#imma tag this as smut even though there's only an inkling because I promise the smut is coming

[lostinlovingrevery]

He's Definitely Obsessed With You: Chapter 1

Plot: You're readjusting to life after a gunshot wound to the shoulder in Vietnam, figuring yourself out and navigating the waters of life back in the States. The only thing that really kept you steady was the thought of Logan, although after his letters to you dropped off, you still thought about him, and begin to wonder and doubt- if anything had ever been there between you two at all.

A/N: Okay, I PROMISE the next chapter will have more Logan. I really wanted to build on where reader was at in life both physically and mentally, and what they were going through. It's important I SWEAR. This also came out really long. I just kept typing and adding more and more to it. It's not perfect but if I don't post it now I'll never post it

Warnings: Reader gets horny af thinking about Logan (18+ please, although it's not super descriptive), mentions of blood and gore (not super in depth), politics regarding Vietnam, allusions to PTSD, and reader has anxiety and slight depression, mentions of nightmares mentions of weed, making out, etc. Probably spelling and grammar mistakes

Word Count: 6319

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CHAPTER 1: That’s Really Unhealthy Honestly

1971, New York City, New York

“You’re not going to pursue becoming a doctor?” 

You sat across from Doctor Frank Jones, the military doctor you were working under back in Vietnam. Today was your last day of physical therapy, rehabbing your arm and shoulder after getting shot in the jungle, a stray bullet hitting you- instead of the soldiers that stood guard around you while you were attempting an amputation on a young private, who had gotten stuck in a grisly dirt trap made by the Vietcong, and you were not able to get his leg out with the damage that had been done. Medics, doctors, nurses, were usually never targeted, either side knew not to hurt the people of medicine, that was just a rule of war, but that still didn’t mean you weren’t in any danger. 

Doctor Jones wanted to meet with you, having kept track of your progress when you returned to the states. It wasn’t his job to do so, but he was fond of you, and saw potential of making a good doctor out of you. You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure about it anymore. You hoped he wouldn’t push you.

Jones was a good man, a good doctor. He was older, and had served in the military a long time as a doctor. Salt and pepper hair, handsome, with a polite and genuine face that was beginning to see his years of military, worry lines that merely added to his character, he reminded you of an older version of Rock Hudson. His voice was steady and low, and he talked like a professor, quick and precise with his words. 

“Not now at least, I haven’t decided.” You informed him, cupping your mug of warm lemon herbal tea you ordered from the pleasant little coffee shop that you agreed to meet him at. It was in one of the less crowded neighborhoods of New York, but traffic and people were still bustling by the window, the door of the shop opening and shutting every few minutes, as a people came in to grab a coffee or a donut as they continued their daily routine, routine full of coffee, work, and some kind of personal dilemna, some angsty problem they face in their day to day life, and maybe a touch of romance, if they’re lucky. It was 8 in the morning, the world was waking up, and carrying on their lives.

As if there wasn’t a war going on. 

You have not exactly adjusted to your new life and routine. You had been formally discharged from the military, with some kind of honors, something your CO pushed for you, due to the work you did over in Vietnam. You didn’t really care about that though. You never joined the military for fancy honors and discounts, you joined because you wanted to help people. You had all your reasons why, your own personal backstory, but in the end it was just what you wanted to do. Although you do appreciate your CO vouching for you.  Now, you were left wondering what to do with yourself. A month of recovery and rehab, you spent it trying to figure out what you wanted to do when you finally were done with it all. Life back in the States was an adjustment, your sleep schedule was wrecked, a mixture of nightmares and insomnia. Your family and friends were happy to have you back, and you gotten countless visits from them- and while you were happy to see the familiar faces to, it felt weird just to jump into this new reality, where everyone is okay, happy, and not counting on you to save them. You’d think it give you some release, the pressure and stress dissipating the moment you got your discharge papers, but to be honest, you could never be more tense. 

It occurred to you that you had zoned out, staring at your tea that was slowly becoming cold, Doctor Jones having called your name multiple times, and it wasn’t until he gently touched your arm that drew you from your thoughts. 

“Have you seen a therapist?” He asked you, concern spread across his face. 

“What?”

“I get returning back to reality after what you went through can be…disorientating. There’s nothing wrong with searching for some help.” He says gently, letting go of your arm and returning to his espresso. 

“Reality?” You sat back in your chair, sitting your tea on the table, your voice tinged with irritation. “Felt pretty real back there.” 

“You know what I mean.” He mutters. “So, have you?”

“No.” You shook your head. It wasn’t that you saw anything wrong with therapy, or that you had trouble admitting you needed help. You were still adjusting, and you just weren’t ready to go and start working through the last four years of your service in ‘Nam. You wanted to figure out your next step, and get yourself settled first. “I will, I just want to figure things out first.”

He nodded. “So, are you planning to stay in New York?” 

You pursed your lips together, and shook your head. “Probably should, since my familys nearby. Honestly though the city just…isn’t where I want to be right now.” You said, your mind flashing with the place you did want to go. Somewhere you originally planned to just visit, but now your mind- your trusty gut instinct, was telling you that maybe it’s where you should be all along. “I’m thinking of moving out into somewhere small.”

“Ah, searching for a little peace and quiet?” He hummed, a tight lipped smile. You returned the same smile back and nodded, hunching in your seat a little bit. 

“Yeah, it’s…a place in Canada. In Alberta, a small little town.” You say. A look of surprise came across his face. “A friend, told me about it. He was from there and he always talked about how beautiful it was. He always thought I’d enjoy it, long as I get used to the harsh winters.” Your smiled turned into something warmer, as you thought about Logan. There was an ache in your chest though, something in your heart. 

You weren’t able to say goodbye to him. He wasn’t there when you got shot, and everything happened so fast, as they had thrown you onto the closest evac to get you to some medical hospital, since no one could take care of you there the way you did for them. When your belongings got sent back to you, sent to the hospital you were staying at in the States, he had written a letter, urging you to rest, and a heartfelt apology for not being there for you. It was that, and a polaroid photo one of the medic boys took of you two, his arm around your shoulder, his body turned to you, as he practically glared at the camera in his trademark expression, yet still managing to look handsome as always, and you, a big smile on your face, your hand up in a “victory” sign, which somehow turned into a symbol of peace in this era, and you were leaning in to him. You keep it on you all the time, a small comfort of him carried in your bag or pocket.  You of course quickly wrote back to him, telling him everything that happened, and expressed how deeply you missed him. It was unusually emotional for the both of you, considering you typically took jabs at each other, and joked around more often than not. Yet you both were always able to open up to each other- without fear of judgement. It was true, you missed him, and despite the fact that you were home, surrounded by loved ones, you felt more alone than ever because he wasn’t there. Perhaps that’s why you’re chosing to move to his hometown. 

“That sounds nice.” He nods, noticing the way your cheeks turned pink at the mention of your friend. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you’ll be putting off med-school. I’m glad you’re taking the time to rest though, that’s more important.”

“Thank you.” You say softly. “It’s not a permanent decision. I just want to figure myself out-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You have a good head on your shoulders. I know whatever you do will be the right thing. I simply want to just encourage you.” He stops you, holding a hand up, and then using that hand to brush his hair back, before resting it on the table. Despite his words, his body language told you he was slightly disappointed. “If you do however, change your mind-”

“I’ll call.” You smiled. You knew why he wanted this for you. Society was changing, while women doctors were not unheard of, it was still a rarity. It was part of the reason why you weren’t sure about going to med-school, you weren’t sure if you were ready to face the scrutiny that you would surely get. Not that anything like that has ever stopped you before, but Vietnam had changed something in you, you were lost in yourself and what to do, the world was moving so fast around you and you couldn’t keep up. He smiled back. “What about you?” You asked him, 

“I’ll be staying in New York. I was called to work on a project not far from here.”

“You’re still in the military?”

“Of course. With the injury I sustained,I can’t go back to ‘Nam, I wouldn’t be fast enough to work the pace it’s like there. They figure I’m more useful with this project, will supposedly help with the war effort.” 

“Help with the war effort?” You asked, annoyance creeping up your stomach. “Surely you don’t still think this war is necessary, right? It’s gone on long enough?” 

“Of course. I still feel a duty for my country though. I don’t blame you for feeling the way you do-”

“Frank, c’mon.” You scoffed. “There’s no reason to be over there. I watched so many young boys, and men, die, or get so messed up they lose apart of themselves-”

“I know, I was there too-”

“Then you shouldn’t want to help with the effort.” You voice rose a bit, filed with tension and anger, falling back into your seat and crossing your arms. “Every little thing you do for them, in regards to Vietnam, just keeps this war going, those boys over there - innocent people in that country are still dying and-” You stopped yourself, as he looked at you with indignation. “Sorry.” You mutter. 

“I get your frustration. I do believe the war should end, and I believe If I help with the effort, then perhaps I can help make things end faster too.” He explains himself calmly. Your hands were shaking, it wasn’t the first time you gotten heated over the topic of Vietnam since you’ve been home. It frustrated you to no end watching people endlessly argue on whether it should happening or not. Taking a deep breath, you nodded, sipping at your tea, now having gotten cold because you completely forgot about it. 

“Lets…just move on.” You suggested, feeling like if you linger on the thought of ‘Nam any longer you were going to burst in the middle of the shop. He nodded, and you listened to Doctor Jones ramble on, mentioning he couldn’t give you details on the project, but it was exciting nonetheless. Then he switched to talk about his kids, his son having turned into a huge hippie - which ended up making you laugh, as Jones was very patriotic for the most part, loyal to the country, but he seemed to understand and accept his sons opinions and lifestyle. Perhaps his injury had given him a new perspective on life, a new meaning, even if he was still aiding the military…

You, though, you were still trying to find your meaning.

1972, Alberta, Canada

“Oh shit!” 

You yelped as you stepped outside the porch of your house, into the freezing cold air that surrounded you. You wrapped your arms around you in attempt to warm yourself, as you quickly ran down the steps of your porch and to the mailbox. The metal door immediately froze your fingers as you pulled it open, peering inside for mail, and you spotted two envelopes. You reached in, snatching them and quickly ran back into the house, stomping your feet on the outdoor rug that sat in front of the door, and kicking them off once you stepped into the warmth of your house, the heat cloaking around you- just biting at the cold that stung your cheeks. 

“Girl you are CRAZY!” 

You smiled at your roommate, Rose Mitchell, a lovely yet feisty woman, around your age. You met her at your current job, nursing at the “local” hospital. (Not so local, but it’s the closest hospital to this little town you’ve moved too.). She was a new nurse too, and you invited her to be your roommate at the shaggy little house you found and slowly worked on fixing up. You had the money to be on your own, but you and Rose had become fast friends, despite being polar opposites in some ways. 

You loved rock music, but she was all about pop and that new disco, and you both found balance in enjoying jazz. Your styles couldn’t be more different as well, you sported jeans, bellbottoms, band shirts, jumpsuits, crop tops, the more comfortable style of clothing in this new era you were finding yourself in, while she wore short skirts, leopard prints, heels, tight dresses that barely covered your thighs- and she looked damn good in it. With such opposite styles of clothing, it guaranteed you wouldn’t steal each others clothing. You admired Rose for her honesty and confidence, her ability to fit in anywhere and everywhere because she was sure of who she was. She didn’t allow society to turn her into something she was not, especially with the discrimination she had to face growing up. She was a party girl, and why she decided to move to this small town with you, instead of the bigger city where your work is located, you won’t understand- but she had become your closest friend, another girl you could talk about those girl things with. She was close to your height when she wasn’t in heels, had a beautiful natural afro that she was quite proud of, and dark brown eyes that matched her skin color. She’s the only reason you haven’t technically become a hermit yet, as she pushed you out of zone, making you go to parties and bars and concerts with her nearly every weekend - and while at first you dreaded it, you began to grow to enjoy the time and memories you were making. In fact, you’ve really begun to start building a life for yourself here. 

When you first moved here, you were still struggling with yourself, adjusting to your life, a new job, and a completely new environment compared to New York, that you were previously residing in. You were shutting yourself off from people, staying in the comfort of your home, trying to pick up old hobbies you left behind before you had joining the army medics. You believed yourself to think that you were doing fine, but the longer you went, the more anxiety began to build inside you, nightmares plagued you, and you even found yourself growing paranoid when out alone in public, afraid of getting jumped, of getting shot. As much as you didn’t want to do it and begin to work through the trauma of it, you forced yourself into therapy. It got you to be a little lighter, to open up, which is how you ended up talking to Rose, and how she ended up your roommate. Slowly, as you were working through things, life became a little brighter, and less lonely. You made new friends, new connections. You still struggled deep inside, there were still days where’d you feel haunted by the ones left in Vietnam, men who always appeared tough as steel, clinging to you and sobbing, young boys begging for their moms to save them, the blood and the gore you witnessed that no human should witness. You’d have these impulsive urges, to pack up and go back to the country and do something. You may not be able to save every life but you could at least provide comfort to them, you could help, but you knew better. Going back wasn’t the answer. Looking back wasn’t the answer. It was time to move forward, and you always been good at embracing the future.

The only thing missing, was him

Rose was curled up on the couch, a blanket settled over her, as she had a book in one hand and tea that you made her in the other. “You are so obsessed with the mail, it’s really unhealthy. Just because your waiting for a man to write” She clicked her tongue. 

You sorted through the two envelopes, one addressed to her, which you flicked at her playfully, it flying across the room like a boomerang until she smacked it away with her hand, gasping dramatically at your audacity. You giggled, looking at the other envelope- it was addressed to you, but it wasn’t from who you wanted it to be from. You groaned, dropping your shoulders. Roses smile faded. 

“Nothing?” She asked. You shook your head, setting the envelope into a basket, stacked with mail addressed to you that you didn’t care to open. “Sorry hun….” She says sympathetically as you move to sit next to her, crisscrossing your legs. 

“I don’t get why he hasn’t been writing.” You say, bringing your nails up and chewing, an anxious habit you’ve formed. 

“He’s probably just busy.” She wrote. “You’ve been over there, didn’t you say you can’t get a break some days?” 

“Yeah…” Your eyes stared at the ground. As embarrassing as it was for you to admit, his letters were like a lifeline for you. You had been writing back and forth a little over a year now. You excitedly told him about moving to his hometown- even bought a polaroid and took pictures of the town, the forests, and your house to send back to him. You wrote about your job, and the friends you’ve made. He’d tell you about the things going on over there, the camp you were at has now been taken down, moved to a different location, nearby a village, he’d tell you the antics he and the others would get up too- and complain about how the new doctor that was assigned to the camp was a huge asshole, and that he was glad he had self-healing abilities because then he wouldn’t have to deal with his smug ass. His letters would make you smile, and blush, because he’d often tell you he thinks about you a lot. You two shared feelings more easily through writing than you would in person, because putting your feelings on paper than saying it outloud was easier. Although you still hadn’t addressed the other feelings you had for each other, ironic, considering if anyone had read your letters- they would have thought you two were involved. 

“I hate seeing you like this.” Rose says, turning in her spot to face you. “You’re so depressed over a guy you haven’t even slept with!” 

Your eyes widen and you gasped. “What- No- I’m not! I’m just worried about him.” you felt your cheeks start to burn.

“Yes you are. Girl it ain’t WORTH it.” She exclaims. “You shouldn’t be getting all worked up over him. You got to focus on your OWN life. I mean, you’re breaking your own heart, and you sit here all worried about him and if he writes letters and all, what if he’s come back, and ya’ll do the nasty and he’s got a small -”

“Oh my god, don’t-” You interrupted her, holding you hand up to make her stop, “ and Uh, excuse me, I have focused on my own life.” You rolled your eyes. “I got a house, a good job, you!” You argued. “I’m happy. I get out and socialize, do fun stuff-”

“Yeah because I make you.” She crosses her arms. “You’re so heads over heels with this guy, who’s literally halfway across the world. You don’t date and you turn down every man that does ask you out!” 

“Just because I’m not interested in dating doesn’t mean it’s because head over heels, for Logan. We are literally just friends, nothing romantic. And DEFINITELY, nothing sexual like you’re claiming- you vixen.” You rolled your eyes. 

That was a lie. You were definitely hard for Logan. When you were in Vietnam, you were too busy to think about sex or any kind of personal pleasure. Then Logan showed up and your hormones flared to life for the first time in a long time and haven’t stopped since - leaving you with the biggest, non-stop hard on you ever had- even if he isn’t here. Now your home and it’s so much worse. The only temporary relief you get is late nights alone with you, your hand, and your imagination. Hell any moment you’d see him shirtless around camp, or even just think about him shirtless, had you soaked within seconds, with his hard pecs covered in coarse hair, his chiseled stomach, hard abs that flexed anytime he strained his muscles, which led to a happy trail below his pants, a prominent vein that travels up from below his pants- that you have spent more time than you care to admit, staring at in secret. You’d watch how his biceps flex as he carried heavy boxes and guns, and you’d wish he’d put you in a headlock with them as he railed you from behind. It filled you with guilt to feel like that over someone you did consider a close friend, but sometimes your mind wonders, and suppose you are just a lady…Embarrassingly enough, your CO had caught you staring at him in a dreamlike state multiple times, and reminded you to keep your head straight and out of the clouds, but you did notice he began sending Logan to give you your supplies and papers more often. 

“You so are. I see how you blush when you look at that picture of you two.” She points accusingly. “You need to get laid girl. And not just in your head.”  she continues, leaning over to poke at your temple. You laughed, shaking your head. You were becoming embarrassed at this conversation. Yes, it’s true. You didn’t have a sex life, or a dating life. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have the choice, you had plenty of opportunities, you’ve been asked out, flirted with. Some of the men Rose was friends with were handsome, charming, and would usually be your type- but you just didn’t want them. Maybe it was a little unhealthy, holding onto Logan, you guys were still just friends, no matter how often you may fantasize over him, and build up your relationship with him in your head. Your little bubble was about to pop, the more Rose spoke in your ear. “I’m serious!” She practically shrieks. “This is the most freedom us women have ever had when it comes to sex. Take advantage of it!” 

You rolled your eyes. She was right. Things were starting to change in the world- slowly, and for the better you hoped. Society was beginning to be more open and accepting, signifying that maybe things will start to get better. There was peace talks with Vietnam, the US was considering officially pulling out of the war. Even mutants weren’t getting the hard flack they usually were, albeit, they’re still getting painted as violent criminals in most parts of the states, but the government had dropped the bill that would put restrictions on mutants, and force anyone who was a mutant to identify and register themselves as mutants. Much to your relief. It wasn’t that you wanted to go around banging every guy you see - which is an activity that Rose pursued often, not that you cared, but you did just want that human connection with someone that just wasn’t over paper. 

 You weren’t ready to let go of Logan though, even if you’re starting to wonder if maybe you were setting yourself up for heartbreak, and not because he may have a small… Well, y’know, that was not important. He may be over there, writing letters to you with one hand, while he has another woman- who knows maybe another nurse- in his other hand. How’d you know he really feels anything for you? He hasn’t written a letter back in weeks. Part of you though knew better, Logan wasn’t the type, you’d seen if even when he didn’t know you were watching. While surely he was a man with desires, he’d never participate in the “locker room” talk you’d overhear many of the soldiers do. He’d sit there in silence, eating his rations, or sharping his knife, or staring into the fire, not joining in whenever they asked him if he had a type- or if he liked this particularly pair of tits on a playboy magazine that somehow got snuck into the camp. It was part of why you liked him, respectful, even if he was given all the room to be…well, a man. Another part of you still worried though, Vietnam was already dangerous, and even if he could heal, neither you- nor he, knew his limits in that. He was smart and knew how to survive, you heard the stories the other privates would bring back when they came back from patrols. What if he gets discovered as a mutant? You got by lucky, he may not. What if he’s not writing because he got too badly hurt? What if he got discovered? What if he was captured by VC? You couldn’t bear the idea of someone you cared about so deeply being hurt.

Maybe you were just overthinking everything. You do that often nowadays. 

Rose could see it on your face, as she moved to sit next to you, resting her head on your shoulder. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you for holding out. He is pretty darn cute in that polaroid you’re so attached too.” She hums, making you both burst into giggles. 

1973, Alberta, Canada

“So, you were in Vietnam huh?” 

You stared blankly at the fellow that Rose has introduced you too. He was leaning against the doorframe, where you were standing just in case you needed a quick escape, but now that he was here, that wasn’t going to be an option anymore. He raised a brow waiting for an answer, but you were lost staring at the mustache above his lip. It was becoming a common style nowadays, and you heard a few friends start referring it as a ‘pornstache’. You didn’t want to know why. The thing looked like a giant fuzzy caterpillar on his top lip, and honestly, it was grossing you out.  

“Um. Yeah.” You say plainly. “I was a army nurse.” 

“Groovy.” He smirks, a small nod of his head. “Bet you’re glad the wars over then, right?”

“Yeah. Glad.” You nodded. You hugged your cup to your body, looking around the party that Rose invited you to. Well, invited was a nice way of putting it. She practically dragged you here kicking and screaming. 

President Nixon declared that the US and North Vietnam had signed an agreement, officially ending the war between the two. Troops have been pulled from the country, coming home to the States. It was great news, finally ending the dreaded conflict that shouldn’t have started in the first place. Celebrations popped up everywhere for the last few month as the boys came home, but it left you feeling solemn, you were worried about the fallout. What was going to happen now? These boys coming home, having gone through hell on Earth. You’ve had two years to adjust and learn how to live and cope. You’ve had support. What about them?

It’s been a year since you last heard from Logan. You had to resign yourself and accept that you may never hear from him again. You weren’t given the privilege in learning what happened to Logan. After a month had passed with no letter, you gave into your worries and attempted to make calls to find out what happened, and no avail. You either didn’t have clearance, or they didn’t know. It wasn’t like you couldn’t find his family and reach out either, he had no family aside from his brother who was there with him. You were just starting to let go- and for some Rose thought that meant you were ready to mingle. You weren’t sure yet but you definitely didn’t want to mingle with this guy. 

“Why’d you go over there?” He asked. “Beautiful lady like you, you could have stayed home, shoot the fat, hang the breeze.” 

“I…Really rather not talk about it.” You say, trying to show how disinterested you were. Hoping he would get bored and go away, allowing you to slip out unnoticed. He just smiled though, 

“You seem tense.” He reaches out to touch your arm, making your eyes quickly dart down to where he was holding onto you, your lips pursing together as you tried your best not to rip your arm away and cause a scene. 

“I’m fine.” You say, slowly pulling back from him. 

“We could always slip away from here. Get to know each other a little better?” He grinned, flexing his eyebrows sensually. “I could help you relax.” Now you just wanted to puke. 

“No thanks.” You say pulling yourself away from the door. You’ll just have to look for another way of escape. You entertained the party long enough. It was inside a huge house, spanning outside over a large decorated lawn- some friend of Rose who was apart of a rich family was throwing it to celebrate his cousin coming back from the war, which you could appreciate family appreciating each other like that. Your own loved ones had done something similar, accept with maybe less questionable substances hanging around all over the place. Honestly, it seemed more of an excuse for people to make out and get high, than celebrate said cousin. Although as you moved through the crowded rooms and halls of people talking, drinking, dancing to some kind of funk playing in the background, and smoking cigarettes and molly. You spotted said cousin, who was introduced to everyone that came in, sitting on the couch in the living room, with scantily clad women at either side of him, giggling and petting at his chest and thighs. Well, at least he was enjoying himself. You can get along with almost anybody, but this type of party just wasn’t your beat, and not to mention you already had a long day at work, you’d like nothing more than to go home, get into something comfortable, curl up on the couch with some warm tea, and watch Clint Eastwood movies. You could appreciate Rose supporting you and pushing you out of your comfort zone, but you figured out a long time ago that comfort zone or not- this was not your idea of living. You’ll support her all the way, while you sat in pajames and slippers at home.

Searching for Rose in the crowd, you found her making out in the corner with some tall, dark, and handsome guy clad in leather. For a moment you’d pondered how rude it would be, if you interrupted her, at the same time though, she’d be madder if you left without letting her know. 

“Rose- Rose!” You called her name over the loud music, before tapping her shoulder, and she tore away from the leather beast. Seriously, he was wearing a lot of leather. That couldn’t be comfortable. 

“Hey! What’sup?” She turned her full attention to you, one hand still holding onto the mans hip, assuring him she wasn’t leaving, but still wanted to make sure you felt heard. 

“I’m going home-” You spoke over the music. “But thank you so much for inviting me- I’m just, tired, you know?” 

“What, you didn’t like Jeffery?” She asked you, seemingly surprised, as if she hadn’t learned what your type is by now. You laughed, shaking your head. 

“No, but thanks.”

“Well, are you sure? About going home?” She asks worriedly. You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. 

“I’m just fine,” You say amused. “You’ll be alright?” 

“Girl,” She looked at the man, who was watching you both with amusement. She leaned in towards you, a huge smile spread across her face, her lipstick catching your eye, a bright pink, slightly smushed from her tongue dance with leather daddy behind her, as she lowered her voice, “I’ll be more than alright, that’s for damn sure.” 

You both laughed, as you playfully pushed her back towards him, you blew a kiss to her, and turned around with a small wave to Rose’s new playmate, as you managed to find the back door and leave, not wanting to risk going back to the front and running into Pornstache again. 

The house was on the other side of the small town you were living in. You and Rose had a car, but the weather was warming up, and you both decided a walk over, which was your way of planning to be able to escape on your own if you needed to. Hopefully your solo walk would be a little nicer, since the walk to the party, Rose ended up complaining because she wore heels on the walk over. 

You zipped up your bolero jacket, and stuff your hands into the pockets of your jeans as you made your way down the quiet streets, the music and smell of weed fading off with each step, leaving you with a clear head. You had to applaud yourself. If you were there a year ago, you would have likely gotten a panic attack, locked yourself in a closet or bathroom until things had quieted down, or Rose found you and got you home. This time though, you felt good- glad you got out- but you don’t feel that tight squeezing in your chest, the way your blood would began to freeze, as your limbs began to feel weightless, your vision becoming unfocused. Nope. Not this time.

Now you get to enjoy the air, and the spring breeze. 

Of course, your mind wandered to Logan again. It often did, you couldn’t help it. You still missed him. You’d find yourself rereading his letters, searching for any signs of why he may have never written back, but you could never see it. He seemed just as eager as you to write. You’d stare longingly at the polaroid, which you’ve retired to stay by your bedside table, since carrying it around so long as started to wear it out, fraying the edges. You’d walk around the town he’d grew up in. He said it looked different then, compared to when he was a kid, which you’d imagine since it was over a hundred years ago,but you still imagined what it’d be like to see him there, tell you what things used to look like, how things used to be. It’d been a long time since you seen him, and even though you had the picture, you could still close you eyes and picture every detail of his face and his voice. 

How pathetic

It’s been a year since you heard from him, and two years since you last seen him! You were so caught up your friendship with him, turning it into a fake romance in your head because you were lonely and didn’t want to admit that. You felt embarrassed at this whole thing. Why were you so hung up on one man, when there was plenty of others out there, that you could easily build a connection with just as you did with Logan. Okay, maybe you felt like he saw you the way nobody else could, maybe he was the first guy to ever make your heart flutter with just a smile, maybe he was the first person ever to have taken the time to really gotten to know you, your faults, your quirks, the way you like your tea….

Ugh!

Maybe that’s why it was so frustrating. Because you felt like you had found someone you could truly connected with, and somehow it had whittled away. You were grasping at what used to be a rope, hanging off of it in the darkness- attaching you to Logan, looking at you with those hazel eyes that still made your brain fuzzy as it did the first time you met him, even a year later of getting to know him while in Vietnam. The rope was now just a few pieces of string, and it was officially about to snap. Whatever happens, or happened to him, you could only hope that he was safe, and happy, wherever he was, as you closed your eyes, and felt it break. You had to move on. Right?

You opened your eyes and found yourself in front of your house. You were so lost in your thoughts, you don’t even remember half of your walk anymore. You sighed, hands sticking in your jackets pocket to pull out your house keys as you approached your porch. 

“Stuck in your head again, huh bub?” 

A familiar voice ripped you from your thoughts, as you swung around, dropping your keys in shock at the figure that stood at the end of the sidewalk, your breath stolen at the sight, 

And you smiled.