— Never Mind, You Were Never Mine
The Master list, Part 1, Part 2
Pairing: John Logan x Fem!Reader
Summary: Everybody knew about you and Logan. After a messy breakup, moving on was supposed to be easy. It would've been... If you could stop finding each other in every little thing.
Inspired by "Life time (reimagined) " by Ben&Ben.
Warnings: Exes to lovers • mutual pining • angst with a hopeful ending • yearning • unresolved feelings • emotional slow burn • mentions of alcohol • heartbreak • and Tucker deciding he's qualified to play cupid.
Author's Note: You guys actually liked Part 2?? Thank you so much!!
So here's Part 3! This one kind of broke my heart while writing it, but I finally caved and gave in to the angst. (Don't worry... Tucker is about to save us all.)
As always, thank you for reading! If you notice any grammar mistakes, feel free to point them out—English isn't my first language. Hope you enjoy! (^///^)
Last night had become nothing more than a blur. A haze of cheap vodka, off-key singing, and drunken philosophy that Hannah and Garrett had been forced to endure while Allie laughed herself breathless. You'd rather not remember any of it. Unfortunately, your pounding headache had other plans. Morning sunlight seeped through the thin curtains of your dorm room, painting bright streaks across the ceiling. You groaned, burying your face deeper into your pillow as your head throbbed in protest.
Hungover. Never again. At least, that's what you'd promised yourself the last three times. You shifted beneath the blankets, still caught somewhere between dreaming and waking, instinctively reaching toward the empty side of the bed. "Loge...?" The nickname slipped from your lips before you were even fully awake. Your hand met nothing but cold sheets.
Your eyes fluttered open. For a brief, cruel moment, you forgot. Forgot that Logan wasn't there. Forgot that he hadn't been there for months. Forgot that there was no sleepy smile waiting for you, no lazy "Morning, baby," no warm hand reaching back for yours. Only an empty bed. A humorless laugh escaped your lips.
Funny. Once upon a time, Logan would've been there.. Would've. Now he was just another habit you couldn't seem to break.
You hadn't realized how long you'd been staring at the wall until a gentle knock echoed through the room. "Y/n?" Allie's voice came from the other side of the door. "Babe? You okay?" You blinked, your gaze finally pulling away from the blank wall in front of you. "...Yeah," you called back, though your voice sounded far less convincing than you'd hoped. Silence settled over the room again.
And just like that, your mind wandered back to him. Logan. The way he'd looked last night. The way he'd smiled from across the room. The way he'd seemed... happy. Your chest tightened. Fuck. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the memories away, but they kept replaying anyway. His laugh. His smile. The brief moment your eyes met during rehearsal. The way he'd looked at you as if he wanted to say something—but never did. You let out a shaky breath and buried your face in your hands. You'd promised yourself you were done thinking about him. Turns out your heart hadn't gotten the memo.
By the time your first class rolled around, the worst of your hangover had faded into a dull ache behind your eyes. The one in your chest hadn't. Morning sunlight streamed through the lecture hall windows, dust motes drifting lazily through the beams as students filtered inside. The room buzzed with sleepy conversations, the scrape of chairs, and the occasional yawn from someone who'd clearly made the same poor decisions you had the night before.
You barely noticed any of it. Your notebook lay open in front of you, untouched. You'd been staring at the same sentence for nearly five minutes. "Either that's the most interesting page in history..." A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. "...or you've completely checked out."
You looked up to find Axl standing beside your desk—the same guy from the cast party last night who'd somehow managed to keep everyone laughing with his terrible jokes, even when you were halfway through your fourth drink. His backpack hung lazily over one shoulder, and in his hands were two paper coffee cups.
"You look like you lost a fight with a truck," he said, offering one toward you. A quiet laugh escaped your lips. "Good morning to you too." "I'm just being honest." He set the cup on your desk before sliding into the empty seat beside you. "I figured you could use this." You stared at the coffee for a second before wrapping your hands around the warm cup. "You didn't have to.""I know." "So... why did you?"
Axl shrugged. "You looked like you needed a little help surviving today." Your smile came easier this time. "Thanks." You took a cautious sip. Your nose scrunched almost immediately. "...Vanilla?" "I guessed." "I usually get Hazelnut." His face fell. "Damn. I was close." "You were." He rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed laugh. "I don't really know coffee." "It's okay." You took another sip, smiling over the rim of the cup. "It's actually... not bad." "You're just saying that because I bought it." "Maybe." "I knew it."
Another laugh escaped you, lighter this time. The conversation settled into something easy, comfortable. No pressure. No expectations. Just two classmates sharing coffee before class. It wasn't your usual order. It wasn't what Logan would've bought. But somehow… It still warmed your hands.
Logan had been third-wheeling Garrett and Hannah since eight o'clock that morning. Not that he minded. Okay, maybe he minded a little. The two of them walked a few steps ahead, bickering over something ridiculously trivial while Garrett absentmindedly reached for Hannah's hand. She swatted him away, only for him to lace their fingers together a second later anyway.
Logan rolled his eyes. "Get a room," he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. Garrett didn't even bother looking back. "We practically live together." "Exactly my point." Shaking his head with a quiet laugh, Logan glanced across the courtyard and froze. You. Standing outside the Humanities building. You were laughing. Not the polite smile you'd mastered over the past few weeks. Not the forced one you'd worn at rehearsal. A real laugh. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. Beside you stood a guy Logan vaguely recognized from the theater department. Dark hair. Easy smile. A coffee cup in his hand, another in yours.
Logan's gaze drifted to the cup between your fingers. Vanilla. He knew because of the bright purple sticker wrapped around the sleeve. His brows pulled together. Vanilla? Since when did you drink vanilla? You hated vanilla.
"You always order hazelnut," he'd teased once after you'd wrinkled your nose at his drink. "It tastes like melted birthday candles." He'd laughed so hard he'd nearly dropped his coffee. "So dramatic." "I'm right." "You are absolutely not." "Am too." He'd taken another sip just to annoy you. You'd stolen his cup anyway, taken one reluctant taste, and immediately shoved it back into his hands with a grimace. "Still tastes like candles."
The memory hit him with embarrassing clarity. Logan looked back at your cup. Vanilla. His eyes lingered for another second before something else occurred to him. Maybe… Maybe it wasn't yours. Or maybe… Things had changed. People changed. Tastes changed. You changed. The realization settled heavily in his chest. He wasn't the person who knew your coffee order anymore.
Logan hadn't even realized Garrett was talking to him. "Logan." Nothing. "Logan." Still nothing. A firm hand landed on his shoulder, jolting him back to reality. "Huh?" Logan blinked, tearing his eyes away from you. Garrett followed his line of sight without meaning to. "Oh." He didn't have to ask. He already knew. Garrett let out a quiet sigh before nudging Logan's shoulder. "I've been talking to you for the last two minutes." "...Sorry."
"You've been staring." "I wasn't." Garrett raised an eyebrow." Logan." "...Okay," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Maybe a little." "A little?" Garrett scoffed. "Dude, you looked like your soul left your body." Logan rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze threatening to drift back toward you. He stopped himself. Barely. Garrett studied him for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "You know..." he began carefully, "maybe she's just trying to move on." The words landed like a punch to the gut. Logan swallowed. "Yeah." It came out softer than he'd intended. "...I know." But knowing didn't make it hurt any less.
By the end of the day, Logan had almost convinced himself to stop thinking about it. Almost. Malone's was louder than usual, the familiar mix of clinking glasses, classic rock humming through the speakers, and conversations blending into one constant buzz. It was the kind of place that always felt alive, no matter what day of the week it was. The six of them had claimed their usual booth near the back. Garrett and Hannah sat shoulder to shoulder on one side, occasionally stealing fries off each other's plates despite having ordered their own.
Across from them, Dean had somehow convinced Allie to play a game of pool after dinner, even though she'd reminded him—three separate times—that she had terrible aim. "I have terrible aim," she repeated. "That's what makes it fun." "No," she deadpanned. "That's what makes you have fun." Dean grinned. "Exactly." Beside Logan, Tucker laughed into his drink. "You know she's gonna beat you by accident." "I welcome the challenge." "You say that now."
The conversation drifted from hockey practice to classes, then somehow to Tucker's latest attempt at cooking something that wasn't chicken. "It was one time," Tucker defended. "You almost burned the kitchen down," Dean reminded him. "It was caramelizing." "It was on fire." "Semantics." Laughter rippled around the table. Logan laughed too. Or at least, he made the sound. His heart wasn't really in it. The image of you standing outside the Humanities building with that cup of vanilla coffee still lingered in the back of his mind.
He wondered if you'd actually liked it. Or if you'd only drunk it because someone had bought it for you. The front door opened. A rush of cool evening air swept through Malone's. Logan glanced up out of habit. And forgot how to breathe. You walked in. Your laugh reached him before you did.
Beside you was the same guy from this morning. The one with the easy smile. The one who'd bought you coffee. He held the door open with an exaggerated bow. "My lady." You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips as you stepped inside. "What a gentleman." "I know," he replied with a dramatic sigh. "It's exhausting being this charming." "Oh, please." You bumped his shoulder with yours, the two of you laughing as you made your way toward the seats.
Dean was the first to notice where Logan was looking. "...Well." Garrett followed his gaze. Then Tucker. The conversation at the booth slowly fizzled out. No one had to ask. No one had to say a word. They all knew exactly who Logan was staring at. And Logan wasn't sure what stung more— The fact that you were smiling… Or the fact that someone else was the reason why.
Before the waitress could lead the two of you toward an empty table, the guy beside you came to an abrupt stop. "Oh—Allie!" His voice carried easily over the hum of conversations and the clink of glasses. He lifted a hand, an easy grin spreading across his face the moment he recognized her. Allie turned at the sound of her name, her expression instantly brightening.
"Axl! Hey!" The warm glow of the hanging lights caught the edges of her smile as she stepped away from the booth. "You guys eating here too?" Axl asked. "Yeah." She laughed, gesturing toward the crowded booth tucked against the brick wall. "Looks like we all had the same idea." "I guess we did." His gaze drifted past her, landing on Hannah. Recognition flickered across his face. "And hey, Hannah." Hannah smiled warmly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Hi! It's been a while." "It has." You stood quietly beside him, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.
"You two know each other?" Garrett asked, glancing between them. "We're in the same department," Allie explained. "And Hannah's basically adopted by the theater department at this point," Axl added with a teasing grin. Hannah let out an offended gasp. "I'll have you know I earned that title." "You absolutely did." Laughter rippled through the small circle, light and effortless. For the first time all day, the tightness in your shoulders eased.
Then— You felt it. That unmistakable feeling of being watched. It crawled slowly up the back of your neck, prickling against your skin. Almost instinctively, your head turned. Across the restaurant, beneath the amber glow of Malone's hanging lights, Logan was already looking at you. His fingers rested loosely around a half-empty glass, forgotten. He hadn't touched it in several minutes. The laughter around his table faded into a distant blur. So did yours. Your eyes locked.
The world seemed to narrow until there was only the space between the two of you. The familiar brown of his eyes. The exhaustion hidden beneath them. The way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Your smile slowly slipped from your face. Not all at once. Just enough for him to notice. Just enough for your heart to remember. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of you looked away. It was almost cruel… How familiar he still felt.
"...You okay?" Axl's voice was gentle, barely louder than the chatter surrounding them. You blinked, realizing everyone had already started walking toward the hostess stand while you'd remained rooted to the spot. "Hm?" His brows knit together, concern softening his features. "You kind of disappeared for a second." "Oh."You forced out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. "Sorry. I guess I'm just... tired." He studied you for a moment. Not suspiciously. Just... carefully. Like he was trying to decide whether to believe you.
"You sure?" You nodded a little too quickly. "Yeah."Another pause." If you're sure." His smile returned not as bright as before, but enough to let you know he wasn't going to press. Instead, he lightly bumped your shoulder with his. "C'mon." "The fries here are too good to let existential crises ruin them." A breathy laugh escaped your lips. "That's... oddly specific." "I speak from experience." The knot in your chest loosened, if only a little, as you followed him toward the hostess. Across the room, Logan watched the two of you disappear around the corner. His fingers tightened around the glass. The ice clinked softly against the sides.
"You know..." Tucker spoke quietly beside him. Logan didn't look away. "Hm?" "You're torturing yourself." That finally pulled Logan's attention from the hallway. "What?" Tucker leaned back against the booth, folding his arms across his chest. "You keep watching her." Silence. "You watch her laugh." Another beat. "You watch her leave." His voice remained calm. Not judgmental. Just honest. "And every single time, it looks like it hurts." Logan let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah." Tucker sighed. "You know what's crazy?" "What?" "You could've looked away." Logan's eyes drifted toward the empty space where you'd disappeared only moments earlier. "I tried." His answer came so quietly Tucker almost missed it.
"I just..." He swallowed hard. "...I don't know how." For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The laughter echoing through Malone's suddenly felt impossibly far away. Tucker reached for another fry before quietly muttering, "Then stop making yourself watch someone you're still in love with." Logan closed his eyes for the briefest moment. If only it were that easy.
From where he sat, Logan had a perfect view of your table. He wished he didn't.
The warm amber lights hanging above Malone's painted everything in soft gold. Glasses clinked together, laughter bounced off the exposed brick walls, and somewhere near the jukebox someone had started arguing over whose turn it was at pool. It was ordinary.
Painfully ordinary. Yet somehow, Logan couldn't tear his eyes away. Axl was saying something animated, his hands moving almost as much as his mouth. You laughed. Not politely. Not because you felt obligated to. Really laughed.
Your head tipped back ever so slightly, your shoulders shaking as you hid your face behind one hand. Logan remembered that laugh. He remembered being the reason for it.
"Your laugh is contagious." "That's your fault." "How?" "You keep saying stupid things." "So I'm funny?" "No." "Ouch." "You're just... you."
He remembered how you'd steal fries off his plate while insisting yours tasted worse. How you'd absentmindedly play with the sleeves of his hoodie whenever you were anxious. How you'd reach for his hand beneath restaurant tables without even looking. Little habits. Little pieces of you. Pieces he'd once thought he'd know forever. Across the room, Axl reached across the table. For one terrifying second, Logan's stomach dropped.
Instead of taking your hand, Axl simply brushed a napkin off your sleeve. "You had ketchup," he laughed. Your cheeks warmed with embarrassment. "I was saving it for later." "Sure you were." You rolled your eyes before lightly shoving his shoulder. The gesture was effortless. Comfortable. Natural. Logan looked away. He couldn't do this. Not anymore. He lowered his gaze to the table, tracing invisible circles through the condensation gathered beneath his untouched glass.
A few months ago... That would've been him. He would've been the one making you laugh until your stomach hurt. The one wiping ketchup off your sleeve. The one sitting across from you while you stole half his meal anyway. The thought settled slowly, quietly. Like the first leaf falling before autumn.
Maybe... Maybe that wasn't his place anymore. His chest tightened. Not with jealousy. With grief. Because grief wasn't always loud. Sometimes... Sometimes it looked like watching someone else make the person you loved smile. And realizing they no longer needed you to. Logan closed his eyes. For the first time since the breakup... He allowed himself to think the words he'd spent months refusing to believe.
Never mind, You were never mine.
If someone had looked at your table from across the restaurant, they probably would've thought you were doing just fine. You were laughing. Smiling. Even teasing Axl whenever he said something ridiculous. From the outside… You looked happy. "You know," Axl said, pointing a fry at you, "I still think the lead should've died in Act Two." You gasped dramatically. "That's theatrical blasphemy." "It's called character development." "It's called bad writing." He placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me." "I should." "You know what your problem is?" "I have several." "Fair enough."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The sound surprised even you. For a fleeting moment, it felt... easy. Normal. Like the ache in your chest had taken the night off. Axl grinned. "There it is." "What?" "That smile." "What smile?" "The real one." Heat crept into your cheeks. "Oh, shut up." He laughed, shaking his head before reaching for another fry. "So..." he said. "You gonna help me with costume fittings tomorrow, or are you abandoning me?" "I told you I'd help." "Good." He pointed another fry at you. "I don't trust anyone else with a glue gun." "You probably shouldn't trust me either." "I've seen your work."
You scoffed. "I made that castle." "And it almost collapsed." "It stayed standing!" "Barely." You reached across the table to steal one of his fries. "Hey!" "You snooze, you lose." He laughed. "You know, Lo—" The nickname caught in your throat. Your smile froze. Your hand stopped halfway back to your plate. Not Logan. Axl.
The realization crashed into you so suddenly it stole the air from your lungs. You swallowed. "...Sorry," you murmured, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I meant..." You couldn't even finish the sentence. Axl's expression softened. He didn't ask what you'd almost said. Didn't pretend he hadn't noticed. Instead, he quietly pushed the basket of fries toward you. "You can have the last one."
You looked at him. "...Really?" He shrugged. "I was getting full anyway." It was an obvious lie. The basket had been nearly empty for five minutes. A small laugh escaped you. Quieter this time. Fragile. You stared down at the lone fry resting in the paper-lined basket. Funny. For one impossible second… You'd forgotten. Not forgotten Logan. Forgotten that he wasn't sitting across from you anymore. That it wasn't his voice filling the silence. That it wasn't his laugh making yours come so easily. Your chest tightened.
If only… If only people could rewind conversations the way they rewound songs. If only love had an understudy. If only the person your heart kept reaching for… Was still yours to reach for. Instead, you picked up the last fry and smiled anyway. Some performances were convincing enough… Even when the actor's heart wasn't in the scene.
Logan didn't remember much of the drive back to the hockey house.
The streets blurred together beneath the glow of passing streetlights, amber streaks melting across the rain-speckled windshield. Garrett had driven. Tucker had ridden shotgun. Someone had spoken at some point.
Logan couldn't remember a single word. His mind had stayed behind at Malone's. Behind a table tucked beneath warm hanging lights. Behind your laugh. By the time they stepped through the front door, the house had settled into an unusual kind of silence. Not the peaceful kind. The empty kind.
Garrett had left almost immediately, mumbling something about walking Hannah back to her dorm. Dean had vanished upstairs after announcing he had "pressing matters to attend to," which everyone knew translated to finding an excuse to text Allie.
Leaving Logan and Tucker alone.
The living room was dim except for the flickering television, its muted colors dancing lazily across the walls. Hockey sticks leaned against the entryway. Someone had left a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. The lingering scent of pizza and beer still hung in the air.
Logan collapsed onto the cushions, exhaustion sinking into his bones. Not physical exhaustion. Something heavier. The kind that settled behind your ribs and refused to leave. A bottle landed on the coffee table with a dull thunk. Cold glass. Beads of condensation slowly trickled down its sides.
"You've been staring at absolutely nothing for the last three hours," Tucker said, dropping onto the recliner across from him. Logan reached for the bottle without lifting his eyes. "I'm fine." Tucker barked out a laugh. "No, you're committed." Logan frowned. "To what?" "To lying." The cap hissed as Logan twisted it off. "I wasn't lying." "You've read the nutrition label on that beer at least six times." "I like reading." "It's literally the same bottle."
Silence settled between them. Outside, rain whispered softly against the windows. Somewhere upstairs, pipes groaned. The refrigerator hummed steadily in the kitchen, filling the quiet with a low mechanical buzz. Logan took a slow drink. It tasted bitter. Or maybe everything did lately.
Tucker watched him over the rim of his own bottle. "You know..." His voice was quieter now. "...you're really bad at pretending you're okay." A humorless smile tugged at Logan's lips. "So I've heard." "No." Tucker leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I mean catastrophically bad." Logan rubbed tired fingers across his eyes. "I saw her today." "I know." "Twice." "I know." "...She looked..." His voice caught. "...happy."
The word hung heavily between them. Tucker didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched the rain crawl down the living room window in uneven trails before finally speaking. "You know what I saw?" Logan lifted his head. "I saw two people trying way too hard." A confused crease formed between Logan's brows. "What?" "You." Tucker pointed toward him with the neck of his bottle. "You spent half the night pretending you weren't watching her." Then he lowered the bottle. "And Y/n spent the other half pretending she wasn't thinking about you."
Logan's heart stumbled. "What makes you think that?" Tucker looked almost offended. "Because I pay attention." He sighed, setting his beer on the coffee table. "I've seen her before you." "I've seen her with you." "And I've seen her after you." His expression softened. "She's not the same." Logan stared silently at the floor.
"I watched her laugh tonight," Tucker continued. "It sounded real." A small pause. "But every time she thought nobody was looking..." He shook his head. "...it disappeared." Logan swallowed hard. His fingers tightened around the bottle until his knuckles turned white.
"You really think she's..." He couldn't finish. Tucker answered anyway. "I think she misses you." Hope bloomed inside Logan's chest before he could stop it. Small. Fragile. Dangerous. Just as quickly, he crushed it. "It doesn't matter." "It does." "I hurt her." "I know." "I slept with other people." "I know." "I broke the best thing that's ever happened to me." "I know." "So why are we even having this conversation?" The room fell quiet again.
Rain tapped rhythmically against the windows. The television flashed silently in the corner. Tucker stared at Logan for what felt like an eternity. Then he let out the most exasperated sigh Logan had ever heard. "Oh, for the love of God." He pushed himself out of the recliner so abruptly it scraped loudly across the hardwood floor.
"No." He began pacing. "I'm done." Logan blinked. "...Done with what?" "With this." Tucker waved both arms dramatically around the room. "The longing." "The staring." "The brooding." "The tragic 'I ruined everything' speeches." "I don't—" "You absolutely do." "Tuck—" "And don't even get me started on Y/n." Logan looked up. "What about her?" "She's just as bad."
Tucker pointed toward the ceiling as if the answer were written there. "You've got one person pretending he doesn't deserve a second chance." He pointed toward the front door. "And another pretending she's moved on." He threw both hands into the air. "I swear, it's like watching two people drown while arguing over who should grab the life raft."
Despite himself, Logan laughed. A real one. Short. Quiet. But real. Tucker immediately pointed at him. "There!" "What?" "See?" "You still know how to smile." Logan rolled his eyes. "Barely." A slow, mischievous grin spread across Tucker's face. The kind that usually ended with Dean in handcuffs... ...or Garrett questioning every life decision that had led him there. "Oh..." Tucker clapped his hands together once.
"I've got it." Logan's stomach dropped. "...No." "Oh, yes." "Tucker." "It's too late." "Tucker." He jabbed a triumphant finger toward the ceiling like a general announcing battle plans.
"Operation: Get Logan and Y/n Back Together..."
He paused for dramatic effect. "...is officially in motion." Logan groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I already hate this." As if summoned by chaos itself, Dean's voice echoed from somewhere upstairs. "Did somebody say operation?" Tucker's grin widened. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
