The thing with Trinity is that she’s a great example of how being a nice person and being a good person are not the same. I’d much rather have a good person.
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the novelty of having pets really does never wear off i’ve had my cat for ten years and i still look at him strolling around like can you believe this. a cat. is everyone seeing this. he’s alive he has bones and all. unbelievable
summary: Dating John Logan in secret would be easier if he knew how to act normal around you. Unfortunately, Logan is hopelessly in love, terrible at hiding it, and one affectionate comment away from exposing your entire relationship.
pairings: john logan x FIGURE SKATER! reader
RIN'S NOTE: I am so glad you guys enjoy the first part! I didn't expect it will liked by so many people, I appreciate it so much! Sorry that I take a long time to post the part 2, I kinda have to brainstormed a bit this one hehe. I hope you guys enjoy this! Love lots! <3
【WC 4.15k】
part one, part two
Nobody on campus knew you and Logan were together. Which meant your relationship existed almost entirely in small moments.
Like the coffee sitting inside your locker every Monday morning. Still warm.
You opened the locker one morning only to immediately smile at the familiar cup resting beside your books. A sticky note was wrapped around it messily.
Don’t say I never do anything for you.
— your favorite hockey player
You laughed quietly under your breath before quickly glancing around the hallway. Empty. Safe. Then you pulled your phone out immediately.
you’re literally the only hockey player i know
Your phone buzzed almost instantly.
exactly
A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. Unfortunately, someone cleared their throat nearby. You nearly jumped.
Logan appeared around the corner at the exact same moment Dean walked down the hallway.
Both of you immediately straightened. Your smile disappeared so fast. Logan casually shoved both hands into his pockets like he hadn’t just been staring at his phone waiting for your response.
Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly. Hmm.
“Morning,” Dean said slowly.
“Morning,” you answered quickly.
Logan nodded once. “Hey.”
Dean looked between both of you. Then kept walking. The second he disappeared around the corner, you both looked at each other again before quietly laughing.
“Smooth,” you whispered.
“I panicked.”
“I could tell.”
“You looked guilty too.”
“I learned from you.”
Logan grinned. God, you are so pretty.
Keeping the relationship hidden quickly turned into a game. A dangerous one sometimes.
Because Logan looked at you too softly without realizing it. And you smiled at him too automatically. Like during lectures.
You sat two rows ahead of him while pretending to pay attention to the professor, phone hidden beneath the desk.
Then your screen lit up. Logan.
this professor hates me personally
You bit back a smile.
you slept through class yesterday
irrelevant
look at me
You shouldn’t have. You knew you shouldn’t have. Still, your eyes drifted back toward him anyway. And there he was already staring at you with a lazy grin.
Warm brown eyes. Messy hair. Completely distracted.
Your stomach flipped instantly. Then Garrett leaned toward Logan to say something, forcing Logan to look away quickly before either of you got caught.
Unfortunately, Dean was sitting nearby. And Dean noticed everything.
Especially the way Logan smiled at his phone before looking at you.
Especially the way you immediately ducked your head afterward to hide your own smile.
Dean leaned back slightly in his chair as he tried to stop from grinning. Looks like his friend is been trying to hide something from them.
The rink became your favorite place to exist together. Mostly because it felt private even when it wasn’t. You were sitting on the bench one evening after practice, frustrated while aggressively messing with your skate laces.
“These things hate me.”
Logan looked up from his phone immediately. “What happened now?”
“They feel uneven.”
“You said that ten minutes ago.”
“Because they still are.”
Logan sighed dramatically before standing and walking over toward you.
“Give me that.”
Before you could protest, he crouched down in front of you automatically, hands moving toward your skates like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Which honestly? It kind of was.
You watched quietly while he retied the laces carefully. Focused. Gentle.
His large hands worked surprisingly delicately against the white laces while the rink lights reflected softly against the ice behind him. You couldn't help look and admire at his handsome face.
“You know,” you mumbled, “normal boyfriends buy flowers.” Logan glanced up immediately.
“I bought you mozzarella sticks yesterday.”
“That’s not romantic.”
“Baby,” he said seriously, “that’s devotion.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. And Logan immediately smiled hearing it.
Then suddenly—
“Oh my god.”
Both your heads snapped upward instantly. Tucker stood near the rink entrance staring directly at both of you. Your soul almost left your body. Logan stood so fast he nearly tripped over the bench.
“She had a skate issue,” he said immediately.
Tucker blinked.
“…Okay?”
You nodded too quickly. “Yep.”
Silence. Then Tucker frowned slightly.
“Why are you both acting weird?”
“We’re not,” you and Logan answered at the exact same time.
Tucker stared another second. Then shrugged.
“Alright.”
The second he walked away, you collapsed forward laughing into your hands. Logan groaned loudly beside you.
“We’re terrible at this.”
“You almost fell over.”
“I panicked.”
“You looked guilty.”
“Because Tucker scares me.”
You laughed harder while Logan watched you with that familiar soft look in his eyes. For a while, things stayed like that. Warm and easy.
Until the night he forgot to pick you up from the rink.
The first sign that something was wrong was that John Logan stopped texting back.
Which, honestly, shouldn’t have been alarming. People got busy. Hockey practice ran late. Classes existed.
Still, you found yourself checking your phone again while sitting on the edge of the skating rink bench, your skates half unlaced and your bag resting beside you. The rink had already started emptying out around you, the usual post-practice noise fading into silence one person at a time.
10:14 PM.
You stared at the screen.
No new messages.
Usually, Logan waited for you after practice. Not openly, of course.
Your relationship still lived in stolen moments and hidden routines. He’d sit somewhere near the back row of the rink bleachers pretending to scroll through his phone while secretly watching your entire practice with that soft, hopeless expression he only ever wore around you.
Then afterward, he’d walk you halfway back to your dorm. Not too close. Not too obvious.
But close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every now and then. Tonight, though, there was nothing.
No Logan. No dumb texts. No terrible dad jokes waiting for you afterward.
The disappointment settled in your chest slowly, heavier than you wanted it to be.
“Need me to lock up?” one of the rink staff asked kindly.
You blinked, forcing yourself back to reality.
“Oh. No, sorry.”
You quickly finished unlacing your skates, trying not to feel ridiculous about the whole thing. It wasn’t even a big deal.
Still, by the time you stepped outside into the cold night air, your chest ached in that quiet way disappointment always did.
And somewhere across campus, John Logan was realizing he had absolutely screwed up.
“Dude.”
Logan barely looked up from his locker.
“What?”
Garrett frowned from across the locker room. “You’ve checked your phone like twelve times in thirty seconds.”
“Have not.”
“You literally just did it again.”
Logan sighed dramatically and unlocked his phone anyway. Then froze.
Three missed calls. Seven texts. All from you.
baby
I have practice today, u can come by to watch
Practice finish.
I keep failing at my jump :((
John?
U busy? I'll wait.
Nvm, I am already at my dorm.
His stomach dropped so fast it physically hurt.
“Oh, I’m dead.”
Garrett blinked. “…What?”
Logan stood so abruptly his locker slammed shut behind him.
“I forgot something.”
Correction. Someone.
The realization hit him all at once, followed immediately by guilt so sharp it made him wince. He knew you waited for him.
Shit.
You probably stayed at the rink thinking he was on his way while he’d been stuck laughing with the guys after practice like an idiot.
“Oh my god,” Logan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Oh my god.”
Garrett stared at him like he’d finally lost it.
“You good?”
“No.”
Logan was already typing frantically.
I AM SO SORRY.
Then.
I got stuck after practice.
Then
Please don’t hate me.
He stared at the screen. Delivered. No response. Logan groaned loudly and leaned his forehead against the locker.
“Yeah,” Garrett said slowly, “you definitely look like a man in crisis.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Clearly.”
The worst part was that he knew exactly why you’d be upset. You never asked for much from him.
You didn’t ask him to post about you online or parade your relationship around campus. You didn’t complain about keeping things private even when Logan knew he made secrecy difficult just by existing.
You only asked him to show up. And tonight? He hadn’t.
The next morning, you were polite. Which somehow felt worse than anger. Because anger meant emotion. Anger meant yelling, irritation, frustration.
Politeness felt distant. Logan hated distance. Especially from you.
“Morning,” he said carefully when you walked into class. You glanced at him briefly. “Morning.”
That was it.
No smile. No teasing. No hidden text message appearing on his phone two seconds later.
Logan felt physically ill.
You sat down two rows ahead of him, pulling your notebook out quietly. Usually by now, Logan would already be texting you something stupid.
thinking about becoming a figure skater.
Or:
do you think hockey skates can make me elegant.
Instead, he spent the entire lecture staring miserably at the back of your head while internally suffering.
Dean noticed almost immediately as he slightly smirk. Tucker, meanwhile, leaned over slightly from the other side of the row.
“Do you think Logan failed the assignment?” he whispered. Dean stared at him like literally stared at him.
“No, dumbass. He’s in love.”
Tucker blinked.
“…With hockey?”
Mostly because Logan normally walked into class like he owned the building. Today, he looked like somebody had kicked his dog.
Interesting.
Dean leaned back slightly in his chair. “Why do you look pathetic today?”
Logan glared at him. “Mind your business.”
“Oh, definitely girl problems.”
“No.”
“You look emotionally devastated.”
“Thank you.”
Dean’s eyebrows lifted slightly. That sounded suspiciously sincere. Ten minutes later, Logan’s phone buzzed. His head snapped downward so fast Dean nearly laughed. Except the message wasn’t from you. Is from Garret.
u alive?
Logan stared at the text with visible betrayal. Meanwhile, two rows ahead, you were trying very hard not to notice the way Logan kept looking at you.
It wasn’t working. You could feel it.
Every glance lingered a little too long, heavy with apology. And annoyingly enough, you were already starting to soften. You love him too much.
Because Logan looked genuinely miserable.
But you were stress and exhausted that day, not only from training but also from the bloody college, especially to some professors who are usually not present at class and then have a test afterwards, fantastic, truly. It drains you so much, and he makes you wait until almost midnight.
Still, you stayed quiet. Let him suffer a little. When class finally ended, students immediately began standing and packing their things.
You gathered your notebook slowly, determined not to cave too quickly.
Then, while walking past Logan’s desk, his fingertips brushed lightly against yours.
It barely lasted a second. Tiny. Automatic. But the apology inside it felt immediate.
Sorry. Please don’t still be upset.
Your fingers reacted instinctively before your brain caught up. And from two seats away, Dean watched the entire thing happen.
Oh.
OH.
From Dean's eyes, that confirmed everything. Dean slowly turned toward Logan with the smuggest look imaginable. Logan immediately noticed.
“…What?”
Dean smiled innocently. “Nothing.”
Logan narrowed his eyes. “Dean.”
“Relax.”
The smirk stayed firmly in place.
“Interesting hand communication, though.”
Logan went still for half a second before looking away too quickly. Which confirmed everything. Dean almost laughed out loud.
Over the next few days, Logan tried everything. Unfortunately for him, Tucker witnessed most of it.
Specifically when Logan shoved snacks into your locker one afternoon while thinking nobody was watching.
Tucker stared.
“…Why are you feeding her?”
Logan nearly slammed the locker shut on his own hand.
“What?”
“Like a stray cat.”
Garrett choked on his drink nearby. Logan looked deeply offended. “She’s not a stray cat.” Tucker frowned thoughtfully.
“Okay, but you gave her like three snacks this week.”
Coffee mysteriously appearing outside your classroom. Your favorite snacks left inside your locker. A tiny sticky note tucked into your skate bag:
Please stop being mad at me. I’m emotionally fragile.
You stared at the note for a full ten seconds before smiling despite yourself. Then immediately stopped.
No. Stay strong. Stay mad.
Still, the note stayed folded carefully inside your jacket pocket for the rest of the day.
And Logan noticed you hadn’t thrown it away. Which honestly gave him more hope than it probably should have.
By Friday, Garrett was beginning to lose his mind. Mostly because Logan spent the entire week looking emotionally devastated.
Tucker, however, had reached a completely different conclusion.
“Are you dying?” he asked Logan seriously during practice. Logan stared at him tiredly.
“Emotionally.”
Tucker nodded like that made complete sense.
“Damn.”
And somehow, he still didn’t figure it out. He just pat Logan's shoulder trying to comfort him as Tucker leave giving Logan a space.
Because Logan was acting weird. Not normal Logan weird. Specific weird. The kind of weird that only happened when feelings were involved.
Garrett fully realized it during hockey practice. Specifically when you walked into the rink. You weren’t even there for Logan. You were talking to another skater near the entrance while adjusting your gloves.
Then some random guy started flirting with you. Garrett noticed two things immediately.
One: you looked politely uncomfortable.
Two: Logan looked one inconvenience away from committing homicide.
“Jesus,” Garrett muttered.
Logan’s jaw tightened. “What?”
“You like her.”
Logan nearly snapped his hockey stick in half.
“No.”
Garrett stared at him.
“Dude.”
“She’s just talking to somebody.”
“You’ve been glaring at him for thirty seconds.”
“I’m not glaring.”
“You look furious.”
Logan finally looked away. Garrett blinked. Then slowly grinned.
“Then stop doing apology drive-bys and actually talk to her.”
Logan glanced toward you across the rink. You were laughing softly at something another skater said, cheeks pink from the cold.
His chest tightened instantly. God. He missed you.
Even when you were standing right there.
“Party at my place tonight!”
Dean’s announcement about the party barely registered to you at first. The hallway around him exploded immediately with excitement, people talking over each other while hockey players shouted across the corridor about alcohol and rides and who was bringing speakers this time.
You stayed leaned against your locker, half listening while fixing the strap of your skate bag over your shoulder.
Parties weren’t really your thing. Especially not hockey parties but you go to the parties sometimes, is just depends on the mood.
Across the hallway, Logan was talking to Garrett, but every few seconds his eyes flickered back toward you automatically. Like instinct. Like breathing.
Dean noticed that too. Of course he did.
Which was probably why he suddenly appeared beside you out of nowhere.
“You should come tonight, pretty.”
You looked up in mild surprise. “Uh… I don’t think parties are really my scene.”
Dean hummed thoughtfully beside you, hands shoved into his pockets. “That’s tragic.”
“Why?”
“Well,” he said casually, “my man over there has been staring at you like a Victorian husband watching his wife board a warship.”
Your eyes widened immediately. Dean grinned. Across the hallway, Logan looked over just in time to see Dean leaning close to you. Dean winked at you and go back where he came from. His expression turned suspicious instantly.
“What was that?” Logan called.
Dean didn’t even look guilty.
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m always smiling.”
“That’s worse.”
"..."
"..."
"Do you know?"
"What do I know?"
You tried not to laugh while Logan kept glaring at Dean from across the hallway like he was two seconds away from physically removing him from the conversation.
And honestly? It was kind of adorable.
You stood in front of your mirror for nearly ten minutes debating whether showing up was worth the emotional damage.
Because if you went, you’d see Logan.
And lately, being around Logan felt dangerous. Not in a bad way. Just, difficult. Because every time he looked at you with those soft guilty eyes, your irritation weakened a little more.
Which was unfair, honestly.
Still, somehow, a few hours later, you found yourself standing inside Dean’s party while music shook through the walls. The party was already in full chaos. People packed every room shoulder to shoulder, laughing loudly over the music while hockey players moved through the crowd like they owned the entire building.
The air smelled faintly like alcohol, cheap cologne, and pizza. You stayed near the kitchen at first, mostly because it was easier to breathe there.
And because Logan was across the room.
You noticed him instantly. As usual.
He stood near the living room wall talking to Garrett, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans while absentmindedly nodding along to whatever Garrett was saying.
But every few seconds, his attention drifted back toward you automatically.
Like instinct.
And every single time your eyes met, something in his expression softened. Your stomach flipped annoyingly.
You looked away first. Which only made Garrett notice. Then Dean noticed Garrett noticing.
Tucker remained completely oblivious.
Actually, Tucker watched Logan staring at you from across the room for a full minute before leaning toward Garrett.
“Wow,” he said quietly. “Logan’s being weirdly protective tonight.”
Garrett slowly turned toward him.
“Buddy.”
“What?”
Dean physically looked away to hide his laughter. Tucker, meanwhile, remained painfully oblivious.
"What is it?"
At some point, a guy wandered over and started talking to you while you poured yourself another drink. He seemed nice enough. Cute, probably.
But you were only half paying attention because Logan’s stare kept brushing against you from across the room.
The guy leaned casually against the counter.
“So you skate competitively?”
“A little.”
“A little?” he laughed. “You’re being humble.” You smiled politely. Then his attention dropped briefly toward your outfit before returning to your face.
Definitely flirting which makes your eye twitch in irritation at how the guy look at you. And apparently, Logan noticed too.
Because the second the guy leaned slightly closer, Logan moved. You felt him before you properly saw him.
Warm hand against your wrist.
“There you are.”
Your head turned immediately.
Logan stood beside you now, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours lightly. Then, without even asking, he handed you a fresh drink.
Your usual order. Exactly the way you liked it.
The realization hit your chest softly.You hadn’t even asked. Logan simply knew.
The guy beside you glanced awkwardly between both of you before immediately deciding he wanted absolutely no part in whatever was happening.
“Uh… I’m gonna go find my friends.”
“Probably smart,” Dean muttered while passing by. You almost laughed. Once the guy disappeared into the crowd, you looked down at the drink in your hand.
“…You already got this for me?”
Logan looked confused by the question.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t ask.”
His brows furrowed slightly like the answer should’ve been obvious.
“You always want this at parties.”
The words came naturally. Easy. Automatic. Like memorizing your habits had become second nature to him. And somehow, that hurt your heart a little.
Because even after the argument, Logan still noticed everything about you. Then he caught the look on your face.
“…What?”
You shook your head softly, hiding your smile behind the cup.
“Nothing.” Logan narrowed his eyes suspiciously but gently guided you away from the kitchen anyway. Away from the crowd. Away from the noise.
The hallway was quieter. Not silent, exactly.
You could still hear the bass vibrating faintly through the walls, muffled laughter echoing from downstairs, the occasional shout from the living room.
But it felt private enough. For the first time all week, it was just the two of you. Logan leaned back lightly against the wall, watching you carefully.
“…You know that was obvious, right?” you asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You literally rescued me.”
“He was annoying me.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly as you slightly grin.
“Hm.”
“What?”
“You’re jealous.”
Logan looked personally offended.
“I’m not jealous.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m experiencing mild emotional distress.”
The laugh escaped you before you could stop it. And immediately, Logan’s entire expression softened.
He missed that sound. Missed you.
Even when you’d been right in front of him all week. His gaze lingered on your face for another second before turning quieter.More careful.
“I’m sorry.” The teasing disappeared completely. “For forgetting you.”
Your smile faded slightly. The memory of sitting alone at the rink returned immediately. Cold benches. Empty parking lot. Checking your phone over and over.
“I know,” you said softly. Logan swallowed.
“No, seriously. I felt horrible.”
“You should’ve.”
“I know.”
There was no defensiveness in his voice. No excuses. Just guilt. Logan stepped a little closer.
“I kept thinking about you waiting there alone."
Your chest tightened slightly.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You looked down at your drink for a second before sighing quietly. “I think what annoyed me most is that I knew you didn’t do it on purpose.”
Logan blinked.
“What?”
“You’re just…” You huffed softly. “An idiot sometimes.” Logan let out a startled laugh.
“That’s fair.”
“You make me worry and then show up looking sad enough to qualify for a medical diagnosis.”
“I was suffering.”
“You were dramatic.”
“Only because the love of my life ignored my texts.”
Your eyes widened slightly. Logan froze. Then immediately pointed at you.
“You heard nothing.” A smile finally broke fully across your face. “Oh my god.”
“I’m taking it back.”
“You literally called me—”
“I said nothing.”
You laughed again, softer this time. And Logan looked visibly relieved hearing it. Like your laughter physically reset something inside him.
“I hate when you’re upset with me,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty in his voice melted the last bit of tension sitting stubbornly in your chest.
“You looked miserable all week,” you admitted.
“That’s because I was miserable all week.”
“Drama queen.”
“Only for you.”
Your eyes met again. And suddenly the distance between you didn’t feel sharp anymore. Just warm. Familiar. Safe.
Logan’s hand brushed yours carefully. Tentative. Like he still wasn’t sure if he was forgiven yet. This time, you let your fingers curl around his. The relief on his face was immediate.
Unfortunately, that was the exact moment Dean appeared.
Silently. Like a demon.
His eyes immediately dropped toward your joined hands. Then he grinned. Pure evil. Before either of you could react, Dean shoved lightly against your shoulder.
“Oops! My bad!”
You stumbled forward with a startled sound straight into Logan. And instinctively, your lips pressed against his. Everything froze.
Logan went completely still. Your brain short-circuited instantly. Dean looked thrilled.
“Nice one!” Garrett yelled somewhere nearby.
Tucker blinked.
“…Huh? Wait what? What is going on”
You pulled back slightly. Logan stared at you like his soul had physically left his body.
“…You just kissed me publicly,” he said weakly. You almost laughed.
Then, before you could overthink it, you leaned up again and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.
Deliberate this time. Confirmation. The room erupted immediately.
“Finally!” Garret shouted. Dean looked unbearably smug. Tucker pointed aggressively.
“You guys were datin!?” Tucker looked genuinely distressed. “Since when?!”
“He literally stared at her like she personally invented happiness.”
Tucker looked horrified.
“I thought he just supported women.”
“Apparently,” Dean replied. Meanwhile Logan still looked stunned. But slowly, a grin spread across his face. Warm. Disbelieving. Completely in love. Then he looked down at you softly.
“So…”
You smiled.
“So?”
“This means I can hold your hand in public now, right?”
"Huh?" Tucker still on the background looking shocked as he watch both of you from afar.
You laughed. And Logan immediately took that as a yes. He grab your drink before he pull you by your waist with his free hand as he lean in to kiss on your lips.
Of course, you kissed back.
For the first time all night, Logan kissed you without worrying who was watching as he smile through your lips and honestly, Tucker’s crisis in the background only made it better.
“You lie to me for nine months!” Tucker yelled.
“Technically,” Dean said calmly, “nobody asked you.”
“I asked questions!"
Garrett looked genuinely offended. “Not good ones.”
Tucker pointed aggressively at Logan. “You carried her skate guards!”
“That was your evidence?” Logan asked.
“I thought you were being supportive!”
“He looked at her like she hung the moon,” Garrett said.
Tucker gasped dramatically. "Oh my god that's why he was miserable!"
Dean snorted. “Congratulations. You’ve reached consciousness.”
“I hate all of you.”
“We know,” Dean replied warmly.
“Wait.”
Everyone turned. Jules stood near the kitchen holding a drink, looking completely unbothered.
“I already knew.”
Logan blinked. “What?”
You immediately covered your face with your hands. Oh no.
Jules shrugged casually. “There was a condom wrapper left in our couch last month.”
Silence. Garrett choked. Dean folded in half laughing instantly. Tucker looked like his soul physically exited his body.
Logan went completely rigid. “There was a what!?”
“Relax,” Jules said. “At least you’re safe.”
“Jules!”
"First of all how did you even know that was mine?! It could possibly have been dean!"
"Facts" Dean said as he shrugged
"You don't wanna know."
“Honestly,” she continued thoughtfully, “the real crime was thinking you two were subtle.”
Dean wiped tears from his eyes. “Thank you!"
Tucker still looked devastated.
“…I can’t believe the condom solved the mystery before I did.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Logan realizes his crush for Hannah isn't actually a crush, but is it too late? or, you realize that Logan has a crush on Hannah through little interactions and decide to distance yourself only for Hannah to make Logan realize his mistake and try to get you back before it's too late.
Word count: 5.4k
⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ I've always been a Logan girl so here we are. I used a bit of Hannah and Logan's actual scene of realizing he's not actually into her but adapted it a little to fit this story. This is the first time in a while that I write this much so fast so hopefully its good I did not proofread or edit and the ending kinda sucks but oh well.
Off campus masterlist
You weren't dating, not really, John Logan didn't do relationships, but you were together in all the ways a relationship conveys without the formality of a title. You cheered for him on game day, he would call you every time he had a bad day, you would always find each other at parties and at some point along the way you'd found yourself a spot at the hockey house.
The change started slowly, so slow it was almost unnoticable at first. Your first significant meet with Hannah outside of Malone's was at the block party, you'd been having drinks with the guys and a few girls who had joined in hopes of scoring a hookup when Logan noticed how detached Garret had been from the party. That was the first time you noticed the longing glances, but they still didn't register fully because he still spent the rest of the party on your side and you still ended up in his bed that night.
"Lo I think someone's knocking" Tonight a bunch of people were over at the hockey house, it wasn't a party per se, but the entire hockey team plus a few other friends were around. You were currently sitting on the couch watching the guys play a hockey videogame.
"No one ever knocks" Logan replied not taking his attention off the tv.
"Exactly" You pointed out making it clear that if someone was knocking there must have been a reason.
"Fine" He sighed and handed you his controller, he started walking away and then turned back around "Wait no, she'll score an own goal, pause it!" But you were already moving your little guy around the ice, in circles really instead of actually playing the game.
He didn't seem to pay much attention to Hannah that night, just an extra look when a half naked, straight out of the shower Garrett took her upstairs.
Your next encounter with Hannah was Beau and Dean's party. You had coordinated outfits with one of your friends, Logan was a bird aliongside Tucker's bee and you were all throwing shots when she walked in. Hannah looked amazing in her head turning bunny costume that made Garretts magician make sense now.
In all honesty, you wouldn't have noticed anything weird with Logan if it hadn't been for the way his hold on your waist had instantly dropped when he noticed her. You played it off as nothing when Tucker appeared next to you and dragged him away for their little tradition, but your brain filed it away anyways.
"Mmm we're late" You mumbled into Logan's lips, you were parked on a lonely dark street a few streets away from Malone's because he, verbatim, had said 'you look too good I'm not making it the whole night without a taste'
"Mmhmm" He mumbled against your lips grinding his hips up to you "Don't care"
"Oh come on" You separate a little, he follows as if you were connected by a string, chasing your lips "Karaoke night is my favorite"
"You won't even sing" He complained pushing his forehead against yours.
"Maybe tonight I will" You tell him.
"You're telling me if I drive us to Malone's right now you'll actually sing tonight?" You nod, it's not true, you're most definitely not singing tonight, but you know if you're any late you're gonna fall victim to Dean, Tucker and Beau's incessant teasing the whole night "You're on baby"
When you get to Malone's you get the great surprise of Tucker on stage singing Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy "Holy shit" You gasp hitting Logan's arm.
He chuckles, Jules walks up to you with the song request clipboard "I'll put you and Garrett up for Summer Nights" They say already scribiling down the words.
"I know that's a joke but I would kill Sandy" Logan replies "Anyways, put this one down for Shake It Off"
"Noted" Jules writes down your name and song.
"Do not" You say but Jules smirks and walks away "Jules!"
They don't even turn around, just puts their hand up and waves approaching another group of people, Logan laughs "Come on, let's get a drink" He guides you to the bar, Tucker's voice flowing through the place with the crowd joining in every chorus.
Garrett and Hannah are at the bar, Hannah seems to be enjoying herself as she says hi to you all giggily sipping on what seems like a piña colada "I'll take one of those please" You call out to the bartended who nods getting to prepare the drink.
"Logan!" Hannah exclaims after pulling you into a drunken hug "You fixed my car" She points at the man, Logan nods with a strained 'yeah'. The girl turns to Garrett "He fixed my car"
Garrett looks confused "You have a car?"
The brunette gives him a weirded out look "No"
You stiffle a laugh at her response and squeeze her a little when you notice her somber expression "Had a car" Logan clarifies "Great car"
"I'm buying you a very special thank you drink" Hannah announces then "And you, for being a new friend" She turns to you, then there's confusion in her eyes "We can be friends right?"
"Yes Hannah, we can be friends" You chuckle, she beams.
"Great!" Then she leans over the bar and whispers something into the bartender's ear "Okay you're gonna love it!"
"Hannah has discovered the piña colada tonight" That explains the girl's drunken state, she's probably had too many but thankfully he is with Garrett who is probably the most responsible guy in this bar tonight.
"I've only had one, or four" Hannah laughs, she seems to be having fun.
"Is that what I'm getting too?" Logan asks, you don't miss the way he says 'I'm' but you ignore it, for now.
"Mmm nope" She turns back to you and Logan just as the bartender sets your piña colada and two very bright blue drinks "Okay, for my mechanic, and my new friend, I call this the bluebaru"
She hands you each a glass, you look behind her at Garrett as if asking for help but he just looks amused "Oh! It looks like wiper fluid" Logan says as he inspects the drink.
You take a sip, your face scrunching up at the taste of it at the same time as Garrett says "That might actually be wiper fluid"
"It's mostly blue curacao" Hannah explains "With the secret ingredient" She leans in closer to you and Logan "More blue curacao"
"Oh! I'm so excited" You laugh at Logan's clear suffering at the simple thought of drinking this, you already know you're handing this to either Dean or Beau the moment you see them, those two will drink pretty much anything.
You've just found Dean and Beau, the latter being occupied with his tongue down a redhead, when Hannah's name is announced. "Here have this" You shove the drink into Beau's hand and slip into the seat next to him.
"What's this?" He asks but is already taking a big gulp of it "Fuck!"
You smirk "Hannah Wells' creation, the bluebaru"
"You've got some competition" Beau nods at Logan who is staring intently at Hannah as she performs, that's the first time you really notice it.
"Oh hell no" Dean speaks making you realize the redhead's gone.
"She's with Garrett" You point out.
"Right" Beau nods but the damage is done, for the rest of the performance you can't stop noticing the way Logan looks at her like she's the most interesting thing in the planet and how his look changes to a more somber one when Hannah starts serenating Garrett more openly.
"Kinda sweet isn't it" Jules approaches their brother when they notice the looks he's been giving the girl performing "Garrett being serious about someone"
"You think he's serious?" Logan asks.
"Everyone on fifth line seems to think so" Jules replies "They get more likes than anything else I post" When their brother doesn't say anything they sigh knowing the conversation isn't going anyways "Not that you should care or anything"
"What are you talking about?" He asks, Jules doesn't reply, instead they nod to the booth where you and Beau are watching Hannah sing and Logan can't help but to feel a pinch of guilt in his gut.
You don't sing that night, and you're surprised when, after a few hours of him hanging out with everyone but you, Logan comes over and asks if you're ready to go. Your roomate is out and Logan takes full advantage of that giving you multiple orgasms, you don't think about why he's being so good to you, he'd already shown how interested he was earlier, but he can't help but think he has to make it up to you all night long.
The last thing Logan wanted tonight was to end up talking about Hannah with Garrett but here he was because he couldn't help himself but to ask, and he hated himself for the relief he'd felt when Garrett basically confirmed they weren't together "Hannah was just a distraction"
"Yeah, I mean, sometimes you don't get everything what you want" Logan said "But… you're Garrett Graham, alright? Things are gonna work out for ya okay? They always do"
Garrett chuckled "Yeah well for you too man, I mean, you've got the girl, and you make it look so easy" Logan felt a pang of pain at the mention of you and his friend's perspective of your relationship, things there weren't easy, hell he'd been ignoring you for a few days now, giving you dumb excuses as to why he couldn't see you and it all was because he couldn't get his friend's 'girl' out of his head "And it's me and you in the bruins, that's the plan, right?"
Another lie he was keeping, the one where he was pursuing hockey alongside Garrett when he graduated "Yeah, that's the dream"
The next few weeks are like torture for Logan, you eventually wear him down enough for him to start hanging out with you again but he's distant every single time. In the meantime, he's trying his hardest to stop thinking about Hannah while the girl spends every free moment she has in their house because apparently, her and Garrett are officially together now. Every few nights he has to actually leave the house and stay over at your dorm because he can't stand the sound of his best friend hooking up with Hannah and his headphones are not enough.
Thanksgiving had been, surprisingly nice, Garrett and Hannah had gone to his father's to celebrate, Dean was away in New York and that left Tucker, Logan and Jules, the last one inviting you over even before the invitation had been extended to everyone who didn't have a place to go.
"He's gonna burst something" You mumble into Logan's ear, the man being surprisnigly affectionate today.
"Hey, he wanted to do all this" Logan replies squeezing your waist as he hugs you from behind making you giggle.
"Yo lovebirds, get to work" Tucker points at you with the knife he was holding making both of you to put your hands up in surrender before moving to do whatever you were appointed to do.
Logan ends up leaving with Jules a while later, they go to visit their mom at rehab even though that's the last place he wants to be and you stay behind with the rest of your friends. The turkey, much to Tuck's dismay, ends up being a disaster and you all migrate to the rink instead.
You suck at skating but you manage to stay upright enough to glide around as the group plays hockey using parts of the charred turkey as a puck. You've found yourself in the middle of the rink, with the help of Kendall, when Logan and Jules return with their marshmallow attack. You shriek as one hits you square in the chest and glide your way to them as good as you can but you end up slipping and falling straight into the arms of Logan who laughs as he helps you up.
"What are you guys doing?" You ask laughing as your friends in the rink shriek when the siblings keep pelleting them with marshmallows as they skate around.
"It's a Logan thanksgiving motherfuckers!" Jules screams and continues their attack.
"Let's call G and Dean" Tucker suggests, pulling his phone out.
That's where your night changes drastically, when the illusion that you'd been keeping up shatters, because while you'd spent today in Logan's arms whispering jokes to each other and sneaking in kisses here and there the moment Hannah and Garrett's faces appear in Tucker's screen he drops your hand and his expression falters.
Your hand immediately feels cold at the loss of touch and you can't concentrate on the words being exchanged, you smile through it and then when they hang up you unlace your skates and replace them with your shoes and get the hell out of there.
Logan doesn't notice until Jules mentions it.
You stop reaching out to him, your replies come out short when he texts and you always have an excuse as to why you're busy or he can't come to your dorm. In just a week you've shifted your entire friend group from the hockey team to the football team. They greet you in with open arms, you've hang out with them before and Beau adores you, you also find out that the football girlfriends are real good friends who you can girl talk with even though you haven't been close for too long.
"Honestly, good for you" Mia, one of the wide receivers girlfriend's says, you're telling them the story of why you've ended up hanging out with them more lately while trying not to freeze your ass off while you watch the team practice "For having a backbone"
"Men can be so dense" Lily shakes her head "I bet you he's still wondering what he did to piss you off"
"I think he's taken the hint" You shrug "He's stopped spamming me at least"
"Sooo now that he's out of the picture… you and Beau?" Mia asks suggestively wiggling her eyebrows.
"Nope" You deny immediately "Been there, done that, we're friends and that's where we're staying"
"Wait you've hooked up before?" Lily's eyes are so impossibly wide "Okay share!"
You chuckle "We were freshmen, it happened a few times and then we figured out we enjoyed hanging out with each other but neither of us wanted a relationship so it kinda fizzled out" You shrug "But I also became friends with the hockey boys and Dean and Beau come as a package so we just stayed friends"
"I've always wondered" Mia trails, her eyes following Beau as he runs drills "When people say they come as a package, do you guys think they like… have threesomes and shit?"
You choke on nothing, heat rising up your neck "Oh. my. God" Lily jumps pointing at you "You dirty slut" But there's no real judgement in her voice, just curiosity.
"Would you look at that? I think I better go work on my psych paper" You stand up ignoring the girls asking you to come back behind you.
Malone's is packed by the time you make it in, Mia and Lily insisting they needed you there so here you were. You knew the hockey guys would be here, it was after all their fundraiser, Logan is at the entrance when you arrive "Hey you came" He looks surprised about your presence.
"Yep" You nod "Here I am"
The air is only awkward for a few seconds before your savior, Beau Maxwell, steals you away with a quick comment at Logan and soon enough he has you at the bar with a drink in hand.
"Hey!" Hannah greets you, you haven't seen her since before thanksgiving either and although she is, unknowingly, the reason why you and Logan fell out, there's not a single cell in your bone that resents her "Great party right?"
"It always is" You nod with a smile "Although I kinda like this venue better than the usual one"
Hannah curtsies "Thank you, all my idea. Have you met Allie?"
You nod and wave at Allie who's behind the bar "Yeah, hi"
"Hey" She smiles back but then her eyes track someone behind you. You turn to see who it is and your mouth falls agape when you find Dean walking by, a smirk on his face as he squeezes your waist and continues in. You look back at Allie who looks exactly like someone who's been caught doing something they shouldn't be doing "I-"
You chuckle and shake your head letting her know she doesn't need to give you any explanation, thankfully for her Hannah had been too distracted with the band on stage to notice.
"Give it up for after hours everybody" Dean says once he's up on stage "And a big round of applause to my buddy John Logan for putting on this killer event" You clap alongside everyone, for all his faults John Logan really cares about the Little Canes and has always pulled through for them "Look at him, doesn't get any more good looking than that. And he's single ladies" The crowd of girls around the room cheer, you chug your drink.
Allie gives you a look sliding another drink in front of you before going back to paying her full undivided attention to Dean "I thought you and Logan were…" Hannah says confused.
"Nope" You reply taking your drink and walking away to find either Mia and Lily or Beau.
"Ugh look at him" You grumble staring at Logan's smile as he talks to Hannah, you're now a few drinks in and your filter is running thin "Like her boyfriend is not his best friend who also happens to be 5 steps away lik get a grip dude"
Mia and Lily chuckle, you've found yourself in the middle of them while each of them has their boyfriend with them, luckily for you, because as upset as you are you don't want Logan's crush on Hannah being public knowlege, the guys are too busy engrossed on a conversation about how awful their season is going.
"I think" Lily says "You need a little distraction"
"Mhm" Mia agrees scoping the crowd out "How about… him?" She points at a brunette guy.
"Too complicated, he's on the hockey team" You tell them.
"That would just make things more interesting" You shake your head "Fine, no athletes then" She thinks about it for a few more seconds "How do you feel about artists"
You look the way she is, her gaze locked onto Justin Kohl "That… I might consider" The girls giggle next to you.
You do end up talking to Justin once his set is done and find yourself entertained enough to consider leaving with him. Key word: consider because when you are getting your coat while he waits by the door to join him Logan stops you.
"Hey can we talk?" He grabs your arm, soft enough to not hurt you but strong enough so you can't just slip away.
"Uh I gotta go" You say "Someone's waiting for me"
"What- I mean, what happened?" You give him a raised brow "We don't even talk anymore and I just need you to help me understand what happened"
"Logan come on, you're not that dumb" The dumb comment doesn't affect him but you calling him Logan makes him recoil. You never call him Logan, it's always Lo or John.
"Please" He says "I- I thought we were good" You scoff "What?"
"You're in love with your best friend's girlfriend Logan" You deadpan, if you had had one less drink tonight you probably wouldn't have said anything, but here you are.
"What? No I'm not" He argues.
"Yes you are!" You tell him "And honestly? That's a problem for you and them because you and I weren't even together"
"Don't say that" He shakes his head.
"Don't say what? It's the truth. We had fun while it lasted but now you clearly have your sights set on someone else and I think that's something you really have to deal with soon because it's not fair for anyone" You look at him for a few seconds, waiting for your words to sink in and then you say goodbye and walk away no longer in the mood to hook up with Justin.
It takes Hannah and Garret to breakup, fighting and then making amends with Garrett and Hannah and Garrett getting back together for Logan to start to accept his feelings, and once again, he hates himself for it. You were right the night of the fundraiser, this crush he had on hannah wasn't fair to anyone.
"Okay no, this is ridiculous and we need to talk" Hannah stops him as he tries leaving the kitchen as soon as she entered it even though he was halfway through making a sandwich. Something he'd been doing for weeks, avoiding her at all costs "Garrett said to ignore it, that it would eventualy go away, but I can't keep doing this"
"Wellsy I don't know what you're talking about" He tries to lie.
"Stop that!" She points at him with that scary authority the guys had come to know and fear "Do you have a thing for me?"
"Well, this has been fun, but I think I'll go upstairs and kill myself now" He says attempting to walk away but her voice stops him.
"Sit down" He does so because although Hannah is comparably smaller to him, she's scary.
"There's no point talking about this Wellsy I think we both know what the answer to your question is" He sighs.
"Just… answer it"
"Fine" He huffs "Yes I have a thing for you"
"Why?" She asks after a few moments of silence that felt like hours to him.
"I- What?"
"I'm so not your type and we both know it" She lets out.
"You don't know that" He accuses.
"Oh yeah? Prove it, what is it that makes you have a thing for me?"
"I'm tired of the parties and hookups and hopping from girl to girl, you made me realize that, you with your movie nights full of cuddles and cheering at our games and cooking dinner and the looks you give Garrett-" She snorts then interrupting his rant "Why are you laughing?"
"Because you're not hearing yourself, Logan… you don't want me, you want my relationship" Hannah tells him.
"I'm not into polygamy" He defends.
"No thats… thats not what I'm saying you idiot" She sits next to him "You say you're tired of hookups and hopping from girl to girl but tell me, how many girls have you slept with this year?" He thinks about it and the answer is easy, one, you're the only one he's slep with in over a year "You want cuddles and movie nights and someone cheering for you at your games and someone to cook you dinner and give you loving looks well I'm sorry to break it up to you pal but you had all that already" The 'pal' should've hurt but it just gets lost in the middle of the rest of the words as Logan realizes the truth in Hannah's words "Logan… you had the girl and you let her go and for the longest time I kept wondering why because it made no sense and here it is, the reason actually makes no sense"
"Shit" He cursed dropping his head onto the counter.
"Yeah, shit" The girl patted his back.
"Wellsy did you get lost on your way to the popcorn? Because- oh what happened?"Garrett entered the room.
"Logan here just realized he's been a bit of an idiot" Hannah explains and although he can't see them, Logan knows the couple is communicating with stares.
"Oh" Garrett lets out "Is this about…"
"Yeah"
"I've lost her haven't I?" Logan mumbles looking up to his friends.
"Uhhh" Garrett looks at Hannah for help.
"Noooo" But her tone doesn't sound sure "I mean… surely there's something we can come up with to help you get her back"
Logan groans and drops his head once more.
"Woah, what's with all the somber in here?" Dean walks in with Tucker trailing behind.
"Girl trouble" Garret lets out.
"Oh shit, finally got your head out of your ass huh?" The blonde slaps Logan on the back making him jump up.
"Dude" Tucker scolds him "Okay so… what are we doing? How are you fixing this?"
"I don't know" Logan admits.
"Right" Dean nods and pulls out a notepad and pen from one of the drawers "Operation GLGB starts now"
"GLGB?" Tucker questions.
"Get Logan's Girl back" Dean says in a 'duh' tone.
"You could've just said that" Garret argues.
"Well yeah but Logan here is always making up these terms so I thought it was fitting" The blonde counters.
"Okay whatever you wanna call it just… anyone has any ideas?" Hannah stops the argument before it gets too far.
It takes the group two whole weeks to come up with a plan and execute it.
"Beau I swear to God" You complained, Beau had come to your dorm earlier and dragged you out with no reason even when you complained you were working on an essay "If I don't get to finish my essay because of you I will cut your season short"
"You'd be doing me a favor honestly" He grumbles "Team's still doing so shit"
"Maybe because you spend your free time dragging girls out of their dorms instead of practicing" You point out sarcastically.
"Usually I don't have to drag them, they come on their own"
"Yeah cause you don't know how to get them there" You tease.
"Oh you know damn well I can" He smiles back.
"Ew no" You make a face, you'd rather leave those days in freshman year.
"Anyways, wait here" You're standing under a big tree in the middle of campus where the block party is usually held.
"Why?" You question.
"Just… stay" He pleads.
"Woof" You retort he chuckles and jogs away.
You sigh looking around, there's nothing Beau could be remotely interested in here, just people walking to and from classes and or dorms which your friend tends to stay away from as much as possible.
"Hey" You hear that familiar voice behind you, you don't turn, instead you're planning an escape that he doesn't let you complete as he stands in front of you.
"Hi"
"I'm sorry" He lets out "About everything, and I know you don't want to listen to me but please just hear me out"
"I can't" You try to say "I have an essay I need to finish, I'm just waiting for-"
"Beau" He interrupts you "Yeah, I know, I needed someone to lure you out of your dorm" You scoff running your hands through your hair "Please don't go just… just let me get this out and if you decide you want nothing more to do with me I promise I'll never bother you again"
"Two minutes" He nods.
"This is where I saw you for the first time, block party, freshman year, you were standing right here on your own" He motions to the spot you're standing in now "There were fairy lights on the tree and they glowed all around you like a halo. Garrett caught me staring, he told me to make a move, and I did, and honestly? I thought the most I was getting out of it would be a hookup but then we started talking and I knew that I needed you to be in my life as more than that"
"We didn't hook up in freshman year" You tell him "We barely spoke after that"
"True" He nods "Because you had that thing going on with Beau, and Beau was Dean's best friend and I didn't want to cause any drama within the team. But then one night we were out and he mentioned you two were just friends and I thought okay this is it, this is my chance" The two minutes are close to being over but you don't mention it "Sophomore year I realized no other girl made me feel the way you did, I stopped hooking up with random girls, I had no one night stands and I found myself looking for you in every room I walked into. And I've been the biggest idiot, I got in my head, I have a million things going on right now and the only good ones are you and hockey, in that order" He points at you "You and then hockey, but I let myself get wrapped up on the mentality of the other guys, the one where I couldn't possibly have a girlfriend because that meant leaving hockey behind"
In the entire time you've known John Logan you've never known him to be someone who can stand still for too long, a hockey player trait probably because all the guys are the same, but through this entire exchange he's stood right in front of you staring you in the eye as if he will spook you if he moves too much, the distance between you is a couple steps and it's probably the furthest he's stood since the night you met right here.
"But then, Garrett stated dating Hannah, Garrett Graham, the guy whose determination when it comes to hockey is so strong he's shaped his entire world around the sport, got a girlfriend, and he was doing great, he was thriving, he was happy. And seeing him like that made me jealous because I wanted that, I wanted to have the happy relationship and I confused that with wanting Hannah" He takes one step then, so small it makes nothing to decrease the distance "But I didn't, I didn't want Hannah, and I realized it too late. I realized that I had all that, I had it all with you I was just too much of a coward to call it what it was"
"Lo-" He cuts you off.
"Please" You've never seen him this broken "Please don't call me by my last name, I can't stand you calling me Logan"
You nod "John I don't know if I can just… move on from all this like it was nothing. We were together for over a year and never made it official, and it was okay back then because it was what we both wanted, but I'm not sure that's what I want anymore"
"But-" You put your hand out stopping him.
"I hear what you're saying, but what's to say we get back together and you realize it really is not what you wanted?"
"It is" He's basically pr¡leading my now, sure he said if you wanted to he would dissapear from your life, but he's sure as hell not going to do it without putting up a fight first "I know it is because we already had it and I loved it" He stops then and something flashes in his face, recognition "I love you"
Your eyes widen "Lo"
"I do, I love you" He chuckles shaking his head and gone is the man who stood still for so long because he's now cut down the distance and standing so close he's blocking your view of anyone else "I love going to parties and having you by my side the entire time, I love going to sleep with you in my arms and waking up to you basically on top of me, I love late nights snacking on Tuck's leftovers and I love seeing you in the stands at my games, I love you"
You're smiling now because you can tell he's being serious.
"I never had a crush on Hannah, baby you're the only one I've wanted so please, please cut me out of my misery and say you'll be mine again" His brown eyes bore into yours and you can't help but to pull him down by the neck and kiss him.
"Only if we do this right" You say once you separate, not that he let you go far, his hands are on your waist pulling you flushed against him and his forehead is on yours "No more situationship or casual or whatever it was"
He nods "It was never casual" And he pulls you in for another kiss.
You break out of the kiss when you hear your friends cheering behind you.
"Hell yeah I did that motherfuckers!" Beau exclaims clapping loudly.
"The only thing you did was take me away from my essay" You tell him "And the threat still stands" He puts his hands up in surrender chuckling.
summary: Three months ago, you and Logan quietly became something. You forgot to tell anyone. That was fine, it was yours, and you liked it that way. Then you found out your friends had started a betting pool on when you'd finally get together, and suddenly keeping the secret became a lot more fun.
or: four times someone almost caught you, and one time someone did.
notes: hii i'm back!! okay so this one is a little different from my usual so no angst, no parking lot confessions, no rain. also this pic of antonio is just so boyfriend that i had to write something. thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think!!
warnings: swearing, implied intimacy, a missing bra, hannah being a terrible secret keeper and fluff.
word count: 6k
You and Hannah were not often scheduled to work the same shift at Malone's, for the simple reason that you two were dangerously prone to a severe case of the giggles that management had clocked early and worked around. But today was different, another server had called in sick and your manager had called you in a tone that left very little room for negotiation. You said yes, of course. You always said yes.
Arriving, you spotted Hannah immediately, weaving between tables with three plates balanced on her arm. You passed her on your way to the staff locker room and gave her arm a quick squeeze. She grinned at you over her shoulder.
The lunch rush was the particular kind of brutal that didn't leave room for anything except moving, table to table, order to order, the focused blur of a busy service. By the time it slowed down your feet ached and your ponytail had developed a life of its own.
Hannah found you at the counter, mechanically polishing glasses.
"So busy we couldn't even talk today," she said, sliding in beside you and stealing a glass to polish.
"It was genuinely awful," you agreed. "My feet are going to file a formal complaint."
Hannah laughed. And then the door opened.
Logan, Garrett, Tucker, and Dean came in with the energy of people who had just finished practice and were extremely confident about their right to exist in any space they chose. Garrett made a beeline for Hannah with the focused intention of a man who had one priority. Behind him, Logan drifted toward the counter, casually, like he just happened to end up there, and leaned against it, watching you serve a customer with an expression that was doing nothing for your professional composure.
You almost dropped the bag the customer was reaching for.
"Hi, Logan." You kept your voice completely neutral. "Do you mind not staring at me? I'm working, you know."
He laughed, low and unhurried. "No, I don't think I can manage that."
"You could try."
"Not when you look this pretty."
"This pretty?" You gestured at yourself. "My hair is dirty and I didn't even have time to put on makeup."
"Still the prettiest," he said, and winked, and wandered back to the table where his friends had settled in like they owned the place.
You looked back at the counter. The glass you had been polishing was now somehow less clean than when you started.
Hannah had materialized at your elbow with the expression of someone watching something inevitable unfold.
"When," she said reverently, "are you two just going to date like normal people?" She sighed. "I hope it's soon. I kind of want to win that betting pool Tucker made."
You put the glass down. "What betting pool?"
Hannah's expression cycled through several things in rapid succession.
"No betting pool," she said. "I meant a real pool. Tucker said something about you guys and a real pool. Can't think of what it actually was. Because it was so long ago."
You looked at her.
"Hannah Marie Wells."
"That's not my middle name."
"Tell me the truth right now."
She looked left. She looked right. She found no exits. She exhaled.
"All right. Tucker organized a bet where everyone has to guess when you two will finally become a couple. I said three weeks from the day the bet was made, which is actually — tomorrow — so if you two could maybe just —"
"I cannot believe you guys would bet on something like that." You shook your head. "Actually, I can believe them. But you, Hannah. I expected better."
"Allie too," Hannah offered, as though this was helpful.
"What does the winner get?"
"Pride and glory. Also we each put in twenty dollars."
You set down the glass and made a direct line for the boys' table. Logan spotted you coming and started to smile, that smile, the one that was specifically for you.
"Logan," you said pleasantly, "can you help me with something? The door on one of the staff lockers is jammed. Do you mind taking a look? Your bill will be on the house if you fix it."
He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, sure." He pushed back from the table, nodded to the others, and followed you toward the back.
Dean watched you go with an expression of mild suspicion. Tucker didn't look up from his menu.
The staff locker room smelled like industrial cleaner and someone's forgotten lunch, which was not exactly the atmosphere you would have chosen, but it would do.
"So where's the door?" Logan said, looking around.
"There's no door."
He turned. "What?"
"There's no door. I needed to get you alone." You crossed your arms. "Your friends are running a betting pool on us."
"What do you mean there's no door?" He looked genuinely betrayed by the architecture. Then: "And they're your friends too."
"Not when they're betting on us. There's no door, Logan, I made it up. Focus."
He laughed and crossed the small room toward you, his hands finding your waist and pulling you in with the unhurried ease of someone who had been doing it for a while, not long enough that it felt ordinary, long enough that it felt inevitable.
"It's not a big deal, you know," he said. "The bet. They're just nosy."
"I know." He was very close, which made it difficult to maintain the appropriate level of outrage. You found yourself pressing small kisses to his lips almost without deciding to, punctuating your words between them. "I just — don't want — to make it — a whole thing yet."
Logan pulled back far enough to look at you properly.
"Yeah?" he said. Not pushing. Just asking.
"It's ours," you said, which came out simpler and more honest than you had intended. "For a little while longer. I just want it to be ours."
Something in his expression settled, warm and unhurried, the specific look of someone who understood completely and wasn't going anywhere.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay?"
"Yeah." He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. "Okay."
You pulled him in by the front of his shirt and kissed him properly this time, the locker room and the betting pool and Hannah's guilty face all receding into irrelevance.
Logan pulled back.
"Wait," he said. "So no bill on the house, then?"
one — tucker
The thing about Logan's shirts was that they were extremely comfortable.
This was not a controversial observation. They were soft and worn-in and smelled like him which was a feature rather than a bug on cold Sunday mornings when getting dressed felt like an unnecessary commitment.
You had not planned to be at the house on a Sunday morning. You had planned to be at your own place, in your own bed, wearing your own clothes, like a person who had their life together. What had actually happened was that Saturday night had turned into Sunday morning in the way that it sometimes did around Logan, and now it was nine-fifteen and you were in his kitchen in his grey shirt making coffee while he was still asleep upstairs.
Which was fine. Which was completely normal and fine.
The house was quiet. Tucker's door had been closed when you passed it. Dean and Garrett weren't home, Logan had said. You were alone with the coffee machine and a comfortable Sunday silence and absolutely no reason to think anyone was going to come downstairs for at least another hour.
You had just found the good mugs when you heard footsteps on the stairs.
Tucker appeared in the kitchen doorway in a hoodie and the expression of someone who had not yet fully committed to being awake. He was looking at his phone. He walked to the refrigerator. He opened it. He stared into it with the vacant focus of someone hoping food would appear through willpower alone.
Then he turned around and saw you.
The silence that followed had a very specific quality.
Tucker looked at you. He looked at the shirt. He looked at the coffee you were making, looked at the two mugs, and something moved across his face that went through approximately six stages before landing on stunned comprehension.
"Hey," you said, with the casual energy of someone who was not wearing their boyfriend's shirt in his kitchen on a Sunday morning. "Coffee?"
Tucker opened his mouth.
"I stayed over," you said pleasantly. "The couch is really comfortable actually."
Tucker looked at the shirt. He looked at the mugs. He looked at the shirt again.
"...Right," he said slowly.
"He let me borrow this because my top had a thing. A stain. From last night." You gestured vaguely. "Very embarrassing, actually. Pasta related."
Tucker was still looking at the mugs.
You picked up both mugs, tucked them against your chest in what you hoped was a casual gesture rather than an incriminating one, and smiled at him.
"I'm just going to bring this up," you said. "You should have some. There's plenty."
You walked past him and up the stairs before he could say anything else.
Logan was sitting up in bed when you came back, hair doing something architecturally ambitious, squinting at the light.
"Tucker's awake," you said, handing him his coffee and sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed.
Logan processed this. "And?"
"And I told him I slept on the couch because my shirt had a pasta stain."
Logan looked at you for a long moment.
"Did he believe you?"
"Absolutely not," you said cheerfully, and drank your coffee.
Downstairs, Tucker stood in the kitchen for another full minute. Then he took out his phone.
tucker: i just saw (Y/N) in the kitchen wearing logan's shirt
tucker: making TWO coffees
tucker: and she said she slept on the couch because of a pasta stain
dean: WHAT
garrett: what
tucker: I THINK I JUST WON THE BET
hannah: you didn't win the bet tucker. it was clearly just a pasta stain situation
tucker: HANNAH
allie: omg omg omg
tucker: do i win?? does the pasta stain story count as them getting together???
dean: i don't think pasta counts as confirmation tucker
tucker: I WILL NEVER FINANCIALLY RECOVER FROM THIS
two — hannah
The thing about Malone's on a Friday night was that it had exactly one staff bathroom and one customer bathroom, and the customer bathroom had been out of order since Wednesday, which meant that the staff bathroom had become public property by necessity, which meant the line for it snaked along the back wall and required a wait time that was genuinely unreasonable.
You had been waiting for four minutes when you remembered that you knew where the staff entrance was.
The staff hallway was quiet and dim, the sounds of the bar muffled behind the door. You had worked here long enough to know the code, and the bathroom was unlocked, and you were inside and washing your hands within ninety seconds, feeling extremely smug about the whole thing.
You were just reaching for a paper towel when the door opened.
Logan slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind him, and looked at you with the expression of someone who had just made the same efficient calculation.
"Oh," he said. "You had the same idea."
"Staff entrance," you confirmed.
"Smart."
"I know."
He crossed to the sink beside yours and turned on the tap, and for a moment you were just two people washing their hands in a small staff bathroom, which was either extremely romantic or extremely unromantic depending on how you looked at it. His shoulder was warm against yours in the small space. You handed him a paper towel.
"Tucker's texts have been unhinged this week," you said.
"The pasta shirt thing really broke him," Logan agreed, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"He texted me three times yesterday asking if I wanted to talk about my feelings."
Logan laughed. You loved the sound of it in small spaces, the way it filled them. You turned toward him and he turned toward you and you were very close, and he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with the absent, habitual tenderness of someone who had been doing it long enough that he didn't think about it anymore, and you went up on your toes and kissed him quickly.
"Separate," you said against his mouth. "We should go back separately."
"Separate," he agreed, not moving.
You kissed him again, less quickly this time, his hands finding your waist, the paper towel entirely abandoned.
The door opened.
Hannah stood in the doorway.
The three of you looked at each other.
"The customer bathroom is out of order," Hannah said, very carefully, "so I used the staff code."
"Same," you said. You and Logan had separated with the practiced efficiency of people who had been interrupted before. "Just washing our hands."
"Both of you."
"It's a two sink bathroom," Logan said.
Hannah looked at the two of you. She looked at the very small bathroom. She looked at the single paper towel that was inexplicably on the floor.
"Right," she said. "Of course. I'll just —" she pointed at the toilet. "I'll just use this."
"We were just leaving," you said.
You and Logan filed past her. You did not look at each other in the hallway.
Behind you, you heard Hannah take out her phone.
hannah: ok so i just walked into the staff bathroom at malone's and (Y/N) and logan were BOTH in there
allie: WHAT
tucker: I TOLD YOU ABOUT THE PASTA SHIRT
hannah: they said they were just washing their hands
dean: both of them. in the staff bathroom. together.
hannah: there were two sinks
garrett: hannah
hannah: i mean it's a completely reasonable explanation!!
tucker: HANNAH YOU ARE LITERALLY DATING GARRETT YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS
hannah: i mean. yes. but also. two sinks.
allie: hannah i love you but two sinks is not an explanation
hannah: i just think we should give them the benefit of the doubt!!
tucker: hannah you literally have twenty dollars on this
hannah: ...i said three weeks
hannah: from a month ago
hannah: i may have already lost
three — allie
Allie considered herself an observant person.
This was not arrogance, it was simply a fact, documented over years of being the person in any given group who noticed things. Who left early. Who had argued with whom. Who liked whom. The small social architecture of any room was, to Allie, essentially readable at a glance.
Which was why she could not understand why no one else was seeing what she was seeing.
It was a random week night, the kind that had somehow evolved from a study session into a full group hangout without anyone formally announcing it, and now there were seven of them spread across the living room , Logan and Dean on the floor with Tucker's terrible taste in television providing background noise, Garrett and Hannah on the armchair that was technically too small for two people but they had been making work for months, and you and Allie on the big couch with your respective laptops.
Normal. Fine. A completely normal Tuesday.
Except.
Allie had been reaching for her water bottle when she saw it.
Logan had said something to Tucker, something quiet, barely audible over the television, and Tucker had responded, and then Logan had looked across the room at you. Just looked. For maybe two seconds.
And you had looked back.
It wasn't a loaded look, exactly. It wasn't the dramatic eye contact of a romantic comedy. It was quieter than that, it was the almost imperceptible look of two people who were sharing a private thought from across a room. Easy. Habitual. Like a conversation conducted entirely without words by people who had been having it for a long time.
Allie's water bottle missed the table entirely.
"You okay?" you asked, looking at her.
"Fine," Allie said. "Totally fine."
She looked at Logan. He had gone back to whatever Tucker was saying. Completely normal. Nothing to see.
Allie looked back at you. You were typing something on your laptop. Also completely normal.
I saw that, Allie thought. I absolutely saw that.
She leaned over to you. "Hey," she said, very casually. "What was that?"
You looked up from your laptop. "What was what?"
"That —" she gestured vaguely between you and Logan. "That look."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You and Logan just —" she did the gesture again, which in retrospect was not a very descriptive gesture.
"Allie," you said pleasantly, "I genuinely don't know what you're referring to."
You went back to your laptop. Allie stared at the side of your head.
I saw it, she thought. I definitely saw it.
She turned to the room. She needed a witness.
"Dean," she said.
Dean looked up from the floor. "What."
"Did you just see —" she started. But Dean had already looked back at the television. Tucker was saying something about the episode. Logan was responding. You were typing. Nothing was happening. The moment was completely gone, absorbed back into the ordinary texture of a Tuesday night, leaving absolutely no evidence.
Allie sat back on the couch.
I know what I saw, she thought.
Twenty minutes passed.
And then Logan got up to refill his water bottle in the kitchen, and on his way back he passed the couch, and his hand dropped briefly to your shoulder, barely a touch, a graze really, the kind that lasted less than a second and you didn't even look up from your laptop, just tilted your head toward it slightly, like a plant toward light, like the most natural thing in the world.
Allie's laptop slid off her knees.
"I SAW THAT," she said.
Everyone looked at her.
"Saw what?" Tucker said.
"Logan's hand — and her shoulder — they just —" she pointed. Logan was back on the floor. You were looking at Allie with an expression of polite confusion. "He touched her shoulder and she —"
"Are you okay?" Dean said.
"I'm fine, I just —" Allie looked around the room. Six faces looked back at her with varying degrees of concern. "Did anyone else see that?"
"See what?" Logan said.
"You touched her shoulder," Allie said, pointing at him.
"I was just walking past," Logan said.
"She leaned into it!"
"I have a stiff neck," you said.
"YOU HAVE A STIFF —" Allie stopped. Took a breath. "I know what I saw," she said, with dignity.
"Allie," Dean said carefully. "Have you had enough water today?"
"I've had plenty of water, Dean, I'm not —"
"Sometimes dehydration causes —"
"I am not dehydrated!" Allie said. "I know what I saw and what I saw was —" she looked at you. You were looking back at her with an expression of patient concern. She looked at Logan. He was also looking at her with patient concern. Both of you at the same time, with the same expression. "— you know what, never mind," she said. "Never mind. I'm fine."
She picked up her laptop.
Across the room, completely undetected, Logan looked at you.
You looked back.
The corner of your mouth moved. His did too.
Allie, who had her eyes fixed resolutely on her screen, did not see this.
She was choosing not to look anymore. For her own mental health.
allie: OKAY SO
allie: I JUST SAW SOMETHING
tucker: WHAT
allie: logan touched (Y/N)'s shoulder while walking past and she LEANED INTO IT
allie: and before that there was A LOOK
dean: allie we were all in the same room
allie: YOU WEREN'T PAYING ATTENTION DEAN
hannah: what kind of look
allie: the kind that MEANS SOMETHING
garrett: i mean they're friends
allie: garrett
garrett: what
allie: i love you but you have the observational skills of a golden retriever
garrett: ...fair
tucker: ALLIE YOU MIGHT HAVE JUST WON THE BET
allie: i can't win on a shoulder touch and a look tucker i need more evidence
tucker: THE PASTA SHIRT WAS EVIDENCE
allie: the pasta shirt was circumstantial
dean: none of us are going to win this bet are we
three and a half — garrett
It was a Wednesday afternoon, the house quiet in the way it got between practice and evening, and you had let yourself in with the key Logan had given you two weeks ago, casually, like it was nothing, tucked it into your palm and gone back to whatever he had been saying, and you had put it on your keychain without making a thing of it either.
You were in the kitchen making tea when Garrett came downstairs.
He was in sweats, hair still damp from the shower, moving with the unhurried ease of someone with nowhere to be. He went to the refrigerator, opened it, considered it, closed it. Then he leaned against the counter across from you and looked at the mug situation with the mild, unreadable expression that was, you had come to understand, just his face.
"Logan's still at the rink," he said. "Film session ran over."
"I know," you said. "He texted."
Garrett nodded. He picked up an apple from the fruit bowl. He looked at it. He looked at you.
"You should tell him about the Boston thing," he said.
You looked up. "What?"
"The conference. The one your professor forwarded you." He bit into the apple with the casual certainty of someone stating something obvious. "You've been sitting on it for two weeks. You should just tell him."
You stared at him.
The Boston conference was something you had mentioned exactly once, in passing, weeks ago, in the middle of a conversation about something else entirely. You had said three sentences about it and then moved on. You had not mentioned it since. You had not mentioned it to Logan because you hadn't figured out how yet because Boston was four days in February and it was a good opportunity and you didn't know what it meant for the thing that was still, technically, just yours.
"How did you —" you started.
Garrett shrugged. "You got quiet when someone mentioned February plans at dinner last week." He took another bite of the apple. "Logan noticed too. He just didn't want to push."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"He'll be fine with it," Garrett said, simply, like that was the part you needed to hear. "He's not going anywhere." He pushed off the counter and headed toward the living room. "Tell him about Boston."
He disappeared around the corner.
You stood in the kitchen holding your mug, looking at the space he had just occupied.
You had not told anyone about Boston. You had not told Hannah, who told you everything. You had not told Allie, who noticed everything. You had mentioned it once, in passing, and Garrett who had the observational skills of a golden retriever, according to Allie, according to everyone had filed it away and waited until you were alone to say the thing you needed to hear.
You looked down at your mug.
Then you took out your phone and texted Logan.
can we talk tonight? nothing bad. just something i've been sitting on.
His response came back in under a minute.
yeah. i'll bring food. what do you want?
You smiled at your phone in the empty kitchen.
surprise me.
four — dean
You weren't really supposed to be there.
You had come over earlier in the afternoon with the genuine intention of spending a couple of hours with Logan and then going home like a responsible person. What had actually happened was that Logan had been very convincing about the staying part convincing in the specific way that involved kissing you before you could finish your sentence and pulling you back against the mattress until leaving felt like a genuinely unreasonable idea.
So now it was late, and you were sprawled across his bed while he kissed your neck, his hands finding the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.
"I missed them," he said, with complete sincerity, cupping your chest in both hands, unclasping your bra with an easiness that frankly made you jealous.
You giggled and pushed his shoulders. "You idiot."
He kissed you again slow and soft, his tongue lazy against yours, the unhurried quality of someone with absolutely nowhere to be. You were certainly not going home now. You reached up and pulled his shirt over his head, and your fingers found a purple mark spreading across his stomach.
"What's this?" you said, tracing it gently.
"Practice got tough."
"Oh, my poor baby." You shifted, pressing a line of soft kisses across his stomach. You felt him shiver underneath you. "My poor, poor baby —"
The knock on the door made you both freeze.
"Logan?" Dean's voice, from the other side. Another knock. The sound of the handle being tried. "You in there, man?"
You and Logan looked at each other with the wide-eyed, frantic energy of two people who had absolutely no good explanation for the current state of the room.
Logan started moving toward the door.
"No," you whisper-screamed.
"Hide," he said, at the same volume.
"Where?"
You looked around the room in rapid, increasingly desperate assessment. The bathroom — no, what if Dean needed it. The wardrobe what if Logan opened it. The only viable option was under the bed, the duvet long enough to reach the floor and conceal the gap completely.
You rolled off the mattress and slid underneath it in one graceless motion. You heard Logan muffle a laugh by converting it unconvincingly into a cough. In your frantic scramble you had grabbed your shirt, clutched against your chest, but your bra was somewhere out there discarded, incriminating, absolutely in the middle of the room.
Fuck, you thought.
Logan opened the door.
Dean walked in. There was a brief silence of the kind that meant someone had immediately spotted something they were not expecting to see. From your position on the floor you had a very clear view of Dean's socks stopping in the middle of the room.
Then not moving.
You watched Dean's socks stand very still for approximately eight seconds.
"I need to borrow your charger," Dean said.
His voice was extremely, carefully normal. The voice of a man making a decision in real time.
Logan turned and retrieved the charger from the bedside table. "Here."
A pause. Dean's socks did not move.
"Leave, Dean," Logan said.
Another pause.
Dean's socks backed slowly toward the door.
He stood in the hallway for a moment, you could hear him through the door, just standing there, processing, and then his footsteps retreated down the hall. You waited until you heard his door close before sliding out from under the bed, pulling your shirt back on and looking at Logan, who was leaning against the wall with his hand over his mouth doing an extremely poor job of not laughing.
"Your bra," he managed.
"I know."
"It was just — right there —"
"I know, Logan."
He was fully laughing now, silent and shaking, and you threw a pillow at him, which did nothing to help.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
dean: dude…
logan: say nothing
You watched him type it, one eyebrow raised. His phone buzzed back almost immediately.
dean: i have twenty dollars on the line
logan: dean
dean: i'm just saying
logan: goodnight dean
dean: does tucker know
logan: GOODNIGHT DEAN
Logan put his phone down. You looked at him. He looked at you.
"He's not going to say anything," Logan said, with the confidence of a man who was not entirely sure of this.
His phone buzzed again.
dean: for what it's worth i called it from the beginning
Logan turned his phone face down.
You looked at him for a moment longer.
Then you retrieved your bra from the corner of the room where it had been sitting like evidence at a crime scene, and you got back into bed, and Logan pulled you against him with the easy, unhurried certainty of someone who had won the argument about staying a long time ago.
Down the hall, Dean lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, charger plugged in, feeling extremely vindicated about everything.
He did not tell Tucker.
He did not tell Garrett.
He did not tell Allie, who sent him three texts the following morning about the shoulder touch that he left on read.
He did not tell Hannah, which was the hardest one, because Hannah asked him directly at breakfast if he had noticed anything and Dean had looked her in the eye and said no.
He was, he decided, a good friend.
He was also, he decided, definitely going to win that bet.
five — garrett
The hit happened in the second period.
It wasn't malicious, just the particular physics of two large bodies in a confined space moving fast, the kind of collision that happened in every game, that everyone who had ever watched hockey understood to be part of it. Logan went into the boards hard and stayed down for a moment longer than usual, and the arena went quiet in a collective way that meant everyone was holding the same breath.
You were on your feet before you had decided to stand up.
He was moving. He was getting up, slowly, with assistance from a teammate, skating to the bench under his own power. The arena exhaled. You sat back down.
Your heart was doing something extremely inconvenient.
"You okay?" Hannah said, from your other side.
"Fine," you said. "Totally fine."
She looked at you for a moment. You looked at the ice.
Logan was on the bench. The trainer was with him. He was talking, responding, doing all the things that meant he was okay, and you sat in the stands and watched with the stillness of someone who was doing a very good impression of a person who was just watching a hockey game and not mentally composing hospital directions.
He came back in the third period.
You exhaled properly for the first time in forty minutes.
After the game the group filtered down to the corridor outside the locker room the way they always did. You went because you always went, because it was a group thing, because it meant nothing in particular.
The players came out in ones and twos. Garrett first, immediately absorbed by Hannah. Tucker departing with a couple of the other guys. Dean getting into a conversation with someone near the exit.
Logan came out last.
He had a bruise forming along his jaw and he was walking with the slightly careful gait of someone who had taken a hit, and when he saw you he smiled, that specific smile, the one that was yours, and something in your chest did the thing it always did, except louder tonight, turned up by forty minutes of sitting in the stands holding your breath.
You crossed the corridor and hugged him, which was normal, everyone hugged after games, that was a completely normal thing to do.
Except then you pulled back and looked at him, at the bruise, at the careful way he was holding himself, and you said his name, quietly, in the way that was only for him, and he looked back at you in the way that was only for you, and the thing you had been keeping quietly for months was right there at the surface, obvious and warm and entirely done being kept.
You kissed him.
Not a quick kiss. Not an ambiguous one. A real one, his hand coming up to your jaw, yours finding the front of his jacket, the kind that had three months of ordinary Tuesday nights and Sunday mornings and staff bathroom detours in it.
The corridor went quiet.
You pulled back.
The group was looking at you.
Tucker's mouth was open.
Garrett had an expression cycling through several things very quickly , and then it landed on something that looked, more than anything, like quiet relief. Like someone who had been waiting for a particular thing to resolve and was glad it finally had.
Hannah was smiling in the particular way of someone who had known something for a while and was very glad to finally be allowed to show it.
Dean looked, more than anything, deeply smug.
"Wait," Tucker said. "Are you two — have you been —"
"Three months," Logan said, still looking at you, the corner of his mouth doing the thing.
"THREE MONTHS?"
"We forgot to mention it," you said.
"YOU FORGOT TO —"
"Tucker," Logan said.
"I HAD TWENTY DOLLARS ON THIS." Tucker pointed at you both. "I HAD — the pasta shirt! I KNEW about the pasta shirt! Does the pasta shirt count? When was the pasta shirt? If the pasta shirt counts then I —"
"Who won?" Allie said. "Technically who —"
Everyone looked at each other. A rapid, chaotic calculation passed through the group.
"Garrett," Hannah said slowly. "Garrett said —"
"After a game," Garrett said, with the equanimity of someone who had never been particularly worried about it. "I said after a game."
"You said after a game," Dean confirmed.
Tucker made a sound that had no letters in it.
"So Garrett wins?" Allie said.
"Garrett wins," Hannah confirmed, and immediately turned to Garrett with an expression of pure delight. "You won, baby."
Garrett looked at Logan. Logan looked back at him.
"You've been together for three months," Garrett said.
"About that," Logan confirmed.
"And you didn't tell anyone."
"We wanted to keep it for a while," you said, which was the simplest and most accurate version of it. "It was ours. We just wanted it to be ours for a bit."
Garrett looked at you for a moment. Something in his expression was entirely unsurprised. He nodded once, like a thing confirmed, and then looked at Logan with the small, easy smile of someone who had never doubted the outcome.
"Okay," he said. "Good."
Tucker pointed at both of you. "I want my twenty dollars back."
"You didn't win," Dean said.
"I KNEW ABOUT THE PASTA SHIRT."
"Tucker —"
"THE PASTA SHIRT WAS EVIDENCE AND NO ONE LISTENED TO ME —"
Logan looked at you. You looked back at him.
"Worth it?" he said quietly.
You looked at Tucker, who was now gesturing with both hands. You looked at Allie, who was consoling him with the resigned energy of someone who had expected this outcome. You looked at Hannah, who was collecting twenty dollars from Dean with the serene satisfaction of a person who had always known. You looked at Garrett, who was watching all of it with the calm, unhurried expression of a man who had called it months ago in a quiet kitchen on a Wednesday afternoon and had simply waited.
"Completely worth it," you said.
Logan kissed your temple.
Tucker made the sound with no letters in it again.
tucker: I WANT IT ON THE RECORD THAT I KNEW
tucker: THE PASTA SHIRT WAS REAL EVIDENCE
tucker: I CALLED IT FROM DAY ONE
dean: garrett won tucker
tucker: GARRETT WASNT EVEN PAYING ATTENTION
garrett: i was paying attention
tucker: YOU HAVE THE OBSERVATIONAL SKILLS OF A GOLDEN RETRIEVER
garrett: allie said that first
allie: it's true both times
allie: okay fine. garrett wins. i respect it.
tucker: I DO NOT RESPECT IT
tucker: TWENTY DOLLARS. GONE.
garrett: worth every penny honestly
allie: okay fine it was very cute
allie: i still saw the look though
allie: i want that acknowledged
dean: acknowledged allie
allie: thank you
tucker: I WILL NEVER FINANCIALLY RECOVER FROM THIS
summary: The thing about Logan is that he always knew what to say. He just kept finding reasons not to say it.
or: the five times Logan almost confessed and the one time he did.
notes: hii!! lazy sunday inspiration, this one is like sabrina short and sweet, hope you guys like it! enjoy your reading!!
warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, happy ending.
word count: 4k
I've been afraid of changing because I've built my life around you
You had met Logan at a rink.
This was, in retrospect, the most inevitable thing about you, that two people who had built their entire lives around ice would find each other on it. You had been eleven, in the middle of a spin sequence that wasn't working, frustrated enough that you had stopped and put your hands on your hips and glared at the ice like it had personally wronged you. He had been eleven too, sitting in the penalty box with his helmet off, watching you with the focused attention of someone who had forgotten he was supposed to be somewhere else.
"Your left shoulder drops," he said.
You had looked at the penalty box. At the boy in it. At the hockey gear he was still wearing.
"Did I ask?" you said.
"No," he said. "But it does."
You had glared at him for a long moment. Then you had tried the sequence again with your left shoulder deliberately up and it had been better. Significantly better.
You had not told him that.
You had skated to the boards and looked at him.
"Why are you in the penalty box?" you said.
"Coach," he said, simply.
"What did you do."
"Argued a call."
"Was the call wrong?"
"Obviously," he said.
You had looked at him for another long moment.
"I'm (Y/N)," you said.
"Logan," he said.
Ten years later you were still talking.
one — the competition february, sophomore year
The thing about watching you skate was that it was completely impossible to be indifferent to.
Logan had been to enough of your competitions by now that he had developed what he privately considered a professional appreciation for figure skating, he understood the technical elements, the edge work, the difference between a clean landing and one that cost points. He had opinions about judging. He had once gotten into a fifteen-minute argument with Tucker about the scoring system.
He was, in other words, not watching you the way a normal person watched figure skating.
He was watching you the way he had been watching you for approximately five years without doing anything about it, which was with focused attention of someone who had accidentally learned the exact shape of their own feelings by observing them in a controlled environment and then never done anything with the information.
You were in the middle of your free skate program.
The arena was quiet, something that happen only when a competition in progress, a few hundred people all holding the same breath and you were in the center of the ice in a deep red costume that caught the light when you moved, and you were moving the way you always moved when you were doing this properly, like you were constantly sure of all the decisions and it was up to everyone else to accept it.
The triple axel was coming. Logan knew your program better than his own game tape.
He watched your set up for it and then you were in the air and rotating and landing clean, one blade, no stumble, the crowd exhaling around him in something close to relief.
Logan exhaled too.
You finished the program and stood in the center of the ice with your arms out and your chest heaving and your face doing something close to relief and the thin line with triumph.
He knew that face. He had photographs of that face going back five years.
Logan was completely gone.
After the scores were posted — first place, which was not a surprise to anyone who had been paying attention — Logan found you in the corridor outside the changing rooms, still in the costume, skates exchanged for boots, medal around your neck that you kept touching like making sure it was real.
You saw him and couldn't help but to smile.
"You came," you said.
"I always come," he said.
"I know." You were smiling the real one, not the competition smile, not the public smile. "How was the axel?"
"Perfect," he said. "Clean landing, good height, the rotation was exactly right."
"You sound like my coach."
"Your coach is correct."
You laughed and walked toward him and he opened his arms because that was what happened after competitions you walked into them and he held on and you smelled like the rink and some body lotion that he has been trying to steal for a long time, he had his chin on top of your head and everything was exactly the same as it always was.
Except that his heart was doing something extremely inconvenient.
"I have something to tell you," he said, into your hair.
"Mm?" You didn't move.
He had the words right there. Had been carrying them for approximately two years, which was when he had stopped being able to pretend to himself that what he felt was just friendship, had been practiced and ready and —
"You dropped your left shoulder in the step sequence," he said. "Third section. It cost you."
You pulled back and looked at him. "You can not be serious right now, Johnny."
"It's a small thing, but —"
"I just won," she said.
"I know. You also dropped your shoulder."
You stared at him for a long moment with a watchful expression.
"I hate you," you said.
"No you don't," he said.
"Maybe I do" you looked at him "No I don't," you confirmed.
You took his hand and pulled him toward the exit to find the others, and Logan walked behind you and thought about what he had almost said and hadn't. Logan had decided for once, to store away this information, maybe soon would come in handy.
two — the lazy day april, sophomore year
It was a Sunday in April, a Sunday that had decided to be warm for the first time all year, and you were lying on the floor of Logan's room with your legs up on his bed because the floor was cooler than the bed and you had been at the rink since six in the morning and every single part of you ached.
Logan was on the bed, technically reading something for class, practically staring at the ceiling.
You had been in this exact configuration approximately four hundred times over ten years. The comfortable silence of two people who had run out of things to say and were fine with that.
"My coach wants me to change the music for nationals," you said, to the ceiling.
"What's wrong with the current music?"
"She says it doesn't show enough range."
"What does she want instead?"
"Something more emotional apparently." You paused. "She used the word vulnerable which made me want to scream."
Logan made a sound that meant he was listening.
"I'm not un-vulnerable," you said. "I'm just — I show it differently."
"You show it on the ice," Logan said. "Anyone paying attention can see it."
You turned your head to look at him. He was still looking at the ceiling.
"That's a nice thing to say," you said.
"It's a true thing to say." He turned his head and looked at you. From this angle, floor to bed, you were looking at each other sideways, and there was something about the afternoon light coming through the window that was doing something to his expression, making it more open than usual, less managed.
"I've been thinking," he said.
"About what."
He looked at you for a moment. The open expression doing something more complicated.
"About —" he started.
Your phone went off.
The ringtone you had assigned to your coach, which you had made deliberately annoying so you couldn't ignore it. You grabbed it off the floor and sat up and mouthed sorry at Logan and answered.
Your coach talked for eleven minutes about the music change.
When you hung up Logan was reading again, or pretending to, and the afternoon light had shifted, and whatever the moment had been it had passed.
"What were you thinking about?" you said.
"Nothing," he said. "Doesn't matter."
You looked at him for a second longer than necessary.
Then you put your legs back up on his bed and went back to staring at the ceiling.
three — the boys september, junior year
The thing about you was that you were, objectively, extremely easy to be around.
Dean had arrived at this conclusion independently and over time, through the accumulated evidence of approximately a year of you being at various team events and group hangs and spontaneous Malone's trips, and it was not a controversial conclusion, Tucker had said the same thing, Garrett had nodded in agreement.
You were funny and direct and had opinions and didn't perform interest you didn't have, which was rarer than it should have been. You also had the unselfconscious ease of someone who had been comfortable on a competitive stage since you were fourteen, which meant you walked into rooms the same way you walked onto ice like you had already decided you belonged there.
Dean had been thinking about this for approximately three weeks when he cornered Logan after practice.
"Your figure skater friend," he said.
Logan looked at him over his equipment bag. "Her name is (Y/N)."
"Is she single?"
The locker room continued around them. Tucker was unwrapping tape. Garrett was checking his phone. Nobody appeared to be paying particular attention.
Logan's jaw did something.
"Yeah," he said. "She's single."
"Nice." Dean leaned against the locker with the easy confidence of someone who had made a decision. "Do you think she'd be open to —"
"She's focused on skating," Logan said. "Nationals are in February. She doesn't have time for —"
"I'm not talking about anything serious," Dean said. "Just —"
"She's busy," Logan said.
Dean looked at him.
Logan looked at his equipment bag.
"Sure," Dean said, slowly. "Right. Busy." A pause. "You sure you don't have a —"
"She's my best friend," Logan said. "Can you just — not."
Dean looked at him for a long moment with the expression of someone doing math.
"Okay," he said. "Sure."
He went back to his own locker.
Tucker caught his eye across the room and raised his eyebrows. Dean gave the smallest possible shrug, which in their particular shorthand meant: you are seeing what you think you're seeing.
Tucker looked at the ceiling briefly and then went back to his tape.
Logan texted you that night.
logan: what are you doing
yn: stretching. my hip flexors are staging a revolt. what's up
logan: nothing. just checking in
yn: at 10pm on a tuesday
logan: is that suspicious
yn: a little
logan: go stretch your hip flexors
yn: i am. you could come over and suffer with me
A pause. Longer than usual.
logan: be there in twenty
He showed up with food and sat on your floor and watched you stretch with the expression he sometimes had when he was thinking about something he wasn't saying. You didn't push. You had learned, over ten years, the difference between Logan processing something and Logan ready to talk about it.
You stretched your hip flexors.
He was quiet beside you.
It was, somehow, exactly enough.
four — the party november, junior year
Hannah had a very simple theory about Logan and you that she had shared with Allie approximately four months ago and had been collecting evidence for ever since.
The theory was: you were both completely in love with each other and were going to keep not doing anything about it until one of them finally cracked or they both graduated and went their separate ways, which would be a tragedy.
Allie's theory was identical, arrived at independently, and they had spent four months running what amounted to a covert observation project with no intervention component because, as Allie had said, correctly , very time anyone said anything to Logan he went quiet and every time anyone said anything to you, you laughed and changed the subject, and the only thing that was going to fix this was one of them actually doing something.
The party was in November, someone's house, the kind that happened naturally when enough people were in the same place with nothing specific to do. Allie and Hannah had come together. Logan and you had come separately and found each other within four minutes, which was, Hannah noted, always how it went.
You were in the corner of the living room now, in the configuration you always occupied at parties, close enough that yourshoulders touched, talking in the way you talked when you were somewhere loud, which was slightly lower and slightly more direct, leaning in.
"He's doing it again," Hannah said.
Allie, beside her, followed her eyeline. "The shoulder thing."
"He always does the shoulder thing when he's about to say something."
They watched. Across the room, Logan's shoulder had indeed done the thing, a slight forward tilt, the specific posture of someone turning toward something rather than standing beside it.
You were looking up at him with the expression you had when you were actually listening to someone, which was different from your polite listening expression and your processing expression and was reserved for maybe three people in your life.
"He's going to do it," Hannah said.
"He's not going to do it," Allie said.
"He's leaning in —"
"He never does it."
"There's always a first time —"
Someone across the room called Logan's name. Loudly. Urgently. Something about a game in the kitchen that required his participation immediately.
Logan closed his eyes very briefly.
Then he straightened up and said something to you — one second probably, or back in a minute — and went toward the kitchen.
You watched him go with an expression that lasted approximately two seconds before you reorganized it into something neutral.
Allie looked at Hannah.
Hannah looked at Allie.
"I'm going to lose my mind," Hannah said.
"Same," said Allie.
They looked at each other.
"We're not intervening," Allie said.
"We're absolutely not intervening," Hannah agreed.
They watched you drift toward the snack table looking slightly like someone who had been about to hear something and hadn't.
"We're not intervening," Allie said again, more firmly.
"Right," said Hannah. "Definitely not."
allie: okay so
hannah: i KNOW
allie: the shoulder thing
hannah: and her FACE when he left
allie: someone needs to do something
hannah: we said we weren't intervening
allie: i know what we said
hannah: allie
allie: i'm just saying
hannah: we are not telling them
allie: fine
hannah: fine
allie: ...fine
hannah: goodnight allie
allie: if they're still doing this at graduation i'm saying something
hannah: GOODNIGHT ALLIE
five — the almost january, senior year
You found out about the Dean thing entirely by accident.
You had been in the kitchen at the off campus house, making tea because it was January and you were cold and your coach had banned coffee during competition prep, and Tucker had come in and started making a sandwich and you had been coexisting peacefully until Tucker said, entirely unprompted and clearly without thinking:
"By the way, for what it's worth, I told Dean not to."
You looked at him. "Told Dean not to what."
Tucker looked at his sandwich. Then at you. Then at his sandwich again with the expression of someone who had realized, too late, that they had said something.
"Ask about you," he said finally. "Like — ask Logan if he could pursue you. I told him it was a bad idea."
You put down your tea.
"Dean asked Logan if he could pursue me," you said.
"Back in September. Logan said you were busy with skating." Tucker picked up his sandwich. "Which was — I mean, you are busy. But also —" he stopped. "I probably shouldn't have said anything."
"Probably," you said.
Tucker took a bite of his sandwich and left the kitchen with the energy of someone removing themselves from a situation.
You stood at the counter with your tea and thought about September and Logan showing up at your apartment at ten on a Tuesday for no reason, sitting on your floor, being quiet beside you in a way that had felt like something without ever becoming something.
She's busy, he had apparently said.
You looked at the doorway Tucker had disappeared through.
You looked at your tea.
Hm, you thought.
Logan found you twenty minutes later in the living room, already in his jacket, apparently on his way out.
"Hey," he said. "You good?"
"Fine," you said. "Where are you going?"
"Skate rental shop. I need new laces." He paused. "Do you want to come? We can get food after."
You looked at him.
"Sure," you said.
You got your coat.
one — the one time he did january, senior year.
The skate rental shop was quiet on a January afternoon, the mundane warmth of a place that smelled like rubber and old equipment, and Logan found his laces in approximately four minutes and then stood in the aisle for another ten not moving, which you had learned to recognize as Logan making up his mind about something.
You looked at a display of blade covers that you did not need.
"Tucker told me," you said, to the blade covers.
A pause.
"Told you what," Logan said.
"About Dean. In September."
The aisle was very quiet.
"She's busy," you said. "That's what you said, apparently."
Another pause. Longer.
"You were," Logan said. "You were in nationals prep."
"Logan."
"What."
You turned to look at him. He was looking at the laces in his hands with the expression he got when he was trying to decide something and hating that he had to decide it.
"Why did you say she's busy," you said. "Instead of — anything else."
He looked up. His jaw did the thing.
"Because," he started.
"Because why."
He looked at you. Really looked at you, the way he sometimes did when he thought you weren't paying attention, except you were paying attention and he knew it and he still wasn't looking away.
"Because it's you," he said. "And I couldn't just — I didn't want Dean to —" he stopped. Started again. "I didn't want anyone to."
The skate rental shop was very quiet.
"Okay," you said.
"Okay?" he said.
"That's — I needed to know that." You looked at the blade covers. You looked at him. "I also needed you to know that I'm not busy. I mean — I am. But I'm not. Not for — not for this."
Logan looked at you for a long moment.
"Not for this," he repeated.
"Not for you," you said, which was the more honest version, which you had decided to say because you were twenty-two and you had been doing this for five years and Tucker had accidentally said something in a kitchen and it was January and you were tired of not saying things.
The laces in Logan's hands had been thoroughly analyzed.
He put them back on the shelf.
"I was going to tell you after your competition," he said. "In February. Your sophomore year."
"You talked about my shoulder."
"I know," he said. "I know I did."
"And on the Sunday in April —"
"Your coach called."
"And at the party in November —"
"Dean," he said, simply, and you almost laughed.
"Five times," you said.
"Probably more," he said. "I stopped counting."
You looked at him. This person who had been in the penalty box when you were eleven and had told you your shoulder dropped and had come to every competition and had stood in a locker room in September and said she's busy when what he meant was something else entirely.
"So say it now," you said. "We're in a skate rental shop in January. There's nobody here. Say it now."
Logan looked at you.
"I love you," he said. Not dramatically just simply, the way he said true things, like it was information that had been waiting a long time to be delivered and was relieved to finally arrive. "I've loved you since you told me I didn't ask and then tried the spin again anyway. I love you and I'm sorry it took me this long."
The blade covers blurred slightly.
You reached up and took the lapel of his jacket in your hand.
"You talked about my shoulder," you said.
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
"I'm going to bring that up for years."
"I know," he said. "I deserve that."
You pulled him down by the jacket.
He kissed you in the skate rental shop in January, between the blade covers and the laces display, with nobody watching and nothing to interrupt, and it was warm and unhurried and tasted like something that had been a long time coming and had finally, simply, arrived.
When you pulled back he had the expression you had been trying not to notice for five years — open and certain and entirely unmanaged.
"For the record," you said, "my shoulder doesn't drop anymore."
"It really doesn't," he said. "You've completely fixed it."
"I know," you said. "I'm very good."
He laughed and pulled you back in, and the skate rental shop continued to be entirely quiet around you, indifferent and perfect.
You told Allie and Hannah together, which was the only way to do it.
You had barely gotten the words out before Hannah made a sound that could only be described as vindicated, and Allie said I told you to Hannah at the same moment Hannah said I told you to Allie, and then they looked at each other and then at you and both started talking at the same time.
"The shoulder thing at the party —"
"In sophomore year when you called after the competition —"
"The thing in September with Dean —"
"We knew," Hannah said. "We have known for so long."
"How long," you said.
They looked at each other.
"Since the first time we saw you two in the same room," Allie said.
You looked at them. "And you didn't say anything?"
"We said we weren't going to intervene," Hannah said, with the dignity of someone honoring a commitment.
"You could have said something to me," you said.
"We said we weren't going to intervene," Allie said, equally dignified.
You looked at them both.
"I cannot believe," you said.
"You're welcome," they said, simultaneously.
Logan told the team at dinner.
Or rather, Dean asked where you were and Logan said she's coming later and Tucker said she's coming? is she — and Logan said yeah in the even tone that contained a lot of information, and Dean looked at Tucker and Tucker looked at Dean and Garrett looked at his food and the table continued exactly as it always had except that something had shifted in the specific, settled way of something that had always been heading here finally arriving.
When you got there Logan moved over without being asked and you sat beside him and his shoulder was warm against yours and everything was exactly the same as it had always been.
Except that his hand found yours under the table.
And this time he didn't let go.
allie: so
hannah: SO
allie: we called it
hannah: from the beginning
allie: the penalty box story is the most romantic thing i have ever heard
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hate when im reading and theres a word i dont know so i search it in the dictionary and its like: beuperer. noun. a person who beupers. i'll fucking kill you
funny little headcanon is that i believe if victoria ever came out to her mom that shamsi would be like 'okay, that's fine. but i still don't understand why you do not want to go into surgery. all the other gay women are in surgery; do you not want to be a gay surgeon like yolanda and emery? what about your lesbian friend trinity, doesn't she want to do surgery as well? you can do better victoria'
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