☆love me until

Not only that the language itself sounds straight out of a marvel forcibly funny haha moment, but Menelaus? The Menelaus who all thoughout human history, from Homer, to Sappho, to Euripides, to Virgil, to Shakespeare, to Brooke, to Barth; from Classical vases to Medieval poetry to Reinessance art, has been known as the man whose sword fell from his hands at the sight of his wife after 10 years apart?

"What joy for me to hold my wife" Menelaus?

"He flung the sword away, and kissed her feet" Menelaus?

"I believe all. I understand nothing. I love you" Menelaus?

"I have no fault to find; my wife, he daughter of Zeus and Leda, is mine again, she whom her brothers on their snow-white steeds, whilst torches blazed, made my happy bride, but gods removed her from my home." Menelaus?

The Menelaus who was picked out of the suitors by Helen herself? The Menelaus who couldn't kill a begging Trojan so his brother had to do it for him? The Menelaus who rescued Odysseus and got out Patroclus' body? The Menelaus who volounteered to fight Paris one on one so everybody could go home? Who kept expressing his guilt about himself being the cause of war through every assembly he spoke at in the Iliad? Who after 10 years away at Troy, took his wife through a 7-year long journey at sea back home, where he reinstated her as the queen of Sparta? Who wept like a child in front of Telemachus recalling the war and his brother and all the friends he lost and the only consolation being his wife' gentle hand on his?

You want me to believe that man scarred Helen's face and called her only worth half the ships because of it?

"They've got nobody in the Odyssey?"

"No I'm saying they don't got nobody."

"Nobody's there?"

"Nobody's not there!"

"So everyone's there?"

"Everybody but nobody!"

For this one, we are following Logan’s book backstory. I hate that they changed his father for a mother in rehab, and that he has a sister instead of a brother working at the garage. (just like I hate how they watered down Phil’s abuse…) 

Summary: You visit Logan at the garage…in a skirt

Warnings: 18+, suggestive content, 

—

You pulled outside Logan & Sons Auto Repair, spotting Logan's truck parked along the side of the building where he always left it. The familiar sight tugged a smile onto your face before you had even turned off the engine.

The afternoon sun was beating down on the cracked asphalt as you climbed out, the scent of warm pavement, motor oil, and rubber already drifting through the air. The wide garage doors were rolled open, exposing cars up on lifts and the organized chaos of tool chests, air hoses, and half-disassembled engines.

The rhythmic clank of metal echoed from inside, followed by the whir of an impact wrench.

You stepped through the open bay, weaving around a stack of tires. 

One of the older mechanics glanced up from beneath the hood of a pickup truck. ‘’Well, look who decided to stop by,’’ he said with a knowing grin. 

he sure can put his hands on me. oh and that arrow celebration? oh my god…

warnings: 18+ (mdni), there's no smut, but there are allusions to it, inexperienced!reader, playful, fluffy banter + obvi inspired by hannah and garrett :)

you're currently sat up on the bed, the jittery feeling of what's about to happen coursing through your veins, pooling in the pit of your stomach. your knees are bent and just a tiny bit spread, as logan stares at you.

you've already taken off your jeans; they're reduced to a lifeless heap of denim on logan's bedroom floor. next to your jeans lays logan's tee he insisted on taking off so that you wouldn't feel like you were the only one undressing.

₊  ֹ  ˖ JOHN LOGAN AS YOUR BOYFRIEND ᱺㅤㅤ   ୨౿ 

mr. handyman. literally every single thing that falls apart in your life, logan’s there to fix it. kitchen cabinets coming loose? great, he’s fixing them. doors squeaky? he’s already on it. something wrong with your car? perfect—he’s taking his shirt off (for your eye candy) and getting to work. and he’s not one of those sexist assholes who thinks men have to fix things while women just stand there and yelp when things fall apart. he actually makes a habit of fixing things with you there, showing you how to do it so next time you can handle it yourself in case he’s not around.

this sweet, sweet man with those pretty doe eyes cannot stay mad at you for more than a day. if he has to go to sleep without fixing things with you, he feels like he might actually die. he just can’t do it. so when you two argue, like normal couples do, he always gives you both time to cool down before coming back to you to offer your favorite takeout, lots of kisses and cuddles, a movie night, and his heart practically in his hands just so you could forgive him. anything. he’ll do anything. just don’t stay mad at him.

as much as he’s a homebody, he actually loves going out—especially with you. restaurants, new cafés, movie theaters, hiking spots, even loud busy bars he’s not usually a fan off. and he’s always patient, giving you all the time you need to get ready without rushing you. and when you’re finally done and looking pretty, he’ll have you leave a bright lipstick kiss on his jaw, visible for everyone to see he’s taken, before you head out together. his favorite part about this whole thing is walking with your hands intertwined and sharing food.

again, he’s big on acts of service. waking up a little earlier to make you breakfast because you’re too lazy to make something yourself and usually skip it. taking the time to draw you a bath after a long day. making your drinks exactly how you like them—no ice, because you hate the watery taste when it melts, buying you things you’ve run out of, whether it’s your favorite snacks or products. taking your makeup off for you when you’re too tired. giving you massages, filling your gas tank—he’s all about it.

he’s so starved for you, so don’t expect him to leave you alone when you’re both home with nothing to do. he constantly has you laying on top of him, just lazing the day away. cooking simple meals together, which he’s surprisingly good at. he believes staying practically glued to you the entire time is good for his mental health and it’d be cruel to deny him.

this man figured out your weakness long before you even started dating that you can never keep your hands to yourself when he’s sweaty, fresh out of the gym. so when you move in together, he starts timing it, leaving the gym just a little after you get home. the second he walks through the door, your eyes snap to him, the sight of him making your knees weak, heat pooling in all the right places. and you don’t even try to fight it. you just walk up to him, grab him, and kiss him deep, fully intending to have those sweaty, ripped biceps wrapped around you in a tight headlock.

pairing – john logan x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

synopsis – Logan learns very quick to not make assumptions when you ask him to dog sit for you

based on this request!

warnings – language, established/new relationship, reader is described as small/petite

note – obsessed with this idea, if you want to request something, you can submit it by clicking the ‘♡’ button on my page or commenting under this post! enjoy ♡

masterlist

✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ*✧

“Yeah, no I totally understand, thanks anyway,” you say, hanging up the phone before rolling your eyes, sighing at yet another person being unavailable when you needed them. Your options kept getting slimmer and slimmer, trying to find a dog sitter for the week you’d be out of town. Family, close friends, everyone you could possibly think of not available.

john logan x reader

summary: reader helps a woman with her baby. logan experiences a little baby fever. fluff, short fic. requested!

The sound of a bell ringing takes you out of your almost meditative state of sweeping floors. You turn to face the door, expecting to see Logan, just to find a woman and her baby staring back at you.

“We’re closed for the night. Sorry, ma’am.” 

“No, I know, I’m sorry—” The woman starts saying, her voice apologetic, “I was hoping I could use your bathroom? I– I just need to change, I’m meeting someone and she dropped her juice on my shirt.”

Now that you’re closer, you can see the big, orange spot in her white shirt, along with the way the sling tugs on her shoulders and the frown on her young face, “I won’t take long, I promise.”

☄︎ Warnings: Oral (f! receiving) ☄︎ Pairing: F!Reader x John Logan ☄︎ Rating: Mature (🔞). Smut. ☄︎ Words: 1525 ☄︎ Summary: You're studying at your boyfriend's house when he decides it's time to fix a leaking pipe.

💭: my brother in CHRIST antonio cipriano is so fucking fine like wtffffff. this intially started off differently in my head but when i saw this pic i reworked it cause i am a WHORE for handy men🧍🏽‍♀️ xx

Original request here. 〣 Off Campus Masterlist here.〣 Logan Masterlist here.

When you woke up in the morning and headed to the hockey house, you had every intention of this being a serious study session with your boyfriend. You wanted to be overly prepared for your midterms; you didn’t need any nasty surprises coming out of it.

summary: Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.

pairings: john logan x FIGURE SKATER! reader

RIN'S NOTE: I am so glad you guys enjoy the first part! I didn't expect it will liked by so many people, I appreciate it so much! Sorry that I take a long time to post the part 2, I kinda have to brainstormed a bit this one hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this! Love lots! <3

【WC 4.15k】

part one, part two

Nobody on campus knew you and Logan were together. Which meant your relationship existed almost entirely in small moments.

Like the coffee sitting inside your locker every Monday morning. Still warm.

You opened the locker one morning only to immediately smile at the familiar cup resting beside your books. A sticky note was wrapped around it messily.

Don’t say I never do anything for you.

— your favorite hockey player

You laughed quietly under your breath before quickly glancing around the hallway. Empty. Safe. Then you pulled your phone out immediately.

you’re literally the only hockey player i know

Your phone buzzed almost instantly.

exactly

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. Unfortunately, someone cleared their throat nearby. You nearly jumped.

Logan appeared around the corner at the exact same moment Dean walked down the hallway.

Both of you immediately straightened. Your smile disappeared so fast. Logan casually shoved both hands into his pockets like he hadn’t just been staring at his phone waiting for your response.

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly. Hmm. 

“Morning,” Dean said slowly.

“Morning,” you answered quickly.

Logan nodded once. “Hey.”

Dean looked between both of you. Then kept walking. The second he disappeared around the corner, you both looked at each other again before quietly laughing.

“Smooth,” you whispered.

“I panicked.”

“I could tell.”

“You looked guilty too.”

“I learned from you.”

Logan grinned. God, you are so pretty. 

Keeping the relationship hidden quickly turned into a game. A dangerous one sometimes.

Because Logan looked at you too softly without realizing it. And you smiled at him too automatically. Like during lectures.

You sat two rows ahead of him while pretending to pay attention to the professor, phone hidden beneath the desk.

Then your screen lit up. Logan. 

this professor hates me personally

You bit back a smile.

you slept through class yesterday

irrelevant

look at me

You shouldn’t have. You knew you shouldn’t have. Still, your eyes drifted back toward him anyway. And there he was already staring at you with a lazy grin.

Warm brown eyes. Messy hair. Completely distracted.

Your stomach flipped instantly. Then Garrett leaned toward Logan to say something, forcing Logan to look away quickly before either of you got caught.

Unfortunately, Dean was sitting nearby. And Dean noticed everything.

Especially the way Logan smiled at his phone before looking at you.

Especially the way you immediately ducked your head afterward to hide your own smile.

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair as he tried to stop from grinning. Looks like his friend is been trying to hide something from them. 

The rink became your favorite place to exist together. Mostly because it felt private even when it wasn’t. You were sitting on the bench one evening after practice, frustrated while aggressively messing with your skate laces.

“These things hate me.”

Logan looked up from his phone immediately. “What happened now?”

“They feel uneven.”

“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“Because they still are.”

Logan sighed dramatically before standing and walking over toward you.

“Give me that.”

Before you could protest, he crouched down in front of you automatically, hands moving toward your skates like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Which honestly? It kind of was.

You watched quietly while he retied the laces carefully. Focused. Gentle.

His large hands worked surprisingly delicately against the white laces while the rink lights reflected softly against the ice behind him. You couldn't help look and admire at his handsome face. 

“You know,” you mumbled, “normal boyfriends buy flowers.” Logan glanced up immediately.

“I bought you mozzarella sticks yesterday.”

“That’s not romantic.”

“Baby,” he said seriously, “that’s devotion.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. And Logan immediately smiled hearing it.

Then suddenly—

“Oh my god.”

Both your heads snapped upward instantly. Tucker stood near the rink entrance staring directly at both of you. Your soul almost left your body. Logan stood so fast he nearly tripped over the bench.

“She had a skate issue,” he said immediately.

Tucker blinked.

“…Okay?”

You nodded too quickly. “Yep.”

Silence. Then Tucker frowned slightly.

“Why are you both acting weird?”

“We’re not,” you and Logan answered at the exact same time.

Tucker stared another second. Then shrugged.

“Alright.”

The second he walked away, you collapsed forward laughing into your hands. Logan groaned loudly beside you.

“We’re terrible at this.”

“You almost fell over.”

“I panicked.”

“You looked guilty.”

“Because Tucker scares me.”

You laughed harder while Logan watched you with that familiar soft look in his eyes. For a while, things stayed like that. Warm and easy. 

Until the night he forgot to pick you up from the rink.

The first sign that something was wrong was that John Logan stopped texting back.

Which, honestly, shouldn’t have been alarming. People got busy. Hockey practice ran late. Classes existed.

Still, you found yourself checking your phone again while sitting on the edge of the skating rink bench, your skates half unlaced and your bag resting beside you. The rink had already started emptying out around you, the usual post-practice noise fading into silence one person at a time.

10:14 PM.

You stared at the screen.

No new messages.

Usually, Logan waited for you after practice. Not openly, of course.

Your relationship still lived in stolen moments and hidden routines. He’d sit somewhere near the back row of the rink bleachers pretending to scroll through his phone while secretly watching your entire practice with that soft, hopeless expression he only ever wore around you.

Then afterward, he’d walk you halfway back to your dorm. Not too close. Not too obvious.

But close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every now and then. Tonight, though, there was nothing.

No Logan. No dumb texts. No terrible dad jokes waiting for you afterward.

The disappointment settled in your chest slowly, heavier than you wanted it to be.

“Need me to lock up?” one of the rink staff asked kindly.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to reality.

“Oh. No, sorry.”

You quickly finished unlacing your skates, trying not to feel ridiculous about the whole thing. It wasn’t even a big deal.

Still, by the time you stepped outside into the cold night air, your chest ached in that quiet way disappointment always did.

And somewhere across campus, John Logan was realizing he had absolutely screwed up.

“Dude.”

Logan barely looked up from his locker.

“What?”

Garrett frowned from across the locker room. “You’ve checked your phone like twelve times in thirty seconds.”

“Have not.”

“You literally just did it again.”

Logan sighed dramatically and unlocked his phone anyway. Then froze.

Three missed calls. Seven texts. All from you.

baby

I have practice today, u can come by to watch

Practice finish.

I keep failing at my jump :((

John?

U busy? I'll wait.

Nvm, I am already at my dorm.

His stomach dropped so fast it physically hurt.

“Oh, I’m dead.”

Garrett blinked. “…What?”

Logan stood so abruptly his locker slammed shut behind him.

“I forgot something.”

Correction. Someone.

The realization hit him all at once, followed immediately by guilt so sharp it made him wince. He knew you waited for him.

Shit.

You probably stayed at the rink thinking he was on his way while he’d been stuck laughing with the guys after practice like an idiot.

“Oh my god,” Logan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Oh my god.”

Garrett stared at him like he’d finally lost it.

“You good?”

“No.”

Logan was already typing frantically.

I AM SO SORRY.

Then.

I got stuck after practice.

Then

Please don’t hate me.

He stared at the screen. Delivered. No response. Logan groaned loudly and leaned his forehead against the locker.

“Yeah,” Garrett said slowly, “you definitely look like a man in crisis.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Clearly.”

The worst part was that he knew exactly why you’d be upset. You never asked for much from him.

You didn’t ask him to post about you online or parade your relationship around campus. You didn’t complain about keeping things private even when Logan knew he made secrecy difficult just by existing.

You only asked him to show up. And tonight? He hadn’t.

The next morning, you were polite. Which somehow felt worse than anger. Because anger meant emotion. Anger meant yelling, irritation, frustration.

Politeness felt distant. Logan hated distance. Especially from you.

“Morning,” he said carefully when you walked into class. You glanced at him briefly. “Morning.”

That was it.

No smile. No teasing. No hidden text message appearing on his phone two seconds later.

Logan felt physically ill.

You sat down two rows ahead of him, pulling your notebook out quietly. Usually by now, Logan would already be texting you something stupid.

thinking about becoming a figure skater.

Or:

do you think hockey skates can make me elegant.

Instead, he spent the entire lecture staring miserably at the back of your head while internally suffering.

Dean noticed almost immediately as he slightly smirk. Tucker, meanwhile, leaned over slightly from the other side of the row.

“Do you think Logan failed the assignment?” he whispered. Dean stared at him like literally stared at him.

“No, dumbass. He’s in love.”

Tucker blinked.

“…With hockey?”

Mostly because Logan normally walked into class like he owned the building. Today, he looked like somebody had kicked his dog.

Interesting.

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair. “Why do you look pathetic today?”

Logan glared at him. “Mind your business.”

“Oh, definitely girl problems.”

“No.”

“You look emotionally devastated.”

“Thank you.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted slightly. That sounded suspiciously sincere. Ten minutes later, Logan’s phone buzzed. His head snapped downward so fast Dean nearly laughed. Except the message wasn’t from you. Is from Garret. 

u alive?

Logan stared at the text with visible betrayal. Meanwhile, two rows ahead, you were trying very hard not to notice the way Logan kept looking at you.

It wasn’t working. You could feel it.

Every glance lingered a little too long, heavy with apology. And annoyingly enough, you were already starting to soften. You love him too much.  

Because Logan looked genuinely miserable.

But you were stress and exhausted that day, not only from training but also from the bloody college, especially to some professors who are usually not present at class and then have a test afterwards, fantastic, truly. It drains you so much, and he makes you wait until almost midnight. 

Still, you stayed quiet. Let him suffer a little. When class finally ended, students immediately began standing and packing their things.

You gathered your notebook slowly, determined not to cave too quickly.

Then, while walking past Logan’s desk, his fingertips brushed lightly against yours.

It barely lasted a second. Tiny. Automatic. But the apology inside it felt immediate.

Sorry. Please don’t still be upset. 

Your fingers reacted instinctively before your brain caught up. And from two seats away, Dean watched the entire thing happen.

Oh.

OH.

From Dean's eyes, that confirmed everything. Dean slowly turned toward Logan with the smuggest look imaginable. Logan immediately noticed.

“…What?”

Dean smiled innocently. “Nothing.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Dean.”

“Relax.”

The smirk stayed firmly in place.

“Interesting hand communication, though.”

Logan went still for half a second before looking away too quickly. Which confirmed everything. Dean almost laughed out loud.

Over the next few days, Logan tried everything. Unfortunately for him, Tucker witnessed most of it. 

Specifically when Logan shoved snacks into your locker one afternoon while thinking nobody was watching.

Tucker stared.

“…Why are you feeding her?”

Logan nearly slammed the locker shut on his own hand.

“What?”

“Like a stray cat.”

Garrett choked on his drink nearby. Logan looked deeply offended. “She’s not a stray cat.” Tucker frowned thoughtfully. 

“Okay, but you gave her like three snacks this week.”

Coffee mysteriously appearing outside your classroom. Your favorite snacks left inside your locker. A tiny sticky note tucked into your skate bag:

Please stop being mad at me. I’m emotionally fragile.

You stared at the note for a full ten seconds before smiling despite yourself. Then immediately stopped.

No. Stay strong. Stay mad. 

Still, the note stayed folded carefully inside your jacket pocket for the rest of the day.

And Logan noticed you hadn’t thrown it away. Which honestly gave him more hope than it probably should have.

By Friday, Garrett was beginning to lose his mind. Mostly because Logan spent the entire week looking emotionally devastated.

Tucker, however, had reached a completely different conclusion.

“Are you dying?” he asked Logan seriously during practice. Logan stared at him tiredly.

“Emotionally.”

Tucker nodded like that made complete sense.

“Damn.” 

And somehow, he still didn’t figure it out. He just pat Logan's shoulder trying to comfort him as Tucker leave giving Logan a space. 

Because Logan was acting weird. Not normal Logan weird. Specific weird. The kind of weird that only happened when feelings were involved.

Garrett fully realized it during hockey practice. Specifically when you walked into the rink. You weren’t even there for Logan. You were talking to another skater near the entrance while adjusting your gloves.

Then some random guy started flirting with you. Garrett noticed two things immediately.

One: you looked politely uncomfortable.

Two: Logan looked one inconvenience away from committing homicide.

“Jesus,” Garrett muttered.

Logan’s jaw tightened. “What?”

“You like her.”

Logan nearly snapped his hockey stick in half.

“No.”

Garrett stared at him.

“Dude.”

“She’s just talking to somebody.”

“You’ve been glaring at him for thirty seconds.”

“I’m not glaring.”

“You look furious.”

Logan finally looked away. Garrett blinked. Then slowly grinned.

“Logan.”

“No.”

“Just tell her you love her.”

Logan froze. Garrett kept talking casually, completely unaware he’d already won.

“Seriously. You’ve been acting insane for like a week.*

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Logan rubbed a tired hand down his face.

“We’re already together.”

Silence. Garrett paused.

“…Oh.”

Logan blinked. Then realization hit. Slowly. Terribly.

“…Did you just—”

“Lie?” Garrett grinned. “Yeah. And you fell for it.”

Logan looked genuinely betrayed.

“You’re horrible.”

“You’re secretly dating the figure skater?”

“We’re private.”

“That’s definitely not the important part right now.”

Garrett laughed loudly before his expression softened slightly.

“So what happened?”

Logan sighed. Then, surprisingly, answered honestly.

“I forgot to pick her up after practice.”

Garrett winced immediately. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“And she’s still mad?”

“She says she isn’t.”

Garrett snorted. “That means she definitely is.”

Logan dropped his head back with a groan.

“I know.”

Garrett bumped his shoulder lightly.

“Then stop doing apology drive-bys and actually talk to her.”

Logan glanced toward you across the rink. You were laughing softly at something another skater said, cheeks pink from the cold.

His chest tightened instantly. God. He missed you.

Even when you were standing right there.

“Party at my place tonight!”

Dean’s announcement about the party barely registered to you at first. The hallway around him exploded immediately with excitement, people talking over each other while hockey players shouted across the corridor about alcohol and rides and who was bringing speakers this time.

You stayed leaned against your locker, half listening while fixing the strap of your skate bag over your shoulder.

Parties weren’t really your thing. Especially not hockey parties but you go to the parties sometimes, is just depends on the mood.

Across the hallway, Logan was talking to Garrett, but every few seconds his eyes flickered back toward you automatically. Like instinct. Like breathing.

Dean noticed that too. Of course he did.

Which was probably why he suddenly appeared beside you out of nowhere.

“You should come tonight, pretty.”

You looked up in mild surprise. “Uh… I don’t think parties are really my scene.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully beside you, hands shoved into his pockets. “That’s tragic.”

“Why?”

“Well,” he said casually, “my man over there has been staring at you like a Victorian husband watching his wife board a warship.”

Your eyes widened immediately. Dean grinned. Across the hallway, Logan looked over just in time to see Dean leaning close to you. Dean winked at you and go back where he came from. His expression turned suspicious instantly.

“What was that?” Logan called.

Dean didn’t even look guilty.

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m always smiling.”

“That’s worse.”

"..."

"..."

"Do you know?"

"What do I know?"

You tried not to laugh while Logan kept glaring at Dean from across the hallway like he was two seconds away from physically removing him from the conversation.

And honestly? It was kind of adorable.

You stood in front of your mirror for nearly ten minutes debating whether showing up was worth the emotional damage.

Because if you went, you’d see Logan.

And lately, being around Logan felt dangerous. Not in a bad way. Just, difficult. Because every time he looked at you with those soft guilty eyes, your irritation weakened a little more.

Which was unfair, honestly.

Still, somehow, a few hours later, you found yourself standing inside Dean’s party while music shook through the walls. The party was already in full chaos. People packed every room shoulder to shoulder, laughing loudly over the music while hockey players moved through the crowd like they owned the entire building.

The air smelled faintly like alcohol, cheap cologne, and pizza. You stayed near the kitchen at first, mostly because it was easier to breathe there. 

And because Logan was across the room.

You noticed him instantly. As usual.

He stood near the living room wall talking to Garrett, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans while absentmindedly nodding along to whatever Garrett was saying.

But every few seconds, his attention drifted back toward you automatically.

Like instinct.

And every single time your eyes met, something in his expression softened. Your stomach flipped annoyingly.

You looked away first. Which only made Garrett notice. Then Dean noticed Garrett noticing.

Tucker remained completely oblivious.

Actually, Tucker watched Logan staring at you from across the room for a full minute before leaning toward Garrett.

“Wow,” he said quietly. “Logan’s being weirdly protective tonight.”

Garrett slowly turned toward him.

“Buddy.”

“What?”

Dean physically looked away to hide his laughter. Tucker, meanwhile, remained painfully oblivious.

"What is it?"

At some point, a guy wandered over and started talking to you while you poured yourself another drink. He seemed nice enough. Cute, probably.

But you were only half paying attention because Logan’s stare kept brushing against you from across the room.

The guy leaned casually against the counter.

“So you skate competitively?”

“A little.”

“A little?” he laughed. “You’re being humble.” You smiled politely. Then his attention dropped briefly toward your outfit before returning to your face.

Definitely flirting which makes your eye twitch in irritation at how the guy look at you. And apparently, Logan noticed too.

Because the second the guy leaned slightly closer, Logan moved. You felt him before you properly saw him.

Warm hand against your wrist.

“There you are.”

Your head turned immediately.

Logan stood beside you now, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours lightly. Then, without even asking, he handed you a fresh drink.

Your usual order. Exactly the way you liked it.

The realization hit your chest softly.You hadn’t even asked. Logan simply knew.

The guy beside you glanced awkwardly between both of you before immediately deciding he wanted absolutely no part in whatever was happening.

“Uh… I’m gonna go find my friends.”

“Probably smart,” Dean muttered while passing by. You almost laughed. Once the guy disappeared into the crowd, you looked down at the drink in your hand.

“…You already got this for me?”

Logan looked confused by the question.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t ask.”

His brows furrowed slightly like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“You always want this at parties.”

The words came naturally. Easy. Automatic. Like memorizing your habits had become second nature to him. And somehow, that hurt your heart a little.

Because even after the argument, Logan still noticed everything about you. Then he caught the look on your face.

“…What?”

You shook your head softly, hiding your smile behind the cup.

“Nothing.” Logan narrowed his eyes suspiciously but gently guided you away from the kitchen anyway. Away from the crowd. Away from the noise.

The hallway was quieter. Not silent, exactly.

You could still hear the bass vibrating faintly through the walls, muffled laughter echoing from downstairs, the occasional shout from the living room.

But it felt private enough. For the first time all week, it was just the two of you. Logan leaned back lightly against the wall, watching you carefully.

“…You know that was obvious, right?” you asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You literally rescued me.”

“He was annoying me.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you slightly grin.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“You’re jealous.”

Logan looked personally offended.

“I’m not jealous.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m experiencing mild emotional distress.”

The laugh escaped you before you could stop it. And immediately, Logan’s entire expression softened.

He missed that sound. Missed you.

Even when you’d been right in front of him all week. His gaze lingered on your face for another second before turning quieter.More careful.

“I’m sorry.” The teasing disappeared completely. “For forgetting you.”

Your smile faded slightly. The memory of sitting alone at the rink returned immediately. Cold benches. Empty parking lot. Checking your phone over and over.

“I know,” you said softly. Logan swallowed.

“No, seriously. I felt horrible.”

“You should’ve.”

“I know.”

There was no defensiveness in his voice. No excuses. Just guilt. Logan stepped a little closer.

“I kept thinking about you waiting there alone."

Your chest tightened slightly.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You looked down at your drink for a second before sighing quietly. “I think what annoyed me most is that I knew you didn’t do it on purpose.”

Logan blinked.

“What?”

“You’re just…” You huffed softly. “An idiot sometimes.” Logan let out a startled laugh. 

“That’s fair.”

“You make me worry and then show up looking sad enough to qualify for a medical diagnosis.”

“I was suffering.”

“You were dramatic.”

“Only because the love of my life ignored my texts.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Logan froze. Then immediately pointed at you.

“You heard nothing.” A smile finally broke fully across your face. “Oh my god.”

“I’m taking it back.”

“You literally called me—”

“I said nothing.”

You laughed again, softer this time. And Logan looked visibly relieved hearing it. Like your laughter physically reset something inside him.

“I hate when you’re upset with me,” he admitted quietly.

The honesty in his voice melted the last bit of tension sitting stubbornly in your chest.

“You looked miserable all week,” you admitted.

“That’s because I was miserable all week.”

“Drama queen.”

“Only for you.”

Your eyes met again. And suddenly the distance between you didn’t feel sharp anymore. Just warm. Familiar. Safe.

Logan’s hand brushed yours carefully. Tentative. Like he still wasn’t sure if he was forgiven yet. This time, you let your fingers curl around his. The relief on his face was immediate.

Cute.

“Okay,” Logan murmured softly. “I think we’re healing.” You laughed quietly.

“Maybe.”

Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Dean appeared.

Silently. Like a demon.

His eyes immediately dropped toward your joined hands. Then he grinned. Pure evil. Before either of you could react, Dean shoved lightly against your shoulder.

“Oops! My bad!”

You stumbled forward with a startled sound straight into Logan. And instinctively, your lips pressed against his. Everything froze.

Logan went completely still. Your brain short-circuited instantly. Dean looked thrilled.

“Nice one!” Garrett yelled somewhere nearby.

Tucker blinked.

“…Huh? Wait what? What is going on”

You pulled back slightly. Logan stared at you like his soul had physically left his body.

“…You just kissed me publicly,” he said weakly. You almost laughed.

Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned up again and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.

Deliberate this time. Confirmation. The room erupted immediately.

“Finally!” Garret shouted. Dean looked unbearably smug. Tucker pointed aggressively.

“You guys were datin!?” Tucker looked genuinely distressed. “Since when?!”

“Nine months,” Garrett answered immediately. Tucker whipped around.

“Nine months?!”

“Yes,” Dean said. “We all knew.”

“You all knew?!”

Garrett pointed at Logan.

“He literally stared at her like she personally invented happiness.”

Tucker looked horrified.

“I thought he just supported women.”

“Apparently,” Dean replied. Meanwhile Logan still looked stunned. But slowly, a grin spread across his face. Warm. Disbelieving. Completely in love. Then he looked down at you softly.

“So…”

You smiled. 

“So?”

“This means I can hold your hand in public now, right?”

"Huh?" Tucker still on the background looking shocked as he watch both of you from afar.

You laughed. And Logan immediately took that as a yes. He grab your drink before he pull you by your waist with his free hand as he lean in to kiss on your lips.

Of course, you kissed back.

For the first time all night, Logan kissed you without worrying who was watching as he smile through your lips and honestly, Tucker’s crisis in the background only made it better.

“You lie to me for nine months!” Tucker yelled.

“Technically,” Dean said calmly, “nobody asked you.”

“I asked questions!"

Garrett looked genuinely offended. “Not good ones.”

Tucker pointed aggressively at Logan. “You carried her skate guards!”

“That was your evidence?” Logan asked.

“I thought you were being supportive!”

“He looked at her like she hung the moon,” Garrett said.

Tucker gasped dramatically. "Oh my god that's why he was miserable!"

Dean snorted. “Congratulations. You’ve reached consciousness.”

“I hate all of you.”

“We know,” Dean replied warmly.

“Wait.”

Everyone turned. Jules stood near the kitchen holding a drink, looking completely unbothered.

“I already knew.”

Logan blinked. “What?”

You immediately covered your face with your hands. Oh no.

Jules shrugged casually. “There was a condom wrapper left in our couch last month.”

Silence. Garrett choked. Dean folded in half laughing instantly. Tucker looked like his soul physically exited his body.

Logan went completely rigid. “There was a what!?”

“Relax,” Jules said. “At least you’re safe.”

“Jules!”

"First of all how did you even know that was mine?! It could possibly have been dean!"

"Facts" Dean said as he shrugged

"You don't wanna know."

“Honestly,” she continued thoughtfully, “the real crime was thinking you two were subtle.”

Dean wiped tears from his eyes. “Thank you!"

Tucker still looked devastated.

“…I can’t believe the condom solved the mystery before I did.”

summary: Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.

pairings: john logan x FIGURE SKATER!reader

RIN'S NOTE: i watch the show for dean and garret. but the one who caught my heart? John the freaking logan, he is such a yearner!! Ugh.

【WC 2k】

part one, part two

The first rule of dating John Logan was simple.

Never let him hold your hand in public. Not because he wouldn’t.

God, if it were up to Logan, he’d probably walk around campus announcing it with a megaphone.

The problem was that John Logan was impossible to miss. Hockey star. Campus heartthrob. Professional flirt. Owner of an unfortunately charming smile that seemed capable of making half the female population lose their minds.

And you?

You preferred quiet.

You liked empty skating rinks before sunrise, oversized sweaters, and slipping through campus unnoticed. Attention made your skin crawl in ways you could never properly explain, and being publicly attached to someone like Logan sounded less like romance and more like a nightmare.

So your relationship stayed private.

Mostly.

Which was harder than it sounded when your boyfriend was John Logan.

Because John Logan loved loudly. Even when he tried not to.

“Logan.”

“No.”

You sighed, adjusting the strap of your skate bag over your shoulder while Logan leaned casually against your dorm room doorway.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Yes, I do.” Logan grinned lazily. “You’re about to tell me not to kiss you goodbye in the hallway.”

“…Because the hockey team is literally downstairs.”

“Counterargument.”

He stepped forward suddenly, large hands sliding around your waist before you could escape. You immediately hissed, “John.”

His grin widened.

“You only use my first name when you’re stressed. It’s adorable.”

“Some of us value survival.”

“Some of us,” he murmured dramatically, “are being denied affection.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped you. Logan looked unbearably pleased about it.

God. That was another problem.

He looked at you like every smile was something he personally accomplished.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And yet,” Logan said thoughtfully, leaning closer, “you’re still dating me. Curious.”

Before you could respond, voices echoed faintly from downstairs. Hockey players. Your eyes widened immediately.

“Logan.”

“I hear them.”

“Then MOVE.”

He laughed under his breath but finally stepped back, hands lingering at your waist for one last second before letting go.

And even then, he still looked offended.

“This relationship is so hard for me,” he informed you solemnly.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re withholding public boyfriend privileges.”

“That is not a real thing.”

“It should be.”

A knock suddenly sounded somewhere downstairs. Then Garrett’s voice. “Logan! Are you alive or did you finally die flirting?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop your laugh.Logan looked deeply betrayed. “You know,” he said quietly, “the lack of support in this relationship is devastating.”

“Go downstairs.”

“You wound me.”

“Logan.”

“Okay, okay.”

But before leaving, he leaned in quickly and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. Gentle. Automatic. Like he couldn’t leave without doing it.

Your chest tightened immediately. And Logan completely unfairly noticed. That smug grin appeared again.

“There she is,” he murmured. You narrowed your eyes.

“Go away.”

“See you tonight, sweetheart.”

He lean again to kiss your lips this time.

Then he disappeared downstairs like nothing happened. Meanwhile you stood frozen in your dorm doorway trying not to smile like an idiot. Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless.

Logan was trying very hard to respect your boundaries. Really. He deserved credit for that.

Because keeping your relationship private might’ve been physically painful for him. Not because he was embarrassed.

The opposite, actually.

He liked you so much it was becoming a legitimate issue. And Logan had never exactly been subtle about his feelings. Unfortunately for him, subtlety was now required.

Which meant he had to settle for smaller things.

Watching your skating practices from the highest row in the rink where fewer people noticed him. Sneaking you coffee before your early morning sessions. Texting you terrible pickup lines during class. Current favorite:

Are you made of ice? Because you make me fall constantly.

You had responded with:

I’m blocking your number.

Which, to Logan, translated directly into marriage.

“Dude.” Logan blinked, dragged abruptly back to reality. Garrett was staring at him from across the cafeteria table.

“…What?” Logan asked.

“You’re smiling at your phone like a divorced dad learning Facebook.”

Dean snorted into his drink. Logan immediately locked his phone. “Mind your business.” Garrett narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“No, seriously. What’s going on with you lately?”

“Nothing.”

“You disappeared for three hours last night.”

“I have hobbies.”

“Tinder doesn’t count as a hobby.”

Logan looked offended.

“For your information, I’m deeply emotionally unavailable now.”

Dean blinked once.

“…That sounded weirdly sincere.”

Shit.

Logan grabbed his drink quickly. Too quickly. Because Garrett suddenly sat up straighter.

“Oh my god.”

Logan froze internally.

“You’re dating someone.”

Dean nearly choked laughing. “No way.” Logan scoffed immediately.

“You guys are insane.”

“Logan,” Garrett said slowly, “you’ve checked your phone fourteen times in two minutes.”

“That’s called having friends.”

“You hate people.”

“Valid point.”

Garrett leaned forward dramatically.

“Who is she?”

“Nobody.”

“AHA.”

Logan groaned.

“You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

“Because you’re acting suspicious!” Garrett accused. “You keep disappearing at night, smiling at your phone, and wearing actual cologne to class.” Dean pointed at him immediately.

“The cologne thing is huge.” Logan rubbed a tired hand down his face.

The worst part? He wanted to tell them.

He wanted to talk about you constantly. Wanted to mention how pretty you looked after skating practice when your cheeks turned pink from the cold. Wanted to brag about how talented you were. Wanted to tell people about the way you laughed when you got sleepy.

But he also knew how anxious public attention made you.

So instead, he shrugged lazily.

“You guys are dramatic.”

Garrett stared at him.

“…You’re in love.”

Logan nearly spit out his drink.

“WHAT?”

Dean started wheezing.

“Oh my god, he totally is.”

“I hate both of you.”

“Who is she?” Garrett demanded.

Logan stood abruptly.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

“LOGAN.”

Too late. He was already leaving.

Mostly because if he stayed another minute, he might accidentally start talking about you.

And once Logan started talking about you, he genuinely wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.

The ice rink was nearly empty by the time your evening practice ended. Only a few overhead lights remained on, casting soft reflections across the ice. You glided toward the rink barrier slowly, exhausted but satisfied after landing your final combination successfully.

Then you spotted him immediately. Of course.

John Logan sat sprawled dramatically across the bleachers wearing a backward baseball cap and Bruins hoodie, one arm stretched behind his head while the other held a cup carrier from the campus café.

The second he noticed you looking, his entire face lit up. Like you were the best thing he’d seen all day.

Your heart did that stupid little thing again. “You’re late,” you called lightly while stepping off the ice. Logan gasped. “I bring beverages and this is the thanks I get?”

“You’re ten minutes late.”

“I was fighting for my life in line.”

“You literally play hockey.”

“Exactly. I’m fragile.”

You laughed softly while walking toward him. Logan’s expression changed instantly at the sound. Softer. Warmer.

God.

Sometimes the way he looked at you felt unfair. You dropped your skate guards onto the bench beside him.

“Did you watch the whole practice?”

“Obviously.”

“You had practice too.”

“I escaped early.”

“John.”

“What?” he defended immediately. “My girlfriend was doing cool spinny things.”

“That is not figure skating terminology.”

“It should be.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. Logan handed you one of the drinks. “Hot chocolate,” he announced proudly. Your expression softened immediately.

“You remembered.”

“Sweetheart, I remember everything about you.”

And just like that, your brain stopped functioning. The worst part was that he said things like that casually. Like he had no idea the effect they had on you. Meanwhile Logan was busy watching your expression change with obvious satisfaction. Cute. Ridiculously cute.

He loved making you flustered. Probably too much.

You sat beside him carefully, shoulders brushing. Logan relaxed instantly at the contact. Small things affected him embarrassingly fast when it came to you. He took a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“You looked incredible out there tonight.”

You stared down at your cup. “I messed up the landing during the second pass.”

“You landed it the next time.”

“Still.”

Logan frowned slightly. He hated when you did that. Minimized yourself. Because from where he sat every single practice, you looked unreal. Beautiful. Focused.

Completely in your element. Sometimes watching you skate actually stole the words out of his mouth.

Which was saying something, considering he normally never shut up. “You know,” Logan said slowly, “normal people would just accept compliments.”

“I do accept compliments.”

“No, you politely fight them.”

“That’s not true.”

“Last week I called you gorgeous and you said, ‘probably the lighting.’”

You looked embarrassed immediately. Logan grinned.

“There it is.”

“You’re annoying.”

“And yet deeply lovable.”

“That remains unconfirmed.”

Logan placed a dramatic hand against his chest. “You say the cruelest things to me.”

Another laugh. God. I love it so much.

He’d do literally anything to keep hearing that sound. The rink settled into comfortable silence afterward. Your head rested lightly against Logan’s shoulder while he absentmindedly played with your fingers.

No audience. No hiding. Just the two of you.

This was his favorite version of your relationship. The quiet parts. The moments nobody else saw.

“You know,” Logan murmured eventually, “I still think it’s insane nobody knows about us.” You tensed slightly beside him. Immediately, Logan regretted bringing it up.

“Hey.” His voice softened.

“You know I don’t care, right?”

You looked down at your hands.

“I know.”

“No, seriously.” Logan turned toward you more fully now.

“I’d date you in secret forever if that’s what makes you comfortable.”

Your chest tightened painfully. Because he meant it. There wasn’t even hesitation in his voice.

“You don’t ever get tired of hiding?” you asked quietly. Logan blinked.

“Hiding you?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Baby, I’m barely succeeding.”

You laughed softly.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Logan’s thumb brushed gently across your knuckles.

“Yeah, I wanna tell people sometimes,” he admitted. “Mostly because I think you’re amazing and I have absolutely zero self-control around you.”

“That’s the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thank you.”

“But…”

His expression softened again. “If being private makes you feel safe, then that matters more.”

You stared at him quietly. And Logan, poor guy, immediately started overthinking.

Too much?

Too cheesy?

Then suddenly you leaned forward and kissed him. Soft. Quick. But enough to completely derail his brain. Logan blinked after you pulled away.

“…Whoa.”

You laughed immediately. “What?”

“I just had a religious experience.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious.” He pointed at you accusingly. “You can’t just do that without warning.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And deeply in love with you.”

The words slipped out naturally. Effortlessly. Like breathing. And Logan froze the second he realized what he said.

Oh. Shit.

Your eyes widened slightly. The rink suddenly felt very quiet. Logan opened his mouth immediately.

“I mean—not that I—well, obviously I do, but I wasn’t trying to—”

You started laughing. Actually laughing. Logan looked deeply offended.

“I’m emotionally vulnerable right now.”

“You’re rambling.”

“You make me nervous.”

That only made you laugh harder. Hopelessly in love. That’s what this was doing to him.

And honestly?

Logan didn’t mind one bit. Eventually your laughter softened into something gentler.

You reached over and fixed the brim of his backwards cap carefully.

Cute. Everything you did was cute. It was becoming a serious condition.

“You know,” you said quietly, “I think being private is easier because this feels… ours.”

Logan’s expression softened instantly. The teasing disappeared. Just sincerity left.

“Yeah?” You nodded.

“No pressure. No people watching. Just you and me.” Something warm settled heavily in Logan’s chest.

God. He loved you. Hopelessly. Ridiculously. Completely.

And maybe someday the rest of the world would know. But for now?

This was enough. The empty rink. Your hand in his. Your head against his shoulder.

And the way you smiled at him like he was already home.

Pairing: John Logan x fem!reader

summary: No matter how hard you two try to stay friends, the truth is—you never were.

read previous part here

content: the timeline might be off just a little. but same content warnings as all the other fics. also, the boys are having practice on new year’s eve, which doesn’t make sense—something i realized after writing it, so just ignore that lol. google told me they do, so im honestly not sure anymore.

note: i’m so sorry this took forever! i’ve been in my head about giving them a perfect ending and i am still a bit unsure about how i feel about this so if you don’t like it, lie to me please! thank you all so much for the support you’ve shown during this series, i truly appreciate it and i love you all so much. it’s helped me a lot in my confidence! i hope you enjoyed this series and i concluded it well for you all :) also apologies if i forgot to tag you! there was a lot of comments so i feel i may have forgotten some 😭😭

wc: 8.3k

How awful would it be if you ignored Logan for the entirety of summer break?

Because that’s exactly what you did.

Okay, okay, not exactly ignored. More like cautiously avoided. It was impossible for the two of you to completely cut contact since you shared the exact same inner circle, but you certainly never mentioned the kiss after it happened. And true to his word about not pushing you, he didn't bring it up either.

You didn’t know what that kiss meant to him. Honestly, you didn’t want to know. You didn't want to decipher if he was just feeling lonely and pathetic on that particular night and you happened to be there, or if it came from a genuine place. You especially didn’t want to explore the possibility of the latter. You had spent a long, exhausting time being in love with John Logan. You finally thought you’d gotten over the most gut-wrenching and impossible parts of it, but then you made out on his desk and it was like a dam broke. Everything came rushing back.

Worst of all, it was all you could think about. The way he clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—it was a feeling you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried.

When the school year finally resumes and everyone lands back on campus, a tiny part of you thinks Logan might actually hate you now. You’ve probably driven him completely insane by letting the silence stretch for months. But you're also well aware that he hadn’t forced the issue because he was terrified of cornering you, especially since you were the one who panicked and ran out of his room.

"You and Logan confuse me so deeply."

Allie’s voice pulls you sharply from your thoughts as she slides into the chair across from you. The two of you had agreed to meet up at the library during the very first week back to map out your semester syllabi in one sitting, saving yourselves months worth of mental breakdowns. Hannah was meant to join you in an hour or two, currently caught up in a panel meeting for a potential senior-year internship.

Allie sets a plastic iced coffee cup down in front of you, placing the second one in front of it. You glance at the printed receipt taped to the side, realizing it’s your exact, highly specific, perfect order.

You deliberately ignore her comment about Logan, reaching for the plastic cup instead. "Thank you. I needed this to survive the day."

Allie sighs, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "Don't thank me. It’s from Logan."

You freeze, your straw halfway to your lips.

"I passed by him near the quad on my way over here," Allie explains, watching your expression closely. "I casually mentioned I was meeting you for a library date, and he handed me one of the coffees in his hand and said it was for you. He gave me the other, but I think it was for him. That’s why I say you two confuse me. Were you guys supposed to meet up today or something?"

"No," you say quietly, staring at the melting ice in your cup. Your stomach does a nervous flip. "But he was probably on his way to having a conversation that I've been successfully putting off for months."

Allie quirks an eyebrow, a keen, observant look taking over her features. "Is there something you’re not telling me?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking around the quiet library rows before letting out a defeated sigh. Making a face, you lean across the table and tell Allie everything since St. Patrick’s Day. It’s nice to get out, you have to admit. You hadn’t really told anybody the specifics of it.

"Shut up!" Allie yells, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.

Several students at nearby tables immediately turn around and glare, issuing annoyed shushes. Allie quickly raises her hands, mouthing a breathless “Sorry, sorry," to the room before lunging back over the table toward you, her eyes wide and vibrating with excitement.

"Okay, so why the awkwardness?" she whispers in confusion. "If you guys finally crossed that line, why have you been acting like passing acquaintances all summer?"

"Because I ran out on him, Allie," you admit, the vulnerability cracking through your voice. "I’m scared of what it could mean. I'm terrified that it meant absolutely nothing to him—that it was just a fluke because we were close and emotional. Honestly, I’m even more scared if it does mean something to him."

Allie’s excited expression softens, shifting into one filled with empathy.

"Logan hurt me bad," you continue, your throat tightening. "It was hard enough trying to rebuild a basic friendship with him while carrying around the ghost of the love I used to feel. If that kiss was a mistake to him, it’ll kill me. But if he actually wants something more, it puts him in a position to hurt me worse than he ever has before. If we ruin it a second time, there’s no coming back from it. I just don't know if I can risk it. There’s no win for me here."

Allie studies you for a long moment, nodding slowly. As someone who knows exactly how intense and complicated the boys in that hockey house can be, she understands you perfectly.

"Look, you are well within your rights to never want to give him that type of access to your heart again," Allie says gently, reaching out to give your hand a supportive squeeze. "Protecting yourself is smart. But I also want you to know. . . he’s been drowning in it. All summer, whenever your name came up, he looked like he was physically aching. He’s been trying so hard to make up for his mistakes, even from a distance."

You look down at your color-coded planner, letting out a long, heavy breath. "I'll sleep on it."

"You do that," Allie smiles softly, tapping the cover of your textbook to break the depressive mood. "Now, let's get started on this syllabus breakdown, because at the rate we're going, we won't be leaving this library until two in the morning."

The beauty of September always manages to make Briar look like a beautiful postcard, even when your chest feels like it’s being squeezed by a vice.

A few days have passed since your conversation with Allie in the library. You’ve slept on it—or rather, tossed and turned over it—and decided that you refuse to let the ghost of a four-month-old kiss dictate the trajectory of your entire senior year. You want a clean slate. You want to start this school year anew.

You pull out your phone, navigating to your contacts. His name is still saved in your phone under a remnant of your freshman year—johnny boy 🦭—a silly inside joke from a weekend trip you’d completely forgotten about until now.

can we talk? you type, the screen glowing against the overcast afternoon.

You barely have time to lock your screen before your phone buzzes in your palm.

that sentence is never followed by anything good

An unbidden laugh escapes you. Before you can even type a snarky reply back, his contact photo fills your screen and your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. You slide the green bar to answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

"Hey," his voice comes through the receiver. You can hear that he’s slightly breathless, almost unnoticeably, but you pick up on it, able to tell that he’s already moving. "Yeah, we can talk. Where are you? I’ll meet you."

“Where are you?" you counter, adjusting your tote bag.

"I’m walking."

"Well, I’m walking too."

"Are you on my trail?" he asks, a hint of a tease in his voice.

You roll your eyes, though a smile tugs at your lips. "No, that’s my trail that you stole and started using, John."

Logan chuckles through the line, the sound cutting through all your lingering anxieties. "Fair enough. Guess I’ll meet you in the middle."

The campus around you perfectly encapsulates early-semester energy—freshmen traveling in packs, girls in oversized university sweatshirts carrying iced matcha lattes, and a lone guy near the physics building trying, and failing, to ride a bicycle. You don't look at any of them. Your eyes are fixed entirely on the gravel path that snakes toward the edge of campus, the direction that invariably leads toward Malone’s.

He comes into view soon after that.

He’s wearing a black compression shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing the tan forearms you know far too well. He slows his pace as he closes the distance, his intense gaze locking onto yours.

"Hey," he greets quietly, stopping a few feet away.

"Hey," you reply.

Without a word, you both turn and resume walking side by side. Neither of you explicitly states where you’re going, but your feet know the route by heart. The midday sun peeks through the turning maple leaves, casting dappled, golden shadows across the pavement.

You take a breath, trying to calm yourself, before tilting your head up. "How was your summer?"

Logan lets out a sudden, amused huff, shaking his head. "Is that really what you wanted to talk about?"

You shrug, shifting your gaze back to the path ahead. "Just breaking the ice. Things have been. . . weird. And thank you for the coffee the other day, by the way. Allie gave it to me."

He nods, his expression turning a little more serious. "No problem. Glad it was right." He walks a few more paces, then raises a dark eyebrow at you, his eyes searching your face. "Weird because of. . .?”

"Because you ran over my cat," you remark, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You huff, forcing the elephant out of the room. "The kiss, dork."

The ghost of a smile flits across his face, but it quickly fades into something attentive. He doesn't immediately jump in with a defense. He seems to be purposefully waiting on you to speak, deliberately granting you control over how to navigate the wreckage of that night.

You deeply appreciate the gesture—it proves he's trying to respect you—but a stubborn part of you was secretly hoping he’d be the one to lay his cards on the table first. But then again, if he didn't say what you wanted to hear, you know exactly how badly it would sting. So, you take the leap.

"I think the weirdness is just because we didn’t address it," you say honestly. "We just let it sit there all summer."

Logan stops walking completely, turning his body to face you. The sunlight catches the amber flecks in his eyes. "I know I crossed a line," he acknowledges, his tone lacking everything but sincerity. You wonder how long he’s been waiting to speak to you about this. "You trusted me to just be your friend again, and I. . . I couldn't control myself. I failed you on that. And the last thing I ever want is for things to be permanently broken between us, because I can’t imagine my life without you in it. But the ball is in your court. Whatever you need from me, I'll do it."

You look at him, translating his words through the protective filter you built around your heart over the winter. It was a lapse of judgement. He wants to stay friends. He wants to make sure he hasn't ruined the safety of the group, the comfort of the house. Maybe that’s for the best. Maybe protecting yourself means keeping him exactly where he is.

"I'd really like to be friends again," you tell him, a raw smile finally breaking through your defenses. "But the proper way. The way where we can actually be honest with each other without holding anything back. I don't want to spend the rest of senior year making you feel like I'm just waiting on you to fuck up again." You tilt your head, a playful spark returning to your eyes. "I mean. . . you don't intend to fuck up again, do you?"

A flash of his classic, witty charm returns to his eyes, a soft smirk breaking through his serious expression. "Not exactly part of the plan, no."

You giggle, the tight knot of anxiety that has lived in your stomach for months finally unraveling. "Good."

Standing there on the trail, you look at Logan and realize how exhausted you are of keeping him at a distance. You slowly raise your arms, opening them up in a silent, clear signal.

Logan doesn't hesitate for a second. He steps into your space, his large, solid arms snaking securely around your waist as he pulls you flush against his chest. He buries his face directly into the crook of your neck, his chest letting out a long, shuddering exhale as if he’s finally allowed to breathe after months of being underwater. He holds you tight, his fingers digging slightly into the fabric of your jacket, completely drunk on the familiar scent of your perfume. He hadn’t realized he’d been starving for it.

You bring your hands up, your fingers automatically finding the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck, massaging the skin in a rhythm that is so deeply ingrained in your muscle memory it feels like breathing.

"I missed us," you whisper into his shoulder.

The real us, you think. The version of you that remained untouched by the sting of unrequited love, and the version of him who hadn’t yet learned the torture of being so close, yet holding so little.

The depressing scent of roasted turkey, expensive cologne, and forced pleasantries always lingers in the carpets of your childhood home, long overstaying its welcome.

Christmas has always been a complicated beast. Usually, if Jules and Logan’s mother is in rehab—which she is again this year—Logan and Jules migrate over to your place. You hate coming home. There’s an unspoken rule between you and Logan, a mutual understanding he has anticipated since you were kids. Every holiday spent under this roof invariably ends the exact same way: the two of you slipping away to the quiet sanctuary that was the roof, talking about things that don't matter in the slightest just to drown out the things that do.

You had broken that decade-long tradition last year when you packed a bag and left the country, fleeing the aftermath of your fallout. At the time, you had been so far away, so completely suffocated by your own hurt, that you hadn't let yourself think about what he was doing. But tonight, the guilt is all you can feel. Your older sister had been the one to give you that final push to take the vacation, swearing that you deserved it. She’d handled your parents alone so you wouldn't have to.

Your parents aren't bad people. You know you're luckier than most. But they possess a rare talent that is sweeping everything under the rug. They’ve done it to their marriage for decades, and inevitably, they do it to you. The house is always charged with unresolved resentment that you can only stomach for a few hours before you feel yourself teetering on the edge of actual insanity. To make matters worse, they love to host, packing the dining room with distant relatives and neighborhood acquaintances for a meal.

But you and Logan are back to normal now. Not the normal that lasted a few weeks after St. Patrick’s Day, but the bond you shared before the STEM showcase. The friendship has rebuilt its walls, sturdy and comfortable.

Still, you didn't think he’d be up for the roof tonight. Things are different now. Two years ago, you hadn't fallen out. You hadn't made up. You hadn't made out against his desk until your lungs burned. You weren't even sure if you wanted to go up there, afraid the ghosts of those memories would choke you. But by ten o'clock, the laughter downstairs is too loud, the adults are draining the life out of you, and the guests show absolutely no signs of leaving.

You climb out the hallway window, fully expecting the dark expanse of the roof to be empty.

Instead, someone is already lying flat on his back against the slope.

"You're in my spot," you say, your voice cutting through the crisp November air.

Logan doesn't lift his head, his eyes fixed on the stars. "I was here first."

"This is my house," you counter, crossing your arms against the chill.

He tilts his head toward you, a slow, familiar smirk tugging at his lips in the moonlight. "Touché."

He scoots over, making room on the thick wool blanket he’s already laid down. You kick off your shoes, the cold air biting through your socks, and lie down right next to him. The proximity is natural, his shoulder nearly brushing yours.

"What’s got you up here?" Logan asks quietly.

"The usual," you sigh, staring up at the dark sky. "Not to mention a dozen different adults asking me if I'm still a STEM major. They keep hitting me with that patronizing look, telling me it's 'super hard' and that I should switch to something simpler. Like a nurse or a teacher." You let out a dry, irritated chuckle. "Which is completely wrong in itself, because I tried being a substitute teacher once to make extra cash and that shit was horrifying. I don’t know how they do it. Don’t even get me started on nurses. I’ll take coding over the stuff they deal with any day."

Logan lets out a hearty laugh, the sound warming you. You glance over, suddenly realizing how fast the words had poured out of you.

"Sorry," you murmur, a slight flush hitting your cheeks. "I guess I’m surprisingly passionate about the labor conditions of nurses and teachers."

"Don't be sorry," he says, his eyes turning to meet yours in the dark. "It’s a respectable passion. And a true one."

You let out a soft breath, your shoulders dropping. "I'm just so tired of the interrogation. Last year was a serious relief."

A sudden, uncomfortable silence falls over the two of you, the mention of last year hanging in the cold air like frost. You hesitate, the question slipping past your lips before you can stop it. "Were you up here alone last year?"

Logan is silent for a long moment, his chest rising and falling slowly. "Yeah," he confesses. "My mom was downstairs, but. . . it got to be too much. Jules is always way more forgiving with her, so it's easier for them to just smile through it. But at a certain point, I felt like I was completely pretending. I needed some air. Your parents were out on the balcony with some family friends, so your sister saw me. She read my face and let me up."

Your heart aches, a sharp pang of regret hitting you. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Logan immediately shakes his head, his jaw clenching slightly. "Nothing for you to be sorry about. You deserved that trip after everything. It was the only thing that made me feel better that night. That you were away from me, from everything.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, turning your head to look at his profile. "Well, you’ve made up for things. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time you’ve actually said no to me."

"I’m a changed man," he says, a faint, melancholic edge to his voice.

"I'm still not entirely convinced," you tease with a grin.

"Ah, but look at what I swiped from the kitchen."

You sit up on your elbows, watching as he reaches towards something to the side of him, pulling out an unopened glass bottle of sparkling cider.

A rush of pure nostalgia hits you so hard it makes you sick. In a good way. When you were ten years old, the two of you used to spend both Christmas and Thanksgiving hiding in your parents' bedroom upstairs, watching television while the adults conversed downstairs. Your older sister and Jules would always fall asleep on the rug, and the two of you had snuck a peek at Adult Swim. There was a clip of two characters passing a bottle of wine back and forth, sharing the deepest, heaviest secrets of their lives.

Naturally, at ten, you couldn't drink alcohol. So, you had successfully smuggled a bottle of Welch's sparkling cider from the pantry as your stand-in booze, migrated out onto this exact same roof, and talked about your lives. Back then, your tragedies consisted of stupid elementary school crushes and how badly your hands blistered from the monkey bars. You still had the beginnings of your familial issues, of course, but they hadn't yet grown into the giants they are today.

And even as the years went by, you knew Logan was wary about drinking because of his mother's alcoholism. He never said it, but you just knew. So, you had never upgraded the tradition to real alcohol, even when you both became heavily accustomed to drinking at Briar parties. The cider stayed.

It was an intimate tradition, but it had always been your normal. Yet, looking at the glass bottle now, the history of this past year presses heavily between you. Passing a bottle back and forth, sharing mouthpieces—it feels dangerously close to kissing. Which is a terrifying thought, considering the fact that you had actually kissed now. It shouldn't feel weirder, but it does.

Logan carefully peels off the shiny gold wrapping from the top of the bottle, the metallic crinkle loud in the quiet night. He pops the top and extends it toward you, his eyes glimmering.

"Ladies first," he murmurs.

A soft smile finally breaks across your face. You reach out, your fingers briefly brushing against his warm hand as you take the heavy glass. "A changed man and a gentleman."

You tilt your head back, taking a long swig of the sweet, bubbly liquid, letting the familiar taste wash over the residual bitterness of the evening. You lower the bottle, wiping your lip with the back of your hand, and pass it right back to him.

There is a silence that blankets the roof after that. You both just lay there, staring up at the starry sky, listening to the hollow rustle of the wind. It’s mostly quiet since it’s late December and the insects have long since died off. There is nothing but the two of you and the synchronized rhythm of your breathing. It’s painfully intimate.

So much so, that a question you’ve been keeping locked behind your teeth for months finally slips past your lips.

"Why’d you kiss me, Logan?"

He doesn’t turn his head, but in the corner of your eye, you see his chest hitch. The bottle of cider pauses halfway to his mouth.

"Why do you ask?" he asks, attempting to keep his voice level but failing.

"We talked about it. We closed that case," you whisper, your eyes tracing a constellation. "But I avoided asking you why. I didn't want to know."

"But now you want to?"

"I think I have to." You reach out, your hand brushing his as you take the glass bottle back from him. It’s halfway empty now. You two grew, but the bottle didn’t. It always got emptier quicker now. You don’t drink it yet, you just hold it tightly against your stomach. "You know. . . I was in love with you."

You feel the exact moment his gaze snaps to you, heavy and burning, but you refuse to look back. You keep your eyes glued to the sky.

"I had it bad," you continue, a reminiscent smile on your lips. "And it was really no help that I happened to realize those feelings right when you started becoming this hot-shot athlete. You suddenly grew seven inches in the span of a few months, and suddenly everyone’s eyes were on you. And then we both got into Briar. It was just you and me again in a completely new place. We were terrified, but we had each other. Then you made the starting line. I was so incredibly happy for you, Logan. But I felt invisible again. It wasn’t your fault. Well. . . not until. . . you know."

Sometime during your rambling, your hands had found each other. It was an act so deeply instinctual, so practiced over a decade of shared life, that you couldn't even remember who had reached out first. But it felt entirely right. His large thumb slowly swipes across the top of your knuckles, a tender, soothing caress that coaxes a shaky breath from your lungs. The touch gives you the courage to finally take another sip of the cider.

"I’m saying all this to tell you why I was so distant after the kiss," you murmur, passing the bottle back. "I’d gotten over it. I’d gotten over you. Then that night in your room happened, and the levee completely broke. I didn’t know how to feel. If I let you in like that, I’m putting you in a position to hurt me again. More than ever before. And I just. . . I wasn’t sure if it was worth it." You swallow hard, feeling him shift beside you. "Please don’t say anything. I’m not asking you to. I think I’ve just been needing to say it out loud."

Logan stares at your profile, the words cutting straight through him, leaving an ache in his chest that feels entirely too large for his midsection. He never truly understood how long you’d been waiting on him to finally open his stupid eyes. Hearing the timeline straight from you—realizing you had loved him through his awkward growth spurts, through the uncomfortable transition to college, through his own blind selfishness—leaves him entirely breathless.

Whether or not you blame him for the timing, he blames himself entirely. He wants nothing more than to roll over, cup your jaw, and tell you exactly how he feels. He wants to tell you that his year of being desperately in love with you feels like a drop in the ocean compared to the years you spent waiting for him. He wonders if it felt as suffocating for you as it does for him now, a relentless squeeze that leaves him completely breathless at the most random times of the day. He wonders if your chest used to tighten to the point of pain whenever he smiled at someone else, or if your voice used to catch in your throat whenever he walked into a room, your heart performing a violent, erratic dance that you had to frantically mask behind a casual eye-roll.

He wonders if you spent your nights staring at your bedroom ceiling, completely consumed by the memory of a fleeting, accidental touch—a hand lingering a second too long on a shoulder, a knee brushing against yours under a crowded table—wondering if it meant everything or absolutely nothing at all.

Logan wonders because that’s all he feels with you. He knows what it feels like to have your entire world narrow down to a single person, to have your happiness entirely tethered to the slight curve of their lips or the tone of their voice. He knows the terror that comes with wanting to offer someone everything you are, while simultaneously knowing they are the one person who possesses the exact power to ruin you.

It’s an absolute haunting, he realizes. To love someone this deeply is to be entirely stripped of your armor. He wonders if you felt that same frightening vulnerability every time you looked at him over the last few years, and he hates himself a little bit more for making you carry that weight all by yourself for so long. He hates that you felt as though you could never tell him.

He wants to look into your eyes and tell you that he does think it’s worth it—that love is always worth the risk, if it’s the right one.

But he can't do that to you. Not tonight. Not when you've just handed him your rawest vulnerability and explicitly asked him to just listen.

Instead, Logan takes the cider from your fingers and takes a large gulp of it, using the fizzy liquid to swallow down his confession.

"I miss when our biggest problem was getting to the swings during recess before everyone else," you say, shifting the conversation to steer you both back to safer ground.

A chuckle escapes his chest. "Tiffany Stone always did get there first."

"Yeah," you reply. "But then she’d give it up the second you asked."

"To be fair," he glances over at you, his eyes crinkling, "I’d give it to you right after."

"That didn’t land very well with her," you note, the memory of it painting itself in your mind.

"No," he agrees, rolling your head on the blanket to face you fully. "No, it did not. It landed pretty well with you, though. We stayed friends for another ten years."

"Thank you, Tiffany Stone," you whisper to the night sky.

Logan smiles, a quiet, comfortable silence falling between the two of you once more as the bottle passes back to your hands.

You had told him that it didn't feel worth the risk. And maybe Logan could be content with just having your hand in his for now. But deep down, as the warmth of your fingers laced through his settled into his bones, he knew that love—loving you—was worth every single petrifying risk the universe could throw at him.

By the time your friends finally decide enough is enough, it’s New Year’s Eve. The hockey house is destined to host a massive, sweeping rager to close out the year, but the real countdown isn't for midnight—it’s for the two of you.

For the past month, both the boys and the girls had been forced to watch you and Logan pretend that things weren’t radically different. To your credit, you sold the "just friends" act incredibly well. Maybe you even believed it. But knowing how you two actually felt about one another and trying to let nature take its course was beginning to get exhausting for the audience. It was a classic case of miscommunication. If left alone, it would either end with one of you breaking the friendship because staying "just friends" was too painful—most likely you—or the silence would just swallow you both whole.

It was senior year. They needed to orchestrate a collision.

So, they devised a multi-step plan. Phase one: isolate and implant the thought.

Phase one began with Logan.

He tended to zone out during practice. Not in a way that affected his play—he was still a lethal starting forward—but if you planted an idea in his head right before a drill, he would chew on it like a dog with a bone for the next two hours.

The team is running a grueling line-change scrimmage, skates slashing against the ice, the thud of hockey pucks hitting the boards echoing through the rink. They’d been talking about the party, and naturally—the conversation drifts over to you.

Logan skates hard off the ice, chest heaving, and slams his stick against the bench as he sits down next to Dean.

Dean doesn’t even look at him, casually squirting water into his mouth, and saying, "Hear she’s planning on kissing someone tonight."

Logan freezes, his water bottle hovering inches from his face. He blinks, the sweat dripping from his forehead. "What? Who?"

"Dunno," Dean shrugs, staring blankly out at the ice. "Heard it from Allie. Apparently, she’s trying to find a New Year’s kiss."

"Why the hell are you telling me this?" Logan snaps, a sudden, ugly flare of panic rising in his throat.

Garrett skates up to the bench, spraying shaved ice over their skates, and leaned over the boards. He catches the tail of Logan’s reply, but he’s well aware of what the discussion had been about. "Don't be dumb, Logan. We all know you’re head over heels for her. You look like a kicked puppy every time she leaves a room."

"Shut up, Garrett," Logan speaks through a clenched jaw.

"Line two, out!" Coach Jensen bellows.

Dean stands up, tapping Logan’s shin guards with his stick. "Look, man, the friendship is gonna crash and burn anyway if you don't tell her how you feel. You can't keep doing this half-and-half bullshit." Dean hops over the boards and glides into the play.

Logan sits back, his heart hammering against his ribs. When the next whistle blows, Tucker skates off, taking Dean's place on the bench. He doesn’t waste any time. "You can’t keep using the missed window as an excuse, man.”

"It’s too late, Tuck," Logan mutters, staring at his gloves. "She told me that a few days ago. She used to be in love with me. Used to."

"The wording was loose, bro," Tucker counters, unstrapping his helmet to wipe his face. "Feelings like that don't just evaporate into thin air. What did she actually say to you on the roof? That she wasn't sure if love was worth the risk?"

Garrett chimes back in from the other side, leaning back. "Exactly. She didn't say no. She said she was scared. I feel like she’s basically giving you a roadmap, idiot. She’s telling you to show her otherwise."

"And if not," Dean shouts as he skated past the bench on a line change, "at least you won’t have this heavy weight on your shoulders until you’re gray and old because of what could have been!"

Tucker slaps Logan hard on his shoulder pads, pushing him toward the ice. "Go. Kiss the girl, Logan. Before someone else does."

Logan hops the boards, his skates hitting the ice with a weighty clack. As he glides into the offensive zone, his mind is entirely somewhere else. His friends are right. The realization drills into his skull with every stride. He has to do something tonight.

The second part of phase one ends with you.

While the boys are completing their hockey-bench therapy session, Allie and Hannah are executing their half of the operation.

They had invited you out for a casual brunch at a cafe near campus. You, bless your sweet soul, genuinely thought it was just a kind, stress-free girls' day to kick off the holiday. You are happily tearing into a croissant when the conversation shifts toward the rager scheduled for that evening.

"So, how are we spending the midnight countdown?" you ask, wiping a bit of jam from your thumb. "I’m probably gonna have to be eating grapes by myself this time around.”

A guilty look passes between Allie and Hannah. Two years ago, the three of you had crammed yourself under a dining table at midnight, eagerly shoving twelve grapes into your mouths for good luck in love. The tradition seemed to have a two-thirds success rate, considering Allie and Hannah had locked down six-foot-plus hockey players the following year, while you’re still single.

"Look," you laugh softly, stirring sugar into your coffee. "I won't be offended if you guys want to spend midnight with your boyfriends this year. I can survive the countdown alone."

Allie and Hannah’s faces light up so fast you’d think they had won the lottery.

You pause, your spoon hovering. "Damn. You guys really wanted to get away from me, huh?"

"No! Oh my god, no," Hannah brushes it off quickly, waving her hand a little too frantically. "We love you. It’s just. . . you know, New Year’s romance and all that."

"Right," you murmur, squinting at them. They’re acting incredibly weird.

Allie clears her throat loudly, leaning forward and casually playing with her plastic straw. "You know. . . the upstairs balcony at the house has a beautiful view of the campus fireworks. Hardly anyone goes up there because everyone assumes the second floor is totally off-limits during parties."

Hannah nods rapidly, taking a bite of her avocado toast. "Totally. You should really spice things up this year. If, by some random chance, a cute guy wanders up there. . . you should make him your midnight kiss."

They’re awful at being subtle. Lucky for them, you’re awful at picking up on their ulterior motives.

You stare at them, completely deadpan. "You want me to kiss a total stranger?"

"You only live once, girl," Allie says, shrugging with a practiced air of casualness.

"Yes, a total stranger," Hannah continues, leaning in. "As long as he’s cute. It’s a good way to start the new year—a clean slate."

"Absolutely not," you laugh, shaking your head. "Do you guys not fear mono? Because I definitely fear mono. I am not locking lips with some random frat guy who has spent the last four hours drinking jungle juice out of a trash can."

"Don't write it off yet," Allie teases, kicking your foot under the table. "The grapes under the table are a total cop-out. You need real luck."

"Easy for you two to say," you joke, gesturing between the two of them. "You’ve successfully locked down starting line athletes."

"Who knows?" Hannah offers a mysterious, cat-like smile. "Maybe you’ll catch a real prize on the balcony tonight."

"Yeah," you roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair. "Or a very drunk guy who is trying to find a quiet place to puke."

Even though you don’t explicitly say it, Allie and Hannah exchange a quick, victorious glance across the table. The thought has been planted. You’re officially considering the balcony. Now, they just have to make sure the right guy is waiting for you when the clock strikes midnight.

Phase two is the kiss.

You’ve spent the last few hours of the night silently debating Allie and Hannah’s ridiculous brunch pitch. It is slightly pathetic, but then again, a New Year’s kiss is a completely normal tradition. You had one last year during your solo vacation with some attractive European guy. It had been a phenomenal kiss, you’d never spoken to him again, and the world hadn't ended. Who was to say you couldn't just replicate that effortless, zero-stakes energy tonight?

Downstairs, Logan has spent the exact same hours doing everything in his power to ensure his staring isn’t incredibly obvious. Every time you cross the living room, his eyes track you. You seem focused, hyper-fixated on the crowds, and it is driving him absolutely insane wondering if you’re scouting out the person you plan on kissing. He spent the night sizing up every guy in your vicinity, concluding under a heavily biased lens that not a single one of them is worthy of being near you.

Logan is trapped in a brutal internal war. Is it nobler to be selfless and let you move on, or to be selfish and finally tell you how he feels, knowing it could open a can of worms? But then he realizes the ultimate irony: isn’t it actually selfish not to grant you the right to make that choice yourself? To assume he knows what’s best for your heart without even asking? His head is spinning.

By 11:50, the countdown is turning the house into a pressure cooker of anticipation. Your European-stranger plan has officially lost its appeal; you just want a familiar face to ring in the midnight slot. You start scanning the crowd for Tucker, figuring a comfortable, safe friend is exactly what you need.

But Tucker is nowhere to be found.

Unbeknownst to you, the entire friend group banished Tucker to the freezing garage. They know your exact habits. They knew that instead of heading to the balcony, you would try to find a safety-blanket friend to sit out the countdown with. If Tucker vanishes, and Allie and Hannah are locked at the hip with their respective boyfriends, your only remaining option for quiet air is the upstairs balcony. Tucker, extremely loyal to the cause, had willingly sacrificed his warmth, clutching a beer bottle under the garage rafters.

At 11:52, you finally give up the search and head up the stairs.

From across the kitchen island, Logan watches your retreating back. Garrett and Dean soon flank him, watching the conflict twisting his features. Logan sits on the arm of the couch, twitching uncomfortably for two solid minutes while the clock ticks closer to midnight. Garrett looks ready to physically throw him up the staircase by his collar.

Finally, with a low curse, Logan stands up and makes a break for the stairs.

Once given the green light, Tucker slips back inside from the garage, lifting his beer toward the group. "Here’s to hoping this actually works."

The circle clinks their cups in a tight, triumphant circle. Allie takes a sip of her drink, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "If they don’t come downstairs holding hands, I’m literally gonna go insane.”

You have to admit, Allie hadn't lied to you. It is beautiful up here. The bass of the house thumps beneath your shoes, reminding where you are, but the air on the balcony is fresh, and best of all, entirely free of people.

You lean your forearms against the wooden railing, your fingers mindlessly tracing the woven knots of the friendship bracelet on your wrist. On your trek up here, you passed Logan’s bedroom. His door had been flung wide open—another deliberate piece of staging by your friends that you completely overlooked. You slipped inside, your eyes landing on the desk, and you’d swept the bracelet into your pocket before your brain could talk you out of it.

Logan had never asked if you wanted it back after everything. You didn't blame him, considering the emotional detonation that had occurred the last time you held it. Yet, here you are, wearing it anyway. You can feel the truth press itself into your chest as it sinks into your brain: you don’t want to kiss a stupid stranger tonight. You want Logan up here. You want him looking at the city lights beside you.

Below the balcony, the massive crowd in the backyard is beginning to gather, faces tilted toward the night sky, waiting for the clock to run out.

At 11:55, the click of the balcony door cuts through the cold air. Someone joins you.

Your shoulders tense. You keep your eyes locked strictly on the distant horizon, refusing to look over. You’re under absolutely no obligation to kiss whoever this is, but a stubborn, pathetic part of you is terrified of confirming that it isn’t the one person you actually want. The unknown person steps up to the railing next to yours.

Instantly, a familiar, comforting wave of body heat wraps around your left side. There’s no overwhelming reek of stale jungle juice or cheap liquor—just the familiar scent of cedarwood, winter air, and the exact soap you’ve smelled on his skin for the last ten years. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you.

At 11:56, his voice breaks the silence.

"I didn't think you’d be alone out here."

Your head snaps around, surprise instantly painting your features. John Logan is standing there, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his hair slightly rumpled by the winter wind. It’s the exact thing you just wished for, but seeing him in the flesh makes your throat instantly go dry. It’s a hell of a lot harder to execute a casual New Year’s plan when the boy in question is Logan.

You quickly force your eyes back toward the city skyline, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. "Allie and Hannah told me the view up here was beautiful. Turns out they were right. It’s stunning.”

Logan doesn’t look at the sky. He just stares at the side of your face, his eyes set on you. "Yeah," he murmurs, "They were."

The moment you turn your head to meet his gaze, he sharply tears his eyes away, suddenly looking out at the horizon as a sudden realization begins to dawn on him. He starts tracing the math of the evening—the guys’ sudden on-ice warnings, Allie and Hannah recommending this intimate space to you, Tucker’s abrupt disappearance.

You’re tracking the exact same breadcrumbs in your own mind. The wide-open bedroom door. The insistence on the balcony.

The realization hits you both at the exact same time.

"They set us up," you both say, your voices speaking in a synchronized harmony.

A sudden, laugh breaks from Logan’s chest, and the crushing pressure of the night finally fractured. You let out a soft chuckle of your own, shaking your head at the odd yet admirable creativity of your friends.

"Tucker’s in the garage, isn't he?" you mutter, leaning back against the railing.

"One hundred percent," Logan smiles, though the humor quickly fades from his eyes as he looks back down at you.

It’s 11:59. The countdown is vibrating through the very floorboards beneath your feet, and with the humor gone, the proximity between you becomes all the more apparent.

He’s well aware that it’s now or never.

Logan takes a single step closer, completely closing the gap until his shoulder is brushing against yours.

"I don't want to be selfless anymore," Logan whispers suddenly, the words rushing out of him as if he’s running out of time. He reaches out, his large hand warming yours where it rests on the railing. "I spent the whole night trying to convince myself that letting you go was the right thing to do. But I can't. I'm too selfish."

Your heart suddenly begins to thump frantically against your ribs, your breath hitching in your throat. "Logan. . .”

The backyard below erupts into a deafening, unified roar, the collective voices of a bunch of people beginning the final descent of the year.

“TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"I'm in love with you," he confesses, the raw truth finally out in the air. He steps fully into your space, his other hand rising to gently, desperately cup your jaw, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone just like he had before. Only this time, he isn’t trembling. He seems entirely solid. "I loved you when you offered your friendship back. I loved you when we kissed that night in May. I loved you when you poured your heart out to me on that roof as we passed a bottle back and forth. And I know you're scared. I know I put that fear in you. But I swear to god, I will spend every single day of my life proving to you that it's worth the risk. Just let me show you."

“THREE! TWO! ONE!"

The sky above explodes into a magnificent, deafening canopy of brilliant whites, greens, and golds, the thunder of the fireworks echoing across the roof.

But you don’t look at the sky.

You look at John Logan, the boy who has held your heart in his careless hands for years, the boy who is currently looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. The fear is still there, a tiny ache in your chest—but looking at the vulnerability in his eyes, you realize you don’t want to be safe anymore.

"Show me," you whisper against his lips.

Logan doesn’t waste another second. He leans down, his mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that completely obliterates every single month of silence, separation, and yearning that had built up between you.

It isn’t like the slow, tentative kiss on his desk. This is consuming, intense, but completely devoid of uncertainty. Logan lets out a ragged groan into your mouth, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you so tightly against his chest that the air leaves your lungs. His fingers massage the back of your neck, holding you there, deepening the kiss as the fireworks thunder overhead.

The familiar taste of him, the safety of his embrace, the desperate way his hands hold onto you—it was everything you had been drowning without. You reach up, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you at all. You’re kissing him back with all you have left, completely surrendering to the emotions that have long made their mark on you.

When he finally breaks the kiss for air, he doesn’t pull away. He rests his forehead against yours, both of your breaths coming in short, ragged puffs of white mist in the winter air. His hand remains on the back of your neck, his thumb soothing your lower cheek.

Logan lets out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, a massive smile breaking across his face in the flashing light of the fireworks. "I guess that means you like me too.”

You look up at him, a radiant smile of your own finally clearing away the last of the shadows. You hit his chest. “Don’t push it, dork.”

Logan chuckles, the sound cozy against your mouth, his eyes squinting. But as the laughter dies down, his gaze softens. He captures your hand—the one that just hit his chest—and laces his fingers through yours, pressing your knuckles right over his heart.

"I mean it," he murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere."

You look at your intertwined hands, the last of your fears melting away into the cold night. You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes with a serious but soft look. "I'm giving you my heart, John Logan. Don’t break it."

Logan leans down, pressing one more soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your smile. "I wouldn't dream of it."