𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 💋

You giggle as you watch the hockey player struggle to find his words after catching the slightest sight of your cleavage. It wasn’t like you had worn a low-cut top for exactly this reason.“Don’t tell me I made you nervous, John.” You say seductively, watching him practically tremble through your lashes.

Oh how you love the way you can make Logan, a man so much bigger and broader than you, turn completely dumb with just one glance of your glossy eyes.

He swallows, his breath hitching, you could tell he wasn’t used to people calling him by his first name, especially not in the tone you use. “Oh—uhm, no, uh obviously not.” He mutters awkwardly, scratching his neck, his gaze drops to the floor, desperately trying to avoiding eye contact.

“Hm,” you hum, not at all convinced, “so you’re saying I don’t make you nervous, John?”

There it was, his first name again. His heart rate spikes and he’s certain that if you keep your little game up he’ll be needing a bathroom break in the next five minutes. You take measured steps toward him, your heels clicking on the marble floor, the sharp sound bouncing off the cold walls and echoing through the empty room. When you finally stop, your faces are merely centimetres away.

He can barely register that you are even asking him a question as your intoxicating perfume fills his nostrils, completely short-circuiting his remaining brain cells. “Mhm, y-yeah,” he stammers, his eyes darting anywhere but your face before locking back onto you, the tip of his ears red. “T-that’s right.”

You almost laugh again at how nervous he is, and even more so at how much of a bad liar he turned out to be. Cupping his face in your hands, you force him to look into your eyes. “Something tells me you’re not being truthful, baby.” You murmur as he watches you with wide eyes like a puppy that’s just been caught stealing treats.

“But that’s okay, we’ll work on that.”

Before he could even attempt to process the words, you smash your lips onto his. Your hands trail up to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull your body completely flush against his massive frame. He groans into the kiss, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist, he attempts to pull you even closer, his prominent hard-on pressing into your tummy.

“Who’s my good boy?” You ask teasingly between kisses, but instead of replying he presses his moth onto yours undeniably harder. You bite his bottom lip, drawing blood.

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

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

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

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

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

And this wait was making it worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm,” you murmured.

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Well, then I’m not here for that.”

“Then why are you here?”

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

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

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

That’s how you knew you were down bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say that again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You moaned.

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

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

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

“Pants off,” he said, voice gruff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan~~.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He practically whimpered as you continued to slide over him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hell.”

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

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

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

A week passed. Your dorm was a mess. Allie’s scripts for tonight's show lay scattered across the floor, along with extra Drunk Shakespeare posters, casting sheets, and Finn’s special drink menus. He’d called you at 2 a.m. two nights earlier, asking for help one last time. You couldn’t refuse. The next day, after class, you spent a few hours designing menus in the play’s theme.

In the meantime, you hadn’t seen anyone much. Everyone stuck to their routines. The hawks had practice. A couple of matches were planned. Finn, Allie, and Dexter were busy preparing for tonight’s Drunk Shakespeare. Hannah continued tutoring Garrett for their oral exam, which he surprisingly passed. You admired her patience. She could be an excellent teacher if she ever decided to change careers. You had considered Garrett hopeless.

The door of Allie’s room opened. She emerged in costume. You looked up, your jaw almost on the floor. She looked incredible.

“What the hell,” you muttered, standing, then sitting, then standing again, too excited to stay still. “Girl!” you shrieked, rushing to her and grabbing her arms.

Her hair was styled as always, except for a detailed pink flower crown of varying sizes. Her hair spilled over her wings. Glitter highlighted her bone structure. Her marine-blue dress hugged her curves. If you didn’t know better, she looked ready for a second dynamic duo party, this time as Flora from Winx Club. She had the look (and body).

“How—who—what—” you stammered, squeezing Allie’s arms as she laughed. “Everyone’s jaw will drop once you’re on stage,” you finally said, glancing her up and down again. She grinned, gently removing your arms, but didn’t let go of them. Narrowing her eyes, an idea popping in her head, she said, “I’ve got another dress. It’s pink, but other than that, it’s pretty similar. Want to wear it?”

It sounded like a love confession. Allie was down on one knee, except she was right in front of you, staring at you with anticipation, wondering if you’d say yes. In her hand, the perfect pink dress instead of a ring.

You nodded slowly, then faster, bouncing on your heels. “Of course I want a pink dress!” you squealed. Allie joined in. She took your hands and pulled you into her bedroom. “To the salon,” she said, voice high.

A few hours later, it was almost time for the show to start. A bright smile played on your face. To say you were excited was an understatement.

The evening air was thick. Dangerous. Disastrous. A sudden cold breeze tangled your hair and made you stumble, almost dropping Finn’s last-minute prop box, which was absolutely necessary to make his vision of ‘A Midsummer Night's Dream’ come to life.

You entered the building behind Allie. The door’s entrance almost hit you. “Thanks!” you yelled, but she didn’t hear you.

You scanned the crowd, heart pounding with a tangled mix of anticipation and dread. The person you secretly wanted to see wasn’t there, so disappointment looped in your stomach. Still, you couldn’t help yourself, and your eyes continued to search for him anyway, your breath catching every time a face popped into view.

You hated how much you cared. How desperate you looked if you could see yourself in a mirror right now, and you resented the flutter that twisted your insides at the thought of him noticing you tonight. Just as you were about to calm down, Logan’s soothing voice pulled your attention with magnetic force.

“Here, let me help you.”

Your hands were suddenly free. As you looked up, your eyes met Logan’s brown ones. You clutched your dress tighter. Suddenly aware of how much pink Allie had managed to put you. Glitter covered your shoulders, collarbone, and chest.

“Thank you,” you finally managed to say. Logan caught your gaze for half a second. Then he was swept up by an arm around his shoulder.

“Logan! Y/n! How art thee?” he asked, his voice high as he dragged Logan backstage.

Finn had impeccable timing.

You stood rooted in place, heat rising up your neck and almost matching the blush on your cheeks. Allie nudged your arm, giving you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t combust yet,” she whispered. “You still have two hours of Shakespearean tragedy to survive.”

You snorted, but the sound was shaky. “Please forget all your lines. I want to get drunk.”

Logan laughed loudly at something Finn said. You glanced at him and your brother. Then, you looked back and placed a hand on your friend’s shoulder.

“Scrap that, I need to get drunk,” you said, begging her.

Allie grabbed your hand. Together, you made your way backstage, navigating the chaos of half-dressed students, dresses, and other costumes littered on the floor. You couldn’t help but glance back one more time, hoping that just maybe, Logan was watching you too.

Minutes had passed. The flickering lights signaled showtime. You turned to Allie and Finn and blew them an air kiss, and mouthed, “Good luck! Break a leg.”

You shuffled quickly towards your friends, who had already taken a seat. The seat next to Tucker was free, so you filled it. As you sat down, you glanced at the watermelon he was holding. “Bernado didn’t make the cut?” you asked, laughing. Besides Tucker, the two frat boys started laughing.

“Dean ate him,” he deadpanned, switching the watermelon from his left side to the side you were sitting on. You smiled back at him. “So what’s this guy’s name?” You patted the watermelon softly, like you would pat your dog back at home.

“Life’s too short to name them,” Tucker said, voice sad. You raised your brows, leaned forward to scold the blond and brunette next to him. “Shame on you,” you said. They just laughed harder.

“This seat taken?”

You glanced up and saw Logan. Smiling. At you.

It was the second time he’d startled you tonight. Hopefully, it was the last.

You shook your head slowly. “No, go ahead.”

Logan took the seat next to yours. He couldn’t help but glance at Tucker’s watermelon, about to comment, but you stopped him by touching his arm. His wonderful, muscular arm.

“Don’t,” you whispered, letting your hand linger. “It’s a sensitive topic.”

“Ah,” Logan replied, matching the tone of your voice. He leaned in and smiled his famously wide smile. “Noted.”

You caught yourself holding your breath.

Lights flickered. Dexter appeared on stage. You sighed. He explained Drunk Shakespeare: every time an actor says “line,” everyone drinks a shot.

Last year, Finn got so drunk he finished the show in darkness. Lissandra, then a senior, fell off the stage and broke her arm. Since then, Finn hadn’t been in charge of preparations or allowed near cables.

Your thoughts broke when Dean yelled Logan’s name.

You looked up. Hannah, Garrett, and Logan were on stage. Suddenly, everyone looked at you, the actors and the audience. Dean started clapping, then Beau, Tucker, and the rest soon followed. Tucker pushed you forward. An unfamiliar actor led you to the stage, holding your hand as you leaped up, clutching the veil of your dress.

“Welcome, Helena,” Dexter greeted you as you looked at him with widened eyes. He led you next to Logan, who drummed his fingers against his thigh. You leaned into him, catching the faintest trace of his woody-amber cologne. Your breath hitched just as you were about to ask, “What is happening?”

He laughed and leaned in so close his breath grazed your skin, almost brushing his lips against your ear. Almost. “We’re playing lovers.”

You gulped. His words hit you like an electric shock.

Perfect.

You glanced over at Allie, who noticed and winked at you. She hadn’t forgotten your conversation the morning after karaoke in Malone’s.

You’re going to strangle her.

The show began. It was chaos if you’d ever witnessed it. Bad accents, laughter, and a lot of shots. Allie’s monologue started fine, then shifted. She aired her relationship complaints about Sean, Shakespeare-style, to the whole audience. You clapped a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god,” you chuckled. Hannah stood beside you, mimicking you. “She’s going to call him, isn’t she?” she said.

The show flew by. The shots did too. Midway through the show, you were starting to stumble and slur your words more. Once in a while, you recognized Dean’s voice over the rest of the crowd. Always the first one to drink whenever anyone, on or offstage, called for shots. Who would have thought a Briar U Hawk would love the theatre this much?

If you asked the audience, they would have said the show belonged to you and your friends: you as Helena, Logan as Demetrius, Garrett as Lysander, and Hannah as Hermia. Each of you played one of the lovers tangled up in the Midsummer chaos, which meant you spent most of the play onstage together.

Especially Garrett and Logan. Whenever they shared the spotlight, it felt like watching two toddlers fighting over the same toy. Pure chaos. They also made it their personal mission to get everyone drunk, calling 'line' every few minutes. They got away with it, too, since the cast was too tipsy to care.

During one of your scenes, you tripped over a prop. Logan caught you, steadying you with a hand at your waist. The audience laughed, but you barely registered the sound. Their laughter was subtle, lost amid the hurricane building inside you. Logan removed his hand the moment he was sure you were steady. You sighed and ached for his hand to linger.

So distracted by your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the way his eyes traced your smile. Then he shook his head. Still smiling. Still looking. But this time, his eyes were narrowed as if he was trying to figure something out.

There was a moment. A small moment. Logan and you both broke character. He went quiet during one of his lines. Dexter was holding a cardboard with the exact words he needed to say, shaking the board vigorously, trying to get Logan’s attention.

You leaned in, consumed by the liquid you had been drinking throughout the show. “It’s literally spelled out for you,” you said quietly, laughing.

Logan turned towards you. Your faces were inches apart. Then your laughter died. The world faded. Time definitely stood still. Consumed by the moment, it felt as if the lighting crew directed all the lights onto the curly-haired boy standing next to you. Every freckle, line, and dimple suddenly visible. Like a world-class chef just served his best dish on a silver platter.

“Line!” Finn yelled, and the spell immediately broke. The two of you created more distance between you, and Logan disappeared backstage, leaving you to continue your role as Helena.

He found Allie lounging in an armchair. Her legs against the back, feet in the air as she rested her back against the armrest. “Having fun?” she called once she saw Logan heading towards the drink station. She let her head fall, following his movements with her eyes.

He breathed a laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t expect the night to go like this.” He ran a hand through his curls.

Allie pulled herself up when she felt the heat increasing in her skull. She turned towards Logan, “But are you enjoying yourself?” she asked, studying him. Logan looked up at her. Her wings had fallen a little, and their bands were now resting in the inside of her elbows.

Logan shrugged, but his eyes softened. “Yeah,” he said, “I think so.”

The last part of the show was even more unhinged. Everyone had way too many shots. And everyone was drunk, or almost over the tipsy-to-drunk point. You let yourself be led by the chaos. Enjoying every second of it. Hannah and Garrett’s flirtatious banter. Finn and Allie’s fight for the spotlight.

Logan’s hand accidentally found yours during a scene switch. Your fingers brushed, lingering. You quickened your steps to hide behind a corner offstage. He continued the scene, reading out his line from the cardboard. You closed your eyes, leaning against the wall, listening to his voice. You stayed there for the duration of the rest of the show. Not needed anymore for the play's conclusion.

When the final bow came, Hannah, Garrett, Logan, and you were brought back onto the stage. All the other students in the play joined, including Finn, Dexter, and Allie. You all held hands, bowed towards the audience, clapped, and yelled. Coming back up, you stumbled, quickly catching yourself. Logan, standing next to you, hovered his hand over your lowered back and leaned down.

“Easy there.” Logan’s voice was gentle as he steadied you. You met his eyes, warmth spreading through you, and managed a soft, "Thanks."

“Yo rockstars, come here!” Dean yelled, calling out for all of you. Immediately, you turned towards the direction his voice came from, spotting Dean, Tucker, and Beau at the same spot you left them before the show started. With a grin, you led the way to your friends. Garrett and Hannah trailed behind, followed by Finn and Allie. Logan hung back, watching all of you.

You spun into Beau’s arms, laughing as he twirled you. “Who knew little Bambi looked so good as a fairy?” he teased, and you ducked your head, cheeks burning. Logan watched you laugh at Beau’s words, a pang in his chest. He shook his head, forcing a smile, joining the others just in time for Allie to drag you into a photo. She forced her phone into Finn’s hands and asked him to take a picture of her, Hannah, and you.

After Finn snapped two pictures, Beau and Dean joined. Dean towered over Allie. Beau loosely let his arms hang over your shoulders. Logan’s smile faltered, noticing how Beau’s arms were inches away from your breasts. His stomach plummeted as if he had just stepped off the ledge of the stage, faceplanting the ground.

And just like that, his eyes widened. Not exactly, but it felt like they did. As if they were about to bulge out of his sockets at any moment. His heart beat faster. His breathing quickened.

He took a glance at Hannah, standing between you and Allie. She was laughing at Dean’s antics, and he couldn’t help but notice the way she took every opportunity to look at Garrett. Her eyes lit up every time he looked back. Her hand brushed his arm. Logan glanced at the ground. He realized his breathing was steady again. He didn’t feel like throwing up whenever Hannah and his best friend smiled at each other. Relief bloomed in his chest, and Logan learned he was happy for them.

The afterparty exploded into a night of nightlife. Music thumped through the speakers. Sweat and bodies packed tightly together on the madeshift dance floor. Logan found himself searching the crowd for you, throat aching, heart pounding as he’d just sprinted laps at the rink. As if he were deprived of air and you were the oxygen he so desperately sought.

You drifted from group to group until you found yourself beside Beau. He leaned close, his shoulder brushing yours as you both shouted the lyrics above the music. For a while, the party faded around you. You spun during a change of beat, took a half-step back, and caught Logan’s eyes from across the crowd. It was there for a second. Then gone again, like a skipped beat or a ghost. It was so small. So quick you almost forgot it happened. Almost.

Logan sighed. The words from earlier echoed in his head: “Lysander, keep thy Hermia. I will none. If e'er I loved her, all that love is gone. My heart to her but as guest-wise sojourned, And now to Helen is it home returned, There to remain.”

And maybe. Just maybe. Logan found himself in a similar pickle as Demetrius did in tonight’s play. And it was only just the beginning.  

you had always thought he was attractive, while everyone else was interested in dean or garrett or logan, you were always in tucker so you jumped at the chance. the boys quickly became attached to you when you patch up their cuts or bruises, remind them to be safe or tell them you would kick their ass if they didn't listen. you couldn't stop yourself.

tucker always found it admirable that you would take time to remind them they were only human, he liked that about you. in truth, he liked alot about you and knowing you cared about hockey just as much as the next person made his attraction grow even bigger. today was their match against their rival team and as promised you would be there.

you stood with their coach off to the side, in case anything happened and you needed to handle it. you always hated seeing them get hurt but it was apart of the game, thats why you were there. the hits and bruises and cuts didn't scare you, but the falling and the punching and the potential of a skate gone wrong did not leave your mind ever.

"you're staring like you're waiting for something to happen" their coach said to you and you knew he was right because you were waiting for something to happen, it felt like you were always waiting for something to happen and in the next two minutes, something did.

you were watching when tucker got side-checked by one guy and someone came up on the other side, side-checking him again. tucker was stuck between two guys and it only got worse, the next thing you knew they moved on impact and slammed into him at the same time. you froze as you watched tucker fall to the ground and you turned to the coach

"go get him" he told you and you nodded as the ref blew the whistle, you rushed out with the trainers to tucker. they all stood above him watching, the two guys got shoved into the penalty box with smug smirks on their faces and you glared at them as they stared

"fucking assholes" you said outloud before you kneeled down and shook tucker. he was out like a light and you couldn't leave him on the ice, the trainers helped him up and as a group, you brought him to the medical room. you stayed with him until he woke up. he groaned and sat up but you were right there

"woah, careful, you got hurt pretty bad out there" you said as you pushed his shoulder and he let you as he stared at you

"what...what happened?" he asked

"fuckface champion and larkey thought it would be funny to put you in the middle of them, they attacked you at the same time. you were out like a light but you're okay, no signs of a concussion, just some light bruising in a few places but you should be okay" you reassured him

"thats embarassing"

"for them, maybe. they needed two of them to take you out, says more about them than it says about you" you said and he nodded as he stared at you. he had never seen your eyes up close and he knew if he said anything right now, it would ruin everything

"thanks for taking care of me, doc" he teased

"its my job, tucker. try to not get hurt so much" you said and he nodded before he stood up and left. the game was finished by now and he was back at the frat house with the other guys and he kept thinking about you, how gentle you were. how kind you were and how much you cared to make sure he was safe.

he needed to show his appreciation somehow, so he started doing it in small ways at first. leaving notes at your desk, buying your drinks in the morning, making sure to not get hurt as bad but then he realized if he wasn't getting hurt, he couldn't see you and he hated that.

so he just started showing up to talk to you, about random shit, things that didn't matter or make sense. it was nice in a way to know that he cared enough to be there when he didn't have to. the others started to notice it too, he would stop by the medical room to see you or talk to you. logan, dean and garrett took bets on how long it would take for him to confess.

the closest they got was logan, with three weeks and two days. tucker had gotten tired of dancing around you and he needed to do something so right before the match, his nerves were spiked. what if he got hurt again? he needed to talk to you and he knew where you were.

"doc? you in here?" he called out, voice shaky

"tucker? hey, whats wrong? whats going on?" you asked and he sighed as he walked over to you, his arms wrapped around you and he rested his head on your shoulder with a sigh. you froze before you wrapped your arms around him and held him okay

"im terrified, what if i get hurt again? what if something happens and i can't come back from it? what will i do? i can't lose this, if i lose hockey, i lose my future and if i lose my future i lose you" he said and you shook your head

"tuck, you could never lose me. you're going to get hurt, its hockey but you can come back from it. you'll always be able to come back from it, thats who you are and i have faith in you, so have faith in yourself" you said and he nodded as he stared at you

"i think im in love with you" he exclaimed, your eyes widened before you laughed and pulled him in to kiss him. he smiled as his hands moved to your waist and he pulled you closer, kissing you back. it was perfect, until you heard the voices of logan, dean and garrett

"I WAS RIGHT, PAY UP BITCHES" logan said and you pulled away to turn to them

"you bet on us?" tucker asked

"well she does pain observations, we do love observations. and as much as we love a love fest, we've got a game to play. you can make out with her later" dean said as he led tucker away and you laughed with a shake of your head as you waved at them

thank god for pain observations

You weren't dating, not really, John Logan didn't do relationships, but you were together in all the ways a relationship conveys without the formality of a title. You cheered for him on game day, he would call you every time he had a bad day, you would always find each other at parties and at some point along the way you'd found yourself a spot at the hockey house.

The change started slowly, so slow it was almost unnoticable at first. Your first significant meet with Hannah outside of Malone's was at the block party, you'd been having drinks with the guys and a few girls who had joined in hopes of scoring a hookup when Logan noticed how detached Garret had been from the party. That was the first time you noticed the longing glances, but they still didn't register fully because he still spent the rest of the party on your side and you still ended up in his bed that night.

"Lo I think someone's knocking" Tonight a bunch of people were over at the hockey house, it wasn't a party per se, but the entire hockey team plus a few other friends were around. You were currently sitting on the couch watching the guys play a hockey videogame.

"No one ever knocks" Logan replied not taking his attention off the tv.

"Exactly" You pointed out making it clear that if someone was knocking there must have been a reason.

"Fine" He sighed and handed you his controller, he started walking away and then turned back around "Wait no, she'll score an own goal, pause it!" But you were already moving your little guy around the ice, in circles really instead of actually playing the game.

He didn't seem to pay much attention to Hannah that night, just an extra look when a half naked, straight out of the shower Garrett took her upstairs.

Your next encounter with Hannah was Beau and Dean's party. You had coordinated outfits with one of your friends, Logan was a bird aliongside Tucker's bee and you were all throwing shots when she walked in. Hannah looked amazing in her head turning bunny costume that made Garretts magician make sense now.

In all honesty, you wouldn't have noticed anything weird with Logan if it hadn't been for the way his hold on your waist had instantly dropped when he noticed her. You played it off as nothing when Tucker appeared next to you and dragged him away for their little tradition, but your brain filed it away anyways.

"Mmm we're late" You mumbled into Logan's lips, you were parked on a lonely dark street a few streets away from Malone's because he, verbatim, had said 'you look too good I'm not making it the whole night without a taste'

"Mmhmm" He mumbled against your lips grinding his hips up to you "Don't care"

"Oh come on" You separate a little, he follows as if you were connected by a string, chasing your lips "Karaoke night is my favorite"

"You won't even sing" He complained pushing his forehead against yours.

"Maybe tonight I will" You tell him.

"You're telling me if I drive us to Malone's right now you'll actually sing tonight?" You nod, it's not true, you're most definitely not singing tonight, but you know if you're any late you're gonna fall victim to Dean, Tucker and Beau's incessant teasing the whole night "You're on baby"

When you get to Malone's you get the great surprise of Tucker on stage singing Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy "Holy shit" You gasp hitting Logan's arm.

He chuckles, Jules walks up to you with the song request clipboard "I'll put you and Garrett up for Summer Nights" They say already scribiling down the words.

"I know that's a joke but I would kill Sandy" Logan replies "Anyways, put this one down for Shake It Off"

"Noted" Jules writes down your name and song.

"Do not" You say but Jules smirks and walks away "Jules!"

They don't even turn around, just puts their hand up and waves approaching another group of people, Logan laughs "Come on, let's get a drink" He guides you to the bar, Tucker's voice flowing through the place with the crowd joining in every chorus.

Garrett and Hannah are at the bar, Hannah seems to be enjoying herself as she says hi to you all giggily sipping on what seems like a piña colada "I'll take one of those please" You call out to the bartended who nods getting to prepare the drink.

"Logan!" Hannah exclaims after pulling you into a drunken hug "You fixed my car" She points at the man, Logan nods with a strained 'yeah'. The girl turns to Garrett "He fixed my car"

Garrett looks confused "You have a car?"

The brunette gives him a weirded out look "No"

You stiffle a laugh at her response and squeeze her a little when you notice her somber expression "Had a car" Logan clarifies "Great car"

"I'm buying you a very special thank you drink" Hannah announces then "And you, for being a new friend" She turns to you, then there's confusion in her eyes "We can be friends right?"

"Yes Hannah, we can be friends" You chuckle, she beams.

"Great!" Then she leans over the bar and whispers something into the bartender's ear "Okay you're gonna love it!"

"Hannah has discovered the piña colada tonight" That explains the girl's drunken state, she's probably had too many but thankfully he is with Garrett who is probably the most responsible guy in this bar tonight.

"I've only had one, or four" Hannah laughs, she seems to be having fun.

"Is that what I'm getting too?" Logan asks, you don't miss the way he says 'I'm' but you ignore it, for now.

"Mmm nope" She turns back to you and Logan just as the bartender sets your piña colada and two very bright blue drinks "Okay, for my mechanic, and my new friend, I call this the bluebaru"

She hands you each a glass, you look behind her at Garrett as if asking for help but he just looks amused "Oh! It looks like wiper fluid" Logan says as he inspects the drink.

You take a sip, your face scrunching up at the taste of it at the same time as Garrett says "That might actually be wiper fluid"

"It's mostly blue curacao" Hannah explains "With the secret ingredient" She leans in closer to you and Logan "More blue curacao"

"Oh! I'm so excited" You laugh at Logan's clear suffering at the simple thought of drinking this, you already know you're handing this to either Dean or Beau the moment you see them, those two will drink pretty much anything.

You've just found Dean and Beau, the latter being occupied with his tongue down a redhead, when Hannah's name is announced. "Here have this" You shove the drink into Beau's hand and slip into the seat next to him.

"What's this?" He asks but is already taking a big gulp of it "Fuck!"

You smirk "Hannah Wells' creation, the bluebaru"

"You've got some competition" Beau nods at Logan who is staring intently at Hannah as she performs, that's the first time you really notice it.

"Oh hell no" Dean speaks making you realize the redhead's gone.

"She's with Garrett" You point out.

"Right" Beau nods but the damage is done, for the rest of the performance you can't stop noticing the way Logan looks at her like she's the most interesting thing in the planet and how his look changes to a more somber one when Hannah starts serenating Garrett more openly.

"Kinda sweet isn't it" Jules approaches their brother when they notice the looks he's been giving the girl performing "Garrett being serious about someone"

"You think he's serious?" Logan asks.

"Everyone on fifth line seems to think so" Jules replies "They get more likes than anything else I post" When their brother doesn't say anything they sigh knowing the conversation isn't going anyways "Not that you should care or anything"

"What are you talking about?" He asks, Jules doesn't reply, instead they nod to the booth where you and Beau are watching Hannah sing and Logan can't help but to feel a pinch of guilt in his gut.

You don't sing that night, and you're surprised when, after a few hours of him hanging out with everyone but you, Logan comes over and asks if you're ready to go. Your roomate is out and Logan takes full advantage of that giving you multiple orgasms, you don't think about why he's being so good to you, he'd already shown how interested he was earlier, but he can't help but think he has to make it up to you all night long.

The last thing Logan wanted tonight was to end up talking about Hannah with Garrett but here he was because he couldn't help himself but to ask, and he hated himself for the relief he'd felt when Garrett basically confirmed they weren't together "Hannah was just a distraction"

"Yeah, I mean, sometimes you don't get everything what you want" Logan said "But… you're Garrett Graham, alright? Things are gonna work out for ya okay? They always do"

Garrett chuckled "Yeah well for you too man, I mean, you've got the girl, and you make it look so easy" Logan felt a pang of pain at the mention of you and his friend's perspective of your relationship, things there weren't easy, hell he'd been ignoring you for a few days now, giving you dumb excuses as to why he couldn't see you and it all was because he couldn't get his friend's 'girl' out of his head "And it's me and you in the bruins, that's the plan, right?"

Another lie he was keeping, the one where he was pursuing hockey alongside Garrett when he graduated "Yeah, that's the dream"

The next few weeks are like torture for Logan, you eventually wear him down enough for him to start hanging out with you again but he's distant every single time. In the meantime, he's trying his hardest to stop thinking about Hannah while the girl spends every free moment she has in their house because apparently, her and Garrett are officially together now. Every few nights he has to actually leave the house and stay over at your dorm because he can't stand the sound of his best friend hooking up with Hannah and his headphones are not enough.

Thanksgiving had been, surprisingly nice, Garrett and Hannah had gone to his father's to celebrate, Dean was away in New York and that left Tucker, Logan and Jules, the last one inviting you over even before the invitation had been extended to everyone who didn't have a place to go.

"He's gonna burst something" You mumble into Logan's ear, the man being surprisnigly affectionate today.

"Hey, he wanted to do all this" Logan replies squeezing your waist as he hugs you from behind making you giggle.

"Yo lovebirds, get to work" Tucker points at you with the knife he was holding making both of you to put your hands up in surrender before moving to do whatever you were appointed to do.

Logan ends up leaving with Jules a while later, they go to visit their mom at rehab even though that's the last place he wants to be and you stay behind with the rest of your friends. The turkey, much to Tuck's dismay, ends up being a disaster and you all migrate to the rink instead.

You suck at skating but you manage to stay upright enough to glide around as the group plays hockey using parts of the charred turkey as a puck. You've found yourself in the middle of the rink, with the help of Kendall, when Logan and Jules return with their marshmallow attack. You shriek as one hits you square in the chest and glide your way to them as good as you can but you end up slipping and falling straight into the arms of Logan who laughs as he helps you up.

"What are you guys doing?" You ask laughing as your friends in the rink shriek when the siblings keep pelleting them with marshmallows as they skate around.

"It's a Logan thanksgiving motherfuckers!" Jules screams and continues their attack.

"Let's call G and Dean" Tucker suggests, pulling his phone out.

That's where your night changes drastically, when the illusion that you'd been keeping up shatters, because while you'd spent today in Logan's arms whispering jokes to each other and sneaking in kisses here and there the moment Hannah and Garrett's faces appear in Tucker's screen he drops your hand and his expression falters.

Your hand immediately feels cold at the loss of touch and you can't concentrate on the words being exchanged, you smile through it and then when they hang up you unlace your skates and replace them with your shoes and get the hell out of there.

Logan doesn't notice until Jules mentions it.

You stop reaching out to him, your replies come out short when he texts and you always have an excuse as to why you're busy or he can't come to your dorm. In just a week you've shifted your entire friend group from the hockey team to the football team. They greet you in with open arms, you've hang out with them before and Beau adores you, you also find out that the football girlfriends are real good friends who you can girl talk with even though you haven't been close for too long.

"Honestly, good for you" Mia, one of the wide receivers girlfriend's says, you're telling them the story of why you've ended up hanging out with them more lately while trying not to freeze your ass off while you watch the team practice "For having a backbone"

"Men can be so dense" Lily shakes her head "I bet you he's still wondering what he did to piss you off"

"I think he's taken the hint" You shrug "He's stopped spamming me at least"

"Sooo now that he's out of the picture… you and Beau?" Mia asks suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.

"Nope" You deny immediately "Been there, done that, we're friends and that's where we're staying"

"Wait you've hooked up before?" Lily's eyes are so impossibly wide "Okay share!"

You chuckle "We were freshmen, it happened a few times and then we figured out we enjoyed hanging out with each other but neither of us wanted a relationship so it kinda fizzled out" You shrug "But I also became friends with the hockey boys and Dean and Beau come as a package so we just stayed friends"

"I've always wondered" Mia trails, her eyes following Beau as he runs drills "When people say they come as a package, do you guys think they like… have threesomes and shit?"

You choke on nothing, heat rising up your neck "Oh. my. God" Lily jumps pointing at you "You dirty slut" But there's no real judgement in her voice, just curiosity.

"Would you look at that? I think I better go work on my psych paper" You stand up ignoring the girls asking you to come back behind you.

Malone's is packed by the time you make it in, Mia and Lily insisting they needed you there so here you were. You knew the hockey guys would be here, it was after all their fundraiser, Logan is at the entrance when you arrive "Hey you came" He looks surprised about your presence.

"Yep" You nod "Here I am"

The air is only awkward for a few seconds before your savior, Beau Maxwell, steals you away with a quick comment at Logan and soon enough he has you at the bar with a drink in hand.

"Hey!" Hannah greets you, you haven't seen her since before thanksgiving either and although she is, unknowingly, the reason why you and Logan fell out, there's not a single cell in your bone that resents her "Great party right?"

"It always is" You nod with a smile "Although I kinda like this venue better than the usual one"

Hannah curtsies "Thank you, all my idea. Have you met Allie?"

You nod and wave at Allie who's behind the bar "Yeah, hi"

"Hey" She smiles back but then her eyes track someone behind you. You turn to see who it is and your mouth falls agape when you find Dean walking by, a smirk on his face as he squeezes your waist and continues in. You look back at Allie who looks exactly like someone who's been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing "I-"

You chuckle and shake your head letting her know she doesn't need to give you any explanation, thankfully for her Hannah had been too distracted with the band on stage to notice.

"Give it up for after hours everybody" Dean says once he's up on stage "And a big round of applause to my buddy John Logan for putting on this killer event" You clap alongside everyone, for all his faults John Logan really cares about the Little Canes and has always pulled through for them "Look at him, doesn't get any more good looking than that. And he's single ladies" The crowd of girls around the room cheer, you chug your drink.

Allie gives you a look sliding another drink in front of you before going back to paying her full undivided attention to Dean "I thought you and Logan were…" Hannah says confused.

"Nope" You reply taking your drink and walking away to find either Mia and Lily or Beau.

"Ugh look at him" You grumble staring at Logan's smile as he talks to Hannah, you're now a few drinks in and your filter is running thin "Like her boyfriend is not his best friend who also happens to be 5 steps away lik get a grip dude"

Mia and Lily chuckle, you've found yourself in the middle of them while each of them has their boyfriend with them, luckily for you, because as upset as you are you don't want Logan's crush on Hannah being public knowlege, the guys are too busy engrossed on a conversation about how awful their season is going.

"I think" Lily says "You need a little distraction"

"Mhm" Mia agrees scoping the crowd out "How about… him?" She points at a brunette guy.

"Too complicated, he's on the hockey team" You tell them.

"That would just make things more interesting" You shake your head "Fine, no athletes then" She thinks about it for a few more seconds "How do you feel about artists"

You look the way she is, her gaze locked onto Justin Kohl "That… I might consider" The girls giggle next to you.

You do end up talking to Justin once his set is done and find yourself entertained enough to consider leaving with him. Key word: consider because when you are getting your coat while he waits by the door to join him Logan stops you.

"Hey can we talk?" He grabs your arm, soft enough to not hurt you but strong enough so you can't just slip away.

"Uh I gotta go" You say "Someone's waiting for me"

"What- I mean, what happened?" You give him a raised brow "We don't even talk anymore and I just need you to help me understand what happened"

"Logan come on, you're not that dumb" The dumb comment doesn't affect him but you calling him Logan makes him recoil. You never call him Logan, it's always Lo or John.

"Please" He says "I- I thought we were good" You scoff "What?"

"You're in love with your best friend's girlfriend Logan" You deadpan, if you had had one less drink tonight you probably wouldn't have said anything, but here you are.

"What? No I'm not" He argues.

"Yes you are!" You tell him "And honestly? That's a problem for you and them because you and I weren't even together"

"Don't say that" He shakes his head.

"Don't say what? It's the truth. We had fun while it lasted but now you clearly have your sights set on someone else and I think that's something you really have to deal with soon because it's not fair for anyone" You look at him for a few seconds, waiting for your words to sink in and then you say goodbye and walk away no longer in the mood to hook up with Justin.

It takes Hannah and Garret to breakup, fighting and then making amends with Garrett and Hannah and Garrett getting back together for Logan to start to accept his feelings, and once again, he hates himself for it. You were right the night of the fundraiser, this crush he had on hannah wasn't fair to anyone.

"Okay no, this is ridiculous and we need to talk" Hannah stops him as he tries leaving the kitchen as soon as she entered it even though he was halfway through making a sandwich. Something he'd been doing for weeks, avoiding her at all costs "Garrett said to ignore it, that it would eventualy go away, but I can't keep doing this"

"Wellsy I don't know what you're talking about" He tries to lie.

"Stop that!" She points at him with that scary authority the guys had come to know and fear "Do you have a thing for me?"

"Well, this has been fun, but I think I'll go upstairs and kill myself now" He says attempting to walk away but her voice stops him.

"Sit down" He does so because although Hannah is comparably smaller to him, she's scary.

"There's no point talking about this Wellsy I think we both know what the answer to your question is" He sighs.

"Just… answer it"

"Fine" He huffs "Yes I have a thing for you"

"Why?" She asks after a few moments of silence that felt like hours to him.

"I- What?"

"I'm so not your type and we both know it" She lets out.

"You don't know that" He accuses.

"Oh yeah? Prove it, what is it that makes you have a thing for me?"

"I'm tired of the parties and hookups and hopping from girl to girl, you made me realize that, you with your movie nights full of cuddles and cheering at our games and cooking dinner and the looks you give Garrett-" She snorts then interrupting his rant "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you're not hearing yourself, Logan… you don't want me, you want my relationship" Hannah tells him.

"I'm not into polygamy" He defends.

"No thats… thats not what I'm saying you idiot" She sits next to him "You say you're tired of hookups and hopping from girl to girl but tell me, how many girls have you slept with this year?" He thinks about it and the answer is easy, one, you're the only one he's slep with in over a year "You want cuddles and movie nights and someone cheering for you at your games and someone to cook you dinner and give you loving looks well I'm sorry to break it up to you pal but you had all that already" The 'pal' should've hurt but it just gets lost in the middle of the rest of the words as Logan realizes the truth in Hannah's words "Logan… you had the girl and you let her go and for the longest time I kept wondering why because it made no sense and here it is, the reason actually makes no sense"

"Shit" He cursed dropping his head onto the counter.

"Yeah, shit" The girl patted his back.

"Wellsy did you get lost on your way to the popcorn? Because- oh what happened?"Garrett entered the room.

"Logan here just realized he's been a bit of an idiot" Hannah explains and although he can't see them, Logan knows the couple is communicating with stares.

"Oh" Garrett lets out "Is this about…"

"Yeah"

"I've lost her haven't I?" Logan mumbles looking up to his friends.

"Uhhh" Garrett looks at Hannah for help.

"Noooo" But her tone doesn't sound sure "I mean… surely there's something we can come up with to help you get her back"

Logan groans and drops his head once more.

"Woah, what's with all the somber in here?" Dean walks in with Tucker trailing behind.

"Girl trouble" Garret lets out.

"Oh shit, finally got your head out of your ass huh?" The blonde slaps Logan on the back making him jump up.

"Dude" Tucker scolds him "Okay so… what are we doing? How are you fixing this?"

"I don't know" Logan admits.

"Right" Dean nods and pulls out a notepad and pen from one of the drawers "Operation GLGB starts now"

"GLGB?" Tucker questions.

"Get Logan's Girl back" Dean says in a 'duh' tone.

"You could've just said that" Garret argues.

"Well yeah but Logan here is always making up these terms so I thought it was fitting" The blonde counters.

"Okay whatever you wanna call it just… anyone has any ideas?" Hannah stops the argument before it gets too far.

It takes the group two whole weeks to come up with a plan and execute it.

"Beau I swear to God" You complained, Beau had come to your dorm earlier and dragged you out with no reason even when you complained you were working on an essay "If I don't get to finish my essay because of you I will cut your season short"

"You'd be doing me a favor honestly" He grumbles "Team's still doing so shit"

"Maybe because you spend your free time dragging girls out of their dorms instead of practicing" You point out sarcastically.

"Usually I don't have to drag them, they come on their own"

"Yeah cause you don't know how to get them there" You tease.

"Oh you know damn well I can" He smiles back.

"Ew no" You make a face, you'd rather leave those days in freshman year.

"Anyways, wait here" You're standing under a big tree in the middle of campus where the block party is usually held.

"Why?" You question.

"Just… stay" He pleads.

"Woof" You retort he chuckles and jogs away.

You sigh looking around, there's nothing Beau could be remotely interested in here, just people walking to and from classes and or dorms which your friend tends to stay away from as much as possible.

"Hey" You hear that familiar voice behind you, you don't turn, instead you're planning an escape that he doesn't let you complete as he stands in front of you.

"Hi"

"I'm sorry" He lets out "About everything, and I know you don't want to listen to me but please just hear me out"

"I can't" You try to say "I have an essay I need to finish, I'm just waiting for-"

"Beau" He interrupts you "Yeah, I know, I needed someone to lure you out of your dorm" You scoff running your hands through your hair "Please don't go just… just let me get this out and if you decide you want nothing more to do with me I promise I'll never bother you again"

"Two minutes" He nods.

"This is where I saw you for the first time, block party, freshman year, you were standing right here on your own" He motions to the spot you're standing in now "There were fairy lights on the tree and they glowed all around you like a halo. Garrett caught me staring, he told me to make a move, and I did, and honestly? I thought the most I was getting out of it would be a hookup but then we started talking and I knew that I needed you to be in my life as more than that"

"We didn't hook up in freshman year" You tell him "We barely spoke after that"

"True" He nods "Because you had that thing going on with Beau, and Beau was Dean's best friend and I didn't want to cause any drama within the team. But then one night we were out and he mentioned you two were just friends and I thought okay this is it, this is my chance" The two minutes are close to being over but you don't mention it "Sophomore year I realized no other girl made me feel the way you did, I stopped hooking up with random girls, I had no one night stands and I found myself looking for you in every room I walked into. And I've been the biggest idiot, I got in my head, I have a million things going on right now and the only good ones are you and hockey, in that order" He points at you "You and then hockey, but I let myself get wrapped up on the mentality of the other guys, the one where I couldn't possibly have a girlfriend because that meant leaving hockey behind"

In the entire time you've known John Logan you've never known him to be someone who can stand still for too long, a hockey player trait probably because all the guys are the same, but through this entire exchange he's stood right in front of you staring you in the eye as if he will spook you if he moves too much, the distance between you is a couple steps and it's probably the furthest he's stood since the night you met right here.

"But then, Garrett stated dating Hannah, Garrett Graham, the guy whose determination when it comes to hockey is so strong he's shaped his entire world around the sport, got a girlfriend, and he was doing great, he was thriving, he was happy. And seeing him like that made me jealous because I wanted that, I wanted to have the happy relationship and I confused that with wanting Hannah" He takes one step then, so small it makes nothing to decrease the distance "But I didn't, I didn't want Hannah, and I realized it too late. I realized that I had all that, I had it all with you I was just too much of a coward to call it what it was"

"Lo-" He cuts you off.

"Please" You've never seen him this broken "Please don't call me by my last name, I can't stand you calling me Logan"

You nod "John I don't know if I can just… move on from all this like it was nothing. We were together for over a year and never made it official, and it was okay back then because it was what we both wanted, but I'm not sure that's what I want anymore"

"But-" You put your hand out stopping him.

"I hear what you're saying, but what's to say we get back together and you realize it really is not what you wanted?"

"It is" He's basically pr¡leading my now, sure he said if you wanted to he would dissapear from your life, but he's sure as hell not going to do it without putting up a fight first "I know it is because we already had it and I loved it" He stops then and something flashes in his face, recognition "I love you"

Your eyes widen "Lo"

"I do, I love you" He chuckles shaking his head and gone is the man who stood still for so long because he's now cut down the distance and standing so close he's blocking your view of anyone else "I love going to parties and having you by my side the entire time, I love going to sleep with you in my arms and waking up to you basically on top of me, I love late nights snacking on Tuck's leftovers and I love seeing you in the stands at my games, I love you"

You're smiling now because you can tell he's being serious.

"I never had a crush on Hannah, baby you're the only one I've wanted so please, please cut me out of my misery and say you'll be mine again" His brown eyes bore into yours and you can't help but to pull him down by the neck and kiss him.

"Only if we do this right" You say once you separate, not that he let you go far, his hands are on your waist pulling you flushed against him and his forehead is on yours "No more situationship or casual or whatever it was"

He nods "It was never casual" And he pulls you in for another kiss.

You break out of the kiss when you hear your friends cheering behind you.

"Hell yeah I did that motherfuckers!" Beau exclaims clapping loudly.

fainting had always been a little bit inconvenient.

not dramatic enough to be cinematic, not predictable enough to properly prepare for - just inconvenient in the kind of way that slowly embeds itself into every aspect of your life until you stop noticing how abnormal it actually is. It all started in high school, the first time it happened was arguably horrifying- 3rd period math class, and your crush had just offered you a pen and flashed you a crooked smile. Your heart raced, like a hummingbird wild and erratic and before you knew it, one minute you were bashfully giggling at his jokes about quadratic equations- the next you were face first in your notebook. The doctors told you Vasovagal Syncope, which in your opinion sounded like a hard metal rock band, but you took their blood pressure medicines from that day onwards. 

Over time, you learnt how to live with it. Sometimes it was manageable. Sometimes it was just dizziness and blurry vision making you sit down on the nearest surface before your body decided to humble you publicly. Sometimes it was waking up to panicked faces hovering over you while you tried to convince everyone around you that no, seriously, this happened all the time.

which, unfortunately, was true.

Allie and Hannah learned the quickest, being roommates would do that to you. The boys learned soon after. By junior year, there was practically a system in place for it - water bottles shoved into your hands, someone grabbing your bag before you hit the floor, Garrett texting Logan before you were even fully conscious again.

Logan, however, never quite adjusted to it the way everyone else did.

he tried to.

God, he tried.

but there was something uniquely horrifying about loving someone whose body could go slack in your arms without warning. Something deeply unsettling about the way you always laughed it off afterwards, brushing it aside with flushed cheeks and a quiet, "I'm okay,” while his heart was still somewhere near his throat.

because to you, fainting was normal.

to John Logan, it never would be.

But here are the two times he dealt with it..somewhat normally. And the one time he didn’t

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝟏

The library at Briar had a very specific kind of silence.

Not actual silence - that would’ve been impossible considering half the student population seemed physically incapable of existing without aggressively whispering every thought that crossed their mind - but the sort of hushed atmosphere that made every dropped pen sound like a gunshot.

You were currently trying very hard not to contribute to that atmosphere by murdering John Logan with a highlighter.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Logan muttered from across the table, long legs nudging yours beneath it.

You didn’t look up from your notes, underlining a sentence in your physiology textbook hard enough to nearly tear the page. “Because,” You whispered sharply, “you’ve tapped your foot against mine for the last fifteen minutes.”

“That’s because my feet are freezing.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It became my problem when you shoved your icy ass converse under my legs.”

A snort came from beside you. Hannah quickly disguised it as a cough when you glared at her over your laptop screen.

Across from her, Garrett looked deeply unbothered by the entire interaction, lazily flipping a page in his philosophy textbook while Hannah slowly collapsed into silent laughter against his shoulder.

“You two are disgusting,” Allie informed you quietly from the end of the table.

You blinked. “We’re literally studying.”

Logan hummed, not even pretending to pay attention to the stats worksheet in front of him anymore, “Yeah baby, real filthy behaviour.”

Heat crawled up your neck instantly.

The word baby wasn’t exactly new. Logan had been throwing it around for months now, slipping it into conversations with such casual ease that you’d stopped reacting outwardly somewhere around week three, despite the fact every single time still felt like someone plugging your nervous system directly into a live wire.

“You’re staring again,” You muttered.

“I’m allowed to stare at my girlfriend.”

Allie gagged dramatically.

“Oh my god,” She whispered loudly, “he’s gotten even more annoying.”

“Impossible,” Hannah replied solemnly.

Garrett barely glanced up from his book. “Give it a week. They’ll become one organism.”

“We already basically are,” Logan said casually.

You finally looked up at him then.

That was the problem with Logan. The reason you’d fallen for him so spectacularly despite your better judgement.

He said things like that so easily. Like it was obvious.

obviously he’d started keeping protein bars in his backpack because you forgot to eat when you were stressed. obviously he waited outside your exam halls even when he had practice. obviously your legs ended up over his lap every time you sat together for longer than ten minutes.

Your chest tightened softly.

And because apparently the universe enjoyed humiliating you whenever you got too emotionally comfortable, your vision blurred slightly at the exact same moment.

You frowned. That was… inconvenient timing.

The words on your laptop screen swam for half a second before sharpening again. Your heartbeat fluttered unpleasantly.

Not enough to panic over yet. You subtly shifted in your seat, rolling your neck and readjusting your posture- hoping to god that it would be enough, trying to ignore the familiar lightheadedness curling at the edges of your body.

“Hey.”

Logan’s voice dropped quieter instantly.

You looked over.

His brows had pulled together slightly, eyes scanning your face with terrifying precision.

“How long?” He asked softly.

Damn him.

Most people didn’t notice until you were actively halfway unconscious.

“I’m okay,” You whispered automatically.

A look crossed his face. Because he knew that tone. Knew what it meant when you said I’m okay in that specific careful voice. Your boyfriend leaned back slightly in his chair, completely ignoring the fact that Garrett was now openly watching the interaction over the top of his textbook.

“When was the last time you ate?”

You blinked once.

Logan sighed immediately. “Baby.”

“I had coffee?”

Allie dropped her pen onto the table. “Oh my god.”

“You can’t survive on caffeine and academic validation,” Hannah hissed.

“I literally can though.”

“No,” Logan said flatly, “you literally cannot. That’s the whole issue.”

Despite yourself, you laughed quietly.

Wrong decision.

The movement sent dizziness crashing through you harder this time, your stomach dipping sharply as black spots burst across your vision. Logan was moving before you could even process it properly. One second you were upright, the next his hand was wrapped around your wrist while the other steadied your shoulder.

“Hey,” He said immediately, voice calm enough that someone who didn’t know him wouldn’t notice the tension underneath it, “look at me.”

Your body felt frustratingly floaty all of a sudden.

“I’m fine,” You murmured weakly.

“Yeah, sweetheart, that sentence is losing credibility.”

Garrett was already standing.

“I’ll get water.”

Hannah reached for your bag without needing to ask while Allie shoved your laptop aside to make room.

The horrifying thing was how practised everyone looked doing it.

Like this had become routine.

Which, unfortunately, it kind of had.

“I hate all of you,” You mumbled as Logan carefully crouched in front of your chair.

“You love us deeply,” Allie corrected.

“Stockholm syndrome maybe.”

“You literally chose to date one of them,” Hannah pointed out.

“That weakens your argument significantly,” Garrett called over his shoulder.

Logan ignored all of them.

His thumb pressed lightly against your pulse point while he watched your face with that same concentrated expression he got before hockey games. Like he could somehow prevent your body from betraying you if he paid enough attention.

Your chest ached.

“Hey,” You whispered softly once your vision finally started stabilising again.

Logan looked up immediately.

You reached out without thinking, fingers brushing against the crease between his eyebrows. The tension sitting there.

“I’m okay.”

He closed his eyes for half a second. Then he turned his head slightly and pressed a quick kiss into the centre of your palm before standing back up.

The library collectively chose that exact moment to become aware of the fact that the hockey team’s second line centre was looking at you like you personally held his heart hostage.

“Oh my god,” Allie whispered dramatically.

Hannah looked emotional.

Garrett looked disgusted.

“Suddenly we’re all trapped in a Nicholas Sparks novel,” he muttered.

Logan didn’t even glance away from you.

“Shut up,” He said absentmindedly, still watching your face carefully, “she almost passed out.”

“I did not almost pass out.”

“That’s not medically valid.” Logan shot.

You flicked his forehead, “You’re not medically valid,” 

You stared at him for two seconds before bursting into startled laughter.

And just like that, some of the fear eased out of his shoulders.

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝟐

The thing about the hockey house was that it never really felt like anyone was visiting it.

It felt like everyone was always a part of this little ecosystem, even if half of them technically still had their own places and the other half only owned two plates and a concerning number of energy drinks that nobody could fully account for.

Tonight was one of those nights where everything blurred into something almost domestic in a way you loved. Garrett and Hannah were folded into each other on the armchair in the corner, Hannah scrolling absently while Garrett spoke over her shoulder in low, easy comments about something on his screen that she kept pretending not to care about but clearly did. 

Dean and Allie were on the floor near the coffee table, Allie leaning against him in that casual way that somehow always ended with her stealing his hoodies and Dean acting like he was personally offended by affection while still adjusting her position when she shifted too much.

And then there was Tucker, occupying the remaining space , talking at a volume that suggested he had forgotten walls existed.

You were on the couch.

Logan was on the couch too, your legs resting across his lap, your head resting on the back of the couch. His hand had found your ankle at some point during the evening and had simply stayed there, like it had decided that was where it belonged and saw no reason to reconsider.

“Have you eaten today?,” Logan murmured into your ear, not looking up from his phone.

You didn’t look away from the conversation Dean was having with Allie about whether cereal could be classified as a personality trait. “Hmm?”

“Did you eat today baby?” He dropped his phone into his lap and caressed your hair.

“I think so.”

A pause.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It does if you really think about it.”

Hannah glanced over from the armchair. “She’s lying.”

“I am not lying.”

Garrett didn’t look up. “You had toast and emotional distress.”

“I had toast and a very normal amount of stress.”

Logan’s thumb pressed lightly against your ankle once, absent and automatic, but his attention had shifted to you properly now. Not fully concerned yet, but already recalibrating the room around your answer the way he always did when he thought something might be off.

“Baby,” he said quietly, like it was a habit more than a warning.

You finally turned your head slightly toward him. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything.”

“You’re absolutely starting something.”

Across the room, Allie made a sound of exaggerated disgust without even looking up. “I can feel the health lecture forming.”

Dean nodded. “It’s in the air.”

Logan ignored them completely. “You said you had toast this morning.”

“I did.”

“And then what.”

You hesitated.

Which was apparently answered enough.

Hannah sighed. “Oh my god.”

“I had coffee,” you admitted finally, because there was no point pretending anymore.

Garrett closed his eyes briefly like he was praying for patience. “That’s not food.”

“It has beans in it.”

“That’s not how nutrition works,” Logan said, though his voice was still calm, still even, like he was trying very hard not to make it into a bigger thing than it already was.

You shifted your legs slightly on his lap, rolling your eyes. “You’re all obsessed with me.”

“Yes,” Allie said immediately.

“That’s not-”

“Yes,” Dean repeated, “we are.”

You opened your mouth to concede and hop to the kitchen, go grab whatever tucker had made and stored in the fridge, but the words didn’t come out as smoothly as they should have.

It wasn’t immediate. It never was, much to your annoyance. It was subtle in the way your body always was about these things, like it preferred to give you enough time to be pissed before it betrayed you properly.

A slight softening at the edges of your vision first, like the room had decided to lose definition without informing you. The low hum of conversation didn’t change, but it felt slightly further away, like you were listening to it through water.

You frowned. This was inconvenient.

You shifted your weight on the couch instinctively, trying to ground yourself without drawing attention to it, but Logan noticed anyway. Of course he did.

His hand tightened slightly around your ankle.

“You good?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded automatically. “Yea,” pushing off the sofa, hoping the movement would reboot your brain,”... yeah im fine.”

It came out too fast. Logan’s expression changed imperceptibly, the way it always did when he didn’t believe you but hadn’t yet decided whether to challenge it in front of everyone.

“Hey,” he said again, softer, his hand wrapped around your wrist- following you away from your seat.

You tried to laugh it off, but it didn’t quite land properly even in your own ears. “I’m finally listening to you guys, just going to grab something to eat.”

You pushed yourself to step away.

That was when it hit properly. Your body simply decided that it was no longer participating in the conversation. The room loosened, like the edges stopped agreeing with each other and in between the gaps your brain filled with black spots.

You reached out without thinking, fingers brushing the back of the couch as your knees went weak in a way that didn’t feel like anything at first, until it did.

“Hey-”

Logan’s voice cut through immediately, sharper now, closer than it had been a second ago, but it was already too late for clarity.

There was so much movement all at once.

Someone swearing.

A water bottle being cracked open.

The shuffling of sneakers and socks against the floor.

Coming back was always the worst part.

Because there was always a moment where you could hear everything before you could properly exist inside it again. Voices layered over each other, closer this time, less casual.

“I’ve got her,” Logan’s voice said, low and controlled in a way that didn’t quite match the tension underneath it.

“She’s out cold?” Dean asked, like he was trying not to panic but also deeply failing.

“She’s not- don’t say it like that,” Allie snapped immediately.

“Water,” Garrett said somewhere to the side, already moving.

And then your vision finally returned in pieces.

Ceiling first.

Then faces.

Then Logan.

He was closest.

Crouched in front of you, one hand steadying your shoulder, the other still holding your wrist like he hadn’t fully decided whether letting go was allowed yet. His expression wasn’t dramatic in the way people expected panic to be.

He was focussed on you, in a way that made your chest tighten before you even fully remembered why. You blinked slowly.

“Oh,” you muttered. “That was annoying.”

Relief flickered across Allie’s face instantly. “She’s alive.”

“Barely,” Dean said.

“I heard that,” you murmured.

Logan didn’t smile, “you scared me,” he said finally. You swallowed, trying to sit up, but his hand immediately steadied you again, firmer now.

“Don’t,” he said softly.

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically, accepting the water from garrett with a smile, you reach over to your bag and search for an energy bar. You hated the nutty torture snacks, but Logan insisted on you carrying them around for emergencies.

Everyone around you had relaxed, Hannah, Garrett and Tucker went to the kitchen, animatedly chatting about dinner whereas Allie and Dean went back to their places on the floor, already scrolling through her phone. 

Logan hadn’t moved, his fingers drumming against your knee. Your fingers moved without thinking, brushing lightly against his sleeve.

“I’m okay,” you said again, softer this time, like it might mean something more if you said it gently enough.

Logan exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking briefly shut like he was trying to steady something in himself. He shook his head, as if the movie had been unpaused and he had momentarily lost the plot. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝟑

Logan got the message in the middle of something he would not later be able to reconstruct properly, not because it wasn’t important, but because everything that happened immediately after replaced it so completely that the original context never stood a chance of surviving in his memory.

His phone buzzed incessantly on his desk breaking his concentration from whatever his professor was droning about ,to the group chat notifications exploding on his phone screen. It was Hannah’s name first, then Garrett’s, then Allie’s, all stacked on top of each other in a way  that made him unlock his phone and scroll through hurriedly. 

you fainted. properly. you're awake now. come back.

He read it once without reacting in any visible way, which was what made it worse in hindsight, everything else that he had been doing was irrelevant, as though the idea of continuing it belonged to someone else entirely, and he was no longer that person.

By the time he got back to the house, his hoodie was half-zipped because he had started putting it on properly and then stopped halfway through, his cap still backwards and slightly uneven like he had forgotten it was there at all and his hair underneath it flattened in places that suggested his hand had been through it more times than he had noticed.

Logan shut off his ignition and ran up the stairs, two at a time until he was bursting through the front door- his bag hanging from one shoulder as he scanned the scene in front of him. Garrett stood near the kitchen counter with a glass of water he had clearly forgotten to drink from, Hannah sat on the couch angled slightly forward in a posture that suggested she had not yet decided whether she was allowed to relax, Allie hovered somewhere between the hallway and the living room in a way that made it clear she had been going back and forth between checking on you and giving you space, and Dean existed in that familiar state of pretending not to be paying attention while absolutely paying attention.

And you were on the couch. Your eyes were open but not fully anchored yet, blinking slowly in that delayed way that made it clear your body was still catching up to where you were. Your shoulders were slightly hunched forward as if you were trying to find the correct posture for being awake again and your hands were loosely folded in your lap before you noticed him properly.

The moment you did, everything in you shifted in a way that was immediate and familiar, like muscle memory rather than thought. You sat up, twisting over the couch to meet his eyes and smile with your hand outstretched- that was when the collective inhale happened, like even the house was waiting to see what he would do.

His eyes stayed on you without breaking, taking in the fact that you were sitting there, awake, conscious, present, and yet his brain still hadn’t stopped running like a hamster on a wheel, rotating again and again through all the scenarios he had plagued himself with on the drive over- a broken movie reel that fluttered between bad, worse and catastrophic.

You saw him, the way his eyes darted all over your face, how his hand was tightening and loosening against his bag strap. 

“Hey,” you said, your voice slightly rough, but it jumpstarted him to begin slowly approaching you, like a wounded animal. Your first instinct whenever he looked like that, as if you could smooth the edges of his expression back into something manageable by making yourself smaller within it, which was something you did without hesitation, like it was part of a pattern you had both already agreed to without ever discussing it.

He let you. 

Let you intertwine your fingers with him and pull him closer next to you. Let you kiss his hands, then knuckles and then the side of his wrist. He let you ground him before he could process anything.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, already aware of how the room was still holding itself slightly tense, and your voice tilted into something apologetic without fully meaning to, “I’m sorry guys, I must not have realised how stressed I was. I didn’t mean to scare anyone, I just didn’t eat properly and I got a bit dizzy and I didn’t realise it would turn into anything, it won’t happen again, I promise.”

Around you, the room began to release itself in pieces.

Garrett exhaled and shifted his weight like he had been waiting for permission to stop bracing, Hannah leaned back into the couch again as her shoulders loosened, Allie moved a step closer to you and immediately started talking in that half-joking, half-relieved tone about electrolytes and how she was “putting you on a schedule if this ever happens again,” and Dean, finally, contributed something about how he shouldn’t have asked about how your paper went, and he’ll let you run him over with his car to relieve stress next time, which was unhelpful but normal in a way that helped everyone else reset.

You leaned into Logan without thinking, still holding his hand, your body molding into his as you rubbed circles on his knuckles and pressed your hand into his thigh

You looked up at him, already softer, already slipping back into the version of the evening where everything was normal again. But what you couldn’t see was the way his emotions swirled thunderously in his mind, how he couldn’t begin to relax like everyone else did- in fact he was baffled they were so normal so quickly. He barely heard you ask about his class, or notice when you peppered soft kisses to his jaw and say that you missed him- how boring it was when he wasn’t there. As though the structure of his day mattered more than anything.

He tried to answer at first, his words bubbling to the tip of his tongue, but it didn’t take long for him to realise they wouldn’t come out in a smooth, caramelised way that would flow into the calm atmosphere of the room. He gently let go of your hand, in a decisive way that made you furrow your brows and scan his face.

“Logan?” you said, quieter now, not fully alarmed but already sensing the direction this was going.

He rubbed his hands together, throat working thickly as his adams apple bobbed. Everyone else had noticed the shift, conversations slowed. Dean stopped mid-sentence. Allie’s expression changed slightly as she looked between the two of you. Hannah went still in a way that suggested she was no longer sure whether to intervene or wait.

Logan turned to you, his hair falling in specks along his forehead, “I need a minute.” He got up and went upstairs, footsteps heavy along the ceiling of where you all stayed frozen until his bedroom door clicked closed; you blinked a few times, looking at your friends who met you with confused, concerned shrugs and shakes of their heads.

Your expression tightened and you pushed yourself up to follow him, ignoring whatever advice your friends were half-heartedly giving you. 

When the door creaked open under your hand, you found him sitting on the edge of his bed, hands braced on his knees and holding his head, as though he needed something solid to hold the weight of his thoughts. His cap lay discarded on the floor, shoulders slightly lifted in tension that he was not releasing, and when you entered the doorway he did not look immediately, as if he already knew what would happen if he looked at you too quickly.

When he did meet your eyes, it was not anger that you saw first, but something more difficult to place because it did not sit cleanly in any single emotion. It looked like a strain held in place for too long.

“You shouldn’t apologise like that,” he said, and you frowned slightly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. Trapping whatever conversation you were about to have within these four walls.

“I wasn’t- I just didn’t want everyone worrying,” you said, still trying to smooth it over in the same way you had in the other room, still trying to keep it within something manageable. The bedframe creaked under you, as if warning you from crossing your legs and sinking into this situation.

But he shook his head once, not dismissive but overwhelmed, and when he spoke again his voice had shifted into something quieter but sharper at the edges, “You were apologising for being unconscious.”

That made you stop, properly stop, because it didn’t match the version of the moment you had been holding onto, and he saw that in your face immediately.

“I wasn’t here,” he said, and there was something in the way he said it that made it clear that time had not been abstract for him in the same way it was for you. “You were just gone, and I found out from my phone blowing up, messages that had sat there for god knows how long because…” He grit his teeth, “I just had to turn it on silent for class. And I get back to everyone telling me it was fine, that you’re fine, like that changes anything.”

You try to re-anchor him in proximity the same way you always did, your hand finding his again, your voice softening as you said, “You can’t always be there Logan, I don’t want you to always be on edge. I’m okay.”

But when he looked at you this time, there was something in his expression that did not settle with that reassurance.

“I know,” he said quietly, and it came out with more restraint than anything he had said earlier, like it was something he had been holding back for a long time and could no longer keep contained in the same shape. “I just don’t know how to stop thinking about what it looked like when you weren’t.”

You cup his cheek, turning him towards you, “I’m right here baby,” You kiss him, imprinting the taste of you onto his mouth, the feel of your lips together as a way to tell him that you’re still there with him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan held your wrists, his fingers shaking against your skin, “I..” his eyes were wide, pupils flicking between yours, “I never know when you aren’t going to be here.”

He tugged at your hands and you let him, nails digging into the bedsheet uselessly next to you. Your breath caught in your throat, face quaking and crumbling at the edges, eyelashes fluttering- beating away the bubbling tears forming on your lashline. 

“I think I’ll sleep at the dorm tonight,” you said eventually, and your voice was softer than it had been before, tired in a way that didn’t fully belong to the moment.

Logan looked up at that, but he didn’t stop you, just watched with a shattered look in his eyes, his lips pursed and pressed against his hands that were clasped together. You collected your things as seamlessly as possible, and given that you’d stayed over for the entire weekend, it was proving to be harder than you thought. But you huffed and puffed with each new article that got shoved into the shoulder bag until the room looked as if you’d never stepped foot in there. 

You’d already begun to calculate how many trips it would take to empty out the clothes from his dresser and toiletries from his bathroom. 

Logan still hadn’t said anything, his eyes widening by a fraction when he realised just how much you had erased from his space, but he stayed silent when your fingers hesitated against the door handle and didn’t dare to say anything when you turned back to him- eyes begging him to stop you, to cradle you in his arms and work it out. He ignored it all, looking through you and barely flinching when you shut the door harder than necessary. 

You adjusted your bag strap over your shoulder with careful hands, stilling when you realised everyone was staring at you as you emerged from the stairwell, “I’m heading home guys..” 

Your throat tightened but you shook your head and forced a smile onto your face, it felt plasticy and fake to force the expression over your eyebrows that tightened together and nose that burned with each deep breath you took. 

You added lightly, “I’ve got that test tomorrow anyway, and it’s probably better if I just- yeah. I’ll head back.”

Allie and Hannah both turned slightly, breaking out of the pitying trance when you grabbed your keys and headed for the door. 

Neither of them said anything at first, because there was a specific kind of silence that settles when two people are trying very hard to behave like nothing irreversible has happened only a floor above them.

“Okay,” Allie said finally, careful but not pushing, “Text us when you get in?”

You nodded quickly.

“Yeah, of course.”

Hannah’s eyes lingered on you a little longer, not interrogating, just observing, like she was storing away the way you were holding yourself more tightly than usual, the way Logan wasn’t following you to the door, barely letting you out of his hold with attacks of kisses and whispers in your ear. 

But neither of them asked.

Because to everyone else in the house, it still looked like something that could be explained away by stress and timing and too much noise and not enough food.

You said goodbye in a way that was deliberately light, stepping out with your usual version of composure stitched back together over something slightly less stable underneath it.

Back in the living room, the energy eventually returned in fragments, Logan had rejoined the group nearly an hour after the girls had left. 

Allie and Hannah left together not long after you, mumbled goodbyes were exchanged and worried whispers about Logan along with promises to update them over text had gotten them out the door, and back to you .

And once the door closed behind them, the house settled into a quieter version of itself.

Dean was the first to fully break the tension, dropping onto the couch with the kind of exaggerated movement that only made sense when someone was actively trying to remind a room how normal they were allowed to be. Tucker followed soon after, already halfway into a joke about how “Briar parties are medically unsafe environments” that no one really responded to but still helped reset the tone anyway.

Logan stayed silent for a moment too long in the doorway before eventually sitting down on the arm of the couch, not fully joining the group, just occupying space near it without integrating into it. The others kept talking for a while, but their volume softened slightly in the way it does when people unconsciously recognise that something heavier is still present in the room.

Eventually, Dean stretched and yawned in an overly theatrical way.

“Right,” he said, pushing himself up. “I’m calling it before I start thinking about my own mortality again.”

Tucker followed immediately, clapping Logan on the shoulder on his way past like nothing meaningful had just been discussed at all. “Don’t overthink it, man,” he added lightly, already heading upstairs. “She’s been doing that since high school apparently. She’s fine.”

Garrett didn’t follow them right away.

Logan just exhaled once, slow, like something had tightened in his chest at the phrasing.

Once the footsteps disappeared upstairs and the house settled properly, Garrett stayed behind in the spot next to Logan, leaning against the couch and pretended not to be boring holes into the side of his best friend's face. Logan was still on the arm, staring somewhere that wasn’t really the room.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

“I can’t imagine it,” Garrett broke the silence, voice quieter now, stripped of the earlier group energy, “loving someone and knowing that at any point they might just not respond.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly at that, but he didn’t interrupt.

Garrett looked down at his hands briefly before continuing, “I know everyone’s saying she’s used to it and it’s normal for her or whatever, but… that’s not really the part that sticks, is it?”

That landed differently.

Logan looked down finally, his hands loosely clasped together, and when he spoke his voice came out lower than before, less controlled in the way it had been earlier.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, and there was no performance left in it now, no attempt to hold anything in place. “I love her so much it actually hurts, and I can’t… I can’t keep doing that thing where I pretend I’m okay when she’s-”

He stopped. Swallowed slightly and pressed his fingers to his eyes. Logan exhaled again, slower this time, like the words were physically difficult to keep forming.

“But I also can’t go on like this,” he finished, quieter.

That silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable in the way earlier ones had been. It was just heavy with the absence of an answer. Garrett nodded once, slowly, like he understood that there wasn’t a clean solution sitting anywhere in reach.

“I think,” Garrett said carefully after a moment, choosing each word like he was placing it somewhere fragile, “it might actually be harder to let her go than it is to keep reminding yourself she wakes up every time.”

Logan turned to Garrett, and nodded slowly- a row of tears fell from his chin and onto the soft cashmere beneath him, “I just don’t know how many times I can do it.”

You sat across from the fire pit in the boys’ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.

Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.

“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.

“That’s what pisses me off the most,” he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. “He had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Usually I respect delusion like that, but that guy’s a fucking disaster.”

You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.

Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him would’ve assumed he’d been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but he’d been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.

Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.

“Dean,” you finally interrupted, tone firm.

He stopped talking immediately.

You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. “It’s okay.”

Dean’s expression flattened instantly. “We have very different definitions of okay.”

His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.

“You should’ve let me talk to him,” he muttered.

“What good would that have done?” You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. “It’s not his fault.”

Dean’s head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. “The fuck does that mean?”

You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.

“I’m lost here,” he scoffed. “Is being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Dean,” you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. “I think I’m the only person who wasn’t surprised by the breakup.”

His brows furrowed.

You shrugged one shoulder lightly. “He just beat me to it.”

“Oh.” The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that.”

He passed the blunt over again.

You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.

“Yeah, well...” You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. “You’ve got other business to worry about.”

Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. “You are my business.” The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. “So start talking.”

He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didn’t. Hell, he’d bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because you’d been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.

You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. “Um…” You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. “I suck at the sex thing.”

Dean’s face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. “Bullshit.”

You laughed softly. “No, seriously. I do.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. “Turns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.”

Dean’s expression changed instantly. Every conversation you’d ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.

“But you told me–”

“I lied.” The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. “I’ve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. “Including mine.”

Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.

“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think sex is really my thing.” Your shoulders lifted. “I like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of it…but everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I just…” You shook your head. “Don’t get there…naturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.”

Dean watched you carefully. “Was it?”

“The sex?” You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. “I think so.” Your lips twitched faintly. “It was good enough to build better stories around afterward.”

Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.

“How about alone?” The question came softly, carefully.

If you didn’t know him so well, you might’ve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.

You shook your head slowly. “That’s why I’m saying it’s not his fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. “It just hasn’t happened yet.” His voice softened further. “Doesn’t mean it never will.”

You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. “It’s definitely not from lack of trying.”

You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.

The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.

Dean still hadn’t looked away from you. “So what now?” he asked finally.

You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought you’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.

Then your lips twitched. “Celibacy.”

The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.

“Think I’d look hot as a nun?” you asked lazily.

“You’d look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,” he replied instantly. “And you’re absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.”

His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.

You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.

“You’re not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldn’t be patient long enough to figure you out.”

You grinned. “He’s six-one.”

Dean scoffed. “He tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, he’s five-eleven.”

Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasn’t there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.

“He was wearing lifts during tryouts,” Dean added smugly. “One bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.”

A laugh escaped you softly.

“If you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbid–”

“You should become a priest,” you interrupted.

Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.” He pointed toward himself loosely. “And that’s assuming I don’t burst into flames the second I walk into a church.” His eyes drifted back to you. “Can I continue now?”

“Yes, Father,” you replied through a chuckle.

Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.

“If you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.” He shrugged dramatically. “I’ll support you. We’ll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.” His mouth twitched. “Though personally, I’d go through withdrawals first.”

“How solidary of you.”

He nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.”

You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything he’d heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.

Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what you’d actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.

Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that must’ve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.

The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.

“Use me,” he blurted out.

Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time. 

“What do you mean?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be your last resort,” he repeated easily, like he’d already thought this through far more than he probably had. “Aren’t you always telling me to make myself useful?”

You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. “Because I’m starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.”

“I hold my weed better than you,” he reminded you smugly.

That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.

“You wanna quit? Fine.” He shrugged. “Quit when you’re actually out of options.”

A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Didn’t realize Six Flags counted as an option.” Your lips twitched faintly. “I hate rollercoasters.”

Dean nodded decisively. “Then I’ll go out of business.”

“You’ll close the park?”

“I’ll shut the whole thing down,” he promised solemnly. “Just so you can ride the teacups.” The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. “Remember when you threw up on the–”

“Yes,” you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. “I remember.”

Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. “You were crying,” he accused through the laughter. “You kept saying your stomach hated you–”

“I was fifteen.”

“And dramatic.” He added. “But so cute…less mouthy too.”

“You held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.”

Dean’s laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then he’d been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. He’d hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.

You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.

It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and Dean…Well, Dean was Dean.

Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadn’t exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.

“You really think that highly of your dick?” you asked finally.

Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. “Nobody said anything about using it.”

That made your eyes snap back to him fully. “And if nothing works?” you asked quieter this time.

The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you weren’t thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.

You genuinely didn’t know how you’d survive losing him too.

Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. “Then we fail,” he decided.

You swallowed.

His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. “Fail with me,” he corrected. “Fail better.” He pointed between you both lazily. “Fail together.”

A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.

You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Dean’s suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.

You didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.

When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.

You slept absurdly well afterward.

A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your ex’s, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.

You ignored every single one and it wasn’t because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.

The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. “Use me,” You nearly groaned into the bowl.

Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book he’d conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably would’ve absorbed more information if you weren’t scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.

The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.

You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someone’s weight.

You recognized the cologne immediately.

“How hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?” you whispered without looking up.

Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.

You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. “You’re not in this class.”

“I see your phone works perfectly fine,” he replied.

The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.

You stood quickly and started gathering your things. “Did you need something, Di Laurentis?” you asked flatly.

Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.

The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.

You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.

“We need to talk.”

You slowed at last before turning toward him. “What we need is space,” you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.

Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.

You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.

“You’ve gone to New York with me enough times to know I don’t need more space,” he pointed out. “But fine.” His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. “What’s going on?”

Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into people’s personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact he’d backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.

You exhaled slowly. “We said stuff last night.”

He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. “Yeah. That’s usually how conversations work.”

“Stuff you might regret,” you clarified.

Dean’s brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. “Regret?” He pointed toward himself loosely. “C’mon. It’s me.”

His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase ‘stuff you might regret’ translated in Dean’s brain to ‘good, she’s not upset’.

“I would’ve said that sober,” he assured you.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.

“You want me to repeat it?” he asked quietly. “Let me help you cum.”

Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. “It might not work,” you reminded him softly.

You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, he’d probably laugh through it, so that wasn’t what scared you.

Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. “What if it does?”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Frustration finally slipped into your voice. “Dean, I don’t want us to get weird.” You shook your head hard once. “I don’t need ‘optimistic Dean’ right now,” you muttered. “I need ‘realistic Dean’, so pull him out of your ass.”

“You already are weird,” Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. “I accepted that years ago.” His grin widened then. “Actually, I encourage it.”

You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.

“Let me try,” he insisted again, the confidence in his voice should’ve irritated you more than it did.

Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just looked…earnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.

You’d spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain you’d still want them too.

Dean remembered everything you said…unfortunately.

You sighed heavily. “We need rules.”

“Fine.” He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.

You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.

“No kissing.”

Dean’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Why?”

“Because!” you hissed. “And if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question the rules.”

His face twisted in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.”

You crossed your arms tighter. “That was different.”

Dean scoffed softly. “We were literally each other’s first kiss.”

Again, he was right. You weren’t just each other’s first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.

Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldn’t spiral into some ‘why didn’t we do this sooner’ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didn’t want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.

“We’re adults now,” you said firmly. “So no kissing.”

Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically. 

“Okay,” he relented…Too easily, which immediately made you suspicious he’d already started planning arguments against it for later.

“I’ve also thought about what you said last night,” you continued carefully. “About Six Flags.”

Dean’s brows lifted.

“And shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,” you explained. “Potentially devastating, honestly.” Your lips twitched slightly. “So you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely don’t care.”

Dean actually looked offended. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. “But no thanks.” He shrugged once. “It makes this more exciting anyway.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. “I’ve got one ride right now and that’s all I need.”

Your face scrunched at his words. “Does weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?”

Dean ignored that completely. “I’m not doing anything with anyone else until we’re done here,” he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.

You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.

The second they moved far enough away, you continued. “Why?”

Dean’s expression softened at the question. “Because I need you comfortable,” he answered simply. “And I need you to trust me more than you already do.”

You groaned. “Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re making this weird.”

He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.

“We don’t even know how long this will take,” you pointed out.

“My fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,” Dean decided easily.

You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.

Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like he’d just confessed to tax fraud.

Your gaze dropped away first.

Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didn’t actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.

Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.

“Can I add rules too?” he asked.

You sighed dramatically. “Sure.”

The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.

“No scheduling things specifically for this,” Dean decided. “If it happens, it happens.”

You blinked once before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. “That’s good. I’ll stress less.”

Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quickly…Except his rule immediately created entirely new problems.

“Uh…” Your steps slowed slightly. “How do you…” You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. “Take it?”

Dean stopped walking altogether. “How do I take what?” he asked carefully. “My coffee?”

You groaned. “No.” Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. “Like…how do you like it?”

Dean’s brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.

You looked away at once. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Do I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?” Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.

Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.

“Y/n.” The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. “The day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.”

Your mouth parted slightly.

“I’ll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,” he continued firmly. “Do whatever makes you comfortable.”

And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasn’t what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.

You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your ex’s comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Dean’s face, he’d realized exactly where your question came from too.

That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.

You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.

Your stomach tightened faintly. “What are we supposed to tell people?”

Dean barely hesitated. “To mind their own fucking business.”

You snorted softly.

He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. “Just like I’m doing mine.”

The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.

There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boys’ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments he’d started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.

Nothing changed.

Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself you’d imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.

Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.

You sat curled up on the floor of the boys’ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.

Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.

You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything he’d said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it back…or done a single thing about it.

“What’d you get for number three?” Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didn’t look up from his notebook.

You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.

“C,” you answered eventually. “But I’m not confident about it.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done the math twice and I keep getting B.”

You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. “Then it’s probably B.”

Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. “You’re admitting you’re wrong?”

You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadn’t functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment. 

“Don’t need to dig through my family tree to know I’m not descended from Isaac Newton.”

A smile tugged slowly across Dean’s mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. “If you are,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “I’m glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.”

Your nose scrunched instantly. “What kind of compliment is that?”

“The kind I’m hoping gets you over here to help me.” He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.

You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.

“Let’s see,” you murmured.

You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.

Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.

Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.

Dean had promised himself he’d take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. You’d overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, you’d always been terrifyingly good at reading him.

He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.

You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.

You blinked once. “Smooth,” you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. “I’ll give you that.”

Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.

“Should be a five,” you corrected while marking over the equation. “Not a seven.” Your brows furrowed slightly. “Your handwriting’s gotten worse over the years.”

“You still read it.”

“I’m not the one grading you.” Your eyes lifted straight into his.

You’d sat on Dean’s lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didn’t feel like that, not even close.

“Not in math,” he said quietly.

Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.

“You should be rating everything else though.” A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. “Pretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.”

You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. “No ride, no survey.”

Dean’s mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. “Go on then,” he murmured.

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.

“Interesting moment you picked,” you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.

You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.

Dean noticed. “Just focus on me,” he instructed quietly.

Not ‘look at me’, just ‘focus’ which you could do.

You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.

Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.

The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.

Dean’s hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.

"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."

He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs. 

You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.

"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.

You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.

The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.

You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Dean’s hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.

You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.

The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.

Tucker.

The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.

You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.

Dean’s hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.

Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.

The front door opened and you froze.

Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.

Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.

“–No, because that’s not what I said,” he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.

Dean’s voice came out rough and annoyed. “Can't you knock?”

The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.

Tucker’s brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of you…You standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.

The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.

“Wait,” Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hold on.” He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. “I live here,” he pointed out flatly. “If you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.”

Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.

“Hey, Y/n.” he greeted, much more gently.

“Hi,” you replied weakly with an awkward nod.

Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.

The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.

You hurried toward where you’d abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.

Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered urgently.

You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.

“You don’t have to leave,” he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Stay for dinner.” Then louder, “Right, Tucker?”

From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.

“Y/n, c’mon,” Dean tried again, even softer this time.

You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.

Your stomach flipped painfully. “You can text me that survey of yours,” you muttered.

Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.

You didn’t say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like you’d been underwater too long.

Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.

Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadn’t come.

For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.

The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact you’d nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.

You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.

He’d insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didn’t know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house would’ve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, he’d made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.

“Are you seriously not coming?” Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.

Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.

“She’s right,” she agreed. “Exams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.”

You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.

“What’ll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,” you informed them. “Which I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.” Your mouth twitched slightly. “Now see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.”

Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.

“When are we finding your rebound?” Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.

“It’s too soon,” you decided immediately.

“It is,” Hannah agreed with a firm nod. “She doesn’t wanna think about men right now and we’re respecting that.”

You pointed gratefully toward her. “See? Emotional maturity.”

“Sure,” Allie snorted. “I’m still passing your Instagram around tonight though.” She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. “You can decide what to do with the options later.” Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. “Don’t wait up for us.”

You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.

You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. “Just go,” you laughed while they protested loudly.

“We tried,” Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. “We’ll send you the address anyway.”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“You say that now...”

You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.

Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.

You exhaled slowly…now what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. Or…Your thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.

You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. You’d bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.

Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.

You groaned at the sound. “Did you guys forget your condoms again?” you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.

You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. “Dean.”

Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which might’ve worked better if he wasn’t also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.

“I always carry condoms,” he informed you smugly.

Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway. 

“Why aren’t you at the party?”

Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.

You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.

“Because I’m here with you.”

“No,” you corrected. “You wanted to be here with me.” You pointed vaguely toward campus. “Past tense…You should currently be at that party.”

“No can do.” Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.

Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.

Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.

“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.

“How did you know I didn’t go to the party?” you asked while following him toward your bedroom.

Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.

“I have my sources.”

You grimaced again. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“Hannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.” He shrugged casually. “I didn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “Who says I would’ve agreed anyway?”

Dean smiled instantly. “Me.” The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. “I’m very persuasive.”

You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. “What is that?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. “Our entertainment for tonight.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Well…mine.”

You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.

Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.

“Lingerie?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Dean nodded once. “I had to get rid of the boxes,” he explained. “Turns out Agent Provocateur packaging isn’t exactly subtle.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “Agent Provocateur?” You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. “Are you insane?”

One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black lace…cream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.

Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. “I got lost on the website,” he admitted. “And then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.”

You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind.

“Explain to me,” you said carefully, “how exactly this counts as entertainment.”

“Besides the obvious?”

Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.

“When you were on my lap the other day…” His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. “You stopped focusing on yourself after a while.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.

“You started trying to get me there instead,” he continued gently. “Like you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.”

Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.

“And I get it,” he added quickly, voice staying careful. “Probably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Which I definitely did, by the way. Don’t start doubting that part.”

You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.

“Tonight,” he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, “the lingerie can be for me.” His eyes moved back to yours. “So the rest can just be yours.”

The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Dean’s head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.

Lingerie wasn’t only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.

Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?

Your voice lowered slightly. “What kind of mind games are you playing?”

You hoped it didn’t sound accusing because it wasn’t meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that he’d gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.

Dean shook his head immediately. “No games.” His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. “Let’s just give it a shot.”

Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.

Dean’s eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.

‘Yeah. Definitely one of my favorites.’

“How do you even know these will fit?” you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.

Dean opened his mouth…closed it and opened it again. “I’m…observant?”

Even he sounded unsure of the answer.

Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.

“Observant and persuasive,” you mused while backing toward the bathroom. “Let me know when there’s something substantial to add to that list.”

Dean nodded solemnly like you’d given him serious criticism to reflect on. “Will do.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuck’s sake.

He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.

It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.

Dean barely moved from the spot you’d left him in.

He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.

Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.

You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean must’ve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.

The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.

You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.

With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.

Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.

He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.

The silence stretched thickly.

You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.

You swallowed. “What do you think?”

Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. “I think,” he said slowly, “Six Flags might be going out of business soon.”

Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.

You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.

Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. “What do you think?” he echoed softly.

You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.

“I think…” Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. “Maybe…” Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. “I could show you something I actually know how to do.”

Dean’s jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.

“With my mouth,” you finished quietly.

You didn’t move afterward and neither did he.

In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didn’t need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.

For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.

A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.

Your eyes met his again through the reflection.

“I don’t doubt you can do those things,” he murmured near your ear. “All of them.”

One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten. 

His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. “So why do you?”

The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.

His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.

You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.

The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that could’ve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.

"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.

You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.

As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Dean’s other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.

"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.

"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.

"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.

You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.

"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.

"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.

"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.

"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.

The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Dean’s fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.

You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.

The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?

"I think...I–" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.

The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him. 

Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.

Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.

"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.

As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.

You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.

As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.

You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.

You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.

"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."

You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.

In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.

You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.

“Holy fuck,” You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.

"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."

His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.

Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.

As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.

The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.

You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"

Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.

Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

“Definitely the best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.

His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.

You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.

Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.

You swallowed once. “Did you…?”

The question barely finished forming before Dean’s expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.

Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.

“Am I still not deserving of a kiss?” he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.

You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. “You want a cookie and a gold star too?”

Dean’s grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. “Better than the survey.”

You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.

The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.

Dean’s hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like he’d been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.

You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.

Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.

His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint he’d been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.

The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Dean’s grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.

So much for rules.

Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearer…indefinitely.

Driving past Briar University always made YN feel strange. Like she was missing a phase of her life that she’d never gotten to experience.

She had never been a Briar student herself, studying instead at the community college down the road. And it wasn’t that she hadn’t had fun, of course she had, but she’d never had the kind of fun that her friends at Briar had ranted and raved about.

It still felt strange, she thought to herself as she got behind the wheel of her shiny gently used Volkswagen, staring at the parking pass for the office complex that dangled from her rear view mirror, right next to a plastic keychain holding a picture of her and John. Even a year on, going to work still felt like being a little kid dressing up in her mom’s clothes for the day. While other twenty-somethings got to spend their days lounging around campus and going to parties, YN spent her days in a windowless cubicle filing court documents and chasing down clients who hadn’t provided copies of their ID to the lawyers.

Just that day she had missed one of her boyfriend’s games. The game started at 1:30, and her rigid lunch hour was from 12:00 to 1:00, no exceptions.

She missed spending time with people her own age, but also felt as though she could no longer relate to them.

As she pulled into John’s driveway, she exhaled a sigh of relief when she noticed that no other cars were there, just his. After the day that she’d had, she wasn’t sure if she could tolerate a house full of hockey boys.

She got out of the car, reaching idly into the footwell of the passenger seat to grab her mustard yellow leather tote bag, which next to the Passat GT that she drove was the most expensive thing that she owned. By the time she reached the front door, Tucker had already opened it, and the bright smile he gave her was enough to wash away all the stress of her day.

“Hey, handsome.” She grinned, stepping into the front foyer and pulling him in for a kiss. “Sorry I missed the game. If we want to go to Corpus Christie in the summer, I can’t take any more time off.”

Sometimes, she wished she could be a better girlfriend. That she could be the girlfriend who went with John to his parties, and showed up to every single game in a jersey with his last name on it. But vacation time wasn’t free, and somehow she was supposed to survive on only two weeks of it per year. That fact made her a little insecure, and there had been times where she worried that she wouldn’t be enough for Tucker any more.

Little did she know that there were times that John Tucker felt like he couldn’t keep up with a hard working, money-earning twenty something that was far more successful than he was in a much shorter time frame.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to apologize.” Tucker laughed, taking her purse from her outstretched hand. “Have I told you that you make business casual look obscenely sexy?”

“Kiss ass.” She giggled, kicking off her sling backs. “Where is the rest of the freak parade?”

Tucker grinned. “Partying. We have the place all to ourselves. I’m making gnocchi.”

She didn’t realize how hungry she had been until her boyfriend mentioned food, and she knew there was no way to hide the growl of her stomach. “You’re too good to me.”

“And I bought massage oils!” He chirped, remembering how she had told him that her back consistently hurt due to the subpar desk chair at her work station. After three months of complaints, John had finally convinced her to ask the office manager for a new chair. It had helped, but every now and again the aches and pains came back.

“Now you’re just spoiling me.” She laughed, bare feet cold against the tile on the kitchen floor as she headed to the dining room table. “How was the game? Allie told me you ended up in the penalty box twice.”

Tucker laughed, throwing up the hand that wasn’t stirring the gnocchi sauce. “The referee was biased, I’m telling you. That other guy totally started it! We won though, so Dean and the guys are out celebrating.” He turned to face her, a thoughtful grin on his face. “What about work?”

She groaned, burying her head in her hands. “I’m quitting.” They both knew she wouldn’t. “Wayne is a fucking control freak and I’m so sick of lawyers. He flipped his shit on me today because I told him I couldn’t stay late, even though I skipped my lunch to work through this foreclosure file he has me working on that’s so complicated I don’t even know why he’s given it to me.”

Tucker switched off the stove, plating the gnocchi and sitting down across from her at the dining table. He was in awe of the woman across from him. She was smart and intelligent, and he knew she hated when she couldnt answer a clients question even if she knew the answer because it was treading too close to giving legal advice. Time after time he found himself asking why she had chosen him and not some asshole in a three piece.

“Can’t you ask Irene for help?” Tucker suggested. “She’s been doing this for like thirty years, right? Surely she must have some advice.”

“Irene threatens to quit every twenty minutes and swears at Wayne when he pages her to his office. I wish I could be as unbothered as she is.”

“Well, I know what’s good for stress.” John winked from across the table. “Good food. Good company, and someone who’s very good with his hands.”

Conversation flowed easily after that, once the topic of work was somewhat avoid, instead replaced with joyful anecdotes about coworkers and teammates. She liked spending time with John. She may have missed out on a college romance, but every moment she spent with Tucker reminded her that she was still young. She enjoyed having someone to lean on, to rant about work and share her dreams with. He was a great supporter, and had never once shamed her for not seeking higher education. In fact, twice he had shown up at the office unannounced to bring her lunch, or coffee, or a potted plant for her desk. Some of her coworkers were starting to get jealous of all the attention she was getting.

After dinner, they went upstairs, and she spread out on a Mexican blanket on John’s bed, sighing with pleasure as Tucker’s nimble fingers worked over the tense knots in her shoulders, senses soothed by the smell of eucalyptus in the warm massage oil.

“Fucking hell, Tuck.” She moaned softly “Where did you learn to do that?”

He smiled softly, leaning down to place a kiss on the back of her neck. “I’m an athlete, darlin’. Comes with the territory. Whatever makes you feel good.”

After a while, over ten minutes of Tuckers warm hands working on her aching muscles in her shoulders and lower back, she asked him a question.

“Tuck?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“How come you’ve never asked me why I decided not to go to law school?”

John paused, movements stopping before he tapped her bare shoulder. “Babe, turn over for a second.”

She complied, fanning her long hair out behind her as she shifted beneath Tucker to look up at him.

“Because it’s none of my business. I think you did something really brave. You knew what you wanted out of life and you went for it. Now look at you. You have fantastic job, and you earn good money. Your student loans are paid off. I’m really fucking proud of you, you know that?”

Her heart swelled as she looked up at the man she loved, his dark,curly hair falling into his eyes and bright smile on his face, and her chest filled with love at the sight.

She looped her arms around his neck, smiling as she pulled him in for a deep kiss.

“I love you, John Tucker.”

Waking up at Tuckers on a work morning was difficult. She silenced her phone alarm, not wanting to trade John’s warm embrace for the unforgiving cold office and Wayne’s lectures on ID fraud in real estate. Eventually, she dragged herself out of bed, going for the drawer in his dresser that held some of her work clothes.

Back in the double bed, Tucker stirred, a serene smile on his face as he watched her get ready for work, humming an Alanis Morrisette song under her breath as she brushed her hair.

She looked like an angel.

“Your navy blazer is in my closet. Just behind my playoff suit.” He shifted in bed, sitting up and letting the covers fall away from his bare chest, showing off the faint red scratches she had left on his pecs the night before.

“Thanks.” She smiled softly, flicking through his closet to find the blazer she had left at the house last time she had come over. “If I wasn’t so scared of Wayne catching me coming in late, I’d be pouncing on you right now, I hope you know that.”

Tucker laughed, climbing out of bed to wrap his strong arms around her. “I know.” He laughed, kissing the side of her head. “Go grab some breakfast. I’m going to have a quick shower.”

Gathering her belongings and slinging her purse over her shoulder, she practically skipped down the stairs, still humming ‘Head Over Feet’. She flicked the kettle on, filling up her Stanley with ice water as she waited for the water for her instant oatmeal to boil.

“So this is the person who’s spent more time in Tuck’s bed than he has. Now I get to put a face to the name.”

She jumped, squealing as she turned around to see Garrett Graham sitting at the dining room table, a shit eating grin on his face. John Logan sat next to him, mirroring Garrett’s teasing expression.

“You guys are shit at sneaking around, by the way.” Logan added

Her face fell, guard instantly coming up. “We weren’t trying to sneak around. I’ve just been so busy the last couple of months because I work in real estate law, which is so fucking insane at the moment, and there just hasn’t been time.”

“Calm down, Y/N.” Dean Di Laurentis’ voice carried as he came into the kitchen. “They’re just messing with you. They know you work full time, and they’re totally chill with it.”

“Hi Dean.” She exhaled, smile returning. “Is Tuck out of the shower yet?”

Dean shrugged. “He was singing Pearl Jam songs when I walked past, so who knows.”

“Wait a hot second!” Logan interrupted. “You guys know each other?”

She laughed, shaking her oatmeal packet and determined to move on with her morning. The townhouse was closer to work than her own home was, but she still didn’t want to take any chances. “Dean and Allie were the ones that set me up with Tuck. Allie’s my cousin.”

“Hey, we’ve got a game on Friday.” Garrett started. “It’s a late start, around 6:30. You get off at five, right?”

She nodded, joining Garrett and Logan at the table to finally eat her breakfast.

“Tuck would love it if you could come. Have you ever seen him play? I know you missed today’s game because of work, and I don’t m ow what your mental load is at work, so if you’re too tired to come-“

“I’ll be there.” She smiled. “Can’t wait.”

There was a creaking noise on the stairs, and then Tucker came bounding into the kitchen, his unruly hair tied in a loose bun at the name of his neck, biceps showing off underneath his muscle tank. His face lit up when he saw YN sitting at the kitchen table with his teammates.

“Hi sweetheart! You left your spare charger in my room. I know it’s the one you keep in your car, so I didn’t want you to leave without it.”

“Thanks babe.” She beamed, kissing him softly. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sugar.” Tuck smiled. “Hang on one sec, I made you something.”

Tucker crossed to the fridge rooting around inside for a minute before he came back with a glass container, a laminated sheet of paper stuck to the top.

“I made you lunch. Microwave instructions are on the top. Have a great day at work.”

“Oh, Tuck.” She blushed “you didn’t need to do that.”

“Yes he did.” Dean coughed. “Cooking is the man’s love language.”

“Fuck off, Dean.” Tuck laughed. “Can’t a man dote on his wife without his friends making fun of him for it?”

At the slip of the tongue, YN coughed on her glass of milk. Wife? They had barely been together for six months yet. Although, as she watched her credit score slowly climb each month, she found herself imagining what it would be like to see her name next to his on a mortgage.

“I have to go to work.” She said finally, getting up from the table. “If any of you assholes have boxed me in, your cars are getting keyed.”

“It happened once!” Dean protested. “How was I supposed to know the sports car was yours?”

Still laughing, she turned back to Tucker. “I love you, you big dork. I’ll see you on Friday for your game.”

Tuck’s eyes lit up. “You’re coming?”

“Of course I am!” She pressed up on her toes to kiss him. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“have I told you how much I love you?”

She beamed, mindlessly wrapping a strand of his hair around her finger. “Only about five times since I woke up.”

He kissed her again, ignoring the wolf whistles from his teammates. She grabbed her keys from the counter and threw her purse over her shoulder, waving goodbye to the hockey players as she exited the front door.

But ever since you stumbled into his bed on one October night during some Halloweekend festivities, Logan quickly became your comfort zone. And right now, as you restlessly writhe between his sheets, you have absolutely zero desire to leave this comfort.

“Fuck,” the man of the hour rasped and grunted, his head dropping unceremoniously onto the crook of your neck. He breathes frenzied exhales into your shoulder, hot air drifting towards the bottom of your ears. His body weight practically crushes you, leaving you with just the tiniest slot of air to supply your lungs. But you’re not complaining. You’re exactly where you want to be.

You gasp into his brown curls as his thrusts quicken, your hands desperately fisting and grabbing onto the fitted sheet as some sort of pathetic attempt to anchor yourself. Watching you twist underneath him with heavy-lidden eyes, Logan grasps your hands, carefully interlocking your fingers with his, your palms firmly sealing against each other. Like the satisfying connection of the final pieces of a puzzle.

The loving gesture tugs at your heart. This “casual” intimacy is too much to bear, but you can’t bring yourself to let go.

“Y/N,” He rasps into your skin, his frantic breaths imprinting themselves like love bites onto your neck. You know that he’s close, and judging by the tension breeding underneath your belly that’s threatening to release itself, you know that you’re not that far off either. With your elbows digging into his mattress, you arch your back, slightly lift your hips just a tad higher, and the sound that emerges from your throat reverberates off the walls of his bedroom. Logan immediately finds his own release as he moans your name into your neck, his stubble etching a mark onto your skin, and his own body shaking from head to toe.

After he takes off the condom, Logan’s chest makes its way on top of yours as you sink into his bed, trying to catch your breath as he lazily draws circles on your thigh. Though your mind flinches at the “casual” nature of your relationship with Logan, your heart eventually learns to return to slow resting state while around him. He’s a steady presence, and his company is much needed as you try to navigate around the various stressors in your life.

Already, your tortuous coursework and demanding work-study stint are clearly draining you. Hannah frequently points out the dark bags under your eyes and the sluggish, lethargic nature of your gait as you force yourself to attend class.

But you had another stressor that completely robbed the last morsels of life clinging on to your body. A hidden, yet dangerous stressor that you kept snapped shut in the corners of your mind, only giving the key to your therapist for her to unlock.

The reason why you always refused to sleep at Logan’s place.

“So beautiful,” Logan’s voice pulls you from your reverie, his hoarse whisper tickling your collarbone. He kisses over the hickeys he proudly implanted near your breast, admiring his view. “All for me.”

You bite your bottom lip at his comment, pressing down so hard that you’re sure blood will ooze out any minute now. You’re technically not “all for him.” Even though he skips hockey practice to help jumpstart your car on the side of the road. Even though he now uses a fragrance-free laundry detergent because his sheets would irritate your sensitive skin. Even though he looks at you with those eyes that compel you to answer his text every single time. Even though his bed feels so comfortable right now.

Control yourself.

“Back at ya,” You awkwardly laugh, delivering a very nervous and spur-of-the-moment reply. So smooth, Y/N. Did you flirt this badly when he tore your Tinkerbell costume off?

Chuckles rumble from his chest, pressing down onto your heart. You could play his laugh on repeat. Hell, even set it as your ringtone. “Still not used to receiving compliments, I see.”

You don’t offer a response. Suddenly, the bed feels way too warm and way too inviting. As his pillow swallows your head, your eyes start to close.

But you quickly force yourself to wake up, remembering that you do not, in any circumstance, want to fall asleep in his bed. You will not make that mistake.

Instead, you lean over to check the time on your phone. 4:09 PM.

“I need to get going to my shift,” You slide out from underneath him, removing yourself from his grap. The sudden loss of warmth feels like whiplash.

His dark eyebrows furrow as you grab the haphazardly laid clothes on the wooden floor. “Doesn’t it start at 5:00? You still have some time,” He pats your unofficial side of his bed, watching you shimmy yourself into your jeans. “Come ‘ere. Stay a ‘lil longer.”

You bite your lip even harder, using it like a stress ball, and you try to forget that your situationship remembers that tiny detail of your work schedule. Of course he does.

“I like getting there early, though. It’s much better than arriving five minutes before a session starts,” You zip up your jeans, chuckling softly when he flashes his signature sad puppy eyes at you. “I like to quickly refresh myself on the content beforehand.”

“As if you would need any refreshing, Mrs. Bio and Psych Double-Major,” He teases, and yep, you’re pretty sure that’s blood you’re tasting right now.

“Trust me, I don’t always remember the ins and outs of signal transduction.”

Logan tilts his head to the side, staring at you with those confused eyes that you find so absolutely endearing. “And what the hell is ‘signal transduction?’”

You sigh, kneeling onto the floor and tying your shoes. “That’s a story for another time. I better get going.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you down,” He says as he jumps out of the bed, rapidly putting on his sweatpants and grabbing a random flannel from his desk chair.

You roll your eyes as you open his bedroom door, hearing the noises of his roommates from downstairs. “I’ve been here plenty of times, Logan. I know my way around the house.”

He shrugs, buttoning up his flannel. “So? God forbid a guy wants to be a gentleman.”

“A gentleman?” You stifle a laugh, and he has the gall to put on a mildly offended face.

“Of course, my lady. I’m always on my best behavior for you.”

More blood seeps from your lip. You give him a playful shove on his shoulder, but he brandishes that signature crooked "John Logan smile" at you, and fuck, you’re in deep.

As the both of you walk downstairs, your peer at the living room and say a goodbye to the rest of the boys. Tucker and Dean were sitting on the couch, pouring over a textbook that you knew all too well. By the looks of it, Garrett wasn’t home. He was probably hanging out at Hannah’s dorm, per usual.

“Good seeing ya, Y/N,” Tucker smiles at you, lifting his head from the textbook.

“Yes, very good seeing ya,” Dean drawls, suddenly jumping up from his spot on the couch and making his way over to you. “And we are in desperate need of your guidance. This bio class is killing us.”

All of the boys knew you already. Though you and Logan weren’t “serious” by any means, neither of you kept your situationship a secret from others. At least Logan spared you the hurt and discomfort that comes from sneaking around.

Then again, all of his charming, boyfriend-coded compliments haven’t made the situation any better either.

You shake your head jokingly at Dean. “You guys have Professor Ragner, right? He’s chill. You’ll be fine.”

Dean gasps in fake shock, puting a hand to his heart as if he were in a melodramatic soap opera. “Wow, so you’re just leaving us to drown with no support? I see how it is, Y/N.”

You scoff. “No offense to y’all, but I don’t have time for free tutoring. I’m getting paid minimum wage, which is practically nothing to begin with, to tutor jocks like y’all in the first place. I’m sure as hell not doing any unpaid labor.”

“I can pay you in a different way,” Dean unabashedly flirts, blond waves falling over his eyes, voice dropping to a lower tenor. You raise an eyebrow in amusement, knowing that he’s joking.

Then someone behind you loudly clears their throat. You turn around to Logan, who is adorning an expression that you can’t quite decipher.

“Jesus, relax, Johnny,” Dean comes around and pats him on the back, which Logan rejects in fake disgust, pretending to flinch. “I was just suggesting an alternative method of payment.”

“Uh-huh, sure you were," Logan replies with a chuckle, though his smile doesn’t reach all the way to his eyes.

Tucker rejoins the conversation. “I don’t know about cash, but I’ll pay you back with free meals. I make a mean pasta carbonara.”

“Now that, I can get behind,” You point finger guns towards Tucker. “Well boys, I’m off to work. I’ll see y’all later.”

Tucker and Dean say their goodbyes. With a light touch of his hand on the small of your back, Logan leads you to the porch. He opens the door, and as you step outside, he wraps a hand around your wrist, wanting to say one last thing before you leave.

“Have a good shift,” He presses a kiss to your forehead. You force yourself to not bite your lip for the hundredth time. Control. “I’ll see you on Friday, yeah?”

You don’t know what to say. You knew that the team was throwing a party before their game on Saturday. A sharp inhale exits your nose.

“Yeah, sure,” You smile at him, starting to walk to your car. “See you, Logan.”

As you drive to the tutoring center, you chastised yourself for how close you were to falling asleep in his bed. This pathetic attempt at a situationship was going to tear you apart. And if you need to distance yourself from those warm eyes and beaming smile, then so be it.

Friday was two days away. You decided to not come over to the hockey players’ house for their party before playing Eastwood. Not only did you want some space between you and Logan, but you also had an upcoming midterm that made up a good chunk of your grade for your Psych class. You thus planned on devoting your entire weekend to studying for it.

So when Friday night came along, giving excuses to Logan felt easy. Somewhat easy.

(9:21 PM) Logan: Hey, I haven’t seen you yet. Are you on the way?

(9:46 PM) Y/N: I have a huge midterm on Monday. I need to study. Sorry, I forgot to tell you :/

(9:48 PM) Logan: Ahh I see, no worries.

(9:51 PM) Logan: I looked forward to seeing you.

(9:52 PM) Logan: I’ll see you after the midterm? Good luck, you got this.

(10:23 PM) Y/N: Thanks, good luck with the game. 

A twinge of guilt spread through your chest and hammered at your heart when you didn’t confirm the rendezvous. You always came to the boys’ parties before their games, even though you continuously stuck by your rule of never sleeping over, which definitely took Logan a little bit of time to get used to. During Halloweekend, you surprised him when you slipped out of his bed at 3:00 AM, grabbing your car keys and opening his bedroom door.

“You don’t want to stay the night?” You recall his gravelly voice, utterly rattled with sleep, as he watched you put on your shoes. “It’s kinda late.”

“I have an early morning. And I didn’t drink at all, so…” You explained, giving him a tight smile before closing the door so that you didn’t have to stare any longer at his bare, toned chest. “See ya.”

Starting with a clean slate was necessary. After all, you needed to keep your commitment to both your grades and your job. Logan would only serve as a distraction.

That’s what you kept repeating to yourself as you went to bed later that night, putting your phone on the other side of your room in order to stop checking it.

The first thing that you notice is that you can’t speak.

You bring a palm up to your mouth, but your face feels completely numb. Anything you say just comes out extremely muffled, as if you never had a mouth in the first place. You gaze around your environment with blurry eyes, looking at the four corners of the dingy room. You try to touch one of the walls, but as soon as your hand comes into contact, the wall becomes translucent, your hand just floating around in open space. But as you pull your hand back, the wall comes up again, inching closer and closer to your face.

Your breath hitches as you try to find an escape—a trapdoor, a window, just anything will do. But the room starts to resemble a box the more you look at it, as if you were an inanimate object shoved inside a carton to never be seen again. The lump in your throat grows as your vision subsides with each passing second, complete murk and darkness clouding up your eyes.

You try to bang on the walls, but your balled up fists just fall into air. You try to scream for help, but you feel chains wrapped around your mouth, silencing your cries and greedily swallowing up any remaining shred of air needed for your survival.

The sound of falling objects tears your gaze away from the walls. You eyes widen as you watch clumps of your hair disintegrating into the floor and massive droplets of blood emanating from your fingertips. You frantically search your whole body for any sign of a cut, a wound, an injury, but your hunt is fruitless.

And that’s when the walls start closing in, devouring every inch of space that’s not covered by your trembling body.

You sink to the floor as your knees helplessly buckle, crawling up into a ball as a fresh flow of tears sprint down your cheeks. Soon those tears also turn to blood, drowning your limbs in a sea of red. And the ceiling feels so fucking close to you, you’re certain that it’s going to collapse.

Sounds of whining sirens and howling wind and quick gunshots and terrified screaming all fuse and merge tightly together in perfect storm, a cacophony where you can hear each individual occurrence happening at once. The walls are up to your nose, and you try so hard to scream. To cry for help.

The sound of a door slamming shut finally wakes you up.

You’re heaving as you sit up in your bed, your fists rapidly unclenching to rest your palms on your chest. Your body feels so unbearably hot, outlines of your sweat etching themselves onto your sheets. A fearful whimper tears out of you, and you wrap your hands around your curled-up body as you begin to frantically rock yourself back and forth on your bed. The sobs pour out of you in an instant, breaths clawing themselves up your throat in such a sharp, stiniging manner that you’re sure there’s clawmarks scarred across your trachea. You’ve had night terrors ever since elementary school, but you’ve never really adjusted them.

The tears completely wreck you. You move your hands from your body to the sheets, fists digging into the fabric, helplessly searching for security. What a stark contrast to your time with Logan, where you desperately fisted at his sheets while waves of pleasure cascaded through your body.

Both times, however, you were looking for control.

Nevertheless, as your sobs gradually begin to subside, you inhale shaky breaths to center yourself back to reality. When your vision starts to clear up, you go back to the 5-4-3-2-1 coping technique that your therapist suggested to ground yourself.

Five things you can see. Four things you can touch. Three things you can hear. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste.

As you slowly list through the four things you can touch, your mind goes back to the hockey player you’re trying so desperately not to think about. But all you desire is to feel his callused palm on your cheek, his long arm around your waist, and his mouth trailing kisses on your neck.

And you hate how much you yearn to be in Logan’s arms right now. You ache for his comforting presence, but you know you can’t place this trouble on him, this overwhelming burden to bring you back to Earth after a night terror. He already has enough on his plate.

Sighing, you make your way to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. On your way there, you grab your phone, looking at the date and time. 2:38 AM, Monday, February 23rd.

So you had a night terror the morning of your big exam. Great.

At least you can thank your neighbors’ rowdiness for pulling you out of your dream. They loved to slam the door after a night out, and unfortunately for you, they seemed to go out every fucking night. You kindly asked them to close their door more gently, but clearly, your words had zero effect.

After wiping your face and staring too long at your bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror, you walk to your desk, deciding to fit in a last-minute study session now that you’re awake. You definitely don’t want to go back to sleep now.

After five minutes of flipping through some flashcards, you make the mistake of scrolling through the notifications on your phone. Your eyes immediately lock on to some notifications from Instagram. Specifically, some DMs from Logan.

When your trembling fingers open your message thread with him, the slight shaking in your body stops when you browse through his messages. All of them were either the silliest of reels or the stupidest of memes. And under each and every one of them, he wrote a message: This made me think of you; or you definitely need to watch this; or even this is so stupid, but it made me laugh so hard that I had to send it you.

As you laugh while watching cat videos and overplayed vines, the desire for Logan seeps through your veins. He has no idea of the effect you have on him.

The first rule of dating Yoon Dong-ju was simple. Don’t tell anyone. Not that you didn’t want to, you loved him, he was big sweet baby. But you were well respected coworkers for goodness sake, it wouldn’t be a good look. One mistake on the job and there people go blaming your relationship. You couldn’t have that, it was already hard enough as a woman.

Now the second rule was considerably harder.

You have to pretend you weren’t dating Yoon Dong-ju.

And problem wasn’t that your boyfriend was bad at keeping secrets. He did it quite well before you could read him like an open book….He also had the tendency to be an open book all the time, so that made it easy as well.

The problem was that Yoon Dong-ju was Yoon Dong-ju.

A former Olympic gold medalist turned police officer with a heart bigger than his common sense, Dong-ju approached everything at full speed and with barely a second thought. Taking in tough cases, arresting criminals, eating convenience store food at three in the morning.

Loving you.

Especially loving you.

Which made hiding your relationship from the rest of the precinct, especially the Special Crimes Unit, feel less like of a secret romance and more like an elaborate scheme.

One that was destined to fail.

The relationship itself had started unexpectedly, like a lot of things involving Dong-ju did.

One moment he had been your coworker, one could say best friend. You laughed, made similar jokes, worked Captain Man-sik’s last nerve. You guys ate like pigs at lunch, constantly argued over cases.

And then the next thing you knew, he had become the person who waited outside the station when your shifts ran late. The person who remembered you your very specific drink order. The person who called late at night just to ask if you’d eaten, knowing you did but simply wanting to talk.

You weren’t entirely sure when the friendship turned into something more.

Only that one rainy night had changed everything.

The unit had spent nearly eighteen hours chasing leads on a drug trafficking case. Everyone was exhausted and frustrated, running on nothing but caffeine.

You had finally stumbled out of headquarters long after midnight and the rain that was softly tapping against the precinct windows had gotten a little harder.

The parking lot was nearly empty.

But there he was.

Standing beneath a broken streetlight right outside the glass doors of the building. He stood, leaning against the light pole and holding an umbrella.

Waiting.

For you.

You tilted your head at the sight of him, still standing under the canopy that saved you from getting wet. Dong-ju faced you, and smiled brightly at the sight of you coming outside. You pulled your hoodie onto your head and scurried over to him. He stood from his relaxed position, eyes trained on you as you got closer.

“What are you doing here?” You’d asked, walking up to him with furrowed brows.

Dong-ju blinked. “Waiting on you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s raining and I know you don’t have an umbrella.” He stated as if it was nothing. Your gaze softened as you looked up at him, the street light shining down through the umbrella, giving the man before you a halo like glow.

He looked like an angel.

He was an angel.

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. “Where did you get an umbrella?” You’d asked, playfully scoffing as you crossed your arms, looking up at him. Dong-ju let out a small sigh, stepping closer so the umbrella covered your head as well.

“I stole it from captain.” He stated as if it was nothing, looking down at you.

As if that explained everything.

You stared.

He stared back.

Rain drummed against the umbrella as water began to pool around your shoes.

“You’ve been standing here this whole time?” You questioned softly, eyes bounding between his.

“Mm hm.” Dong-ju nodded, a cute smile watching one his face. He seemed proud that he waited for you in the rain, for however long he had been standing there.

“Dong-ju.” You whined, lightly shoving his shoulder.

“What?” He grinned.

“You could’ve gone home.”

“I wanted to walk you home.” He stated, a small pout on his lips.

You let out a small huff through your nose. You wanted to be annoyed, you really did.

Instead your chest hurt, because nobody had ever looked at you the way he did. Like you hung the stars in the sky, like you could do no wrong.

Like you mattered.

The confession happened three days later in a similar scenario to this. The first kiss happened two minutes after that on your doorstep. You guys kissed for minutes, ending with you leaned against your front door as you watched the man walk away with a cocky smirk before he jumped in excitement when he thought you weren’t in his line of sight.

And hiding the relationship became the hardest thing either of you had ever done. Mostly because Dong-ju possessed the subtlety of a runaway truck.

You realized that at exactly 8:12 a.m. on a Tuesday morning.

“What’s got you smiling at your phone?”

You nearly dropped it.

Across the bullpen, Ji Han-na stood at her desk with a cup of coffee in one hand, looking over at you. Her sharp eyes narrowed.

You quickly locked your screen, casually placing it face down in the table. “Oh, it’s nothing significant.” You shrugged, letting out a soft chuckle. “Just a video…Min-sik sent me.” The end almost sounded like a question, and it had you questioning whether or not you believed your own lie.

In reality, you were smiling at a selfie Dong-ju had sent you.

“Mm.”The noise alone said she didn’t believe you. Han-na wasn’t the type to pry, she didn’t need to.

She had a very keen eye and rarely missed anything. She simply had to observe. And she observed everything.

Fortunately, Dong-ju chose that exact moment to burst through the precinct doors.

“Morning!”

Everyone looked up at him, including you.

Mistake number one.

Because the second your eyes met his, the idiot grinned.

And not a polite, coworker type smile. It was that lovesick grin he always carried when you guys connected eyes. Full of adoration and pure admiration. His eyes would soften and you could almost see the thoughts he would have through the way his eyes sparkled.

If it was any other time, you would’ve been weak in the knees. The look always brought butterflies to your stomach and you were always the first to break contact under his unwavering gaze. And your flashing face didn’t do the situation any better because Dong-ju found it adorable and immediately showered you in kisses.

But now, it was different. You still got butterflies and if you weren’t sitting, your knees would be weak. All for the same reasons as before, but now with an added layer of anxiety due to the fact that you guys were at work.

Your stomach immediately dropped.

Han-na’s gaze shifted from him to you. Watching the way he didn’t look away from you, even as he walked to his desk and bowed at the others. At the way you avoided his gaze but kept glancing at him from the corner of your eye, face flushing as you tried to keep down a smile.

She looked from you to him then back again.

Oh no.

Thankfully, Dong-ju kept it moving. “Why are you all staring at me?” He questioned, but it was mainly aimed at Hana, who eyed him as she took her seat at her desk across from you.

“No reason,” Han-na replied with a barely there shrug.

You almost choked on your coffee when her eyes suddenly met yours, while Dong-ju simply nodded as he finished sitting down his thing.”

“Okay~.” He said before turning to leave. Not before looking at you and resisting the urge to smile. He then walked away, completely oblivious that such a small instance might of blown your whole cover.

You then simply flashed Hana a smile before going back to your phone as your mind raced with thoughts of the man you hated but loved at the same time.

Mostly you hated him, at least until lunch. Then it became much harder to hate him when he was making sure you ate half of his meal.

☀︎┈┈

The second instance comes during a night operation.

The entire team is standing outside an abandoned warehouse waiting for a clearing to initiate their plan. The weather was miserable, cold blowing wind and light rain.

Everyone was uncomfortable.

You insisted that you were fine no matter how many times the others asked, even as you shook from a slight chill that kept running through you. They all knew you didn’t deal well with the cold, and didn’t expect to be in a situation as they watched the criminals from afar. But no matter how much you persisted that you were okay and that you could do your job, Dong-ju insisted that you were not.

“Dong-ju.” You snipped, snapping your head over to him and cutting him off.

“What?”

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re shivering.”

“I’m fine.” You hissed.

“You are cold and could get sick.”

Before you can stop him, he’s already shrugging out of his windbreaker and draping it over your shoulders. He didn’t even let you put your arms him before he was zipping you up, making you stand there stiffly.

The problem?

The entire team was there, and watching you two bicker right before you went to apprehend some criminals.

You freeze, cutting your eyes to them while Dong-ju still fussed over you before pausing at the silence in the air.

Han-na slowly raises an eyebrow, looking only at you, while Jong-hyeon looks between the two of you.

“Sweet, now are you done?” He asked, squinting in irritation at Dong-ju.

Dong-ju’s brain immediately short circuits. “It’s just because she’s cold.”

“Right.”

“I’d do it for anybody.”

Nobody believes that. Not even a little.

☀︎┈┈

The next was “the injury.” If you can even call it that.

You were chasing a suspect through a crowded market when things go sideways. There was a bit of a struggle in an alleyway before another guy came and helped out his friend, which ended up with you punched and kicked before their feet’s skidded away.

Nothing serious or fatal, but it was just enough to leave a few nasty scrapes across your face and arms.

By the time everyone catches up, you were already standing and a bit out of breath.

“I’m okay.” You said, holding up a hand at the worried looks the few were shooting you.

Unfortunately, Dong-ju arrives half a second later than the rest and doesn’t hear the information.

And when he sees you, he completely forgets there are witnesses to his display of distress. His face goes white as though you’ve been shot.

He quickly pushes past the group to get to you and grabs your shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” He questioned, his eyes bouncing around your figure.

“I’m fine.” You stated with a soft nod. “And before you ask, no need for a medic.”

“You’re bleeding.” His hands went to your face, cupping your cheeks. His eyes were locked on the cut at your eyebrow and temple, where blood had dripped from the hushed skin.

“It’s a scratch.” You said, putting on a small smile to ease the man’s demeanor. You tried to pull his hands away from your face, that began heating up under his touch. But Dong-ju wasn’t having it, his furrowed gaze still locked on your face.

“A scratch?” His voice cracks as his brows shoot up, angling your face to get a closer look at your features. “This is more than a scratch! You’re bleeding everywhere!” He only let go of you to dig into his pockets, pulling out the childish stickers Jaehong gave him, the ones that he uses in his children.

“Oh, when I find the guy that did this. He’s dead, you hear me? Dead.” He hissed, peeling open the bandage before softly applying it to your wounded areas.

The entire team goes silent as they watched, more shocked my your easy compliance than they are at that Dong-ju’s insistence.

But they knew that this was no normal reaction, for coworkers at least.

This is the reaction of a man whose heart only beat for you. You can literally see the realization dawn across Han-na’s face, her brows twitching up. She doesn’t say anything, but she definitely notices.

People also noticed how Dong-ju has memorized everything about you. Literally everything.

Favorite snacks, coffee order, avorite convenience store meals, favorite candy.

The songs you listen to while walking to work, or the ones you listen to while working out.

The way you always get headaches after long shifts. It was all noticeable to him, and it was noticeable to others that he was smitten when it came to anything that was you.

Ot didn’t dawn upon Dongju himself, however, until one day he was out getting lunch for the team with Jaehong, when the father asked. “How did you know she hates tomatoes?”

Dong-ju answers immediately. “Because she picks them off every sandwich. Oh, and no ketchup or mustard. She thinks it stinks.”

Silence.

“…How often have you watched her eat sandwiches?”

A look of realization flashed over Dongju’s face before it was replaced with a slight look of panic as his face blushed.

One of the most obvious instances was completely Dong-ju’s fault.

Everyone was eating lunch in the office when Jaehong grabs Dongju’s phone to show everyone the cute dog video he showed him earlier.

Dong-ju didn’t think anything of it.

Until his screen lights up and there you are as his wallpaper.

You were smiling in a mirror selfie, wearing one of his hoodies. Dongju stood next to you in the photo, dressed a bit nicely, his attire and your face still wearing makeup indicating it had to be taken after a date. His arm was wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against his body, and his gaze was nowhere near the photo being taken. He was beaming down at you, complete entrapped by your essence.

The man falls silent, almost chocking on his vegetarian meal at the revelation he stumbled upon.

Dong-ju nearly tackles Jae-hong trying to get the phone back.

“Give it.” The younger male demanded with a mouthful of egg. He snatched the phone, angling it away from anyone’s gaze. The others, including you, looked over at him, paying attention to the bickering while at stool talking amongst each other.

“What was that?” Jaehong asked.

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely something.”

And his jealously issue was very apparent. This one catches a few off guard because Dong-ju is usually a friendly guy. He was sweet.

This incident happened when a detective from another division starts flirting with you. At least, that’s what Dongju thought, in reality, you two were just talking while waiting around for backup.

It was nothing serious, but Dongju was watching the entire thing from feet away.

At first he says nothing, but then the detective puts a hand on your shoulder when he laughed at something you said.

And suddenly Dong-ju appears out of nowhere like a protective guard dog.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looming over the man and staring at him intensely.

The detective jumps back, slightly startled as he blinks.

“Uh, talking.”

“Why?” Dongju asked bluntly, not backing down. You hissed softly, forcing Dongju to back away from him. “Dongju, stop.” You continued to shoo the man away, leaving the other detective there stunned.

Either nobody see or can figure out why Dong-ju is suddenly acting like a husband of fifteen years after you guys were so casual only weeks ago.

Except Han-na.

Han-na absolutely knows why.

After so many slip ups, one night that you went home with him, you nearly strangled him.

“You have to be more careful.” You said, looking away from the television to see the grown man pouting next to you. His arms were crossed, and though he was still close, there was still a bit of space between you to.

“I am careful.” Dongju tried to say firmly, though it just seemed like whining. He wouldn’t even look at you, his eyes trained on the television but you knew he wasn’t paying attention to a single thing.

“No.” You said, shaking your head.

“I am.”

“You practically announced our relationship to the entire unit.” You said, turning to face him on the couch. “I mean, the wallpaper? Really? You thought no one was going to see that?”

“I didn’t.”

The argument only lasted second more before you reached an understanding. You both considered the things the other stated, more so him than you but you acknowledge his challenges with the matter.

By then, the two of you were facing each other on the couch, grasping at any part the other could reach. Your hands were in his, his thumbs rubbing against wrist as he held them up to his lips.

“You understand?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, softly brushing his lips against your skin.

“Good.” You nodded. You watched him, a heat flashing in your body as he lost himself in the feel of you. He would close his eyes, even make your hands clasp his face so he could take it all in,

He then paused briefly. “I just worry.” He admitted.

Any tension there may be instantly lost momentum. Your lips down turned slightly as you watched him. He looked up at you, connecting his round starry eyes with yours.

Because that was the problem. Dong-ju never did these things because he was careless. He did them because he cared for you and wanted you to know. Wanted to show you how much he cared. So much so that it spilled out no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“I don’t like pretending, you know.” He said quietly,

Your expression softened as you cupped his face, rubbing your thumb against his cheek.

Neither did you.

The truth was that hiding your relationship wasn’t just inconvenient, it hurt.

The job was dangerous. Every case carried risks.

There were long nights, tons of violence and uncertainty.

Some days one of you left for work and there was no guarantee the day would end peacefully. On those days, the pretending felt impossible.

It was a burden to even date and have such a job.

Because when someone you loved walked into danger, every instinct screamed to protect them, even when you couldn’t.

Especially when you couldn’t.

Dong-ju understood that better than anyone.

“I know, baby.” You said. “I know. But It’ll be over soon, I promise. I just want this case to blow over and it can just be you and me.” You said, leaning closer to him. You rubbed your nose against his, watching as his eyes sparkled at the affection against his will. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dongju nodded. You smiled at him, which he copied before you planted your lips on his. You moved your lips against his, rocking your head to deepen the kiss. And Dongju, eager as always, threw himself back on the couch, taking you with him.

You landed on top of him with a giggle, briefly breaking the kiss before leaning back as you jangled your fingers into his hair while his ran up your sides.