drops before his hands curl into fists.

“Garrett, if you don’t fucking tell me what’s going on, I swear to God—”

“Okay!” He yells, pinching the bridge of his nose. Garrett then grabs his arm, and turns to the rest of the group. “I’m talking to him privately. Beau, update the others.”

Everyone at the table ogles at the two of them. Logan doesn’t see them, though, because Garrett drags him upstairs. As soon as the door shuts in Garrett’s bedroom, Logan tears himself off of Garrett’s grasp, face practically murderous.

“You have to talk to me privately? Are you guys scared of my reaction or something? I thought we were fucking past that—”

“John, shut up and listen to me,” Garrett spits out, hands pressed on his hips. “This is serious. We were going to tell you after dinner, I swear.”

Logan backs away until his back forcefully hits the door, his chest heaving. He leans his body against the wood and his fingers dip crescents into his scalp.

“Just tell me, G.”

“We know why she’s back here.”

Logan’s breath escapes him, his right hand clutching the doorknob. The finality in Garrett’s voice terrifies Logan more than the words he uttered.

“Her dad has cancer.”

The ringing in Logan’s ears fades, leaving him stuck in a nauseating silence.

Oh my God.

“Again?”

Logan’s reply drains the color out of Garrett’s face. “What do you mean ‘again?’”

There’s no way.

And when Logan’s grip on the doorknob loosens, his best friend rushes to clutch his shoulders before he hits the ground.

“John, what do you mean by ‘again?’”

His bottom lip is shaking uncontrollably, and he blubbers as he tries to get the words out.

“The summer before tenth grade. He, um…he had pancreatic cancer. Stage III,” The words come out as a whisper as Logan’s head hangs down, and if Garrett wasn’t actively holding his best friend right now, he wouldn’t have heard him at all. “But, he…God, he pulled off a miracle recovery. He was in remission. He was doing great.”

Garrett remains quiet as he watches the tears swarm violently down Logan’s cheeks, noticing how he shakes his head “no.”

I’m such an asshole.

“I guess it came back and got worse,” Garrett mutters, his grip unwavering on Logan’s shoulders.

Suddenly, Logan lifts his head back up, bloodshot eyes meeting Garrett’s.

“Wait,” He gasps, trying to get just a sliver of air, and whimpers miserably. “Why do you know this? How do you know this?”

Garrett draws his lips into a thin line, his hand letting go of Logan to drag a hand over his face.

“Yeah, that’s the reason I wanted to tell you after dinner,” He explains, clearing his throat. “Before I show you, I want to you to know that we’re handling the situation. We reported the post and some tech specialist in Beau’s frat is working to take down the post as quickly as possible—”

Logan’s veins are about to burst from his neck.

“What post?”

Garrett sighs, unlocking his phone and showing Logan a screenshot of an Instagram post.

Logan immediately spots the “Munsen Hospice Center” sign at the top of the building. He recognizes you outside of the building, pushing a wheelchair with your dad inside it.

The scream he lets out is loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Logan’s movements fully halt, and he stops his hand from picking up another red solo cup from the floor. Everyone else in the house also freezes, heads turning to eagerly listen to whatever Logan has to say. Ever since the boys stood as eyewitness to his cruel behavior towards you a few weeks ago, they now have no idea what to expect from Logan.

Right now, he feels like a foreign specimen placed under a microscope for his friends to closely scrutinize. Surprisingly, he believes that he actually deserves it.

“I was gonna apologize,” Logan says quietly, eyes scanning over the streamers lying on the ground. “But Kendall interrupted us.”

For a while, everyone stays quiet, as if they’re absorbing Logan’s words, before Dean breaks the silence.

“Really?” He scoffs, blue eyes narrowing towards Logan, but he drops the judgy tone when seeing the look on Logan’s face. “Uh…well, that’s interesting.”

His reply irritates Logan, who just goes back to picking up trash and shoving them forcefully in the garbage bag. Luckily, everyone else notices the sudden change in his demeanor, so Tucker suggests that they step out and start tidying up the backyard.

Dean and Beau follow him out, but Garrett stays behind, leaning against the arm of the couch. He doesn’t even continue picking trash from the floor. He just watches at Logan with crossed arms.

Garrett’s stare only unnerves Logan even more.

“G, what do you want to say?” Logan sighs, garbage bag falling onto the floor as he rakes his hands through his hair. “What, do you not want to ‘poke the bear’ now or something? Just fucking say it.”

Sometime over the past few weeks, John quickly became aware of his friends’ newfound sentiment of him. It didn’t take a genius to detect their frustration. One time, he opened up the kitchen cupboard to find that someone had finished his cereal without telling him. And when he calmly asked his roommates if they’d finished the box, Dean retorted with an incredibly jackass answer.

“Shit, guys. I don’t think we should tell him who ate from his precious little cereal box. We don’t wanna accidentally poke the bear and make us his prey.”

John immediately stepped out of the kitchen before he could punch the fuckass smirk off of Dean’s face at seven thirty in the morning.

But in this moment, Logan’s surprised by the apparent lack of animosity in Garrett’s expression.

“Nothing, Logan,” Garrett states, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. I guess I wanted to make sure you two were alright.”

Both Logan and Garrett have somewhat repatched their relationship. When Logan admitted that he wasn’t fully over you, Garrett knew that his best friend was being sincere. Now, he knows that Logan is actively trying to let go of his pride.

“I mean, we’re definitely not alright,” Logan groans, his body dropping dropping onto the lounge chair across from Garrett. “Is it bad to say that…I don’t know, that I’m kind of glad that I didn’t apologize to her tonight? She was pretty drunk. It doesn’t feel right to have that conversation while she’s not sober.”

“Dude, that’s the most sane thing you’ve said in fucking ages.”

For the first time in a while, Logan lets out a small, but genuine laugh, which elicits a slight smile out of Garrett.

“So, I’m not going crazy anymore?”

“I fucking hope not,” Garrett quips, and Logan feels a tiny, featherlight weight being lifted off his chest. It feels good to finally joke around with his best friend.

He hates that his friends are treading lightly around him. But in a twisted yet ironic sort of fashion, the feeling is mutual. Logan himself is also walking on eggshells around his friends, because these past few weeks have turned him into a person that he no longer recognizes in the mirror.

Because every time you were brought up in a conversation, his skin would burn to a hundred degrees, regardless of the context. Whenever you were casually mentioned, even in the most neutral way possible, his mouth immediately shriveled up, and he always had to excuse himself from the room.

Anything and everything would trigger Logan, transporting him back to the night when you stared into his eyes and declared, with a ghastly level of certainty, that you had stopped loving him.

“When do you want to apologize to her?”

“Before the semester ends, at least. I don’t know where to meet her, though,” Logan admits, gnawing on his bottom lip. Initially, he planned on speaking with you after one of your home meets, but he doesn’t want to startle you.

You also haven’t been attending some of your competitions, which admittedly sets off a few alarms in his mind. You were never one to miss this many of your meets. In high school, he diligently attended as many meets as he could’ve, and he knows how seriously you take your craft. You were even selected for the Olympic trials in junior year.

However, Logan knows your “high school Y/N” better than “Briar University Y/N.” He doesn’t know how much he has missed over the past two years, and despite failing to process his hostility for the majority of that time, the lack of insight into your life has killed him.

Who knows how much you have changed since then?

“When working on our group project, Y/N told me that she’s still living at her old house in Munsen,” Garrett brainstorms out loud, his hand rubbing behind his neck. “I would suggest that you go there, but I don’t know if that’s going to be too much.”

The same one-story, brick walled bungalow with the tattered rocking chair on the front porch? The same house with your dad’s flourishing vegetable garden, along with the gazebo lined with fairy lights?

The same house where John planned his proposal to you?

His stomach painfully churns when the image of your house pops in his head. There’s no way that he could meet with you there.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’d be good for either of us,” Logan says with a crack in his voice that Garrett definitely hears. “Too much history there. But I really need to think of a place soon. I need to apologize for how I behaved towards her recently…and how I acted to her a few years ago, too.”

The sudden confession surprises both Logan and Garrett. The latter notices Logan’s downturned eyes and the deep frown on his face, and pushes himself off the arm of the couch, stepping closer towards his best friend.

“John, if you ever need to talk about what happened, I’m here,” Garrett asserts, voice rougher than usual. “You’re always welcome to talk to me about what she did.”

And Logan, failing for the millionth time this semester to control his emotions, lets out a mournful chuckle, feeling that familiar aching pressure on his heart.

“It’s not about what she did, actually. It’s about what she didn’t do.”

The following night, he dreams of you.

He swears on his mother’s life that he genuinely felt you lying down next to him. But unlike his other dreams, you were in his current full-size bed, and not his dingy childhood bedroom. Unlike what he initially believed, you were his present, and not his past.

“I’m sorry for everything,” You had whispered into his ear, your left palm tenderly brushing over his cheek. He shamelessly leaned into your touch, his face finding shelter in your hand. “I was stupid and I should’ve told you earlier. I hated walking away from you that night.”

Logan had instantly wrapped a protective hand around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him. He felt your heartbeat vibrating against his chest. He wanted to physically imprint that sensation on his body, marking himself as yours for life.

“Don’t worry about that, Y/N,” He murmured, moving his lips to your neck and relishing in the way you held your breath each time his kisses landed on your skin. “We’re together now. That’s what matters.”

Your signature playful grin had surfaced yet again, and Logan smiled when seeing the light in your eyes.

“So, I guess that means we have some missed time we have to make up for, huh?”

“Oh, I think I like the sound of that,” He saw the goosebumps trailing down your arms when his raspy voice tickled your skin. The teasing look in your eyes only spurred him on even more.

“I’m sorry, you ‘think’ you like the sound of that? Wow, so are you not sure—”

Logan had pressed his mouth to yours, savoring the sweet moan that emerged from your throat. He had no idea how long he stayed with his lips on yours, and he forced himself to pull away.

He had the audacity to smirk at how breathless you became.

“Baby, I’m pretty damn sure.”

He wakes up shortly afterwards, hands grasping his sheets as he searched for you. His eyes dart around his room to find a trace of you. Maybe he could find one of your diving one pieces, or your Padmé costume, or even a hair tie. Anything would suffice.

After a couple of minutes of searching for you in vain, Logan’s head slumps into his palms, elbows digging into his knees. He pulls at his hair as he chastises himself, wondering why he thought you would be in his bedroom of all places at 2:30 AM on a Monday.

His body suddenly carries himself to his closet, and once he opens the door, his eyes fall upon the cardboard box below him. Your full name, written clumsily by Logan with a black sharpie, stares right back at him, practically taunting him to just open the box.

With trembling hands, he rips a part of the cardboard.

He sees the small velvet box nestled cozily in the corner.

No.

Logan fiercely shoves the box away from him, shutting his closet door with a “thud” so loud, it could’ve awoken his roommates.

With erratic breaths and weak legs, he forces every muscle in his body to return back to his bed, desperately wanting to go back to sleep without dreaming of you.

But he automatically reaches for his phone, and naturally, as the self-proclaimed masochist that he is, he types your number on his keypad. Even though he immediately deleted your contact after you broke up with him, he still knows your phone number like the back of his hand. The ten digits are forever engraved in his brain. Hell, he memorized it as soon as you agreed to go on a date with him on the first day of ninth grade. And six years later, he continues to carry your number with him like a security blanket he refuses to go of.

Now, the number on his screen glares at him. He analyzes every digit, eyes squinting over the 508 area code that he also shares in his number.

The screen fades to black, showing a the logo of a dead battery. He makes no move to charge it.

On the Friday before Thanksgiving break, Tucker invites everyone over for a chill Friendsgiving before his roommates and friends leave Hastings to spend the break with their families. When Logan hears that Tucker invited you, he feels an overwhelming sense of both relief and dread. He finally has an opportunity to speak with you.

“You’re cool with Y/N now?” Tucker casually asks as he pulls some freshly baked bread from the oven, immediately swatting Dean’s hands away. The four roommates are around the kitchen island, assisting Tucker with his chef duties.

Logan stills on the counter, his knife pausing in place on top of the cutting board. But surprisingly, he recovers quite quickly.

“I guess. I want to make amends with her, at the very least,” He confesses, instinctively waiting for Dean to retort back at him. Shockingly enough, the blond only nods at him.

“That’s good. She’s a great person to talk to,” Garrett says, elbows leaning on the counter. “But, Kendall told me that Y/N hasn’t been hanging out with her and the rest of the team for the past few weeks. I don’t know, I guess I’m surprised that she agreed to come to Friendsgiving.”

That piece of information also unsettles Logan. In high school, you were the one dragging him to social events, repeatedly convincing him to let loose and “just have a little fun, John.” Even with your family struggles, you always said “yes” to every invite, always ensuring someone’s birthday party or pre-game into your busy schedule. To this day, Logan doesn’t know how the fuck you balanced it all.

“If there’s anything that this past year has shown me, it’s that life is so fucking short, Johnny. I never want to take anything for granted,” You had explained to him at a party your classmate had thrown to celebrate the end of the tenth grade school year. “It’s up to ourselves to make the most out of our shitty lives. How else can we continue to keep on living?”

“Wow, babe, you should put that on a Hallmark card,” He had joked, taking a sip of his beer. He waited for you to give him a smartass response. But the sincerity in your voice proved him otherwise.

“I mean it, John. I’m sick of surviving. I’m only sixteen and I just want to live. And I have the best person by my side to do it with.”

Your words completely melted him.

Logan still holds a lot of admiration for you. A pit grows deeper in his stomach after hearing how much you have changed since then.

“She’s been going to her meets, though. Right, Garrett?” Tucker asks, beginning to slice the bread. Logan still hasn’t picked up his knife yet.

“Yeah, she has. She’s gone to all of them in November, so that’s good.”

“It’s not like her to have missed this many in a row,” Logan mutters quietly to himself, forgetting that he isn’t alone in the kitchen. Garrett slides closer to him.

“It’s definitely strange, but it seems like she’s back on track. We haven’t been to her meets in a while, though. There’s one coming up against Eastland after the break.”

“Oh, we’re definitely going,” Dean chimes in, swiftly stealing a slice of bread when Tucker’s back is turned away. “Beau also told me that there’s some Olympic coaches going to that meet in particular. Something about selecting divers for the Olympic trials.”

“If she’s selected, then it’ll be her second time making it to the trials,” Logan says, allowing himself to feel some sort of pride for you. “She wasn’t selected for the Olympic team that year, but she was only sixteen.”

“Still, that’s impressive as fuck,” Dean emphasizes, and for maybe the first time in their years of knowing each other, Logan finally agreed on something with Dean. “We should go.”

“Are you going to bring Allie with you as well?” Garrett smirks at the blond, and Logan feels that familiar, wonderful sensation of satisfaction crawling up his spine whenever Dean blushes in front of the guys.

He stumbles over his words for a good minute, and Logan’s smile only widens. He missed engaging in this banter with his roommates, especially when the banter comes at Dean’s expense.

“I mean, I don’t know if that’s appropriate,” Dean shrugs, beginning to walk away from the kitchen. “I asked Y/N out. I don’t know how Allie would feel knowing we’re going not to see the other divers, but to see Y/N specifically.”

“Bro, I cannot believe those words fell out your mouth,” Garrett laughs, shaking his head at Dean. Logan joins in on the laughter, and he’s secretly proud of himself that he didn’t freak out at the mere mention of Dean asking you out several weeks ago.

“Yeah, I think we entered another dimension or something,” Logan quips, to which Dean responds by raising both of his middle fingers.

Meanwhile, Tucker stands near the cutting board, clearly frustrated with how Logan just abandoned his incredibly simple task of slicing the carrots.

“Gentlemen! Get back to work, for fuck’s sake. Our guests are arriving in two hours,” Tucker yells at them, and before turning back towards the counter, he narrows his eyes at Dean. “And blue eyes, I know your greedy ass stole a fucking slice from my Sourdough loaf.”

Logan spends the following two hours submitting to Tucker’s demands, scouring his closet for a decent shirt to wear, and pacing his room at a hundred miles per hour. He’s been waiting to talk to you, to apologize to you, but he can’t seem to get any of his thoughts together. He wrote some of his thoughts down on a notepad, but scratched every single one of them out.

Y/N, I don’t think I’m completely over you.

When Dean said that he wanted to ask you out, I debated on slicing his head open with a guillotine. I still might. Just give me the word.

I’m so fucking sorry for how I treated you. That was so fucking fucked up. I’m such a fuck up. But you fucked me up first—

Yeah, Logan was clearly struggling on how to word his apology in a way that was fair both to you and to him. He wants to acknowledge the hurt he caused you while also tending to his own wounds.

“Where the fuck is everybody?” He hears Tucker shout from downstairs. “People are coming over now, so you better get your asses down—oh fuck, someone’s at the door.”

Logan’s heart drops when hearing Tucker’s last sentence, glaring at himself in the mirror. His hair is messy. His shirt is wrinkled. His eyebags are atrocious.

But he would hate to keep you waiting downstairs, so he pulls on a simple flannel and heads down before Tucker could yell at him again.

His chest pounds with an unbearable ache as he walks down, preparing himself to see you for the first time since Halloween.

But amidst everyone, he doesn’t see you.

“Logan! What’s up?” Kendall goes to give him a side hug, which he reciprocates, but his eyes are locked on the front door the entire time.

“Hey, Kendall. Wasn’t Y/N coming with you guys?”

“Oh, um,” She stutters, which increases Logan’s anxiety tenfold. “She called me an hour ago saying she had to take care of an emergency, and that she’ll try to make it later.”

“Shit, that doesn’t sound good,” Dean says from behind her, pointedly looking at Logan to gauge his reaction.

Logan tries to keep his face from falling, but he fails, miserably. Kendall notices, and tilts her head at him.

“Um, was there something you needed to talk to her about?”

His eyes widen, and he begins to stumble over his words, because while all of his roommates know about his past with you, he still doesn’t know if Kendall is in the loop as well.

“Yeah, it’s kind of a personal matter,” Logan finally manages to say, voice dropping at the end of his sentence. Luckily, Kendall doesn’t persist, only giving him a certain look that he can’t understand.

Thirty minutes pass, and you still haven’t showed up. Logan is trying his best to engage in the conversations on the couch, but he often wanders off mid-sentence, his head occupied with thoughts of you.

Why is she not here?

When he ambles towards the kitchen to grab a much-needed bottle of beer, his body freezes when seeing Garrett and Beau huddled closely together, whispering intensely.

He swears he hears your name.

“Everything good here?”

His voice clearly startles both of them as they jump apart from each other, fervently shaking their heads.

Logan clears his throat. “You sure? Also, when did you get here, Beau?”

“Oh, I just came here a bit before the girls to help Tuck with the cooking,” The brunet quickly clarifies, eyes wandering over the place. Garrett’s glancing at the ground, which confuses Logan even more.

“G, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” Garrett contends, using his captain voice. Logan’s hands feel numb as he grips the kitchen counter.

“Are you sure? Because I swear I heard—”

“Jesus, Logan, it’s nothing. Drop it,” Garrett repeats with a stony look in his eyes, walking out of the kitchen. Logan exchanges a look with Beau, who only raises his hands in defense.

Tucker’s voice abruptly booms across the house as he announces that “y’all, dinner is finally fucking ready.”

Everyone clusters around the dining room table, commenting and praising Tucker at the absolute fierce he’s prepared. Garrett and Beau join in on the conversation, but Logan’s still glaring at both of them. Unfortunately, the two boys ignore his stares. He taps his fingers restlessly on his plate.

What is going on?

Everything begins to fall apart before dinner even starts.

As Nour is scrolling on her phone before eating, she gasps loudly, and everyone whips their heads towards her.

“Oh my God,” She mutters under her breath. Lexi, another one of your diving teammates, glances at Nour’s screen, and her eyes widen in response. “Holy shit.”

Garrett and Beau visibly stiffen, shoulders as rigid as boards. Sweat slowly drips down on Logan’s neck, despite it being almost winter in Massachusetts.

“What’s happening?”

Nour looks up from her phone, voice shaky as she tries to reply to Logan. “Y/N—”

“No,” Garrett asserts, drawing in a sharp inhale from his nose. “Don’t say anything.”

“Say anything about what?” Logan snaps at Garrett, fingers still trembling.

“It’s none of our business,” Beau states in a calmer voice, trying to ease some of the tension. “Guys, just stay off of Instagram.”

Naturally, Logan reaches for his phone, which Garrett swipes from his grasp. Logan’s jaw drops before his hands curl into fists.

“Garrett, if you don’t fucking tell me what’s going on, I swear to God—”

“Okay!” He yells, pinching the bridge of his nose. Garrett then grabs his arm, and turns to the rest of the group. “I’m talking to him privately. Beau, update the others.”

Everyone at the table ogles at the two of them. Logan doesn’t see them, though, because Garrett drags him upstairs. As soon as the door shuts in Garrett’s bedroom, Logan tears himself off of Garrett’s grasp, face practically murderous.

“You have to talk to me privately? Are you guys scared of my reaction or something? I thought we were fucking past that—”

“John, shut up and listen to me,” Garrett spits out, hands pressed on his hips. “This is serious. We were going to tell you after dinner, I swear.”

Logan backs away until his back forcefully hits the door, his chest heaving. He leans his body against the wood and his fingers dip crescents into his scalp.

“Just tell me, G.”

“We know why she’s back here.”

Logan’s breath escapes him, his right hand clutching the doorknob. The finality in Garrett’s voice terrifies Logan more than the words he uttered.

“Her dad has cancer.”

The ringing in Logan’s ears fades, leaving him stuck in a nauseating silence.

Oh my God.

“Again?”

Logan’s reply drains the color out of Garrett’s face. “What do you mean ‘again?’”

There’s no way.

And when Logan’s grip on the doorknob loosens, his best friend rushes to clutch his shoulders before he hits the ground.

“John, what do you mean by ‘again?’”

His bottom lip is shaking uncontrollably, and he blubbers as he tries to get the words out.

“The summer before tenth grade. He, um…he had pancreatic cancer. Stage III,” The words come out as a whisper as Logan’s head hangs down, and if Garrett wasn’t actively holding his best friend right now, he wouldn’t have heard him at all. “But, he…God, he pulled off a miracle recovery. He was in remission. He was doing great.”

Garrett remains quiet as he watches the tears swarm violently down Logan’s cheeks, noticing how he shakes his head “no.”

I’m such an asshole.

“I guess it came back and got worse,” Garrett mutters, his grip unwavering on Logan’s shoulders.

Suddenly, Logan lifts his head back up, bloodshot eyes meeting Garrett’s.

“Wait,” He gasps, trying to get just a sliver of air, and whimpers miserably. “Why do you know this? How do you know this?”

Garrett draws his lips into a thin line, his hand letting go of Logan to drag a hand over his face.

“Yeah, that’s the reason I wanted to tell you after dinner,” He explains, clearing his throat. “Before I show you, I want to you to know that we’re handling the situation. We reported the post and some tech specialist in Beau’s frat is working to take down the post as quickly as possible—”

Logan’s veins are about to burst from his neck.

“What post?”

Garrett sighs, unlocking his phone and showing Logan a screenshot of an Instagram post.

Logan immediately spots the “Munsen Hospice Center” sign at the top of the building. He recognizes you outside of the building, pushing a wheelchair with your dad inside it.

The scream he lets out is loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.