logan booth

“Are you sure?” she asked, eyes wide as she lifted her head to stare up at him. Her apartment was nearing, and she pointed at a small bookstore. “I live there. Above it, I mean. I think.”

“Sure,” he replies, looking down to her, for a reason he could not fathom, he found himself not being able to be off with her. Taking his eyes off of her, he looks towards the bookstore, “You think?” he smirks, “If you don’t, you do realise we’re about to commit a crime--” his face forms an ‘o’ shape as he pretends to be shocked. 

“Ego.” she smiled. “Miss me, or was a witch body more fun. Because that’s dead.”

“Dead? Now that’s music to my ears...”

“I’m sorry I called you a boring white man,” she mumbled into the fabric, not wanting to say sorry any louder.

“You’re forgiven,” he chuckles.

“Nice is definitely not the word I’d use.” She replied without thinking, her smile fading away.

“I see you never left your body.”

“Why would I? I’m perfect just the way I am.”

“Probably…” she leaned on his arm, her face burying in his sleeve, “I like it when you’re nice to me.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, not bothered that she was making herself cosy, “Maybe I was too harsh on you.”

“Let’s not… judge. People have, you know, collections and stuff. It’s cooler than stamps if you ask me.”

“I’d agree with that.”

“No, I’m alright.” she answers, taking in the apartment. It was simple and unassuming, bare apart from a few essential pieces of furniture, containing nothing that would clue Alicia in to Logan’s true nature or his intentions for her.

“Okay,” he says as he walked over to his cabinet, pulling out an old book. “I got given this,” he lies as he turns to Alicia, handing her the grimoire which was filled with explicit details of dark magic, there was no light inside,  “I want you to have it.”

“Er, well thanks anyway.” She continued to look around. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he replied not bothering to ask about herself, “What were the keys for, anyway?”

“I shall elect to take that as a compliment,” she murmured, stiffly gliding her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “Don’t correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Sure, I won’t,” he smiled, saying no more on the matter. “Seems a bit funny the man had a sword, what century was he from?” he jokes.

“Because directions are hard, Logan,” she let out a sigh before then thinking for a moment, freezing before nodding, “Yes…probably.”

“Probably?” he smirks as she walk out of The Grill, “That sounds convincing...”

“Logan…” Hazel forced a smile as she looked up at him. “I… I’ve been away for a while.”

She looped her arm through his for stability, before raising an eyebrow at him, “Do you even know where I live?”

"No, why would I?” he responded, though his brows soon rose, “You do remember, right?”

“Oh. Wow. That sounded extremely suspicious.” She pulled a grimace of awkwardness. “He’s dead. But I didn’t kill him. Or anyone. He died of a heart attack. Technically, his heart killed him.”

“That’s alright, I believe you - you don’t seem like the type anyway,” he commented, chuckling to himself.