Wolverigrl

“Y/n, you’re with Luca.” Hondo’s voice carried across the yard, firm and decisive as always.

Of course.

I bit down on a grin before it could spread, but I didn’t have to turn my head to know exactly what face Luca was making. That smug little smile of his was practically audible.

I slung my rifle into position and looked over at him. Sure enough, he was adjusting his backwards cap, eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

“Try not to slow me down!” I teased, raising my brows at him.

“Sweetheart..” he drawled, cocking his head.

“I’m the one carrying this team. Don’t pass out trying to keep up!”

I barked out a laugh. “That’s funny. Last time I checked, I lapped you on this course.”

“Fluke!” he shot back immediately, lips twitching.

“Denial!” I countered.

Behind us, Street’s voice cut in, muttered under his breath but not exactly quiet.

“If they start making heart eyes in the middle of training, I’m out.”

Chris’s laugh rang out. “Shut up, Street!”

I felt heat creep up the back of my neck but forced my eyes to stay forward. Better to ignore it.

---

The whistle blew and I shoved the thought down, forcing myself into focus. The world narrowed to the course ahead: walls to vault, barricades to duck behind, corners to clear. Boots pounded the dirt, breath matched to rhythm, rifle steady in my grip.

I was doing fine. More than fine, until my foot snagged on a loose edge of the course.

The ground came up fast, jarring through my shoulder as I hit the dirt. A curse slipped out under my breath, but I was already pushing up, brushing grit from my gloves. I’d taken worse hits before breakfast.

Then Luca was there.

“You okay?” His voice cut sharp, too sharp, his shadow falling over me as he crouched down. His hand hovered near my arm, so close I could feel the heat of it. His eyes swept over me like he expected to find blood.

“Yeah” I said quickly, trying to laugh it off. “I’m fine. Just tripped.”

He didn’t look convinced. Not even a little. His jaw flexed, tight enough I could see the muscle twitching.

“Relax, Luca.” I added, my voice light even though my chest felt unsteady. “It was a fall, not a bullet.”

Still nothing. His stare was unrelenting, as if he didn’t trust me to tell the truth.

I forced myself back on my feet, brushing him off with a half-smile before jogging forward to catch up with the course. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Deacon watching the whole exchange, his brow arched like he’d just read a book out of me.

Perfect.

---

By the time training wrapped, my pulse had leveled out, but my thoughts hadn’t.

Later, in the locker room, the sharp tang of sweat and soap filled the air. Metal doors clanged as everyone filed out, their laughter and chatter echoing down the hall until it was just me and Luca.

He was at his locker, towel draped over his neck, cap now pulled forward. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just looked at me out on that course like the world was ending.

I leaned against the lockers, arms crossed. “You know.. ” I started, voice casual. “You acted like I got shot out there.”

Luca stilled, his towel hanging limp in his hands. Slowly, he looked up at me. His eyes were softer now, not sharp like before. “After the warehouse..” he said, voice low. “Forgive me for checking you’re okay.”

The weight of it pressed down heavy between us. I opened my mouth, closed it again. For once, I didn’t have a comeback. Neither did he.

His eyes stayed on me, steady, unflinching, and my heart stuttered in my chest.

I sucked in a breath. “Luca… there’s something here, isn’t there? Between us.”

The words hung in the air, too loud, too honest.

For a second, I thought he’d laugh it off, play the same game we always did. But he didn’t. He met my gaze and nodded once. “Yeah. There is. But we don’t even know what it is yet.”

My throat tightened. “And we can’t have… whatever this could be. Not while we’re on the same team. You know that.”

He leaned back against his locker, arms folding across his chest. His expression softened, the hard lines of his face giving way to something gentler. “Then we figure it out first,” he said quietly. “No rushing. No labels. Just… see what it is.”

The silence after wasn’t empty. It buzzed, humming with a current I couldn’t ignore.

I pushed away from the lockers, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. My boots echoed against the tile as I started toward the door. Each step felt heavy, like I was walking away from something I hadn’t let myself want until now.

I stopped and turned.

He was still there, watching me, waiting.

Before I could second-guess myself, I crossed the distance between us. Rising on my toes, I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Warmth, the faint scratch of stubble, the smell of sweat and soap. It was over in a heartbeat, but my pulse was racing like I’d just sprinted the course.

I pulled back, my lips curling into a small smile I couldn’t fight. “See you tomorrow, Luca.”

His mouth parted, just slightly, like I’d managed to knock the words out of him for once.

I turned and walked out before I could lose my nerve, the sound of my boots fading into the hall. Still, curiosity got the better of me. I glanced back just before the door swung shut.

Luca was frozen where I’d left him, one hand lifting to his cheek, a slight grin tugging at his mouth.

---------------------------------------------------

Tags: @thedelusionalfiles

◇

-> My Luca Masterlist

She glanced at me, lips twitching. “And when you run out in the middle of a fight, who’s gonna save your ass?”

“Street.” I shot back without missing a beat. “That’s his favorite hobby anyway.”

Across the room, Street looked up from tying his boots. “Save her? Please. She’d rather have Luca do it.”

Tan laughed under his breath, Deacon shook his head, and Luca, oh God, Luca, just looked at me with that smug little grin of his while fastening his helmet.

I groaned.

“You people are obsessed. You know how much I’d suffer if Luca had to rescue me? I’d never hear the end of it.”

Luca winked. “Damn right. I’d put it on a T-shirt.”

The others cracked up again, and even Hondo’s lips twitched before he stepped forward, voice steady. “Alright, jokers. Save it for after. Intel says this is a basic sweep. We’re looking at a smuggling operation, maybe some muscle on-site. We’ll clear it fast and clean.”

Deacon gave my shoulder a squeeze and a fatherly look as we filed out. “Stay sharp, kiddo.”

“Always.” I promised, but my stomach still twisted the way it always did before ops. Two years in SWAT, and I still got that little knot of fear. The difference now was that I had family around me.

---

The Warehouse

The building sat like a rusted skeleton against the skyline. Corrugated siding sagged, and half the windows were busted out, jagged like teeth.

Inside, dust floated in the shafts of afternoon light, making everything hazy. The air smelled like metal and old oil. Every creak of our boots echoed too loud.

I moved with Street, sweeping along the east wall. Our movements were automatic now, steps in sync. My light cut across crates, pallets, stacks of tarp-covered shapes.

Then I saw it. Prints in the dust. Fresh.

“Street.” I tapped his arm, crouching low. “There. Someone’s here.”

He followed my line, jaw tightening. His hand signaled caution, then he spoke into comms. “We’ve got tracks. East wall. Splitting could box them in."

There was a pause, then Hondo’s calm reply: “Copy. Street, take left. Y/n, you go right. Stay tight on comms.”

---

Ambush

Gunfire lit the corridor, bullets shrieking off metal. I dove behind crates, chest hammering.

“Contact right side!” I shouted, squeezing off rounds. My shots clipped one, but more came. Two, maybe three, pressing hard.

Every noise was thunder. The slam of shots, the snap of ricochets. My body moved faster than thought.

Fire, duck, roll, fire again.

Then I turned a corner too fast.

The gun cracked.

The impact hit like a sledgehammer just under my collarbone, so close to my neck I swore I felt death brush past me. Air ripped from my lungs, my knees buckling. My chest locked up. Breathing was impossible.

My throat seized, every inhale shallow, frantic. Panic crashed over me like ice water.

“-n... team- ” My voice broke into nothing but static and gasps.

“Y/n, report!” Hondo barked in my ear.

I couldn’t. I tried. My mouth opened, but only a weak rasp came out.

Tears stung as I fired back blindly, forcing them to duck before I sprinted, legs stumbling under me. A door appeared at the end of the hall, an old office. I shoved inside, slamming the bolt as boots thundered outside.

My back hit the wall. My chest dragged in ragged gasps, useless and thin. Out of ammo. My rifle clattered empty.

Hands shaking, I pulled my last flashbang. The metal was cold, grounding, but it felt more like a goodbye than a weapon.

I slid down until I was on the floor, knees pulled up, grenade cradled against my chest. Tears blurred my vision.

This is it. God, this is it.

My body didn’t listen. My chest kept fighting itself, lungs refusing. My ears rang with the echo of boots outside, pounding closer.

---

[Luca’s POV]

The hallway shook with gunfire as we pushed deeper. My heart was already racing, but when we rounded the corner, it spiked hard. Three hostiles were stationed right in front of the locked office door.

The door. Her door.

They were trying to force it open, shouting to each other in Spanish, one of them ramming the butt of his rifle against the lock.

“Contact!” Hondo barked.

The team opened fire in perfect sync. My shots cut down the one at the door first, so he wasn’t going to get another chance. Tan and Deacon dropped the other two cleanly. The corridor fell into silence except for our ragged breathing.

I was already moving toward the door when Hondo’s firm voice came up.

“Y/n! It’s us. Open the door!”

We waited. No answer.

“Y/n, talk to us!” Deacon added, voice tight but calm.

Still nothing. My chest squeezed.

Then Hicks’ voice boomed over comms, uncharacteristically sharp.

“Get in there! Now!”

That was all I needed. I kicked the door with everything I had. The wood splintered, the lock gave way, and the door flew open.

The sight inside froze me.

She was crumpled on the floor, back against the wall, flashbang clutched in white knuckled fingers. Her chest heaved, sucking for air she couldn’t find. Her face was pale, eyes glassy, tears streaking her cheeks.

“Y/n!” My rifle hit the floor with a clang as I bolted across the room. I dropped to my knees and scooped her into my arms before she could collapse sideways.

Her hand gripped at my vest, frantic.

“C… can’t—”

“I know, I know. I’ve got you.” My voice cracked as I pulled her close, pressing my forehead to hers. “You’re safe now. Breathe with me, okay?”

Deacon was right at my side, steady and grounding. “Y/n, slow it down. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Watch me.”

Her wide eyes flicked between him and me, but she couldn’t seem to catch it. Each breath rattled, shallow and fast.

I tightened my hold, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. “Look at me. Right here. You’re not alone. In… with me. Out… with me.”

Her trembling began to slow, not gone but easing as her lungs started catching small pieces of rhythm. Every breath she managed felt like my own.

Hondo’s voice came over comms, calmer now but edged with urgency.

“Command, 20-David. We have her. Alive, but she’s struggling to breathe. We need medics on standby outside Black Betty.”

“Copy.” Hicks replied, his voice thick with relief. “Medical is waiting.”

I held her tighter, whispering against her hair. “That’s it. You’re doing great. Just keep matching me, baby. In and out.”

Her body sagged a little, exhausted but breathing steadier. She looked up at me.

“It hurts…” she whispered, voice breaking.

“I know. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Deacon gave me a quick nod. “She’s stable enough to move. Let’s get her out.”

I helped her to her feet slowly, keeping an arm wrapped firm around her waist, her head leaning against my shoulder. She wobbled, but I held her steady.

“Easy. We've got you.” I murmured again, guiding her out into the hallway where the others fell in around us, weapons ready just in case.

The sunlight outside the warehouse hit us hard after the dim inside. And there, parked and waiting, was Black Betty, medics already rushing forward with gear.

The medics reached us, but Y/n still clung to me like she didn’t want to let go. And truth was, I didn’t want to let her go either.

Because in my arms, she was safe. And I’d make damn sure she stayed that way.

---

After the Medics [Y/n's POV]

The cool oxygen mask had done wonders. My chest still ached like hell, but every breath finally came easier. The medics hovered for a bit outside the warehouse, shining lights in my eyes, checking vitals, before Hondo waved them off with a nod.

“She’s good enough to ride back with us.” one of them confirmed. “Keep her calm. She’ll need rest and a proper check at HQ.”

So they bundled me gently into Black Betty.

Tan was already in the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel. Chris slid in opposite him, gear rattling as she sat. Street climbed in looking pale, his usual spark dimmed. Deacon sat to my right, solid and protective as ever, and Luca was on my left. So close I could feel the heat from his arm against mine.

The hum of the engine filled the silence as Tan pulled us out of the lot.

Street was the first to break it. His voice was low, guilty. “That was on me.”

Everyone looked up. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “If I’d gone right instead of left. If I’d been with Y/n, she wouldn’t have…”

He trailed off, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.”

Hondo’s tone was calm but sharp, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t carry that, Street. None of us saw them. No one could’ve known they were waiting down that hall.”

I nodded, my voice still rough but clear enough. “He’s right. It wasn’t your fault. I didn’t see them until it was too late either.” I caught Street’s eyes until he finally looked at me. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

He gave a tight nod, but the guilt still lingered in his shoulders. The silence returned, heavy in the hum of Black Betty’s engine.

Then Street huffed a breath, trying to shake it off. “Well… if nothing else, at least Luca finally got his knight-in-shining-armor moment.” He smirked weakly. “Guy’s been waiting two years for that.”

Tan laughed, Chris shook her head grinning, and even Deacon and Hondo chuckled deep in their chests. The tension cracked open as the whole team laughed, the sound filling the cabin.

I let out a small laugh too, my chest aching but lighter. When the noise died down, I turned my head toward Luca. He was already looking at me.

I dropped down on the bench, tugging at the Velcro straps on my vest until they peeled away with a satisfying rip. My shirt underneath was damp, sticking to my skin. God, I couldn’t wait for a shower.

Across from me, Luca tugged his helmet off, running a hand through his sweat damp hair. A smile stretched across his face as he looked over at me.

“Nice move out there, taking that guy down behind the van. Didn’t know you had ninja skills.”

I smirked. “Please. That wasn’t ninja. That was pure dog squad reflexes. You should’ve seen me before SWAT. Those guys never stood a chance.”

He chuckled, leaning against his locker. “Oh, I believe it. Honestly, it’s a little scary how fast you are. If I ever piss you off, I’m done for.”

I tilted my head, feigning thought. “Hmm… tempting. Might be worth it, just to see the look on your face.”

“Wow.” He clutched his chest dramatically. “Threatened in my own locker room. Harsh.”

Street, who’d just peeled his shirt off on the other side of the room, piped up, grinning. “You two done flirting, or should we give you a minute?”

Tan chuckled. Chris, tying her hair back into a ponytail, raised an eyebrow. “They’ve been doing this for months. Honestly, just get a room already.”

I threw my towel at her. “We’re not flirting! We’re just bantering.”

“Yeah” Street added, deadpan. “Bantering is what they call it now.”

That set everyone laughing. Even Deacon, who was usually the steady one, chuckled as he swapped his boots for sneakers. “You know, the way you two talk, anyone would think you’re already married.”

My face went hot, though I covered it with a laugh. “Okay, first of all, I’d never marry a guy who eats three breakfast burritos before 8 a.m. That’s just unhealthy.”

“Don’t knock greatness!” Luca shot back, grinning at me with that infuriating sparkle in his eyes.

The whole team cracked up again, voices echoing off the tiled walls. Hondo stepped in just then, helmet in hand, and looked around at all the laughing faces. “What’d I miss?”

“Just Y/n and Luca’s honeymoon phase.” Street quipped.

Hondo smirked, shaking his head. “Focus up. We’ve got training blocks tomorrow. Be here early.”

As the team started to disperse, Luca leaned down, his voice dropping low near my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll save you a burrito tomorrow morning.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips tugged up against my will.

---

The Next Day – Training Grounds

The sun was merciless, beating down on the blacktop training yard behind HQ. The air shimmered with heat rising from the asphalt. The clang of steel targets rang out, mingling with the thump of boots on obstacle-course platforms.

We’d split into pairs for drills, and of course, I got paired with Luca.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” I teased.

He smirked, turning his cap backward in that lazy way that made him look younger and annoyingly good. “Oh, sweetheart, the only thing getting kicked today is your ego.”

I scoffed. “Big talk for someone who couldn’t even beat me at sparring last week.”

“That was a fluke.” He flashed me a grin as he adjusted his gloves. “Besides, I let you win. Gentleman’s code.”

I laughed outright. “Oh please, you couldn’t let me win if you tried. You were red in the face, sweating like crazy- ”

“I was not!”

“- and wheezing like you’d just run a marathon,” I added, smirking as we walked toward the shooting bay.

His chest rumbled with a laugh. “Yeah? Funny, ‘cause I still looked better doing it.”

I opened my mouth for another comeback but faltered. Because damn it. He wasn’t wrong.

The sun glistened on the sweat along his neck, rolling down into his shirt. His arms flexed as he adjusted his rifle, the muscles shifting with the motion. And that stupid backwards cap. Lord help me. It made him look effortlessly hot.

The thought hit me so hard I almost stumbled. Wait. What?

No. This is Luca.

Luca, who cracks dumb jokes and steals the last yogurt. Luca, who calls me “sweetheart” just to get a rise out of me.

So why the hell was my pulse skipping like this?

“You good?” His voice cut in, breaking me out of my thoughts. He was watching me, brows slightly furrowed.

I cleared my throat quickly, turning back to load my rifle. “Yeah. Fine. Just focused.”

He eyed me for a second longer, then smirked like he didn’t buy it. “Focused, huh? Alright. Show me what you got.”

We started the drill. Targets popped up, and we fired in sync, moving through the course. I was good, but so was he. We traded shots, clearing lanes, our voices overlapping as we called out.

“Left!” I shouted.

“Got it!” he answered, dropping the target with a clean shot.

By the end, both our rifles clicked empty, smoke curling from the barrels. My heart was hammering. Not just from the adrenaline, but from the way his smile widened as he pulled his helmet off, sweat dripping down his temple.

“Not bad, partner.” he said, tipping his cap at me.

I tried to play it cool, though my stomach was flipping. “You too. Almost like you know what you’re doing.”

“Almost.” He winked.

I groaned, but inside… something shifted.

For the first time, I realized it wasn’t just banter.

I found him attractive. And that scared me more than any mission ever could.

---------------------------------------------------

Let me know, if anyone wants to be tagged in the next part!

“Daddy’s home!” our eldest squealed, scrambling to her feet.

I barely had time to set my mug down before Hugh walked in, towering as always, that familiar, warm smile tugging at his lips. But tonight, it wasn’t just him—it was him holding something.

A mask.

Not just any mask—the Wolverine mask.

“Look what I’ve got!” Hugh’s deep voice rumbled playfully as he held it high above his head like a trophy.

Our son’s eyes widened. “No way!” He launched himself toward Hugh, and our daughter wasn’t far behind, giggling with the kind of joy only children have.

I couldn’t help but laugh as Hugh crouched down, slipping the mask over his head with exaggerated slowness. “Rrrr,” he growled, crouching low and wiggling his fingers like claws. “Who’s ready for Wolverine?”

The kids shrieked in delight, darting away as Hugh lumbered after them, arms outstretched, pretending to swipe with invisible claws. Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls, and I felt my chest tighten with that familiar, overwhelming love. This—this was everything.

“Daddy, over here!” our daughter squealed from behind the couch. Hugh prowled dramatically, circling like a predator, before pouncing and scooping her up in his arms. She wriggled and laughed, her tiny hands tugging at the mask.

“Careful, careful!” Hugh chuckled, adjusting it. “Wolverine doesn’t like having his mask stolen.”

Our son ran in to “save” his sister, and suddenly all three of them were tangled in a heap on the floor, laughter echoing around the house. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, just soaking it in. This was Hugh at his core—not the actor, not the star. Just… Hugh. Their dad. My husband.

“Alright, alright, Wolverine’s getting defeated by two very strong superheroes,” Hugh panted, dramatically flopping onto his back while the kids clambered over him. “You win!”

The kids cheered, triumphant, their cheeks flushed. I finally stepped in, my voice teasing. “Dinner’s going to get cold if Wolverine doesn’t get off my rug.”

Hugh tilted his head back, mask still on, and looked at me upside down. “You heard her, kids. Even superheroes need to eat.”

Reluctantly, the little ones slid off him, still buzzing with excitement. As they darted toward the dining table, Hugh pushed himself up to standing, tugging the mask off with one hand. His hair stuck up slightly from the static, and he grinned at me with that boyish mischief that hadn’t dulled a bit since the day I met him.

“You enjoyed that,” I said softly, stepping closer.

He shrugged, placing the mask on the side table. “What can I say? Makes me feel ten years younger.” He glanced toward the kids and lowered his voice, leaning in just for me. “And I think they liked it.”

I smirked, brushing my fingers over the mask before letting my eyes meet his. “Oh, I liked it too.”

His brow quirked, that playful spark flickering instantly. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm” I leaned in closer, whispering just against his ear so the kids wouldn’t hear. “You should… maybe keep it on. Later. When it’s just us.”

I could feel the sharp inhale he tried to disguise as a chuckle, his body tensing for a beat before he turned his head, eyes locking onto mine with that look. The one that promised so much without a single word spoken.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of my smile.

I pulled away with an innocent shrug, already turning toward the table. “Just giving Wolverine a mission for after dinner.”

Behind me, I heard his quiet laugh, low and knowing.

And as I sat down across from the kids, helping them with their plates, I caught Hugh’s gaze from the other end of the table. The mask sat between us on the sideboard, a silent promise. He raised an eyebrow, and I couldn’t stop the heat that rushed to my cheeks.

You watch him from the edge of the clearing, though you’re no longer a part of this world. There’s a dull ache in your chest that lingers even now, and it’s because of him. He’s always carried too much, more than any man should ever have to, but it’s worse now. You can feel the weight of his grief pressing down on him, suffocating and relentless.

Logan, the man who has fought through wars, outlived countless enemies, and healed from wounds that would kill anyone else, is finally broken. And it’s because of you.

You hadn’t meant to die. At least, not like that. But you had seen the bullet coming for him, and in that split second, you hadn’t thought twice. You’d thrown yourself in front of him, felt the searing pain tear through you, and then, nothing. His strong arms had caught you before you hit the ground, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of peace—dying in his arms had almost felt like home.

But now, you’re here, watching him fall apart in the shadow of your absence.

"I told you not to do this," you whisper, though you know he can’t hear you. "Not to blame yourself."

He’s crouching by the gravestone now, his broad shoulders slumped, his fingers tracing your name on the cold stone. You can see the tremble in his hand, the way his breath shudders in and out of his chest as he fights the emotion he rarely lets show. Logan is the strongest man you’ve ever known, but even he has his breaking point.

His voice, when it comes, is a low, rough whisper. "Why’d you do it?"

You wish you could reach out and touch him, reassure him, let him know that you’re not gone—not really. That a part of you will always be with him, in the way the wind brushes through the trees, or the way the sunset paints the sky a soft, gentle orange—the color that always reminded him of your laughter.

His hand clenches into a fist, and you see his claws flicker out for a moment before he reins them back in. "You didn’t have to save me."

You did, though. Because you couldn’t stand the thought of living in a world without him. He’s saved you a thousand times before, whether from the dangers of the world or from yourself. Logan had a way of calming your storms, even when he was nothing but a hurricane himself.

"I did it because I love you," you whisper again, though the wind swallows your words.

Logan stands, his body tense, eyes red with the effort of holding back tears. Tears he rarely lets fall. You’d seen him cry before—once, maybe twice—but it had always been in the quiet of the night, when he thought you were asleep, and he let himself be vulnerable for just a moment. You used to kiss the tears away, your fingers brushing his rough cheeks, telling him that it was okay to feel, to hurt. That you loved every part of him—the broken, jagged edges and the fierce, protective parts.

He had always been a man of contradictions—tough as nails, yet so soft with you. The way his calloused hands would trace your skin like you were something fragile. You could still feel his touch, as though it was imprinted on your soul. And though his hands were rough from years of battle, they were gentle when they cupped your face, when they brushed the hair from your eyes, when they pulled you close as if he was afraid you’d disappear.

You ache to comfort him now, to remind him of those nights when you’d curl up together, his body wrapped around yours like a shield. He’d always be gruff, pretending like he didn’t care about things like cuddling, but the way he’d hold you told you otherwise. His arms were a fortress, and you had never felt safer than when he was there, pressed against you, his chin resting atop your head.

Logan’s breath hitches, and you watch as he tilts his head back, staring at the sky like it might hold some answer to his pain. "I couldn’t save you," he rasps.

There it is. The raw truth that’s been eating away at him.

He always thinks it’s his fault. That if he had been faster, stronger, you’d still be here. But you know better. He did save you, in more ways than he’ll ever understand. Before Logan, you were adrift, lost in a world that didn’t make sense. He grounded you, brought you back to life with his gruff affection, with the way he’d complain about everything but still do anything to make you smile.

"I’m not gone," you whisper, willing him to feel your presence. "I’m still here, Logan. You’re not alone."

You step closer, even though you know you can’t touch him. He’s standing now, fists clenched at his sides, his face a mask of pain. "I couldn’t save you," he repeats, like the words are an anchor dragging him down.

You ache for him, for the way his heart breaks in silence. He doesn’t cry, not really. But the tears are there, hidden behind the steel of his eyes. You know that look all too well—the way he’d try to shut himself off when he felt too much, afraid that if he let it out, it would destroy him.

"Logan," you murmur softly, even though he can’t hear you. "It’s okay. I love you. I always will."

For a moment, something flickers in the air between you, and he pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he feels your presence. His hand reaches out, trembling, fingers brushing through the empty space where you stand, and you wish more than anything that you could take it, hold onto him the way you used to when the world became too much.

You remember how he’d hold you after nightmares, his grip tight, his breath warm against your neck as he whispered, "I’m here. I got you." You wish you could do that for him now. Hold him, tell him it’s going to be okay, even if it’s not. Even if the pain never really goes away.

"I miss you," he whispers, his voice breaking.

Your heart shatters. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this much after death, but for Logan, there’s always an exception. He’s everything—fierce, passionate, wild, but tender in a way that few ever got to see. But you saw it. You had always seen it, in the way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, or the way he’d mutter soft reassurances when you were upset, as though he didn’t know what to say but couldn’t stand to see you hurting.

"I miss you too," you whisper, tears slipping down your cheeks. "But I’m still with you, Logan. Always."

You step closer, close enough that if you were alive, you could reach out and hold him. His breath catches, and for a moment, you think he feels you. His eyes soften, and his lips part, as though he’s about to say something—but instead, he just nods, like he’s finally letting himself believe that you’re still here.

"I’ll keep going," he mutters, voice rough, but determined. "For you."

And you know he will. Because Logan is nothing if not a survivor. He’ll carry this grief, this love, with him for the rest of his life, but he’ll keep going. For you. For what you shared.

As he walks away, the wind carries your voice to him one last time.

"I love you."

His steps falter for just a moment, and though he doesn’t turn back, you see the way his shoulders relax, just slightly, as if some small part of the weight he carries has been lifted.