lara

Catching up, Jules tells you about the latest and greatest Fifth Line gossip, who’s dating who, new hockey news, all the goods. Jules was one of the only people who knew about you and Logan dating, you both wanting to keep it intimate and to yourselves for the time being. Jules continues to talk about what they want to post next.

“I know I definitely shouldn’t talk about Hannah kissing Logan the other day,” Jules laughs while nudging your shoulder.

“What?” you ask, laughing awkwardly along.

Jules repeats themselves as if it's public knowledge, your heart dropping to your stomach, the color draining from your face, brows furrowed in confusion.

“He never told you?”, the casual way they mentioned this making you feel even more sick. Your silence spoke volumes, an ‘oh fuck’ quietly leaving Jules’ lips.

Ears ringing, body shaking with adrenaline, the bubble of anxiety stirring inside you only seems to grow as a million thoughts race through your head at once. Your eyes find Logan standing in the kitchen, the betrayal evident in your veins as he laughs and smiles with the guys, not a care in the world. Daggers could be shot through him with the way you’re staring at him.

Logan felt eyes on him as he looked around the living room. He looks around until he finds you, still sitting next to Jules on the couch. What he wasn’t expecting was you staring at him with a look he could barely describe. Anger? Hurt? Sadness? Confusion? Basically, all of the above. When you make eye contact, it’s almost as if you snapped out of it, your facial expression becoming more neutral as you quickly stand up and bolt out of the hockey house.

In a sense of urgency, Logan puts his beer down on the counter, scrambling through the crowds of people before eventually getting outside, rushing after you as you storm off, walking at a faster pace than usual. He calls your name multiple times, trying to get you to stop. Unsuccessful, he transitions to a light jog before eventually catching up to you, lightly grabbing your wrist. You yank your wrist away as you turn towards him, frustrated tears brimming in your eyes.

“Baby, what’s wrong?!” Logan asks, looking genuinely concerned.

“Did you kiss Hannah?”

“What?”

“Did I stutter? Did you fucking kiss Hannah?”, venom seeping from your voice as the anger rightfully took over any other emotion you were feeling. Logan’s silence spoke a thousand words, a sad sigh leaving your lips as you glance to the side, tears falling down both your cheeks after you blink.

“Baby, it wasn’t-

“Do not. Call me that,”

He starts his sentence over again, using your name, “Hannah kissed me in the locker room, yes, but it didn’t mean anything. She literally did it to prove some point to Garrett. I didn’t even know she was gonna do it until she walked up to me and just planted one on me,” he explains.

“Yeah, you still didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to, I wanted to avoid all of this,”

“All of what? The truth?”

“Of you getting like this,” his hands motioning up and down your body, the rage fully taking over as your jaw clenches.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you sarcastically yell, “you're right, let me calm down and not get mad over the fact that my boyfriend didn’t tell me a girl kissed him. Not telling me is hiding it, John!”

Logan was taken aback, not just by how angry you were, but by you calling him by his first name. Something you had never done, not even once, in the time that you’ve known each other.

“I told you, Hannah kissed me, I didn’t initiate anything. It meant nothing, you know I don’t see her that way,” he reexplains, trying to keep some can between you two. Your hands come to the sides of your face, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Oh my god, I even don’t care about the kiss! I care about the fact that you didn’t tell me! I had to find out from Jules, laughing at it like it’s no big deal, joking about posting it on Fifth Line! They know about us, do you know how humiliating that is for me?! I don’t trust you now, John!”

Your words strike and slash at him, the words ‘I don’t trust you now, John’ in particular lingering in his head, this newfound guilt creeping inside of him as he stares at you, your face showing so much hurt and anger. He truly thought nothing of it, it was irrelevant to him. He didn’t like Hannah, he liked you. A lot. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Hannah (and Garrett) didn’t even know he was dating someone. The silence between you two lingers before you speak again,

“And for the record, you should know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn’t have overreacted about this. I’m literally only angry because you didn’t tell me,” your voice going softer and sadder, making Logan’s insides twist up with more guilt and sadness.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve told you,” he admits. 

“Yeah, you should’ve,” you snap back, crossing your arms.

Arguing wasn’t ideal in the middle of the road, but also in the middle of the night when it was freezing. You rushed out of the house without grabbing your jacket, the cold air making your skin sensitive, trying to stop your teeth from chattering. Logan, as attentive as he was, noticed immediately, taking his jacket off and moving to put it on you. You take a step back, attempting to keep this separation between you both.

“Don’t walk any closer to me.”

“Just let me put the damn jacket on you, you’re freezing.”

You hesitate before obliging with a small nod. He walks up to you, draping his jacket over your shoulders. You take it, mumbling a ‘thanks’ before you push your arms into the sleeves, wrapping yourself in the warmth, the jacket being extra warm from him wearing it. 

“I truly didn’t think anything of it. I literally pulled away as soon as she kissed me. I don’t want you thinking you can’t trust me, I would never, ever dream of doing anything to intentionally hurt you,” he pleads. He takes a small step towards you, trying again to close the gap between you two.

“You’re it for me, baby,” he finishes, reaching for your hands. Still unable to make eye contact with him, you stare at your intertwined fingers, your stomach twisting as you go back and forth in your head, this entire situation overwhelming you. You unlace your fingers, taking a step back and finally meeting Logan’s eyes once again, tears filling your eyes, glazing over your vision.

“I just need some time,” you choke out. He nods.

“At least let me drive you home, you can’t walk alone this late at night.”

“No thanks, you’ve done enough,” you snap before turning around, walking back to your dorm, your figure slowly blurring as tears form in Logan’s eyes. Furiously wiping them, he heads back to the hockey house, not saying a word to anyone as he goes straight to his room, slamming the door and lying down on his bed, frustration and sadness taking over his body, just as it did yours.

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

note – uh oh I think I like writing angst🤭

"I'm so sorry, babe," Logan said the second you climbed into the passenger seat, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"No problem," you replied, your voice clipped.

But there was a problem, and you both knew it. Logan knew you well enough to pick up the subtle signs in your texts and body language. Your reply to his text had been short; your clipped response now was unusual; you looked unimpressed, all clear signs. But the biggest one was the fact that you hadn't leant over to give him a kiss. Hadn't tried to soothe the tired lines in his face.

Logan noticed it all, but he chose not to press. He'd had a long day too and was wound just as tightly as you were at the minute.

The silence in the car stretched as he pulled away from the curve, driving you to the party hosted by the Lacrosse team. The silence allowed your thoughts to ruminate unnecessarily over the situation, working yourself up until the irriation boiled over. Under your breath, you muttered a tight "I should have just walked."

It was meant as a throwaway comment, a petty jab to vent, and you truly didn't mean to start something, but it hit its mark.

"I said I was sorry." Logan's grip on the steeting wheel tightened.

"I know."

"Then what's that supposed to mean?" He snapped, his already low patience wearing thin.

"Exactly what I said," you snapped back, crossing your arms. "I just meant I should have walked."

"Yeah, because I was late, right?"

You knew you should have stopped the conversation there, apologised, let him know you'd had a bad day, and moved on. But a stubborn part of you needed this fight, needed to get out the emotions you were bottling up.

"I don't know why you're being like this. I wasn't trying to start anything."

Logan let out a sharp exhale through his nose. "Kinda feels like you were."

"Well that doesn't make it true," you retorted, continuing to stare straight ahead through the windshield.

"Look, I'm exhausted," Logan said, voice dropping low. "I barely slept last night. Practice was hell. Coach was on my ass the whole time. I got stuck in traffic on my way here, and now the only thing I'm hearing from you is that I should have gotten here quicker."

"There's no need for that tone, Logan."

Logan's head snapped to look at you, his eyes flashing before he forced his attention back to the road. "I'm only giving you a tone because it seems like nothing I'm saying is good enough for you."

"I never said that!"

"You've been in a mood since you got in the car." You were about to protest when he interuppted, "Don't deny it. You're picking a fight. What am I supposed to think?"

"Maybe think that I was just frustrated."

"And so was I, but I didn't take it out on you."

That made you pause. Deep down, you knew that Logan was right. He hadn't taken out his crappy day on you the way you were with him. But, at the same time, the longer this conversation went on, the more unheard you felt.

"Okay, but I am allowed to be frustrated too," you muttered.

"I didn't say that you weren't." Logan pressed his foot on the brake, pulling the car over to the curb with more force than necessary. Turning in his seat, he shifted to look at you.

"What do you want me to say?" He asked, throwing a hand up. "I apologised. I texted you. I told you practice ran over. What more do you want from me?

"A text twenty minutes later than you were supposed to be here."

"Did you want me to pull out my phone while coach was talking?"

You opened your mouth before closing it again. "Obviously not," you admitted. "Maybe I just wanted you to understand why I'm upset, rather than acting like I'm attacking you."

"I do understand," he said, voice softening a little. "But every time I apologise, it feels like you find another way to tell me I screwed up."

Your stomach dropped.

"Forget it." Stubbornly, you turned your hear away, staring out of the passenger side window.

Logan sighed heavily, turned the engine back on, and drove you both the rest of the way to the party. As he pulled into crowded driveway of the party, he broke the silence that had settled over you both, keeping his eyes glued to the steering wheel.

"You don't need to come in if you're just going to be pissed at me all night," Logan muttered.

You folded your arms tighter across your chest, his words leaving you seething. "If you don't want me to come with you, just say that."

"Can you stop twisting my words?" You could hear the frustration in his voice, and it only made you more frustrated. "I never said that."

"Whatever, Logan."

"Have fun," he said flatly as he shut off the ignition.

"Oh, I will."

You slammed the door to his car a little harder than necessary and stormed into the party.

Inside, the party was in full swing. Someone called your name, but you only offered a tight smile before disappearing into the kitchen. Within seconds, a drink was in your hand. Less than a minute later, the first drink was gone and you were pouring a second, heavy on the booze, light on the mixer.

You welcomed the burning heat of the drink as it hit the back of your throat. It felt better than the ache in your chest. As the drinks, and music, kept flowing through you, you forgot why you even needed it in the first place.

But the alcohol could only make you forget for so long. Every couple of minutes, you found your eyes scanning the crowd to find Logan. And when you finally did, your chest tightened. He was standing with Garrett and a few of the lacrosse team, head thrown back in laughter, unaffected and carefree.

'He hasn't even looked for me,' you thought, a bitter lump forming in your throat. 'He didn't text to see if I wanted to talk. He doesn't care. As usual, he'd rather drink with his buddies than deal with his emotional girlfriend.'

Suddenly, every emotion you'd been trying to bury came bubbling to the surface. Tears blurred your vision, turning the fairylights into halos. You stumbled towards the exit, desperate for fresh air.

"Whoa, steady there. I gotcha."

Strong hands caught your forearms, holding you steady as you practically fell into a chest.

Blinking hard, your vision focused on Tucker's worried face.

"Hey, what happened?" Tucker's brow furrowed as he took in your dishevelled state, mascara streaked down your flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with tears.

Before anybody else could notice, he carefully steered you toward the kitchen.

"Here," Tucker said gently as he handed you a cup. "Drink this, it's water."

You frowned at the cup as if it had offended you. "I don't want water."

"Please? For me?" He coaxed, using that soft gentlemanly tone he was so good at.

"Fineeeee." You downed the first cup, and let him refill it. By the time you finished the second, your head was pounding slightly less, but the emotional dam was still broken, stray tears still running down your face.

Tucker guided you to a quieter hallway near the downstairs bathroom, leaning against the wall. "Do you want me to go and get Logan for you?"

"No," you wailed, the sound muffled as you hid your face in your hands. "He doesn't care, he hates me."

Tucker sighed sympathetically, you were obviously shit-faced drunk, so he didn't expect much logic from you. "I don't think that's true. Tell me what happened."

"He hates me," you repeated, a hiccup interrupting your words. "He's gonna break up with me for being difficult."

"What makes you say that?" Tucker asked, completely baffled.

"Because he said I was pissed off and picking fights," you cried, wiping at your nose with the back of your hand.

Tucker stared at you for a minute, fighting the amused twitch of his lips. "And... were you?"

"Yes," you hiccuped loudly. Falling into Tucker's arms, you buried your face into the front of his shirt.

Tucker wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back in soothing circles as you began dramatically retelling the car ride. Between slurred and jumbled sentences, you explained how he arrived late because he only cared about hockey, how he 'yelled' at you, and how he basically told you to go away.

Tucker listened patiently, nodding along, knowing damn well that this was a result of two tired people knowing how to push each other's buttons, rather than the hateful breakup you were telling him it was.

"Alright, let's just breatheeee," Tucker said slowly, gently pulling you away from his shirt. "Listen to me, that boy is crazy about you, like literally crazy. You're just really drunk, alright?"

You nodded slowly, wiping the snot from your nose.

"Come on, let's go get your boy."

Half-carrying, half-guiding your body, Tucker navigated you through the sea of college students. You stumbled along, clinging to his arm and still crying softly and mumbling about how Logan wouldn't want to see you.

Logan was still standing where you'd last seen him. He was talking to Garrett, but he wasn't really paying attention. His eyes were scanning the crowd, clearly looking for you.

The moment he spotted you clinging to Tucker, tears streaming down your face, his posture changed. He pushed through a couple of people to get to you.

"What happened?" He asked frantically, scanning your body for injuries. "Did someone hurt you?"

He didn't wait for you to answer, he pulled you from Tucker's hold into his arms, tucking you against his chest.

"She's fine, man," Tucker said gently, "she just missed you and is very sorry about earlier."

Before you could say anything, Tucker turned back into the crowd, giving you both space.

Your tears had stopped the moment you were in Logan's arms, instantly calmer. "I'm sorry," you mumbled into his shoulder. "Don't be mad anymore and please don't break up with me."

Despite himself, Logan laughed softly. "It's going to take a lot more than a stupid argument for me to even consider breaking up with you. You're stuck with me."

"I'm so sorry," you slurred, eyes closing as you swayed. "I-."

"Let's talk about it later," he interrupted, already pulling you towards the exit. "First, let me take you home."

Despite the ache radiating from his lower back, he limps home with a wide grin on his face, replaying the images of you that he had committed to his memory. Every now and then, he hears the sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. He doesn’t even notice the extra time that it takes to get back to the house.

Logan swings the front door open and goes straight for the sofa, collapsing on top of Tucker’s bare legs. Tucker, who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone, immediately yelps. “Ew! Logan, what the fuck man. Why are you wet?”

Tucker pulls his legs out from under the wet fabric of Logan’s jeans. Garrett, who is sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop open, and Dean, who’s raiding the fridge with a girl on his arm, both look over to see what the commotion is.

Logan turns to look over at them, a dazed, loopy, smile plastered across his face. “I met her,” he grins, completely ignoring Tucker’s protest. “The love of my life.”

Over by the fridge, Dean turns to exchange a look with Garrett who just shrugs and mouths, ‘No idea.’

Garrett shuts his laptop halfway and turns to Logan. “Okay, sure...” he says slowly.

“Seriously, why are you wet!” Tucker demands again, wiping his legs with his hands.

“Oh. I was chasing after her and I slipped on some black ice,” Logan says, his smile never fading.

Everyone in the room pauses to look at Logan. Dean is the first one to speak. “You were chasing after a girl... at midnight... in the dark?”

Logan sits up, wincing and rubbing his aching tailbone. “It wasn’t like that. It was romantic.” Dean snorts and Logan ignores him. “I hit the ground so hard I thought I died. But when I opened my eyes, she was leaning over me. She literally had a golden halo around her head. The snow was falling in slow motion. I thought she was an angel and asked her if I was in heaven.”

Dean full on belly laughs now. “You did not use that line on her, did you?”

“I mean it worked, so whatever. You can’t ruin this for me, bro.”

That makes Dean laugh harder.

Tucker looks at Logan, squinting at him with deep concern. “Logan,” he says slowly, “Did you hit your head on the ice?”

“No! Well, maybe a little, but that’s not the point.”

Tucker turns his head to look at Garrett, who turns to look at Dean.

“Well, I wish you and your imaginary girlfriend many years of happiness. I’ve got business with a real girl to attend to,” Dean chuckles as he pulls his girl back up the stairs.

Logan looks over and watches Dean disappear around the corner of the staircase, scowling. “She is not imaginary. She’s real. And she’s witty. And she’s beautiful. And real.”

Garrett bursts out laughing, shutting his laptop completely. “The more you say she’s real, the less real she sounds.”

“No,” Logan whines. He can’t understand why the existence of your perfectly realistic meet-cute is being denied.

“She’s real, she took my hand.” He raises the hand that you held to help him stand in the snow, as if that proves your existence. “And she said she’ll consider coming to the game on Friday.”

Garrett and Tucker look at Logan’s outstretched hand.

“Look, if she actually comes to the game on Friday, I’ll pay for your first date,” Garrett laughs. “In the meantime, go get some ice for your head... and ass.”

Logan drops his hand, glaring at them both.

“You’ll see,” he mutters, wincing as he stands and limps down the hallway to his room. The dazed, loopy, smile returns the second his door is closed. He doesn’t care what they say. He knows you’re real.

⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆⋆꙳⛸❅*‧⛸‧*❆₊⛸⋆❆

As usual, the arena is completely packed and the energy is electric as they take to the ice. Logan plays like a man possessed, every time he has a free moment, his eyes scan the rows of the crowd, searching for you.

By the third period, he still hasn’t found you and the boys are giving him shit for it.

“See your imaginary girlfriend yet, Logan?” Dean teases, squirting water into his mouth.

Logan ignores him, hopping over the boards as the whistle blows. He still has time to spot you, he knows you’re in the room. That “I’ll consider it.” was basically a promise.

With two minutes left on the clock, Logan scores a blinder and the crowd erupts. He lets out a triumphant shout, skating towards the corner to celebrate. But, as he nears the boards, his eyes lock onto a face in the second row.

It’s you.

You’re in the crowd, clapping and cheering as the fans around you go wild. Your eyes meet his through the glass and you give him a little wave.

He slows his skate towards you, lifting up his right knee and balancing on one leg, he mimics shooting off an invisible arrow aimed right at your heart.  

Just as he puts his leg back down, Dean and Tucker crash into him, wrapping him into a tight hug. They slap his pads and helmet, celebrating the game winning shot, but Logan completely ignores them, his gaze still locked on to you.

He breaks away from their grip just enough to shoot you a wave. Dean looks confused and follows the direction of Logan’s wave.

In the second row of the stands, you’re blushing as you laugh and wave back again.

“No fucking way,” Dean mutters, his jaw dropping as he looks between you and Logan. “Is that...?”

Tucker looks over too, eyes wide. “Holy shit. Halo girl is actually real.”

Logan had walked through the front door and dropped heavily onto the sofa, leaning his head back against the cushions with his eyes tightly shut. The deep lines of tension etched into his forehead practically screamed that he was in a mood. He looked extremely unapproachable.

Fortunately for him, you’d never been particularly good at staying away from his moods.

You practically breezed into the living room, a bright and energetic contrast to the gloomy room. Seeing him slumped there, you walked directly over to him, crawling over the cushions and manoeuvring yourself until you were sitting sideways across his lap.

Eyes cracking open, he looked up to see you smiling down at him. “Baby, I am covered in rink grime, sore from head to toe, and about two seconds away from biting someone's head off,” he warned. “You don’t want to sit here.”

“Hello to you too,” you chirped, unbothered by his warning as you leant back against the armrest. “I am excellent company... you’re not going to bite my head off, are you?”

With a soft, surrendered sigh that was half-groan and half-defeat, he reached up and cupped your cheek. “Never you, baby.”

The front door rattled again as Tucker walked in, loudly dropping his keys onto the entryway table and tossing his heavy gym bag onto the floor with a loud thud.  “Hello people,” he called loudly.

Logan looked back over his shoulder at where Tucker was standing, his brow furrowing. “Did you forget how to use your fucking inside voice or what?” Logan snapped.

Tucker didn’t even flinch, completely used to Logan’s moods.  

Logan let out a long exhale, his hand sliding down from your cheek to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Annoying,” he grumbled into your skin.

Over his shoulder you made eye contact with Tucker, pouting and pointing to Logan. In response, Tucker balled his fists and rubbed them over his eyes, mocking a crying baby. You snorted.  

“What’s so funny?” Logan snapped.

“Nothing, baby,” you soothed, running your fingers through his hair.

💭: i know he's not fully a grump but he also is oh my baby. if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, ask, reblog etc, it means a lot xx

Requested By: 👤

About eleven minutes after you stormed off the porch, your phone buzzed. Text from Logan.

Hockey Nerd 🤓: i know im the last person you wanna hear from rn, but can you pls text me when you get home?

You read it twice. Your thumb hovered over the screen the entire walk back, the cursor blinking in an empty reply box you never filled. You thought about how he was probably waiting for you to say something, three dots flashing across the screen, but there was nothing to say that wouldn't come out as either a scream or a sob, and you didn't trust yourself with either out here, in the open, where anyone could see.

When you got home, Allie was already waiting for you, doors open, arms open. You didn't think about how she knew, or how much. All you remember was walking into her arms, resting your head on her shoulder and sobbing quietly. She held you for a while, no questions asked.

"Can you—" Your voice came out wrecked, unrecognizable. "Can you tell him I'm home. Logan. Tell him I'm home, please, I can't—"

"I've got it," she said, already reaching for your phone before you could fumble it any further. "I've got it. Go. I'll come check on you in a minute."

You nodded into her shoulder and let go.

You walked into your room and shut the door, and that was the last thing John Logan heard from you for a while. You would think that would've stopped him, but no. He texted. Every single day.

After about the 23rd call in four days, he realised this was going nowhere, and resorted to texting you instead. They came every day like clockwork. And you ignored all of them.

John Logan was a miserable wreck. The bench was not a place Logan was used to occupying.

Coach Jensen hadn't said much when he pulled him aside after the third practice in a row where Logan had whiffed an easy pass, lost an edge on a drill he could do half-asleep, and generally skated around looking like a man underwater. He didn't need to say much. The look said it— get it together, or I find someone else to wear the C.

Garrett tried first. Showed up at his room with beer and bad jokes and the kind of forced normalcy that fooled exactly no one. Logan sat through twenty minutes of it before Garrett gave up trying to talk hockey and just said, quietly, "You gonna tell me what happened, man?"

He didn't say anything. Of course, he didn't. How could he? I might be in love with your girlfriend, and my girlfriend found out and we broke up? Jesus. It sounded wrong just thinking about it.

Dean tried differently— dragged him to the gym, like sweating it out might shake something loose. It didn't. Logan put up weight he should've been able to handle in his sleep and missed three reps in a row, and Dean just quietly took the bar off him and said, "Okay. We're done for today."

Tucker just straight-up sat him down and asked him what was wrong, no bullshit.

"Alright. Out with it. What happened?"

"What do you want me to say, Tuck?"

Tucker just waved his hand as if to say let it all out. Logan sighed and leaned back on the couch, running his hand over his face. He was sitting in the same place as he was that day.

"She broke up with me," he said, in a tone that would've sounded matter-of-fact if it wasn't laced with that hint of devastation he tried so hard to hide. Tucker waited for a follow-up that would never come.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"I know you guys broke up, man, I'm asking why!"

Logan didn't have an answer that would make him look like a half-decent guy. He just hung his head and stared at the floorboards. He was reminiscing before he even realised.

You were at the rink. He was teaching you how to skate, slowly guiding you, holding your hands. Your legs wobbled, and he caught you, one hand immediately shooting to your waist, steadying you. Instinctively, you caught his bicep.

"Eyes on me, baby. I got you."

"Yeah, somehow I am having trouble believing that, John", you laughed. He gasped and feigned offence.

"John, huh? Wow. I thought we were past that." His hand was still on your waist, his eyes never leaving yours. He started to slowly guide towards the centre of the rink.

"I have a feeling you are so going to let me fall on my ass."

"The important part is getting back up."

"You're not even going to assure me that I'm not going to fall?"

"Baby, you are so going to fall. Your legs are like Bambi's."

You gasped and hit him lightly on his chest as he doubled down laughing. He noticed the way your pout never quite reached your eyes. He noticed how they caught the low light of the rink. He noticed your cheeks, flushed from the cold, a faint blush coating your skin and the tip of your nose. He could feel your hand tighten in his bicep every time you moved, unsure and mildly sceptical.

"I love you," he blurted out, not thinking about it twice. He didn't have to. If there's anything he was sure of in his life, it was this. John Logan loved you deeply, irrevocably.

You stilled immediately. This was the first time either of you had said it out loud. Before you could process, your knees gave out. You fell down on the rink flat with a thud, a faint 'ow' leaving you. Logan winced and immediately got down on his knees.

"Shit, baby, you okay? I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have sprung that on you out of nowhere, I just—"

Whatever he expected you to do, he didn't expect that you'd start laughing. Hard. You were in tears, shaking. Logan was very confused.

"Babe? Are you concussed? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Unfortunately, this made you laugh harder.

"I just bared my soul to you, and you are laughing in my face. This relationship is so one-sided," he complained while pouting, clearly trying to ease the situation.

You sat up, hands reaching out to hold his face. You looked him in his eyes as your laughter died down. "I'm sorry, baby, I couldn't help it."

"Help what?"

"I think I just fell for you."

He looked away as he laughed, suddenly very aware of your hands on his face. John Logan felt shy for the first time in his life. He looked back at you and placed his hands on yours, pulling them down from his face to hold them. He leaned in slowly, tentatively, like he was unsure if you'll change your mind at the last minute. You didn't.

Your lips met his halfway. The tip of your nose was very cold. Your hand left his to tangle in his hair and tug lightly, which pulled a sound out of him you wanted to tattoo in your brain forever. You deepened the kiss, turning your head for better leverage. His hand found your cheek, thumb slowly brushing against where your blush darkened. He could never get enough of you. Unfortunately for biology, oxygen was a necessity. He pulled away reluctantly. Damn science and damn the puny human anatomy.

You looked at him, hand on his cheek now. You looked at him like he had answers to questions that he didn't even know. You pressed a small kiss to his lips.

"I love you too, dork."

"Tucker, I have made a terrible mistake."

Fortunately for Logan, he knew your schedule by heart. It was tuesday, meaning he knew exactly where to find you. He was in his truck in record time, driving to the quad where he knew you'd be at your favourite spot— bench by the fountain where you liked to study.

It was at an angle from the fountain that didn't get you wet from the splash, but was reasonably cool as a result of the water, and at an acceptable distance from the cafeteria in case you got hungry. It wasn't too crowded, and it wasn't deserted enough to be a safety concern. It was the perfect place, and nothing can take that away from you.

Predictably, he found you with your headphones in, laptop and iPad open in front of you. Okay, clearly you were busy. Maybe he should come back another time. He didn't want to disturb you. Wait. No. This had to be done. Now.

He parked the truck and walked over to you. He stood in front of you, not knowing how to start. He waited for you to look up. When you didn't, he froze, only then realising how impulsive he had been. Why was he even there? What was he going to say that he hadn't already said before? He started to panic.

You looked up now. You did not expect to see him. You took your headphones off, letting them rest around your neck as you slowly got up. You didn't know what to say. You went with—

"Why are you here, John?"

He hesitated. He didn't know. He just looked at you, not quite meeting your eyes.

"I... I don't know," he answered, honestly for the first time in a while.

"Well, can you go not know why you're here somewhere else? Cause I got a paper due that is not going to write itself," you replied as you sat back down, casually cruel in a way he wasn't used to. He called you as he sat on the bench facing you, and you hated that your entire body reacted when he said your name.

"Please, just... hear me out."

"Hmm, yeah, let me think." You thought about it for a second. Literally just a second. "I think I'm gonna pass."

"Five minutes, that's all I ask."

You considered it. You stared into the distance while you did, your eyes landing on a spot on the lawn. A place that held one of your fondest memories.

You were having a picnic date on the lawn in the quad. You were sitting on the blanket he had laid out. His head was on your lap as you played with his hair, stroking and twirling the strands. He looked gorgeous. Sunkissed, relaxed, eyes looking up at you with adoration you would never get used to, no matter how much you tried.

You bent down and kissed his nose. Heat quickly rose to his cheeks. You noticed, of course, you did, which made you smirk.

"John Logan, are you blushing right now?"

He laughed like he was offended. "No?"

"Oh my god, you are!"

"Am not!" he argued. Solid rebuttal, buddy.

"Are too! You look so adorable right now."

"Baby, I am a grown man, I am not adorable."

"The cutest, prettiest little boy in the entire world," you laughed as you fumbled at your side for your phone to take a picture of this moment. The more you teased, the more he blushed.

"Are you taking a pictu— absolutely not. Gimme that—" you had already taken a picture before he could grab your phone. He opened your gallery to delete it, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He looked so in love. "Okay, I'm letting you win this time because I love you."

"That is very generous of you, thank you, baby," you played along, knowing he didn't do jack shit.

"No 'love you, too'? Is that all I am? A pretty face?"

"No, you're a pretty face, and you have a great ass."

"And they say romance is dead," he teased, as he pulled you lower by your neck to kiss you.

That picture was still your image for him in your phone. He had taken this away from you. Every memory of him was now tainted by the voice in your head saying maybe he never loved you. Nothing he was going to say would fix anything. What was the point?

He doesn't get to waltz into your life whenever it is convenient for him. No, you decided. He was not getting his five minutes. Because every time you heard the word love, you didn't think of him anymore. You thought of Hannah, how he probably thought of her too. You couldn't keep doing this to yourself. If you had to get over him, it had to be on your terms.

"Logan. I'm sorry."

"Baby," it slipped out before he could stop it. He regretted it immediately, more so when your eyes filled with tears.

"This is not something we can go back from. I need you to understand that."

He just nodded, dejected, like he was not really sure what he was agreeing to. He decided to respect your wishes, whatever that meant.

"For what it's worth, I do love you."

You laughed incredulously, like there wasn't a part of you that believed that in the slightest. He made the decision to leave before he said something you will both regret.

"Don't call me baby."

The entire ride back, your words kept echoing in his head. This is not something we can go back from. What the hell? Why did he agree to that? Why didn't he fight? He had to respect your wishes, sure, but he loved you. Of course he did. Right? This was the person he planned his future with. You were going to move in together. You were going to get married. You picked out baby names sitting right there in his truck.

You were at a drive-in theatre with Logan. Your shoes were off, legs on his lap, eating cheap popcorn. The movie was long forgotten. You were mid-conversation about whether or not Garrett was a ridiculous name.

"It's a pretty normal name, baby."

"Yes, Logan, in the 1900s." He laughed at that, grabbing a fistful of popcorn. "I'm just saying, if I looked at a man twice as handsome as he was and his name was fucking Garrett, I would not go out with him."

"Baby, that is ridiculous."

You just shrugged like you knew you were right and weren't taking no for an answer.

"Also, let's circle back for a second, you think Garrett's handsome?"

"Eat your damn popcorn, 22."

"Yes, ma'am. Good thing my name is Logan, I guess."

"Your name is John. Literally the most generic boy name ever."

"You wound me."

"Remind me to not let you name our babies."

His hand paused midway, popcorn still in hand. Baby? Wait. Babies? Plural?

"Babies?"

"Yes, Logan. Babies. You know? Tiny humans."

"Our babies? As in, you and me—"

"Logan, you see, when two people really like each other and are very horny—"

"Don't birds-and-bees me, that's not what I meant," he laughed. "It's just— you think about that stuff? Kids, marriage, us and all that jazz?"

"All that jazz? Jesus, what year is this?"

"Baby," he pressed, like he could see right through your stalling.

"Alright, fine. Yes, I think about that stuff. Hard not to, with you."

He smiled at that. You couldn't meet his eyes. You were very shy, he could tell. His hand came to rest on your knee.

"Yeah? Tell me more."

"What? And scare you away? No, thanks."

"Baby, you will not scare me away. I think about that stuff too," he assured you.

"Yeah?"

"Hard not to, with you."

You looked away, trying your best not to smile and failing. You were head over heels in love with him.

"I know you may want to continue the Logan 'J' names tradition, but if you name our baby Jerusha or something, I swear to god—"

"What's wrong with Jerusha Logan?"

"Oh, sweet Jesus."

He didn't understand what to do now. Does this mean you wanted to move on? And what, he was supposed to move on, too? Find someone new? Start over? Literally less than two weeks ago, he was having dinner with the love of his life, and now he had to just, what, find someone else, get to know them? Remember their favourite colour? None of that will matter. Because no one was going to be you. Not even Hannah.

Oh, shit.

Hannah.

That's what this was about.

Obviously, he didn't love Hannah, right? God, no. Not nearly as much as he loved you. Then what was it? Why did he stall when you asked him if he loved you? What exactly did he feel about Hannah that made him so stupid that he lost you? He had way too many questions and not nearly enough answers. His mind was running way too fast for him to catch up. He parked his truck on the side of the road and got out.

He paced the area in front of his truck.

He was very, very confused. What was wrong with him? He loved you. Of course, he did. How did he fuck up like this? He got busy, you got busy. Sure. But that didn't mean you loved each other any less. Certainly didn't mean he loved Hannah. Then why?

Did he stop putting in efforts?

He thought about the last couple of months. All the calls, all the texts, you had initiated. Every time the two of you went out, you had insisted. Every time you had been intimate, you had made the first move. Jesus, of course, you thought he didn't love you. He'd been a complete douchebag. He was just overwhelmed with life. You would have understood if he had just talked to you.

Instead, well, he is now a loser with his car parked to the side of the road, sitting on the hood of his car, head in his hands, and a whole lot of regrets.

He still wanted answers. Before he could prove to you that he did indeed love you, he had to prove it to himself. He did not love Hannah. He loved you.

He got back in his truck and decided to drive to a place where he knew he could find some answers. Or closure, at the very least. Malone's.

He could just talk to Hannah, confirm once and for all that he felt nothing, and then profess his undying love for you. Simple, yeah?

Luckily, it was Hannah's shift, which should've made it easy. Unfortunately, shit would hit the fan in about five minutes. He walked up to her around the same time she noticed him.

"Logan, hey! The usual?"

Before he could answer, the door opened, and you walked in with Allie. You waved at Hannah and looked at him, your expression completely unreadable. You didn't acknowledge him. Logan felt like he was swallowing fire. Allie led you to the table where, apparently, everybody else was already there. Great. The whole gang was there. This should be easy.

Logan couldn't decide whether he was supposed to follow you. Does he sit somewhere else? No, that's weird. He should probably just leave now, right? No, he just got here, that's weird too. Everyone already knows he was here. There was no going back now. He had to go sit at the table now. Fuck.

He walked up to the booth where you were all sitting, and everyone became silent immediately. Allie's shift had started, so it was just you, Garrett, Dean, Tucker, and Logan. Sitting at the table, saying absolutely nothing. Great, now he felt awful. After a painfully awkward minute, which felt like ages, Dean decided to break the silence.

"So, the weather, huh?"

No one said anything again.

"Okay. I tried," he got up and left the table.

Garrett and Tucker exchanged looks. You and Logan were looking anywhere but each other.

"Hey, Tuck, do you hear that?" Garrett asked extremely casually.

"Hear what, Garrett?" Tucker, god bless his soul, was genuinely confused.

"That sound? Don't you hear it?" he warned this time, which was borderline a threat.

"G, I don't hear anything, man."

"Oh, for God's sake," Garrett dragged Tucker away by his collar.

It was just you and Logan now. He decided to try again.

"Can we please just talk?"

"I said no, Logan."

Well, that crashed and burned splendidly. Time to leave. Just as he was about to get up, he noticed that your wrist still carried the bracelet he had gotten you for your six-month anniversary. He couldn't give up on you that easily. He had to try.

"I love you—"

"Yeah, somehow, I am having trouble believing that, John," you spat, your voice laced with anger this time.

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Dean wince and Tucker flinch. He looked at them, and they turned away immediately, like the ceiling was suddenly very interesting.

"Baby—"

"Call me baby one more time," you warned.

"I'm sorry. I know I hurt you. Please just tell me how to make it up to you."

"You think you can just treat me however you want and make it up to me, and we'll be okay again? Hurt me is an understatement, John. You ruined my life."

Logan was taken aback. He looked like he had seen a ghost. He did not expect that. It felt like a door had slammed in his face. You laughed, and it came out humourless and tired.

"Every single night I go to bed, and I cannot sleep because you are not next to me. I cannot open my phone without a text from you, or a picture of us from a memory from months ago, and I spiral again. I spent the last couple of months thinking I was a horrible girlfriend, only to find out that you didn't even love me."

"I love you, please, just—"

"Let me finish, Logan. People fall out of love. I can make my peace with that. It would be selfish of me if I made you stay. But you cannot keep barging into my life and lying to me again and again, just so you can have a clear conscience."

"I am not lying to you. I love you, Jesus, please, just believe me. Let me explain."

"Logan, there's no need to explain anything."

"Is there anything I can do," Logan said finally, quieter now, almost desperate, "for you to forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive."

He blinked. "What?"

"There's nothing between us, Logan. There's nothing left to forgive."

Logan felt like you had taken an axe and thrown it right at his heart. That's it? What do you mean, nothing left?

"Is that—" His voice cracked slightly. "Is that all this meant to you?"

You laughed incredulously. "Well, if you must know, John, it meant a whole lot more before you made it perfectly clear where your priorities lie."

"It's not like that. I miss you. I miss us."

"Well, that's too fucking bad, John." You were already standing, already reaching for your bag, your hands steadier than your voice. "You made a choice. Grow up."

You stormed out of his life for the second time, and this time, Logan could feel his stomach drop. He felt like his throat was closing up, like the room was getting smaller. He just sat there after you left, not knowing what to do with himself. What now?

Dean caught up with you outside, jogging a little to match your pace, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets like he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

"Hey. I'm not gonna pry," he said, falling into step beside you. "I genuinely don't know what happened, and that's not what this is. I just want to make sure you get home okay."

You nodded, grateful, mostly, for the lack of questions.

You walked in silence for a block before he spoke again.

"For what it's worth," Dean said, "and no offence to either of you— you're both kind of sucking the energy out of every room you walk into right now."

A laugh startled out of you before you could stop it. "Wow. Tell me what you really think."

"I'm just saying, I kinda miss when the only thing insufferable about you guys was the PDA."

"You and me both, buddy."

"And amen to his magic dick."

You paused, completely taken aback. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

"Honey, I am literally in the next room. I hear everything."

You just sighed. Might as well. "Amen indeed. And his great ass. I am going to miss his ass."

"Can confirm. He does have a nice ass, yes."

"And his shoulders—"

"We don't have to go through the whole thing."

You were at your dorm before you realised. You hugged him as a thank you. Logan may have broken your heart, but you'll always be thankful you got to meet the gang. They were family at this point.

"Alright," He glanced over. "I need to say it, I'm sorry, but if there's even a small part of you that wants to fix this— and I mean any part, even a stupid, stubborn, two-percent part— please consider it. Because the guy's a wreck, and so are you, and honestly, Tucker is starting to bald from all the stress."

You laughed at that. "Tucker or you?"

"Whatever you heard, it's hearsay."

Meanwhile, at Malone's, Hannah sat at the booth opposite Logan.

"We need to talk."

Logan looked confused, but he nodded. He let out a short, humourless laugh before she'd even said anything.

"You're, unfortunately, the last person I should be talking to about this."

"Yeah, well, I don't give a fuck, Logan." Her voice was steady, but there was real heat under it. "My best friend just stormed out of here looking like she wanted to commit a homicide, and I held her while she cried for weeks, so you're going to tell me what is actually going on."

He sighed, scrubbed a hand down his face. "Okay. This isn't a reflection of how I feel about you right now, or technically ever, I guess, and I don't want this to make things weird— between you and Garrett, or you and me, or Garrett and me. I just need you to know that going in."

"Logan."

"I think I might've had a crush on you."

She stared at him. "...That's it?"

"What do you mean, that's it? It sort of fucked my entire relationship in the a—"

"Logan, you did not have a crush on me."

"I'm pretty sure I—"

"No." She said it firmly, almost gently, cutting him off before he could finish digging. "No, you did not. Think about it. You guys were already going through a rough patch and pulling away from each other before any of this. And then you watched me and Garrett be all coupley and stupid in front of you, and you missed it. You missed having that. You don't want me, Logan. You miss her. You're not in love with me."

He opened his mouth to argue and then just stopped.

"You love her," Hannah said, quieter now. "You've always loved her. You just got so used to missing her that you forgot what it felt like to actually have her, and somewhere along the way you mistook wanting that feeling back for wanting it with someone new."

Logan sat very still for a long moment.

"Oh, my god."

"Yeah."

"Oh, my god." He stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the table, pulled Hannah into a side hug and then gave her a couple of pats on her head. Hannah scrunched her face in confusion. He winced in regret.

"Thank you. I have to go."

"Go," she said, already pushing him toward the door. "Go, idiot. Run."

At your dorm, you were going through your gallery. The plan was to get rid of all the pictures and videos. Completely erase him from your life. But he had taken up every inch and crevice of your being. Your entire gallery was just him and you. You put your phone down. Your room was full of his clothes, his pictures, and gifts he had gotten you.

You opened your laptop to get some work done. Your lock screen was a picture of the two of you together. You closed it immediately. You went into the bathroom to wash your face. His toothbrush was next to yours. You ran back to your living room, threw yourself on the couch, hugged a pillow and started sobbing.

The throw pillow was a gift from him.

Fuck.

Despite everything he had done, you still loved him more than anything in the world. You opened your phone and started going through the gallery again. You stopped at a video from around six months ago.

You were in the kitchen of the hockey house. The two of you were cooking. You didn't remember what. You were stirring the pot on the stove. He sneaked up behind you, hands on your waist as he kissed your neck. You smiled at the contact as he backed away and pointed at the camera.

"Kids, don't let the video fool you. I did all of the work; your mom has been stirring the pot for less than thirty seconds."

"Logan, who are you talking to right now?"

"Someday, little Jerusha Logan and the other little Logans are going to see this. I'm just keeping them informed, baby."

"Oh, well, in that case. Sweetie, it was your dad's idea to call you Jerusha. Sorry you get bullied in school every day!"

He laughed and hugged you from behind again. You turned your neck to face him, giving him a chaste kiss, risotto on the stove be damned.

"Eugh. Our kids are going to think we're disgusting," you admitted.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

The tears started streaming down your face before you could help it. You swiped to the next video. Why were you doing this to yourself?

The arena was loud. The video was shaky. You could hear yourself screaming in the background. Briar U Hawks vs Penn State, the Hawks were demolishing Penn State. Your hands shook as they tried their best to keep up with Logan skating around the rink. He hits the puck, and.... It's a goal! He skates a victory lap around the rink. He points at you and does the arrow thing he does every time he scores.

You swiped again. You always told him that he had the voice of an angel. He had sung Elvis' Can't Help Falling in Love, just for you. You used to listen to it almost every day.

Next was a video that he had taken with your phone.

"Babe, do you smell that?"

"Smell what, Logan?"

"Really? Doesn't it smell like updog in here?"

"What's updog?"

"Nothing much, boo, what's up with you?"

"I am breaking up with you."

You laughed at the memory of how you refused to talk to him for an entire hour. And then you were crying again.

You closed the gallery. Opened your messages. You'd been ignoring him for weeks.

Logan: hey, good morning, can we talk Logan: baby, please Logan: can we talk? i'm sorry Logan: i miss you, i'm sorry Logan: please Logan: i fucked up Logan: look, im not going to force you to talk to me but pls just hear me out Logan: i am so, so sorry Logan: baby Logan: talk to me

It was weeks of this. The begging slowly turned into random check-ins.

Logan: saw this dog, thought of you today Logan: they had blueberry muffins in the cafeteria Logan: you were right btw prof groff is NOT STRAIGHT Logan: good for him tho his boyfriend's hot

And every single day, at some point, without fail, was this—

Logan: Baby. I love you. so much.

You didn't know what to do anymore. You put your phone down and held your head in your hands. You played the memory of the first time he stayed over at your place.

You were lying on his chest, hand thrown across him, the only thing protecting your dignity your blanket. He had one arm under his head, the other drawing circles in the back of your hand that was on him. Your head was close enough to his chest that you could hear his heartbeat.

"Baby? You okay?"

"Uh-huh. Peachy."

"You're unusually quiet," he clarified.

"What, I can't be quiet in my own house?"

"Not that, it's just, you weren't exactly the picture of silence five minutes ago, so—"

You reached behind you and threw a pillow on his face, muffling his laughter.

"Seriously, though, you're okay?"

"I'm perfect. I'm just... thinking."

"Oh, no," he teased.

"Shut up," you laughed. "I just... Okay, I know how cheesy this sounds, but I just—I have never felt this way about anyone before."

He looked at you with something in his eyes you wouldn't name until later. "I've never felt this way about anyone either. Does that... scare you?"

"That's the thing. Not even a little bit."

"Good. Because I have never been more sure of anything in my life."

He looked into your eyes, like he was about to risk it all. He used his hand to lift your chin up and caught your lips with his, tender and sincere. He deepened the kiss torturously slow, like he had nowhere else to be other than here. He pulled back to properly look at you. A stray hair had fallen loose on your face. He tucked it behind your ears before looking back into your eyes.

"I think I'm—"

His phone rang, loudly, at a very, very inopportune moment. Something about Garrett's car and a flat tyre. He had to go. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and stared at you for a second longer, which made you feel some type of way.

Alright. Maybe. Maybe. And that is a very tiny maybe, there was a minuscule chance that you could fix this. You weren't letting him off the hook easy, no, but he wanted to explain? Then the least you could do was hear him out. You were not going to give up on the love of your life because you were stubborn.

Your thumb hovered over his contact. You pressed call before you could think it through. One ring, Two rings, Three. He picked up. You could hear him breathing raggedly on the other side, like he'd been running for a while. Jesus, was he alright? You decided to say something.

"Hey."

Three knocks on your door. You walked over to see who it was. You opened the door. Both of you said at the same time —

"We need to talk."

You just stood there, phone still connected, the absurdity of it hanging in the air between you like something almost funny, if either of you had the energy left for funny.

You lowered the phone first. He took that as permission to keep going.

"I'm not here to ask for your forgiveness," he said quickly, like he'd practised it the whole way over and needed to get it out before he lost his nerve. "I'm not asking for that. I just need you to hear something, and then I'll go, if that's what you want."

You stepped aside, making way for him to come in.

You were both sitting on the couch, facing each other. Clearly, neither of you thought it through as much as you had assumed. You both started at the same time.

"You said—" "I want—"

Both of you became silent again. Logan decided to start before it was too late.

"I'm not in love with Hannah."

That's it? What, you were just supposed to take his word for it?

"Good for you? What do you want me to say?"

"Just give me a second, I'm finding the words."

"Find them faster."

"They're here. They're here. Jesus. Alright. I know I have been a complete ass the last couple of months," he paused.

"If you're waiting for me to disagree with you, that's not going to happen."

He laughed like you had stated something obvious. "I knew that. Anyways. It is completely my fault, and I take full accountability for that. But it's not because of Hannah. I am not giving you any excuses for my behaviour, absolutely not, but I have been going through something, and I need to tell you. You're the only person I talk to about this stuff."

You waited while he thought of what to say next. Whatever it was, clearly it wasn't easy for him to say, so you didn't push.

"I have had a rough couple of months. With Hunter and Dean in the team, it's been sort of a nightmare, and with Birdie and Garrett both gone, it's been hard. I know I'm the interim captain, and that means this won't stick, but I feel like I'm letting Garrett and the entire team down."

You looked at him with something in your eyes dangerously close to pity.

"So, I've been spending way too much time at the rink to have time for anything else, and it was sort of eating at me. I thought the only way to make up was to throw myself into hockey 24/7. I thought if I didn't have any distractions, and trust me, baby, you are very distracting," he laughed, which pulled a very reluctant smile out of you.

"Get to the point, Logan."

"Right. I thought if I was dedicated enough, it would fix everything."

"Did it?"

"Oh, not even a little bit. In fact, we suck more now."

"That's a shame," you answered, not meaning a single word.

"No, it's not. I just— in between all this, I completely lost sight of what's important, and well, when Garrett and Hannah started dating, right when we started growing apart, and they were all close and happy and in love..." he trailed off, like you would understand where he was going.

"You missed how we used to be," you finished his thought for him.

"I guess so, yeah."

You sat in silence for a while, absorbing everything. Alright, so, good news, he still loved you. Bad news, he still hurt you.

"Okay, Logan, firstly, stop doubting yourself, okay? You're the captain for a reason. And don't give me that interim captain bullshit, hockey players are annoyingly full of themselves, you know how good you are."

It pulled a laugh out of him.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that alone, and I really wish you'd let me in earlier, but you need to remember who you are. You are this close to getting drafted. You need to get your head in the game, sure, but pushing me away was not going to fix that."

"I know," he admitted.

"Second, it's been terrible for you, I understand, completely, and I feel for you, but it doesn't undo how you treated me. I gave you the benefit of the doubt for so long, I started doubting myself instead."

"I know," he said again, quieter. "And I don't have a version of this where I get to fix that tonight. I'm not going to stand here and tell you I can undo months of damage in one conversation, because that's not fair to you, and it's not even true." He moved a bit closer to you, and you didn't move away. He took that as a win.

"I'm here because I needed you to know that I do love you, always have, always will. And there was never any version of me where that changed, ever. I will always deeply regret how I made you feel, and I will spend the rest of my life making up for— I'm sorry— there's a strand of hair falling on your face, it's been there the whole time, and it's kinda bothering me."

A piece of hair had, in fact, fallen loose in front of your eyes— it had been there the whole conversation, and for once you hadn't even noticed.

His hand came up, slower than it ever had before, stopping just shy of your face. "Can I?"

You felt your eyes burn. Your heart was beating hard in your chest. Your breathing was uneven, and you hoped to God he wouldn't notice.

"Yeah," you whispered. "You can."

His fingers brushed your temple, tucked the strands carefully behind your ear, the same way he'd done a hundred times before— except this time it didn't feel like habit. You felt vindicated. Cathartic.

"Yeah, so, I was saying, I will spend the rest of my life making up for—"

"Logan?"

"Yes, babe—hmm." he stopped. He knew better at this point.

"Tell me you love me."

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. He let his hands hover close to yours, waiting for permission to hold them. When you nodded, he took them in his, so reverently it made your heart ache just a little bit.

"I, John Logan, love you unconditionally, deeply, irrevocably, and I cannot live without you. You make my winters warm and summers... tolerable. You're it for me, baby."

You knew he meant it with his entire being this time. You had scared him enough at this point, you decided to put him out of his misery. He was already very close to you; you didn't even have to try.

You closed the last few inches yourself, and the second your lips met his, every ounce of restraint he'd been holding onto dissolved. His hand slid from your hand to your jaw, then into your hair, fingers curling against your scalp, and he kissed you like he'd been drowning for weeks and had just remembered how to breathe. You felt the small, broken sound he made against your mouth more than you heard it— something between relief and apology, and it went straight through you.

"I missed you," he breathed against your lips, not quite pulling away, like he couldn't stand to put even an inch of space between you. "God, baby, I missed you so much."

His other hand found your waist as he kissed you deeper this time, hand splayed wide, pulling you flush against him like he needed the proof that you were really there, really letting him do this. You fisted a hand in the front of his shirt, partly to steady yourself, partly because some petty, hurting part of you wanted him to feel exactly how much you'd missed this too. He slowly tested the waters, hand on your waist, almost sliding under your shirt. You caught him by the wrist and stopped him.

"Whoa, slow down, Romeo. We're not there yet."

"Understood."

"This does not mean we are back to normal."

"Agreed."

"You still have a lot of making up to do."

"Yes, ma'am. Wouldn't expect anything less."

"I'm talking to-do list."

"Oh? And what might one find on said list?"