d a n g e r o u s ™

He groans, eyes squeezing shut as his bruised tailbone throbs. He doesn’t hear you run over and kneel beside him in the slush. So, when he blinks his eyes open, he’s convinced that fall took him out.

The world around you is a blur. The only thing that’s clear is your face, full of worry as you lean over him. You’re positioned perfectly to block the glare of the lamp behind you. It creates a golden halo around your face as the white snow continues to fall around you.

Your voice is soft, almost like a melody drifting through the air. “Hey… are you okay?”

“Am I in heaven?” It isn’t the opening line he had planned to use on you, but under the glowing lights and snow, it seems fitting.

Realising he’s not seriously hurt, you let out a soft laugh. It’s breathless and light, and the sound wraps around Logan like a warm hug. “Not quite.”

The fog in his brain clears, but he doesn’t take your outstretched gloved hand. Instead, his dark eyes imprint your features to his memory, utterly captivated. Looking down at him, your eyes catch the giant Briar U Hawks logo across his chest.

“Not so good on the ice, are you?” You tease, a playful smile pulling at your lips. “And here I thought the Hawks were a decent ice hockey team.”

Logan slaps his hand over his chest. “Ouch,” he groans dramatically. “And here I thought angels were supposed to be nice.”

“Only to people who need it.” Your eyes sparkle with amusement.

He chuckles, finally reaching up to take your hand. He doesn’t pull himself up right away though, instead choosing to look up at you with as much of a charming smile that he can muster through the pain.

“Well,” Logan starts, his voice dropping into a low hum. “I did just fall.” (for you)

Under your impatience, you were furious. You had been furious since last night, when you and Logan argued over something so miniscule that you couldn’t even remember what it was about. While you don’t remember the cause of it, you do remember that you’re furious about it.

It didn’t help that the two of you hadn’t spoken to one another from since he had said, “I love you, but I’m not doing this right now.” and walked out of your dorm, slamming the door on his way out. Okay, he hadn’t actually slammed the door but, to you, he basically did. And that made you furious.

Despite your stubborn vow to ignore him until he came crawling back to you, you still found yourself sitting in the stands with Hannah and Allie to watch the game. You had, childishly, planned to look unbothered and uninterested in the game. You had even practised your yawn. But, from the moment that Logan took to the ice to the time he got off it, you were on the edge of your seat.

He played like a man possessed. Obviously, he was just as furious as you were and he had channelled all of that into the game. He was checking the Harvard guys into the plexiglass with such a force that you swear you saw it wobble. He threw his head back and roared when he scored, it took all of your dignity to not start moaning right there and then.

Every time he skated past your section, chest heaving under the padding, you became a little less angry with him. And, somehow, a whole lot more furious with him.

And this wait was making it worse.

The double doors of the locker room finally clicked open; the team flooding out in chaotic chatter. You watched as the partners gravitated towards their boyfriends. That should be you and Logan, but it’s not because you’re ‘fighting’. You stayed with your back against the wall, waiting for the hallway to clear. You knew that Logan wouldn’t be coming out with them.

Once the hallway cleared and the voices faded, you pushed open the door and stepped into the way-too-brightly lit locker room.

Logan was sitting in his stall, his forearms resting heavily on his knees as he stared blankly at the Hawks logo on the carpeted floor. His thick, dark curls fell over his eyes, soaked with sweat. He was still in his uniform, only his skates and helmet were off, discarded somewhere on the floor.

Even from across the room, you could feel the pent-up aggression vibrating off of him in waves.

When the door clicked shut behind you, his head snapped up. You leant back against the it, refusing to come in any further. You’d already taken the first step towards him. Now he had to come to you. His eyes narrowed on you, dark and intense.

“You’re still here,” he rasped. It wasn’t a question, but you answered it anyway.

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. And, because you were being petty, added, “and, I’m still mad at you.”

Logan snorted, running a tense hand through his damp hair. He slowly stood up and walked over to you, stopping inches away from you.  

Without his skates, he didn’t tower over like he would have done on the ice, but he was tall enough and wide enough to make you feel surrounded as you stood up straighter against the door.

His jaw clenched as he looked down at you and you felt a sudden heat pooling between your legs.

“I’m still mad at you,” he fired back.

“Mhm,” you murmured.

Your eyes greedily looked over him. The way his brow was furrowed. The sharpness of his jawline. The way he watched you looking all dark and serious. He looked rugged, undone, and it was so attractive to you that it made your heart ache and pussy clench.

His jaw clenched under your scrutiny, his gaze dropping to your lips as his breathing became shallower, more uneven.

“Have you come to pick another fight?” Logan asked.

“Maybe,” you countered, your voice steady despite your racing pulse. “Why? Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Well, then I’m not here for that.”

“Then why are you here?”

He knew why you were here, the asshole. He could see your eyes travelling his body. He could see you watching the sweat roll down his neck. There’s no way he didn’t notice your chest rising or the way your eyes had dilated. He just wanted to hear you say it.

He leant forward slightly, hands slamming against the wall on either side of your head, trapping you there.

God, the smell of him. From this close, it was overwhelming. The smell of his sweat shouldn’t have pulled you in the way it did. But there was something so him and so masculine about the way he smelt.

That’s how you knew you were down bad.

You looked up at him, your stubbornness and pride pushed aside by the unadulterated need. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

He didn’t answer and worse, he didn’t kiss you. Instead, the motherfucker smirked at you. He slipped his hands under your thighs, grabbing a hold of your ass and effortlessly lifted you up. He pressed you back against the door and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him.

The padding under his jersey prevented you from being chest to chest, forcing him to lean forward and tilt his face towards yours.

He hovered there, his lips a fraction away from yours, so close that you could feel the rapid puff of his warm breath on you, but he still wouldn’t kiss you. He stared down at your lips, then looked back up at you. You looked into his eyes, seeing the intensity of last night’s anger, tonight’s victory, and his raw desire for you. It was one of the things you loved most about him, he couldn’t hide anything in his eyes.

You felt a vein in your neck throb. You tilted your chin up, expecting him to crash his lips against yours now that you’ve made the first move. But Logan deliberately pulled his head back just an inch further. Teasing you. Letting you ache for it.

“Asshole,” you muttered, your fingers digging tightly into the damp fabric of his padded shoulders.

“Say that again.”

Instead of answering, you tried to pull his head down, but he held his ground. Keeping his eyes locked on yours, he shifted his weight, deliberately grinding his hips forward to press the hardness in his pants right against you.

“Ass. Hole.” You punctuate each syllable, if that’s what he wanted, you would give it to him.

His eyes flared as heat ran through his body. He ground into you again, making your breath hitch.

Lifting you higher in his arms, he pressed himself against you. His dick was twitching in his pants, and he so desperately needed relief.

“What am I going to do with you?” He let out an exasperated laugh as he tilted his head and leant into you.

The first touch of his lips was just a soft brush, but it still sent a ripple down your spine. You hadn’t expected him to be so delicate after the way he’d been looking at you and teasing you. He lingered there, brushing his lips across yours.

He brushed his lips against yours once more, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, biting and tugging slightly.

You moaned.

The second the sound left your throat; Logan released your lip and kissed you for real. It was bruising and desperate and exactly what you needed to get out the frustrations of the last 24 hours. His hands were suddenly all over you in a frantic blue, sliding up the hem of your shirt, cupping your ass to lift you higher, caressing your face to tilt your mouth deeper into his.

Clinging to his neck, you were only faintly aware that he had begun moving. He kept his lips on yours, carrying you across the room as he stumbled to his locker.

He didn’t break the kiss until he was in front of his locker. As his hands slid from your ass, to your waist, he pulled back, eyes locking onto yours as his chest heaved.

“Pants off,” he said, voice gruff.

The moment you unwrapped your legs from him and stood up, he was there to help you with your jeans. His fingers were trembling as he frantically tried to undo the button.

Once your jeans slid down, you sat back on the black cushion of his locker bench, looking up at him with your heart hammering in your chest.

Logan dropped to his knees, settling right between your legs. His hands gripped your knees, spreading your legs open to look at the wet patch on your panties.

He stayed there for a beat, thinking about exactly how he wanted to devour you first. He settled on your thighs first.

His hands stayed gripped on your knees as he leant forward, pressing kisses and sucking on the sensitive skin along your inner thigh, travelling up. He got unbearably close to where you were waiting for him, already soaked, before trailing back down again.

You let out a frustrated whimper, your fingers clawing at his scalp.

On his third journey up, a heavy hand came to your stomach as he gently guided you to lean back against the wooden cubby. At the same time, his other hand slid around your lower back.

With an effortless tug, he pulled you forward until your ass was right at the edge of the bench. You rested one leg over his shoulder, completely opening you up to him.

It had only been a day and a half since he last had his face buried between your legs, but to him, it might as well have been an eternity.

“Fuck, baby, I missed this,” he said as he buried his face between your legs, inhaling you in.

With one hand, he slid your panties to the side and parted one of your folds so he could lick a fat stripe up your pussy. He did it again, and again, and again, lapping up the juices there before moving to focus on your clit.

Your hips bucked into his mouth as he flicked his tongue against you. He had no more intentions to tease you; he wanted you to cum on his face.

He used his nose to rub against your clit and you shamelessly rolled your hips over it. The friction feeling so good.

A whine caught in your throat as he dove back in with his tongue, flicking from left to right.

“Logan~~.”

He looked up at you, spit and arousal shining on the lower half of his face. “Feel good, baby?”

“So, good, you always make me feel so good.” You curled your fingers in his dark curls, pushing him back between your legs.  

Chuckling at your impatience, he went right back to work. His hand slipped under the hem of your top again so he could squeeze and knead your breast, the other still holding your panties so he could get at you.  

You tugged at his hair as he pressed his tongue against you and swirled it in uncontrolled circles.

When he was between your legs, all he cared about was giving you exactly what you wanted. What your body needed. You needed, he obliged, tongue continuing to flick and swirl against you.

“Don’t stop– I’ll...”  Your thought died on a moan.

The locker room was filled with the wet sounds of him moving his mouth against you, and the loud lewd moans that you freely let out. You didn’t care if anybody was around to hear you. In fact, you wanted them to hear just how good Logan was to you.

He could feel himself getting drunk off of the taste of you, his body was warm and buzzing. He was starting to feel delirious as your hips rolled on him.

The pressure of his tongue on you was perfect, you could feel the pleasure build steadily within you.

“Your tongue feels so good, Loge,” you praised. You were close. So close.

“Then come for me,” he said as he slid two fingers inside of you, curving and caressing your walls.

Shockwaves of pleasure ran over you as you came, clenching on his fingers. He kept his mouth on you through it, humming and moaning at the taste of you.

When your body finally settled, he sat back on his knees, panting heavily as his lips glistened in the harsh fluorescent blue lighting. You reached over, pulling him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

“Wanna ride you, Loge,” you mumbled against his lips.

Logan didn’t need to be told twice; he was already thumbling with his pants when you pulled back to take your panties off.

The pants were barely down past his knees when you gently pushed him to lie flat on the carpet and straddled him.

“Just lay back, let me take care of you now,” you soothed as you ground against him, leaving a trail of slick arousal on his aching dick.

He practically whimpered as you continued to slide over him.

“B-baby.” His hands came to your waist, thumbs digging into your skin through your top. “Let me fuck you.”

Looking down at him, his eyes were half-lidded as they pleaded you. Who were you to argue with those beautiful brown eyes.

Lifting your hips up slightly, you held his dick to guide it into your pussy.

As your hole stretched around his tip, he let out a strangled moan. You watched him as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, coming to a full seat.

He throbbed and twitched within you, his thick head leaking pre-cum. You circled your hips, relishing in the feeling of him rubbing against your walls.

You hadn’t even really moved yet and he already looked wrecked. His mouth was hung slightly open, eyes squeezed shut. You craved more, to see him absolutely shattered by you.

Bracing your hands on his on the still damp fabric of his Briar U jersey, you began to move. You don’t raise your hips high, choosing smaller bounces and grinds of your hips.

For a few minutes of bounces, he let you set your pace, grunting and groaning as you sensually moved over him.

Each bounce brought him to the brink of desperation, his restraint wearing thin.

The hands on your waist tightened as he helped guide your rhythm in desperation. He needed you faster, he needed you to slam back down onto him harder.

“You were so hot out there.” Your voice was breathy, bouncing on him the way you were had you exhausted. “I wanted to touch myself just watching you play.”

The praise made him grip you impossibly tighter, made him slam you back down even harder.

His dick curved just the right way to hit your g-spot, causing you to see stars as you clenched around him. You moaned in tandem, his head thrown back as a result of your vice grip.

You didn’t care that if anyone opened the door right now, they’d come face to face with you bouncing on it. He didn’t care that the carpet rubbed at his ass as he tried to thrust up into you, limited by his pants around his ankles.

All you both cared about was the way you were wrapped around him, and the sounds that tumbled from his mouth as he got close.

It took a few more harsh bounces from you for him to unload into you. The hands on your waist held you in place as he filled you up. You purposely clenched, milking him for all he had.

“Fucking hell.”

You collapsed against his padded chest, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your breathing slowed. You turned to inhale the fresh sweat on his neck. “You need a shower.”

Logan wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tighter against him. An exhausted smirk tugging at his lips. “So do you, coach is going to be pissed if you drip cum onto his floor.”

You were still furious with him, and his stupidly hot face. You knew the fight wasn’t actually over. But, if this is what being angry with Logan brought you, then you were more than happy to pick another fight tomorrow.

However, every time your mind tries to drive your attention back to the open textbook in front of you, your gaze keeps shifting lower, completely captivated by the view on the floor.

Logan is shoved halfway under the kitchen sink.

He’s wearing a fitted maroon t-shirt that spreads tightly across his shoulders every time he strains against a stubborn pipe. Whenever he lifts his arms, the shirt lifts too, exposing the patch of skin just above where his faded jeans are hugging his waist. You see the patch of hair that leads down his stomach, like an arrow directing you to look at where one of your favourite body parts of him lies.

It's really not your fault. You really did have the best study intentions.

A stray smudge of grease is smudged against his forehead. And his brown curls look messy from rubbing against the bottom of the cabinet. He holds a massive pair of pliers in one hand, propping himself up on one elbow to look up at you with a cocky grin.

“Take a picture, babe. It’ll last longer,” he teases.

You shake your head out of your daydream, pressing your thighs together and shifting in your seat.

“I might just have to,” you reply, leaning your chin on your hand. “I forgot about how handy you were.”

Logan tosses the pliers into the open, rusted red toolbox by his hip.

“Yeah, the P-trap was leaking, and Tucker was complaining about the smell. Figured I’d take care of it. Didn’t realise it would turn you on so much otherwise I’d have done it earlier.” He’s got a stupid cocky grin on his face that he totally deserves to be wearing, you’re practically drooling.

“I never said it turned me on,” you lie.

There’s just something intensely, undeniably, absolutely attractive about seeing him handle tools, the effortless confidence with which he fixes things. You start thinking about all the things in your dorm that you could break, just so you could ask him to come and fix it.

Logan slides out from under the sink, standing up to wash his hands. He turns back to you, leaning against the counter as he dries his hands on a towel.

“You didn’t have to say it.” He sets the towel down beside him. “Come here.”

He curves his index finger, gesturing you over.

“Logan, we’re in the middle of the kitchen,” you protest weakly, even as you slide off of the barstool and walk over to him. “Anyone could walk in.”

“Garrett’s out with Hannah, Tucker’s with Sabrina, and Dean is... well who knows where Dean is but it’s not here,” Logan murmurs. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of your shorts, tugging you flush against his chest. The faint scent of motor oil and copper mixed with his clean cologne wraps around you like a vice. “We’re fine.”

Before you can argue any further, his mouth crashes into yours. It’s demanding and makes you completely forget what you were even protesting about. You whimper into his mouth, your hands instantly finding their way into his soft hair and tugging at it.

His hands slide down to rest firmly on your ass. He gives it a little squeeze before giving it a slap.

“You have no idea how hard it was to focus on that pipe with you watching me like that,” he murmurs against your lips.

You yelp as Logan’s hands cup under your ass, lifting you up to set you on the kitchen counter. He begins to trail light kisses along the inside of your knee, his hands tightening on your hips.

“Logan,” you breathe out, your head tilting back, “We really shouldn’t. Someone is going to-.”

“I told you,” he interrupts, his breath warm against your skin as he moves his path higher. “Nobody is home.”

Pulling you closer to the edge of the counter, he pulls your shorts and underwear off swifty.

You lay back, your head resting on top of the long-forgotten textbooks and other stationary.

Logan spreads your legs further, appreciating how you’re already clenching without him even really doing anything.

“Logan~,” you breathe, your hand reaching down to try and find his head so you can push him into you.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

He lifts up your shirt, pressing a kiss to your bellybutton before kissing a slow trail down.

When you finally think he’s going to kiss you where you’re aching, he moves to your inner thigh, pressing kisses and sucking on the skin there.

“Logan~~,” you whine, louder this time. You’re becoming desperate for it.

“Say my name again,” he says against your thigh. He’s so close to where you need him, his warm breath fanning over you.

“Logan~, Logan~, Logan pleaseee,” you chant.

You bite back a moan as blows on your throbbing clit. He does that a few more times, each time leaning back to admire how your muscles contract.

Before you can beg him again, he finally takes your clit into his mouth. He’s gentle with it, giving you a soft suck before releasing it. He tongues his way down to your whole, lapping up your arousal.

“Mhmm, you taste so good, baby.” He swipes a finger up between your folds, coating his finger in your arousal. “Have a taste.”

He leans over, putting his finger in your mouth. Keeping your eyes firmly on him, you suck it into your mouth.

“See how good you taste?” He asks, his voice heavy with need.

You hum around him finger and he looks back at you with a proud look on your face.

Pulling his finger out of your mouth, he settles back between your legs. Lewd, wet, sounds fill the large room as he laps at your pussy.

Your back arches and your finders find his hair as he sucks on your clit again.

“You like that, baby?” He asks.

“Yes~ I’m dripping wet,” you respond.

Just as you start to feel the pleasure coiling, the heavy front door swings open, the sound echoing into the kitchen.

“Yo! Anyone home? I brought food.”

It’s Dean.

Panic hits you like a bucket of ice water. You try to scramble back on the counter, your face flushing a deep, vivid red.

“Logan! Move, it’s Dean!” You hiss frantically.

Instead of jumping up, Logan’s grip on your thighs only tightens. You can’t help but moan as he licks at you again.

Dean rounds the corner, a brown paper bag in one hand and half-eaten chip in the other. He stops dead, taking in the entire scene. You, breathless and dishevelled on top of the kitchen island, and Logan, face pinned between your knees.

Logan lifts his head to look at Dean, his chin and lips are glistening and there’s a line of spit connecting his lips to your pussy. You freeze, hiding your face in your hands.

Dean lets out a loud whoop!

“Well, well, well,” Dean sings, leaning casually against the wall. He casts his eyes over the tools on the floor. “I knew you were handy, Logan, but I didn’t know you offered full-service plumbing. I guess when duty calls...”

“Dean, oh my God, go away!” You squeak, face still hidden behind your hands.

“Hey, don’t mind me! You carry on.” Dean laughs, completely unbothered. “In the kitchen? Respect.”

Before Dean’s even gone, Logan face is already buried back between your legs.  

“See ya later, lovebirds!” Dean struts up the stairs, leaving the two of you alone.

You bite down on your forearm as Logan sucks on your clit again.

“Don’t go quiet on me now, let him hear how wet I get you.” There’s a glint in Logan’s eye, he obviously thrives on this.

The tension leaves your shoulders as Logan works two fingers into you. His tongue presses flat against your clit as he shakes it side to side. It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build up again, his fingers scissoring and curving inside of you.

You’re babbling now, trying to find the words to articulate what you need from him, you’re on the edge, you’re so close. But he knows what you need and with one final flick of his tongue, electricity runs through your body.

You see stars under the force of your orgasm. Your entire body jerking as you scream Logan’s name.

He holds you close until your pulse begins to slow, telling you how beautiful you look when you cum.

He slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, a smug look of satisfaction on his still shiny face. He stands up, smoothing his shirt. The evidence of his excitement is clear.

He wiggles his eyebrows at you. Just before you’re about to speak, a loud shout echoes down the stairs.

“Hell yeah, Logan. Let’s goooo!” Dean yells through his closed bedroom door.

It has been a tough week. The game that weekend had been too close, so Coach Jensen was being extra hard on them during practices. And then his philosophy paper (which he admittedly barely studied for) came back with a glaring D, and combined with the previous F’s he’s gotten, he needs at least a B in all his course work for the semester if he wants to pass the class. Garrett’s sore, his head hurts, he can’t focus enough to understand what the fuck Kierkegaard is talking about, so really it’s a respite that one of the girls Dean invited over for air hockey and beers made eyes at him when he passed by the living room on his way to the kitchen. It takes three more unsubtle glances, a raised eyebrow, and a tilt of his head, and suddenly Garrett’s week is becoming marginally better with his arms caging the girl (what’s her name again?) against his bedroom door and his mouth attached to her tits. Somewhere downstairs, his friends’ muffled voices playing video games and air hockey can still be heard, but his ears are more focused on the helpless noises coming out of his company’s mouth. 

He moves with efficient experience, tugging her jeans down her waist and unclasping her bra with a snap of his fingers. She giggles when he guides her to his bed and drops between her thighs, but the laughter quickly turns into choked moans the second he presses his tongue into her. It’s there, his head between her legs and her hands gripping his hair, that his bedroom door slams open, causing the girl to yelp and Garrett to snap his head up in shock. 

“Angel, what the fuck?” Garrett sputters at the sight of his best friend, immediately throwing his blanket to cover the naked girl on his bed and scrambling up to his feet. 

Angel–not because that’s her name, but because their first Halloween as friends when they were twelve, she had come as an angel complete with a wide-span, white feathered custom wing that sliced a jagged wound on Garrett’s bicep when she turned around and accidentally hit him with it. It turned out that she hadn’t assembled the wings correctly, and a loose wire had been the culprit. They spent two hours in the emergency room with their year coordinator because Garrett’s dad didn’t bother to drive up to their boarding school and check on him, her in her angel costume sans the wings (which she threw away violently in solidarity with him) and him in his Wolverine get up, hair gel, claws, and all. Garrett thought it was the funniest thing ever, telling her that their costumes matched after all, and had proceeded to call her Angel (from X-men, that is) for the foreseeable future. 

She seemed unbothered at having caught him with his head between a random girl’s legs, but that’s not really the most compromising position they’ve seen each other in in their over ten years of friendship. If anything, she seemed annoyed, but Garrett knows her like the back of his hand, so he immediately clocks the mask and the underlying problem in the twitch of her eyebrows and her raw-bitten lower lip. Something’s wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, tugging his sweats back in place. 

The girl in his bed scoffs. “Are you kidding me?”

Garrett doesn’t wave her off, but it’s a close thing. He stands straighter, jaw clenched. “Angel?”

She finally meets his gaze. “I need you.” 

Just three words, but they get his heart beating against his chest in mixed anxiety and concern. “You got me.”

“Okay.” She nods, finally allowing her eyes to flick towards the increasingly annoyed girl (whose name Garrett still can’t remember) in his bed. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Brush your teeth, please.”

And then she turns around and leaves. 

For a moment, his room is silent, the kind that sits awkwardly in the atmosphere, and then Garrett clears his throat and faces–Zoe? Zara?--with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

She stares up at him expectantly, her bare torso still covered by his thin sheets. 

Garrett scratches at the nape of his neck. “You should probably go.”

Her jaw drops immediately. “Unbelievable.” 

But she really shouldn’t have been surprised. If everyone on campus knew who Garrett Graham was, then everyone also knew that his best friend comes first. Always.

By the time he manages to get downstairs, mouth minty cool because he knows better than to face his best friend with pussy breath, Zoe (that’s her name!) had already shoved his chest and left the house, which is a relief. He spots his favorite cockblocker right away in the kitchen, idly chatting with Logan and Tucker, but Garrett can tell her heart isn’t in it. The second she sees him, she lifts her hand and twirls his car keys in her finger, giving him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Garrett feels another tug in his chest at the sight, but he knows she hates talking about her problems with an audience, so he decides to put a pin in it. At least until they’re alone together. 

“I’m driving,” she says, getting up from the stool. 

He rolls his eyes, reaching over to snatch the cap on Tucker’s head and put it on his own, backwards and all. He ignores the consequent “hey!” that comes from his friend’s mouth and instead makes a face at her. “Do I have a choice?”

“No,” she grins sarcastically, patting his chest and walking out the door, him close on her trail. 

They’re only driving for about seven minutes when Garrett bites the bullet. “So–”

“Zip it, Professor X,” she interrupts, which in turns makes him glare at her. She knows how much he resents that nickname–he’d had a buzzcut one time in 9th grade, he wasn’t bald at all, and she still won’t freaking drop it. “At least let me get my fries first.”

It’s only then that Garrett notices the nearby Wendy’s she seems to be driving towards. “I swear to god, Angel, if you interrupted me just because you wanted fast food–”

“Oh, poor Garrett and his sad little blue balls,” she mocks, pouting her lips. “However will he recover?”

“I hate you,” he deadpans, but there’s a traitorous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I actually, bone-deeply hate you.”

“You love me,” she corrects him, pushing at the turn signal.

“I can love you and hate you at the same time,” Garrett tells her, face mock-serious. “I contain multitudes. Right now, it’s veering towards ‘I hate you,’ though.”

She flashes him a smile, but it’s all wrong. “Well, you’re not the only one.”

Immediately, the teasing air evaporates, and Garrett feels his eyebrows come together in confusion. “What does that mean? Angel?”

But his best friend remains frustratingly silent. She goes on to order for the two of them, only acknowledging him when it’s time to pay, which makes him scoff but hand over his card anyway. The grin she gives him then is a little more real, a little more Angel, so at least the tight ball of anxiety in Garrett’s chest loosens a little. She finds a parking spot easily, and for ten, torturous minutes, she does nothing but eat her heart out and ask him insignificant questions about the game last weekend and how practice was. Garrett tries to indulge her a little, but when she opens up another insignificant topic, this time about her Art Criticism professor, Garrett can’t take it anymore. 

“You’re killing me here, Angel,” he sighs, stealing a fry from her. “I’ve kinda been panicking about what’s wrong for the last half hour, so if you could please with a cherry on top get to it, it would be much appreciated.”

She glares at him for his bluntness for a few seconds, before her shoulders visibly deflate and her lower lip begins to tremble.

“Hey,” he sits up immediately, one hand reaching out to grip her chin. “Talk to me. It’s me. What’s wrong?”

She takes a few steadying breaths before saying, “I’m a horrible person.”

“No, you’re not,” Garrett counters immediately, eyebrows furrowing even further. “You’re the best person I know. Who told you that?”

“Garrett,” she says helplessly, and the break in her voice makes his head pound. 

He wants names of the people who hurt her and he wants to hunt them down one by one. But getting angry in that moment isn’t exactly appropriate, so he swallows down his rage at seeing the most important person in his life hurt and crowds further into her space instead, guiding her face so she can look at him. “Angel.”

She shuts her eyes tight, and every tear that drops to her face feels like a gunshot to his chest. “I did it.”

“What did you do?” Garrett asks, forcing himself to keep his voice soft and stable. “Angel, you’re really scaring me here.”

She looks at him, then, and then utters the words Garrett never thought he’d ever hear. “I broke up with Jason.”

“What?” He backs away a few inches in shock. 

“I broke up with Jason,” she says again, clearer this time, and Garrett feels something loosen in his chest. Disbelief, yes, but also something more hidden. Something that feels a lot like relief.

“She did what?” Dean exclaims, pulling his helmet off his head in shock. 

Garrett sighs at his dramatics but repeats his words, anyway, his tone of voice still a little disbelieving, himself. “She broke up with him. For real. Like, permanently. I’m helping her find a new place after practice.”

“Well, shit,” Dean says, face still looking puzzled. “What did the asshole do?”

Garrett pushes his sweat-slicked hair back away from his face. “That’s just it. Mayor Jason did nothing. Like, absolutely nothing.”

“What does that mean?” Logan chimes in, unflinching at the mocking nickname and obviously just as invested in the story of his best friend’s love life. 

“She told me that she just woke up one day and realized that it wasn’t working out anymore. That she…doesn’t love him anymore, I guess.”

Tucker falls down on the bench next to Dean, having heard the words himself. “Shit.”

“I know,” Garrett sighs, fiddling with his gloves. “I kind of feel bad for him.”

Dean laughs at that. “Dude, you hated the guy.”

“I don’t hate him.”

Logan shoves his shoulder. “You literally call him Mayor Jason.”

Garrett scoffs. “He wants to be a politician!”

This makes his friends laugh even harder, and Garrett finds himself chuckling along. “I just think he’s a pretentious asshole. But Angel loved him, and he was good to her, I think, so no, I don’t hate him.”

“Damn,” Tucker says, shaking his head. “I always thought those two would, like, get married and have kids and stuff.”

Garrett feels his stomach drop at the words, but there’s no denying the truth behind them, especially when even he agreed. “Me too.”

“Is she okay, though? Does she regret it?” Dean asks, beginning to put his helmet back on. 

Garrett thinks about their text messages that morning; all playfulness and banter, nothing out of the ordinary. But then he remembers her words in his car the other day, the way she cried into his chest. He clears his throat. “She feels terrible about it. But she’ll be fine.”

“Of course, she will,” Logan reassures him with a pat on his chest. “She’s got you, G. She’ll be just fine.”

He’s at the student union center getting a gatorade in one of the vending machines when she purposefully bumps her shoulder to his, pressing their sides together.

“Ouch,” Garrett deadpans, reaching a hand out to press the necessary button and waits for his drink to fall. 

She nudges him further, until his senses are assaulted by the smell of the strawberry shampoo that she’s been using since high school. “What are you doing tonight?”

That makes Garrett pause for a second. It wasn’t Saturday so he definitely didn’t miss brunch, and they haven’t scheduled their movie nights for that month, either. No games until next week, too. Slowly, he turns to her, eyes full of suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

“Don’t be weird, Garrett,” she rolls her eyes, her shoulder still pressed to his. “What? Do you have plans?”

He crouches down to get his Gatorade. “I was actually planning to study for my Philosophy class. I have an oral exam coming up.”

She snorts; an ugly, raw, Angel sound that automatically makes Garrett feel ten thousand times lighter. “Oral exam? Oh, is that what you were doing when I walked in on you–”

“Shut the fuck up,” Garrett interrupts her with a hand to her mouth, the tips of his ears burning. That only serves to make her laugh more, the heat of her breath scorching his palm. 

“Come by my place later, come on,” she tells him, one hand reaching out to grip at his hoodie. 

Garrett throws his head back in exasperation. “Angel, I really need to do well on this exam. I might not be allowed to play if I fuck it up.” 

“I’ll help you!” She raises her voice, lips stretching into a smile at his disbelieving look. “I swear! I took that class freshman year.”

He immediately frowns at that. “Wait, you did?”

“Yes?” She gives him a weird look, tugging at his hoodie to get him to start walking with her. His feet follow immediately. Traitors. “It’s a pre-requisite to this class I really wanted to take.” 

“How the fuck did you pass that class? It’s hell!” Garrett says, lips turning into a slight pout. “And you passed it your freshman year?”

She laughs again, a high, twinkling sound, looking back at him. “Oh, babe. Don’t you worry. I got you.”

“What’s the catch?” He continues to ask, taking her hand from his hoodie so he could grip it with his own. It feels natural, just like the hundred thousand times they’ve held hands before she got herself a boyfriend. Garrett tries to ignore his heart pounding in his chest.

“You’re my best friend,” she widens her amused eyes at him, squeezing his fingers. “There’s no catch.”

“I don’t believe you for a second, Angel.”

Over the next few weeks, Garrett tries to convince himself he’s being totally normal about the fact that his best friend is taking over his life. 

She texts him after practice to go have dinner. After he bullshits his way to a B+ for his Philosophy oral exam, she drags him to IKEA and makes him help her pick out new furniture for her place. He’s over at her apartment nearly every single day, helping assemble said furniture and unpack her moving boxes (it takes too long because she forgot to label them). She bullies him into studying with her, and it’s the most time Garrett has spent in the library since his first year (except he doesn’t actually study; he tries to do his course work for about twenty minutes before giving up and going on his phone while she’s nose-deep in her readings beside him). She shows up at the hockey house unannounced like she usually does, but this time more frequently, sometimes even getting the other guys to join in on their movie nights. One time she even helped Tuck with dinner. They go on random drives so much that his car feels practically hers as much as his. Their Saturday brunches become a daily thing. 

And Garrett knows nothing is wrong about any of this. It’s nice to not have to schedule their hang-outs anymore. It’s refreshing that all he has to do to see her now is to send her a text and vice versa. He doesn’t even care that the last time he hooked up with someone was that interrupted time with Zoe more than a month ago. Nothing is wrong about his best friend suddenly just being there. All the time. Except when they’re walking together around campus and she’s hooking their arms together or, God forbid, intertwining their fingers, Garrett’s breath catches in his throat and he finds it a little harder to breathe. Or when she shows up at practice unannounced wearing his old high school jersey with a tray of coffee for him and the other guys in the team and his heart stutters in his chest. 

So no. He’s not being completely normal about it. He just can’t figure out the reason why.  

He slams his locker shut before leaning against it. “It’s weird.”

Dean looks up at him from where he’s unlacing his skates. “What’s weird?”

Garrett frowns down at him for a second before averting his eyes. “Angel.”

“Oh, boy,” Logan says, and he sees the rest of his friends exchange knowing looks. 

“What?” Garrett asks, looking between them. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

They’re still smiling at each other like they know something he doesn’t, which fucking sucks. 

Dean’s shoulders begin to shake in laughter. “I have never been wrong a day in my life. Goddamn.”

“What?” Garrett presses, growing more annoyed by the minute. 

Dean continues to laugh, even tutting at him appeasingly. “Don’t you worry your pretty curly head about it, G. You’ll know soon enough.”

“Fuck you,” he says automatically, but the heat isn’t there. 

Dean takes the curse in stride. “So what about your ‘Angel’ is weird?”

The words distract Garrett enough that he forgets about their weirdness entirely. “I don’t know. Everything? I know we’re best friends. She’s the most important person in my life. But I feel like we’ve been…I don’t know, spending so much time together recently. Like, we haven’t spent this much time together since high school, probably, and we were stuck in the same boarding school and taking all our classes together then, so that’s saying something.”

Logan chuckles and shakes his head at him. “G, your best friend just got out of a serious, 3-year relationship. They were living together at one point. Of course you’re going to spend more time with her now. More than half of her day just freed up by being single alone.”

“And I bet she’s bored,” Tucker adds, nodding. “Imagine all the free time all of a sudden. Even her own apartment is probably too quiet now. I remember that Jason guy can talk.”

“Yeah, about apolitical bullshit that no one but him cares about,” Garrett mutters under his breath. 

Dean makes a face. “I’m not getting the problem here. Are you boys getting the problem?” Logan and Tucker dutifully shake their heads, making Dean point at him. “See? That’s such a non-issue, dude. So you’re spending more time with your best friend. Your steak is too buttery. Your bread is too soft. Nyada nyada.”

Garrett throws a glove at his face that he manages to dodge at the last minute. “It’s not that. It’s just…Okay. If one of you makes fun of me for what I’m about to say, I will crush you like a bug. Get it?”

The three look at him expectantly. 

Garrett sighs, training his eyes up the ceiling. “When we were in our senior year in high school and Angel started dating Jason…I kind of had a hard time adjusting.”

Dean looks way too delighted at his words, making Garrett throw another glove at him. This time it hits him right in the center of his chest. 

“Don’t make it a thing,” Garrett warns, giving them a look before sighing again. “Back then we were–I don’t know how to explain it. Attached at the hip? Two halves of the same person? Just. Inseparable, I guess. No one could tell where she ended and I began. And I loved that about us. She was the only family I have. The one I chose. And then Jason happened, and I lost that. The casual intimacy and closeness. It suddenly wasn’t appropriate anymore. I never heard a peep from her, but I was a guy. I could tell our closeness bothered him. So eventually I dealt with it. I adjusted. But it was hard. And to say I didn’t mourn our relationship then would be a lie.”

Tucker leans forward. “How did you adjust?”

Dean smirks. “Let me guess: by fucking half of the senior year population?”

“Fuck you,” Garret tells him again. “But yeah. Kind of. But that’s not even the point! The point is I get the sudden free time, okay? That’s what I felt when she got a boyfriend. All these things I used to do with her suddenly aren’t feasible anymore, so instead I spend hours of my day with nothing to do. Eventually, yeah, I found something to fill the time, but it was hard. I thought I was losing my best friend, and I couldn’t do anything about it because then I might lose her for real. I was a dramatic 18-year-old. Whatever. But what happens when she glues us together again, forms us a routine of being constantly together, and then she gets another boyfriend? That’s bullshit.”

Logan, Tucker, and Dean slowly exchange another look. 

“What?” Garrett asks. 

Logan shakes his head. “Are you hearing yourself, man?”

“What?” He repeats, getting even more confused than before.

“Oh my god,” Dean laughs, slapping his thighs. “He’s fucking hopeless, man. I give up.”

She’s already drunk when Garrett gets to the party, and he knows this because she lights up instantly at the sight of him, her entire body practically vibrating from where she’s standing. “Garrett!!!”

“Hey, Angel,” he says, receiving her tackle with a short grunt. “How much have you had to drink?”

She ignores his question completely, burrowing her face in his chest. “Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been waiting for you for ages.”

Garrett allows himself to chuckle at how obnoxious his best friend is being. He shuffles both of their bodies so that he’s leaning against the fridge, his feet planted firmly on the ground in case she intends to tackle him again. His hands rub her back in slow circles, and Garrett immediately takes note of the goosebumps lining her skin. She’s wearing a tight brown tank top and low-rise jeans, and he puts his hands on the slit of skin of her back showing underneath her top and pulls away just enough to see her face to face. “You cold?”

“No,” she answers instantly, then steps forward even closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “I need to tell you something, Charles.”

It takes him a moment to place the name, and when he does, he rolls his eyes. He’s never living down that fucking buzzcut. “What is it, Angel?”

“I ran into Jason’s friends at lunch,” she continues saying, voice low enough that Garrett has to strain his ears. He nods at her to continue, which she does, voice shaking. “He hates me.”

For a second Garrett isn’t sure whether she’s going to cry, but then her shoulders start shaking, giggles leaving her lips uncontrollably. “He fucking hates me, Prof.” 

Garrett tightens his arms around her, unsure how to approach the situation. “I’m sure he doesn't, Angel.”

“No, he does,” she nods her head in resignation. “And I don’t think I care. I’m a horrible person.”

He pinches the exposed skin of her back, making her yelp. “Enough of that. I won’t let you talk shit about my best friend anymore. Stop it.”

She shuffles closer again, getting on her tiptoes and burying her face against his neck. Every word out of her mouth sends a hot breath against his skin that Garrett tries hard to ignore. “I wish he cheated. Or neglected me. I just wish he did something bad so I wouldn’t be feeling all this guilt.”

“You don’t mean that,” Garrett says against her hair, squeezing her tightly against him. 

“I wish I could say that I’m in love with him,” she continues. “What if I never was? Isn’t that crazy, G? We’ve been together for almost four years. We’ve exchanged I love you’s countless times. But in hindsight, what the fuck do I know about love? If I had truly loved him, how can I wake up one morning and just…stop?”

“That’s just it, though,” Garrett says, which makes her pull away to look at him. “It’s scary.”

“What?”

“Love,” he shrugs. “How fickle it is. What happened to you scares me. What if it doesn’t stop at just romantic love?”

She almost smiles at that. “What, you think I’m going to wake up tomorrow and just decide you’re a repulsive best friend and I want you out of my life?”

“Don’t even joke about that, Angel,” he chides with a fake shudder, and something in her expression melts and softens. 

She steps closer, enough that their noses are touching. “Wanna know something?”

Garrett swallows the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “What?”

“Jason would hate to see us like this,” she says, and Garrett tenses up instantly, intending to pull away, but she tightens her grip around him.

He takes a few seconds to reply. “I know.”

Garrett sees the way her eyes dilate at his words. “Is that why you pushed me away?”

“I didn’t push you away,” he denies immediately, but even as he says the words his breath stutters in his chest. 

She smiles a little sadly. “Of course you did, G. One minute we’re inseparable and the next we had to pre-sched our hang outs because you’re fucking every girl in school.”

The blunt way she puts it makes Garrett squeeze her hips, and he doesn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the action. He feels like he’s underwater, like everything suddenly became muffled around them. The only clear view is her. His best friend. The most important person in his life. 

Best friend, he repeats the words in his head. Come on, Graham. That’s your best friend. 

“Want to know the funny thing?” She asks again, nudging their noses together. 

Garrett almost chickens out and doesn’t ask. But her gaze is a challenge in itself, and he’s nothing if not competitive, so he forces the words out of his mouth. “What, Angel?”

“The night before I broke up with him, I closed my eyes and imagined my future. Ten, fifteen, twenty years from now. What I wanted it to be. What I think it would be. And,” she cuts herself off with a chuckle, alcohol breath fanning against Garrett’s face. “Jason wasn’t there. He was nowhere to be found.”

Garrett clenches his jaw. “Really?”

“Uh huh,” she confirms, extending one hand up to push back his hair. “Wanna know who was?”

But Garrett already knows the answer. It’s clear as day. Still, when she pushes up on her tiptoes to whisper it to his ear, he feels his world begin to crumble, the words devastating in their honesty. 

“You,” she says, and then she smiles a little cruelly. “My best friend.”

That night wouldn’t be the first time Garrett Graham jerks off to the thought of his best friend. But it’s the first time he doesn’t feel guilty about it. 

He swings his stick harshly. The puck misses the goal.

Another swing. Miss again. 

Swing. Miss.

“Fuck!” Garrett throws his stick to the ice, skating away. 

From the stands, his three friends watch him, faces in varying states of winces. 

“That,” Dean says, voice low. “Is a cry for help.”

Logan scrunches his nose up. “Amen, brother.”

Tuck nods along. “Amen.”

“What can we do about it, boys? Our cap needs an intervention.” Dean says, still eyeing Garrett’s form critically.

Logan chuckles. “Unless we get him to admit he’s in love with his fucking best friend? Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Dean says with a smirk, lifting up his phone.

Twenty minutes later, she’s there in the tunnels, head whipping around in search of Garrett. 

“Angel!” Dean calls out, making her turn towards him. “Over here!”

She speedwalks towards where he’s standing, wearing a Briar U hoodie Dean’s pretty sure is Garrett’s and loose sweats that may or may not also be Garrett’s. “What happened? Where is he? And don’t call me that.”

“Oh right, sacred nicknames, I forgot. Sorry.” Dean says all of this with a knowing smile on his face, which she decides to ignore. “G’s in the shower. We’re gonna head out. You go do your best friend magic on him and take care of our cap.”

She rolls her eyes but dutifully drops down to one of the benches in the hallway to wait for him. When Garrett steps out of the locker room, he’s wearing a navy zip-up hoodie and his hair is still dripping wet from his shower. He almost jumps at the sight of her.

“Angel,” he says in surprise, his grip on his bag tightening. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know, Prof X. You tell me,” she says, getting up and dusting off her sweats. “Dean says you need an intervention.”

Garrett closes his eyes at that. “I fucking hate him.”

“Come on,” she inclines her head before hooking her arm to his. “You can hate him in the comfort of my new apartment. Movie night?”

The last thing Garrett wants is to spend an entire night pressed up against the best friend he’s trying and completely failing to convince himself he feels nothing for, pretending to watch a movie he could care less about. But clearly the universe had other plans, so now they’re cuddled on her couch, a half-empty box of pizza on the coffee table in front of them and High School Musical 3 playing on the tv.

“Troy Bolton is so hot,” she comments after one of the song numbers, licking her fingers to clean off the pizza sauce. 

Garrett clears his throat and tells himself the view doesn’t affect him. “He’s so short, though. How does he expect to be a collegiate point guard with that height?”

“Good thing it’s a movie,” she emphasizes the last word, nudging his stomach with her elbow. “It’s escapism. Besides, with a pretty face like that, size won’t even matter.”

That makes Garrett’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, his head twisting to shoot her a knowing smirk. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” she juts her chin out and insists, glaring at him. “Sorry you can’t relate.”

Garrett knows she’s making a dig at his looks, but he can’t help but twist her words, his smirk practically a permanent fixture on his face at the moment. “Yep. Never had a problem with size, I’m afraid.”

He watches her jaw drop at his words, laughs out loud when she suddenly slaps his shoulder multiple times. “You are infuriating.” 

“You love me, Angel,” Garrett teases her, hoping she doesn’t hear the way his heart jumps at the bold words. 

“I wish I didn’t.”

He’s still chuckling when he finally catches her hands, stopping her continued assault. “You don’t mean that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You love me,” Garrett says again. And maybe this time she hears the catch in his voice, the underlying seriousness beneath the teasing, because she freezes in her spot, both her hands still held tightly in his. 

She looks at him for a few seconds. “I do, yeah.”

Garrett feels like he stops breathing. When he speaks again, the word sounds like a warning even to his own ears. “Angel.”

He feels her shift against him until she’s practically on his lap. “What? Don’t you love me too?”

Garrett is suddenly hyperaware of every point of contact; her thighs almost bracketing his hips, the heat of her skin seeping through their clothes, her hands still dwarfed by his. In the background, Zac Efron is singing something about screaming, but the sound is dull and muffled. He can’t focus on anything except her. 

“You’re dangerous,” he manages to rasp out. 

He thinks of all the times they found themselves in this position; all the times Garrett found himself wanting to cross the boundary they’ve drawn when they were twelve and decided they needed to be in each other’s lives forever as best friends. The summer before high school when they became each other’s first kiss because it’d be embarrassing to be in 9th grade without any experience. His sixteenth birthday when a game of spin the bottle had them doing it again, deeper that time, with tongue. Junior prom when they went together as friends and right there on the dancefloor, Garrett had to grapple with the fact that he wanted to kiss his best friend badly. 

It had always been there in the crevices of their friendship; the unspoken need for more, for intimacy and connection. It had been easier to handle when Jason happened, because finally the boundaries were physical and concrete in the form of another person. But now, in the couch he helped her assemble in the new apartment he helped her find and move into, with her body pressed against his so closely and tightly he can feel every breath she takes, the boundaries might as well be nonexistent. 

“This is a bad idea. You just got out of a relationship.”

She almost smiles. “I know.”

“You’re my best friend,” Garrett says again, but he’s not sure whether it’s her he’s convincing or himself.

She shifts again. Garrett closes his eyes at the feeling. “Garrett. You’re my best friend, too.”

A pause. 

They’re not really sure who moves first, but in the next breath their lips are pressing together, a moan punching out of his throat from the sensation. She plants her hands on his shoulders to anchor herself, straddling him properly now. Almost immediately, she begins grinding down on him, and his body’s reaction is instant. 

“Fuck, Angel,” Garrett exhales a heavy breath, torn between wanting to close his eyes or savoring the sight of his best friend on top of him. “Come here.”

He guides her by her jaw so he can kiss her again, deeper, his tongue tracing her lower lip before slipping inside her mouth. She tastes like the soda she had been drinking. It takes Garrett back to that birthday party when they were sixteen, their classmates all around them cheering while he got to properly taste her for the first time. He thinks about sitting there finishing the spin the bottle game with a raging hard on inside his pants, hoping the light is too dim for anyone to notice. 

He bites at her lips again, causing a soft noise to come from her mouth that absolutely destroys him, enough that his hips juts up without control. 

She pulls away and begins tugging at his zip-up hoodie, chest heaving harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Take this off.”

He helps her along dutifully, watching with dark eyes as she tosses the piece of clothing behind her. “Fuck, Garrett, I love your shoulders.”

“Yeah?” He breathes out, letting his hands bunch her top upwards and over her head until she’s left in a lacy lilac bra, sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination. 

She gives a trembling nod, taking his tank top off too. Her nails trace down his torso, watching his abs contract in fascination. “Got myself off for the first time thinking about them.”

“Jesus Christ, Angel.” Garrett huffs, his breath leaving him. It only gets worse when she reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra, revealing her full breasts, nipples dark and tight just like he imagined. As if he can’t help himself, his face drags forward until he’s close enough to close his mouth around one bud, his hand taking care of the other. 

A choked cry leaves her mouth, head throwing back in pleasure. One of her hands skirts the waistband of his sweats, and then she palms his cock through the fabric like it wouldn’t absolutely ruin him. His hips jerk up again. “You want me?”

The question almost comes off as cruel. Does he want her? As if there’s a world in which Garrett doesn’t. As if he doesn’t feel as if he had been born to worship her like this. 

“You don’t even know how much,” he murmurs against her skin. He kisses over the moles in her chest and shoulders that he used to make fun of when they were kids. 

She shimmies out of her shorts and underwear, and the sight of her thin damp curls short-circuits Garrett’s brain. He isn’t even aware of her hands sliding his sweats down, just enough to free his cock with an angry bob. His blood thuds in his ears loudly. 

She shuffles closer again, until they’re almost chest to chest, hovering above him and teasing the head of his cock at her entrance. “Since when?”

Maybe it’s the intimacy he’s been craving since he first learned what it’s like to want his best friend, or maybe it’s his dick talking, but the honest words are out of his mouth before he could stop them: “Since forever.”

He feels more than sees her body tense up, and in mere seconds she has shuffled away, still within reach but the inch of increased space makes his heart drop to his stomach nonetheless. Shit. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asks, face going pale. Her eyes scan his face steadily, and he knows guilt is written all over him in capital letters. 

Garrett tugs his sweats up with a sigh. “Angel–”

“Garrett,” she says, voice hard. The lack of a nickname sends a pang through his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He pushes his hair back and leans his head against the couch, eyes trained to the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

He hears her shuffle around, knows that it’s her getting dressed, the final nail in the coffin that was their night together. The panic is slowbuilding in his stomach; half of his wits are still stuck to two minutes ago when they were flushed together making out with wild abandon.

How the fuck did he let this happen? More than that, what the fuck is going to happen to them? She’s his best friend. She’s been in his life for over ten years. She’s held him during losses, nursed him when his dad beat him to shit. She’s the only one who truly knows him inside out, and now he’s on the verge of losing her because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. 

“That’s not what I asked.”

Garrett attempts to look at her. She’s wearing her top again, arms crossed over her chest and still staring at him in horrified expectancy. He pries his eyes away immediately, instead focusing on the loose thread in the throw pillowcase next to his lap. When he speaks, his voice comes out defensive. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“The truth, Garrett,” she says, the hard edge to her voice still there. 

Garrett throws his head back again. Anything just to avoid her eyes. “I know it’s wrong, alright? You’re my best friend. We shouldn’t–I shouldn’t have ever—but I couldn’t help it. I’ve wanted you probably since before I even knew what wanting someone meant.”

She inhales a sharp breath. “High school?’

“Yeah, mostly,” he admits, clenching his jaw. “Maybe even before then.”

“Fuck, Garrett,” she breathes out, making him shut his eyes tight. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

They’re silent for a few seconds before she speaks again. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

That finally gets him to look at her, if a little incredulously. “Are you kidding? I didn’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you.”

Her face twists, like she’s in pain. “But you blew me off.”

He sits up at that, his confusion clear as day. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Garrett,” she laughs his name out tiredly, shaking her head. “Don’t you remember? The summer before our senior year. We spent almost every day together. We held hands and cuddled and you kissed me everywhere except my lips constantly. Everyone else thought we were dating. And I thought…I thought we were getting there.”

He swallows harshly. He doesn’t know what to say. The memory of that summer hit him like a brick. The train rides spent flushed against each other, his hands on the back pocket of her jeans. The amount of times he stopped himself from just crossing the line and kissing her for real. 

“I fell for you. Hard.” She tells him, causing his mouth to gape open. “I thought we were on the same page. But then we got to Stacy’s party at the end of summer and everyone asked where we stood and you completely blew me off. She’s just my best friend–that’s what you said. And then you let all these girls hang all over you the entire night. It doesn’t get any clearer than that.”

Garrett opens his mouth. “But–”

“Jason asked me out a few days later and I figured why not. Might as well.” She shoots him a sad smile. Her eyes are wet, and Garrett hates himself for making it happen. “I grew to like him eventually. And you started pulling away. Maybe part of it was on me for getting a boyfriend and not having enough time for you anymore. But every time I saw you with a different girl, it just proved to me what I realized at that party. You didn’t want me. I was just your best friend. And if I wanted to keep you in my life, I had to be okay with that.” 

Garrett shakes his head. His heart is thrumming so loudly in his chest he’s sure she can hear it from where she’s sitting. “I wanted you. So bad. I was so scared that it would ruin everything that I never said anything. And then you got together with Jason. It killed me to see you with him. To know that I could never hold your hand or kiss you or put my arms around you anymore because he might get mad. Those girls were just–”

“I know what they were,” she interrupts, a resigned smile on her face. “Still sucked, though.”

“Yeah.” 

A cheer comes from the TV. Garrett almost forgot it was still playing. The characters launch into the finale song, the one at graduation. At least it does the job of filling the silence. 

Finally, she lets out a long sigh. “This was a mistake.”

He can’t even explain the hurt that shoots up his chest at the words that just left her mouth. He wants to build a time machine and go back to three hours ago, debating pizza flavors and movie options without a hint that their night will get derailed. He wants to go back to that summer before their senior year and kiss her right there on the train. But Garrett is no scientist and time travel doesn’t exist, so instead he chooses to say nothing, waits for more hurtful words to come. 

“You’re right,” she continues, beginning to play with her fingers. “I just got out of a relationship. This isn’t–” she shakes her head. “It’s not good. For me or for you.”

Garrett shakes his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t–” His mouth struggles with the words. “You can regret this. Me. But don’t ever think that there’s a reality where you’re not good for me. That’s impossible.”

She looks at him like it hurts her to do it. Garrett reaches down to get his shirt off the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and somehow that makes it worse. 

Garrett puts his shirt back on with as much dignity as he can muster. He bites his lip in contemplation. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me.” He can tell by the look on her face that she wants to argue about who did the kissing, but thankfully she drops it. 

“The truth?” She asks quietly, making him nod his head. She pauses again, like she’s thinking about lying anyways, and then thinks the better of it. “I’ve wanted to do it for so long, and for the first time in my life I felt like you actually wanted to do it too.”

“I did,” he tells her, voice just as quiet. “I do.”

“I’m sorry, prof,” she smiles at him, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Did I ruin everything?”

Garrett wants to cross the space between them and hold her. It kills him that he hesitates. “No. Never. I love you, Angel.”

“I love you too,” the words get caught in her throat the way they tend to do when she’s about to cry. “And it’s because I love you that we can’t do this. Not now, anyway. Four years is a long time, G. Even if I’m not in love with Jason anymore, jumping into something with you so quickly after him would feel…I don’t want to use you in that way. Not if…”

“What?” He asks. “Not if what?”

She blows a deep breath. “Not if I want this to be for real. Us.”

Garrett feels his own throat constrict at that. “You do?”

“Of course, I do,” she almost laughs, but instead she settles for a shy smile. “What do you say, Xavier? You down to wait a few more months?”

When Garrett laughs back, it’s breathy and wet and all embarrassing. “Angel, I’ve been waiting for years. A few more months is nothing.”

She finally shuffles over and sits next to him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “You don’t have to leave.”

He feels himself grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, voice more casual now, one hand reaching for the remote to pick their next movie. “Zac Efron looked super hot in Hairspray too.”

this almost made you choke.

you: right because we do a lot of studying

garrett: mhm we do

garrett: what would you think about helping us both

garrett: at the same time

you: interesting

garrett: it is

garrett: but that’s too vague of an answer for me

you couldn’t believe he was going to make you admit this, but you knew he wouldn’t even consider it without being certain.

you: yes

garrett: yes what?

you: yes i want to

you: help you both

you: at the same time

garrett: good girl

garrett: i’ll think about it

now, it was officially impossible to stop thinking about it. the fact you didn’t know when made it so much harder. you already noticed the way logan looked at you and now, every little interaction was setting your body on fire. watching him chew on the back of his pen in class, crack his knuckles, lick his lips, everything made you ache.

and garrett… something about how open he was to this made you more desperate for him than ever.

the weekend finally came, so did your usual hang out at their house…

“garrett! this is a brand new top!” you complain at his drink that made its way spilled down your shirt.

“oh, please. it’ll come out. why don’t you head upstairs and dry yourself off? let me just help everyone else out and i’ll meet you in a minute.” garrett says with a wink.

the wink is the only thing that stops you from huffing. after all, you need him after this week so you’re more than happy to skip upstairs. except in his room, you find logan sitting on the bed.

“oh. h-hey. sorry– my shirt got a little wet.” you say caught off guard at finding him in here.

“i can see that.” logan says with a laugh, eyes darting away from your chest quickly even though you know he saw and have heard enough.

he pulls off the hockey tee he’s currently wearing, handing it to you without a word leaving him only in grey sweatpants. it takes so much strength not to eye him up and down for long.

“oh, thanks.” you say shyly, before turning around to take off the wet shirt. you hear him move, possibly to get out of your way and you can’t stop yourself. “actually, do you think you can help me get this off? the hooks are kinda tricky.”

“course.” he responds. he moves behind you before pulling all of your hair to one side, to expose the back hooks of your top. his warm fingers quickly brush your neck before finding the top button. at first you wonder if you’re overthinking every touch, until he starts to speak.

“y’know, you sounded really pretty the other night…” he mutters breathily in your ear. his bluntness catches you off guard.

he always seemed shy around you, but i guess that was technically before garrett gave permission. the first hook of the top opens with even just another inch of your back feeling exposed to him floods your stomach with butterflies.

“oh, right. sorry about that. i forget how thin the walls are.” you come up with nervously, holding your breath at how close he is. another hook comes undone.

“hm, really?” he asks playfully. “kinda sounded like you wanted to me to hear. i mean you’re always loud… trust me. fuck… especially when you beg– but something was different. wasn’t it?”

before you have to come up with a response, you’re interrupted by garrett who you almost didn’t hear sneak in. the sound of him locking the door behind you makes it click that this was a plan all along. if your face wasn’t already bright blushing red, it is now.

“there’s our favorite girl… god, you poor thing, got you so soaked. huh?” garrett mocks, chuckling at how your eyes look like a deer in headlights. he plays dumb at the play on words. “i mean the top, doll.”

as logan holds the last hook along your back closed, just two fingers holding it from showing your whole bare skin. he nods his head to the shirt in your hand now being gripped tight, “you still want to cover up?”

“or… we can show logan here what you’ve been thinking about… what all that noise is about.” garrett says, face to face with you now. he runs his hands through your hair looking into your eyes, his darkening with dominance.

“please.” you manage to get out.

“please what? gonna have to get specific if you really want it that bad.” logan teases, nipping down at your neck making you squeal.

“please, fuck me. both of you.” you admit. logan snaps the last hook of your top letting it drop to the floor with a cocky grin.

“atta girl. see, logan… look. when you want to keep her quiet, you just gotta keep her mouth full.” garrett says, gently pushing down on the top of your head to get you on your knees. you obey quickly turning around to face logan who’s already unbuckling his jeans.

“fuck. good idea. should’ve thought of that…” logan groans as you eagerly take his cock into your mouth. garrett’s hands grip your hair making you let out a choked moan around him.

you make eye contact with logan as you take him, heart fluttering as he lets out satisfied breath of relief. after all, you’ve been driving him crazy for weeks. “g-god. fuck yes” logan sighs in pleasure.

“she gets excited… not too much, sweetheart. didn’t show him the best part yet.” garrett taunts. you’re pulled away from his cock, making your own drool hang down your chin. you feel filthier than ever, and you love everything about it.

four strong hands on you all at once drives you crazy, to where you can’t even tell which is which as they pull you to the bed. one tugs your skirt down to the floor, another yanks down your panties.

you get on all fours on the bed, as both of their mouths explore your skin. garrett bites along your neck, certain to leave possessive hickeys. logan is much more gentle with his tongue tracing along your thigh until he reaches your pussy. his tongue pokes at your clit softly making you sigh in pleasure, until he quickly takes it away. “please,” you beg.

“nah. you teased me for weeks behind that damn wall. think i’m gonna give you everything you want that easy? garrett spoils you too much.” logan says, giving your folds one last teasing lick before backing off even though he probably punished himself more doing so. garrett’s laugh feels evil creating goosebumps along your skin.

laying your head down on the bed with your ass up in the air, you turn your head to catch eye contact with logan behind you. he’s right, garrett spoils you. if you want it, you’re going to have to show him how you always get your way. after all, he apparently already knows what your begging sounds like.

“please, logan… i’m sorry… sometimes it just feels so good. then i get loud on purpose because i want you to fuck me too. please… i won’t wake you up anymore, i promise. i’ll be so good.” you plead, letting your eyes flutter with desperation. you know you’re as exposed as you’ll ever get right now, spread out for two guys and begging like a whore. but you need it, and you’re not ashamed anymore.

“fuck— what do you think garrett? sincere?” logan asks, refusing to look away from your eyes. he doesn’t want to think about how hard it’s going to be to probably have to forget them after this, refusing to waste a second. garrett reaches his hand to feel how wet you are, before responding “very.”

logan wastes no time at that answer pushing in to your entrance, groaning and throwing his head back immediately at the feeling. “fuck. if i didn’t hear it every night, i wouldn’t believe you were fucking her. so tight.”

garrett cups your face with one hand roughly making you look up at him, now with his other hand on his cock just inches away from your face. “she’s such a good girl, isn’t she?”

you cry out at the feeling of logan’s cock filling you up, dripping wet now as he slams in and out of you. garrett holds eye contact with you as he watches you take it, letting you enjoy it for a moment before he puts you to work.

you can’t help but smile as you look up at him, mumbling a “thank you” as he lets his best friend rail you. he smirks back as he rubs his thumb kindly along your cheek.

garrett’s cock fills your mouth, as you let out muffled moans around it. he grips your hair hard to keep hold while logan’s thrusts rock the bed too. the sound of both of their grunts is enough to send you over the edge.

your ears ring and your vision blurs, as you’re sent into pure bliss. you could hear a faint “fuck, yeah she’s cumming.” from one of them but are too fucked out to focus on which one. logan’s lips encouragingly kiss along your back.

your orgasm sends both of theirs quickly behind. logan pulls out of you, shooting his warmth along your back. your mouth floods with the familiar taste of garrett’s cum, swallowing every drop in obedience. your body falls apart on the bed, feeling sensitive in every part of you.

So, as he was biting your jaw, he lifted you by your thighs and sat you over the kitchen island, the force he used being the same he is using now to hold you in place. His hands on your waist. Yours tucking his hair.

His kisses started to descend all over your body. You could feel the warmth of his mouth melting your skin.

When he reached the top of your jeans he met your gaze, as if he was asking for permission.

You were just about to nod when he talked.

"Do you know the 'add a word' game?", he suddenly asked, bringing all your attention to what he’ve just said.

"Yes? Why?"

You let out a soft laugh.

"I want to play it."

He murmured gently, seeming shy out of sudden.

"You want to play it like…now?"

His gaze was on yours, staring at you completely serious.

"Okay, let’s play then."

Logan’s soft eyes you were seeing a moment ago turned into something feral and hungry when he started to take out your pants until you felt exposed with nothing more than your panties.

"You must stay quiet. Only one word per turn." He explained "Start, love."

You exhaled when he pushed your panties to the side.

"Then."

"He."

You let out a trembling sigh of anticipation.  

Logan brushed the sides of your thighs with his fingers and gave you goosebumps.

"Flicked."

"His"

"Tongue."

"Against."

"Her"

"Pussy".

Holding back a moan, you tried not to close your legs while you pulled Logan's hair.

"We've already talked about that"

"I know, sorry, it's just that... ah! I can't"

"Well, you have to do it." Logan was standing in front of you, his face buried between your thighs and your legs over his shoulders. "Because you're going to... strangle me."

"Okay, I won't do it anymore," you said. "Let's move on."

Logan started this time.

"He"

"Added"

"A"

"Finger"

You felt how he began to rub your clit while his tongue swirled at your cunt. You arched your back in ecstasy.

Logan parted your folds as he pushed two fingers inside your pussy, curling them to hit that sponge spot deep inside you.

"Oh God, yes!"

"What did we say about being silent?"

If this was some kind of torture, you never wanted to be rescued. You wanted to stay there, with him pleasing you and putting your pleasure before his, for Logan to have you at his mercy with the simplest touch, to melt from the intensity of his gaze and have your legs tremble like Bambi's around his head.

You bit your lip when Logan started finger-fucking you harder than before, he tasted you on his tongue with every short and quick stroke of his tongue. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers going in and out of you filled the room.

You closed your eyes as your walls clenched against his fingers, your breath hitching with his every thrust.

"Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me."

You mumbled something before looking down. A warmth began to build in your belly at the sight of Logan with his chin dripping with your juices.

“Faster–ah shit–harder…” you cried.

His teeth bit your clit and then he captured it with his tongue.

Your vision darkened and you opened your mouth in a silent moan.

Shock waves gripped your body as you convulsed and your hips moved upward to meet Logan's tongue.

“F-fuck!”

Logan didn't stop, wanting to prolong your orgasm as much as possible. His grip on your thigh being so tight you knew it will leave marks.

"Come on, darling, the game isn't over yet."

Oh boy.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

I think I'm getting better with smut, right? (lie to me)

Your hand shook as it hovered over the wood of Grace’s sophomore apartment door, trembling. You had asked a few times over the last few weeks, Hannah and Allie to tell you how Grace was doing but they didn't want you to feel bad. For someone who was in so much pain, you worried about Grace more than yourself.

You held your breath out in the hall of Grace's apartment. You shut your eyes. This is a bad idea. Garrett’s words echoed in your head like a warning siren: “Don’t be a fucking idiot okay—you know she doesn't want to see you. I'm not trying to make you feel bad. It's just not a good idea, got it?.” He was trying to protect you. He was trying to protect everyone, because that’s what Garrett Graham did when his friends started spinning out of control. You glared at him as he scolded you after you had shared your plan to try to fix things - and you just wanted to make sure Grace was okay.

You and Logan weren't speaking. You avoided him and there was no real conversation since the day at Malone's after he walked out. He had texted a few times, Hannah and Allie had told you about his fight about you, in the backyard with Garrett. This has been the longest you both have had not spoken in all time of knowing, if you don't count the time that you had a persistent sore throat for 2 weeks straight last winter - but nothing like this. This felt like you'd never speak to him again - and you regretted the way you spoke to him in Malone's that day. If you had acted normal, pushing down your feelings and if you hadn't caused this all to ripple - none of this would have been happening.

The silence between you and Logan was a vast, and felt almost irreconcilable. How do you ever recover from something like this? How could you face anyone after you indirectly were the reason the kindest, sweetest girl was crushed by your lack of boundaries and your blurred lines with Logan? You were grieving him, it felt like a death. You couldn't sleep or eat. You're lucky that you had only had two finals left when all this erupted. You were mourning the loss of the person who always saw the goodness in you when you could had lived like you didn't value your life, he knew you better than anyone, who couldn’t let you go until the universe forced his hand.

But as much as your heart felt physical, literal pain, Grace’s was the one that have every right to feel this way - way more than you. Logan had been hers. He belonged to her, and she had been caught in the middle as unfortunate collateral damage, unspoken entanglement - that none of you knew was even happening until that day - that she never asked or ever would agree to be a part of.

Holding the painkillers, electrolytes and tea packets in the small bin holding them - you had brought them for Grace, not as a peace offering but these were the things helping you so you extended it to her too - just in case. Taking a sharp breath before you could lose your nerve, you gently knocked.

The silence that followed was heavy. For a second, you thought she might ignore it. But then came the soft click of a lock, and the door creaked open, with Grace peering out from behind, almost hiding.

She looked fragile. Her usual bright energy was dimmed, her eyes slightly puffy, wearing an oversized sweatshirt that you painfully recognized as Logan’s. When she saw you, her expression didn't harden into anger. It just... fell. She starred at you for a second, like it was dream like - like there would be no way you were standing at her door right now.

"Y/N," she breathed, "Hi," her voice small. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Sorry - Garrett told me not to bother you and I probably shouldn't be here right now but I just needed to say some things to you. S-sorry, I can-I can leave"you said quickly, your throat tight. "I know you don't want to see me-" you whispered painfully. "I just-" There was no malice in her eyes, just a profound, exhausting sadness. "That's-it's okay, I don't not want to see you," she said opening up the door a bit more, a bit more relaxed. She looked up at you with almost hopeful glassy grey-blue eyes.

"Oh," you said surprised. Your shoulders relaxing for a second. You didn't expect her to say that. "Well, I need you to hear this, Grace." You took a breath. "I'm not saying this because I want to fix any of it because I know I can't. But I just need you to know that you are so incredibly special, Grace," you were so genuine, you just needed her to hear it.

"You're- you're a good person, Grace. You're kind, funny, the prettiest person I have ever seen honestly. Everything about you. You are just so special. You are not broken, there's nothing wrong with you, there's nothing about you that isn't good enough," your eyes pleaded that she heard you with an earnest tone in your weak voice.

"It was never your fault. None of this was because of you, and I'm really sorry you're hurting. I wish I could take it away. It's my fault, I should have been clear with my boundaries - I tried to distance myself and I already stepped away when I could. I-I should have been clearer. It wasn't fair to you. I just need you to know that you didn't deserve any of this and you can hate me if you want-"

"I don't-" Grace interrupted you, "I don't hate you, y/n...It's not your fault," Even when she was suffering she was gracious and kind.

You took a small quiet breath, stepping back to give her space.

"I just...I just wanted you to know that I think you're wonderful and that I am sorry," your voice stammered, her eyes welled up with glossy tears. "You deserve every good thing."

She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face. There was no hatred there—just the mutual, tragic understanding of two girls who had loved the same boy, both left bruised in his wake.

"Thank you, y/n/n," Grace whispered, her voice trembling but steadying, her using your nickname as a sign of the glimpse of girlhood you shared. She reached out to squeeze your hand in silent agreement that she indeed did not hate you, and actually still had kind care for you.

You gave a small smile with tears in your eyes.

"I’m not going to ," you said quietly. "I’m not going to keep being friends with Logan."

The words hung in the quiet apartment, heavy and absolute. Grace’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of shock crossing her face. "Y/N... he's your best friend."

"And look what it did," you replied with a sad, final shake of your head. "It just hurts people, and it just wrecks things."

"...Y/N, you don't have to, I already knew." She sighed. "Knew what?" you were confused. "I already knew he loved you." You both were silent.

You didn't know what to say. "Wait. Sorry - this wasn't me trying to-I didn't-this wasn't me trying to make myself feel better to get your forgiveness or anything like that. I didn't mean to make it like that-" "No, y/n. It's okay. I know you."

"I already knew he loved you. He talked about you like you were the best part of his day. I knew he had written your exam days in his calendar because he knew you got anxious. I knew you were on his mind, most of the time - even when we were together, I know he said you were his family but I don't even think he let himself believe anything otherwise - I know he didn't do this on purpose," you nodded, trying to process what she had said, you didn't even know that he was in contact with your dad, or had your test dates written down, you didn't know he was doing a hundred little things - he never told you, he never took credit for any of it - it was like a reflex of his to take care of you.

"I know he never meant to hurt you, I haven't spoken to him at all - but I know he feels awful..." you weren't trying to defend him, but you both knew John Logan's heart - and he'd never intentionally harm the both of you. He'd never do that.

She nodded, almost letting out a small laugh, "Yeah, he's pretty stupid," you laughed too, "The worst."

You handed her your small care package, "Thanks for caring about me, y/n," as she held the box in her hands, you gave her a weak smile. "See you in the fall?" You said hopeful, that Grace would still want to be your friend after some time. She nodded, and you were turned to leave, "I'm visiting my mom in Paris again," she called out, "I'm leaving next week after my last final on Tuesday," you turned back, surprised she shared that - you were glad she got to go, she was a euro-sunkissed princess after all- just like you had exclaimed drunkenly to Garrett at the party a few weeks back.

"Hope it's wonderful. I know it's your favourite."

She reached out to grab your hand, stopping you from leaving, "You're allowed to love who you love, y/n," she blurted out all of a sudden as if she had wanted to say that the whole time. "You deserve the love you give to everyone else too. You're allowed to have good things too"

You didn't say anything. You just stared at her, shocked. She let go of your hand gently, and stepped back a bit, "See you in September, y/n," beginning closing the door, "See you...see you, Grace," as the door shut quietly in front of you.

You walked back to your apartment which was about 15 minutes away. Unsure of what just happened, like it was a psychedelic dream. She meant everything you said - you genuinely think that she deserves every good thing.

The insane thing was that, grace ivers - an angel of a person, thinks after all that you've done - deserved good things still.

_______________________________

After everything had went down with you and Logan, and then Grace overhearing Garrett and Logan fight about how unwell you were around Logan - he shut down for a couple weeks. He went to hockey training, conditioning, he tried to apologize to Grace on multiple occasions even though he knew it would do more harm than good - he had to try. He knew Grace didn't deserve what happened.

In a span of a few weeks Logan had lost two of the most important people in his life, and grieving people who were alive and in close proximity to him at school was the most painful things he'd ever have to experience. Him watching you sit down at your usual spot at the library pained him - and he almost waved, but you didn't see him so he started going the long way around so he wouldn't run in to you.

He stayed home a lot. He had tried to text you a few times to check in and you'd give him short answers, avoiding him and definitely avoiding any mentions of the fight with Garrett that Hannah and Allie told you about. You pretended not to know.

If you were honest, you were worried about Logan. You had seen him buying a coffee at Lucky's - a place that you, Logan, Hannah and Garrett would study at. He looked exhausted and he didn't look like he was eating. It pained you to see him. He didn't see you and you had snuck out of Lucky's before he had even remotely saw you.

You almost went by the hockey house a few times, you'd walk half way and turn around. You knew that it would make things so much worse if you were the one to try to even begin to offer comfort, and you didn't want to hurt Grace. You felt guilty that this happened and you were apart of it - you were the reason, although you hadn't done anything. It was the nature of it all. You would never want her to think that while she was suffering from heartbreak, you'd try to make any advancements towards her ex boyfriend - you'd never do that to her.

You kept your distance to protect your heart and whatever might be left of you and Logan's friendship - if it could ever be fixed, you had to get over your stupid fucking silly crush. All this for a dumb crush - you thought to yourself, you felt dumb as fuck.

-----------

On Saturday, Logan stayed home to try to study for his economics final that was coming up. He couldn't focus at all. All he could think about was you. All he could think about was how horrible Grace was feeling because of him and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

In an undistracted, quiet moment alone in Logan's room, he sighed. His mind was being cruel to him and dragged him back to his memory of you from freshman year.

Everything had been so easy at the beginning. Being friends with you was so seamless and natural - it was like you knew each other since you were kids. You lived down the hall from Logan in the same freshman dorm. Like two jagged pieces of a puzzle that fit in a funny way - you two became inseparable. From late night studying at Malone's, watching hockey games, brutal morning electives you both survived together, football games, and your cheerleading routines.

At the time, your evil highschool boyfriend who stayed in your state three hours away was cheating on you. Logan had been there for you for that break up a few weeks after thanksgiving. Seeing you so unwell scared him and he made a little quiet promise to himself that he would do whatever it took to always made sure you were okay. So with all this silence and Logan hurting people he cared about - he was kicking himself and his self condemnation was more of a consequence than what anyone could say to him, or what anything Garrett could scold him about or call him out for.

By Spring of freshman year, you were doing really well on the varsity cheer team, you were under the stadium lights, you cheered at your friend Beau Maxwells' football games and you'd see Logan, Tucker, Dean and Garrett smiling and grinning at you from the student section. In return, you lived at the Briar hockey rink where Logan and Garrett tore up the ice with their natural-born star freshman hockey scrimmaging.

After you and your high school boyfriend had broken up for good, you spent the rest of the semester hooking up with random juniors and senior guys from the football team. It was easy. No one got hurt and you didn't care about them at all. As Logan got more familiar with the older hockey teammates who would throw big parties, Logan would cycle through hot campus girls who wanted to fuck a guy in a jersey - and he let them. Garrett was like that too before he met Wellsey.

When Logan is alone and the house is quiet, he remembers this one night of freshman year and it replays in his mind episodically. He can't control it - he can never get you out of his head even if he tried.

Saturated in warm, golden-amber hues of a humid spring night in Boston - Beau's frat was throwing a regular Friday night party. The house was loud, crowded and reeked of cheep alcohol, weed and vapes. You had too many drinks, way too many shots and you forgot to eat dinner before you had gone out with your friends and ended up here. Logan was also extremely drunk - the older hockey guys had pregamed before at one of their houses and they downed a bunch of god knows what at the party. "y/n, come here," he whispered against your hair as he laughed with his cheeks flushed and warm - he was just so happy to see you and so happy you were with him. His voice was low. His hand had brushed your bare hip that the band of your short skirt just rested right under, sending a shiver through your body. His eyes dropped to your lips a few times - which he couldn't help, it was the substances that he had downed earlier and the way you looked so pretty in the hallway light.

He interlocked his fingers with yours, holding your hand, bringing you close to his side, he pulled you through a crowd of drunk, wild and happy students, and you went up the stairs and down a quiet hallway. You had tried a few doors that were locked and then pushed opened the door to an empty spare bedroom in the end of the house and locked it behind you. You giggled like a little kid scheming up a plan.

The lights were off except for the amber glow of a street lamp seaping through the windowpanes. Drunk you wanted John Logan to fuck you. Still holding hands, Logan closed in the space between you, smiling down at you with the biggest grin. You swore you saw him almost love you by the way he was staring into you.

He stepped so close to you, towering over you, feeling his breath against your skin. You backed up until your calves hit the edge of the mattress and your breath hitched. The scent of him, mixed with cheep alcohol, cool air pushed you over the edge.

"Logan," you breathed, a breathless warning, a dangerous game.

"Y/N," he whispered back, kissing your forehead and you closed your eyes. God, your name sounded like a prayer on his lips. He looked at you for permission to kiss you and you gave him a gentle nod with a drunken happy smile on your face. "Please," you whimpered. He wasn't thinking at all at that point. His large hands came up to frame your face, with his calloused thumbs brushing softly over your cheekbones with a reverence that knocked the wind out of you. When his lips finally met yours, it was so natural, like kiss of two drunk college kids who had nothing real to lose.

He laid you back on the mattress gently, him hovering over you. "You're so beautiful," he whispered as he looked down at you in your lace tank top, "Shut up, you idiot," you rolled your eyes. You were sure he said that to every girl he fucked that week. Which he did - but with you he really meant it. You were the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. You tugged at his t-shirt signalling that you wanted it off and with one swift motion he pulled it off and quickly after he had undid your shirt, playing with your lace thong that was probably too sexy for any freshman to own. He laughed, and kissed you deeper. Like it meant something to him.

Every single touch was amplified. The way his mouth dragged from your lips down the sensitive sweet spots of your neck wasn't just passionate; it was agonizingly deliberate. He kissed you as if he were trying to leave a permanent mark, tracing your collarbone with a reverence that made a sob catch in your throat.

You had never been loved properly before, and this might have been the closest thing, John Logan on top of you.

Your lips moved together, with hunger, kissing you all over. When he entered you, it was a slow, him not wanting to hurt you ever. The agonizingly deep burn that made your knees weak. You tangled your fingers in his thick dark brown hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more of him and for him to move. Logan groaned into your mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, his hands sliding down to hold his large hand around the side of your neck and the other trailing down your bare back to grip your waist, him moving in a paced rhythm between your legs and closer to your core.

As Logan whispered your name into the crook of your neck—his voice thick, desperate, with small gasps escaping your lips every time he went deeper. His fingers tangled tightly with yours, pressing your hands up against the bed, you arched into him bringing you deeper, he pulled out slightly and pushed himself back in, your head tilting back into the pillows, your body reached closer to its high.

As he drove deeper and deeper into you again, rocking into you on the bed, pulling out and pushing in deeper at a quicker pace, feeling your body tense, "Oh my, L-Logan," you gasped. A sudden, dizzying wave of warmth crashed over you. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders, your back arching off the mattress as the climax broke, making you dizzy and warm. He kissed you again as you moaned against his lips.

Logan let out a low, ragged groan into the crook of your neck. His entire body went rigid, his muscles straining against yours as he surrendered to the same weightless, crashing as he came and released in you. With heavy breaths slowing, he pulled out of you gently - causing you to whimper from the loss of feeling him.

He then pulled you closer, wrapping his strong arms around you with your back against his chest, and held you so closely like he was afraid to lose you, peppering you with kisses along your neck. It was like only you two existed then and there - nothing else mattered.

---------

The next morning, what felt like a total fever dream evaporated, leaving behind a cold, blinding reality.

When your eyes flickered open, your head was instantly pounding, a sharp ache pulsing behind your temples. The golden glow of the night before was gone, replaced by the harsh, piercing morning light slicing through the lines of the window panels. It illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air and the messy, beer-can-strewn reality of a hockey house bedroom.

But beneath the comforter, the heat was still there. Logan was holding you. His bare body was warm and heavy against your back, his strong arms wrapped around you so tightly, pinning you flush against his chest, feeling his chest rise and fall as he slept. He had held you like that all night, refusing to let go even in his sleep.

A sudden, sharp spike of panic hit your chest. Your vow to never get hurt by a guy again cause an avoidance that kept everyone at arms distance. That included John Logan. Fuck, what did we do last night?

Carefully, holding your breath, you began to peel yourself out of his grip. You disentangled your yourself from his arms slowly, sliding out from under the heavy comforter as gently as possible so you wouldn't wake him. Standing up in the cool air of the bedroom, you shivered, your hands shaking slightly as you scrambled to find your clothes scattered on the floor.

As you pulled your top over your head, your brain was working overtime to rationalize everything. You were stunned, and terrified of him thinking you were just a slut. You didn't want him to look at you with shame or condemn you for sleeping with him.

So, you did what you knew best; deny and minimize.

It was just a hookup, you lied to yourself. We’ve both been hooking up with random people all freshman year. This is no different. It was just a fun, drunken night.

A soft rustle of the sheets broke the silence. Logan stirred, blinking heavily against the bright light filtering through the blinds. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, his face soft and sleepy, entirely devoid of his usual campus-heartthrob persona. Still half-asleep, his instinct kicked in—he reached his arm out across the mattress, searching for you.

When his hand found empty sheet, his eyes fully opened, landing on you at the edge of the bed, shimmying on your skirt back on.

"Y/N?" he mumbled, his voice thick and gravelly from sleep, reaching out toward you. "Where are you going?" he mumbled.

You said laughed softly, "Home, Logan," your voice clipping the air, putting up an invisible wall between you. You forced a casual, breezy smile that didn't reach your eyes. "That was fun! I can't even-can't really remember." You said it so matter a fact and nonchalant.

Logan froze. The hand that had been reaching for you dropped slightly onto the mattress. You watched his expression shift from sleepy warmth to a sudden, guarded blankness, but your own panic prevented you from seeing the quiet heartbreak shattering behind his eyes.

"We were just drunk," you pressed on, desperately trying make it so clear that you didn't care at all. "Lo," you said in a sweet tone in your voice that you did when you needed to get your way, "We don't have to make it weird, it was fun, it didn't mean anything. And you have to promise you won't tell anyone, okay? Not even Garrett. The last thing I need is your gross idiot friends objectifying me and I have to fuck another hockey player," you said jokingly to deflect. He had no idea what was happening. You were so easy going about the fact that you two had just fucked all night. You didn't even give him a chance to make any decisions about how he felt about it. You just decided for the both of you.

Logan stared at you for what felt like a long, agonizing moment. He cleared his throat a bit, and his jaw tightening as he forced his own walls back into place. If this was how you wanted to play it, he would play along just to keep from losing you entirely.

You stared at him for a response. "Yeah, uh-" Logan finally muttered, his voice dropping into a flat, casual tone that mirrored your own. "We were so drunk. It doesn't mean anything to me - either. We don't have to bring it up, I wasn't going to mention it," he lazily made a gesture of a locking and throwing away the key. He didn't look at you.

You nodded in agreement and smiled at him, with relief in your eyes and your body relaxed that he agreed. You leaned in to kiss him on the cheek with gratitude. "Good thinking," you chirped, as if he had initiated the plan himself. You left Logan in the room and snuck away quickly to purchase over the counter birth control by yourself at the campus CVS. You both were way too drunk, you can’t remember if he had used a condom or not. You took a plan B just in case.

And that night you shared was a secret. You both kept it faithfully, burying it deep beneath years of friendship, laughs, friend groups, casual boyfriends and serious girlfriends.

The night that Logan knew he was done for - that he was sure he would never get over you in this lifetime. You'd always be the girl he loved, he wanted to love you then but you were so out of reach.

And that was the night where you vowed to keep only close enough to have you but never really see you, even if you were closest and intimate as two people could ever be.

Even now, through the college years that followed, through all the parties, partners or flings, and the internal longing, neither of you dared to ever breathed a word of that night to another living soul. Not to Hannah or Allie.

Not even Garrett Graham.

-------------♥︎-----------

The sliding glass door didn’t click open like before; it practically rattled in its frame as Garrett shoved past Logan to head back inside. But the moment Garrett took three steps into the kitchen, he froze completely in his tracks. Everyone had cleared out of the kitchen, and the stove was off.

"Oh, shit..." Garrett muttered, his voice dropping into a harsh, stunned whisper.

Logan stood outside, still reeling from the emotional beating Garrett had just handed him, and he quickly turned - feeling like the conversation wasn't done - he went after Garrett, back inside to try to talk to him - to explain himself. He wanted to tell Garrett all of it. He felt trapped in his feelings for you that he had put away two school years ago - he wanted to tell Garrett what had happened between the both of you two years ago. He needed him to know the full story of you and him.

He denied the thought that there could be the possibility of you in any of his lifetimes.

He stepped up to sliding door frame, "Fuck. Okay, Garret, wait. It isn't-" Through the pane, the entire kitchen came into focus.

Standing just past the kitchen counter, adjacent to the the glass sliding door, Grace was standing without words.

She was wearing Logan's tan Carhartt coat that was three times too oversized, half unzipped and had her keys with a pink and silver gemmed land yard dangling loosely from her soft, paralyzed hands. Grace's steel blue-grey eyes were welling up with tears as she stood there in shock. She placed her hand to the side of counter to steady her. Almost like she needed to catch her breath.

No one else was left on the main floor. The front door of the hockey house was never locked and Grace had let herself in like usual, thinking that everyone would be here for Briar family dinner - instead she heard Garrett and Logan yelling at each other in the backyard.

“Every three m-months?” Grace’s voice trembled. She spoke in a terrifyingly quiet whisper as she stepped back, ignoring Garrett's presence entirely. Grace’s eyes were wide, glossy, and fixed on Logan for a just a second.

“You still...you still keep her dates in your calendar?”

He looked up at her. She distanced herself almost instinctively, looking everywhere else on the ground, in a timid, anxious panic - anywhere except in Logan's eyes. There was just silence in the house now. Garrett stood there, feeling guilt in his tightened chest for how this all unfolded and having any part of it at all. He shouldn't have said anything.

The blood completely drained from Logan’s face. He looked at Grace, with sorry eyes, "No, Grace. It wasn't-it's not like that-" He pressed his hands in an exasperated tension against his temples. "I can explain-" Logan stammered, his voice thin and panicked. He stepped forward, his hands reaching forwards, palms out, pleading. Garrett tried to soften the blow of the situation, "Grace." He looked at them both. "I was just bullshitting - it's not Logan's fault. I shouldn't have brought it up," he tried to ease the pain he felt for Grace as they stood in the kitchen.

"It d-doesn't mean anything," Logan whispered so quietly he could barely hear himself.

The words felt heavy, toxic, and dangerously familiar the second they left his mouth. It doesn't mean anything. She had heard him say that before about you - and she tried to ignore it in the past. Her friends had said that guys and girls couldn't be just friends - but not her John Logan, she thought. She believed him every time when he said he said you were like his family - she knew he had care for you - but she tried to convince herself that he didn't have feelings for you like that - even though her gut cautioned her otherwise.

Grace shut her eyes painfully. She barely had the strength to choke out the words but she had to know. "Do you still...love her, Logan?"

The question was so gentle, so entirely devoid of malice, a soft, earnest plea for an answer she had overthought countlessly in her mind the last few months. She already knew his answer and that it paralyzed him.

Logan stood entirely frozen, his mouth opening and closing. He was speechless. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to fight for his relationship with Grace. She was so kind to him. Even when he was a being some kind of evil in this moment. He didn't mean for this happen - he never meant to hurt her. But with Garrett staring at him, watching this all unfold from the side, and the absolute raw betrayal written across Grace’s face, he let out a silent breath, without any words left to say. He couldn't lie to himself anymore.

He looked to the ground, guilt in his eyes - knowing how much Grace didn't deserve this, without being able to look her in the eyes at all. His silence was the loudest sound in the room.

"It's okay, I'm-it's fine-" she barely let out, her voice strained. She turned and gently unzipped his coat, slipping out of the oversized structured fabric and silently place it on the counter avoiding his eyes entirely.

Grace closed her eyes shut for a brief second, feeling lightheaded suddenly.

Logan took a desperate step forward like muscle memory, his hand reaching out to touch her arm. "I'm sorry, I...I never meant to hurt you."

The moment his fingers brushed the air near her, Grace flinched.

It wasn't just a slight pull-back. It was a physical, instinctive reflex. She took two, frantic steps backward, her sneakers shuffling loudly against the kitchen floor as she put distance between them. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, not in anger, but as a shield, wrapping around herself as if she were freezing.

She looked at him with glassy eyes, her breath coming in shallow. "Please don't," trembling with pain in her voice. The sight of her backing away from him like he was something dangerous scared Logan himself. He froze in his tracks, his hand hovering uselessly in the empty space between them.

Logan choked out painfully, his voice cracking, "I swear to God, I never wanted to hurt you."

"It's okay. I-I know," with an agonizingly quiet finality, Grace heightened her pace to be as far away from Logan as quick as her small frame could bring her and exited through the front door of the hockey house, with the door shutting. The noise of the car starting in the driveway and tires retreating on the gravel.

Logan stood silently staring into nothing at all, disassociating - almost out of body. Garrett watched him from the edge of room. Just a half hour ago, they had been screaming in each other's faces, fueled by a bitter, territorial rage. But seeing Logan like this—shattered, small, and completely dissociated—the anger drained out of Garrett entirely the moment he saw Grace standing in the kitchen at all.

Months ago, when Garrett had lost his absolute mind and had his own violent, breaking-point outburst on the ice, Logan had been the one to grab him, hold him down, and pull him back. So he would do the same for his brother in this moment.

Garrett didn't hesitate. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Logan in a firm, heavy, grounding embrace - with a profound, sorrowful regret for the part he had played in this unraveling.

Logan didn't move. He was completely frozen, his arms hanging limp by his side, his face buried stiffly against Garrett’s shoulder. But Garrett didn't let go. He just held Logan, locking his arms around his friend, anchoring Logan.

-------♥︎--------

The tires of Logan’s truck tore into the gravel of the driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust as he braked hard into his usual spot. He cut the engine, but the sudden silence inside the truck did absolutely nothing to calm the suffocating frustration vibrating in his chest. Shoving his way out, he slammed the truck door shut behind him with a heavy, metallic bang that echoed across the yard.

He stormed up the porch steps and pushed through the front door of the hockey house, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

Walking straight into the kitchen, he dropped his keys onto the granite island. They hit the surface with a sharp, loud clatter—not thrown, but heavy enough to instantly kill the casual chatter in the room.

"Whoa, everything alright, dude?" Tucker asked, pausing with a wooden spoon in hand.

The kitchen was warm, smelling of garlic and simmering marinara sauce. Garrett was standing by the stove, while Dean leaned against the counter, a glass of water in hand. The calm, familial atmosphere of the room felt completely at odds with the frantic, wounded energy radiating off Logan.

"Why the hell is she being like that?!" Logan burst out, running a hand over his face and through his hair in pure frustration. He began to pace a short, tense line between the fridge and the island, his shoulders tightly coiled.

Garrett set down the knife he was using to chop vegetables, exchanging a heavy, knowing look with Dean before looking up. An underlying edge of irritation was already creeping into Garrett's expression. "You found y/n?"

"Yeah, I found her. She was sitting at Malone's by herself," Logan said, his voice cracking slightly with a mix of disbelief and a sharp, defensive edge. "And she was just so cold, man. I skipped the second half of practice for her. I literally went to her usual library spot, went to Havenport lounge, her usual spots - because she wouldn't answer her phone, and when I finally get there, she barely even looked at me."

“And you two - won’t tell me shit.” He pointed at Hannah and Allie, who widened their eyes but stayed silent. “Is there something wrong - is her dad contacting her again or something?” 

Everyone was silent. 

Hannah felt so bad for Logan, it’s like an elephant in the room that everyone sees but him. She reached out her hand to comfort him, “No, Logan. Her dad isn’t, it’s just that we don’t even know what to tell you,” she sighed. 

"What do you mean? She told me to leave her alone," Logan said, the words clearly stinging him deeper than he wanted to admit. He looked over at Garrett, his eyes wide with a desperate, furious confusion. "Like I was a total stranger. She refused to come to dinner. I don't get it. What the hell did I do? Why is she completely freezing me out?"

Garrett gripped the edge of the stove, an annoyed, incredibly tense breath escaping his nose. He looked at Logan— he thought Logan was being a total idiot, entirely blind to the way you loved him, and even more blind to his own buried feelings for you. Sure he was with Grace but he doesn’t act like this for anyone else other than you. There’s no one he’s this worried about or thinks about more than you. 

But Garrett wasn’t trying to betray you.

"Maybe she just wants to be by herself. She will figure it out herself, just leave her alone and let her cool off." He continued prepping. 

"Leave her alone?" Logan repeated, looking at Garrett like he'd lost his mind. "She's my best friend, Garrett. I'm not just going to let her treat me like garbage and walk away.”

Garrett let out a harsh, cynical breath, shaking his head as he picked up a towel to wipe his hands. He looked at Logan, completely exasperated by his roommate's sheer density. "Look, just drop it for tonight. I'll text her. I'll talk to her later and check in."

The words hit Logan like a physical slap.

A sharp, ugly wave of jealousy and indignation flared up in his chest, making him look at Garrett with narrow, peeved eyes. "You'll talk to her?" Logan scoffed, his voice dripping with sudden bitterness. "What makes you think she’s going to answer you?"

Garrett just stared at him. He thought Logan was acting childish. 

It felt like a direct blow to his ego, a territorial instinct kicking in before he could even stop it. The idea that Garrett thought he could get through to you more than him was insulting.

"I know her better than anyone in this house, Garrett," Logan muttered, his jaw tight as he stared his captain down. "I know her better than you. If she’s pissed off, she talks to me. She always talks to me."

"Yeah, well, clearly not today," Dean said under his breath from the counter, taking a slow sip of his water.

Garrett put down the knife he was using to chop the vegetables for Tucker’s dish. “Alright, outside Logan,” everyone stared. 

————————

He stormed out to the porch through the heavy glass door and Logan followed him immediately, the sliding door shutting behind them with a sharp click, cutting off the warmth of the kitchen and the watchful eyes of Allie, Hannah, Dean and Tucker. 

Logan was fuming. “What? Did you guys fuck? Is that what everyone’s not telling me? You going to tell me you guys hooked up or something and she’s avoiding us all together or she’s feeling ashamed to tell me?” Logan asks in an accusatory tone, grasping at straws—making things up because he has absolutely no idea.

Garrett snapped to look at him, the irritation on his face had hardened into something much heavier. “You fucking serious right now?!”

He took a step forward, invading Logan's space. "You think this is about me and her having some cheap hookup? You think she’d freeze all of us out over that?"

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh that cut right through the chilly night air.

"I’d never do that to Hannah.” Garrett said, poking a firm finger into Logan’s chest. "Use that pretty fucking brain of yours. She’s hiding because of you. Because while you've been busy playing this oblivious, protective guy best friend routine and making up wild theories, you’re blind to her feelings - don’t act like you don’t know." Garrett scoffed.

Logan blinked, he was silent because he couldn’t lie that he didn’t have an idea of what Garrett was talking about. Logan knew how he used to feel about you, when he first met you - he wanted you, he had been trying so desperately to ignore any of those feelings since he thought you’d never want to settle for him.

Garrett stood in front of Logan, the height difference wasn't much, but right now, Garrett looked massive, fueled by a protective fury he’d been suppressing every silent smoke sesh you and him had and he had to watch you be so down. He looked at Logan—really looked at him—at the genuine confusion and desperation in his friend's eyes, and felt a wave of pure exhaustion.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Garrett said softly. "You are so blinded by your own need to keep her by your side that you refuse to see what you're doing to her."

"Doing to her? I'm not doing anything to her!" Logan defended, his voice cracking slightly. "I care about her. That’s it. I care about her, and I want to make sure she’s okay."

"And what about Grace, Logan?"

The mention of the name hung in the air like a sudden drop in temperature. Logan stiffened, his mouth opening slightly before closing again.

"Grace has nothing to do with this," Logan said, though the conviction had leaked out of his voice, replaced by a defensive edge.

Garrett took a step forward, invading Logan’s space, his eyes boring into him.

"You sure about that?" Garrett challenged, a lethal edge slicing through his tone.

He’s going to lay it all out there. This had to stop. “Logan, does Grace know you text Allie and Hannah to make sure y/n gets home safe from her evening class? Does Grace know that you sat in your car with y/n three weeks ago after your brother told you your mom went back to rehab? Does Grace know you’ve been fixing y/n’s dad’s car for free every three months and telling him not to talk to her - without telling her? Does she know you write in every single one of y/n’s finals in your calendar - just so you can wish her good luck?”

Logan flinched as if he’d been physically struck. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale under the porch light. He opened his hands, closing them into fists, looking suddenly small.

"How... how do you know about…th?" Logan whispered.

"Because I’m not a fucking idiot." Garrett hissed, stepping even closer, his finger hovering inches from Logan's chest. 

"You have a girlfriend, Logan. But you liked y/n the moment you met her. You had feelings for her, you said that. Don’t even lie to me right now."

"It's not like that. I’m over her, I told you. I don’t- Gar, it’s not-“ Logan stammered, his eyes darting away, looking wildly around the empty yard as if looking for an escape. "I'm just... I'm just trying to be a good guy. Her dad's transmission was shot, he couldn't afford—"

"Fuck off man!" Garrett roared, the sudden volume making Logan jump. "Stop lying to yourself. You string her along. Constantly. You know you do. You keep pulling her back in. Every time she takes a step away, you show up with a toolbox, or a text message, or a 'good luck' call, reminding her exactly what she can't have.”

Logan opened his mouth to defend himself, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. He looked down at the extra key on his keychain—the one that fit y/n's front door, the one he’d had for two years after you had an anaphylactic allergic reaction - Logan had demanded you hand over the spare keys just in case anything ever were to happen and never given back. Logan had only told Garrett about his feelings for you two years ago - but you weren’t ready for anything then. So he moved on, and you both were hooking up with other people. You’d never want him, he thought. 

"You want to talk about how you're just 'being a good guy'?" Garrett asked, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet rhythm. 

“Logan, I’ve never seen you be so worried about literally anyone else. You always think about her, you think to get her an extra coffee or cookie when we go to Lucky’s with Hannah, you drop anything to drive her, you skip practice because you needed to find her to ease your mind, and when anything is ever wrong in your life the only person you want to talk about that stuff is - is with y/n. Don’t you think that’s odd and I don’t know, Logan? Fucking insane? considering you have a girlfriend?”

Logan flinched, his jaw tightening so hard a vein throbbed at his temple. "She’s like-my family. She knows me, I know her. We talk about these hard things okay? It’s just what we do, I mean, what we did. And sure I-I did want to be with her, but that was before. It’s done now."

“Yeah okay. Keep lying to yourself bud. Are you done playing house with two different girls Logan? Or you’re not ready to face yourself yet?” Garrett spat. He’d always defend you. A hundred fucking life times - he’d defend you. You were his family. And he was fucking sick and tired of you crying because of John Logan.

“You love Grace? Sure. Fine. Then go be with Grace - but you have to let y/n go. Stop stringing her along. It’s killing her,” he scolded Logan.