˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

He checks his phone again, in hopes that you’ll see his texts and meet him at the door, but he knows how you get once you’re too deep into a project: unaware of the rest of the world, completely locked in, no matter how much your phone buzzes. He drops his head a little, letting out a sigh as he faces reality. It’s time to face his own personal shark tank, best known as the fashion department studio. 

It’s not always like that, really. Logan enjoys watching you work there most times, bringing coffee to the studio when you’re cutting garments, making you take a seat for the first time in hours to show him how every cut is done and how they’ll look, your sketches pretty and clean on your beloved journal. It can be a nice, peaceful place too. But right now, with the entire department working on their final assignments, Logan knows that the studio becomes a mined camp and every misstep of his will be reprimanded, because when deadlines are on the way, fashion people seem to get particularly insane over it — his girlfriend included, of course.

And still, he has to go in. 

It takes roughly five seconds for someone to notice him and call for you across the packed room, “Babe, your knight in jock armor is here!”

Logan watches you snap your head up, face lit up. He almost feels the desperate need to let everyone know that he’s not being obnoxious, storming into the studio for no reason in the middle of final’s week when everyone has a million deadlines and no time to spare. No, he’s here on a mission. 

Thankfully, you make sure of that, “You are an angel,” you say, heading in his direction as your eyes drop to his hands holding your journals, “You have no idea how fucked I’d be without these for my tech pack.”

“I think I have an idea,” he says through a chuckle. 

You look a little manic as you approach him, and Logan wonders if you had a good night of sleep even though the answer is probably no. He moves to offer you a quick hug before handing you the journals, but you outright snatch it from his hands, holding it closer to your chest, “Ah, my babies,” you coo, your eyes closed as you rock left and right.

Logan clears his throat, “You’re welcome.”

You giggle, arms moving around his neck, “Thank you so much, my love,” you press a quick peck to his lips, backing off as soon as you feel his hand on your cheek, “You gotta go, though.” 

He would’ve taken offence if he didn’t know it came from a place of genuine rush. His hands stay in the same spot in your face, thumb moving back and forth, “You look tired, baby.”

You are tired, you think. You haven’t slept at all, and you’re pretty sure (because you stopped counting them after the third one) you’re running on six caffeinated drinks, a stolen Liquid IV from Logan’s closet and a single breakfast muffin so far, having spent the night writing your paper on historical context behind your clothing choices, pages upon pages on French Revolution and how it led to Marie Antoinette becoming a fashion icon. Fun theme, but hours of research and typing needed, and among making sure you have all you need for your presentation — all the fabric you had used, every single pattern named right, the correct measurements and a proper paper, hell fucking yeah you’re tired. 

“And you don’t usually leave your tech pack behind,” Logan adds, his doe eyes running over your face. Fuck, that too, “I knew you were acting weird when you texted me to go get it. This thing’s like– It’s your bible.” 

You chuckle, “Yeah, I know. I didn’t get much sleep,” you watch as Logan’s mouth twinges up a little, not the reaction you are expecting, “What?”

“Sorry, it’s just– I literally just thought that.” 

“Eh, you know me well,” you shrug.

“I do,” he smiles, “And you got the Liquid IV from my things.”

You shake your head in embarrassment, “I did.”

Logan lets out a laugh, “It’s fine. You need food, though, and I’d love to take you for lunch. But I suspect the answer is gonna be a resounding no.”

You give him a forced smile, “Sorry…” you murmur, raising your journals in explanation, “I gotta get the digital sketches done now that I have all the info.”

Logan gently pinches your cheek, dropping his hand and letting you go, “It’s okay. I’ll let you get back to work.” He gives you a final kiss on the forehead, “But I’ll bring you something to eat, how do you feel about Tucker’s pasta salad?”

You feel your stomach rumbling before you can answer, “Yes, thank you. Hey–” He turns to you, and your hand latches to his upper arm, squeezing it, “Thank you so much. Really.”

Logan shrugs, “Just being a dutiful boyfriend,” he says.

“And how does my lovely, dutiful boyfriend feel about staying the night tomorrow?” You say, getting a bit closer as you offer, “We can order take-out and you can help me rehearse for my presentation.”

Logan pretends to dwell on it, laughing as you tug on his arm, “C’mon, even Madonna is mentioned in this one. She wears this gorgeous gown in her Vogue performance—”

“Oh, if we’re talking Madonna,” he says, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice, but you know him just as much as he knows you. Logan likes your presentations, likes the way your mind works, and he always makes sure you know this.

“You say that now, but you’re gonna like it,” you say.

“Of course I am,” he says, “I always do.” 

“And you like Vivienne Westwood,” you say through giggles, knowing exactly how he'll react.

You watch as he turns to you, eyes widened, “Baby, I fucking love Vivienne Westwood. Oh, this is gonna be good.” He says, suddenly invested, “No, forget take out— I’m making you dinner. I’m all in now.” 

You pull him in for a kiss, “Knew it. Now move, I have work to do.”

Logan takes your face between his hands, his face stoney and solemn, “You go and make our girl Viv proud, yeah?” 

notes: thank you for reading! if you're interested in what i had in mind for reader's project as i was writing this, please look up vivienne westwood's 1995 fall/winter collection. likes, reblogs and thoughts are much appreciated! <3

“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

It had been such a long day, with his morning practice and your early shift. Both hesitant to leave the bed but doing it anyway, because you had to, despite dreading every second spent away from each other. 

You’d think it’s the honeymoon phase of the relationship, where all the clichés and the novelties of being with Logan would still feel fresh and different than anything you’ve ever felt before. But it’s true, and no matter how that sounds for the cynical ear, you can’t escape from the giddy feeling of the first time you’ve felt really sure of it, by Logan’s own words.

“I never thought it’d happen to me,” you remember him muttering against your temple, fingertips tracing your face so gently it almost lured you to sleep, then every so often pressing a kiss on your face to keep you from falling asleep.

You hum, mind still hazy, “What?”

He takes a moment, measuring what to say. You think he was mostly speaking to himself, not expecting you to hear it, caught off guard to have you asking. After a beat, he answers, “You. Or like– Love, altogether.” He says, in a low voice, “Thought it was something that’d only happen to other people.”

You blink slowly, “Baby,” you say, getting a bashful smile in return.

“I know.” Logan rolls his eyes, “But it’s like– You know.”

You beam at him, “Do I?”

He adjusts himself in bed, your head previously laying on his chest now moved to his arm as he turns to face you, “It’s like, I’d see it happening to, Garrett, or Dean, and just think,” he sighs, “It all seemed so distant. Like I’d just forever stay on the sidelines. Dramatic as fuck,”

“You tend to be,” you cut him off, joking. Logan softly pinches your sides, pulling a squeal out of you, “Sorry, please continue.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You shrug, “I like hearing what you’d thought of me.”

Logan chuckled, then moving his hand to cradle your cheek, “I just thought that something had changed,” he says, simply. “That I had been wrong before and you were the one to make it right.”

You wouldn’t often hear Logan being so straightforward about his feelings. A show, don’t tell kind of guy, his devotion for you always seeping through his actions, it’s different to hear him say such things, all of those that you believed too, often choosing to keep them deep down, wondering if you were maybe getting ahead of yourself and any show of feelings would terrify him. You knew it then that there was no place for doubt within you two. 

Moving closer to Logan, hiding your face on the curve of his neck as you press a kiss there, you think he knows it too.

Things became much smoother after that night, with the two of you introducing one another into your lives. His friends become yours too, and a number of his clothes in your closet while half his bathroom cabinet fits your things too. A natural transition from infatuation to love, like making up for all the lost time from when you didn’t know each other.

You’ve learned that you love sleeping beside him, reaching to find him laying by your side. You love finding time in your busy schedules to grab lunch with him, having him pick you up after work so you can talk as you walk home. You love when he texts you in the middle of the day about something that made him think of you. 

You love everything about sharing a life with Logan. 

And right at this moment, you love watching his face look at you in wonder, “The lighting?” he repeats, and you hum.

“When the sun is setting,” you say, “And the light peeks through the curtains, see?”

Logan turns his head to the window, his hand stopping midway up your shin as he focuses, trying to see what you see, “No, actually.”

You giggle, taking your legs off of his lap and pushing him a little, “Come here,” you urge him, “You gotta see it from here.”

Logan stares at you for a second, his eyes studying your face to see if you’re messing with him. You pat the couch next to you, “C’mon, I mean it.”

He laughs before crawling up your side of the couch, laying impossibly close to you. He tries kissing you, still convinced this is all a ruse, but you grab his cheeks and move him to face the window.

“Oh, wow,” he murmurs, voice constricted by your hands still on his face, “The lighting does look pretty from down here.”

You chuckle, “I told you.”

He looks back at you, face contorted into a doting smile, “I think you’re the first person to ever mention that,” he says.

The golden light peeking through makes his eyes shine brighter than ever as they fall on your face, the adoration behind giving them an extra twinkle too. 

“What?” You ask, holding back a smile.

Logan shakes his head, “Nothing,” he says, “I just love that you could see that.”

Your mouth splits into a grin, “Yeah?”

He hums, “Hm-hm,” he presses his nose against your cheek, lips finding the very corner of your mouth, murmuring, “And you look really pretty right now.”

A 90’s song playing on the TV draws your giggles as Logan places a sticky sweet peck there, you humming contently as his mouth lingers on your face, with one more kiss being pressed, then another, then another.

You think you could stay forever like this, pressed between Logan and the couch, with his face bathed by this honey-like golden lighting, so eager to keep finding yours, again and again and again.

notes: i know some people tend to see honeybee with some sadness to it (given the context of the album), but it truly is my favourite love song from olivia. thank you for reading! likes/reblogs/thoughts are appreciated! <3