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pandapetals · 4 months ago

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Sanctuary - Part One

Logan and Wade are sent by Stryker to find a journalist who has been digging around trying to expose Team X. Logan isn't prepared when he meets an intriguing neighbor causing him to question himself and the mission.

origins logan howlett x fem!reader - team x mission, shy reader, no y/n, she/her pronouns used instead of you, logan's pov, origins wade, awkwardness, guarded feelings, angst, AU, crushes, logan kinda being a stalker, stryker and victor cameos, fighting, cussing, wade being a good friend, reserved logan

a/n: Okay buckle up because this is a long author’s note but when do i not make an essay? I’m an origins girlie and will find any excuse to write about origins logan (it was the first fic i wrote) so here we are with another one. Idk if this makes sense—maybe it’s an AU where logan just works with team x but somehow doesn’t go through the weapon x program idk, okay. It started as a one shot of shy reader (the club scene) then ended up becoming the longest thing i have ever written for logan. I’ve been working on it for the past 2…maybe 3 weeks and yeah…finally posting it after editing it. I was gonna make it a sad, angsty ending but i can’t do it, i just can’t. Logan deserves happy endings. P.s. it’s from logan’s POV that’s why it’s she/her pronouns instead of you. I’m used to writing in third person (creative writing major here) but for fics i usually do second person but here i just wanted to do something different. So sue me.

apparently this is too long to post in one go so here's part one and here's part two

word count: 40k

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to ignore the endless stream of chatter pouring from Wade’s mouth. It was like trying to drown out the buzz of a fly that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Logan?” Wade’s voice cut through the humid night air like a blade.

“Wade, for the love of God, shut up,” Logan muttered, low and gruff. “I can’t hear anything if you keep flappin’ your damn jaw.”

Across the street, neon lights flickered on the facade of a rundown bar, casting fractured shadows over a row of grime-slicked windows above. The air smelled of stale beer and gasoline, tinged with a hint of rot. Logan took a deep breath, focusing, scanning for any sign of their target—the journalist who’d gotten too curious about things he had no business knowing.

Wade just rolled his eyes, unfazed by Logan’s irritation. “I was just trying to tell you…that’s our guy,” he said, nodding towards a short, nervous-looking man slipping into the front door of the apartment building above the bar. The man’s hands were shoved deep in his coat pockets, head down, moving quickly, like he wanted to be invisible.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. Something about the guy didn’t feel right. But they didn’t have much else to go on, and he didn’t have the patience to argue with Wade right now.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He gestured for Wade to follow, and they crossed the street, dodging a couple of potholes filled with oily rainwater. The entryway smelled even worse up close like someone had left a pile of garbage to rot right inside the door.

Inside, the dim hallway was narrow and claustrophobic, with walls covered in peeling, faded wallpaper that might have once been green. Logan’s steps were silent, practiced—Wade’s, not so much. His boots thudded against the cracked linoleum as he craned his neck, looking around like a tourist on his first big-city adventure.

They found the apartment number and pushed their way in, catching the man off guard as he fumbled to pull a sandwich out of a paper bag. He dropped it with a startled yelp, hands flying up in surrender, eyes wide and terrified.

His voice came out in a high, trembling squeak. “L-look, I don’t want any trouble! I can give you money—I swear, I don’t have much, but—”

Wade cocked his head, raising a skeptical brow. “Money? Oh, sweetheart, we’re not here for money.” He let the word drip like honey, and the man flinched. Wade leaned in, studying the man like he was an insect pinned to a board. “You don’t know anything about Team X?”

The man’s face went pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. He shook his head frantically, words spilling out in a stammered mess. “N-no, I swear—I’m just an accountant, alright? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Team…what? I’ve never even heard of it.”

Logan stood back, watching the guy’s every twitch, every dart of his eyes. Fear had a way of squeezing the truth out of people, and this guy looked like he was about to come apart at the seams. Logan’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring slightly. He caught Wade’s eye and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. The poor bastard was clean—just some pencil pusher in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Wade’s grin only widened a slow, wicked curve that made Logan’s stomach sink. He recognized that look: Wade had just had one of his bright ideas.

Wade clapped the accountant on the shoulder, making the man jump. “Well, congrats, pal. You’ve just saved yourself from a world of hurt. But I gotta ask—you like it here?” He gestured around the dingy apartment, where the wallpaper was peeling into long, damp strips and the faint odor of mildew hung in the air. “Nice digs. Bet the landlord’s a gem.”

The accountant blinked, looking from Wade to Logan in bewilderment as if he was just realizing they weren’t here to kill him. “Uh…I guess? I mean, it’s not the worst place I’ve lived.”

“Perfect.” Wade snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up like a kid who’d just been handed a new toy.

Logan shot Wade a warning look. “Wade. Don’t even start.”

Wade ignored him, snapping his fingers again as if he’d just solved world hunger. “Think about it, Logan. We get a lease here. Set up a cozy little base. I’ll bring a lava lamp, we’ll order takeout, and we can scope out every last tenant till we find this guy. Like fishing, but in an apartment building.”

Logan scowled, crossing his arms. “You’re saying we go through the hassle of a rental application. Background checks. And wait.”

“Come on, think of it as blending in! Imagine us as friendly neighborhood roommates, huh?” Wade slapped him on the shoulder, a little too enthusiastically. “We can get to know the neighbors. Borrow a cup of sugar. You’ll look adorable in an apron.”

Logan let out a low growl, but he could see Wade wouldn’t let it go. They were running out of options, and if this journalist were smart, he’d be laying low. A bit of patience might be the only way to catch him off guard.

“Fine,” he muttered, the word tasting bitter. “But if you so much as mention lava lamps again, I’m throwing you out the window.”

Wade’s grin was all teeth. “Deal. Now let’s go talk to the landlord. You want to do the talking, or should I?” He turned back to the accountant, clapping him on the shoulder again. “Thanks for the inspiration, buddy. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll just let ourselves out.”

The accountant sank onto his couch, looking dazed, still clutching his sandwich like it was a life preserver. Logan followed Wade to the door, shaking his head. Somehow, he knew this stakeout was going to be the longest assignment of his life.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

“Well, Stryker isn’t happy,” Wade was saying, his voice an incessant buzz in the background. “But when is that dude ever happy? I feel bad for his wife—assuming she exists. Maybe he just clones himself a girlfriend every year. Could you imagine? ‘Sorry, honey, I’ll be home late tonight, gotta send a couple of mutants to—’”

Logan ignored Wade’s rambling as he surveyed their new “home.” Calling it a dump would’ve been generous. The wallpaper was peeling, a thick layer of grime coated the windows, and the faint smell of mildew seeped out from behind the walls. They were at least lucky enough to have separate rooms, but even with a door to shut Wade out, Logan doubted he’d get much peace.

“Did he give you any more information?” Logan finally cut in, hoping Wade might actually have something useful.

Wade blinked, as if surprised that Logan was listening. “About the journalist?”

Logan clenched his teeth. “No—of course about the fucking journalist. Like what the guy might look like, or any other detail that could help us find him?”

Wade shrugged, completely unfazed by Logan’s irritation. “Nope. Stryker was being vague again. Just the usual cryptic bullshit. I swear, the dude is losing it. First, he sends us out here to find some mystery man—”

Logan rolled his eyes, tuning Wade out. They’d been here for a week now, trawling through this run-down building and questioning almost every unlucky soul who happened to live here, and they were no closer to finding their target than when they’d started. Stryker hadn’t given them much to go on, which only made Logan suspect that there was more to this mission than he was letting on.

Finally, Logan couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair and headed for the door. “I’ll be back,” he muttered over his shoulder, already halfway out.

Wade called after him. “Where are you going? Got a hot date?”

Logan didn’t dignify that with an answer. He took the stairs down two at a time, feeling a grim sense of relief as he stepped outside and let the cool night air hit him. The bar below their building wasn’t much better than the apartment—it was dim, grimy, and smelled faintly of stale beer and spilled whiskey. But at least it was quiet.

He pushed open the door and made his way inside, hoping he might get a few moments to himself, maybe even a drink strong enough to dull the ever-present headache that came with dealing with Wade.

The place was nearly empty, just a few regulars hunched over the bar and a lone woman sitting in a booth near the back. Logan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than he meant to. She looked…out of place. Pretty, in a way that seemed wasted on a hole like this.

She was sitting alone in a corner booth, a book propped open in front of her. Her hair fell over her face as she read, strands catching in the dim light, and she seemed oblivious to the world around her. There was a quiet stillness about her, a kind of focused calm that didn’t quite fit in a bar like this. Logan found himself wondering what a woman like her was doing here, in a place that looked like it had seen one too many bar fights and smelled like it.

For a moment, he debated going over, then caught himself. Not here to make friends, he reminded himself. Still, his gaze kept drifting back to her, curiosity nagging at him. She didn’t look like the regulars in this place—she was younger, softer, with a certain self-contained reserve that drew him in despite himself.

Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was the exhaustion of the past week catching up to him, but before he knew it, he’d grabbed his glass and walked over to her booth.

She looked up, eyes widening slightly as he approached. Logan stopped just short of her table, suddenly aware of how rough he must look after days on the road, stubble shadowing his jaw, his clothes rumpled and worn. He cleared his throat.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, and he cursed himself for feeling the slightest bit nervous.

She hesitated, then gave a small nod, closing her book. Up close, he could see the way her eyes flicked over him, assessing but cautious. She didn’t say anything—just looked at him, as if waiting for him to explain why he’d interrupted her quiet.

“You live upstairs?” he asked, nodding toward the ceiling. He thought he might’ve seen her in the hallway when he and Wade moved in, but he hadn’t paid much attention at the time.

“Down the hall,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the dull hum of the jukebox. “I saw you moving in yesterday. You and…your friend.”

Logan almost chuckled at that. Wade was a lot of things, but “friend” was stretching it. “Yeah, sorry about him. He’s…a handful.”

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, a glimmer of amusement that made him feel just a little less like a stranger in a strange place. “I noticed.”

He found himself studying her face—the slight curve of her smile, the way her fingers toyed with the edge of her book as if part of her mind was still half in whatever story she’d been reading. Something about her felt…steady. Centered. It was a quality he’d rarely seen in anyone.

“Logan,” he said, finally offering his name, though he didn’t expect her to care.

She nodded, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than he’d expected. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

Silence settled between them, not quite uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken questions. He could sense she wasn’t the type to pry, but there was a curiosity in her eyes like she was trying to figure him out, just as he was with her.

After a beat, she lifted her book slightly, an invitation for him to leave her in peace. But instead of moving, Logan found himself asking, “What’re you reading?”

She blinked, a bit surprised, then held up the cover for him to see—a worn paperback mystery novel. The kind where the hero always catches the killer but loses something in the process.

He smirked. “Not exactly light reading for a place like this.”

She shrugged, a hint of a smile returning. “I like the quiet here…and usually nobody bothers me.”

“Well, guess I’m breaking that rule,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

She didn’t seem bothered. She just looked at him with those steady, curious eyes, and for a moment, he forgot about the mission, about the dirty apartment upstairs, about Wade’s grating voice. Here, in this booth, in this shitty bar, with a quiet woman and a book, he felt…still.

The moment shattered when he heard Wade’s voice behind him, loud and smug. “Already making friends, huh? Didn't know you had it in you, Logan.”

Logan tensed, jaw tightening as he glanced over his shoulder. Wade was leaning against the bar with that insufferable smirk, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. Logan shot him a look that could have peeled paint.

“Mind your own business, Wade,” he growled, then turned back to her, keeping his voice softer. “Thanks for letting me sit.”

She nodded, her expression as calm and unreadable as before, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, maybe, or curiosity. It was hard to tell. She watched him as he stood, and he found himself hesitating, not quite ready to break whatever strange, quiet connection had settled between them.

Wade wasn’t about to let it linger. “Come on, Romeo,” he called, grinning as he gestured for Logan to follow. “We’ve got stuff to do, remember? Or did you forget in all the charming small talk?”

Logan clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to punch the smirk off Wade’s face. Instead, he gave her one last look—a silent apology or a promise to be less of a stranger next time. But her gaze remained steady, unreadable, as he turned to go.

As he walked past Wade, he grabbed him by the shoulder, steering him roughly toward the door. “Let’s go,” he muttered.

Wade snickered, clearly enjoying the opportunity to needle him. “Touchy, touchy. Guess you do have a heart under all that grumpiness.”

Logan ignored him, shoving Wade ahead and out the door, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was leaving something unfinished. Her image stayed in his mind—the way she’d watched him with those curious eyes, her quiet presence a balm in a week filled with noise and chaos. He didn’t know what it was about her that tugged at him, but he knew it wasn’t something he could explain, even to himself.

Once they were back on the street, Wade was still talking, filling the night air with his usual nonsensical commentary. Logan barely heard him. His mind was elsewhere, replaying that brief encounter in the dimly lit booth. He’d come down to the bar for a moment of peace, maybe a clue, maybe just a strong drink. He hadn’t expected to find…whatever that was.

But there was no time to dwell on it. They had a job to do, and he’d be damned if he let Wade screw it up.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan was screwed. Ever since that brief encounter in the bar, she’d been wedged in his mind like a splinter he couldn’t dig out. He’d catch himself lying on the worn-out couch in the apartment, tuning out Wade’s endless chatter and focusing instead on the faint sounds of her footsteps from down the hall.

She lived across the hall, exactly three doors down. He knew that much, even though he hadn’t seen her again since that night. She didn’t come or go often, and when she did, it was only for short trips—a few minutes out, then back to the quiet solitude of her apartment.

Logan found himself straining his heightened senses to catch any trace of her: the click of her door, the soft pad of her feet against the hallway carpet, even the faint murmur of her voice when she spoke on the phone. It was insane. He didn’t know the first thing about her, but somehow she’d settled under his skin.

Fuck, he thought, running a hand over his face. I’m a damn stalker.

He tried to shake it off, forcing himself to focus on the mission, but the building felt too cramped, the walls too thin, and her presence was always just out of reach. Wade, of course, noticed Logan’s distraction and was more than happy to exploit it.

“So, when are you gonna introduce me to your girlfriend?” Wade quipped one morning, sprawled across the armchair with his feet propped up on the coffee table. “Or are you just gonna keep sulking around, hoping she magically falls into your lap?”

Logan shot him a glare. “She’s not my girlfriend, Wade.”

“Oh, sure,” Wade drawled, smirking. “That’s why you’ve been lying here for the last three hours, sniffing the air like a bloodhound every time she walks past. I swear, you’re worse than a teenager.”

Logan clenched his fists, jaw tight. He’d deny it if he could, but Wade had a point, and it grated on him. He needed an excuse—a real reason to cross paths with her again, something that wouldn’t make him look like a complete creep.

Wade, apparently sensing an opportunity to meddle, sat up with a grin. “Tell you what, old man. How about you make yourself useful and take our laundry down to the laundromat? You look like you could use a walk, maybe clear your head a bit.” He tossed a balled-up shirt at Logan’s face.

Logan caught it, growling. “Since when do you do laundry?”

“Since never. But I’m feeling generous,” Wade said, smirking as he dropped a bundle of clothes into a bag and shoved it at Logan. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll run into someone interesting while you’re there. Just a thought.”

Logan snatched the bag, too annoyed to argue, and stalked out of the apartment. The morning was cool, the sky overcast, and the streets were quiet as he made his way down to the laundromat which was across the street from the apartment.

He told himself he was only doing it to get Wade off his back—but he couldn’t deny the faint flicker of anticipation at the thought of seeing her again.

The laundromat was nearly empty when he pushed open the door, the dull hum of washing machines filling the air. And there she was, sitting on a cracked plastic chair near the back, a book open on her lap, her brow furrowed in concentration. She didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in her reading, a strand of hair falling over her face as she turned a page.

Logan froze, his grip tightening around the bag of clothes. Get it together, he told himself, forcing his feet to move as he made his way to an empty machine a few steps away from her. He tossed the clothes in, doing his best to look casual, though he could feel his heart thumping harder than it should.

After a moment, he glanced her way, watching the way her eyes skimmed the words on the page, her lips moving slightly as if she were tasting each sentence. She looked…content. Lost in her own world, soft and quiet in a way that felt like the exact opposite of everything in his life right now.

He cleared his throat, searching for something to say, anything that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. “Good book?” he managed, his voice gruff, and immediately regretted it. Smooth, Logan. Real smooth.

She looked up, surprised, her gaze locking onto his. For a second, he thought she might brush him off, but then she gave a small, shy smile.

“Yeah, it’s… a mystery novel,” she said, holding up the cover. Her voice was soft, and he caught a faint trace of lavender like she’d been folding fresh laundry just before he came in. “I like to read while I’m waiting. It makes the time go faster.”

Logan nodded, his usual stoic expression softening just a little. “Seems like a good way to pass the time. This place could use the distraction.” He glanced around at the flickering fluorescent lights, the chipped tiles, the machines rattling like they were on their last legs. “Not exactly a scenic spot.”

She laughed, a quiet sound, but it lit up her face in a way that caught him off guard. “No, it’s not. But it’s peaceful, in its own way.”

They fell into a silence as she went back to her book, and Logan found himself watching her out of the corner of his eye as he sorted through the clothes, feeding them into the machine one by one. There was a calmness about her, a quiet strength, and he couldn’t help but wonder what her story was—why someone like her had chosen to live in a place like this, so close to the kind of trouble people usually ran from.

After a few minutes of silence, Logan cleared his throat, searching for something to say. “You… uh, you live alone?”

She looked up, her eyes narrowing just a fraction, a hint of suspicion flickering there. He could almost see her calculating whether or not to answer. “Do you really think I’d tell you that?” she asked, her tone mild but pointed.

Logan’s heart skipped. Shit. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot. “I didn’t—I’m not some creepy guy, I swear,” he said quickly, stumbling over his words in a way he wasn’t used to. “Just… making conversation.”

She arched an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And you expect me to take your word for it?”

He felt heat rise to his face and shifted uncomfortably, aware of how ridiculous he must sound. This wasn’t him—Logan didn’t do small talk, especially not with someone he barely knew. But something about her had him feeling giddy, bumbling his way through a conversation he wasn’t quite prepared for.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “Look, I’m sorry. You have a point. It’s just… this neighborhood doesn’t exactly feel safe. I guess that’s why I asked.”

She sighed softly, closing her book and running her fingers along its worn spine. “Even more of a reason not to answer your questions, don’t you think?” Her tone was cool and cautious, but there was no malice there—just a quiet wariness that made him wonder what she’d been through to put up those walls.

Logan nodded, feeling a twinge of respect for her caution, even if it stung a little to be on the receiving end of it. She’s smart, he thought. Smart enough not to trust a stranger with more muscles than manners, asking personal questions in a laundromat.

An awkward silence settled between them, filled with the rhythmic hum of the machines. He glanced down at his laundry, watching the clothes tumble through the soapy water, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound stupid or intrusive. Finally, he let out a long breath.

“Look, I know I’m not exactly smooth,” he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear. “I just… don’t see many people like you around here.”

She tilted her head, curiosity softening her guarded expression. “People like me?”

“Yeah. People who—” He struggled to find the right words. “Who seem like they don’t belong in a place like this.” He gave her a slight, self-conscious shrug. “You look… well, like you’ve got better places to be than a crappy laundromat in a bad part of town. That’s all.”

She studied him for a moment, the corner of her mouth lifting in what almost looked like amusement. “And you think you belong here?”

He let out a dry laugh, surprised by the question. “Probably more than most. It’s not exactly my first time in a place like this.”

“Figures,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over him, taking in the worn leather jacket, the stubble, the roughness that clung to him like a second skin. “You look… I don’t know. Like you’re used to keeping people at a distance.”

Logan blinked, caught off guard by the accuracy of her observation. He shifted under her gaze, feeling exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. “Yeah, well,” he said, gruffly, “sometimes distance is a good thing. Keeps people safe.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression softening just a little. “Maybe. But it also keeps people alone.”

Her words hit him harder than he’d expected, settling into some quiet place inside him he’d thought was long gone. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded, feeling the weight of her gaze on him like a challenge.

After a beat, she gathered her laundry, folding it with careful practiced movements, her hands steady and precise. He watched her, mesmerized by the quiet grace in each gesture, the way she seemed to carry her world with her, self-contained and resilient.

As she turned to leave, she glanced back at him, something unreadable in her eyes. “Take care, Logan,” she said, her voice softer now. It wasn’t a question—it was a goodbye, or maybe a warning.

He swallowed, surprised that she’d remembered his name. “Yeah… you too.”

She lingered for a second, then gave him a small nod and walked out, leaving the faint scent of lavender and the echo of her words hanging in the air.

Logan watched her go, feeling the ache of something unfinished settle in his chest. He’d wanted to ask her more, to find out what kept her here, what kept her so guarded. But he knew better than to push.

As he turned back to the hum of the washing machines, he realized he’d be counting down the days until he saw her again.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

“Stryker’s pissed,” Wade muttered, slumping against the kitchen counter in their dingy apartment. The usual smirk was missing from his face, replaced by a look of weary frustration. “Doesn’t understand how, after two weeks, we haven’t found the guy.”

Logan leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. The truth was, he’d practically given up on the mission. They’d followed every lead, shaken down every contact, and come up with nothing. At this point, the search felt pointless. Hell, he could barely keep his head in the game—his mind kept drifting back to her. He hadn’t seen her in days, not since that run-in at the laundromat, and the silence from across the hall gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t explain.

“Tell him this shit takes time. We’ve done everything we can,” he said, the words coming out hollow. He didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore, not even for Wade.

Wade sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I already did. But, y’know, Stryker’s not exactly big on patience. Guy thinks we’re machines or something.” He shot Logan a sidelong glance, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. “You all right, man?”

Logan grunted, brushing him off. “I need a drink,” he muttered, grabbing his worn leather jacket from the back of the sofa and heading for the door. He didn’t look back, didn’t wait for Wade’s response. The apartment felt too cramped, too stale, and he needed air—needed a chance, maybe, to see her.

He made his way down the narrow stairwell, taking two steps at a time, the dim light casting shadows over the worn wallpaper. The bar was quieter than usual, only a handful of regulars hunched over their drinks, lost in their thoughts. Logan scanned the room, his heart pounding harder than he cared to admit. He’d been hoping, half-expecting, to see her. But she kept to herself so much that even catching a glimpse felt like chasing smoke.

Then he saw her, and his breath caught. There she was, standing behind the bar, her sleeves rolled up, pouring a whiskey into a lowball glass with practiced precision. The faint glow of the bar lights softened her face, giving her an almost ethereal look in the dimness. She didn’t notice him at first, focused on her work, and he took a second just to watch her, feeling that strange pull tighten in his chest.

He slid onto a stool at the bar, waiting until she looked up and caught sight of him. Her eyes flickered with recognition, a brief, surprised spark that quickly settled into something more guarded.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She gave a small, almost shy smile, setting the glass she’d just poured in front of an older man at the end of the bar. “Just part-time,” she replied. “Pays the bills.”

Logan nodded, glancing at the bottles lined up behind her. “Don’t suppose you’d join me for a drink?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, though there was something distant in her eyes. “I don’t drink,” she said, wiping down the counter with a cloth. “But I can pour you something strong if that’s what you need.”

He shrugged, trying to act casual. “Maybe I just wanted company.”

She paused, her hand stilling for a moment as she looked at him. “Rough day?”

Logan let out a humorless chuckle. “You could say that.” He hesitated, then added, “Work’s… complicated.”

She tilted her head, watching him with that quiet, steady gaze that always seemed to see right through him. “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes talking about his job.”

“Not much to talk about,” he muttered, though he could feel the weight of it pressing on him, heavier than he wanted to admit. He took a deep breath, fingers tapping restlessly on the bar. “Let’s just say I’ve been chasing something that doesn’t want to be found.”

She nodded, her expression hardening just a bit. “Sometimes it’s better to let things go. Not everything needs to be caught.” Her words were gentle, but they struck something deep inside him, making him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.

He ran a hand over his face, weary. “Yeah, maybe. Just… hard to walk away when you’ve got orders breathing down your neck.”

She arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement breaking through her usual reserve. “So you’re the type who follows orders, huh?”

Logan smirked, shaking his head. “Not exactly. But sometimes you don’t get a choice.” He picked up his glass, taking a slow sip of the whiskey she’d poured, savoring the burn as it went down. “What about you? Seems like you don’t mind keeping to yourself.”

She shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m used to it. Less complicated that way.”

There was a pause, and he could sense something unspoken there, a hint of a story she wasn’t quite ready to tell. He felt an unexpected urge to ask, to push just a little, but he held back, afraid of scaring her off.

Instead, he said, “This place doesn’t exactly feel like… I don’t know. The kind of spot for someone who likes peace and quiet.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and unexpected. “Probably not. But I don’t mind it here. It’s… predictable.” She looked down, fiddling with the edge of her towel, a small frown creasing her forehead. “I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime.”

Logan watched her, feeling a pang of something he couldn’t name—sympathy, maybe, or just the strange, unexplainable need to understand her. “Yeah. I get that,” he murmured, surprising himself with how much he meant it. “I’m not much of a fan of surprises either.”

She glanced up, meeting his gaze, her expression softening. “Funny. Somehow, I think you’ve had your fair share.”

“More than I’d like,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. He wanted to tell her more, to somehow convey the weight he carried without unloading it all on her shoulders. But he was used to keeping that part of himself locked away. So instead, he just took another drink, feeling the burn of the whiskey like a familiar ache.

After a moment, she leaned on the bar, closer than she’d been before, and he caught a faint whiff of lavender—a soft, almost comforting scent that didn’t belong in a place like this. “For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “you don’t seem like the kind of guy who belongs here.”

He looked up, caught off guard by her words. There was something raw in her gaze, something vulnerable she was letting him see, if only for a second. At that moment, he felt the urge to reach out, to say something real, something that might close the gap between them.

But the words stuck in his throat. All he could manage was a rough, “Yeah. Maybe neither of us do.”

She smiled faintly, a ghost of one, then straightened, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. “I should get back to work,” she said, her voice soft but distant again.

Logan nodded, watching as she moved down the bar to help another customer. The warmth she’d shown him vanished as she fell back into the rhythm of her job, her expression becoming neutral, polite, reserved.

He sat there for a while, nursing his drink, watching her from the corner of his eye. There was a part of him that wanted to wait until her shift ended, to walk her home, to find out more about the life she kept hidden behind that quiet, steady demeanor. But he knew better. They were both loners, both wary, both used to walls that kept the world at a distance.

Still, as he finally rose to leave, he couldn’t help but glance back one last time, catching her eye for a fleeting moment. There was something there—something unspoken, a silent understanding like they were both seeing the loneliness in each other.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

A door slammed somewhere down the hall, jolting Logan awake. He shot up, his senses immediately on high alert, ears ringing from the sudden noise. In this dump of an apartment building, chaos was as predictable as the peeling paint on the walls, but something about this was different. He felt it low in his gut—a tug of instinct that told him her door was the one that had slammed.

He didn’t even think twice. Rolling out of bed, he barely bothered to throw on a shirt, his sweatpants clinging to his legs as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The air was thick and stale, the smell of old carpet mingling with the faint, sour odor of cigarette smoke. Shadows pooled in the corners, and the weak fluorescent light flickered above, casting an eerie, washed-out glow over everything.

Logan froze when he spotted a lanky, rough-looking guy standing outside her door, his posture tense, fists clenched and white as he pounded on the wood.

“C’mon, let me in!” the guy snarled, his voice slurred and aggressive. “We’re not done talking!”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a surge of anger rising in his chest. He watched for a second, sizing the guy up—a wiry frame, greasy hair, clothes rumpled like he hadn’t changed in days. The man looked like trouble, the kind of guy who didn’t know when to take no for an answer. And if he was here banging on her door at this hour, that made him Logan’s problem.

Logan’s voice came out low and cold as he approached. “You wanna keep it down?”

The guy spun around, his eyes narrowing as he took in Logan’s broad shoulders, the scowl etched deep on his face. “Who the hell are you?” he sneered, but there was a flicker of hesitation, a hint of unease that Logan caught right away.

Logan took another step forward, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “I’m the guy who lives down the hall,” he said, his tone deadly calm. “And you’re about two seconds away from regretting that door you’re banging on.”

The guy’s sneer wavered, but he tried to puff himself up, stepping forward like he was going to make something of it. “This doesn’t concern you, man. I’m just trying to talk to my girl.”

“Doesn’t look like she wants to talk,” Logan replied, glancing at the door. His fists clenched instinctively. The thought of this guy forcing his way in, disturbing her, made his blood boil. “So maybe you should take the hint and get lost.”

The guy scoffed, but there was a nervous edge creeping into his voice now. “Look, we’re just… we’re going through some stuff. It’s none of your business.”

Logan took one more step, close enough that he could see the guy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Last warning. Leave. Or I make you leave.”

Before the guy could respond, the door opened a crack, and she appeared, her face pale and tense, eyes darting between Logan and this guy. “Logan, don’t. Please,” she said, her voice softer than usual but carrying a weight that made him pause. “It’s… it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Logan glanced at her, his irritation tempered by a flash of confusion. Handle it? The guy was practically foaming at the mouth, and she was telling him to back off.

The guy shot her a pleading look. “Come on, babe, just give me five minutes. We can talk this out.”

Her shoulders stiffened, and Logan could see the resolve in her eyes as she shook her head. “I already told you, we’re done. There’s nothing left to talk about. Just go.”

The guy didn’t budge, his face twisting with frustration. “You’re being unreasonable. This is all because of that stupid job, isn’t it? You think you’re too good for me now, huh?”

Logan felt his patience snap. He took a step forward, his voice a low growl. “She said go. Don’t make me tell you again.”

The guy’s eyes flicked back to Logan, the last traces of defiance draining out of him. For a second, he seemed to weigh his options, then cursed under his breath and turned, stalking down the hallway. He cast one last resentful glare over his shoulder before disappearing down the stairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, Logan turned back to her. She was leaning against the doorframe, her face tight with frustration. He opened his mouth to ask if she was all right, but she cut him off with a weary sigh.

“You didn’t need to do that,” she muttered, her eyes fixed somewhere near the floor.

Logan frowned. “Seemed like he wasn’t getting the message,” he replied, keeping his voice gentler than usual. “Didn’t look like he was gonna leave you alone.”

She crossed her arms, hugging herself as if trying to put some barrier between them. “I just… I didn’t want to make things worse. He’s already been hanging around too much as it is, and now—” She trailed off, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

Logan’s brows furrowed. He’d come out here ready to throw the guy down the stairs if it came to that, but now he was starting to see the other side of it. “Is he…?” Logan paused, not sure how to phrase it. “Your boyfriend?”

She shook her head quickly. “No–I mean he was, sort of. Not anymore.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “He’s just… he doesn’t know when to let go.”

Logan felt a flash of anger on her behalf, a protective instinct flaring up inside him. “If he gives you any more trouble, you let me know. I’ll make sure he stays gone.”

Instead of relief, his words seemed to frustrate her. She let out a soft huff, rubbing her temples. “Logan, I don’t need a knight in shining armor. This is… complicated. He’s just going through something. It doesn’t matter—” Her voice trailed off leaving the silence to hang between them.

Logan clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a step back. He wasn’t used to being told to stand down, especially when he felt someone needed his help. But he could see this only made her more anxious, that his interference was complicating things for her in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

“Fine,” he said, though it took effort to keep his voice steady. “But if he shows up again, I’m not gonna just sit by and watch him bother you.”

She looked at him, her expression softening for a moment. There was a flicker of gratitude in her eyes, tempered by weariness. “Thanks, Logan. I appreciate it. Really, but it won’t make things easier. He’ll just think—I just don’t want any more problems, okay?”

He nodded, feeling a pang of something he couldn’t quite name. He’d wanted to protect her, to do something useful, but it seemed all he’d managed was to add to her stress. “Got it,” he said quietly.

She gave him a small, tentative smile, then turned back to her apartment. As she shut the door, he caught one last glimpse of her expression—tired, guarded, but grateful, like she was carrying the weight of more than just a bad ex.

Logan stood there for a long moment, staring at her closed door, hands clenched at his sides. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d started to care until he’d felt that surge of anger seeing someone else give her trouble. But now he could feel her boundaries, a line she’d drawn that he hadn’t meant to cross.

Turning back to his apartment, he couldn’t shake the frustration coiled tight in his chest, or the quiet ache that came with knowing there were parts of her life he couldn’t protect her from.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

“You and that girl—have you made any progress?” Wade asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a lazy sip of his beer. They were sitting in their usual corner of the bar, ostensibly keeping an eye out for any sign of their elusive target. But Wade’s attention, as usual, had drifted to more entertaining topics.

Logan huffed, eyes scanning the room. “What did I tell you, Wade? I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Sensitive subject, big guy?” Wade’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying himself. “C’mon, I’m just saying—you’ve been pining after her like a lovesick puppy for weeks now. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Logan shot him a glare that could’ve cut steel, but Wade just shrugged, unbothered. “Look, I’ve got a way with the ladies. Maybe I can help you out.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Wade wasn’t listening. His eyes lit up as the door opened, and she walked in, pulling on her apron as she headed behind the bar. Logan tried not to stare, but he felt that familiar pull in his chest, his gaze drawn to her almost against his will. She looked tired, a little more reserved than usual, like something heavy was weighing on her mind. He couldn’t help but wonder if her ex had been causing her trouble again. He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to ask, to do something to make it better.

That’s when Wade got up.

Logan’s stomach tightened as Wade strolled across the bar, his usual cocky swagger on full display. He watched, jaw clenched, as Wade leaned on the bar, flashing her one of his trademark grins. She looked up, startled at first, and Logan saw her eyes flick briefly toward him before settling back on Wade. Her expression softened into a polite, practiced smile, the kind she gave every customer. But Wade wasn’t satisfied with politeness.

He couldn’t hear exactly what Wade was saying due to his jealousy overtaking his senses, but he saw her give a small, hesitant laugh, the kind that looked like she was just being polite. That didn’t matter—Wade was relentless, leaning in closer, gesturing animatedly, probably telling some ridiculous story. After a few moments, Logan saw her laugh again, this time a little more genuine, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

Logan’s fingers tightened around his glass, the jealousy hitting him like a punch to the gut. He tried to ignore it, tried to tell himself it was nothing—just Wade being Wade. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from them, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Wade, sensing the effect he was having, shot a glance back at Logan, a smug grin flashing across his face before he turned back to her. Logan’s chest tightened. That bastard. He’d walked over there just to rile him up, and damn it, it was working.

Wade said something else, something that made her laugh again—this time a little louder, though Logan could tell it was still half-hearted, a courtesy laugh to appease the charming stranger who’d decided to bother her during her shift. She wasn’t truly engaged, but the sight of her laughing, even out of politeness, stirred something dark and possessive in Logan’s gut.

He forced himself to look away, taking a long drink to steady himself, but the sound of her laugh lingered, scratching at him. Wade was still leaning on the bar, still talking to her, probably laying it on thick just to make Logan squirm. Logan couldn’t help the flash of irritation that surged through him. It wasn’t like he’d made a claim on her or anything—but seeing Wade so close, making her laugh, it grated on him in a way he hadn’t expected.

After a few agonizing minutes, Wade finally sauntered back over, plopping down across from Logan with a satisfied smirk. Logan’s jaw was still clenched, his gaze flickering over to where she was now wiping down the bar, her expression already back to that familiar, guarded neutrality.

Wade raised an eyebrow, leaning in with a grin. “You see that? Had her laughing in no time. It’s called charm, my friend. You should try it sometime.”

Logan glared at him, his voice low and dangerous. “Cut the crap, Wade.”

“Oh, come on,” Wade chuckled, leaning back with a look of pure amusement. “Don’t be so uptight. If you’re not gonna make a move, someone else will.”

Logan’s fists tightened, and he forced himself to take a slow, steadying breath. “This isn’t a game, Wade.”

Wade shrugged, unbothered. “Never said it was. Just seems like you’re too busy brooding over her from a distance to actually, y’know, do anything.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a mocking whisper. “You afraid she’ll turn you down? Big, tough Logan afraid of a pretty girl?”

Logan’s nostrils flared, a quiet anger simmering in his chest, but he held back. He wasn’t going to give Wade the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he let his gaze drift back to her, watching as she moved behind the bar, her face calm but distant, like she was deliberately shutting herself off from everything around her.

The truth was, Wade wasn’t entirely wrong. Logan had been keeping his distance, unsure how to approach her, especially with everything going on in her life. He didn’t want to be another complication, another person who made things harder for her. But watching Wade talk to her, seeing that faint, forced smile on her face—it made him realize just how badly he wanted to be the one making her smile, not out of politeness or obligation, but because she actually wanted him there.

Wade leaned in, still smirking. “So? What’s the plan, big guy? You gonna sit here and sulk, or you gonna actually talk to her?”

Logan’s gaze snapped back to him, irritation flaring. “Unlike you, I don’t go around sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Hey, I was just being friendly,” Wade said, raising his hands in mock innocence. “You know, she’s pretty nice once you get her to open up a little. Thought I’d do you a favor, warm her up for you.”

Logan scoffed, but he couldn’t hide the bitterness in his tone. “She’s not some conquest, Wade.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “Relax, old man. I’m not trying to steal her. Just trying to get you to wake up and do something about it before she slips away.” He glanced back toward the bar, where she was now stacking glasses, oblivious to their conversation. “You think she’s gonna wait around forever? Women like that don’t stay single long.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his heart pounding with a mixture of frustration and jealousy he couldn’t shake. He took another sip of his drink, forcing himself to keep his gaze on anything else instead of glancing her way again. The truth was, Wade’s words struck too close to home. He’d been holding back, convincing himself that he had time, that he didn’t need to rush things. But seeing her with someone else—even Wade—made him realize how thin that excuse really was.

After a moment, Logan set his glass down, his eyes cold and hard. “You don’t know the first thing about her, Wade.”

Wade shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe not. But neither do you, at this rate.” He flashed another grin, leaning back in his seat. “Look, you’re not gonna scare me off with your brooding, so maybe just… I don’t know, think about it. You might find that going over there and actually talking to her works better than glaring at me.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his gaze drifted back to her, watching as she moved with quiet efficiency, her expression carefully blank. He could still hear her forced laugh echoing in his head, the way she’d seemed to tolerate Wade’s attention rather than welcome it.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed himself to his feet. If Wade wasn’t going to back off, maybe it was time to take matters into his own hands.

He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn’t sit around and let someone else fill the space he’d been too afraid to claim.

Logan slid onto the bar stool in front of her, his presence a solid weight she couldn’t ignore, even though she kept her eyes down, focused on wiping an already-clean spot on the counter. She looked up briefly, her gaze flicking to him before darting away, a faint, polite smile barely gracing her lips.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gruff but softer than usual.

“Hi.” She answered quietly, her eyes settling somewhere over his shoulder, anywhere but on him. Her hands kept busy, her movements almost mechanical as she straightened the bottles on the bar and rearranged the napkins as if his presence alone made her feel she had to be doing something.

Logan felt a pang of something uncomfortably close to regret. He wasn’t used to this—a woman shrinking away from him, putting up walls before he’d even had a chance to say his piece. The memory of her ex banging on her door flashed through his mind, and he shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look, about the other night,” he began, voice rougher than he intended. “I… I didn’t mean to, y’know, step in like that. I just thought—well, it seemed like you needed help.”

She finally looked at him, her gaze sharp and guarded, like she was measuring each word before letting it reach her. “It’s fine,” she said flatly, her tone clipped. “I can handle my own problems.”

Logan swallowed, feeling the rejection like a slap. He knew she was brushing him off, trying to make him back down, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let it go. “Didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t,” he muttered, his voice softer. “Just… didn’t want to see you put in a bad spot.”

She let out a small, humorless laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she busied herself with the glasses on the bar. “Bad spots are part of the package around here, Logan. You don’t need to make it your business.”

He leaned forward slightly, brow furrowing. “Maybe I just don’t like seeing you get hurt.” The words came out more intense than he’d intended, and he saw her stiffen, her hands pausing mid-reach. She looked up, really looked at him, a flash of something unreadable in her eyes—surprise, maybe, or irritation. It was hard to tell.

She took a breath, visibly collecting herself. “Logan… I appreciate the concern, really. But I’m fine.” Her voice was steady but distant like she was pulling herself back behind a wall he couldn’t get through. “This kind of thing… it’s not new to me.”

That didn’t sit right with him, the idea of her having to handle men like her ex, people who didn’t take no for an answer. He wanted to ask her more, to understand what kind of trouble she’d been through, but he knew that line was dangerous. Respect her space, he reminded himself, even as the urge to push gnawed at him.

But he couldn’t help himself. “You don’t… you don’t have anyone else to look out for you?”

Her gaze flicked to him, sharper now, her eyes narrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just…” He faltered, feeling himself starting to drown in the weight of his awkwardness. “You don’t seem to have anyone around. Family, friends. Someone who could back you up if things got rough.”

She stared at him for a long, tense moment, her expression unreadable. Then she let out a slow, controlled exhale, setting down the glass she’d been wiping with careful deliberation. “Logan, you don’t know me. And frankly, I don’t know you. You and your friend…” She paused, glancing over at Wade, who was lounging at the other end of the bar, eyeing them with an amused grin. “You both keep… hovering. And it’s starting to feel a little strange.”

Logan’s jaw tightened and a wave of frustration and embarrassment crashed over him. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, a bit too defensively. “We’re just… we’re just looking out for you. This place isn’t exactly safe.”

She raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. “And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand the risks of living here?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, his words failing him. He realized he’d overstepped, pushed too far without thinking. She didn’t need a protector, at least not one who bulldozed into her life without an invitation. And yet, here he was, sitting at her bar, trying to fix things he barely understood.

“I’m just saying…” He trailed off, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “I see you here, night after night, putting up with jerks who don’t know when to quit. You’re not like them. You deserve better.”

Her expression softened, but only slightly, and she glanced away, a distant look in her eyes. “Better,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Right.” She looked back at him, meeting his gaze with something close to resignation. “I don’t need saving, Logan. I’ve been doing just fine without it.”

He swallowed, hating how small those words made him feel. He’d faced down enemies, been through battles that left him scarred in ways she couldn’t imagine, but sitting here under her gaze, he felt exposed, clumsy, like he was fumbling in the dark.

She sighed, glancing down, and for a moment, he saw a hint of vulnerability in her expression—a crack in her armor. “Why are you really here?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you and your friend even bothering with me? I’m just… some bartender.”

Logan hesitated, feeling Wade’s eyes on him from across the room, knowing he was probably getting a kick out of watching him squirm. But this was more than just Wade’s meddling. This was him, unable to walk away, pulled back to her time and time again for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said finally, his voice low, but steady. “You’re… different. Strong. I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I know I’m not good with words, but… I see you here, and I just keep thinking you deserve more than this.”

She looked at him, her guarded expression softening, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw something crack beneath the surface—a glimmer of vulnerability, something raw and unguarded. But then, just as quickly, she pulled back, straightening, her walls going up again.

“Oh, so I’m a charity case now?” she murmured, her voice tight and distant, the hint of anger simmering beneath her words. She crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she looked him over, her gaze cold and appraising. “Look, I told you—I don’t need anyone looking out for me, especially not some guy who doesn’t know when he’s made someone uncomfortable.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, each one sinking in deep. Logan’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He felt his face go hot, a mix of shame and frustration twisting inside him. He wanted to explain himself, to tell her he hadn’t meant it that way—but the look on her face told him that anything he said now would only make things worse.

“I—” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. She kept her eyes on him, unblinking, her expression hard as steel. He could see it now—the line he’d crossed, the space he’d invaded without thinking. He’d thought he was helping, protecting her, but all he’d done was make her feel trapped.

She took a breath, exhaling slowly as she glanced away, her jaw clenched. “You don’t get it, do you?” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Guys like you think you’re doing me a favor, stepping in, trying to… ‘protect’ me. But all you’re doing is making me feel like I can’t handle my own life. Like I’m weak. And I’m not.”

Logan clenched his fists under the bar, forcing himself to stay quiet, to listen. He’d been on the other side of this before—people assuming things about him, trying to fix things they didn’t understand. Now, for the first time, he realized he was doing the same thing to her. He looked down, shame tightening in his chest.

She shook her head, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “You barely know me, Logan. You have no idea what I’ve been through. And I’m not interested in becoming some project for you to fix or some one-night stand.”

Her words stung, cutting through the last shreds of his defensiveness. He’d been telling himself he was looking out for her, that she needed someone to stand up for her. But now he could see how it must have looked to her—some guy she barely knew, showing up again and again, prying into her life, acting like he knew better.

He cleared his throat, voice rough. “You’re right,” he said quietly, finally meeting her gaze. “I… I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

She watched him, her eyes softened just a fraction, though the wariness remained. He could feel the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him, making him feel clumsy and exposed.

“Look,” she said, her tone gentler but still guarded, “I appreciate whatever it is you’re trying to do. Really. But you don’t get to decide what I need. That’s my choice. And if I want help, I’ll ask for it.”

He nodded slowly, feeling a strange mix of relief and regret. He could sense the walls she’d put up, and he knew now that he was part of the reason they were there.

He stood up, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a cold ache. “Right. Sorry if we made things weird,” he muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended. “Didn’t mean to… overstep.”

For the first time, she seemed to soften, her gaze losing some of its hardness. She let out a long breath, looking down at the bar as if collecting her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was almost kind, but there was an edge to it, a reminder.

“Just… maybe think twice before you go around trying to be someone’s hero,” she said, her lips curving into a faint, sad smile.

Logan felt the weight of her words settle over him, heavier than anything he’d carried in a long time. He nodded, swallowing back the urge to say more. For once, he knew he needed to let her have the last word.

She turned away, her attention shifting to a group of customers at the other end of the bar. She moved with quiet efficiency, her shoulders tense but steady, shutting him out completely.

Logan stood there for a moment, feeling the full sting of her rejection, the ache of realizing he’d overstepped in ways he couldn’t take back. She didn’t look at him again, didn’t acknowledge his presence, and he knew he’d lost whatever fragile connection they’d had.

“Smooth, as always,” Wade drawled, leaning back with an infuriating grin.

Logan ignored him, his jaw clenched tight as he sat down. He’d thought he was protecting her but all he’d done was drive her further away.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

The past few days, Logan had kept a low profile, barely leaving the apartment except to grab food or take out the trash. He didn’t want to risk running into her—not after the way she’d shut him down, her words echoing in his mind like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. She’d made it perfectly clear that she didn’t need his help, and he’d gotten the message. Loud and clear.

But tonight, Wade had barged in with new intel from Stryker. Apparently, their elusive journalist was on the move, spotted hanging around one of the local clubs. Logan hadn’t been in the mood to play dress-up and join the nightlife, but he didn’t have much choice. Stryker was breathing down their necks, and if this was their best shot at tracking the guy down, he couldn’t let it slip by.

So he’d reluctantly thrown on a clean shirt and made the walk a few blocks down to the club, Wade at his side, chattering nonstop as they reached the entrance.

“It’s a bit nicer than the bar we live above,” Wade noted, casting a glance around the neon-lit exterior with approval. A line of people waited outside, all glittering dresses and sharp suits, laughter, and perfume filling the warm night air. Wade smirked, nudging Logan with his elbow. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you can find another pretty girl to make up for your last crash-and-burn.”

Logan rolled his eyes, ignoring Wade’s jab. “We’re here to find the journalist. Stay focused,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as they made their way inside. The club was dimly lit, pulsing with low red and blue lights that throbbed to the beat of the music. Bodies moved on the dance floor, a tangle of arms and laughter and heat, and Logan felt a familiar irritation simmering under his skin. Clubs weren’t his scene. Too loud, too crowded, too many damn people.

He forced himself to concentrate, sniffing the air, trying to pick up any hint of their target’s scent. But the mix of sweat, cologne, and spilled alcohol made it nearly impossible to pick up anything distinctive. He scanned the crowd, his eyes narrowing as he tried to catch sight of anyone who looked remotely like the guy they were hunting.

But then he saw her.

At first, he thought he was imagining it—a trick of the lights, or just his mind playing cruel games. But no. It was her, standing near the edge of the dance floor, laughing at something some woman was saying. She looked… different. Completely different from the guarded, quiet bartender he’d met. Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her lips were painted a glossy, tempting shade that caught the light every time she smiled. She wore a dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, showing off a side of her he’d never seen before, a side he hadn’t even known existed.

Logan’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, he forgot why he was even there. All he could think about was her—the way she moved, the easy smile on her face, the way her laughter seemed to cut through the noise of the club like it was meant for him alone. He’d been trying to avoid her, trying to keep his distance, but seeing her like this, carefree and vibrant… pulled him in, like a magnet he couldn’t resist.

Wade must have noticed his distraction, because he gave Logan a light smack on the shoulder, pulling him out of his trance. “Logan, buddy, don’t tell me you’re still stuck on her,” Wade said, his tone half-amused, half-annoyed. “I swear, I’ve never seen you this pathetic over anyone. Rejection’s hitting you hard, huh?”

Logan shook his head, forcing himself to tear his gaze away, though his eyes kept drifting back to her. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, more to himself than to Wade. “We’re here for the journalist. Just… keep your eyes open.”

Wade wasn’t buying it. He crossed his arms, smirking. “Oh, I’m keeping my eyes open, all right. You, on the other hand…” He whistled, nodding in her direction. “You’re about one second away from abandoning the mission to go talk to her. I mean, come on. If you’re that obsessed, just go over there already.”

Logan clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to punch Wade then and there. But a part of him hated that Wade was right. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head since their last conversation, and now, seeing her like this, he was barely holding himself back.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he started making his way across the crowded floor, ignoring Wade’s low chuckle behind him. As he approached, she turned slightly, her gaze sweeping over the crowd until it landed on him. Her smile faltered, surprise flickering in her eyes before she quickly masked it, her face shifting into something more guarded.

“Logan,” she said, her tone cautious, almost as if she were bracing herself. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling out of place, unsure what to say. “Yeah. Didn’t expect to see you either,” he replied, his voice gruffer than he intended. “You… uh, you look different.” He instantly regretted it, realizing how awkward it sounded.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Different?”

“Good different,” he amended quickly, his cheeks warming. Real smooth, Logan, he thought, mentally kicking himself.

She glanced away, a faint frown tugging at her lips.“Thanks I guess,” she said, then gestured to her friend, who was watching the exchange with barely concealed interest. “I’m just here with my friend, Monica. She thought it was a good idea for girls’ night and dragged me out.” He could see a flash of uncomfortableness before she masked it.

Logan nodded, his mind racing, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a fool. But before he could gather his thoughts, her friend nudged her playfully, smirking at Logan.

“So, this is the guy you told me about?” Monica asked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

She shot Monica a warning look, her cheeks flushing. “I… I didn’t tell you that much,” she muttered, casting a quick, embarrassed glance at Logan.

A flicker of hope stirred in his chest. She talked about me? He tried not to let it show, but the thought sent a spark through him, making him stand a little straighter.

Monica gave her a knowing smile, then leaned closer to Logan, lowering her voice. “Just so you know, she’s been playing hard to get for a reason. But maybe she’s finally ready to let someone in.”

Logan looked at her, the guarded woman he’d met behind the bar now looking distinctly uncomfortable, her cheeks flushed a warm pink. She looked away, biting her lip, and he realized she was just as thrown off-balance as he was.

For a moment, they stood in silence, the thrum of the club’s music pulsing around them, the energy of the room fading into the background. All he could see was her—her flushed cheeks, the slight nervousness in her gaze, the softness in her expression that he’d never seen before.

Monica sighed dramatically, looking between them with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, look at that. I need another drink,” she announced, clearly not needing one at all. She winked at her friend. “Plus, I think I see a cute guy over there. You two… have fun.” With one last grin, she slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving them alone.

Logan took a steadying breath, forcing himself to look her in the eyes, to say what he’d been meaning to since their last conversation. “Listen… about the other night,” he began, voice low and careful. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She hesitated, searching his face. He held her gaze, hoping she could see he meant it. For a moment, he thought he saw the walls she kept around herself soften, just a little. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” she said softly, her voice barely carrying over the thrum of the music. “It’s just… I’m not used to people getting involved in my life.”

Logan nodded, understanding more than he could put into words. “I’m not exactly used to… letting people in either.” The confession felt strange on his tongue, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t planned, but it was the truth. He could see that she understood, her expression shifting from guarded to something softer, that made his heart beat a little faster.

They stood there, inches apart, the pulse of the club and the chatter of people fading into the background. Logan wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, to bridge that last bit of distance between them, but he held back, waiting for her lead.

After a moment, she gave him a tentative smile. “Did Wade drag you out here?” she asked, the tension easing just a bit as a hint of humor crept into her voice.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “What makes you think that?”

She shrugged, glancing away shyly. “You don’t… you’re like me,” she said, fumbling over her words. “I just didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy who’d want to go to a club.”

He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “I go to bars all the time. Almost the same thing, right?”

She let out a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so. I don’t drink, but Monica always drags me out, says it’s ‘good for me.’” She made air quotes, rolling her eyes slightly.

“I know.” Logan’s face went hot. “I mean, I remember you don’t drink. That’s why… well, I guess that’s why I was surprised to see you here.” He cleared his throat, trying to regain his footing. “But you look… different tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow, her expression growing cautious. “You already said that. Do you make it a habit to repeat yourself?”

Logan fumbled for the right words, suddenly feeling like a teenager on his first date. “I mean…you look beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. His gaze flicked over her, taking her in again.

She went very still, her eyes searching his face. For a second, he thought he’d finally broken through to her, that maybe she could see how much he meant it. But then her expression shifted, her lips pressing together, her eyes hardening. She looked down, and he could see her shoulders tense, her arms wrapping around herself as if she were closing off.

“Oh,” she said quietly, a forced, brittle smile tugging at her lips. “So… what? I only look beautiful when I’m dressed up? When I’m… like this?”

Logan’s eyes widened, realization hitting him like a slap. “No—no, that’s not what I meant.”

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper as she looked away. “I knew it was stupid to come out tonight,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “Guess I’m just someone you feel sorry for? Want to just take pity on?”

“Hey, no—” Logan reached for her arm instinctively, but she pulled back, her face turning away to hide the tears welling in her eyes. The sight made his chest tighten, guilt flooding him as he realized just how badly he’d misstepped.

“I thought maybe…” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, brushing a hand quickly across her cheek. “Never mind.” She looked back at him, her eyes glossy, her expression one of hurt and frustration. “Forget it, Logan. I don’t need this.”

“Wait,” he said, desperate now, his voice thick with regret. “It’s not pity. I just… I wanted you to know that I—”

She didn’t let him finish. With a tight, broken smile, she turned on her heel, pushing her way through the crowd and disappearing into the pulsing mass of bodies on the dance floor. He stood there, frozen, watching her slip away, her silhouette vanishing into the blur of lights and movement.

Logan felt an ache settle deep in his chest, the weight of her words sinking in. He’d tried so hard to find the right thing to say, to make her see how he felt—but all he’d done was confirm her worst fears, making her feel like he only saw her worth when she was dressed up, made up, transformed into someone she thought he’d want.

He stood there for a moment, lost in the noise and the lights, feeling the regret gnawing at him like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

Behind him, Wade sidled up, taking in Logan’s expression with a low whistle. “Well, that looked like it went well.”

Logan glared at him, too frustrated to respond. Wade shook his head, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Man, you’re really a disaster with women, you know that?”

Logan clenched his fists, ignoring Wade’s taunts as he scanned the crowd, hoping for another glimpse of her, even though he knew she wouldn’t want to see him right now. He’d messed up, probably worse than he’d ever messed up anything before. But he couldn’t just leave it like this. Not when she was the one person he couldn’t get out of his mind.

Without a word to Wade, he pushed through the crowd, determination hardening in his chest. He didn’t know how he was going to fix this, but he knew one thing—he wasn’t going to let her slip away again. Not like this.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan spotted her near the dimly lit hallway by the bathrooms, sitting on the floor with her legs curled up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. The sight stopped him. She looked so small, so vulnerable, and the thought that he’d been the one to put that hurt in her eyes twisted something painful inside him. He knew he should leave her alone—she’d already told him to. But he couldn’t. Not when he felt the ache of her words as if they’d been carved into him.

He took a cautious step closer, clearing his throat. “Hey… I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the muffled thump of music from the club. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She looked up, her eyes red and swollen from crying, and the guilt hit him all over again. Her gaze was sharp, guarded, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath it—a weariness like she was tired of feeling this way.

“Just go away, Logan,” she said, her voice wavering as she hugged her knees tighter. “Haven’t you done enough?”

He wanted to reach out, to touch her shoulder, anything to make this right, but he held back, forcing himself to respect her space. “Please,” he said, his voice rough. “Just… hear me out. I didn’t mean it like that.”

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s not your fault,” she said, cutting him off. Her voice was shaky and raw, but there was a surprising steadiness underneath like she was trying to take control of her pain. “I… I overthink things. I read too much into what people say.”

Logan shook his head, his brow furrowing. “But I should’ve been more careful with my words. I—”

“It’s not about you, Logan,” she interrupted, her gaze dropping to the floor. She took a shaky breath as if she were forcing herself to let him see a piece of herself she usually kept hidden. “All my life, I’ve only ever felt… I don’t know, noticed… when I was all dressed up. People would tell me I was beautiful, but only when I was like this,” she gestured to her dress, her makeup, the polished version of herself that she’d put on tonight. “And somewhere along the line, I guess I just started to believe that’s all there was to me. That if I wasn’t done up, I didn’t… matter.”

Logan’s chest tightened as he listened, his discomfort fading in the face of her honesty. He understood, more than she realized. He knew what it felt like to wear a mask, to be seen in a way that didn’t match who you were.

“Look, I get it,” he said softly, his voice thick. “I know what it’s like to feel like… like you’re on the outside. Like people only see a part of you and ignore the rest.”

She let out a short, almost bitter laugh, her gaze flicking over him, taking in the rugged, handsome man who had sat next to her. “You? An outsider?” she said, the skepticism clear in her voice. “Come on, Logan. Look at you. How could someone like you know what it feels like to not… fit?”

He swallowed, feeling the old scars hidden beneath the surface ache in response to her words. “You’d be surprised,” he murmured, his gaze distant for a moment as he stared at the wall across from them. “People see what they want to see. This…” He gestured vaguely to himself, his broad shoulders, his gruff exterior. “It’s just armor. Doesn’t mean I fit in. Doesn’t mean I feel at home anywhere.”

She went quiet, studying him with a new kind of curiosity, like she was seeing a side of him she hadn’t expected. Her expression softened, and for a moment, the two of them sat in silence, the thumping bass of the club seeming to fade into the background, leaving them in their own little world.

“I didn’t know…” she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.

Logan shrugged, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’m not saying it’s the same. Just… I get it. You feel like you have to be something else, just to be seen. But you don’t. You’re worth a hell of a lot more than some fancy dress and makeup.”

She blinked, looking down, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “I… I don’t know how to believe that,” she admitted, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear it.

He felt a strange surge of protectiveness, an urge to make her see herself the way he did. “You don’t have to believe it all at once,” he said softly. “Just… start small. You’re here, right? That’s a start.”

She looked up at him, a faint glimmer of hope mixed with hesitation in her eyes. “You really think so?”

Logan nodded, his gaze steady and unwavering. “Yeah. I do.” He hesitated, then added, “And for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean that you’re only beautiful like this. I meant… I just meant that you looked happy. You looked… free. That’s what I saw.”

A soft, surprised smile tugged at her lips, and he felt a flicker of relief, like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t ruined everything.

“I guess… I guess I did feel a little free tonight,” she admitted, her voice tentative, like she was still testing the idea out.

They sat there in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Logan felt the weight of her gaze, his eyes shifting to look down at her glossy lips. He didn’t understand why it stirred something deep inside him.

Finally, she looked away, clearing her throat. “Thanks,” she murmured, glancing up at him with a tentative smile. “For… understanding. And for not letting me just sit here feeling sorry for myself.”

“Anytime,” Logan replied, his voice a soft, steady rumble, grounding her.

They stayed like that, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her shoulder, neither of them moving to fill the space between them. It was rare for him to feel like this—like he could just be here, be himself, and have that be enough. She seemed to relax, letting herself breathe in his presence, a hint of comfort settling into her expression.

But then her friend’s voice sliced through the moment, loud and slightly tipsy, echoing down the hallway. “There you are!” Monica stumbled to a halt, her eyes narrowing the second she noticed the red around her friend’s eyes, the tear tracks still faintly visible on her cheeks. Monica’s gaze shot to Logan, her eyes flashing with instant, protective suspicion. “What the hell? Did this guy—”

She quickly got to her feet, hands up in reassurance, cheeks flushing. “No, no, it’s fine,” she said, glancing back at Logan with an apologetic look. “Logan didn’t do anything.”

Monica crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised skeptically. “You swear? Because I’m pretty sure I could kick his ass, even if he’s big.”

Logan almost laughed, but he held back, just giving a slight shake of his head. “I’m harmless,” he muttered, though the hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Monica narrowed her eyes, looking between them with obvious doubt. “Fine. I’ll let it go… for now.” She slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulders, lowering her voice. “But hey, I found someone way more fun than this brooding guy. He’s tall, dark, and cute as hell,” Monica said, shooting Logan a sideways look. “Let’s go, yeah?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering back to Logan, lingering there for a moment. He could see the indecision in her eyes, the hint of a question, like she wasn’t entirely ready to walk away. Part of him wanted to reach out, to tell her to stay, to keep talking, but he bit the words back. He knew she didn’t owe him anything, and he wasn’t about to guilt her into staying.

She gave him a small, reluctant smile, a little sad around the edges. “I… I’ll see you around, Logan,” she said softly like she wasn’t entirely sure.

“Yeah,” he replied, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “Take care.”

With one last glance, she let Monica tug her back toward the crowded, neon-lit main room, disappearing into the sea of people. Logan stayed where he was, the ache in his chest unfamiliar and raw. He hadn’t wanted to let her go, but he’d seen the uncertainty in her eyes, the pull between her friend and whatever connection they’d shared just moments before. And he couldn’t blame her for choosing the friend who’d stood by her through who-knew-what, instead of the stranger who’d stumbled into her life.

He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. He’d almost forgotten why he was even here, but the reality of it settled back over him like a cold splash of water. The mission. The damn journalist.

Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the wall, heading back into the main area to find Wade, hoping he’d at least managed to keep his eye on their target. But as he scanned the crowd, a familiar laugh caught his attention, coming from the back corner of the club.

He sighed, already knowing what he’d find.

Sure enough, Wade was slouched in a booth with some girl draped over him, her fingers tangled in his hair, her lipstick smudged against his cheek. They were laughing, Wade’s arm wrapped possessively around her waist, clearly oblivious to everything else.

Logan clenched his fists, feeling a fresh wave of irritation rise. He pushed through the crowd and stopped in front of the booth, crossing his arms. “We’re supposed to be working, remember?”

Wade looked up, still grinning, completely unbothered. “Oh, hey, Logan!” he slurred, throwing an arm out as if he were inviting Logan to join in on the fun. “Lighten up, man. Haven’t seen you all night. What, were you off getting cozy with your lady friend?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “We have a job to do, Wade. You know, finding the journalist? Stryker’s going to be thrilled if we come back empty-handed because you were too busy making out in the corner.”

Wade just laughed, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Relax, Logan. We’ve been chasing this guy for weeks, and he hasn’t shown up once. If he’s even here, he’s not coming out till way later. Might as well have a little fun while we wait.”

Logan shot a glare at Wade’s “date,” who giggled and nuzzled closer, clearly not bothered by the tension. He felt his patience snap, his frustration boiling over. All night, he’d been on edge, caught between his need to finish the job and the emotions he couldn’t quite bury when it came to her. And now here was Wade, throwing it all away for a quick thrill.

“Fine,” Logan bit out, his voice low. “You go ahead and have your fun, Wade. I’m finishing this myself.”

Wade chuckled, unfazed. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that, man. It’s just one night. Besides…” He shot Logan a knowing look. “I saw the way you looked at her. Maybe you should be thanking me. Gave you a chance to make a move.”

Logan didn’t respond, but Wade’s words hit uncomfortably close to the truth. He had been distracted. He’d let his focus slip, and now he was paying for it.

Without another word, Logan turned on his heel and stalked away, pushing through the crowd toward the exit. The night air hit him like a slap, cool and bracing, but it didn’t do much to ease the frustration roiling inside him. He’d let Wade derail the mission, let his own emotions cloud his judgment, and now the whole thing felt like a waste.

As he started down the street, his mind drifted back to her—the way she’d looked at him, the faint trace of hurt in her eyes before she’d walked away. He clenched his fists, a new determination hardening in his chest. He might have blown this mission tonight, but he wasn’t done. Not with the mission, and not with her.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan had barely made it back to the apartment before exhaustion took hold, weighing down his limbs. He kicked off his boots and peeled off his shirt, letting it drop carelessly to the floor before sinking onto the bed. His mind was still tangled with thoughts of her—her quiet smile, the guarded look in her eyes, the way she’d walked away with her friend’s encouragement. He’d messed things up, and the night felt like one long series of missed chances.

He’d only been asleep for a couple of hours when a noise jolted him awake. At first, he thought it was part of some half-formed nightmare or maybe just the usual racket from one of the neighbors. But then he caught something familiar—her voice, muffled through the thin walls. He strained his hearing, every instinct snapping to attention. A glance at the grimy clock on his nightstand told him it was 1:29 a.m.

She must have just gotten home. But she wasn’t alone.

Logan sat up, his heartbeat quickening. He knew he should let it go, should just lie back down and ignore whatever was happening on the other side of the wall. But before he could think better of it, he slipped out of bed, padding across the creaky floorboards to the front door. He pressed his ear to the wall, barely breathing, his heightened senses picking up every word.

The guy’s voice was low and easy, with that too-smooth tone Logan had learned to distrust. He sounded friendly enough, but there was an edge of expectation, a subtle suggestion that grated against Logan’s nerves.

“So… tonight was fun,” the guy was saying, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Maybe we could do it again? Tomorrow, maybe?”

Logan could picture her expression without even seeing it—those walls going up, that faint, polite smile she used when she didn’t want to let someone in. He heard her let out a soft sigh.

“I’m… not really sure about tomorrow,” she replied, her voice guarded, cautious. “I have a lot going on.”

The guy chuckled, but there was a forced quality to it. “Come on, just a drink or something. You don’t have to play so hard to get, you know?”

Logan felt his jaw clench, his hands curling into fists at his sides. The guy was pushing, trying to wear down her resistance, and it grated on him like sandpaper. He didn’t like the way it sounded, didn’t like the edge in the guy’s voice like he thought he could charm his way past her boundaries. Logan’s instinct to protect her flared, raw, and almost territorial, even though he knew he had no right to feel that way.

There was a pause, and he could hear her shifting, probably stepping back, putting a little distance between them. “It’s not that,” she said, a little too politely. “I just… need some space, that’s all. Tonight was nice, but—”

“Space, huh?” the guy interrupted, his tone slipping from charming to something a little sharper. “You know, you don’t make it easy, do you?”

Logan could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, the urge to step outside and tell this guy to back off building with each word. But he held himself in check, forcing himself to stay silent, to let her handle it. She didn’t need him barging in like some kind of white knight, as much as he wanted to.

Another pause, and he heard her take a breath, steady but firm. “I appreciate tonight. Really. But I’m not looking for… anything serious.”

The guy let out a huff, barely masking his disappointment. “All right,” he said, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t happy about it. “Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Logan listened, tense, as he heard the guy’s footsteps retreating down the hallway. Only when he heard the click of her door closing did he let out the breath he’d been holding. His fists unclenched, but the tension in his chest didn’t ease. He knew she’d handled it. She didn’t need him intervening. But the way the guy had pushed, the subtle pressure in his tone… made Logan’s blood simmer.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he slipped into the hallway, moving quietly until he reached her door. He hesitated, one hand raised, hovering just above the wood. Part of him knew he should just let it be, go back to his apartment, and leave her alone. But he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him, the urge to make sure she was really all right.

He knocked, softly at first, then a little louder when he didn’t hear anything.

A moment later, the door cracked open, and she peered out, eyes widening when she saw him. She looked tired, her makeup smudged, a faint crease of worry lingering between her brows. “Logan?” she said, sounding surprised, her voice soft and uncertain. “What are you…?”

He swallowed, his voice coming out rougher than he’d meant. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay. I heard him… y’know. Talking.”

She sighed, glancing back into her apartment for a moment before opening the door a little wider. “You were listening?” she asked, a faint hint of annoyance in her tone.

Logan shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just… wanted to make sure he didn’t give you any trouble.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, the guardedness melting away just a little. “It’s fine, Logan. Really. He was… nice, mostly. Just… maybe he wanted something I’m not ready to give.”

Logan nodded, relief mingling with an odd sense of satisfaction at her words. “Good. That he’s gone, I mean.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “I just didn’t like the way he sounded. Like he thought he could… push you around.”

Her lips pressed into a faint smile, something close to gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks. But I can handle guys like that.” She let out a tired laugh. “I’ve been handling guys like that for a while now.”

He nodded, leaning against the doorframe, his gaze searching hers. “Yeah. I know you can.” He paused, then added, almost reluctantly, “But you don’t have to do it alone, y’know. If anyone bothers you… I’m right across the hall.”

She looked up at him, her eyes lingering on his face, and for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of vulnerability there—a quiet gratitude she wasn’t quite ready to express. But then she shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Logan,” she murmured. “But… I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep an eye on me. I don’t want to be someone’s… responsibility.”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. I just… I care. That’s all.”

Her eyes softened, and she looked away, swallowing hard. “I don’t see why you care. Why you would…given…we barely know each other.” She paused, carefully considering her words. “But it’s been a long time since someone cared,” she admitted quietly, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Logan could feel the weight of her words hanging in the air. He reached out, his hand hovering just above her shoulder, but he stopped himself, dropping his hand before it made contact.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he said, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here.”

She gave him a small, hesitant smile, a hint of hope breaking through the walls she kept so carefully in place. “Thank you, Logan.”

He nodded, stepping back to give her space, though he didn’t want to leave. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

She nodded, watching him as he turned to go, lingering in the doorway as if part of her didn’t want to close the door just yet. As he walked back to his apartment, he felt something shift in him—a quiet, steady resolve to be there, to be someone she could trust.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan was pacing back and forth in the small, dingy apartment, so agitated that even Wade seemed annoyed for once. Wade lounged on the couch, a magazine in one hand and a look of pure exasperation on his face as he watched Logan wearing a path into the floor.

“Why are you like this?” Wade finally snapped, tossing the magazine aside. “Did your parents not love you, or something? Because this level of brooding is painful to watch, even for me.”

Logan shot him a glare, but he didn’t have a comeback this time. His usual sarcasm was buried under a mess of thoughts he couldn’t quite untangle. He ran a hand through his hair, his voice coming out quieter, almost hesitant. “It’s just… she actually seemed like she wanted to talk to me last night. Like, really talk.”

Wade rolled his eyes, folding his arms behind his head. “God, I don’t see how I keep missing your late-night heart-to-hearts in the hallway,” he said with exaggerated interest. “Sounds like you’re one step away from serenading her or something.”

Logan’s eyes kept drifting to the door, that nagging worry gnawing at him. He hadn’t heard her leave her apartment all morning, and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, Wade sat up, giving him a pointed look. “Look, man, there’s only one way to stop acting like a lovesick teenager. Just go knock on her door. You’re driving me nuts over here.”

Logan hesitated, shifting his weight. Part of him hated the idea of just showing up unannounced, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of urgency. He needed to see her, to know she was okay. Before he could talk himself out of it, he gave Wade a grudging nod and headed for the door.

"Finally," Wade muttered behind him, smirking. "Go get her, tiger."

Logan ignored him, stepping into the dim hallway. He crossed the few steps to her apartment, his hand hovering just above the door. He took a breath, steadying himself, then knocked—softly at first, then louder when there was no response.

Silence.

He waited, his heartbeat picking up as seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. He knocked again, pressing his ear to the door, straining to hear any movement inside. But there was nothing. No footsteps, no soft shuffle of her usual routine. An uneasy feeling crept over him. He hadn’t heard her leave that morning. Had he missed something? Was she—

Just then, he heard the familiar sound of footsteps echoing up the stairwell, and he turned, relief flooding him. But the relief was short-lived, quickly turning into confusion as he took in the scene.

She was coming up the stairs, but she wasn’t alone. Walking beside her was the guy from last night—the one her friend had set her up with. The guy was laughing, leaning a little too close to her, and Logan felt his jaw tighten instinctively. She had her arms crossed, her posture guarded but polite, and though she didn’t look particularly comfortable, she wasn’t pushing him away either.

Logan stood frozen, his hand still raised as if to knock, caught between relief and a prickling sense of jealousy. She looked up and noticed him, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“Logan,” she said, stopping on the landing. Her voice was a mix of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite place—maybe guilt, or hesitation.

The guy at her side glanced between them, raising an eyebrow. “Oh… hey,” he said, clearly picking up on the tension in the air. He smiled awkwardly, extending a hand. “I’m Jared. I, uh… guess you’re a neighbor?”

Logan didn’t take his hand, barely sparing him a glance. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and rough. His eyes were fixed on her, searching her face, trying to read her expression.

She shifted uncomfortably, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “We… just ran into each other downstairs,” she explained, her gaze flicking between Logan and Jared. “He was just walking me up.”

Jared chuckled, clearly oblivious to the undercurrent in the air. “Yeah, thought I’d make sure she got back safe, y’know? This neighborhood’s not exactly the friendliest.”

Logan felt a surge of irritation, but he forced himself to stay calm, to keep his expression neutral. “She can handle herself,” he replied, the words coming out sharper than he intended. He saw her flinch and instantly regretted it, but he couldn’t help the tension coiling in his chest.

Jared blinked, clearly sensing he wasn’t welcome, and took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right, man. No need to get territorial,” he said with a forced laugh. “I’ll get out of your hair.” He turned to her, flashing a hopeful smile. “So… maybe we could catch up tomorrow? Grab a coffee or something?”

She hesitated, glancing briefly at Logan before nodding, though her smile looked a little forced. “Yeah, maybe. I’ll… let you know.”

Jared grinned, clearly taking that as a yes, and gave a little wave before heading back down the stairs. Logan watched him go, barely breathing until the sound of his footsteps faded completely. Only then did he turn to her, his expression softening as he searched her face.

“Did… you need something?” she asked, her gaze lingering on him, one eyebrow raised in quiet suspicion.

Logan cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to knock on her door, but now that he was here, his brain seemed to be working at half-speed.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I was wondering if you had… y’know… some eggs I could borrow.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but he saw the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Eggs?” she repeated like she was testing the word.

Logan felt himself growing more flustered. “Yeah. Eggs. They’re… good for protein,” he added lamely, the words sounding as awkward out loud as they felt in his head.

She watched him for a moment, clearly trying to decide if she believed him or not. A small, skeptical smile played at the corner of her lips like she could see right through his excuse but was willing to humor him.

“Sure. I think I’ve got some,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “Come in while I go grab them from the kitchen.”

Logan hesitated, then nodded, slipping past her into the apartment. The warmth of her space hit him immediately, and he found himself surprised by how… homey it was. The faint scent of vanilla and something floral hung in the air, and soft lighting cast a cozy glow over everything. It was nothing like the dingy, bare-bones apartment he shared with Wade. Where his walls were chipped and peeling, hers were lined with neatly hung prints and framed photographs, small touches that gave the place a warmth he hadn’t expected.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, he let his gaze wander, taking in the shelves along one wall, filled with books. Dozens of them, all stacked neatly, some with worn covers and dog-eared pages, like they’d been read and re-read over the years. He noticed a mix of genres—mystery novels, classic literature, a few non-fiction titles, and even some poetry. It was the kind of collection that spoke to someone who spent a lot of time alone, lost in worlds beyond these walls.

He moved closer to one of the shelves, fingers ghosting over the spines without touching. A few books were stacked horizontally, others arranged by height. There was a kind of organized chaos to it, a personal touch that made him feel like he was seeing a side of her he hadn’t glimpsed before. He felt a strange pang of… something. Envy, maybe, or admiration. This was her space, her sanctuary, carefully built to be hers. And here he was, intruding on it.

“Didn’t peg you for a reader,” her voice came from behind him, light and teasing.

Logan turned, a bit flustered, caught off guard by her sudden reappearance. She held a carton of eggs in one hand, watching him with that same amused expression, like she knew he was lying about the whole “egg” thing but was willing to let it slide.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his head, feeling like he’d been caught red-handed. “Not really. Don’t have time for it.”

She shrugged, giving him a small smile as she set the egg carton on the counter. “Reading isn’t for everyone.”

He nodded, still taking in her apartment, feeling a strange comfort settle over him in the warmth of her space. “It’s… nice in here,” he admitted, his voice gruffer than he intended. “Didn’t expect it to feel so… I don’t know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So what?”

“Homey, I guess,” he said, almost embarrassed to admit it. “My place… it’s nothing like this.”

A faint, sympathetic smile softened her face. “Well, your roommate doesn’t exactly scream ‘homey,’” she teased, glancing around as if imagining Wade sprawled across her carefully arranged furniture, disrupting the calm. “Not really surprised you don’t put much into decorating.”

Logan let out a low chuckle. “Yeah. Wade’s more… chaos than cozy.”

She laughed softly, a genuine, relaxed sound that made his chest feel unexpectedly warm. “I can’t even picture him reading a book.”

“Pretty sure he’d complain about the ‘small font’ and give up in five minutes,” Logan muttered, and she laughed again, a light, melodic sound that filled the space in a way that felt… right.

For a moment, they stood there in comfortable silence, the unspoken tension between them somehow lessened by the simple act of sharing a space. He glanced at the egg carton, feeling a little foolish now that he had no real reason to stay.

“Thanks for the eggs,” he mumbled, reaching for the carton but not quite moving to leave. “Didn’t need them, if I’m honest.”

She tilted her head, a knowing look in her eyes. “Yeah, I figured,” she said, her voice gentle but laced with amusement. “So… why did you come by?”

Logan hesitated, feeling a sudden vulnerability he wasn’t used to. “I guess… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. After last night, and then seeing you with that guy this morning…” He trailed off, running a hand over his face. “It just didn’t sit right with me.”

Her expression softened, and she looked down, fingers tracing absent patterns on the counter. “Jared,” she said as if the name left a sour taste. “Monica’s idea. She thinks I need to ‘put myself out there.’” She rolled her eyes, a faint bitterness creeping into her tone. “It’s not really my thing, but… I figured I’d try.”

Logan studied her, catching the flicker of doubt in her eyes. “You didn’t seem too thrilled with him,” he observed, trying to keep his tone casual.

She shrugged, her smile a little sad. “He’s… nice. I just don’t know if ‘nice’ is enough.” She glanced up, meeting his gaze, her eyes holding his for a moment longer than necessary. “I guess I’ve got my own walls. Maybe it’s easier to push people away than to… let them in.”

Logan felt his chest tighten, recognizing himself in her words. “Yeah. I know how that goes,” he murmured, his voice low. “People tend to… make assumptions, think they know you just because of how you look or act. Sometimes it’s easier to let them believe what they want.”

She nodded, her gaze dropping again, her fingers still tracing absent shapes on the counter. “And what do people assume about you?” she asked, almost too softly.

He swallowed, feeling a familiar pang of vulnerability that he usually kept buried. “They see… this,” he said, gesturing to himself, to the rough exterior, the scars that lined his knuckles, the tension that seemed to live in his shoulders. “And they think I’m nothing but that. Just… rough edges. An animal.”

She looked up, her gaze soft and understanding, and he felt that ache again, the need to be seen, really seen. “You’re not just that,” she said quietly, her words barely more than a whisper. “I can see that you're more than that…now.”

A warmth lingered between them, subtle but undeniable. Logan could feel it settling over him, grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. Standing here, in her space, surrounded by traces of her life, he felt an unfamiliar sense of belonging—like, for once, he wasn’t just some outsider passing through.

She let out a small sigh, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Anyway,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, almost shy. “Thanks for checking on me.”

He nodded, swallowing back the impulse to reach out, to close the last inch of space between them. “Yeah. Anytime,” he said, his voice softer than he intended.

She led him to the door, holding it open as he stepped into the dim hallway. Logan hesitated, lingering just outside her apartment, feeling a strange reluctance to leave. The words were out of his mouth before he could second-guess himself.

“Would you… maybe want to come over?” He forced a small, awkward smile. “I’m sure Wade would love the company.”

She looked up at him, her expression caught between surprise and something softer. A small smile touched her lips, but she shook her head, a hint of apology in her eyes. “I would, but… being around people sort of… drains me.”

He watched her, sensing there was more she wasn’t saying, something fragile behind the simple explanation.

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the door, her gaze flickering up to meet his. “Not you, though,” she added softly, almost as if the words had slipped out without her permission. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away quickly. “Just… people in general. Introvert thing, I guess.”

Logan felt a flicker of something warm and unfamiliar in his chest. She hadn’t meant to single him out, but the admission hung in the air between them, as delicate and unsteady as a breath. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “No problem.”

She looked back up at him, a softness in her eyes that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, she was beginning to let him in. It wasn’t much—not yet—but it was enough to make his pulse quicken, to make him feel like he’d taken a step closer to something he’d been chasing without even knowing it.

“See you, Logan,” she whispered, her voice lingering in the quiet air, her eyes holding his for just a beat longer than necessary.

“See you,” he replied, his voice equally soft, reluctant. He took a step back, the warmth of her presence already beginning to fade, and gave her a small nod before turning away.

As he made his way down the hallway, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—a door, barely open, but open nonetheless.

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novemberdrift · 2 months ago

Text

a match in the making | james wilson

summary: james wilson, head of oncology oversees an eldery patient and is unexpectedly caught in her match making scheme a/n: original male character, wilson being awkward and flustered, house's usual remarks, and maybe a slightly rushed ending words: 7.2k

james wilson adjusted his tie while walking briskly through the gleaming hallways of princeton plainsboro teaching hospital. the reflection of fluorescent lights on polished floors stretched out before him, a seamless path broken only by the occasional scruff of hurried shoes or the soft squeak of a gurney's wheels.

his shoes echoed faintly, a sound he found oddly comforting despite the starkness of his surroundings.

he glanced at his watch, 8:32 am, later than he intended to start his rounds. his schedule was already packed, but it always was. the thought didn't bother him, it was easier to keep moving, easier to focus on the next meeting, the next conversation than to linger on the spaces in between.

tucking his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, wilson exhaled quietly, his breath steady but weighted. the morning light filtered through the expansive glass windows lining the hospital's east wing, casting long, soft shadows across the corridor. the view outside was crisp and clear, the kind of winter day where the sun burned bright but the cold bit at your skin.

he didn’t pause to admire it.

instead, his attention shifted to the faint tug at the edge of his sleeve. a loose thread, small but persistent, had frayed along the cuff. he picked at it absentmindedly while walking, his fingers rolling the thread back and forth as if its small imperfection required his immediate attention.

the morning hum of the hospital surrounded him—a symphony of paging systems, murmured voices, and the steady rhythm of life continuing on, even in the face of uncertainty. wilson moved through it all like a thread in the fabric, weaving his way through the noise and energy with practiced ease.

at the nurses’ station, he exchanged polite nods and a quick smile, his professional charm as natural as breathing. he signed off on a chart handed to him, his pen gliding smoothly across the page. “thanks, laura,” he said, his voice warm but efficient, his smile gone the moment he turned away.

the elevator ride to his office was uneventful, save for the moment he caught his own reflection in the brushed metal doors. his tie was slightly askew, the knot just off-center. he frowned, fixing it with a few deft movements. it was a small thing, but he clung to small things. they made him feel like he had control, even if it was over something as trivial as a tie.

by the time he reached his office, the coffee he had poured earlier that morning was lukewarm, sitting untouched on the corner of his desk. he picked it up and took a sip anyway, grimacing slightly at the stale bitterness. setting it back down, he turned his chair toward the window and stared out for a moment, the city stretching endlessly beyond the hospital’s perimeter.

wilson had an office with a view. that was supposed to mean something, wasn’t it?

he shook the thought from his mind and opened his laptop, skimming through emails and typing responses with mechanical precision. he toggled between patient reports, board meeting agendas, and a reminder to call his brother that he had been ignoring for three days.

the phone on his desk rang, and he answered it with the same calm, measured tone he always used. “dr. wilson.”

the conversation was brief—another adjustment to his schedule, another case to prioritize. he hung up and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

it wasn’t exhaustion, not really. it was the feeling that lingered just beneath the surface, the one he rarely acknowledged. a kind of hollowness that came and went, ebbing and flowing like a tide.

he shook his head and stood, straightening his coat as he stepped back into the hallway.

wilson’s steps were unhurried now, his stride measured. he paused briefly to glance at the bulletin board outside the oncology ward—a sea of papers tacked up with colorful pins. announcements, flyers for charity events, a calendar marking the end of the year.

someone had pinned a photo of the holiday party from a few weeks ago. wilson recognized himself in the background, his smile faint but present as he stood off to the side, holding a cup of punch. he remembered the punch being too sweet, the noise of the room too loud. he hadn’t stayed long.

the memory made his chest tighten, but he turned away before it could linger.

passing the cafeteria, he caught the faint scent of coffee and freshly baked bread. his stomach rumbled faintly, reminding him that breakfast had been a granola bar hastily consumed in the car. but there was no time to stop. there was never time to stop.

at one point, he reached into his pocket and found the candy wrapper he’d stuffed there yesterday—a peppermint his secretary had handed him after a meeting. he rolled it between his fingers as he walked, the crinkle of foil oddly soothing.

“good morning, dr. wilson,” a nurse said as she passed.

he nodded in response, his smile automatic but polite. “morning.”

her footsteps faded behind him, leaving him alone again with the steady rhythm of his own.

by midday, wilson found himself in the hospital’s atrium, the towering glass ceiling above letting in swaths of pale winter light. a fountain bubbled softly in the center, surrounded by a few benches where visitors lingered, some with coffee cups, others with faraway expressions.

he stopped for a moment, his hand brushing along the back of a bench as he surveyed the space. the sunlight warmed his face despite the chill outside, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself stand still.

the pager on his hip buzzed suddenly, jolting him from his brief reprieve. with a resigned sigh, he unclipped it and glanced at the screen. room 317. his brow furrowed. the number didn’t match any of the patients on his current rounds—he was certain that room had been unoccupied just this morning.

slipping the pager back into place, wilson headed for the elevators, his pace quickening with each step. his mind churned, trying to piece together who might have been moved to the room and why.

the elevator ride was brief, the familiar mechanical hum filling the silence as he adjusted his tie—a habit he couldn’t seem to break, especially when uncertainty gnawed at him. when the doors slid open, the oncology ward greeted him with its muted bustle. nurses moved purposefully, their hands full of charts and IV bags, while the faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air.

as he approached room 317, a nurse stepped out, her expression composed but brisk.

“ms. bennett,” she informed him before he could ask, her tone clipped but not unkind. “she fainted while walking. the paramedics brought her in about an hour ago.”

wilson nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. ms. bennett—of course. she was a regular patient of his, a resilient woman in her seventies with sharp wit and a no-nonsense demeanor. she had been diagnosed with lung cancer nearly three years ago, an uphill battle she faced with a steady resolve that never failed to impress him.

stepping into the room, he found her propped up in the hospital bed, her small frame swaddled in the standard-issue blanket. her silver hair framed her face in soft wisps, and though her skin was paler than usual, her keen eyes were as lively as ever.

“dr. wilson,” she greeted him, her voice a little raspier than usual but still carrying that wry edge. “didn’t expect to see me today, did you?”

“no, i didn’t,” he replied, closing the door softly behind him as he approached her bedside. “what happened?”

she gave a faint shrug, the gesture almost imperceptible beneath the blanket. “went for one of my walks—thought i’d enjoy the crisp air. next thing i know, i’m on the ground, and some poor kid is calling 911.”

his lips twitched into a faint smile despite himself. she always had a way of brushing off her own troubles, a quality he both admired and worried over.

he stepped closer, his gaze scanning her vitals and the chart at the foot of her bed. “you could’ve broken something. you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

“i’m fine,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, though her tone softened. “but i know that look. don’t start fretting over me, dr. wilson. i’ve already got one son who does enough of that.”

he blinked, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards despite himself. “you have a son?”

she arched a brow at his shocked reaction. “you sound surprised.”

“i just didn’t know you had a son,” he admitted, pulling up a chair and sitting beside the bed. “you’ve never mentioned him.”

“well, he’s busy,” she replied, settling back against the pillows. “an attorney—always buried under a mountain of cases. but when i faint in the middle of the street, apparently that’s enough to pry him out of his office.”

“an attorney,” wilson repeated, his tone thoughtful. “that explains it. will he be here soon?"

“oh, he’s on his way,” she assured him. “you’ll see for yourself soon enough. he’s a good man, my thomas. works too hard for his own good, but he always shows up when it matters.”

before he could respond, the door creaked open. his gaze shifted, and the figure that stepped into the room made his breath hitch unexpectedly.

the man was tall, his dark brown hair neatly styled, though a few strands fell against his forehead, softening the otherwise structured angles of his face. a pair of black-rimmed glasses framed his dark eyes, their sharpness softened by an undeniable warmth as they settled on ms. bennett.

his outfit was sharp yet relaxed—black dress pants paired with a crisp white collared shirt, a black tie knotted neatly at his throat. over it all, he wore a rich brown coat, its long lines giving him an air of effortless sophistication.

“mom,” the deep voice carried a blend of relief and worry as its owner crossed the room in quick strides, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor.

her face lit up immediately, her expression transforming from tired to radiant. “thomas, you made it,” she said warmly, her voice threaded with equal parts affection and pride.

the chair beside her bed scraped slightly as the doctor shifted to make room, an awkward movement that echoed in the otherwise quiet room. he glanced between them, suddenly feeling like an intruder.

“of course i made it,” he replied, his voice gentler now as he reached for her hand. his fingers were long and sure, but his touch was careful, almost reverent. “are you okay? what did they say?”

she waved off the question with a roll of her eyes, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “they’re fussing over nothing, as always,” she replied lightly. then, with a small tilt of her head, she gestured toward the doctor still standing near the foot of the bed. “but this is the man you’ve got to thank—he’s been taking good care of me.”

he turned at her words, gaze sharp and direct as it settled on the figure in the white coat. his eyes were dark, framed by glasses that lent him a polished air, and they carried an intensity that seemed to pin wilson in place.

caught off guard, he blinked feeling the uncharacteristic warmth creeping into the tips of his ears. thomas extended his hand, his movements smooth and deliberate. "thomas bennett," the patient's son said, his tone steady, almost commanding.

for a moment, it was as if the room shrank, the space between them charged with something unspoken. he fumbled slightly before stepping forward to clasp the offered hand. "james wilson," he managed, introducing himself. his voice caught just enough to betray his nerves.

the handshake was firm, stronger than he anticipated and the contact left him feeling unsteady in a way he couldn't quite define.

"thank you for taking care of her," thomas said earnestly, his eyes steady as they held wilson's gaze. there was sincerity in his tone, layered beneath the gratitude that made the words linger longer than they should have.

he cleared his throat, shifting on his feet as his hand reflexively went to adjust his tie. "it's my job," he replied, the words coming out faster than intended.

before anyone could respond, ms bennett spoke up, a mischievous glint lighting her tired features. "oh, it's much more than that," she said with a knowing smile, her eyes darting between the two men. "he goes above and beyond for his patients."

wilson's lip twitched in an awkward, self conscious smile, his fingers dropping from his tie to rest at his side. "your mother is one of my favourite patients," he stated, his tone light.

"see?" she hummed, turning back to her son as if her point had been proven. "i told you he's the best."

a soft laugh escaped his lips, more nervous than amused and his gaze flickered back to the man across from him. the brief eye contact sent an unexpected flutter through him, a subtle shift in his usually composed demeanor. there was something about the man's presence, his calm assurance paired with an underlying warmth. it unsettled him in the strangest way.

thomas seemed unaware of his sudden discomfort. instead, he gave his mother's hand a gentle squeeze and settled into the chair beside her, his expression softening as he leaned closer to speak with her.

wilson took a half step back, his hands returning to his pockets. he felt like an observer now, standing at the periphery of something intimate. yet as he watched he couldn't help but notice the warmth in their interaction, the way they anchored each other in a way he rarely saw anymore.

the thought stirred something in him, something bittersweet and he forced himself to look away, his gaze wandering to the room's window. the pale winter light cast long shadows across the floor, the muted glow softening the clinical sterility of the space.

when he finally glanced back, his eyes were caught on thomas again. the man's brow furrowed slightly as he listened to his mother speak, his focus unwavering. wilson found himself studying the line of his jaw, the way the glasses framed his features, and the quiet intensity that seemed to radiate from him without effort.

it was a moment before he realized he'd been staring. with a faint shake of his head and a silent scoff to himself, he turned his attention back to his patient, clearing his throat once more. "if there's anything else you need, ms bennett, just let me know," he said, his voice steadier now, though the earlier awkwardness lingered faintly in his posture.

before she could answer, her son spoke up instead. "actually, i might have a few questions once things settle down," he said, leaning back slightly in the chair and fixing him with a thoughtful look.

the directness of his words caught wilson off guard, and he blinked, fumbling for a response. "oh, um of course," he stammered, adjusting his tie out of reflex. "i'd be happy to answer anything you need."

thomas's gaze didn't waver, his dark eyes studying wilson with a quiet intensity that made him feel strangely exposed. "thank you, doctor," he said after a beat. there was a faint curve to his lips, not quite a smile but something close to it.

his face warmed under the attention, and he suddenly became aware of how tightly he was gripping the edge of his clipboard. "right," he mumbled, forcing a nod as he stepped back toward the door. "well, um just let the nurses know if anything changes."

thomas inclined his head in acknowledgement, his expression calm and composed, while ms bennett watched the exchange with a subtle glint of amusement in her eyes.

he turned quickly, his hand fumbling with the door handle for a fraction of a second before he managed to pull it open. "take care," he added, his voice slightly higher than usual as he slipped out of the room.

once the door clicked shut behind him, he exhaled, pressing his back against the cool surface for a moment. his fingers brushed over the knot of his tie, straightening it even though it was already perfectly in place.

he shook his head, before pushing off the door and walking briskly down the hall. but even as he headed toward his next task, he couldn't shake the faint heat in his cheeks, or the way thomas's gaze had lingered just a second longer than necessary.

he strode down the hall, his footsteps quick and uneven as he tried to shake off the feeling he had. he rounded a corner near the diagnostics department when a familiar voice cut through the air.

"well, look who's got a spring in his step," house drawled, leaning casually against the wall, his cane tapping the floor in a lazy rhythm.

wilson groaned inwardly. "house, i don't have time for-"

"don't lie to me," he interrupted, his eyes narrowing with mock seriousness. "you're practically glowing. did you just get laid?"

"what? no!" he shot back, his voice a touch too high pitched.

"huh." he tilted his head. "not laid. so crushing on a new nurse? wait, don't tell me. it's that brunette from pediatrics with the dimples. i've seen her giving you the puppy dog eyes."

"it's not a nurse!" wilson snapped, his tone more defensive than he intended. he immediately regretted it when his friend's eyebrows shot up in curiosity.

"ooh, defensive," a grin spread across his face. "now i'm really intrigued." he stepped closer, his cane tapping the tile. "so if it's not a nurse, then.. another patient?"

wilson froze, his lips parting as if to protest, but nothing came out.

"wait, no. you wouldn't be blushing like that over just anyone." house's eyes widened theatrically. "oh my god it is a patient!"

"it's not!" wilson practically barked, his cheeks now fully red. "can you just drop it."

"drop it? you've clearly underestimated my dedication to pestering you," house replied, his expression turning mischievous. "besides, i'm narrowing it down. if it's not a nurse and it's not a patient, then.." he trailed off, scrutinizing wilson's face.

wilson groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

"you're sweating," he pointed out gleefully. "your voice is higher than usual, you're fidgeting like you just walked out of an awkward first date, and you were practically strutting down the hallway which brings me to my next question." house leaned in, his expression suddenly serious. "is it a man?"

his head snapped up, his eyes widening basically confirming the guess.

house blinked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "it is a man!"

wilson sighed, exasperated, before burying his face in his hands, muttering something inaudible before he said, "can we not do this here?"

"oh, no, we're absolutely doing this here. who is it? someone from the hospital? your barista? wait, did you just discover grindr?"

he didn't respond, instead, looking straight ahead, his lips pressed into a thin line. the silence was deafening, and that alone made house pause. "fine, keep your little secret. but just so you know, this is the worst idea you've ever had. and that's saying something, considering you once dated a woman who faked terminal cancer."

wilson rolled his eyes, turning as if to walk away, but house wasn't finished.

"but i knew it all along," he declared, his smirk returning. "you've always had the signs. your closet is way too neat. your ties are.. well honestly, they're a little too fabulous. oh, and don't even get me started on how you always swish when you walk. textbook strut."

he stopped in his tracks, pivoting sharply to glare at house. "you have no idea what you're talking about."

he gasped theatrically, clutching his chest. "you wound me, wilson. here i am, just trying to support your big gay awakening, and you're shutting me out."

groaning, wilson resumed walking, his strides deliberately quick.

"but really, who is it?" house called after him, limping in his wake. "it's not that annoying guy in accounting, is it? or that orderly who wears skinny jeans? because honestly you can do better. way better."

"goodbye, house." he clipped as he rounded the corner. a mix of annoyance and unease bubbled up in his chest, as the other's voice still echoed in his ears but he pushed it away, refocusing on the sharp, rhythmic sound of his own shoes on the linoleum.

he was used to house's intrusions, hell, he even expected them. but this time, it felt different. this time, he had gone too far.

it wasn't the teasing or the jokes, no it was the topic itself. he could mock wilson about his crushes or failed relationships all he wanted, but this?

for months now, he had been feeling unsettled. questioning, in a way that felt both liberating and terrifying. after his last marriage had collapsed, he found himself revisiting pieces of his past, looking at things through a different lens.

he'd dated women for as long as he could remember, had loved them, had married them. but something about thomas, the way his gaze made wilson feel, the intensity of it, the way his presence made his chest tighten in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time.

he couldn't deny it.

by five, the hospital was beginning to empty out. the steady hum of activity that had buzzed throughout the day was now waning, leaving a quiet that felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were breathing a sigh of relief.

he had finished most of his rounds, checked in on a few lingering patients, and tied up the last of his paperwork, he was ready to leave early for once, something he hadn't allowed himself in a while.

but as he passed by the oncology ward on his way out, his gaze lingered on the familiar room where ms. bennett had been that morning. the door was slightly ajar, and as he glanced in, he saw her sitting in the bed, looking serene, but alone. he glanced around the room until he spotted the brown suit jacket draped over the chair, and a briefcase propped against it.

wilson’s stomach tightened, but he pushed the feeling away, adjusting his tie automatically as he walked toward the door and gave it a gentle knock before entering.

“dr. wilson,” ms. bennett greeted him warmly, her face lighting up as she saw him. “you’ve come to check on me again?”

wilson smiled, trying to keep his tone casual. “i was just passing by. thought i’d make sure you were okay before heading out for the evening.”

ms. bennett waved a hand dismissively. “i’m fine, just a little tired. my son’s getting himself something to eat.” she paused, glancing at the coat on the chair and then back at him. “he’s been working nonstop, poor thing. he doesn’t know how to take care of himself.”

wilson glanced at the coat again, his heart rate picking up slightly, but he forced himself to look back at ms. bennett. “i’m sure he’s just worried about you.”

“oh, he’s always worried about me,” she said with a fond laugh. “but he’s too stubborn to admit it. works himself half to death, then comes straight here without even thinking about himself. he’s a good boy, though. always has been.”

wilson nodded, the corners of his mouth pulling into a small smile. “he seems like a good son.”

“he is,” she said, leaning back against her pillows. her eyes sparkled with the same mischievous twinkle he’d seen earlier that day. “and you know, i still think you two would get along. you should sit down with him sometime. talk. get to know him.”

wilson’s stomach tightened, and he adjusted his tie out of habit. “ms. bennett, i don’t think—”

“oh, don’t be shy,” she interrupted, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “he’s a bit reserved, but once you crack through that lawyer shell of his, he’s a real sweetheart. and you…” she paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as if studying him. “you could use someone like him. someone who’s steady. you work too much. you need balance.”

wilson chuckled nervously, his hand brushing the back of his neck. “i appreciate the concern, but i’m not really—”

“oh, don’t give me that,” she said, cutting him off again. “he’s single, you’re single… it just makes sense.”

wilson’s face grew warm, and he cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze. “i think i should let you rest, ms. bennett. sounds like your son will be back soon.”

she gave a dramatic sigh but smiled anyway. “fine, fine. i won’t push. but don’t be surprised if he starts asking about you. i may have mentioned how wonderful you are.”

wilson’s cheeks reddened even more, and he quickly nodded, stepping back toward the door. “have a good evening, ms. bennett.”

as he left the room, he felt like he could finally breathe again, but the weight of her words lingered. the way she spoke about her son—and the way thomas had looked at him earlier—it was stirring something he hadn’t quite worked out yet. he wasn’t ready to think about it, not fully. not here.

he walked aimlessly for a while, his mind too scattered to focus on anything. but eventually, he found himself in the cafeteria, the familiar smell of coffee and warm food pulling him back to reality. he scanned the room out of habit, and that’s when he saw him.

thomas was sitting at a table near the far wall, his hair mussed as if he ran his hand through it more than once. the crisp, white collar shirt was no longer perfectly pressed. the top button was undone, the tie loosened and hanging just slightly crooked. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his forearms.

his broad shoulders seemed even more defined in the softer light of the cafeteria, his posture relaxed but heavy, as though the weight of the day was pressing down on him.

wilson froze for a moment, there was something deeply human about seeing him like this, stripped of the polished, commanding presence he’d carried in the hospital room. now, he looked.. tired. his glasses caught the low light as he rubbed his temple with one hand, the other loosely cradling a cup of coffee.

a salad sat untouched in front of him, and his gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the hospital. the faint slump of his shoulders, the absent way his thumb traced the rim of the coffee cup.

it was a vulnerability that hit wilson in a way he hadn’t expected. and those forearms.. strong, grounded, yet somehow tender in the way his hands rested against the table—wilson felt his breath catch before he could stop it.

he swallowed hard, dragging his eyes away for a second as heat crept up his neck. this was ridiculous. he was a professional, a grown man, and yet here he was, standing in the doorway of the cafeteria, flustered over another man sitting by himself.

gathering himself, he adjusted his tie, always his go-to nervous habit, and forced his feet to move forward.

with each step closer, his pulse seemed to quicken, though he tried to steady his breathing. by the time he reached the table, he felt almost lightheaded, but he managed to keep his voice calm, even if it was just barely.

he reached thomas’s side, his shoes clicking softly on the tile floor. he looked up, his eyes dark and tired, but there was something comforting about them. something familiar.

wilson opened his mouth, but for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say.

“is everything okay?” he wondered, his voice quieter than he’d intended. he wasn’t sure if it was the right question, but it was all he could think to ask.

he shrugged slightly in response, setting his coffee down and leaning back in his chair. “just been a long day,” he said, his voice softer than before. “didn’t expect to end up here.”

wilson nodded, taking a step closer. he hesitated, unsure if he should sit down, but then he did, pulling a chair out and sitting across from him. it felt.. easier than he had expected. not as awkward, not as forced as he had anticipated.

“i should probably apologize,” thomas said after a beat, the faintest flicker of humor lightening his tired expression.

wilson blinked, thrown off. “apologize? for what?”

thomas let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and unguarded. “for my mom. she’s… persistent. i’m guessing she’s been going on about me all day?”

wilson felt a nervous laugh bubbling up, his cheeks warming. “she… may have mentioned you once or twice.”

“figured as much,” thomas said, shaking his head, amusement dancing across his features. “she’s been blabbering about you non-stop since this morning. dr wilson this, dr wilson that. i thought she was going to start handing out business cards with your name on them.”

wilson’s laugh escaped, soft and self-conscious. “she’s just… very passionate.”

“that’s one way to put it,” thomas replied, leaning back in his chair with an easy grace that made wilson feel slightly off-balance. “she’s always trying to set people up. neighbors, the guy who fixes her sink, her dentist once. guess you’re the latest victim.”

his laugh came easier this time, the tension in his chest loosening just a little. “well, she definitely has… a talent for it.”

thomas smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “she’s just determined to make sure i don’t die alone, i think. pretty sure she assumes i’ll spend the rest of my life buried in work otherwise.”

wilson glanced down at the table, his smile fading slightly. “she cares about you. that much is obvious.”

his expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his next words carefully. “yeah. she does. she just… doesn’t know when to quit sometimes.”

he looked back up at him, meeting his gaze. “it’s not a bad thing. it’s… nice, actually.”

“nice?” thomas raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “she’s practically playing cupid, and you think it’s nice?”

he shrugged in return, his cheeks reddening slightly. “well… I don’t think she means any harm.”

“she doesn’t,” he agreed, his voice quieter now. “but still… sorry if she made things awkward.”

wilson smiled faintly, shaking his head. “it’s fine. really.”

for a moment, they sat there in silence, the hum of the cafeteria around them fading into the background. he felt the weight of the other's gaze on him, steady and unflinching, and it made his pulse quicken in a way he hadn’t expected.

thomas smiled, his gaze steady as he lifted his coffee cup. “but you know, she’s always had a knack for knowing my type.”

wilson froze, his hand hovering awkwardly mid-air before dropping to his side. “your… type?” he echoed, his voice cracking slightly.

“mmhm,” thomas murmured, taking a slow sip of his coffee. his eyes never left wilson’s, watching the way his expression shifted—wide-eyed, panicked, and undeniably flustered.

he cleared his throat, his tie suddenly feeling much too tight. “and, uh… what’s your type?” he asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

thomas leaned back slightly in his chair, a faint, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “doctors,” he said simply, his tone casual, though there was a deliberate weight to the word.

wilson’s breath hitched, his cheeks burning as he scrambled for something—anything—to say. “oh. well, um… that’s, uh… specific,” he managed, his voice pitching higher than usual.

"guess i like people who know how to take care of others,” thomas replied, his gaze dropping briefly to his coffee before sliding back up to him. “or maybe it’s just the lab coats.”

wilson laughed nervously, the sound awkward and abrupt. “lab coats?”

thomas smirked, shrugging lightly. “they do something for me.”

his mind raced, his thoughts a chaotic jumble of confusion, flattery, and something dangerously close to intrigue. “well, uh… i should probably let you finish your dinner,” he stammered, taking a step back as if to escape the heat of his attention attention.

“if you’re sure,” he said, his tone light but tinged with amusement. “but i wouldn’t mind the company.”

wilson hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding, before mumbling a hurried goodbye and practically fleeing the cafeteria. he could still feel thomas’s eyes on him as he walked away, his pulse thundering in his ears.

as he rounded the corner into the hallway, his mind still spinning from the interaction, he nearly walked straight into house.

“woah, watch where you’re going,” house huffed, stepping back dramatically. his sharp blue eyes narrowed as he took in wilson’s flushed face and slightly disheveled appearance. “let me guess. the guy again?”

he froze, caught off guard by his bluntness. “what—what are you talking about?” he stammered, his voice too high to be convincing.

he smirked, leaning on his cane as he tilted his head. “oh, come on. you’ve got that same panicked, ‘i just made a fool of myself’ look from earlier. except now your tie’s crooked, your hair’s a mess, and you look like you just ran a marathon. definitely the guy again.”

wilson opened his mouth to argue but realized there was no point. this was house—he saw everything and always pushed until he got the truth.

with a heavy sigh, he leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “fine. yes, it’s him,” he admitted quietly.

his friend's grin widened. “i knew it. so what’s the problem? he’s not into neurotic oncologists with great hair?”

“house, this isn’t funny,” wilson snapped, though his tone lacked bite. “i just… i don’t know what i’m doing, okay? i’ve never—” he hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

“flirted with a man before?” he finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

he nodded reluctantly, his cheeks burning.

house tapped his cane against the floor thoughtfully, a mischievous glint in his eye. “well, it depends. who’s the guy and who’s the girl in this relationship?”

wilson blinked at him, his expression a mix of exasperation and confusion. “we’re both men, house,” he said slowly, as if explaining something to a child.

“sure, sure,” he waved off dismissively. “but every couple has a dynamic. one’s the alpha, the other’s the… well, you. so which are you?”

“what does that even mean?” wilson asked, his voice climbing an octave as his frustration grew.

“it means, are you the one bringing flowers and writing sappy poetry, or are you the one standing in the doorway looking broody and mysterious?” he wondered, smirking.

“neither!” wilson exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “this isn’t some rom-com. i don’t even know if he’s interested, and even if he is, i have no idea how to…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely as if the answer might materialize out of thin air.

“flirt?” house supplied. “seduce him? sweep him off his feet and carry him into the sunset?”

“house,” wilson groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples.

“fine, fine,” he muttered, feigning seriousness. “step one: figure out if he’s into you. step two: stop being such a nervous wreck. step three: profit.”

“that’s not helpful,” he huffed.

house shrugged. “look, you’re overthinking this—big surprise. just be yourself. you’ve got the whole ‘sensitive and caring’ thing down. and if he doesn’t like that, well, there’s always grindr.”

wilson shot him a glare, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “thanks, house. really.”

“anytime,” he said with a mock salute. “now go on, lover boy. and for god’s sake, fix your tie. you look like a teenager after prom.”

as wilson walked away, his mind still buzzing with anxiety and his friend's unhelpful advice, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny sliver of hope. maybe, just maybe, he could figure this out.

the winter air was sharp, biting at his face as he left the hospital. house’s comments replayed in his head, equal parts irritating and oddly insightful. he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. he’d never been good at this—relationships, figuring out what he wanted, or even admitting what he felt.

the drive home was quiet, his usual radio chatter replaced by the hum of his own thoughts. even the sanctuary of his apartment couldn’t distract him. he tried watching a movie, flipping through channels, but every scene felt hollow. his mind kept drifting, unbidden, back to him.

the way he spoke, confident but not overbearing. the slight smirk that seemed to tug at his lips, like he was always on the edge of teasing but knew exactly when to pull back. the way his dark eyes lingered just a moment too long. wilson shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face.

he was overthinking. he was always overthinking.

the next day blurred by in a rush of appointments and paperwork, the hospital as chaotic as ever. he buried himself in his work, avoiding oncology like the plague—not because of ms. bennett or her son, he told himself, but because he was just too busy.

but as the clock ticked closer to 9 p.m., the hospital began to quiet. the steady hum of activity slowed, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows down the hallways. wilson finished his last notes and shrugged on his coat, ready to leave.

as he walked out of the hospital, the evening air greeted him with a sharp, cool bite, slipping through the folds of his coat and curling around his neck. he hunched his shoulders against the chill, his breath fogging faintly in the dim glow of the parking lot lights. it was quiet outside, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant hum of traffic.

he wasn’t in a hurry to leave. something about the night air felt grounding, a balm to the relentless buzz of the hospital. but as he rounded a corner near the courtyard, his steps faltered.

there, seated on a bench beneath a streetlamp, was the guy he had been avoiding all day. the faint glow illuminated him, casting long shadows that stretched across the pavement. thomas wore a thick black sweater that clung to his frame, paired with dark brown dress pants that gave him an effortlessly composed look. his laptop was balanced on his knees, its soft glow lighting up his focused expression, while a coffee cup sat beside him on the bench, steam curling lazily upward.

his heart stuttered, a small, involuntary jolt that left him standing there like a deer caught in headlights. he hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, let alone like this—calm, poised, and completely unaware of the effect he had on wilson.

his first instinct was to retreat, to turn back before thomas noticed him. but as if sensing the weight of his gaze, thomas looked up, his sharp eyes locking onto his.

recognition flickered in thomas’s expression, softening the lines of his face into a smile. “doctor,” he greeted, his voice smooth and warm, cutting through the chill of the night. “what are you doing out here?”

he hesitated, his thoughts scattering. “just… heading home,” he replied, his voice quieter than he intended. “needed some air.”

“seems we had the same idea,” he pulled wilson's attention. gesturing to the bench beside him. “care to join me?”

he hesitated again, his pulse quickening. “i don’t want to interrupt—”

“you’re not interrupting,” thomas said firmly, closing his laptop and setting it aside. “sit. unless you’ve got somewhere pressing to be?”

the casual confidence in thomas’s tone made his feet move before his brain could catch up. he crossed the short distance to the bench, his hands jammed into his coat pockets as if that would steady him. he lowered himself onto the bench, the wood cold even through his coat.

“you’ve been keeping busy?” thomas asked, taking a sip of his coffee. the steam curled around his face, softening his sharp features.

“always,” he replied, managing a weak chuckle.

“same,” thomas said with a faint sigh, leaning back against the bench. “mom’s finally resting, so i figured i’d catch up on work. though honestly, i’m mostly just procrastinating.”

he gave a small smile, his gaze darting to the other's hands, where his fingers wrapped around the coffee cup. “she’s lucky to have you here.”

“she reminds me every chance she gets,” thomas said, his lips quirking into a faint grin. “but i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t a little chaotic juggling everything.”

“it must be,” wilson murmured, his breath visible in the cool air.

a shiver ran through him, subtle but enough to make him shift in his seat, his shoulders hunching further against the cold.

thomas noticed. “you cold?” he asked, his tone light but laced with concern.

“a little,” he admitted, rubbing his hands together briefly before shoving them back into his pockets.

thomas’s gaze lingered for a moment, a flicker of something warm passing through his eyes. “sorry for dragging you here, then.”

“you didn’t drag me,” he said quickly, his words tumbling out too fast. “i mean, i wanted to…” he trailed off, his face warming despite the chill.

the other smirked smirked, the expression equal parts teasing and genuine. “you’re not used to this, are you?”

“used to what?” wilson asked, his voice betraying his nerves.

“someone being this direct,” thomas said, leaning forward slightly.

his stomach twisted, a mix of anxiety and something else, something more electric. “i… guess not,” he admitted, his voice almost a whisper.

“relax,” thomas said with a soft chuckle. “i’m not trying to put you on the spot.”

he gave a nervous laugh, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his coat. the silence that followed buzzed with an undercurrent of tension, the kind that made his skin prickle despite the cold.

“so,” he began after a beat, his tone dropping slightly, “what do you say to grabbing a drink sometime?”

wilson's heart leaped into his throat, eyes snapping up to meet his. “a—a drink?”

“you, me, somewhere warmer than this bench,” thomas said, his smirk widening. “what do you think?”

he blinked, his thoughts scrambling. “i… uh… are you sure?”

he chuckled again, his breath visible in the cool air. “i wouldn’t have asked if i wasn’t.”

“right, of course,” wilson rushed out, his words tumbling over each other. “i just… i mean, yeah. yeah, that sounds… nice.”

“good,” thomas hummed, standing and grabbing his laptop. the motion was smooth, deliberate, and wilson’s eyes involuntarily followed it. “then it’s settled. i’ll let you pick the place.”

“oh, i’m terrible at that,” he admitted, standing as well. his legs felt unsteady beneath him, as if the ground had shifted slightly.

“no pressure,” thomas said, shrugging on his jacket. “we’ll keep it simple.”

“simple’s good,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

thomas’s smile softened, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned to leave. “goodnight, doctor.”

“goodnight,” wilson replied, watching as he walked away, his figure silhouetted against the dim glow of the streetlights.

as wilson stood there, the chill of the evening nipping at his skin, he felt a strange warmth blooming in his chest. for the first time in what felt like ages, the ever-present weight of loneliness lifted, replaced by hope.

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