maya*

"Hey! Earth to Captain Splash."

"What? Oh, yeah, right, I'm— uh, I'm sorry," he manages, but he's not quite concentrating yet. He is positively smitten. And he feels awful because he just soaked this poor girl's brand-new book in a puddle of rainwater.

"Thank you for the apology; my book is completely dry now," she deadpans, bending to pick up what used to be the book. A laugh escapes him despite himself. He can feel her glaring at him.

She grimaces the moment her hands touch the item. That is not a fun sensory experience. She is holding it up with her index and thumb in front of her face, assessing the damage. Yeah, that book is done for.

"Again, I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll get you the exact same book, from the exact same place, and I'll throw in a cup of coffee as reparations."

"As long as you don't throw it at my book..." she trails off.

"Logan. John Logan."

And the rest was history.

Every day, at least once, Logan swore that you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

"You are literally the captain of the hockey team."

"Baby, I could be the president, and my point would still stand."

And that would make you blush and bury your face into his chest every single time.

You and Logan were the best part of each other's day. He'd come back from an emotionally and physically exhausting practice day, climb up your fire escape (because you didn't want to tell anyone yet), and collapse on your bed like a thirsty man who finally found a river.

You'd let him lie down on your lap and stroke his hair as he'd tell you all about his day. Sometimes you'd just let him sleep for a while, and you'd read your book, a moment of peace for both of you.

A lot of times, when he woke up, he'd be annoyed that he wasn't getting enough attention and would try every single trick in the book to get you to focus on him instead. He would whine, complain, pout, and feign heartbreak while you promised one more page.

"Logan, I swear, it's getting so good I can't stop now, but give me five minu—"

He'd bury his face into a pillow and scream.

Eventually, he'd snatch your book from your hand, put the bookmark in and toss it on the table, despite your protests, and pin you to the mattress, knocking the wind out of you.

"Baby," he'd say, in that breathy voice he knew did things to you, "I've been patient, and I think it's my turn to do some reading now." You would nod slowly, breathless, and he'd laugh before grazing your jaw with his lips, and trailing further and further down. His hands would test the waters, sliding under the hem of his your T-shirt. He'd leave marks in places only you'll know about, and you'd go crazy thinking about it all day.

It was never either of your intentions to hide each other from your friends. God, no, but what you had, it was just... yours. Just him and you. To the entire world, he was John Logan, captain of the Briar U Hawks, playboy on sabbatical, charming handyman straight out of a dirty movie, the John Logan.

But to you, he was John Logan, golden retriever in disguise, supplier of endless hoodies, brings you coffee the way you like, memorises your convoluted and frankly concerning subway orders, best kisser in the entire world (among other things), John Logan. A version of him that no one will ever know, not like you did.

To him, you were the only aspect of normalcy in his entire life. Everywhere he went, he had to be somebody. A captain, a student, a friend, a brother, a son. But with you, he didn't have to put up a front. He didn't have to pretend. Because being your boyfriend was not something he had to learn or actively do. He just... did.

You were the one place in his life where he felt like he belonged. It was like he always knew how to be in love with you; he just hadn't found you yet. Now that he had, it was like he had found purpose. That's who he was now. John Logan, man in love.

The privacy, you thought, was what made the entire ordeal special. This was beautiful, and just yours. And you both wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

And then there was that part of Logan that wanted to parade you around the campus, show you off, kiss you in front of everyone, and declare his undying love for you, god and all of Briar U as his witness.

He would unapologetically carry your stack of books whenever you were at the bookstore, and, ever the gentleman, never let you pay. Your bag was his by proxy at this point, the way he would always let it hang over his shoulder whenever you walked with him, halfway through some tangent about your latest book. And if you ever carry your own bag, god forbid, he'd look at you like you had an extra head before taking it from you.

You were deeply in love with each other.

It was a mundane day at the hockey house. Garrett had his feet up on the coffee table, controller in hand, losing spectacularly to Dean, who wasn't even looking at the screen half the time and still winning.

Tucker came through the front door, shaking rain out of his hair, and didn't bother with hello.

"Where's Logan?"

"Room," Garrett said, not looking up. "Don't bother him; dude went up like ages ago. Hasn't come out since"

Tucker paused halfway through unlacing his boots. "Let me guess. She climbed up the fire escape again?"

"Uh-huh," Dean said, eyes still on the TV, thumb working the controller. "Only tripped once this time. Progress."

"How do you even know that?"

"Window's right above the kitchen. You can hear everything. Heard her go 'shit—' real quiet, heard him go 'you good?' even quieter, and then I heard her go 'yeah, I'm fine, your stupid fire escape is a death trap,' and then nothing for like... an hour," he explained, his voice going an entire octave higher when he imitated you.

Tucker dropped onto the arm of the couch. Garrett looked up toward the ceiling like he could see straight through it to Logan's room, and he just smiled.

"Does he know we know?" Tucker asked.

"Nah," Dean said, easy, unbothered, like it wasn't even a question. "Nah, man. Let him have this."

Tucker nodded slowly, settling back, already reaching for the third controller. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah."

It took you a wild minute, but hey, game recognises game. He was always looking for someone too. Just... not you. You followed his line of sight; you were curious as to who made his face light up that way. Curiosity killed the cat, desecrated it, buried it, and got rid of the evidence.

It was deeply inconvenient that the one guy you ended up genuinely liking in all your time at Briar just so happened to be in love with your best friend. As was your luck.

Logan, on the other hand, really looked forward to seeing Hannah.

The night after he walked you home, he'd had a revelation. He didn't want Hannah. He just wanted to be in love. And he wanted it to be with you, specifically. So, he had begged Hannah, who knew you better than anyone in the world, to tell him everything about you.

"And why exactly would I do that?" she asked, as she cleared his table at Malone's.

"Well, I may or may not be interested in asking her out," he confirmed. Hannah froze for a second before taking a seat opposite him in the booth.

"Listen to me, Logan. Before you have my blessing—"

"I wasn't asking for—"

"Before," she cut him off, "you have my blessing, know this. You will not hurt her. You will not make her cry; you will not ever be the reason she feels betrayed, and you certainly cannot treat her like she's just anybody. She's the prize. Understood?"

Logan was genuinely scared. "Yes, ma'am."

"What do you want to know?"

And so, he spent the following days brainstorming ways to ask you out and running them by Hannah to see if you'd say okay. They had settled on simple, subtle ways. "Drop hints. Let her know you like her," Hannah had said. So he did.

He was magically at the library at the same time you were, offered to carry your books, tried making small talk, and whatnot. You had nipped that right in the bud.

"Listen, I'm sorry, but I got this, like, really daunting assignment to work on, so if you don't mind..."

"What? Yeah, no— of course, yeah. Go. Study. Education is... yeah."

So that failed spectacularly.

Next, it was getting you your coffee order. As a surprise. Yay! Here's your exact coffee order! See how much I notice? Love me.

Unfortunately, the only person that attempt surprised was Logan.

He had stopped you on your way to class with a rushed Hey! Wait up! It sounded very breathless, like he had sprinted through campus to get there. Which he had.

"What's this?"

"I got you coffee." He paused to catch his breath. "From that place you like."

"Oh," you trailed off, and you looked at him with what he convinced himself could not be pity.

"What's wrong? Did I get it wrong? Wh—"

"No, nothing, I just— I had coffee like five minutes ago. I didn't have time to go there before class, so I just got it from the cafeteria," you explained. Logan just stared in disbelief.

"Oh."

Well, shit.

"Yeah," you laughed nervously. "It's fine, I'll just... have some more, I guess," you tried.

"What—no, no, you don't have to," he laughed, "I'll have it instead. It's fine. I love..." he trailed off, pausing to read the order written on the cup, trying and failing at hiding the mild grimace that formed, "... vanilla."

You just nodded solemnly and watched him as he took a sip. It was clearly not to his taste; he was struggling, and he gave you a very unconvincing thumbs-up as he swallowed what he believed could not possibly contain any amount of coffee at all.

"You okay, Logan?"

"Uh-huh!" he assured, but his voice was way too high-pitched to sound plausible.

The third time had to be the charm. Logan was very close to just going up to you and saying Listen. I really like you. You're killing me here. Dinner? Hannah had to convince him for twenty minutes to try being normal one last time before giving up.

It was a relatively simple plan. There was going to be a party. You were going to be there. All he had to do was talk to you and treat you like a human being. Genius plan, right? Wrong.

It was like the entire universe was conspiring against Logan. Every time he would try to strike up a conversation with you, it would die down in a matter of seconds because someone wanted either one of you for something. And when you both were finally free, and it felt like the conversation was getting somewhere, a puck bunny that Logan had met at a party ages ago would get the brilliant idea of getting reacquainted with him. After about three instances of this happening, Logan excused himself from you and pulled her aside.

"Kylie," he laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Listen. You're an amazing person—"

"You think so?" she asked, hand to heart and teary-eyed, clearly drunk out of her mind, poor thing.

"Uh-huh!" he indulged, already losing patience, "And any guy would be so lucky to have you."

"Yeah, he would," she laughed, pulling him closer by the collar. He caught her by the wrist, pulled her away and stepped back.

"Yeah, see? That's the thing. I am not that guy."

"What do you mean?" she asked, tears already welling in her eyes. He sighed, head dropping.

"I like someone, Kylie. I really like this girl, and I don't wanna screw it up, okay?"

Gears were finally turning in her head. She gasped, her eyes lighting up. "Is that who you were talking to?"

"Yes," he laughed. "That was her, yeah."

"She's pretty."

"Yeah, she is. And she's really smart too. She does this thing when—"

Logan spent the next 15 minutes talking about you. By the time he was done (he wasn't nearly done; he just noticed that it had been quiet for a while), Kylie had dozed off, leaning on the wall. Not wanting to leave her there, he ushered her into the nearest room and left her on the bed. By the time he came back to the party, you were gone. You probably thought he ditched you for Kylie.

Well, shit.

It wasn't that you didn't notice that Logan was trying something with you. It's just— It felt wrong at this point. What, Hannah was in a relationship now, so he was going for you instead? Is that what this was? And Kylie now? Were you that boring that he had to ditch you mid-conversation?

Sure, you loved that he was making an effort, and it was killing you on the inside to not reciprocate, but if his heart was not in the right place, then what even was the point? You deserved to be wanted because you were you. Not as someone's rebound, not as an afterthought. And you were going to wait until his intentions towards you were crystal clear.

Logan was getting nowhere with you, and it wasn't for lack of trying. He spent the following week trying to arrange as many "chance encounters" as possible to try and talk to you. But, no matter what he did, and no matter how obvious he made it, you seemed to show zero interest in him. It was pissing him off. Hell, it was pissing Garrett off, who had to listen to him complain about this every day, all day long.

"I'm telling you, G, it's like she hates me."

"She's not the only one," he deadpans.

"Dude, I'm serious," he said, his voice sincere.

Garrett almost felt bad for him, except he didn't, thanks to the fact that Logan had barged into his room unannounced; Hannah and Garrett were very, very naked and hiding under the covers.

"So am I. Get the fuck out of my room, Logan," Garrett threatened, throwing a pillow at Logan's figure, which rapidly sprinted out of his room.

"Jesus. Anyways, where were we, Wellsy?" Garrett smirked, hand already snaking up Hannah's waist.

"She does like him back, you know?"Hannah announced.

"Oh, come on!"

So, yeah. Logan's love life was in shambles; Garrett was getting cockblocked, and you were moping around thinking the guy you were basically in love with liked your best friend instead. A normal situation that everybody faces. Sure.

Logan was going to try one last time, and he wasn't going to take Hannah's advice. No more hints or subtlety, because he clearly sucked at those. No, he was going in the grand romantic-gesture direction because that always works out perfectly. They had a game coming up, and he knew exactly what to do.

It was game day, finally. The score was tied, third period, and Briar's crowd was already hoarse from screaming. You were wedged between Hannah and a very enthusiastic stranger in a Briar jersey, clutching your coffee you'd stopped drinking twenty minutes ago because your hands wouldn't stay still long enough.

"He's going to give himself whiplash trying to find you in this crowd," Hannah said, not looking up from her phone, where she was very obviously texting Allie updates about you and Logan.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're doing the thing where you pretend you're not looking for him while you are actively looking for him."

You did not dignify that with a response, mostly because it was true.

And then you saw him. Logan, skating backward near the boards, scanning the stands like a man on a mission. His eyes caught yours, and something in his whole body seemed to relax and panic at the same time, which should not have been possible, and yet.

He pointed. At you. In front of literally everyone. Oh god.

"Oh no," you said.

"Oh, this is going to be good," Hannah said, already filming.

"THIS ONE'S FOR YOU!" he bellowed, loud enough that three separate sections turned to look at you, and you wanted the bleachers to open up and swallow you whole.

Then he took the puck, because of course the puck was already coming to him, because the universe apparently wanted to humiliate him on the biggest possible stage— and he shot.

Into his own net.

The horn blared. For the other team.

There was a full second of stunned silence before the away side erupted, and Coach Jensen looked like he was one heart attack away from an ambulance. Tucker looked like he had seen a ghost. Dean had both hands over his face, shoulders absolutely shaking in laughter. Garrett skated up to Logan and just stared at him, the way you'd stare at a raccoon that had wandered onto the ice.

"Logan," you heard him say, loud enough to carry, "what the fuck."

You put your face in your hands. Hannah was cackling beside you, still filming, tears actually forming. Jules, who was covering the entire game, had to sit down to compose themself.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," you mumbled into your palms.

"He scored for the wrong team for you," Hannah wheezed. "He scored—" she stopped, laughter getting the best of her as she folded over, holding on to you for support.

On the ice, Logan was refusing to make eye contact with anyone, skating back to position like if he moved fast enough, no one could see him. Coach Jensen was yelling something from the bench that involved a lot of pointing and the phrase "are you KIDDING me," along with some very elucidating profanities.

Briar won anyway, thankfully; Garrett's overtime goal saving Logan from further embarrassment, but the locker room, you'd heard, was not kind to him afterwards.

The party after the game felt like a perfectly curated hazing ritual designed to torment Logan alone specifically. You found him by the kitchen, nursing a beer like it had personally wronged him, still getting razzed by literally every guy who walked past.

"Own-goal Logan!" someone shouted from across the room. Logan didn't even flinch; he just closed his eyes like he was praying for the floor to open. Any time now, floor.

You walked up, arms crossed, doing your best to look unimpressed and failing.

"Dude. What the hell."

He turned, and the relief on his face at seeing you, actually seeing you, not a heckler, was almost enough to make you forget you were supposed to be teasing him right now.

"In my defense—"

"This ought to be good."

"—I got excited," he said, like that explained anything. "You were right there, and I panicked, and my brain just went 'shoot', and it did not specify which net. Which, when I say it out loud, I realise makes me sound pathetic."

"It wasn't pathetic, Logan."

"You think so?"

"Okay, maybe like 10% pathetic," you confessed, which pulled a small laugh out of him, "but trust me, for the person, it would've been endearing and adorable," you assured him.

"What about you?" he asked, sounding eager.

"What about me?"

"Was it any of that to you?"

Wow, that was incredibly forward. You hadn't expected him to put you on the spot like that. What were you supposed to say now? The truth? Yes, Logan, despite the fact that it blew up in your face, I thought it was very sweet. God, no. You can't tell him that.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Logan."

"I—" he stopped himself, hand dragging down his face like he could physically wipe the word back in. He laughed, but there was no humour in it, just something a little desperate. "You gotta give me something to work with here. Come on. I just bared my soul out to you, in front of the entire world. Give me something."

"Logan," you said, and you meant for it to come out steady, but it came out tight instead, "whatever you think is going on between you and I, you are incredibly mistaken."

You turned and walked off toward the porch before he could see whatever your face was doing. He followed you. Of course he did.

"Look. Can we talk?"

You sighed, arms wrapping around yourself against the cold, and leaned against the railing. "Go on."

"If you are genuinely not interested in me," he said, and he sounded like he'd rehearsed this part, like it was the only part he'd let himself prepare, "I promise I will stop bothering you. I'll take the hint, I'll back off, whatever you need. But you gotta help me out here, because I feel like I'm losing it a little." He dragged a hand through his hair. "You're giving me all these signals, and I feel like I'm hallucinating them, because one second you're looking at me when you think I don't know. You're at every single one of my games— don't think I haven't noticed. Hannah drags you to maybe half of them, and you still show up to the rest on your own, even when she's not there. You laugh at literally none of my jokes except when you think no one's watching, and then you're full-on wheezing. And then the second I make some kind of move, suddenly I'm the dick here. I'm the guy who overstepped." He spread his hands, helpless. "All I want to know is— am I reading this wrong?"

You closed your eyes for a second. The cold felt like the only honest thing out here. You sighed. Might as well.

"You're not reading it wrong," you said finally. "I... notice you. Okay? I do." You looked at him. "But you gotta give me some credit here. I tried really hard not to."

"Wow." He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, except it landed more like a flinch. "What is so awful about me?"

"That's not— I didn't mean it like that." You pressed the heel of your hand against your eye, frustrated at yourself now, at how badly this was coming out. "It's just — I can't just be another notch in your belt, Logan. I can't be your rebound."

His whole face changed. "Whoa. What rebound?"

"Come on, Logan. I'm not stupid. I know you like Hannah. And it's not your fault, she's very—"

"Yeah—no— I'm gonna stop you right there. What?"

"You know... you like Hannah?" you asked, sounding unsure based on his reaction.

"I assure you, that is not true."

"Dude, come on." You threw your hands up, some of the frustration finally spilling out. "Every single room you're in, you're looking for her. You see her, and suddenly it's Christmas! You just talk to her the whole time, and you get this light in your eye, and you look all adorable and—" you stopped, hearing yourself a second too late, "—god, I wish I'd stopped talking about a minute ago."

He sighed, dragging both hands down his face this time. "Okay. At the risk of sounding pathetic, here goes." He looked at you like he was bracing for impact. "I was looking for her because she was helping me ask you out." You stood there in shock. You were having trouble processing that information.

"We were talking about you. I was nervous, and I wanted to get it right, and— well, in retrospect that backfired splendidly," he gestured vaguely toward the direction of the house, like the hecklers and "own-goal Logan" were still hovering somewhere over his shoulder, "but the idea was, she'd tell me stuff about you— things you liked, whatever— and I'd come up with genius ways to ask you out." He spread his arms, mock-triumphant. "Clearly it worked, because we're on my front porch arguing. So— yay. Go Logan, I guess."

Your brain finally caught up with your mouth. "I—Uh, Wow. Okay." You blinked. "So— just to double-check— I am not a rebound?"

"Baby." He said it like it physically pained him that you'd thought otherwise, closing the distance between you. "Not even close."

"Oh, thank god," you breathed, and then you didn't give yourself time to think about it— you grabbed his jacket and pulled him in.

He made a small, surprised sound against your mouth before he caught up, one hand coming up to your jaw like he still couldn't quite believe this was real and needed to check. He walked you back a step until your shoulders met the porch post, one hand braced against the wood beside your head, the other still cradling your jaw, tilting it just slightly to get the angle he wanted.

You felt him exhale against your mouth right before the kiss deepened, unhurried but certain, and you fisted your other hand in the front of his shirt just to have something to hold onto, because your knees had developed some very inconvenient opinions about standing on their own. His tongue slid over yours as he found an angle that worked, pulling a sound from you that did things to him.

Somewhere behind you, a wolf whistle cut through the night, loud and delighted. You broke apart to find Kylie leaning out the porch door, drink in hand, absolutely beaming.

"Yeahhh, go Logan!!" she hollered, pumping a fist. "She likes you back!!"

Logan dropped his forehead against yours, laughing, equal parts mortified and thrilled. "Does nothing happen around here in private?"

"Apparently not," you said, grinning, "own-goal Logan."

"We are never speaking of that again."

"Oh, absolutely, we are. For the rest of your life."

What he didn't expect was for you to open the door in nothing but a bath robe, hair wrapped neatly in a towel, and your face covered in some kind of paste he had no intention of knowing more about. You smelled fresh, like something floral, and only after a few seconds did either of you notice that no one had said anything in a while.

"Garrett, hey, what's up?"

"Yeah, ...hi," he answered, sounding unsure. "Is, uh, Hannah around? We were supposed to watch a movie together."

"She didn't tell you? She had to pull an extra shift at Malone's. Something about Della's nephew getting sick; I don't know. She should be back in a little bit, though," you explained, hands folded, leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, alright."

"Yup," you confirmed, popping the 'p'.

No one said anything again. Garrett was still getting used to being around you and Allie without Hannah around, and it was adorably awkward. You waited for him to say something, anything, if he was leaving, staying, or whatever, but he just stared in confusion. You decided to put the poor boy out of his misery.

"Do you wanna come in?"

He thought for a couple of seconds before nodding. You moved and waved him inside. Ever the gentleman, he offered a single rose from the bouquet to you before putting it in a vase. He took his jacket off, threw it against the couch and sat there, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead at the TV playing some random episode of Friends.

You were sitting at the loveseat next to the couch, waving your hands in front of your face, waiting for the mask to dry. Garrett was trying his very best to concentrate on the TV and not make it weird, and he was failing miserably. Every now and then, his eyes would land on your face, and he'd stare for longer than necessary before looking away. Curiosity killed the cat.

"Okay, I have to ask, what's with the whole...," he trailed off, hand gesturing to his face.

"I'm glad you asked, Graham. Prepare to be educated," you proclaimed and immediately shifted to sit next to him on the couch. Your enthusiasm made him chuckle as he turned to face you.

"This is a clay mask. It draws out toxins, absorbs excess sebum, and unclogs pores to prevent breakouts in the skin!"

"Okay, so here's the thing. I know all of those words separately," he admitted, eyes scrunching in confusion. You laughed at his confession before you dumbed it down for him.

"It's a part of my skincare routine; it's great for the skin."

"Routine? There's more?"

"Oh, you sweet summer child."

You then explained your entire day-and-night skincare routine, and he listened intently. He nodded at all the right times and paid close attention, like you were explaining strategy. You had to give it to him; when Garrett was interested, he genuinely did listen, and he liked to ask questions. What does niacinamide do? What's a retin oil? Retinol, oh okay.

Once you were done, he just looked like he had witnessed an intergalactic event.

"And you do this every day?"

"Well, the clay mask? I do it like twice or thrice a week; sometimes I just steam and exfoliate, but the routine itself? Yeah, every day. And night, technically," you explained. He just stared in bewilderment.

"Wow. No wonder your skin is, like, glowing. Being a girl is not for the weak, huh?" he laughed.

"You know you can do it too, right? Everybody has skin, Garrett."

"Well yeah, but..."

"But what?" you asked, but your tone sounded more like I dare you to say it.

"Yeah, screw it."

Hannah stumbled into the apartment after about twenty minutes. She was beyond exhausted at that point and couldn't wait to just cuddle Garrett and go to sleep. She sighed as she walked in and threw her bag on the counter.

She noticed you and Garrett on the couch watching Friends, and something warm filled her heart. She couldn't really explain it, but the thought of Garrett getting along well with her closest friends, especially in her absence, just made her love him more. She had made the right choice in friends and family. She just smiled, holding a hand to her heart.

"I'm home," she called out to the two of you, her voice all high-pitched and excited.

"Hey, Wellsy!" "Hello, you!"

Only when neither of you turned to her did she notice how still the two of you were sitting. And the band on Garrett's head. He turned to her slowly, revealing his clay mask-clad face in the process. No one said anything. Hannah was fighting for her life as she slowly pulled up the camera on her phone.

"She said it's great for the skin."

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 hand 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?"

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 hand 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?"

You didn't believe in jinxes or curses. Always believed whatever made the most sense to you by logic. Until, of course, the only possible explanation you could muster for whatever happened between you and Logan was evil eyes. That's what it had to be, right? Because everything was perfect. Perfect. How did it go so wrong?

It's hard to place the exact moment when you started to pull away from each other. You got busy with classes and working part-time; he got busy with hockey now that he was the interim captain.

Meeting whenever you could find time every single day became barely seeing each other four times a week. Phone calls started to grow shorter, messages started to sound less enthusiastic, and it felt like all the colour in your life was slowly draining.

The fights started shortly after.

They were never about anything in particular, really. Sometimes it was a simple comment that one of you blew out of proportion, someone mad that the other cannot magically read minds and understand what they were thinking, and other times it was misplaced grief at losing someone who was right in front of you.

It was fucking exhausting. And it always ended the same way. One of you at the other's doorstep, begging, apologising, making up, and starting all over again in a couple of days. You were getting tired. So was he.

The breaking point came after the most mundane thing ever.

Despite going through the roughest of rough patches, you still loved him. Of course, you did. You didn't think twice before agreeing to have a movie night at his place. Part of you hoped this would smooth things over with him. To your credit, so did he; that was his intention when he invited you, anyway.

You couldn't have been more wrong.

The movie might as well have been a plain screen with brown noise, the way you were not paying attention to it. The guy on the screen could've been Logan himself, and you wouldn't know. Your focus was completely elsewhere.

You were curled up on the couch against him, his arm around your shoulder. His eyes were on the screen, but you could tell he wasn't listening to a word either. You'd steal glances when he wasn't looking, and other times, you could feel his eyes on you.

Sad part was, this didn't feel like the times you'd look at each other and turn away before the other did and smile to yourselves at the close call, eyes full of love, nerves, and adrenaline. This time, it felt loaded and sorrowful, almost like pity even. Like you were both hesitant.

About halfway through the movie, the door to the house opened, and Garrett and Hannah stumbled in, laughing. They looked at each other and shushed each other at the same time. They were tipsy, evidently, and suddenly the entire world was hilarious to them. His arms wrapped around her, trying to drag her upstairs to his room the best he could, but she had spotted you on the couch with Logan, and her eyes lit up with excitement. She had to come say hi.

Even if a million things go wrong in your life, you would always be grateful you got to meet Hannah. She was a ray of sunshine, a breath of fresh air when you needed it the most. You, Hannah, and Allie had been inseparable from freshman year, but you'd always had more of a soft spot for Hannah. You had told her this once, drunk out of your mind, and made her pinky swear not to tell Allie. This was two days after you had met.

Eventually she made it to the couch, only tripped twice in the process, and threw her hands around you from behind, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. She slurred your name and gave you a huge smile before kissing you again.

"Good to see you too, Han," you laughed, holding her bicep that was still around your neck with your hand. She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek to yours and swayed.

"Garrett, look who's here!" She waved him over, and he was just as excited to see you. He gasped when he saw you and pointed a finger at you, like he couldn't believe his eyes. He clapped Logan on the shoulder before hopping over the couch to sit next to you.

"What are we watching?" he asked as he grabbed the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table.

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. You genuinely had no idea. Garrett looked at you. Then at Logan. Then back at you.

"...Seriously?"

You glanced at Logan, expecting him to answer. He didn't, obviously. It's not like he knew either.

"You know... the one with the guy," Logan finally said.

Garrett barked out a laugh. "Solid answer, buddy."

"Oh my God," Hannah whispered, sounding horrified. "They're having a date night." Garrett's grin immediately dropped.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," she hissed, trying and failing to be discreet.

"Hey, so uh, we're just gonna go upstairs to uh," she started, clearly having no idea where the rest of that sentence was going. She just waited for words to find her. They didn't.

"Yeah, we're just gonna go."

She dragged Garrett this time, who was hot on her trail, filled with minor embarrassment from having committed a social blunder. Hannah nearly missed a step. Garrett caught her. Both of them dissolved into another fit of laughter. You watched them until they reached the landing.

Then your attention shifted back to the couch.

Back to Logan.

The entire time Hannah had been wrapped around you, messing up your hair and smearing lipstick onto your cheek, you'd barely noticed. Strands had fallen loose, hanging in front of your eyes now.

Normally, Logan would've fixed it without thinking. He always did. A hand against your jaw. Fingers brushing your temple. Your hair tucked carefully behind your ear.

Such a stupid little thing.

But it was one of those habits he'd picked up early in your relationship and never stopped doing. If you were talking, he'd do it. If you were studying together, he'd do it. If you woke up beside him with your hair in your face, he'd do it before saying good morning.

He always wanted to see you.

And maybe it was ridiculous, but some desperate part of you was waiting for it now. Waiting for proof. Proof that underneath all the arguments and frustration and distance, he still looked at you and saw the person he loved.

The strands kept falling into your eyes every time you moved. They brushed against your cheek and caught on your lashes, and still, you left them there.

You waited for his hand to find your face. For his fingers to brush your temple. For him to tuck them away like he'd done hundreds of times before.

He didn't.

Your eyes drifted to him. His weren't on you at all. They were fixed on the staircase. On the spot that Garrett and Hannah had disappeared from just moments ago.

You followed his gaze without really thinking about it. Maybe he was annoyed they interrupted the movie. Maybe he was wondering if Garrett would let Hannah fall down the stairs before they made it to his room. Maybe he wasn't thinking anything at all.

You tried not to think about it.

Logan let out a long sigh and leaned back into the couch. His attention returned to the television.

You looked away before he could catch you staring.

Something unpleasant settled in your chest. It wasn't anger. It wasn't even sadness, really. It felt more like the sinking realisation that you'd been waiting for something that wasn't coming.

The movie continued to play in front of you. Someone on screen was talking. Another person answered. There was dramatic music somewhere in the background.

You couldn't hear any of it.

The lump in your throat appeared so suddenly it caught you off guard. The room was closing in. Everything was warm. The ceiling was getting lower and lower. Breathing felt manual. You could feel the clothes on your skin.

You sat up fast. Immediately, Logan glanced over.

"You okay?"

You grabbed your bag from where you'd dropped it beside the couch.

"I don't feel very good."

"What do you mean?" His eyebrows pulled together.

"I think I'm gonna go home."

"What?" He turned toward you completely now. "You were fine two seconds ago."

"I know."

"Did something happen?" The concern in his voice almost made it worse.

You shook your head and stood.

"No. I just..." You swallowed hard. "I can't do this right now."

A look flashed across his face. Confusion, mostly.

"Can't do what?" he asked, turning his head slightly.

You didn't answer. Because how were you supposed to explain it without sounding insane? You just shook your head in defeat.

"I just can't."

You were already moving away from him, past the front door, onto the porch. Your cheeks were already damp with tears, but you didn't make an effort to wipe them away. The cool night air hit your face.

A second later, the door opened behind you.

"Baby."

That was the last straw.

You stopped in your tracks and let out an incredulous laugh. You dropped your bag on the ground. You were doing this now.

"You have some nerve, John Logan. Calling me baby like you did nothing wrong," you spat, all your sorrow now taken over by rage.

His face immediately twisted in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, no, no, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like you don't know."

"I genuinely don't."

You laughed. The sound was ugly.

"Oh, you don't know?"

"No."

"Then let's start there."

Logan stared at you from the porch. You stared right back at him. Months of frustration, distance, apologising and pretending were threatening to explode. You were so tired. You let it.

"You don't call me anymore."

His brows furrowed like he wasn't expecting that to be the reason for your anger.

"What?"

"You. Don't. Call," you enunciated each syllable like you were explaining how to pronounce something complicated.

"You're one to talk, you don't call me either."

"Oh, honey, that's because every time I do, you're busy."

"I am busy," he argued.

"As opposed to me, who is fucking free all the time? Is that what you're saying?"

His jaw clenched.

"Jesus, that is not what I said!"

"Well, then, give me one good reason why you never call me, Logan."

"You think you're the only one making sacrifices here?"

The question caught you off guard.

"What?"

"I said, do you think you're the only one making sacrifices?"

Something in your chest cracked. You hoped it wouldn't get to this point, but unfortunately, there it was. The resentment.

"You know what?" you laughed bitterly. "Maybe you're right."

"Don't."

"No, no, maybe you're right."

You wiped your face angrily.

"Maybe I should've just accepted seeing my boyfriend three times a week. Maybe I should've accepted the fact that every conversation feels like I'm inconveniencing you."

His expression darkened.

"That's not fair."

"Fair?"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"You want to talk about fair, Logan?"

"Yeah."

"Fair would've been you telling me when you stopped loving me."

Logan looked like you'd slapped him. You didn't mean to say that. You really didn't. He looked down at the ground like it had answers that he was looking for. Neither of you said anything for a while.

For the first time in a while, he called your name.

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"Jesus Christ." He ran a hand through his face, exasperated and done.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" He got off the porch to stand closer to you. You immediately took a step back. Neither of you acknowledged it.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I assure you, I don't."

"Don't fucking lie to me, John," you laughed.

He sighed loudly and stepped closer.

"I don't know what is going on in your head right now, but clearly you are not in the right headspace for this conversa—"

"Tell me you love me."

"What?"

"Either you love me, and I'm wrong, or you're a hypocrite. Let's settle this. Tell me that you love me."

You stared at him. Waiting.

When he didn't answer, something clicked.

You thought about the staircase. You thought about the way his eyes followed her. You thought about every strange feeling you'd been trying to ignore for months. Every instinct you'd convinced yourself was insecurity. Every moment you'd told yourself you were imagining things.

Suddenly, you weren't so sure.

"No."

The word left your mouth before you could stop it. Logan looked terrified. He wasn't angry or confused, just in shock and pure horror.

"No way."

"Don't."

Your heart started pounding.

"Logan."

"Please don't," this time, he begged.

"Oh my God."

His eyes squeezed shut. Somehow that was worse than anything he could've said. You took a shaky step backward.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't like Hannah."

YOu watched him and waited as the colour drained from his face.

"Tell me."

"It's not like that."

You laughed, and it sounded more defeated than you wanted it to be.

"Logan."

He looked away and you felt your stomach drop physically. Like you were geting down the stairs in the dark and missed a step.

"Look me in my eyes."

His jaw tightened. He averted his gaze, but never quite met yours. He couldn't. The silence stretched long enough until it became an answer of its own.

"Wow."

His head snapped up.

"Baby—"

"No."

You took another step back. The tears were falling so hard now you could barely see him.

"Stop right there, Logan."

"It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?"

"I...," he couldn't find any words that would make this okay. He decided not to say anything. You just watched him.

Despite his height and stature, he looked small right now. And even though you were impossibly mad at him right now, it broke your heart. Unfortunately, not even falling in love with your best friend can make you hate John Logan.

"You know, Logan? For the longest time, I thought it was my fault. That there was something wrong with me." He didn't say a word. He just listened.

"I thought I was insecure. I thought I was needy. I thought I was asking for too much. Turns out, I was just naïve and miserable!" you laughed, humourless and tired.

"You are not naï—"

"Then why am I standing here begging for scraps from someone who's in love with somebody else?"

"I'm not in love with her."

You laughed through your tears, because for the first time all night, he sounded unsure, and it hurt you like daggers.

It was getting harder by the minute to be composed. You bent down and grabbed your bag. You looked at him one last time. At the boy you loved so much it scared you.

"Please don't do this."

Your eyes burned.

"Do what, Logan?"

"Leave."

You laughed at the irony.

"You left long before I did."

Before he could answer, or apologize, or make you some promise that you know would break your heart eventually, you started to walk away.

You stopped for a second like you remembered something.

"You know what's pathetic, Logan?"

He knew better than to respond.

You didn't believe in jinxes or curses. Always believed whatever made the most sense to you by logic. Until, of course, the only possible explanation you could muster for whatever happened between you and Logan was evil eyes. That's what it had to be, right? Because everything was perfect. Perfect. How did it go so wrong?

It's hard to place the exact moment when you started to pull away from each other. You got busy with classes and working part-time; he got busy with hockey now that he was the interim captain.

Meeting whenever you could find time every single day became barely seeing each other four times a week. Phone calls started to grow shorter, messages started to sound less enthusiastic, and it felt like all the colour in your life was slowly draining.

The fights started shortly after.

They were never about anything in particular, really. Sometimes it was a simple comment that one of you blew out of proportion, someone mad that the other cannot magically read minds and understand what they were thinking, and other times it was misplaced grief at losing someone who was right in front of you.

It was fucking exhausting. And it always ended the same way. One of you at the other's doorstep, begging, apologising, making up, and starting all over again in a couple of days. You were getting tired. So was he.

The breaking point came after the most mundane thing ever.

Despite going through the roughest of rough patches, you still loved him. Of course, you did. You didn't think twice before agreeing to have a movie night at his place. Part of you hoped this would smooth things over with him. To your credit, so did he; that was his intention when he invited you, anyway.

You couldn't have been more wrong.

The movie might as well have been a plain screen with brown noise, the way you were not paying attention to it. The guy on the screen could've been Logan himself, and you wouldn't know. Your focus was completely elsewhere.

You were curled up on the couch against him, his arm around your shoulder. His eyes were on the screen, but you could tell he wasn't listening to a word either. You'd steal glances when he wasn't looking, and other times, you could feel his eyes on you.

Sad part was, this didn't feel like the times you'd look at each other and turn away before the other did and smile to yourselves at the close call, eyes full of love, nerves, and adrenaline. This time, it felt loaded and sorrowful, almost like pity even. Like you were both hesitant.

About halfway through the movie, the door to the house opened, and Garrett and Hannah stumbled in, laughing. They looked at each other and shushed each other at the same time. They were tipsy, evidently, and suddenly the entire world was hilarious to them. His arms wrapped around her, trying to drag her upstairs to his room the best he could, but she had spotted you on the couch with Logan, and her eyes lit up with excitement. She had to come say hi.

Even if a million things go wrong in your life, you would always be grateful you got to meet Hannah. She was a ray of sunshine, a breath of fresh air when you needed it the most. You, Hannah, and Allie had been inseparable from freshman year, but you'd always had more of a soft spot for Hannah. You had told her this once, drunk out of your mind, and made her pinky swear not to tell Allie. This was two days after you had met.

Eventually she made it to the couch, only tripped twice in the process, and threw her hands around you from behind, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. She slurred your name and gave you a huge smile before kissing you again.

"Good to see you too, Han," you laughed, holding her bicep that was still around your neck with your hand. She closed her eyes, pressed her cheek to yours and swayed.

"Garrett, look who's here!" She waved him over, and he was just as excited to see you. He gasped when he saw you and pointed a finger at you, like he couldn't believe his eyes. He clapped Logan on the shoulder before hopping over the couch to sit next to you.

"What are we watching?" he asked as he grabbed the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table.

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. You genuinely had no idea. Garrett looked at you. Then at Logan. Then back at you.

"...Seriously?"

You glanced at Logan, expecting him to answer. He didn't, obviously. It's not like he knew either.

"You know... the one with the guy," Logan finally said.

Garrett barked out a laugh. "Solid answer, buddy."

"Oh my God," Hannah whispered, sounding horrified. "They're having a date night." Garrett's grin immediately dropped.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," she hissed, trying and failing to be discreet.

"Hey, so uh, we're just gonna go upstairs to uh," she started, clearly having no idea where the rest of that sentence was going. She just waited for words to find her. They didn't.

"Yeah, we're just gonna go."

She dragged Garrett this time, who was hot on her trail, filled with minor embarrassment from having committed a social blunder. Hannah nearly missed a step. Garrett caught her. Both of them dissolved into another fit of laughter. You watched them until they reached the landing.

Then your attention shifted back to the couch.

Back to Logan.

The entire time Hannah had been wrapped around you, messing up your hair and smearing lipstick onto your cheek, you'd barely noticed. Strands had fallen loose, hanging in front of your eyes now.

Normally, Logan would've fixed it without thinking. He always did. A hand against your jaw. Fingers brushing your temple. Your hair tucked carefully behind your ear.

Such a stupid little thing.

But it was one of those habits he'd picked up early in your relationship and never stopped doing. If you were talking, he'd do it. If you were studying together, he'd do it. If you woke up beside him with your hair in your face, he'd do it before saying good morning.

He always wanted to see you.

And maybe it was ridiculous, but some desperate part of you was waiting for it now. Waiting for proof. Proof that underneath all the arguments and frustration and distance, he still looked at you and saw the person he loved.

The strands kept falling into your eyes every time you moved. They brushed against your cheek and caught on your lashes, and still, you left them there.

You waited for his hand to find your face. For his fingers to brush your temple. For him to tuck them away like he'd done hundreds of times before.

He didn't.

Your eyes drifted to him. His weren't on you at all. They were fixed on the staircase. On the spot that Garrett and Hannah had disappeared from just moments ago.

You followed his gaze without really thinking about it. Maybe he was annoyed they interrupted the movie. Maybe he was wondering if Garrett would let Hannah fall down the stairs before they made it to his room. Maybe he wasn't thinking anything at all.

You tried not to think about it.

Logan let out a long sigh and leaned back into the couch. His attention returned to the television.

You looked away before he could catch you staring.

Something unpleasant settled in your chest. It wasn't anger. It wasn't even sadness, really. It felt more like the sinking realisation that you'd been waiting for something that wasn't coming.

The movie continued to play in front of you. Someone on screen was talking. Another person answered. There was dramatic music somewhere in the background.

You couldn't hear any of it.

The lump in your throat appeared so suddenly it caught you off guard. The room was closing in. Everything was warm. The ceiling was getting lower and lower. Breathing felt manual. You could feel the clothes on your skin.

You sat up fast. Immediately, Logan glanced over.

"You okay?"

You grabbed your bag from where you'd dropped it beside the couch.

"I don't feel very good."

"What do you mean?" His eyebrows pulled together.

"I think I'm gonna go home."

"What?" He turned toward you completely now. "You were fine two seconds ago."

"I know."

"Did something happen?" The concern in his voice almost made it worse.

You shook your head and stood.

"No. I just..." You swallowed hard. "I can't do this right now."

A look flashed across his face. Confusion, mostly.

"Can't do what?" he asked, turning his head slightly.

You didn't answer. Because how were you supposed to explain it without sounding insane? You just shook your head in defeat.

"I just can't."

You were already moving away from him, past the front door, onto the porch. Your cheeks were already damp with tears, but you didn't make an effort to wipe them away. The cool night air hit your face.

A second later, the door opened behind you.

"Baby."

That was the last straw.

You stopped in your tracks and let out an incredulous laugh. You dropped your bag on the ground. You were doing this now.

"You have some nerve, John Logan. Calling me baby like you did nothing wrong," you spat, all your sorrow now taken over by rage.

His face immediately twisted in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, no, no, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like you don't know."

"I genuinely don't."

You laughed. The sound was ugly.

"Oh, you don't know?"

"No."

"Then let's start there."

Logan stared at you from the porch. You stared right back at him. Months of frustration, distance, apologising and pretending were threatening to explode. You were so tired. You let it.

"You don't call me anymore."

His brows furrowed like he wasn't expecting that to be the reason for your anger.

"What?"

"You. Don't. Call," you enunciated each syllable like you were explaining how to pronounce something complicated.

"You're one to talk, you don't call me either."

"Oh, honey, that's because every time I do, you're busy."

"I am busy," he argued.

"As opposed to me, who is fucking free all the time? Is that what you're saying?"

His jaw clenched.

"Jesus, that is not what I said!"

"Well, then, give me one good reason why you never call me, Logan."

"You think you're the only one making sacrifices here?"

The question caught you off guard.

"What?"

"I said, do you think you're the only one making sacrifices?"

Something in your chest cracked. You hoped it wouldn't get to this point, but unfortunately, there it was. The resentment.

"You know what?" you laughed bitterly. "Maybe you're right."

"Don't."

"No, no, maybe you're right."

You wiped your face angrily.

"Maybe I should've just accepted seeing my boyfriend three times a week. Maybe I should've accepted the fact that every conversation feels like I'm inconveniencing you."

His expression darkened.

"That's not fair."

"Fair?"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"You want to talk about fair, Logan?"

"Yeah."

"Fair would've been you telling me when you stopped loving me."

Logan looked like you'd slapped him. You didn't mean to say that. You really didn't. He looked down at the ground like it had answers that he was looking for. Neither of you said anything for a while.

For the first time in a while, he called your name.

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"Jesus Christ." He ran a hand through his face, exasperated and done.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" He got off the porch to stand closer to you. You immediately took a step back. Neither of you acknowledged it.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I assure you, I don't."

"Don't fucking lie to me, John," you laughed.

He sighed loudly and stepped closer.

"I don't know what is going on in your head right now, but clearly you are not in the right headspace for this conversa—"

"Tell me you love me."

"What?"

"Either you love me, and I'm wrong, or you're a hypocrite. Let's settle this. Tell me that you love me."

You stared at him. Waiting.

When he didn't answer, something clicked.

You thought about the staircase. You thought about the way his eyes followed her. You thought about every strange feeling you'd been trying to ignore for months. Every instinct you'd convinced yourself was insecurity. Every moment you'd told yourself you were imagining things.

Suddenly, you weren't so sure.

"No."

The word left your mouth before you could stop it. Logan looked terrified. He wasn't angry or confused, just in shock and pure horror.

"No way."

"Don't."

Your heart started pounding.

"Logan."

"Please don't," this time, he begged.

"Oh my God."

His eyes squeezed shut. Somehow that was worse than anything he could've said. You took a shaky step backward.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't like Hannah."

YOu watched him and waited as the colour drained from his face.

"Tell me."

"It's not like that."

You laughed, and it sounded more defeated than you wanted it to be.

"Logan."

He looked away and you felt your stomach drop physically. Like you were geting down the stairs in the dark and missed a step.

"Look me in my eyes."

His jaw tightened. He averted his gaze, but never quite met yours. He couldn't. The silence stretched long enough until it became an answer of its own.

"Wow."

His head snapped up.

"Baby—"

"No."

You took another step back. The tears were falling so hard now you could barely see him.

"Stop right there, Logan."

"It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?"

"I...," he couldn't find any words that would make this okay. He decided not to say anything. You just watched him.

Despite his height and stature, he looked small right now. And even though you were impossibly mad at him right now, it broke your heart. Unfortunately, not even falling in love with your best friend can make you hate John Logan.

"You know, Logan? For the longest time, I thought it was my fault. That there was something wrong with me." He didn't say a word. He just listened.

"I thought I was insecure. I thought I was needy. I thought I was asking for too much. Turns out, I was just naïve and miserable!" you laughed, humourless and tired.

"You are not naï—"

"Then why am I standing here begging for scraps from someone who's in love with somebody else?"

"I'm not in love with her."

You laughed through your tears, because for the first time all night, he sounded unsure, and it hurt you like daggers.

It was getting harder by the minute to be composed. You bent down and grabbed your bag. You looked at him one last time. At the boy you loved so much it scared you.

"Please don't do this."

Your eyes burned.

"Do what, Logan?"

"Leave."

You laughed at the irony.

"You left long before I did."

Before he could answer, or apologize, or make you some promise that you know would break your heart eventually, you started to walk away.

You stopped for a second like you remembered something.

"You know what's pathetic, Logan?"

He knew better than to respond.