Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The mansion was quieter than you’d expected. For a place filled with teenagers who could move mountains, phase through walls, or set things on fire with a sneeze, it held an odd sort of calm - the kind that came from routine. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear laughter and the faint thrum of a piano. Someone was training in the Danger Room; the rhythmic clang of metal carried faintly through the floor.

You stood near one of the tall windows, fingers brushing the cool class. Your eyes traced the sweep of green lawn outside. It still felt unreal… being here, being safe.

A few weeks ago, you’d been running. Again.

Your mutation wasn’t the kind that made headlines. No glowing eyes, no wings or claws. You could feel energy - not just in machines but in people. Heartbeats, electrical pulses, the low hum of life itself. It was overwhelming when you were young; it felt like drowning in static. You learned to shut it out eventually, but when you lost control… cities notices. That’s how Charles Xavier had found you.

Now you were here, and for the first time in years, you didn’t have to look over your shoulder.
Almost.

“New kid, huh?”

You tuned. The voice came from the end of the hallway. Rough, low, and edged with the kind of weariness you’d only ever heard from people who had seen too much.

He was leaning against the doorframe, one shoulder braced against the wood, arms crossed over his chest. Jeans, flannel, leather jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder. The kind of look that said he didn’t care, and yet somehow still looked like trouble.

You didn’t need to sense his energy to feel the weight of him. The air around him carried it - something dense and restrained, like a storm kept on a leash.

“Yeah,” you said carefully. “Guess that’s me.”

He didn’t move closer, but his eyes - sharp, assessing - they stayed on you. They weren’t just brown; there were hints of amber in them, catching the afternoon light.
“You the one who shorted out half the power grid in upstate last month?”

You hesitated. “…That depends on who’s asking.”

The corner of his mouth twitched - almost a smile, almost.
“Just curious. Don’t worry, I’ve done worse.”

“Logan,” came another voice from behind him. Calm, amused. Unmistakably Charles Xavier. The Professor’s wheelchair hummed softly as he approached. “Play nice. She’s had a long few weeks.”

Logan’s gaze flicked toward Xavier and then back to you. He gave a quiet grunt - acknowledgement or apology you weren’t sure - and pushed off the wall.

“Didn’t say I was bein’ nice,” he muttered, and disappeared down the hall.

You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

Charles smiled faintly.
“Don’t let him intimidate you. Logan’s bark is worse than his bite… most of the time.”

You raised a brow. “Is he always that friendly?”

“Oh, he’s one of our most charming residents,” Charles said, eyes twinkling with quiet humour. “You’ll find beneath the scowl and the sarcasm, he’s remarkably loyal. Once he decides someone’s worth his time, that is.”

You watched the direction Logan had gone, the echo of his footsteps fading. Loyal or not, he seemed like a man built on distance - someone who preferred silence to small talk. Still, something about him lingered in your mind. The weight in his eyes. The quiet ache that matched something in your own chest.

Dinner that night was loud. You sat at the far end of the table, a plate untouched in front of you, half-listening to Bobby and Rogue argue about something trivial. The laughter around you gelt warm but distant. You weren’t used to this - to staying, to belonging.

Then, a shadow fell across the table. A familiar low voice rumbled near your shoulder.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up. Logan stood there, tray in hand, expression unreadable. He’d changed into a worn grey Henley, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Scars from past battles peeked out beneath the fabric, pale lines that never should’ve healed as cleanly as they did.

You gestured to the chair. “Go ahead.”

He sat without another word. For a while, you both ate in silence, the chatter of students filling the space between you.

Finally, he spoke.
“Heard you fried lights in the rec room earlier.”

You winced. “Accident. Someone started me.”

He grunted, like he’d expected as much. “Happens. You’ll learn to control it.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You sound so sure.”

He shrugged. “Been around long enough. Everyone loses it at first.”

There was no judgement in his tone - just quiet understanding. You found yourself studying him again, the way he held himself slightly apart from everyone else, as though always ready to leave.

“You’ve been here a while?” You asked.

He huffed a laugh. “Off and on. I’m not exactly the school type.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

That earned you a sidelong smirk, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “You’re not scared of me?”

You met his gaze evenly. “Should I be?”

The smirk faded into something softer, almost thoughtful. “Most people are.”

“I’m not most people.”

That made him pause. Then he looked away, a faint exhale through his nose - he almost laughed. You didn’t need your mutation to feel the pulse of warmth that flared and faded between you.

It wasn’t attraction, not yet. It was recognition.

Two people who’d both been running for too long, finally standing still.

That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, you wandered the empty halls. The mansion at night was a different creature - quiet, moonlight pooling across polished floors, the air humming with faint residual energy from the day’s chaos. You could feel every spark of life in the building - dozens of small, steady heartbeats, like stars burning softly in the dark.

But one stood out.

You followed it to the garage, where the smell of motor oil and metal filled the air. Logan was there, crouched beside his motorcycle, a wrench in one hand and a cigar burning low between his teeth.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not really,” you admitted. “Too quiet.”

He grunted in agreement. “Takes time. You’ll get used to it.”

You leaned against the wall, watching the way the dim light glinted off his hands. They were strong and scarred, but clearly steady.
“You fix everything yourself?”

“Most things worth keepin’, yeah.”

You smiled faintly. “You talk like someone who’s been breaking things for a long time.”

That made him pause. His eyes lifted to yours - sharp and searching.

“Maybe I have.” He said softly.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy. Real.

And when you finally said goodnight and turned to leave, you felt his gaze linger - not in suspicion, but in quiet curiosity.
The first crack in the armour.

Chapter Text

The morning air over Westchester was sharp enough to sting. From the window of the mansion’s upper hallway, the world looked ordinary. The mist curled off the lawn, the trees rimmed with frost. Sunlight spilled in a pale gold shade through the branches. But below the surface, tension hummed. You could feel it - threads of power and thought weaving through the school like electrical currents under glass.

Today was different.

You’d been cleared to join a field team.
“Observation only,” Ororo had said. “No combat. Stay with Logan and keep your focus on control.”

Easy words, harder in practice. The last time your power flared, you’d blown out an entire block’s worth of transformers. The memory still smelled like ozone and burnt air.

Now, suited up in black leather that felt far too new, you stood in the hangar beside the sleek silver bulk of the X-Jet. Logan was already there, arms crossed, jaw set. He looked as though he’d been waiting for hours.

“You sure about this?” He asked.

“Not really,” you said, forcing a smile. “But I guess that’s part of the job, right?”

He grunted - approval or doubt, you couldn’t tell.
“Stick close. And if things go sideways, you pull back. You don’t try to prove anything. Understood?”

“Understood.”

He gave a curt nod and climbed the ramp. The engines started with a deep thrum that vibrated straight through your bones, a sound both terrifying and alive.

The mission was supposed to be simple: investigate an abandoned industrial facility in New Jersey, a rumoured safe-house for mutants gone quiet. Recon only. But simplicity rarely lasted long around the X-Men.

The facility loomed grey and skeletal against a backdrop of overcast sky. Rusted signage, shattered windows, the scent of metal and rain. You could feel the hum of dormant machines inside. It was faint, erratic… like a heartbeat struggling to keep rhythm.

“Storm, keep an eye on the perimeter,” Logan said, checking his comm. “Cyclops, you take the west side. I’ll go in with—” he paused, looking at you. “Sparkplug here.”

You frowned. “Sparkplug?”

A flash of humour touched his eyes.
“You fry circuits; you get a nickname.”

“Great. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with next.”

He smirked. “Oh, I’ve got plenty.”

The faintest warmth crept up your neck, though you turned quickly before he could see it.

Inside, the factory was a maze of shadows and steel. Your boots echoed softly on concrete, and dust motes drifted through beams of light like falling sparks. Every wall vibrated with the ghost of old power - you could taste it in the air, metallic and electric.

Logan moved ahead with uncanny quiet, nostrils flaring slightly as he scanned the dark.
“Keep your senses sharp,” he murmured. “If something feels off—”

“I’ll tell you.”

You didn’t have to wait long.

A ripple of energy brushed the edge of your awareness - foreign and unstable.
“Something’s—”

Before you could finish, a flash erupted from the upper catwalk. Bolts of electricity arced downward, searing the metal flooring. Logan shoved you behind a crate just as a second strike slammed into where you’d been standing.

“Mutant hostiles,” he growled into his comm. “At least two, maybe more.”

You risked a glance. The attackers weren’t soldiers; they were scared. Two young mutants, crackling with blue energy that spiralled out of control. The air smelled static, and fear was very present too.

“They’re overloaded,” you said quickly. “They can’t control it!”

“Tell that to the guy trying to fry us,” Logan snapped, but you could see his hesitation.

You reached out with your mutation, feeling for the rhythm of their energy. It was wild, thrashing like a live wire - but familiar. You knew that chaos; it’s the same storm that lives under your own skin.

“I can stabilise them,” you said.

Logan’s hand clamped around your wrist.
“Too risky.”

“I can do it.”

He met your eyes - the look there was a mix of exasperation and something else, something that felt like trust he didn’t want to admit. After a beat, he let go.
“Two minutes. I’m right behind you.”

You stepped from your cover, palms open. The floor buzzed beneath your boots, hair rising with static.
“Hey! It’s okay - I can help!”

The nearer mutant, a girl barely older than you, flinched.
“Stay back! It won’t stop… it hurts!”

You closed the distance slowly, focusing on her energy signature. Threads of power lashed out - sparks that kissed your arms with burning light - but you absorbed them, drawing the surge into yourself until the wildness dulled. The air cleared. The girl collapsed to her knees, sobbing in relief.

The second mutant wasn’t so lucky. His charge spiked, lighting up the entire room in a crackling halo. Logan was already moving - claws out, slashing through a falling beam before it crushed you both.

“Now would be a good time, Sparkplug!”

You reached deeper, pulling the storm toward you. Pain laced through your chest as the energy overloaded your nerves. The world turned white, sound swallowed by a roaring static inside your skull.

Then - pressure on your shoulders. Stron hands grounding you, steady and warm.

“Breathe,” Logan’s voice cut through the noise, slow and rough. “You’re not alone. Take it slow.”

You did. The current bled away, leaving behind a shimmer of blue light that faded into the dark. When you opened your, eyes he was still there, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the faint scorch mark on his jacket where the lightning had hit.

“You okay?” He asked.

You nodded, though your knees threatened to give out.
“I think so. Just… dizzy.”

He kept a hand on your arm until your balance returned.
“You did good.”

“That felt like an accident waiting to happen…”

“Maybe,” he said, a rare smile ghosting his mouth, “but you stopped it.”

Hours later, the team regrouped outside the factory. The rescued mutants were safe, the threat neutralised. But your hands still tingled with leftover charge, and Logan hadn’t moved far from your side.

Storm landed lightly beside you, wind curling around her.
“Impressive control,” she said. “Though next time, a bit less improvisation, hmm?”

“Sorry,” you murmured.

She smiled. “No apology needed. It worked.”

When she turned away, you caught Logan watching you. The cigarette between his fingers burned low, forgotten.

“What?” You asked.

He shrugged. “You handled yourself well. Better than most on their first run.”

You snorted. “I almost blew up the building.”

“Almost doesn’t count.” He took a drag, exhaled, then added quietly, “You’ve got guts. Just don’t get yourself killed proving it.”

There was warmth in his tone now - a rough kind of respect.

You met his gaze, feeling the quiet pulse of energy between you again, steady and undeniable.
“I’ll try not to.”

He smirked.
“Good. Hate to have to drag you back from the dead on your first week.”

“Pretty sure that’s your thing.”

“Touché.”

Back at the mansion that night, sleep refused to come. You wandered to the porch, wrapped in a borrowed blanket, watching the moon carve silver paths across the lawn.

The door creaked open behind you. Heavy footsteps.

“Knew I’d find you out here,” Logan said, joining you with two mugs of something that smelled faintly of coffee and bourbon. He handed you one. “You did good today.”

You stared into the steam. “I lost control.”

“You reined it in,” he countered. “That’s what matters.”

Silence settled between you - comfortable this time. The night hummed softly, cicadas blending with the quiet thrum of distant elecricity.

“Thanks,” you said finally. “For having my back.”

He gave a half-shrug. “Part of the job.”

But when you glanced over, his expression told a different story. There was a flicker of pride there, and something gentler, something that scared you almost as much as it comforted you.

You smiled faintly. “Good thing you’re stubborn.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, eyes on the moon, “takes on to know one.”

And for a long while, you both just sat there - the soldier and the spark - letting the quiet between battles feel like peace.

Chapter Text

Mornings at Xavier’s didn’t so much begin as unfurl.

The sky was a soft lavender fading into cool gold, the kind of dawn that made everything look clean and impossibly new, almost enough to make you forget yesterday’s chaos.

From your vantage point on the back lawn, you watched the mansions stone façade glow warm under the rising sun. A thin fog clung to the ground, drifting around your boots like a living thing. Every breath you took tastes like damp leaves and electricity, a faint buzz under your ribs and a whisper from your mutation reminding you it was still there, waiting.

You held up one hand. Sparks crawled lazily over your knuckles, bright against the morning haze. They didn’t burn, but they tingled, familiar as your own heartbeat.

“You tryin’ to signal a passing aircraft, or is this just your version of meditation?”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. That rough-edged voice, that tone halfway between a question and a challenge.

Logan.

He approached from the mansion’s shadowed doorway, stride unhurried but purposeful, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. The wind pushed his hair back from his forehead, making him look more like something carved out of the wilderness than a man living in a school.

“Just practicing,” you said, flexing your fingers as a crackle of blue light danced between them. “Storm said I should learn how to control my energy in a calm environment.”

Logan snorted.
“Yeah, calm.”
His eyes swept the lawn, the students gathering early for class inside, the quiet world barely waking.
“Too damn quiet if you ask me.”

You turned fully then, noticing the faint exhaustion around his eyes - the kind that no healing factor seemed able to touch.

“You sleep at all?”

He shrugged, which you were slowly learning meant he didn’t, but to not make a thing of it.

“C’mon,” he said. “You wanna practice? You practice where there’s room to screw up.”

He started walking toward the tree line without waiting for an answer.
And yet, of course, you followed.

The training clearing behind the east grounds was a place few students knew about. An uneven patch of earth framed by tall pines, half-shadowed even in the brightest daylight. The air felt different here, heavier, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.

Logan tossed his jacket over a fallen log and rolled his shoulders.
“Alright. We’re startin’ simple.”

“Simple for who?”

“Don’t start.”

But there was warmth behind his growl. You could hear it, even if he pretended it wasn’t there.

He stepped closer, boots whispering through the underbrush, until he was standing in front of you - close enough that you could feel the faintest threads of his energy brushing against yours. Logan always looked like he belonged outdoors; the sunlight caught the lines of his face, outlining the hard jaw, the sharp sweep of his cheekbones.

“Hands up,” he said. “Palms out.”

You obeyed. Electricity rolled across your skin, a restless shimmer.

“Now focus.” He circled behind you, slow and steady. “Pull the current in. Don’t force it. Picture it like… like inhaling. Bring it toward the centre.”

You took a breath.
Static fluttered beneath yours ribs.

You tried to draw it inward, but it bucked immediately, surging back with a crack that made the nearest pine tremble.

Logan’s voice came from behind your shoulder.
“Too fast. You rush, you lose control. Again.”

You exhaled sharply. “It wants out.”

“Then you gotta give it a reason to stay put.”

“How?”

“For starters, stop panicking every time it twitches.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “I’m not panicking.”

“You’re always panicking.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

His mouth curved - a ghost of a smirk. “Yeah, well. I’ve earned it.”

You closed your eyes.
Let the air settle.
Listened.

There was the wind in the branches… the distant thunder of a passing jet. The birds that called from somewhere high above, and beneath it all, faint but steady, Logan.

His breathing.
The scrape of his boots shifting on the ground
The low hum of his heartbeat like distant drums.

You tuned to it without meaning to. The consistency and solidity of it. His presence pressed against the wild hum inside you, a counterweight you hadn’t known you needed.

Slowly, and carefully, you tried again.

The current pulled inward, buzzing and resisting, but controllable. A soft glow formed between your palms, gold mixed with blue.

“There you go,” he said. “Now don’t jump when it flares.”

Of course, that’s when it did flare - a sharp, sudden snap of energy that made your breath hitch. But before it could lash outward, a hand closed gently around your forearm. His.

Logan’s skin was warm, warmer than you expected, and solid enough to jolt your focus back where it needed to be.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You’re fine, ride it out.”

The surge calmed. The light softened.

You swallowed. “You make it sound simple.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re overthinking it.”

He didn’t let go, not right away. His thumb brushed once, subtly, against the inside of your elbow - intentional or not, you couldn’t tell, but your pulse reacted instantly.

“Now, we add motion,” Logan said. “Because power’s no good if you freeze up the second you have to move your damn feet.”

You narrowed your eyes. “This better not be code for ‘you’re gonna shove me’.”

“Kid,” he said dryly, “if i shove you, you’ll know.”

You weren’t sure if that was a promise or a threat.

He gestured for you to follow and began pacing slow circles around you, like a predator assessing prey, though you knew better than to fear him. His voice stayed low, instructional, but there was something softer beneath it - something patient in a way you hadn’t expected from him.

“Shift your weight,” he said. “Use your legs. Strongest part of the body. Your arms control the current; your legs control you.”

You moved with the current in your hands, letting the glow trail faintly through the air like a comet tail. Logan watched every step, every flicker of your power, attention as sharp as a blade.

“Keep your back straight,” he said.
You did.
“Lower your shoulder a bit.”
You adjusted.
“No- not like you’re scared. Proud. Balanced.”

You tried again.

He made a noise of approval low in his throat.
“Better.”

Electricity rippled up your spine - part mutation, part something you refused to examine closely.

You felt the surge before you saw it. A tremor beneath yout ribs, then a tightening in your chest - and the energy flared, bright and sharp, threatening to break loose.

“Logan—”

“I see it.”

He was beside you in an instant, one hand steadying your elbow, the other pressing lightly against your back. Your breath hitched. Not from fear, but from how close he was. From the warmth of him, the way his presence quieted the chaos in your chest.

His voice came low, almost near your ear.
“Stay with me. Keep your breathing slow.”

You inhaled shakily. The energy bucked, crackling across your shoulders - white-blue arcs chasing each other like lightening under your skin.

He didn’t flinch, nor pull away. Instead he tightened his grip, grounding you in place.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re not losin’ it. Just guide it where you want it to go.”

You did.

Slowly the surge softened, spiralling inward until it nestled once more between your palms like a living ember.

When you finally looked up, Logan was watching you - expression unreadable, eyes dark with something you couldn't name.

“You good?” He asked gruffly.

You nodded.
“Yeah. I… yeah.”

He stepped back, but only by a fraction. Just enough to let you breathe, not enough to break the invisible thread between you.

The sun rose higher whilst you trained. Dew dried on the grass. Long shadows retreated. By the time Logan finally called it, the air was warm and smelled like pine sap and ozone.

You dropped to sit on a fallen log, catching your breath. Logan stood beside you, arms crossed, looking up at the trees as though listening to some distant internal compass.

“You did good today,” he said.

“Better than yesterday,” you admitted.

“Better than most.”

You glanced at him, trying not to smile visibly.
“Was that… a compliment?

He shrugged, looking everywhere except directly at you.
“Don’t get used to it.”

But the corner of his mouth betrayed him - a tiny lift, soft and rare.

“Same time tomorrow?” You asked.

He paused, then gave a single nod.
“Count on it.”

As the two of you walked back toward the mansion, a breeze picked up, carrying the faint scent of smoke from someone’s breakfast, the chirp of birds, the hum of distant power lines.

Your hands still tingled faintly from your power, and maybe a little from the memory of his touch.

Logan walked beside you, silent but steady, and though he didn’t say a word, the space between you felt different now - charged, warm, alive. And neither of you fully understood yet. But both of you felt it.

Chapter Text

By the time training rolled around again, the sky was the colour of steel - a deep, muted grey that made the world look sharper around the edges. Storm had said rain was coming, the kind that clung to the air before it ever fell. You could feel that heaviness in your skin, your power vibrating faintly as if the atmosphere itself were a tuning fork struck too close.

Logan was already waiting on the lower lawn, leaning against a half-fallen tree like he’d been there for hours. His arms were crossed, boots planted wide, the usual expression of someone pretending he wasn’t looking forward to something.

You approached. He pushed off the tree

“Good. You’re here.”
It was gruff, but there was an undertone - something quieter, something that felt like relief.

“I said I would be.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking over you with a faint, unreadable warmth. “You did.”

He jerked his head toward the woods.
“C’mon. We’re movin’ deeper today. Need space.”

You followed him into the trees. The air felt untouched here, heavy with pine and damp bark. Logan moved silently, parting branches with casual strength. You tried to match his pace, your own power humming along your arms in soft pulses.

He stopped in a hidden clearing, an oval of open space surrounded by tall grass and dark trunks. A place made for privacy… for intensity.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Today’s different.”

“How different?”

He stepped closer - close enough that the temperature shifted, close enough that you felt the pull of him, the way his presence filled a space like gravity.

“You’ve got strength,” he said. “Plenty. Too much, if you don’t know what to do with it.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m a hazard?”

His mouth twitched. “I’m sayin’ you’re a loaded weapon with bad aim.”

“Wow. What a compliment.”

“You’ll live.”
He stepped right into your space. “Now square up.”

You did. The ground was soft beneath your boots, smelling of rain and moss. Logan paced around you slowly, assessing, the air tightening every time he drew behind you.

“You wanna fight with all your power?” He murmured near your shoulder. “Then your body’s gotta move like it’s already part of it.”

He reached out and touched your arm lightly - fingertips only, dragging them down the muscle before adjusting your elbow.

“Loosen here.”

You swallowed. “It’s loose.”

“No, it’s not.”
He stepped behind you, chest barely grazing your back. “Let me.’

His hand slid over yours, guiding your grip, your stance. Electricity flickered across your skin in tiny sparks. The energy brushed him, but he didn’t move away.

“Better,” he said, voice low. “Now breathe.”

You inhaled. Logan’s hand rose with your breath, still wrapped over yours and steadying.

“Again.”

You exhaled, and your back brushed his chest - not fully - just enough to feel the heat beneath his shirt, and to sense the solidness of him.

He didn’t move an inch.

“Now move with me,” he said, stepping forward.

You followed.
Or he guided.
It was impossible to tell.

He turned you gently with his hands at your waist, fingertips warm through your shirt. His breath ghosted your cheek as he leaned in to correct your angle.

“Keep your weight here,” he murmured, nudging your foot with his boot. “Not there.”

You shifted.
His hand on your waist tightened just slightly, not commanding, not hesitant, but enough to steady you in a way that felt deeper than instruction.

“Good,” he said, voice a shade rougher. “Again.”

You repeated the motion. This time you moved together, his step matching yours exactly. When you pivoted, he pivoted behind you, mirroring your rhythm like he’d been trained to follow your body.

“Now strike.”

You swung your arm through the air, electricity peeling off your fingers like ribbons of light. Logan caught your wrist mid-arc, redirecting the surge with casual confidence.

“Too high,” he said. “You open like that, you’re dead.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Don’t get dramatic.”
He angled your arm lower. “Try again.”

You did.
And he was there - every time - guiding, catching, grounding. His hands were everywhere: your shoulder, your hip, your elbow, and even your wrist. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing that could be misread on its own.

But the way he stayed close - the way he moved with you like he’d been waiting for the rhythm - made every touch feel like a conversation neither of you spoke aloud.

Your power flared again, brighter this time, shimmering along your collarbone. Logan stepped behind you quickly, sliding his hands down your arms to contain the surge.

“Easy,” he muttered near your ear.
His breath brushed your skin.
“Breathe with it. With me.”

So you did.

Inhale.
His chest rose behind you.

Exhale.
His hands steadied the tremble in yours.

The electricity threaded between your fingers like silk. Logan didn’t pull away, even when the light curled around his wrist in a bright coil.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You feel that?”

“I- yeah,” you breathed, unable to tear your gaze from where your skin nearly touched his.

“Good. Don’t fight it.”

Your pulse thudded. “I’m not.”

A small silence followed. Charged. Deliberate.

Logan’s grip shifted minutely, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist in a slow, grounding arc. It wasn’t an instruction. It wasn’t correction.

It simply lingered.

“Look at me,” he said.
You did.

And suddenly the clearing felt too small, the air too thick, the world too quiet. His eyes searched yours - intense, focused, full of something he didn’t name.

Then-

A crack of distant thunder shattered the silence.

You both startled, the moment dissolving but not fading. Logan stepped back first, but the withdrawal felt slow, like pulling out of gravity.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, voice low and not entirely steady.

You nodded, trying to settle your breathing.
“Okay.”

He hesitated - a rarity in itself - before adding, “Same time tomorrow?”

Your answer was immediate.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He nodded, turned, and walked toward the mansion - shoulders a little rigid, jaw a little set, like he was carrying something heavy under his skin.

And you stood alone in the clearing, electricity still humming through you like a heartbeat that didn’t quite belong to you anymore.

Chapter Text

The rain had turned the world outside into a soft blur - silver streaks sliding down the window, branches bowing in quiet arcs under the weight of water. The mansion felt wrapped in a hush you weren’t used to, a gentler kind of silence that made everything echo a little too clearly.

The knock at your door was unmistakable.

Three taps.
Firm, but not demanding.
A cadence you’d come to recognise in your bones.

You opened the door to find Logan standing there, damp from the weather, hair curling slightly at the ends from the mist. His shirt clung in places where the rain had caught him, and he’d shoved his hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure why he was here - only that he needed to be.

“Hey,” he said, almost softly.

“Hi.”

“You got a minute?”

“For you? Yeah.”

Something flickered in his eyes at that - a small shift, a moment of unguarded warmth - before he cleared his throat and jerked his head down the hall.

“Walk with me.”

You fell into step beside him. The mansion hallways were quiet, thick with the hum of distant voices and the scent of brewing coffee drifting faintly from the kitchen. Logan kept close enough that your arms brushed once, twice, then a third time.

He didn’t shift away.
And neither did you.

He brought you to a small balcony on the east wing - one most students and staff forgot existed. The wrought iron railing was cool and slick with rain, the stone floor darkened by moisture. Beyond it, the lawn blurred beneath the steady curtain of falling water.

Logan stepped forward, bracing his palms on the railing. You stood beside him, close enough that his arm brushed yours when he shifted his weight.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“You usually do?”

“Not well.”
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
“It’s quieter when you’re around.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

He huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “Hell if I know. Just… does.”

He looked away before adding, quieter:
“You make it easier.”

Something in your chest pulled tight, warm.

“I’m glad,” you said honestly. “Because you make things easier for me too.”

He didn’t respond immediately.
But the line of tension in his shoulders eased - like the words settled somewhere he didn’t realise needed softening.

The rain thickened, turning to a steady hiss against the stone. You leaned forward on the railing, your shoulder brushing his. Logan didn’t look at you at first - just at the rain, at the distant edge of the forest. But he shifted slightly, so your arms pressed together more fully.

He didn’t move away.

After a long moment, he finally spoke.

“You scared me yesterday,” he said.

“What? How?”

“The way your powers reacted. The way… we reacted.”

Your breath caught. “Logan-“

“Not in a bad way.”
His voice was low, rough - not from irritation, but honesty.
“It’s just… been a long time since someone’s gotten close enough to matter.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Logan,” you whispered.

He finally turned his head toward you fully. His eyes held something you hadn’t seen before - vulnerable, honest in a way that felt like stepping into somewhere private.

“I don’t do this,” he said. “I’m not good at it.”

“Good at what…?”

“This.”
His gaze flicked down, not far - to where your arm pressed against his - before returning to your face.
“Being close to someone.”

You let your hand drift toward his on the railing, slow and deliberate, giving him every chance to move.
But he didn’t.

Your fingers brushed his knuckles.
He inhaled sharply.

The touch was simple.
Soft.
Barely there.

But the way Logan’s thumb slowly turned, just enough to graze the side of your hand, made the moment feel deeper than any embrace.

You shifted slightly closer - a small lean, nothing overt - but he noticed. Oh, he noticed. His breath changed, slower, heavier.

He didn’t look away.

“I’m not asking for anything,” you said quietly. “Just… letting you know you’re not alone in this.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rain reflected in his dark irises, before he spoke in a voice barely above the fall of water.

“I know.’
A beat.
“That might be the part that scares me.”

You turned fully toward him now, one hand leaving the railing to rest gently on his forearm. The muscle beneath your palm tightened, then loosened as he exhaled.

“Hey,” you said softly. ‘You don’t have to figure it out today. Or tomorrow. We can just… be here. For now.”

Logan’s jaw moved - a subtle flex - before he nodded. Slowly. Carefully. Like he wasn’t used to agreeing to softness.

He shifted closer.

Close enough that your shoulder pressed against his chest. Close enough that when he spoke next, you felt the warmth of his breath sweeping across your cheek.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he murmured.

You smiled. “So are you.”

His hand drifted from the railing - hesitant, but drawn - until it brushed against yours again. This time, his fingers curled lightly around your own.

Not tight, nor claiming. But choosing.

Choosing you.

The balcony felt too small for the quiet that settled between you - thick with everything neither of you said but both of you felt. The rain softened, growing finer, gentler, as if the storm were listening in.

“You cold?” He asked suddenly.

You weren’t. Not even close. But the warmth in his voice, concerned and protective… tender in a way he hid from everyone else - made you want to stay in this moment forever.

“Maybe a little,” you lied softly.

Logan stepped closer before he could talk himself out of it, sliding one arm around your shoulders with careful, deliberate slowness - telegraphing every inch so you could pull away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

You leaned into him, head resting along the curve of his chest. His heart beat steady beneath your ear. It was strong and grounding, real. Logan tightened his arm around you gently.

He exhaled, long and warm against your hair.

“Feels… right,” he admitted in a voice so soft you almost missed it.

You smiled into his shirt. “Yeah. It does.”

You stayed there a long time - longer than you probably should have - wrapped into each other whilst the rain painted the world silver around you.

Not defined. No labels, but you were together.

Something had shifted between you in the clearing the day before, and here in the quiet shelter of the balcony, it finally settled into place.

Chapter Text

As the mansion stirred awake, the rain had softened into a fine mist, the grounds washed in pale morning light. The hallways buzzed with low chatter, the smell of toast drifting from the kitchen. But beneath the noise, the hurried steps of students and teachers, you sensed something else.

It was a shift, a pull… like a subtle string of thread that tugged you toward someone amidst the morning chaos.

You followed it without even meaning to.

Logan was in the garage again, exactly where your instincts knew he would be. The large room was quieter than usual, the scent of oil and old leather mixing with the cool rain-soaked air drifting in through the partially open bay door.

He stood near the jeep he’d been ‘working on’ for weeks - sleeves pushed up, hands idle, gaze distant. The moment he sensed you, his shoulders rolled back slightly, tension easing like an old habit retreating.

His eyes found yours, and everything inside you steadied.

“Hey,” he said. The single word held warmth, unfamiliar softness, and something he never gave freely, that he wasn’t used to.

“Hi,” you answered, almost breathless.

He set down the wrench he clearly hadn’t been using.
“Wasn’t sure you’d come down.”

“You knocked on my door before sunrise yesterday,” you said with a small smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

His lips twitched - the closest thing to a laugh he was willing to show this early in the morning. “Guess not.”

You stepped further inside, letting the overhead lights flicker across the wet streaks in his hair. He must’ve just come in from outside, because water still clung to the edges of his shirt collar, leaving dark patches where the rain had kissed him.

“You okay?” You asked.

He hesitated, just enough to show he was thinking, but not enough to wall himself off.
“Better now.”

The admission swept warmth through your chest..

You walked closer, slow but certain. Logan watched each step like it mattered, like he was memorising the shift of your weight, the way your breath moved, the way you looked at him without fear.

“Yesterday…” he began, then trailed off. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Yesterday on the balcony, that… that wasn’t nothin’.”

You swallowed. “No, it wasn’t.”

His gaze flicked away for a moment, jaw tightening like he was wrestling words that didn’t want to be spoken. When he looked back at you, something raw and unguarded made itself known through his eyes.

“I don’t… do this,” he said. “I’m not used to feelin’—”
He stopped again, exhaled hard through his nose, and continued.
“Whatever this is between us… I didn’t see it comin’. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready for it.”

You stepped closer, until only a foot remained between you. “Do you still want it?” You asked softly.

He blinked. Startled, vulnerable, cornered in the gentlest way.

His answer came low.
“Yeah. I do.”

He said it like a confession, like it was surrender.

Rain pattered faintly against the open garage door, soft enough that you could hear his breathing shift. He glanced down at your hands, then back to your face. Slowly - carefully - he lifted his own hand, stopping just short of touching you.

“Can I?” He asked.

You nodded.

His fingers brushed your cheek, feather-soft. He held your face with a gentleness that felt at odds with the strength in his hands. His thumb traced a line under your eye, as if reassuring himself that you were real, here, with him.

The touch lasted longer than it needed to, at-least long enough for you to lean into it and for him to inhale sharply at the feeling of such a thing.

“You don’t scare easy,” he murmured.

“You don’t either.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, thumb brushing your skin. “Not with you.”

Your breath hitched - the honesty in his voice hitting deeper than any admission he’d ever made. Logan’s walls had cracks now, and you were watching light spill through them.

He stepped closer.
Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
Close enough that your chest brushed his with each breath.

His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck - slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to step away, but you didn’t. You curled your fingers lightly into his shirt, feeling the fabric bunch under your touch.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

“I won’t.”

His breath mixed with yours, warm and steady, his forehead brushing yours first - a grounding touch, intimate in its simplicity. For a moment, neither of you moved. The world narrowed to shared breath, shared warmth… shared anticipation.

“Alright,” he mumbled. “Then I’m gonna kiss you.”

And he did.

Soft.
Slow.
A careful press of lips that felt like the unlocking of something long-hidden. He kissed you like he was learning the shape of you, one gentle brush, then another, lingering a little longer each time. His hand tightened in the fabric at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer without turning the moment into anything more than tenderness.

You returned the kiss with equal gentleness, letting the warmth of him draw you in. His breath hitched softly against your lips, and when he pulled back - only a fraction - his nose brushed yours.

“Damn,” he whispered. “I…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.

You lifted your hand to his cheek, thumb grazing the line where his beard shadow met his skin. Logan leaned into your touch with an exhale that felt like surrender.

“I’m right here,” you said. “You’re not alone anymore.”

He closed his eyes at that - just for a short moment - forehead resting against yours.

When he opened them, something had changed. The guardedness was still there, but softer, reshaped by the way you looked at him.

He brushed a thumb along your jaw. “You sure this is what you want?”

“I’m sure,” you replied with no hesitation. “What about you?”

He didn’t hesitate either.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I want this.”

Logan kissed you again, another slow and warm sweep, before pulling you gently into his chest. His chin rested on your head, arms folding around you with a quiet intention that was for sure the beginning of something new.

You stayed in the circle of his arms as the rain tapped softly and the world outside faded into grey.

And for the first time in a very long time, Logan didn’t feel like he was standing alone.

He felt like he was home.