call it love ও

“hyunsu?” a soft, familiar voice forcibly breaks him out of his daze. he freezes in place. was he hallucinating? 

hyunsu blinks, disoriented. his head spins. you stand before him, a few meters away. your clothes are unfamiliar and oversized - likely stolen from some department store or borrowed from another survivor. a layer of dirt stains the fabric, though neither of you seem to care. 

hesitantly, you take a step forward. there’s no fear in your movements, only caution - as if he’s a stray animal you’re afraid of scaring off if you move too quickly. your voice is just as calm and steady when you say, “you’re bleeding.” 

hyunsu remains still. he watches your every movement as you slowly close the distance. his fingertips grip the fabric of his oversized sweater, anxiously tugging at the stray threads near the ends - a nervous habit he had picked up during high school. hiding his bruised hands was easier than fielding questions about why he was hurt. 

you only stop when there are mere centimeters between your bodies. hyunsu is almost sure you can hear his heart beating erratically in his chest and each shallow breath filling his lungs. his breath hitches when your fingertips brush against the fresh cut in his bottom lip. though already healing at a rapid pace, the wound still stings slightly at the contact. “does it hurt?” you whisper. 

“no.” hyunsu swallows, shifting nervously beneath his gaze. “it doesn’t.” 

you don’t believe him. hyunsu can immediately tell; from the way that your lips curl into a soft frown and how your gaze lingers on the cuts littering his skin for a little longer than necessary, you’ve never been the best liar. especially not to him. 

“y/n,” hyunsu hesitantly reaches up, wrapping his hand around your wrist. his skin is warm against your own. his thumb brushes against your knuckles, tracing against the days-old bruises that linger there. a fresh feeling of guilt curls into his stomach before he pushes the thought aside. 

his eyes are that ever-familiar shade of deep brown when hyunsu’s gaze meets your own. they shine like honey in the sunlight. “i’m okay. i promise.” 

your eyes flutter shut for a moment as you take a shaky breath. your hand slips from hyunsu’s grasp to reach up. his breath catches in his throat - the breath inexplicably stolen from his lungs. his heart rate speeds up in his chest, much to the enjoyment of the voice in the back of his head.

hyunsu resists the urge to shy away when your hand brushes against his cheekbone. your fingertips trace against bloodstains, both new and old. “i know,” you smile softly. “but no amount of super-healing will ever stop me from worrying about you.” 

if hyunsu didn’t know any better, he would have called you a liar. the words hang heavy in the air. it feels like his heart has skipped a beat in his chest. it feels foreign to him - someone caring. it had been months since he had any interaction with a person who didn’t just want something from him; it had been years since he was given any semblance of kindness. 

he remains still, all but frozen in place when you step closer, hesitantly wrapping your arms around him. squeezing his eyes shut, hyunsu hides his face into the crook of your neck. your hands gingerly rub against his back, careful not to disturb any possible injuries any more. shivers run down his spine whenever your fingertips ghost against his bare skin through the holes in his sweater. 

“i’m here,” you whisper, so soft that hyunsu nearly misses it entirely. his fingers curl into the fabric of your t-shirt, keeping his body pressed closely against your own. “it’s okay.” 

tears prick at the corners of his eyes before hyunsu blinks them away. he takes a shaky breath, clinging to you a little tighter as he ignores the mocking voice in the back of his mind that begs him to ask for more. 

It has been 10 years since you last saw his face. For 10 whole years, you have been left wondering if you could have been anything more.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. You've seen his face on your FYP from time to time while scrolling through your favorite social media apps. Its like your phone loved to torture you.

However, you couldn't bear to stare for longer than a minute. You couldn't let those feelings you once shared come back.

Keeho left you. He left you with nothing more than a letter in the mail.

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve been struggling to find the right words, but I know it’s time to be honest about what’s been weighing on my heart.

You’ve been my rock, my confidante, and my best friend. The time we’ve spent together has been nothing short of incredible, filled with memories that I will cherish forever. But as much as it pains me to say this, I have to be truthful about the future.

You know a bit about how much I’ve always dreamed of pursuing a job in the music industry, and now that opportunity has finally come. Moving to Korea is a chance to follow my dreams, connect with my past, and grow in ways I’ve always hoped for. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up, but it’s also one that takes me far away from you.

This decision hasn’t been easy. I’ve spent countless nights thinking about us and what this move means for our relationship. The distance, the time apart—it’s something I’m not sure we can overcome without causing each other more pain and heartache. We both deserve to be happy and to fully embrace our futures, even if that means being apart.

You have been such a significant part of my life, and I will always be grateful for the love and support you’ve given me. I hope you understand that this decision is not about us lacking love or commitment, but about me needing to take this step for myself.

I believe that both of us deserve the chance to pursue our dreams and live our lives to the fullest. I hope that, in time, you can see this as a new beginning for both of us rather than an end.

I wish you all the happiness and success in the world. You are an amazing person, and I know you will go on to do incredible things. Thank you for everything you’ve brought into my life and for the memories we’ve made together.

Please take care of yourself, and remember that you will always have a special place in my heart.

With all my love,

Stephen

The words were still burned in your memory; you read the letter for weeks on end. You tried to contact him in every way possible, but your messages never seemed to be delivered, let alone even read.

That was until you realized you spent your entire summer before college sulking over a man who left you on a whim, the same man who you thought was going to be your high school sweetheart for the rest of eternity. You knew you shouldn't have let your hopes for the relationship develop as far as they did.

From then on, you decided to grow up and leave men—more like boys—in the past. You focused on your studies, climbed higher and higher in your line of work, and created a stable life for yourself and, of course, your pets.

However, it all seemed to feel like it was all crumbling down when you got a message from a very old group chat after you sat down to watch your favorite show.

"Class of ----, 10 year reunion!"

Of course, the thought of him was the first to come to mind.

Oh, how you wish you had outgrown the teenage heartbreak. It seems only a few things ever change.

There were plenty of random numbers in the chat, but in the back of your mind, you hoped that one of them might be his.

Days passed, and time drew closer to the large reunion. The world had seemed to slow down as your mind was clouded with too many conflicting emotions to even count.

You didn't know what to wear. You didn't know what to say. You didn't know what to do because, god forbid, Keeho actually showed up to this event. For all you knew, he was still in Korea, living out his idol dreams. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

As the night on the fated day rolled around, you made your way to the bar your former classmates rented out for the night. Let's just say you guys raised a lot of money back then.

Your dress was black and fitted. It had off the shoulder straps with a slit on the right side showing off your admirable figure (you all are beautiful <3).

Squeals filled the large open area as you walked through the door. Old faces surrounded you as you all shared laughs and smiles together.

On the other hand, you noticed your own eyes straying from those of your old friends. You were searching for somebody.

A small sigh left your lips when you didn't see his face. Was it disappointment? Was it relief? You didn't even know yourself. What you did know was that you needed some drinks while catching up with the girls.

The night went on; it was almost, if not past midnight. You shared laughs, smiles, and even tears while listening to everyone and their stories. Oh, how you would love it if your life were ever that interesting.

That's when you heard someone behind you.

"Y/N?" it said.

You froze in place.

You recognized the voice. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe if you ignore it, it will go away.

So you continued to listen to the girls talk, but you soon realized they all stopped to stare at whatever was behind you.

"Y/N, please."

You stood straight up, gathering your belongings while getting ready to walk right out the door. You weren't ready for this. Not yet. But how many more years did you need?

A firm hand grabbed your arm and stopped you from walking any further. You froze yet again, and the hand slowly turned you around.

You were now face-to-face with nobody other than the man himself, Keeho.

His hair was a deep black, just as you always remembered it. His outfit was all black, coincidentally matching your own. A pair of glasses rested on his nose, complimenting his features nicely. But his eyes? They looked concerned.

You could've sworn you noticed a little blush appear on his face after he noticed you checking him out up and down.

You felt like melting into a puddle on the floor right then and there, but not because of the butterflies in your stomach, but because of embarrassment.

"Please, let's just talk." He pleaded yet again.

You were not having any of it. You could feel the anger bubble up inside of you, but you did not want to do anything you would regret, at least not yet. The alcohol in your body may make you think differently later.

"Talk about what, Keeho?" You made sure the venom leaked from your teeth when you spoke his name.

He flinched. "About us, Y/N. I've missed you so much."

"There is no US," you spat before thinking, "We haven't been together for 10 years, and this is how you say hello?"

Keeho's eyes widened. "Wha-what do you mean?" he stuttered in disbelief.

You couldn't help but laugh. There is no way this man is standing here acting like the victim in this situation.

"Why are you laughing?!" He cried out despritley. Everyone in the whole bar was easily staring at you both now.

You're not a monster. You could see the hurt and betrayal in his eyes. You knew something wasn't right, and you knew you needed to listen to him talk.

"Okay, I'm sorry," you said in a hushed voice, trying to calm the man down in front of you with a deep breath of your own. "Let's talk, but not here; come on." You grabbed his sleeve, pulling him out of the bar.

You didn't bear your farewells. That was the least important thing on your mind in this moment. You were focused on getting the truth. What exactly did Keeho mean?

Rain came down suddenly as a flash of light flew through the sky.

'Just great,' you thought.

"Y/N..." Keeho whispered from behind.

You stopped tugging on this jacket to turn around. Unexpectedly, you were met with sad and pleading eyes. Ones that threatened to spill with tears as the rain rolled down his face—his goddamn pretty face.

"Kee..' the nickname slid off your tongue just like it did many years ago. 'I promise to listen, and I'm sorry I was irrational. Let's get back to my place and we can talk, okay?"

All he could do was nod before taking your hand in his and taking you to his car. He knew you were too tipsy to drive safely yourself, but you couldn't help the faint blush that appeared on your face at the contact.

The car ride was silent. His eyes seemed lazzer focused on the road while you couldn't help but steal glances his way every other second.

You mumbled a few directions to your house. Your head was pounding, whether from the few drinks or the fact that so much had happened all at once.

The last thing you expected was to be in Keeho's car while he drove you back to your place. But wasn't this what you wished for deep down?

The breaks slightly screeched to a stop as he pulled into your driveway.

"Wait," he said before jumping out of the car to open the door for you.

He grabbed your hand as he helped you out of the low car.

"Still a gentleman, I see."

He chuckled a little. but his mind still seemed to be elsewhere.

As you unlocked the door and let both of you in, he immediately led you to the couch. Sitting you down, Keeho then ventured to go find you a glass of water.

Handing you the cup, he spoke, "Y/N, where have you been?" He paused. You were taken aback. "I've tried contacting you a countless number of times, and all I've gotten was radio silence. I didn't even expect you to still be in our old town."

You took his words in, and they hit you hard. However, you knew you had to be mature about the situation and talk out whatever misunderstanding you had.

"Keeho, I haven't heard a thing from you since the day you randomly up and left." You spoke after taking a sip from the glass of water. You tried to gather your thoughts to the best of your ability.

"I know it was sudden, and I still regret leaving so quickly. I just don't understand how you've heard nothing from me this whole time." He paused to think. "I've tried to call, text, and even write letters; I swear Y/N. I just don't understa-" He cut himself off.

You could tell something clicked inside his mind once his hands clutched together and his eyes became glossy.

"What is it, Kee? I don't understand this whole thing either." You said softly as you reached out to hold his tense hands.

"I-I don't know for certain... I think my company is behind all of this. It explains why they had me get a brand new phone and phone number. They also asked a lot about my romantic life and your basic information. Oh my god, I bet they probably blocked your number in my phone before I even got it." He looked up from his spot on the floor as he was taking everything in himself, his eyes making contact with yours. "I am so sorry, Y/N. I-I never meant for any of this to happen I-"

"It's okay." You cut him off.

You couldn't believe what you were saying. How could this be okay? This man has left you basically broken and helpless for a decade, and in less than an hour you already forgave him.

On the other hand, you could tell he was hurting the same as you.

"No, no," He felt conflicted, "I have to make it up to you. I've missed you so much, and I hope you've missed me too. Please let me show you how much I still love you."

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

The soft hum of arcade machines filled the room, their neon lights flickering in the dim space. Peter Maximoff’s room had a sort of chaotic charm, cluttered with comics, old rock band posters, and an impressive lineup of retro games blinking in the corner. It was his sanctuary, a place where time seemed to slow down for him, but speed up for everyone else.

You sat cross-legged on his bed, watching him intently. For the past hour, he had been glued to the game screen, his silver hair falling into his eyes as his fingers deftly pressed the buttons on the machine. Occasionally, you'd try to start a conversation, you even tried to throw insults, but all you'd get in response were grunts or absentminded murmurs, his focus solely on defeating whatever boss he was facing.

"Peter" you sighed, stretching out your legs, hoping for a sliver of his attention.

No response. The sounds of rapid button mashing intensified.

“Babyyy” fake crying, thinking this will maybe catch his attention, but to no avail.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, this was how it was with Peter sometimes. As much as you loved hanging out with him, he could get lost in his games for hours, completely tuning out the world around him — including you.

Frustration started to bubble up in your chest. You were losing patience. Glancing around the room, your eyes landed on a pillow resting nearby. An idea sparked in your mind.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the pillow, stood up, and hurled it at him with all the force you could muster. Thinking that with all his focus being on his game, his speedy abilities wouldn’t be useful. You were right.

…

The pillow hit him square in the head, causing him to jolt in surprise. His character on the screen met an untimely demise as Peter finally looked at you, blinking rapidly.

"What the hell was that for?"

"For ignoring me," you shot back. "I've been sitting here for ages, and you haven’t even glanced my way."

Peter raised an eyebrow, pushing his silver hair out of his face, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, come on. You know I can multitask."

"You call that multitasking?" You gestured toward the screen, where his character lay defeated. "Doesn't look like you're doing so well to me. Plus why do you even call me over if all you’re doing is playing your games.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the machine, his posture casual, though there was a spark in his eyes now, a shift in the atmosphere. "Alright, alright. You want my attention? You got it."

There was something in his voice, low and teasing, that made your heart skip a beat (but this wasn’t unusual).

You had known Peter for years, but this, this felt different. There was a tension now (or maybe you were hoping), as his gaze lingered on you longer than it usually did.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little flustered under his scrutiny. "It took a pillow to the head for you to notice me, huh?"

He smirked, stepping away from the machine and slowly walking toward you. "Guess you gotta do what you gotta do." His voice was playful, but there was something else there, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could react, Peter grabbed the pillow you had thrown and tossed it back at you, but much more gently this time. You caught it, your fingers tightening around the fabric as the two of you stood there, only a few feet apart now. The space between you seemed to shrink by the second.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping a little as he looked at you from under his lashes, “what else do you have in mind to get my attention?”

The challenge in his tone was unmistakable, and it made your breath catch in your throat. You had always had this playful, teasing dynamic with Peter, but this felt like it was teetering on the edge of something more, something unspoken that neither of you had acknowledged until now.

You bit your lip, feeling the tension growing. "I could throw something else," you teased, though your voice came out a bit shakier than you intended.

Peter’s eyes flickered to your lips, and for a split second, you swore the air around you crackled. He was close now, closer than he’d ever been before. His usual cocky demeanor seemed to falter just a little as he took another step forward, closing the gap entirely.

"Or..." he murmured, his voice soft, "you could just... ask."

“I did…” you mumbled.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, every nerve alive with anticipation. The playful banter was gone, replaced by something more serious, something more intense. His eyes were locked on yours, and the world seemed to slow down for once, even for him.

Without thinking, you reached out, your hand brushing against his chest. The moment your fingers made contact, Peter's breath hitched, and he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

“All you had to do was ask," he whispered, his lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, the proximity making your head spin.

And then, finally, his lips were on yours.

The kiss started slow, almost tentative, like he wasn’t sure if this was okay, if you wanted it as much as he did. But the moment you kissed him back, everything changed. Peter's hand came up to cup your face, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, years of tension and unsaid things pouring into that one moment.

The world outside his room didn’t matter anymore. The arcade machines, the games, even the time itself—all of it faded away as you lost yourselves in each other.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, Peter rested his forehead against yours, his grin lazy and satisfied.

“Well," he said, still catching his breath, "that was definitely more fun than any game I’ve played today."

You chuckled, your fingers still tangled in his hair. "I’ll keep that in mind the next time you decide to ignore me."

His laugh was soft, but his eyes were serious as he looked at you. "Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again."

Your gaze turned back toward the picture you held in your hands. It was taken almost a year ago when the school had a summer party to celebrate the end of the semester. In the photo, you and Peter Maximoff were sitting down on a bench eating watermelon slices. Peter wore his ridiculous Hawaiian swim trunks decorated with a variety of tropical birds.

The day had been a blast filled with swimming, water balloon fights, tasty food, wonderful company, and your first kiss, sort of. Peter had kissed you on the cheek at the night’s end. When it happened your heart nearly exploded from excitement. For a time, you had hoped it was the beginning of a romance between you and him, but alas it was not. You didn’t see much of him last summer, and neither you nor him had made any steps into a relationship in the past year.

Your fingers brushed the picture of Peter’s face, and you felt a deep sense of sadness settle in the bottom of your stomach, for now you were convinced that he only saw you as a friend. Perhaps if you had the tiniest bit of courage, you could tell him about your secret crush on him but every time an opportunity arose for you to act, you’d get cold feet and leave before he’d suspect anything.

Sighing, you leaned your head against the wall trying to think of something other than Peter. You focused on your record player in front of you. The vinyl spinning around and around was hypnotizing and you relaxed for a moment, listening to John Lennon’s voice sing “Baby It’s You”.

Uh, oh, it doesn't matter what they say I know I'm gonna love you any old way What can I do, and it's true Don't want nobody, nobody

Cause baby, it's you

To help with your melancholy mood, you put on the Beatles’ first album Please Please Me. Now, when paying close attention to the lyrics, your thoughts drifted towards Peter again. You wanted him but he didn’t want you. Briefly, you were glad when the song changed but soured again when the song was “Do You Want To Know A Secret?”

Maybe a collection of love songs wasn’t the best idea to listen to when trying to forget about your crush. In irritation at the band singing about love, you almost threw the disc across your room. However, you calmed yourself, it wouldn't help your situation to destroy it. Besides, your dad bought the record when he was your age and gifted it to you as a present for your last birthday. 

Taking deep breaths in and out, you felt a rush of air beside you. Your stomach dropped when you saw who caused it. Peter, handsome as ever, was standing next to you, wearing his signature silver jacket and goggles. "Hey, whatcha up to?"

You pressed the picture to your front, covering it as much as you could with your hands. You hoped he wouldn't pay attention to the song, see the photo, and connect the dots. "Uh, nothing much. Just listening to some music."

Peter picked up the cover of the album and raised an eyebrow. "The Beatles? Seriously?" He questioned in mock disappointment. 

You shrugged your shoulders. "It's a good band, and I like this song." The record spun faster, and both of you were silent as George Harrison sang out:

Closer, let me whisper in your ear Say the words you long to hear I'm in love with you, ooh

Fidgeting, you glanced between the record player and Peter, feeling nervous. Peter did the same with you, though he seemed unbothered. You tapped your fingers tensely, wondering what possible course of action to take so you could slip away. It wouldn't be too random to jump out the window and army crawl through the bushes to escape, right?

Peter opened his mouth to speak, and fearing what might come out of his mouth, you said, "Yeah my dad bought it when he was younger, and he asked my mom out while they danced to this. She loves telling that story, always saying that without this song I might not have been born. So that's one of the reasons I like it, and it's a good song."

You stopped rambling, and noticed Peter had a curious expression on his face. "Do girls actually like that?"

"Huh?"

"That cheesy romance stuff, like your mom did. Girls like that?"

"Umm..." Your brain seemed to have short circuited at his question. "I mean it depends on the girl. Some girls do and some don't. Also depends on the circumstances, and who's asking is pretty important too." You let out a chuckle at the end, attempting to alleviate a bit of the awkwardness. 

Peter held the album for a few more seconds, digesting the information. He tossed the cover on your bed and asked, "Well, speaking of pleasing me, do you wanna go to 7-Eleven. A little bird told me they got a new shipment of twinkies." He had a lopsided grin on his face. 

You would've said yes, been happy to spend any amount of time with Peter, but now being in his company was unbearable. It was difficult having to joke, laugh, talk, and pretend you were content to be with him but not be with him. You couldn't keep up the façade. Not now. You replied, breaking eye contact, "I'm sorry, Pete. I don't want to right now."

"It'll take less than a minute. We can get some silly string too. Scott's room is lookin' real drab and it needs a bit of color stop to liven it up," he coaxed.

"No, I have a headache. I just want to be alone this evening." You gave him a sad smile, hoping he'd understand.

Peter was unhappy that you wouldn't come with him, but didn't pester any further. He nodded and departed without another word. You returned to gazing at the window, feeling dissatisfied with Peter's friendship and frustrated at your inability to tell him the truth.

"I'm glad I could come, Peter."

"Yeah, it's been a while since we hung out."

It was a hot July day in the suburbs of D.C. where you were staying with the Maximoff's. Over summer break, you had grown bored at home, so you decided to pay your favorite speedster a visit. An ample amount of time had elapsed since that evening in May, that you felt confident enough to be around Peter without becoming a stuttering lovestruck fool.

You had even gone out with a couple of dudes to get your mind off him. But now, with the two of you alone in his basement, your mind wandered over to possible romantic scenarios that could happen. You mentally rebuked yourself for thinking such things about your friend. Maybe there was some cute guy in a movie you could obsess over instead of Peter.

To distract yourself, you started looking through his extensive collection of stolen albums. He had all of Pink Floyd’s, including Atom Mother Heart, Meddle, Obscured by Clouds, and Dark Side of the Moon which was his favorite. 

"So, what do you feel like listening to?" You asked Peter who was playing Ms. Pac-Man on the other side of the room. Just as you were about to suggest Obscured by Clouds, he sped off and appeared again, this time closer to you, holding up a new one. It was Please Please Me.

"I was thinking of this one." He put it on his record player and fast-forward through a few songs until "Do You Want To Know A Secret" started playing. He held out his hand to you. Shocked by his actions, you took his hand hesitantly.

He put his other hand on your waist and began swaying. Peter was dancing with you! You tried to regain your composure and hoped he couldn't hear your heart beating a zillion miles per hour. 

You'll never know How much I really love you You'll never know How much I really care

You tried to begin a conversation to preoccupy yourself from the warm sensation spreading throughout your body but was stopped by Peter whispering in your ear. “Listen, do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell?” You stiffened at his words. "Closer, let me whisper in your ear. Say the words you long to hear."

He murmured the lyrics along with the song as it played. He continued, "I've known a secret for a week or two. Nobody knows, just we two." Peter twirled you around once then brought you closer to him. His lips brushed against your ears once more as he continued his soft singing. "Say the words you long to hear. I'm in love with you."

Tingles traveled up your spine when he said the romantic words. You looked him dead in the eyes, determining if this was all a giant joke, Peter being a jerk and playing with your tangled emotions, or if he was genuine. He returned your gaze and explained, "Technically it's been more than a week but that's what the song says."

You gaped at him. "Peter, are- are you serious? Are you joking?" You swallowed all of your apprehension and hardened your voice. "Cause if you are, I'll knock you into next Tuesday."

He gave a small chuckle at your reaction. "I wouldn't be slow dancing with you in my basement if I didn't like you." He emphasized the slow part to get his point across. However, something was off about Peter, he licked his lips, and looked, dare you say it, scared?

You realized he was waiting for you to say if you liked or didn't like him back. The thought made you smile. The fact that you, of all people, could make Peter nervous. How the tables had turned. You contained the laughter bubbling up inside you and answered, "I like you too, Peter."

His worried expression was quickly replaced with a cocky grin. "Huh, who knew this cheesy romance stuff worked?"

"Like mother, like daughter, I guess."

"Yeah, I should thank your dad next time I see him for the tip."

You let out a breathy laugh at his comment, before gingerly pressing your lips against his. He kissed back. You broke away first and rested your head on his shoulder. Peter hummed in contentment.

He whispered, "You know, I could get used to going this slow with you." In his cluttered basement, you and Peter danced to the Beatles, stopping more often than not to kiss each other. You were glad that his and your affections were no longer secret anymore. 

Listen, do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell, whoa, oh Closer, let me whisper in your ear Say the words you long to hear I'm in love with you