Hi. Let’s Be Friends.

“What’s your plan?” Logan asked.

“Well, Christmas invited me to France with you all. Gonna be awkward?”

Logan snorted. “Non. Finn and Leo will be there too, it’ll be just like normal.”

Talker was about to reply when someone’s arm snaked around his waist and pulled him into a firm chest. It had a familiar constellation of freckles. Finn.

“Hi, Ten.”

“Hey, Talkie. We’re stealing him now,” Leo greeted.

“Where are we going?” Logan asked as they tugged him away.

“Bathroom,” Leo said, like that explained everything. Talker grimaced.

“Just for the record, this part could maybe not happen in France, ya know.”

“Bye, Talkie,” Finn yelled over his shoulder.

Leo led them into the bathroom, and Logan’s brain caught up.

As soon as Leo tugged him over the threshold, he had him pulled into his chest, hands framing his face kissing him for all he was worth.

“Goddamn,” Finn sighed. Logan looked over and saw him leaning up against the door frame, door still open, with his arms crossed. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Logan stared at the slight bulge of his biceps in the t-shirt, and his mouth started to water.

“Get in here, Rouge,” Logan said, reaching out to tug him in.

Finn grinned and followed kicking the door shut along his way. “Fuck yes.”

“I didn’t get to see either of you earlier,” Logan complained. Leo had gotten on his knees and blown him like his life depended on it in one of the spare equipment rooms, but as filthy as it had been and how his brain had seemed to sing with a mix of adrenaline and pure lust, it had been quick, almost embarrassingly so.

“Yeah?” Leo asked.

Logan nodded. “That’s a shame.”

“Hmm, we better fix it, Sunshine,” Finn said, reaching for Leo and reeling him in for a long, filthy kiss that seemed to go on and on. Logan watched from in between them, the slick slide of their mouths, Finn rucking up Leo’s shirt, pale hands against the perpetual honey of Leo’s skin. Logan was never really sure what was best—feeling Leo’s thigh slip between his own legs for him to rut against and the press of Finn’s mouth against his neck to tease and suck at the thin skin he found there or watching the two of them do that to one another.

From his perspective, he could see the determined glint in both of their eyes, the stubborn set of Finn’s jaw and the barest tilt of Leo’s chin upward, egging Finn on. They were such a good combination. Finn didn’t want anything more than to give you exactly what you wanted and there was so much Leo wanted.

Finn’ fingers teased at the edges of Leo’s shorts before dipping inside, Leo’s head tilting back to thunk against the wall gently. Logan must have made some sort of noise because one of those bright blue eyes opened and a smile creeped across Leo’s face.

“C’mon, Rouge. Get me naked. Logan wants to see.”

They shuffled in the cramped space, and in a moment, Leo was stripped down, Finn caging his hips against the door, keeping him from bucking into his mouth while he blew him like it was his job. Logan was pressed into Leo’s side, his hard on trapped against the side of one of his muscled thighs.

“God, Finn. Your fucking mouth,” Leo panted. One of Finn’s hands worked his own shorts down until he could get a hand on himself, and Logan could see the flash of one of his hands and the hint of the head of his cock, pink and slick.

Finn pulled off to stroke him for a moment, lips red and glossy, brown eyes glazed. “I have to be good, you taught me.”

“Fuck yes, I did,” Leo said, something possessive creeping into his tone. Leo reached for one of Logan’s hands and planted it in Finn’s hair. “C’mon, gorgeous. You know how we both like it. Put me back in.”

Logan would have cursed or something if he was able to talk, but suddenly his mouth felt like the Sahara. He left Finn’s hair for just a moment and reached for the base of Leo’s cock, guiding it back between Finn’s lips. Finn didn’t move, his eyes now focusing on Logan as Finn realized Leo’s game and played along.

Logan wove his fingers back into Finn’s soft hair, tugging just a little to hear Finn groan before pulling him forward carefully. He watched as more and more of Leo’s cock disappeared into Finn’s hollowed cheeks, until he could feel resistance and stopped. He was ready to guide him back when Finn stopped him. He took a big breath and then pulled forward carefully. Slowly.

Leo made a garbled-up noise, and Logan realized that Finn was taking him into his throat.

“Holy shit, Harzy. Fucking perfect,” Logan praised. Finn’s eyes flashed open at that, and he whimpered. Leo made another noise, higher pitched. And Logan figured the vibrations must feel like heaven to him.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Finn,” Logan tested, trying to gauge a response. Leo’s hips were straining against the weight of Finn’s arm pinning them in place and against his own quivering resistance, trying, Logan was sure, to make sure he didn’t buck and accidentally hurt their boyfriend.

“So good for us, Rouge. So fucking good, the both of you. Fucking perfect.” Leo made a noise like someone stabbed him, as he realized he was included in the praise.

The thing was.

Logan was a practical man. Pragmatic. It made him lethal sometimes on the ice. He was cutthroat about efficiency. If there was a faster path to a goal, Logan would take it. If that meant passing so someone else could sneak by a goalie’s pads, sobeit. If it meant shouldering himself between towering blueliners, who cared. It was only logical.

Now, he realized the fastest way to make them lose their minds.

It wasn’t even a decision then to go for the full-court press.

“C’mon, Harz. Just like that. Keep going. Make him go crazy,” Logan urged, guiding his head back down.

Leo looked close to it already. Logan nuzzled up under Leo’s tense jaw. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“G-god, Finn,” Leo panted.

“Tell him, baby boy. Tell him how good his throat feels around your cock.”

“Perfect. It feels perfect. So, so good. God, keep going, I’m gonna come.”

Logan could feel the swallow of Leo’s throat as he strained and then groaned through his orgasm. Logan let go of Finn’s head, and Finn pulled back slightly on Leo’s cock as he rode of the last of his high.

Leo and Finn looked at one another for a second before looking at Logan. Before Logan could blink, he found his back against Leo’s front and Finn up and kissing him hungrily. He could taste Leo on Finn’s tongue, and Logan moaned into his mouth as he felt one of Leo’s big hands pull him out of his boxers.

“Jesus, Logan. That was the hottest damn thing,” Finn said in between kisses to Logan’s throat and jaw. Logan’s head fell back against Leo’s shoulder, and he allowed himself to be kissed long and deep.

Finn was still hard and slick against his own weeping erection, and Leo’s hand kept them pressed tightly together as he pumped them lazily. Finn and Logan rutted against one another, Leo’s hand guiding them until they came almost at the same time.

“God, Tremz, where did that come from?” Leo asked. His voice was still deep like it got after he came.

“No idea. Just seemed like a good idea at the time.” Logan replied, leaning his head back against Leo’s shoulder.

“It was. Always the best ideas, Tremz,” Finn praised. “Like winning a fucking cup.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh. “Technically, that was Leo’s idea.”

“We can both have the best ideas,” Leo said kissing Logan’s temple.

“That’s right. Brilliant, the both of you,” Finn praised.

A few minutes and a handy washcloth later, and they were ready to get back to the party. Leo kissed them both before going to find some drinks.

“Good celebration?” Finn asked, knocking his shoulder into Logan’s.

Logan grinned. “Best celebration.”

Leo handed them both a beer.

It was kids and hockey. Gay kids and hockey. And Leo’s eyes had done that thing they did where they got all wide and blue when he’d asked Sirius to help. Leo hadn’t been a rookie in a solid five years, but he was still a rookie to Sirius. How Logan and Finn ever told Leo no was beyond him. Somehow, he doubted they ever did.

‘It’s still really new, you know. The foundation. Lots of high schoolers. I’m just…I want to leave something that makes all of this better. Makes it so what happened to you can’t happen again.”

That had sealed it—Leo’s earnest concern and his bare affection.

He’d almost regretted it until he’d seen Remus. Remus wasn’t exactly a snazzy dresser most of the time. Sirius didn’t care. He didn’t need it. Remus was gorgeous in his ratty workout clothes, holes and all, while he was panting and covered in sweat from the drills he insisted on running in the basement, even on days off.  If Remus had his preference, he’d wear the same navy suit every single game day. Given Remus’s propensity to ritual, Sirius was kind of surprised he hadn’t already insisted on it. When Remus had shrugged at the question of his attire, Leo had shaken his head and sent him away with Finn for an afternoon.

Now he was coming down the stairs, still fiddling with a cufflink.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Ugk,” was Sirius’s brilliant response.

The tux jacket was a coppery kind of brown. Fairly dark, but it caught the light and tossed out warmer flashes of rust and bronze. It made Remus’s amber eyes look almost otherworldly, golden and glowing.

Remus gave a smirk like he knew what he was doing.

“What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?” He asked.

Okay…definitely knew what he was doing.

He reached out straightening Sirius’s already perfectly straight lapels and smoothing them across Sirius’s chest.

“I’ve always liked this tux on you,” Remus mused, looking up at him through his lashes.

“You like all of them on me,” Sirius croaked. When had his throat gotten so dry?

“Fair point. Your shoulders, you know?” Remus admitted with a little shrug saying, ‘what can you do?’ “C’mon handsome, let’s get a move on.”

Sirius had followed him out like a lost puppy.

The fundraiser was at an art museum. They  had spent the evening taking in the sculptures and the paintings, and not for the first time, Sirius wished he had more time for things like this. What would it be like to make something for a living? Real things he could touch and feel? He wondered sometimes about how things would have gone had life been different? Wondered, but then dismissed it. He looked at Remus and thought that if life had to be precisely what it had been—Walburga included— to be right here, right now, so be it.

“Come on, there’s something I want to show you,” Remus said, tugging at Sirius’s hand. He wasn’t sure where Remus was taking him, but it didn’t really matter. Sirius would follow him regardless.

Remus looked over his shoulder before tugging him into a darkened room. By the light of the moon in the tall windows, Sirius could make out the soft pastel brush work of what looked like paintings of a million ponds and rivers, all the colors melting into one another. In the back there was an alcove. It looked like a place where a sculpture should go, but there wasn’t anything there right now.

Wasn’t until they were.

“What is—”

Suddenly, Sirius was being kissed. Not a peck or something romantic.

No, it was something filthy. Remus was kissing him like he played—full throttle, zero to 100 immediately, no time for you to mount a defense or catch your breath. And just like when Remus played, Sirius chased him.

“You’re so fucking hot. Jesus Christ,” he said against Sirius’s mouth. It came out slick and panting against his lips, and Sirius was helpless to say anything other than,

“Remus.”

Remus’s hands were knitted into his hair, pulling his head to the side so he could kiss a hot line up the cord of his neck. “I want you,” he whispered, breath hot against Sirius’s cheek.  

“What? Here?” Sirius could hear the party still going from down the hall, but something about that made him hard so fast in his tuxedo trousers that he felt lightheaded from the blood loss to his brain. They’d talked about a situation like this, gasped into one another’s ears when they were teetering on the mutual brink. And then, later in the sheets, they’d discussed it more calmly in theory. If the opportunity ever presented itself, of course.

“Mmmhmm. I’m gonna ride you into the fucking ground, baby,” he said, crowding Sirius against the wall. One of his hands found the front of Sirius’s trousers. “Oh, you like that.”

Of course he liked it. It was Remus.

It was Remus…getting on his knees and drawing him out from the confines of his pants and boxers.

“Mon Dieu,” Sirius breathed.

Remus made a show of laving his tongue up and down Sirius’s cock, worshiping the crown with moaning laps and greedy eyes.

“Love the way you taste,” he panted, pink tongue pressing to the tip where Sirius was steadily leaking. “Drives me fucking crazy.”

It was incongruous. Remus looked to put together, so fussy and formal, meanwhile his mouth was wrapping around his cock, cheeks hollowing. Sirius had the urge to muss him, so he wove his hand into Remus’s sandy hair when Remus finally pulled him deeper into his mouth.

“Fuck, Re.” His head thunked back against the wall as he felt Remus’s throat teasing at him, just out of reach. God, if he kept going Sirius was going to come.

Remus pulled back. “I gotta…”

He didn’t explain further, just yanked Sirius down against the wall. Clothes and limbs were tugged and arranged until Sirius was sitting bare-assed, back against the wall, and Remus straddling him in his lap. His hands found Sirius’s jaw and he leaned down to kiss him, slow and languid.

He reached down for Sirius’s cock, next moves telegraphed to Sirius as if he’d described them.

“R-Remus,” he gasped. “What about—”

Remus did that thing he always did, knowing what Sirius’s thoughts were almost before he’d had them. He took Sirius’s hand, kissing his fingertips before guiding it to his entrance.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius moaned. “When?” 

“Right before I got dressed,” Remus said, going up on his knees to grind into Sirius’s hand. “Didn’t want to have to wait. Knew I wouldn’t last…you looking like that. Fuck.” Sirius tried to ignore the image of Remus fingering himself open and fantasizing about what he was going to do to Sirius later.

“You planned for this?” Sirius asked, dumbfounded. It was hard to concentrate on anything with Remus’s clinging heat clutching around his fingers.

“Hoped, baby. Now, are you gonna let me ride you?” 

Sirius nodded urgently like it was the best idea Remus had ever had. Honestly, absent the gold band on his ring finger, it might be. 

Remus lined him up and worked himself down slowly just the way he liked it. 

“Fuck,” Remus sighed, throwing his head back, his skin pale and perfect in the moonlight. “God, I love the way you split me open. So good. Feel so perfect.” 

Sirius wanted to thrust his hips up, but the angle meant all he could do was sit there and let Remus fuck himself on him. Remus’s head came back to his ear, and he started whispering to Sirius in low murmurs punctuated every so often with sighs. 

“So fucking gorgeous, Sirius. I wanted to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the middle of that gallery hall,” he admitted. “Just so everyone knew who you belonged to.” It was ridiculous that anyone looked at Sirius and couldn’t immediately glean that he was for Remus, designed and tailored just for him. Still the idea of it made him gasp. 

“You like that, baby? People watching us while I fuck you?” He’d love to tell him that it was him fucking Remus, but it wasn’t really. Instead, all he could do was quiver and nod. “Everyone watching you lose it?” 

Sirius’s hands clutched uselessly at Remus’s hips. He knew trying to drag him down faster would just mean slower. Harder would mean softer. Demanding would just mean refusing. He’d learned that lesson the hard way…several times.

He let the idea of it invade his mind. The shocked crowd watching as Remus made it crystal clear just who was in charge for the evening, Sirius desperately trying to choke back moans and being unable to. People seeing just what a mess Remus could make him. 

Finally, Remus was seated, his ass firmly resting on Sirius’s hips. Remus started moving his own hips in little circles, just enough to be a tease, nothing that’d bring either of them relief anytime soon. 

“There wouldn’t be any hiding from it, then, Sirius. Everyone would know. Intimidating Captain Sirius Black’s a desperate slut. Is that what you want? For them to know?” 

That word was like a hardwire into Sirius’s brain, and he moaned a little too loudly. 

Remus laughed and kissed him quiet. “Shhh, baby. Unless you’re serious.” 

Sirius quirked an eyebrow at him. 

Remus groaned, this time not in pleasure. “That joke will eventually get old.” 

“Hasn’t yet, Loops.”

Remus laughed despite himself and then started moving in earnest. Sirius bit at his throat, one of his hands scrabbling to find grip against the stiff fabric of Remus’s dress shirt and feeling the heat of his back through it. 

“Remus. Remus. God. Feel so good. So…tout.” Everything. Fuck it was true. Sirius never felt more than he felt right here, Remus as close as he could be—blood hot, vice tight, and velvet soft—both of them working together to chase this bliss. Working together to make it. 

“That’s right, baby. Just like that,” Remus said, finding his mouth again and tongue licking inside. 

Sirius moved to grab Remus’s cock, hard and leaking between the tails of his shirt, but Remus shook his head. “Wanna come from just your cock. You can do that for me can’t you, baby?” 

Sirius felt drunk. Way more than half a glass of champagne would have accomplished. No, it was just Remus, finding and mashing every one of Sirius’s buttons in a complicated sequence only he knew. 

“Fuck, yes. Yeah, yeah, I can do that.” 

“Good boy.” 

“Calisse. Are you trying to kill me?” Sirius hissed. 

“No, sweetheart. I’m trying to make you lose your mind.” 

Sirius got hazy from there, got lost in the two of them rutting into one another and keeping rhythm. Remus’s mouth was pressed to his ear, whispering and murmuring filthy half-phrases between hard rocks of his hips. And then—suddenly.

A noise. 

Closer than any of the ones before. Hard heeled steps down the hallway. Closer and closer by the second. Remus pulled back.

He expected Remus to stop, freeze. 

He did. Just for a moment. And then, he didn’t. 

He put his hand over Sirius’s mouth. 

“Shhhh, baby. Quiet now,” he whispered firmly, eyes boring into Sirius’s.

Sirius’s eyes rolled back in his head as Remus resumed their pace and kept talking to him, just barely loud enough for Sirius to hear even with his mouth so close. 

“Who knows? You might just get your wish. Wanna show them some art, pretty baby?” 

Sirius felt pinned down and glued in place. Between the weight of Remus on top of him, the look in his eyes, and his hand at his mouth, Sirius couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. The threat of being caught made the tension ratchet up, made the urgency of it as sharp as a skate blade. He wanted it. Wanted them, whoever they were, to see. See him held down and fucked ruthlessly by his gorgeous husband, a plaything for Remus to get off with, something needy and desperate that only belonged to Remus and no one else. Even if they wanted him for themselves, tried to tempt him away with bedroom eyes and bitten lips, it didn’t matter. It was just Remus to whom he’d crawl to on his hands and knees. Remus who he’d beg for, break for, breathe for.

The noise got closer and closer, and Sirius was certain at this point they must be close to the entrance to the room.

Remus’s eyes went glassy and then he was coming, lips bitten shut to keep from moaning out loud. Sirius could feel the hot streaks of it against his stomach, shirt rucked up and out of the way.

He paused only long enough to ride out his peak and then kept going, if anything, more intently now, watching Sirius with the same focus he gave everything he wanted.

“What’s in here?” A unfamiliar voice asked.

Oh fuck.

Sirius was coming helplessly, mouthing Remus’s name silently against his palm.

“Oh, nothing much. Come on, there’s a sculpture room down the hallway,” another voice answered.

The steps receded into the background, but Sirius wasn’t aware of anything beyond the hot pulse of his cock pouring into Remus, the solid weight of him the only thing holding Sirius down in his own body.

Remus moved his hand, replacing it with his mouth as he kissed Sirius down from his high.

“Perfect, baby. You’re so perfect for me,” he crooned between kisses. “Fucked me so good, sweetheart. Filled me up so well.”

The praise was heady, bubbling in his cortex and making his spine shiver.

“Holy fuck, Remus. You’re going to fucking kill me one day.”

Remus laughed, something dark and deep and promising.

“No way. Where’s the fun in that?”

Somehow, Remus got him back into his tux and got himself dressed, too. Sirius was certainly no help, still reeling from endorphins. He smoothed his hands through Sirius’s hair several times, eyeing it suspiciously. Sirius doubted there was anything he was going to do for it that avoided ‘just fucked,’ but if it made Remus feel better about it, he’d stand here and be pet.

They slipped back into the main room, most people lingering over after dinner drinks and fancy little desserts floating by on trays.

“Enjoying yourself?” Leo asked, giving Sirius a wry smile.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he sniffed.

“’Course not. Dumo’s house all over again,” Leo said, smirking into his whiskey.

“If I remember correctly, someone was really interested in looking at Dumo’s guest bathroom that night…” Sirius said. “Besides, didn’t Finn have that tie on earlier?”

Leo turned to look at Logan and Finn and rolled his eyes. Logan’s teal tie clashed with Finn’s navy suit. “They really are hopeless.”

“Good thing they’ve got you, huh?”

Leo laughed now. “Hardly. Who do you think it was that got them out of their ties in the first place?” He asked before wandering over toward the pair of them.

“I was going to get more drinks, but I’m kind of ready to go home,” Remus said, appearing at his elbow. “Think Leo’d be okay with it?”

Sirius snorted. “Leo will be just fine.”

He thought about getting Remus back out of all his fancy clothes, stretching him out in their bed and licking into him, tasting the place he’d just marked before pressing back into him and hearing Remus’s high whine from the almost-too-much of it all.

He looked over at Remus, who looked like he had similar ideas.

He rolled again, flattening pillows that still smelled like maman’s favorite lavender laundry soap. How long before the scent faded? Based on prior experience, Logan put it at around a week, maybe two if he was lucky.

He wanted to sleep, usually never had a problem falling asleep, but most days weren’t like today.

Today had been…

A lot. Today had been a lot. Mostly good, somewhat bad, all of it confusing. Seeing Finn after so much time apart had been almost everything he’d dreaded, almost everything he’d hoped for.

Finn had pushed for everything Logan couldn’t give him. Finn asked for everything Logan refused. And then, Finn gave. He always gave and gave and gave, and Logan took. Logan was always taking and taking and taking. They fell into it again like old dance partners, hating their marks and hitting them anyway.

How long could either of them bear it? How was it going to be? Logan and Finn—friends, never talking about any of it? Logan at Finn’s wedding, staring at the back of his head over Alex’s shoulder as he married someone else, trying to remember to smile so the photos weren’t ruined? Years of interviews asking about their “special chemistry” on the ice and having to laugh and deflect forever? Would Logan settle down with some girl with auburn hair or brown eyes and make comparisons, unfair for everyone involved, hoping one day with a sufficient lack of oxygen it would die (and praying silently in the depths of the night that it never did?)

Finn still had the ability to make Logan feel more things in the space of one evening than he’d felt in a year. He somehow managed to make Logan’s world burst at the seams and narrow down to a pin prick at the same time. The world felt wider when Logan was with him, exuberant and curious and open.

All of it more, and Logan was helpless to do anything other than watch him. With Finn, the world gave him its best show—brighter colors, gorgeous days, the whole world ecstatic at his existence—but all of it sidelined and passed over because what was the rest of it when there was Finn?

And the thrum of it, still singing in Logan’s veins, made sleep elusive.  

He got up, finally so overheated by his overwarm sheets and pillows he couldn’t bear to try any longer. Maybe if he got out of bed, he could leave his racing thoughts to linger behind as well.

The house was quiet and dark as he made his way down the hallway to the kitchen.

He’d just finished a sandwich when he heard it.

There was rustling from the living room. He wandered down the hallway and saw the Dumais’s youngest daughter (Karley? Kelly?) reaching for the TV. Her dark hair was up in pigtails, and she had a soft-looking pink blanket in her hand.

“I wanna watch McStuffins,” she said imperiously. She’d been shy at dinner, ducking behind her mother’s arm and only at the very end of the night had flashed Logan a small smile.

“Uh?” Logan said. Always so eloquent, Lo, an unwelcome voice said in his head. It sounded like late night study sessions and a little like a city Logan had never been to.  So much for his escape plan.

“McStuffins!” she said again, snapping him back to reality.

Thank God for early childhood technology exposure. Logan managed to get the television on and, with some fairly impatient instructions from his helper, turned it to the right show. She made an enthusiastic noise and clapped before settling down and watching, Logan essentially forgotten. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. He hesitated for a moment before making his way upstairs. One of the bedroom’s doors was open—a spare, and another had unicorns and ponies plastered all over it. He figured maybe the one at the end of the hall was right.

He knocked softly and waited for a long, awkward moment. He was almost ready to turn around, when a bleary looking Dumo opened the door.

“Logan?”

“Désolé, sorry to wake you,” he said quietly in French. “But your daughter…”

Dumo frowned for a moment before he sighed. “Is Katie up again?” He asked. Katie.

Logan nodded.

Dumo looked over his shoulder and closed the door near silently behind him. “Come on, then.”

Logan followed him back downstairs and found Katie, thankfully, still watching her show.

“Papa!” She said, jumping into Pascal’s waiting arms. 

“Mon chou, we have talked about this.”

“I know Papa, but it was scary in there,” she said, frowning at him. Dumo kissed her forehead and gave Logan a smirk over her head.

“Ouais. Well, alright then. Come. Let’s watch.”

She settled back down on the floor, and Logan wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

“Right, I’ll just—”

“You’re welcome to stay, Logan.” Logan didn’t want to go back to the near silence of the room or the screaming in his head.

They stay like that for a while, neither of them talking in the partially dark room.

“It’s difficult to adjust sometimes. Sirius, well…Sirius struggled with sleep for some time,” Dumo eventually said. There was more to the story than that, it was obvious. Equally obvious that Pascal wasn’t going to talk about it.

“I’ve been sleeping away from home for a long time,” Logan said. Even college hadn’t phased him. Some of the guys got homesick, but not Logan. He missed his family, sure, but he’d been living apart from them for years already. It didn’t seem to bother him. Not like Finn, who’d more than once begged to sleep in Logan’s bed, just to be close to someone. At first, Logan hadn’t had the heart to refuse him. Eventually, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse himself.

“What is it then? You went to see Harzy. The two of you are close, yes? He’s been talking about it nonstop for weeks.”

“Yeah, best friends,” he said weakly. The words felt like bile, the rest of it trying to climb out of his throat. The fucking love of my life. The center of my whole world.

“It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to see one another, I imagine.”

“Yeah. Busy.” Busy ignoring emails until they stop coming, phone calls until it stops ringing, text messages until they sounded like strangers again. Cold turkey.

“A lot to catch up on, then. No wonder you’re still excited.”

Logan hummed in response, replaying the day over and over again. They’d agreed. Friends was better than nothing. Losing all of him was too much to contemplate. He was afraid having half of him may hurt twice as much.

Your fault! Yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault.

“But, it can sometimes be complicated. Good things aren’t always all good. Sometimes doux-amer?” Pascal continued.

That sounded right for them. Bitter, bitter Logan. Impossibly sweet Finn.

“Yeah, doux-amer,” he said, throat tight.

Pascal didn’t say anything else and eventually, Katie came over and climbed, surprisingly, into Logan’s lap and fell almost immediately to sleep.

“Finally. She does that. Full steam ahead and then she hits the boards,” Pascal said.

“Should we?”

“Non. Goodness. If you wake her up, she’ll never go to sleep again. I’ll stay with you. Let her sleep.”

Logan rested his head on the back of the couch and synched his breathing up with her deep, steady breaths. Before he knew it, the calm quiet of the room and Katie’s weight had him nodding off himself.

“Sleep, Logan. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

---LAST---

Logan’s life started again almost overnight.

In the space of a week:

Sirius Black had been outed.

Remus Lupin had been outed.

Sirius had almost ruined his relationship with Remus Lupin, and therefore, a considerable portion of the team.

He’d sobbed. Cried his heart out like he hadn’t since he was a little boy.

He’d gone to the fucking All-Star game. Played in the fucking All-Star game.

He’d knocked sense into Sirius’s head, a man he idolized like a hero, loved hard like a brother.

He’d come out to him.

Oh, and Finn and Leo loved him.

Leo and Finn loved him and sent him heart emojis almost as often as they sent devastating videos of themselves doing things to one another that made him desperately wish they’d had better timing with all of this.

Things that had seemed impossible only days ago now were past him, had transformed from possibilities to history. Something fundamental loosened in his chest, and Logan felt like he was taking full breaths for the first time…possibly since the day he’d walked into Harvard’s rink on the very first day of Freshman year and met his fate.

He’d been home for two days from the All-Star game and they’d talked about what life was going to look like now. It was hard for Logan to process any of it over the glowing, startling sunglow that seemed to pour out of the two of them. He’d thought he’d loved Finn before. Had, surely. Nothing hurt that bad if you didn’t love it first. But he knew now that it was only a fraction of what it was to have him, to know that Logan belonged to them, that his place was with them. It was heady.

He'd almost forgotten his things until the clothing in his suitcase had run out.

“Dumo,” he said, after practice. Dumo had looked up at him with steady eyes even as Logan hesitated.

“What is it, mon fils?”

“I’m-well, merde. I’m moving out.”

Dumo didn’t seem surprised. “Finn?”

Logan wasn’t sure exactly sure how he meant that.

“Ouais,” was the answer either way.

“That’s wonderful, Logan. You’ll be much more settled there, non?”

---

Logan had come the next day to get his things. Celeste was in the kitchen with an excited Katie making brownies from the smell of it.

“Lolo!!!” She shouted, leaping into his arms.

“Hi, Katie-dee, what are we making?” He asked, rolling up his sleeves.

He’d meant to have dinner and go home, but as the evening slipped by—Adele and Marc arguing over whose turn it was to wash the dishes; Celeste humming to herself as she packed up food and grinning when Dumo came up behind her and pressed against her back before he sneakily grabbed another roll and ran off snickering at the swatting of her dish towel—he couldn’t bring himself to go.

Change of plans. I want to stay the night. Just one last time.

Both of them respond almost immediately in support. And as soon as he was done, he powered off his phone.

“Now then, Katie-dee, we weren’t nearly finished with our story.”

Story was a loose word for it. It had been going for weeks now. It involved Barbie dolls and a giant pink and purple castle and at least half of the available stuffed animals in her room all dragged down into the living room.

“Alright. We were fighting the scary dragon,” Katie reminded him. Logan nodded dutifully. “And we’re trying to save the prince in the tower.”

“Ouais, I remember now.”

He spent the evening with her pretending to be knights fighting off the scary dragon…and the pit of snakes no one had seen…and the evil wizard behind it all…and finally rescued the prince.

“Papa said you’re moving out like Siri did.”

Logan nodded. He’d been dreading this part the most.

“But he said you’ll still be around, right?” Katie looked nervous, fiddling with one of other Barbie’s plastic blond hair. “Just like Siri?”

“Of course, Katie-dee. I promise.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to live with Finn and Leo.”

Katie considered this for a minute and nodded. “I like Finn.”

“Yeah? Me too,” Logan admitted. It felt nice to say it out loud even in this innocent context.

“And Leo is the tall one, right? With the hair?” she held up the Barbie she’d been fidgeting with earlier, the one with bright blond hair.

Logan laughed. “That’s right.”

“Hmm. Okay, then,” she said, nodding again. “They look like they could use your help.”

“Oh yeah? You think so?”  

“Ouais. You never know who might need saving, Lolo. Maybe you can be a knight for them, too,” she shrugged. Logan hadn’t been much of one in the last few years, but maybe she was right. Some things were absolutely worth fighting for.

“Could be.”

Katie gave a big yawn. “I’m tired.”

“Want to watch Bluey?” He asked.

Katie nodded, holding her arms out for him to pick her up.

He’d just got her settled into the couch beside him when Dumo flung himself down beside them. They made it through one episode before Katie was asleep.

“You’re a smart man for escaping, Logan. Too much chaos.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Please. Like you’d have it any other way.”

“C’est vrai,” Dumo said, “Still you’ll have so much peace and quiet.”

“Are you kidding me? Harzy’s like a giant kid. He makes at least four times as much mess.”

“Please. Like you’d have it any other way,” Dumo said, tossing his words back at him. He wasn’t saying anything that absolutely confirmed it, but Logan could tell he knew exactly why it was that Logan was moving in with them mid-season.

“Ouais. C’est vrai.”

“I’m happy for you, mon fils.”

“Me too, it’s just…”

“Doux-amer?”

Logan laughed, remembering.

Katie snored softly from his shoulder.

“Non, not this time. I think it’ll just be sweet.”

Pascal grinned at him. “You know? I think so, too.”

But Kathrine had gotten wrapped up in an editor call, and they’d never picked up the conversation again until the day of.

“Look. He’s gorgeous and nice. And you should see him.”

“I don’t know him.”

“That’s what dates are for, Celeste. Put on your best fuck me dress and go see.”

Celeste snorted. “That’s jumping the gun, ouais?”

Kathrine shook her head. “Tell me that after you meet him.”

“What did you say he does for a living?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, what’s his name?!”

“Nope, not that either. Just trust me. You’re perfect for one another.”

So now, here she was, paying for a taxi into Midtown on a Saturday night, dress acquired, and pulling up to Lespinasse. At least from the reservation, he had money or taste. Or, maybe both. If it was awful, she was only about eight blocks from the office. She could always just make her way there and finish her copy for Monday.

Katherine would probably call her out for thinking about work on Saturday, even if the date was terrible, but Katherine had gotten her into this mess. She didn’t get to have an opinion.

She made her way to the bar and fought for the bartenders attention to order a Cosmo. She’d lived in New York for three years now and she still hadn’t adjusted to how fast everything was all the time. She missed Val-d’Or more and more these days. Sixteen-year-old Celeste had seen the sleepy streets and rolling countryside as stifling. Now, when she was drinking burnt coffee from the communal coffee pot and trying for the fourth time in four hours to get the words on the screen to play nicely, she missed the quiet pace of things, the fresh air and familiarity.

“Bonsoir.”

Wait.

She knew that voice.

‘You’ve got a beautiful voice.’

She turned around and sure enough, it was him. Pascal Dumais smiled warmly at her, but after seeing her surprise, his hazel eyes grew concerned. He looked gorgeous, like he always did—brown hair pushed back, stubble dusting his firm jaw. She realized, belatedly, that this was the first time she had seen him outside of hockey gear or gym clothes. Well, his game day suits, but those felt like just another part of the uniform. The soft, black cashmere sweater had certainly never made any appearances at the stadium, and that was probably a good thing if Celeste’s heartbeat was any indicator.

“She didn’t tell you it was me, did she?” he asked in French, shoulders slumping. 

“No,” she replied. She had missed French. Now she only got to use it when she called her mother back home. “She definitely failed to mention it.”

Pascal offered a pained expression.  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. She made it seem as though…”

As though Celeste wanted to drag him to bed and ride his face? Because that had been told to Kathrine in confidence over brunchy Eggs Benedict and one too many mimosas. 

“It’s fine,” she said, brushing away the thought. 

“Ms. Gagnon—”

“Celeste,” she said. “If we’re going to go to dinner, the very least you could do is call me by my name.”

“Celeste,” he started again, raising an eyebrow at her. He needed to stop doing things with his eyebrows. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that. “We don’t have to if it’s going to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t know.”

“But now I do, and now I want dinner,” she said, sipping her drink and watching his disobedient eyebrows scrunch together slightly.

“With me?” He asked, something hopeful in his voice.

Celeste got up, fighting to keep the smirk off her face when she watched his pretty eyes rove over the dress, her in the dress. It was a good one, she had to admit. It was wine colored and cut to hug her hips and bust.

“Of course, Dumais. Who else is going to pay?” She asked smirking, walking past him to the host.

They were settled a few minutes later, drinks and starters ordered, and Celeste was ready to start asking questions. It was her job, after all.

“Tell me about home,” Pascal said.

“What?” she blurted.

“Tell me about where you’re from.”  

“Val d’Or isn’t a place anyone wants to hear about,” Celeste said, quickly.

Pascal looked confused. “It’s where you’re from. Of course I want to hear about it.” He looked genuine, and it was his expression that got her talking. She told him about the fields, her family, her friends, and realized later that her plan had failed in the wake of Pascal Dumais’s charm.

She was sure she’d intended for him to be doing most of the talking, but instead he’d learned about her older sister, her childhood dog, why she loved writing and journalism the way that she did, and the very best place back home to get a cup of coffee and breakfast.

“You’re usually not such a talker when I’m trying to get quotes from you,” she said, taking a drink of wine.

Pascal smiled. “It’s easier in French. Easier without a camera, too,” he said.

“Do you miss it?” She blurted.

“What? Home?”

She nodded, a little embarrassed.

“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. I like what I do, and I always knew traveling was going to be part of it. I do get lonely sometimes, though.”

She snorted.

“What?!”

“No way you’re hurting for company, Pascal.”

“Not Dumais?” His eyes were twinkling again. Eyes shouldn’t twinkle.

“Mmhmm, for now anyway. As long as you’re good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, voice a little lower in a way that sat heavily on her stomach. “But, no. I’m sure I could get plenty of company the way you mean it.”

“But that isn’t what you want?”

“No. Not anymore. It gets old pretty fast. I don’t want someone to spend just an evening with anymore.”

“What do you want?” She asked.

“What does anyone want? A companion? Love?” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Lots of people said they wanted those things, but in general very few of them meant it.

She shouldn’t indulge in this. She should shut it down. Instead, she asked, “Well, what does that look like for you?”

“I want someone who wants to spend her life with me. I want to be able to lean on one another when things are hard, share the joy of when things are good. I want someone to know me, and I want to know her, too.”

“And if her whole life doesn’t revolve around supporting you?”

Pascal shook his head. “I don’t want that. I get it. Lots of the guys do. Lots of the women expect it, but I don’t want that for me. I want her to be able to be and do whatever she wants. I’m not interested in caging someone.”

“I don’t exactly fit the stereotype,” she said. “Literally or metaphorically.” She’d seen the wives. Lots of blonde, lots of tans, lots of slim waists and toned stomachs.

Pascal cocked his head. “I missed something.”

“I just…” She wasn’t sure how to say it. Maybe the best way was bluntly. “Look, I like my work, I can’t imagine quitting it, not now. And I’m not exactly trophy wife material by hockey player standards.”

Pascal’s mouth fell open like he was shocked, maybe was shocked. “Celeste. Do you know how long I’ve been begging Katherine to set me up with you? Months. If you’re worried about my interest, please, don’t be.” He sounded serious, almost stern. Like it was something not to be questioned.

Oh.

Well then. If he was serious…

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked, making a split-second decision. He was a big boy, hockey player. Surely, he understood the importance of making a call on the fly.

“What? We just got here.”

She looked at the fancy table, the nice, crisp linens, the waiters in bowties and shook her head.

“Yeah, but what I really want is some poutine. C’mon. There’s a Québécois on 6th who makes the best in town,” she said getting up. If he wanted her, really wanted all of her, then the heels and the cosmos and the whole getup weren’t going to do it.

“You’re serious?” Pascal looked confused.

She snorted. “About poutine? Always. He’s got smoked meat sandwiches too, but he sells out. If we hurry, we might get some.”

She held out her hand to pull him up. He didn’t hesitate before taking it, pausing long enough to toss some money on the table.

“Think he has Tourtiere?” He asked.

“Only one way to find out, Pascal.”

“Dumo. My friends call me Dumo.”

“Yeah? What should I call you then?”

Pascal smiled at her. “I think the only right answer here is whatever you want.”

“Good boy,” she said.

Something lit up in his eyes. Huh. Well, plenty of time for that later.

They got their coats and scarves from the coat check and headed into the crisp, November night. Just as they stopped at the corner, a large hand encircled one of her own.

“Couldn’t help but notice. Your hands are cold. Are they always?” He asked, looking over at her and giving her a devastating little smirk. Maybe he could keep doing the sparkling eyes, eyebrows, face things. Maybe she liked it. Maybe she liked him.

“Most of the time, yeah.” His, on the other hand, was warm like a furnace.

“Good,” he said, nodding. “More for me.”

---

Dumo was petting her hair, feeding her ice chips that tasted better than anything she'd had since the last time she'd been in this spot.

"She's perfect, mon amour. I'm in love."

"You always are," she said, leaning on his shoulder. Dumo took her weight, lending her his strength. Just then the nurse brought her back to Celeste. Celeste soaked the moment up. They'd already decided this one would be their last.

"What do you think, then?" He asked. Celeste and Dumo always talked about names but nothing ever really solidified until they saw the baby. Marc had taken nearly a whole day to figure out. He looked over at her with a little smirk, same little twinkle in his eyes that made her want to throttle him and maybe follow him off a cliff. It had been like that from the very start.

It came to her all at once.

"Katherine," she said surely. Dumo's smile told her he knew, remembered, exactly what she was thinking of.

It wasn’t Jules’ first game. That had happened on the road in Columbus. The Wild had started the year off on a six-game roadie, ending the stand with the Lions. His parents had flown there to watch, but with Remus’s coaching schedule he hadn’t been able to make it, watching, instead, on a bus back from Hershey. It was a miracle he was in Gryffindor on the same day as the Lions. He loved coaching Gryffindor’s AHL team in ways he hadn’t expected, but scheduling was always a hassle. 

Jules had been thrilled to get drafted by the Wild.

“If it wasn’t going to be the Lions, I’m glad it was them.”

The Wild had been both of their first teams, first games, first favorite players before the Lions invaded the Lupin household and taken it over. For Jules, before Sirius Black, specifically.

It was funny now to think of 10-year-old Julian, wide eyed and nervous to meet his idol. The same man his 20-year-old-self flicked rolled up straw papers at last night during dinner. Sirius laughed and joined right in. Sirius had always treated Jules like a brother, and now it was difficult to believe they weren’t. Julian had hit a growth spurt his freshman year at Michigan and now he was shoulder to shoulder with Sirius. After years of drills and tape and talk with Sirius, he played like him too.

“You aren’t going to be able to always rely on speed like Remus. You’re not built for it. Let me show you.”

And he had. As soon as Jules had whispered, rather bashfully, at fourteen, that he was dead serious about making it, Sirius was there.

“I just didn’t want him to ever feel pressured,” Sirius had admitted. Remus heard the unspoken ‘like Reggie was’ all the same. But Jules hadn’t been, and he grew up with the steady confidence of someone who knew it could happen with enough work and talent and focus.

Where Remus had been unsure and nervous as a teenager about the cost and burden to his parents, the desperate need to show that it was all going to be worth it, and, eventually, the shame of watching it all crumble, Jules was wide-open, sunny and confident. At first his teammates reacted to who he was in either adoration or distaste but eventually came to know him first—the last name on the back of his jersey or the 12 right beneath it just an afterthought.

“I know. I’m just excited,” Remus admitted.

“No worries, Mon Loup. We won’t miss it, I promise. Now, then. Where do we find one of those giant turkey legs?”

---

They found their seats about ten minutes before the game started. This had been an issue of much debate. Sirius had wanted seats in the upper part of the lower bowl behind the visitor’s bench so he could best watch the game and Julian. The Lions wanted him in a box where they could point a camera at him easily and, perhaps they argued practically, that the two of them would pose a distraction…possibly a security risk.

Sirius had wanted to argue. Remus wanted to watch his brother play a game. And in the end, that had won out.

They’d compromised on a discreet set of seats, if there was such a thing, near the box entrances. Close enough to watch the action, easy entrance and exit from the arena, minimal risk of being spotted, and an ironclad promise from Marlene not to show them on the jumbotrons until the end of the game.

The first period had gone by without much fanfare. Jules was the fourth line center, and his line had managed to create a couple good opportunities, but no one had been able to cash in. It didn’t help that Leo had been blocking his shots since he was ten years old.

“It feels weird seeing them out there,” Sirius said. He usually didn’t comment on the game. Not now. Loved it, watched it, had plenty to say about decisions and players and strategy, but he didn’t talk much about how he felt about it.

Remus’s shoulder twinged, possibly in sympathy and maybe guilt. Sirius could still be out there. They both knew that, but Remus couldn’t. The idea of another shoulder surgery, another round of PT, another adjustment to another injury had sounded like hell to him. And when he’d admitted one night, tears soaking through Sirius’s sweatshirt, that he didn’t want it, Sirius had only held him and said, “Okay.”

Remus had gone to bed and the next day, he and Sirius had called an unsurprised Arthur Weasley.

“I’ve been expecting it, Remus,” Arthur said. “It’s a lot to go through again.”

“It’s not just Remus, Coach,” Sirius had said, silver eyes staring now straight into Remus’s. Remus felt his jaw drop. He started sputtering. Sirius had to be joking.

Arthur let loose a sigh. “I’ve been expecting that, too, Sirius.”

It was Sirius’s turn to look shocked.

“What? You think you’re the only clever person in the world, Black?” Arthur chuckled.

Remus reached over and took his hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “Miss it?”

Sirius’s head bobbed back and forth like he was considering it. “Not enough to miss this,” he said, kissing Remus’s cheek.

“Missing more of it these days,” Remus said. His coaching schedule took him all over. Sirius came to basically every home game with the Tigers and would often show up at his games if they were in driving distance, but still there were plenty of nights where that didn’t happen.

“Can you imagine how many more it would be if I was still playing?” Sirius asked, laughing. “The Tigers and the Lions play opposite schedules. Non. We’d never see one another. Besides, I’m enjoying being your trophy husband.”

Remus rolled his eyes and knocked their shoulders together. “Would my trophy husband like another beer? I’m told he doesn’t have to follow a diet plan these days.”

Sirius batted his lashes. “As long as you don’t think it’ll hurt my figure.”

---

The second had started, only ten seconds in, with the Lions goal horn. Remus was torn between cheering for James and wincing for Jules.

A few minutes later, Jules had gotten an assist to his winger. The first time the line had scored together, and all sense of divided loyalty flew out the window as he jumped to his feet and cheered as his brother and his teammates dogpiled in the corner.

He’d just settled back in for the rest of the period when it happened.

Jules had the puck on his tape, making his way up the boards at a steady pace when Finn caught up with him. Finn was an expert at this kind of hit, clean but hard enough to jar, the puck suddenly whisked away before you knew what’d happened. It was something Jules was going to have to learn just like the rest of them had.

Finn slammed into him, stick flicking the puck away and down the ice to a waiting James. He expected Finn to skate away, leaving Jules to regroup and tear after them.

But instead, the two of them went down to the ice.

Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure what. The check had been clean. No way Finn was going to wreck Jules. Finn was yelling now, gesturing for someone, anyone, to help him, and soon enough it became obvious why. 

He tipped Julian on his side, reaching in his mouth to tear out the mouthguard. He’d never used it like a chew toy. “What? I wanna keep all my teeth, Re.”

And, then there was vomit on the ice. 

Fuck. No, no. Nothing had hit his head. He’d seen. Finn had caught Jules before he’d slammed on the ground, he was sure of it. Was he? He didn’t know, didn’t know. Moody was on the ice, over the boards before the Wild’s personnel or EMS could get there, easing him from Finn’s arms and checking over him, taking his pulse, looking for injuries. 

Sirius swam into his field of view. Until now it had been narrowed to that little patch of ice. He suddenly became aware that Sirius’s strong hands were gripped around his arms keeping him from moving. 

“Remus. Remus, come on. Focus, sweetheart. Eyes on me. He’s going to be okay. Okay?”

“Jules! Let me go! Let me go, Sirius.” 

“Shh. Remus. I will. I absolutely will, but you need to take a breath. You can’t get to him over the glass, baby.” 

Remus became aware that he was standing. He hadn’t been. He was in the aisle. People were watching, some with cameras.  

“C’mon. This way. We’re going to him, baby. We’re going.” 

Someone appeared, he wasn’t sure who, but someone. Remus followed them blindly. Sirius seemed more in control. He’d released Remus’s arms and had an iron grip on one of his hands instead, the other holding his phone to his ear as he talked in hushed, rapid tones. 

“…don’t know anything yet. We’re going back now. Remus’ll go with him…Okay. Send me the flight details. I’ll come pick you up…” 

Soon enough, they were in the familiar halls of the players areas but everything mirrored in reverse. The visitor’s side. 

He saw the paramedics come through with the stretcher, Jules on it and thankfully awake. It didn’t matter how strong a grip Sirius had on him, he ripped out of it and started running. No one could hope to catch him. 

He watched fat tears roll down his brother’s face as he got close. Jules was tough. He’d seen him fight and take pucks to his legs and chest without complaint.

“Re! Fuck Re, it hurts.” 

“Jules! God, Jules. What happened?” He couldn’t help but start looking him over, touching whatever parts of him he could reach. 

“Sir, we need to—” Someone grabbed his shoulder. 

“Back the fuck off. He’s my fucking brother!” He snarled. He didn’t feel like himself, like he was capable of unknown violence if anyone got between them again. 

The paramedic threw her hands up in a placating gesture. She was maybe the same age as Jules with dark, wide eyes. “We just want to know if you want to ride in the ambulance.” 

Remus took a breath. Tried to fill his lungs with it. “Yes. I have to. Please.” 

“Okay, okay. No problem, Mr. Lupin. You can, no problem at all,” she said, giving him a calm nod. “We do need you to let go of the gurney though.” 

Remus looked down, jerking his hand away. “Right. Right. Jesus, sorry—”

“Remus!” Jules howled again. They started moving again, and Remus followed, listening to the brusque orders of the medics and staying out of the way. 

“Alright. Hi, Mr. Lupin,” the woman said, snapping nitrile gloves over her hands. 

“Julian,” Jules bit out. “He’s the only one old enough to be Mr. Lupin.” Jules flashed him a smile. It looked more like a grimace. 

The paramedic gave him a smile in return, her teeth bright against her dark skin. 

“Alright, Julian. You’re gonna feel a pinch and then, hopefully, you’re gonna start feeling a lot better.” 

“Any allergies?” She asked. 

“Uh, cats,” Remus answered.

“Not any cats at the hospital. Any medical allergies?” 

“Sorry. No,” Remus said abashed. 

“Hey, you’re alright. Not the first time someone’s lost it on me.” 

“I bet…Thank you,” he said quietly, now. 

Remus watched as one of her colleagues started the IV, hooking it to a bag of what Remus assumed were pretty strong narcotics. 

“How’s that feeling, Julian?” The paramedic asked a couple minutes later. 

“Better. So much better,” Julian said. Something unwound from around Remus’s heart.

“Good. That’s what we’re aiming for.” 

“God. How do you get anything done?” Julian asked, eyes glassy. 

“Excuse me?”

“So gorgeous. Bet you never get anything done. People must be stoppin’ you all th time t’tell you.” 

“Yeah, you’re feeling better,” she said confidently, shooting a wry smirk over to Remus. 

Jules nodded off as they pulled into the ambulance bay. 

“He’s not usually—“

“A giant flirt?” She asked. 

“No. Usually just giant?” Remus offered helplessly. She laughed. 

Things go all over the place from there. There was lots of paperwork and doctors and phone calls with Jules’s coach and their now near-frantic mother. 

“Sirius already called. We’re boarding the plane now. Any news?”

“They think his appendix burst. Apparently, he told the nurses he hadn’t been feeling good, but just ignored it.” 

“If this doesn’t kill him, I’m going to,” she hissed. 

“He didn’t want to miss games…it’s complicated, Mom.” 

“Don’t you take up for him, Remus John Lupin!” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He hung up with promises to send updates so she could read them the second they landed. Now, there was nothing to do but wait in the recirculated, cool air of the waiting room, a clock ticking out the seconds.

Remus was reminded of a time when Julian was younger and he’d lost him at a corn maze. Hope had been so excited to take them all to the pumpkin farm, picture after picture with hay bales and horses and of course more gords than Remus could count. Julian had begged to go in the maze, and Remus had told him ‘in a minute,’ at least a half a dozen times. Eventually, he’d looked up, and Julian had been gone.

The maze was huge, and they’d spent what felt like hours looking for him in it. At first, he’d been annoyed and then panicked as time went on.

Finally, he’d found him, crouched in one of the dead ends, huddled up on himself and crying.

Remus’s first reaction was relief, and second, he was ashamed to say, was anger.

“Don’t ever do that again, Jules! Do you understand me?”

Julian had looked at him with giant, teary eyes and nodded.

“Don’t ever go where I can’t see you, okay? Promise me.”

Now he was waiting outside the surgery suite and again thinking desperately, “Don’t ever go where I can’t see you.”

And then Sirius was there with a ghostly pale Finn. 

“Jesus, Loops. I’m so fucking sorry,” he said, pulling Remus into a crushing hug. From over his shoulder, he saw a sweaty Leo. They must have just stripped down, got dressed, and come straight to the hospital. 

Remus pulled back, shaking his head. “No, no. Hey, it wasn’t you. You kept him from choking. It’s his appendix. Not his head.” 

Finn started crying. “Thank Christ. I was so scared.” 

Remus shook his head. “S’okay, Finn. S’okay.”

Finn pulled himself together almost immediately. “Alright. What do you two need?” 

“Hope and Lyall are landing in about an hour and a half,” Sirius said. 

“We’ll go get them,” Leo said, taking Sirius’s keys. “Dinner?” 

Sirius looked over at Remus. “Yes. He’s gonna say no, but he needs to eat,” he said before Remus could answer that he was fine. 

They left just as Wild players and coaches started rolling in. Sirius went to greet them, running interference as Remus spotted Lily’s copper hair. She just opened her arms and held him. 

“James is with the team. He’ll be here as soon as he can.” Remus nodded into her shoulder. 

“How’d you get here so fast?” 

Lily laughed. “Sirius called me.”

Remus wanted to laugh, despite how dire things felt, wanted to kiss him over and over again until he felt like Sirius understood even a portion of his gratitude…that he’d thought of so much while Remus was reeling.

He relaxed into Lily’s hold and then eventually Sirius came striding over, hand raking through his hair.

“Okay. I think that’s everything.”

“Sit down with your husband, Sirius,” Lily said, handing him over to him. Remus curled into his familiar chest, nose pressed into his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said over and over into his skin, and when Sirius shushed his words, kept saying it by pressing soft lips to his jaw.

The doctor came out sometime after, telling them how well the procedure had gone and that he could go back to see him once he was out of recovery. Soon, he was there in a room with low lights, Julian smiling at him a little loopy from the drugs.

“Hey, bro,” he said. He sounded more solid now, if a little tired.

Remus’s hand passed through his brother’s caramel curls. “Thought I’d lost you, Jules.”

Julian laughed. “No way, old man.”

Remus’s smile felt like it was gonna split his mouth in two.

“Pinny?” A voice said from behind them. Two guys with Wild sweatshirts on were at the doorway.

“Oh shit, sorry, man,” one of them said.

“No, no. It’s alright. Come on in,” Remus said. He tried to imagine how he’d have felt if it was one of his teammates back here, and he didn’t have the heart to turn them away. “You stay with him. Mom and Dad should be here soon, Jules.”

“Ugh. How mad is she?”

“Defcon 5, pretty sure.”

“Fuck,” Jules said. “Remussss,” he whined.

“Nope. No way. This one’s all you, bud.”

“But…I’m sick,” he said.

“Whatever. You’ll be fine. You were charming the paramedic even when your guts were exploding.”

“Oh, yeah. What do you reckon the odds are on her going to dinner with me?”

“Well, she already saw you covered in vomit, sweaty, and howling like a banshee. If she says yes, better marry her.”

Remus left him to his friends and went back into the waiting room.

“How is he?” Sirius asked. James was here now beside him.

Finally, Remus felt like he could breathe.

“Fine. Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Their families had decided on various different plans for American Thanksgiving, and the three of them had decided that more than anything they wanted to spend it together. The ink was barely dry on Logan’s contract with the Rangers, and they knew now that for the next four years, this was going to be one of the few times during the season that none of them would have a game and get to see one another. As luck would have it, Logan had played an early home game Wednesday against the Penguins and had driven down to Gryffindor early. By the time Finn and Leo were done with their game against Montreal, he was there.

Leo wanted everything to be perfect. And perfect for Thanksgiving meant a dinner. A good one. The best one.

He’d done Thanksgiving dinner more times than he could count, but he’d always had his mama and her sisters as back up. Wyatt had surprised Eloise with a trip to Bali, so she was half a world away and without a phone. This was the first time he was attempting it all on his own.

Still, it shouldn’t be too complicated. It was just a lot of simple dishes all together at once. How difficult could it really be?

“Are you sure you want to do all this, Soleil?” Logan had asked, taking in all of the various groceries and prep that had taken over their kitchen by the time he got there.

“I already tried to talk him out of it,” Finn said, putting his chin on top of Logan’s head. “He said—”

“It’s a tradition. Besides, I want to do it for you,” Leo said, ignoring Finn.

“Exactly.”

“Is there anything we can—” Logan started again.

“Our instructions are to go to the living room and stay out of his hair,” Finn replied dutifully, nodding.

Logan’s eyebrows pulled together. “But I want to see you, Leo.”

Leo smiled. “You’ll see me plenty afterward. I promise.”

“But it’s, like, ten in the morning. Are you really going to start cooking now?”

Finn snorted. “Lo, he started like three days ago.”

Leo came up to both of them, kissing Finn’s cheek and then Logan’s forehead. “Trust me, it’ll all be worth it.”

That had been six hours ago.

Now, it looked as if a battle had been waged in the kitchen. Leo was usually pretty militant about organization while he was cooking, but that had been before his gravy had broken for the third time and he’d managed to scorch the rice and beans and had to start them over.

He was frantically trying to keep the cheese sauce from splitting and trying to figure out exactly how he was going to fit in three pans of various vegetables into the oven in the last thirty minutes of the turkey cooking.

“Baby, do you need—”

“I’m fine, Fish.”

“…You don’t seem—”

“Fine, Finn.”

“Are you s—”

“Finnegan.”

And then a few minutes later. Leo had his back to the doorway, but he could feel someone lingering there. It had to be Logan. Finn would have already started talking.

“Tremz, not now. I’ll be done soon.”

He couldn’t understand why they didn’t understand he was doing this for them. It had been effort. Lots and lots of effort over days of work. Baking pies and preparing bread, stewing turkey giblets and necks for stock that underpinned the gravy and the stuffing. Planning the menu, the grocery lists, the shopping. Weaving all of that in between practice and games and travel and everything else. It was almost done if they could give him an hour it’d be finished and he could relax.

He didn’t even turn around. He heard a sigh and the shuffling of feet and that was it.

Leo tried to distract himself from the lead weight in his stomach with mashing potatoes and pulling the stuffing from the oven, but it was there anyway.

And then, finally, it was done. The table was set.

Finn and Logan were both silent when they sat down.

“Looks great,” Finn said quietly.

“Ouais, Soleil.”

They made their plates, and Leo was finally ready to sit back and enjoy the fruits of all that labor.

And then tragedy struck.

Well, tragedy had started three days earlier when he’d decided to salt brine the turkey. Salt and baking powder. Salt and single action baking powder.

Finn reached for his napkin, discreetly trying to make a gagging noise without being rude.

It wasn’t the kind of mistake he made. But he did. The turkey looked perfect.

Logan winced, but kept chewing, swallowing determinedly.

As soon as he put it in his mouth, he could tell it wasn’t perfect. It couldn’t have been farther from perfect.  

Single action baking powder. Not double. Double would make it…

Taste like metal. Like baking soda.

Suddenly, Leo was aware of the wreck in the kitchen behind him, the sweat and stains on his T-shirt, the reserved, cowed expressions on their faces.

If it hadn’t already tasted vile, it would have tasted like ash anyway.

He wasn’t aware of the tears before they started to fall.

“Excuse me,” Leo said before leaving the table.

He just made it to the bathroom before the crying really started. What was he doing? He’d spent all day on this, and for what? He turned on the sink and wetted his hands, pressing cool water to his cheeks. He studied his red eyes in the mirror. His hair was frizzy, and he looked tired.

There was a gentle knock at the door before it was pushed open and Logan was there, pulling him into his arms, and the tears started again.

“Shhh, Soleil. It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothed. It didn’t matter that Leo was six inches taller than him, in an instant, Leo folded himself into his chest and let himself cry.

“I’m sorry. God. I’ve been the worst,” Leo snotted.

“Non. No. Leo, no. It’s alright. You were stressed. We know that. We know you wanted it to be good for us.”

“This was a terrible idea,” Leo said.

“It wasn’t. Shh. It wasn’t. You always try to make everything so good for us. Finn and I know that.”

“And you’re not here that long!? You’re leaving tomorrow and I spent all day snapping and distracted,” Leo continued to rant.

“Peanut, look at me,” Logan pulled back, using the sleeve of his too long sweatshirt to wipe at Leo’s face. Leo was sure he looked a mess.

Logan didn’t seem to care. He offered Leo a small smile.

“You’re okay. It’s okay. We love you, Leo. It’s so good that you want to do things for us, Peanut, but it’s all okay. I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan said, nodding his head like that was all there was to it.

Maybe it was.

“Okay, folks. Good news. There’s Thanksgiving pizza arriving in t-minus seven minutes,” Finn said coming in the doorway. “Everything else is delicious and who even likes turkey anyway? Worst poultry in my opinion,” Finn sniffed. 

Leo couldn’t do anything but pull him into their hug.

---

Afterward, after Finn and Logan tackled the kitchen and Leo was showered and snuggled into Finn’s oldest Harvard crewneck, Leo thought that it had been perfect anyway. Perfect as they’d laughed watching Finn try to combine cheese pizza and cranberry sauce, perfect as Logan balled up pieces of rolls and put them in the hood of Finn’s sweatshirt for him to find later.

Now they were all crammed on the couch. It was big enough for all of them, but each of them preferred to gather at one end and invade one another’s space. Leo’s head on Finn’s shoulder, breathing in Logan’s cologne as they watched A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.

And Leo was so grateful for them.

“Thank you,” he said quietly into Logan’s hair.

Logan didn’t say anything, just reached up to kiss temple.

I'll Call You by Mine. - (E) SW AU. Logan and Finn meet Finn's rookie year. Logan has a different path to the NHL. Prompt: Purple.

Place Differential -(M) NASCAR AU. Logan Tremblay spends his life racing away from things. France, Formula 1, and Finn in no particular order. (WIP). Prompt: Racing

The Afterparty - (E) Logan wears a crop top. It gets the point across. Prompt: "Good Morning to Me."

Dream after Dream after Dream - (T) A follow up to my other fic Clancy both of which focus on the cubs after retirement. While Clancy is about Leo. Dream is about Finn. Who...struggles to find his place post-NHL. Prompt: Changes.

You Look Like You Want Me to Want You to Come on Home - (M) What if they were farmers? Prompt: "Hello there."