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pandapetals · 27 days ago

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ong i love your writing! can i please get a x1 logan fic where the reader is a ballerina? she’s been alive for a long time just like logan with the same regeneration ability. they meet when she is invited to the x mansion for something. but he walks in on her dancing swan lake? if not i totally understand. a girl can dream 💗✨

Hi! Thank you so much and sooo sorry for how long it took. I’ve been busy finishing school and sleep-deprived. Hopefully, i did it justice. Idk what this is lol but i ran with it. It turned into a mini fic....anyway, I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid so this lowkey fulfilled my dreams.

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, minor fluff, reader has established relationships with x-men especially hank, slight reader description, no y/n used, reader has met logan before but he doesn’t remember, timeline sort of follows X1 & X2, ballet references

You stood in the middle of the mansion’s wide, polished hallway, the faint smell of waxed floors and old books swirling around you. The hum of distant voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking echoed deeper within the sprawling mansion. You smoothed your palms over your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft cotton of your dance tights beneath your coat. This place hadn’t changed—well, not in the ways that mattered.

Storm walked beside you, her silver hair catching the sunlight spilling through the grand windows, while Scott trailed just behind, his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense stance. You saw your reflection in one of the hallway mirrors—unchanged. Despite the weight of decades, your skin was still smooth, and your body lithe. This place carried ghosts for you, but not the kind that faded with time.

"Still feels the same," you murmured under your breath, your voice almost swallowed by the mansion's high ceilings.

Storm turned, a small smile pulling at her lips. "The kids grow up, and new ones come in, but the mansion stays the same."

"Right down to the same smell of burnt toast from the kitchen every morning," Scott added, his tone dry. He gave you a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his stoicism. "You'll fit right in again. Hank’s been talking about your return for weeks. I think he's been counting the days."

Storm chuckled softly, her voice lilting like the whisper of wind through trees. “You’d think he was the one with a photographic memory.”

As if summoned by your name, a deep, rumbling voice boomed from behind. “Is that—no, it can’t be.”

You turned just in time to see Hank bounding into view, his blue fur almost shimmering in the light. His tailored blazer looked comically out of place over his hulking, beastly form, but the warm smile on his face was the same as you remembered.

"Hank!" you exclaimed, your smile splitting wide as you stepped forward. His massive arms enveloped you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off your feet.

"My dear, you haven’t aged a day!" he declared, setting you back down but keeping his enormous hands on your shoulders as if to confirm you were real.

“Well, you know me. Perks of the trade,” you said lightly, but his words brought a pang you quickly shoved aside. You tilted your head up at him. “You, on the other hand, look fluffier than ever.”

Hank laughed, the sound rolling through the hallway like thunder. “You flatter me.” He released you with a fond pat on the back. "Though I must admit, it’s wonderful to see you again. It hasn’t been the same without you."

Scott cleared his throat, his voice tinged with impatience. “As much as I enjoy a good reunion, we still have the tour to finish.”

You smirked. “Still as serious as ever, huh, Summers? Don’t worry, I won’t let Hank hold us up too long.”

As the group moved down the hallway, your footsteps were light against the polished floor. A gruff voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

“Who’s the new recruit?”

You froze. You knew that voice—low, gravelly like it had been dragged across gravel and left to smolder. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Logan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the frame, the other holding a cigar he hadn’t bothered to light. His eyes raked over you, sizing you up with an air of detached curiosity.

“Logan,” you said, the name tasting familiar on your tongue, like a song you hadn’t sung in years.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

For a second, you almost told him. The memories of a fight decades ago—the clash of claws and fists, the way his grin had split his face after every victory—flashed through your mind. But his blank stare reminded you he wouldn’t remember. Not this version of him. Not after what they’d done to him.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug, masking the ache behind a practiced nonchalance. “But I’ve heard of you. Big fan of the ‘snikt-snikt’ routine.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Cute.” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he walked closer. “What’s your story?”

You mirrored his casual stance, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “I’m here to teach ballet. Figured the kids could use some culture.”

“Ballet?” Logan snorted, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be real useful in a fight.”

You smirked back. “You’d be surprised. I could take you down in three moves.”

“Three, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re confident. I like that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like a demonstration?”

Before he could reply, Storm cut in, her voice carrying an edge of authority. “Logan, play nice. She’s here to help, not trade punches with you.”

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if she ends up knocking one of the kids on their asses in the Danger Room.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Logan might not remember you, but some things about him hadn’t changed.

As he walked away, cigar tucked back between his teeth, you turned to Storm, who was watching you with a knowing look.

“Well,” you said, “this is going to be fun.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll fit right in.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from whatever freshener Storm had insisted on using, and the golden light of late afternoon streamed through the large windows. You sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, hands resting on your knees, staring absently at the few belongings you’d unpacked. A duffel bag in the corner. A framed photo of you and Hank from years ago—his arm slung over your shoulder, your face mid-laugh. It felt surreal, almost too heavy to keep looking at.

You shrugged as if trying to loosen the weight pressing on your chest. It was nice to be back, even if it stirred old memories you’d locked away. Memories of laughter, battle, and the kind of losses that didn’t fade with time. But this was temporary. Just another stop along your endless road, you reminded yourself. You never stayed anywhere long enough to leave roots. You couldn’t.

A knock at the doorframe broke your reverie.

“Mind if I come in?” Hank’s familiar baritone rang out, warm and tinged with his usual politeness. He stood there, one hand resting on the frame, his blue fur catching the golden light.

“Course,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you waved him in.

He stepped into the room, his hulking frame seeming almost too big for the cozy space. But the way he moved—careful and precise—kept it from feeling intrusive. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the bare walls and the sparse unpacking. “Travel light as always, I see.”

“Old habits die hard,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not planning on staying long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he crossed the room and plopped into the chair at the small desk, the furniture groaning under his weight.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you said, your smile softening. “It’s been...”

“Ten years,” he finished for you, his voice quiet but firm.

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, the guilt settling in your stomach like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you said finally in a whisper.

Hank waved you off, the gesture almost as familiar as the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I know you had your reasons for running off. It just would’ve been nice to know you weren’t, you know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That earned a small laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve done better on the whole ‘staying in touch’ thing, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, leaning forward and resting his chin on his massive hand. “I missed you, you know. Things have been... quieter without you around.”

You grinned. “Me? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I distinctly recall a certain someone sneaking into my lab at three in the morning to swipe beakers for—what was it—homemade glow-in-the-dark paint?”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “In my defense, it worked! That mural in the attic was a masterpiece.”

“And I had to spend an entire week re-organizing my lab. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he didn’t regret a second of it.

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind of silence only shared between old friends.

Hank cleared his throat, his tone turning curious. “So, how are you feeling about being back? I know it can’t be easy.”

You leaned back on your hands, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s... weird. Good, but weird. This place has so many memories, you know? Feels like I’m walking through a time capsule. Everyone’s so familiar but different at the same time. Even Logan.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Logan?”

You nodded, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Ran into him in the hallway earlier. He asked who I was.”

“And did you tell him?”

Your smile faded slightly, replaced by something more wistful. “Just said I was here to teach ballet and that I’d heard of him.”

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice soft. You traced the edge of the duvet with your finger, eyes distant. “A long time ago. Before he lost his memory.”

Hank frowned. “And he doesn’t remember?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“That must’ve been... hard,” Hank said, his voice gentle, always the considerate one.

You shrugged, forcing a small, tight smile. “It’s not like I expected him to. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less complicated.”

“Hmm,” Hank murmured, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Well, complicated or not, he seems intrigued by you. I caught him muttering something about ‘ballet instructors with an attitude’ after he saw you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Sounds about right. I think I annoyed him within thirty seconds of meeting him. New record?”

Hank chuckled. “Perhaps. Though, if I know Logan, that probably just means he respects you already.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure. Respect. That’s what I’m calling it.”

Hank grinned at your sarcasm, but his expression softened as he leaned forward again. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if it’s just for a little while. The place feels more like home with you in it.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve to avoid his gaze. “Thanks, Hank. That means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” he said simply, his sincerity cutting through any attempt to downplay his words.

The two of you fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was heavier with unspoken things. Things you didn’t have to say, because after all these years, Hank just knew.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Great work today,” you said gently, crouching to pat one of the kids on the head. The little girl beamed up at you, her hair still pinned into a slightly crooked bun from class.

“Thanks!” she chirped before bounding off toward the theatre entrance, where a gaggle of other students waited.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright and early!” you called after them, your voice carrying across the empty rows of seats. A few of them waved over their shoulders, laughter spilling into the hall as they disappeared through the double doors.

The stage was quiet now, the faint scent of resin and sweat lingering in the air. You stood there staring out at the rows of chairs that stretched into a shadow. The polished floor beneath your feet caught the faint gleam of overhead lights, reflecting a ghostly version of yourself back at you.

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, the stillness pressing around you like a heavy blanket. This place stirred something deep in you, something you hadn’t felt in years. You glanced down at your feet, your sneakers looking almost out of place against the elegant backdrop of the stage. Your eyes drifted, drawn to a battered old prop chest tucked just off to the side, partially hidden by the heavy velvet curtain.

Curiosity pulled you forward, and you crouched to flip open the lid. A cloud of dust puffed out, tickling your nose as you rummaged through its contents. Costumes, ribbons, bits of tulle—faded relics from long-forgotten performances. And then, nestled at the very bottom, you found them.

A pair of pointe shoes.

Your breath hitched as you lifted them from the chest, the ribbons cascading down like silk waterfalls. They weren’t yours—at least, not exactly—but they might as well have been. The scuffed toes, the frayed edges of the satin, the way the soles were worn down just so—it was all so familiar it made your chest ache.

Without really thinking, you sat down on the edge of the stage, untying your sneakers and slipping off your socks. The cool satin of the pointe shoes slid over your feet like a second skin, and your fingers moved on autopilot as you laced the ribbons up your ankles. The motions were muscle memory, older than most of the students you’d taught today.

You rose slowly, the faint stretch and pull of the shoes grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. A glance backstage revealed a small sound system someone had left behind, a phone still plugged into it. You scrolled until you found it—Swan Lake.

The haunting strings began to play, swelling and softening as if they were breathing. You stepped back onto the stage, your toes brushing the center mark, and let the music guide you.

At first, you moved tentatively, testing the feel of the shoes and the way your body responded. But soon, the hesitance melted away, and the steps came to you as naturally as breathing. A pirouette turned into an arabesque, which melted into a series of gliding movements that carried you across the stage.

The world outside the theatre faded, and all that existed was the music, the stage, and the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Each movement felt like slipping into an old memory, one you didn’t even realize you’d missed.

You were mid-leap when you caught the faintest creak of floorboards behind you.

The sound shattered your focus, and you landed with a jarring thud, spinning around instinctively.

Logan stood at the edge of the stage, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the proscenium arch, watching you with an unreadable expression, though something about it wasn’t entirely unkind.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft strains of Swan Lake still played behind you, the violins aching as the tension in the air stretched.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Long enough,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to announce yourself?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked... focused.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face as you turned away and bent to tug the ribbons loose from your ankles. “Well, congratulations. You interrupted anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. “You’re... pretty good at that, by the way.”

You paused mid-motion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Pretty good? Gee, thanks for the glowing review.”

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alright, fine. You’re really good. Happy?”

You snorted, slipping the pointe shoes off and flexing your toes. “It’s been a while.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on you even as you busied yourself with tucking the ribbons back into the shoes. “You used to do that, huh? Dance, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, turning the shoes over in your hands. “A lifetime ago.”

The silence hung between while the faint hum of the violins still played in the background.

“You should do it more,” he said finally, his tone softer than you expected.

You looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. The rough edges of Logan’s demeanor didn’t usually leave much room for softness, and it caught you off guard. But before you could respond, he was already turning away, heading toward the wings, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor.

You just sat there, the pointe shoes resting lightly in your lap. You stared after him, unsure whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or call him back just to yell at him for sneaking in. But something about the way he moved—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—stopped you.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice carrying across the empty stage.

He paused, his broad shoulders tensing, though he didn’t turn right away. When he did, his expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from you.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around you. “At the school, I mean.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was deciding whether or not to answer. “A good while,” he said finally, his tone gruff.

It wasn’t much of an answer—not something you could work with—but you tried anyway. “Hank tells me you’re just… passing through.” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “But you’re still here.”

Logan let out a soft huff, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough. “He should mind his business,” he said, though there was no real heat in his words. He paused, stepping closer with a glint of curiosity in his sharp eyes. “You talking to Hank about me?”

You shrugged, the movement casual, but your heart was beating just a touch faster. “Me and Hank are good friends. We’ve—well, I’ve known the X-Men almost my whole life.” You hesitated, glancing down at the pointe shoes in your lap, your fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of the satin. “Been around a long time.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and searching. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You give off that vibe.”

You frowned, looking back up at him. “What vibe?”

“Like you’ve seen some things,” he said, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt older than even his rough exterior let on. “Been through it. Same as me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain. Not easily, anyway. Instead, you offered him a small, wry smile. “Yeah, well. Time has a way of kicking the crap out of you if you let it.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine than you expected. “Ain’t that the truth.” He shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the pointe shoes still cradled in your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said finally, nodding toward them. “Dancing, I mean. I could tell. Not just talent—it’s in your bones.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What, you an expert on ballet now?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah. But I know what it looks like when someone’s got somethin’ that keeps ‘em going. Something they can’t walk away from, even if they try.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted to admit as you stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something you forget. Even when you want to.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. Something was flickering behind his gaze, restless and uncertain like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even know he had.

“You seem… familiar,” he said suddenly, the words rough, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

Your breath caught, and you stiffened, your grip tightening on the pointe shoes. “Familiar?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I dunno. I get these dreams sometimes. Flashes of… people, places. Can’t make sense of ‘em half the time, but you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “You feel like one of ‘em. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as his words pulled at something buried deep in your chest. “Well,” you said lightly, “maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Logan snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.” But the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

You stood abruptly, the pointe shoes dangling from your fingers as you moved to set them down on the edge of the stage. “I should probably get going,” you said, your voice a touch too bright. “Long day tomorrow. Lots of kids to wrangle.”

Logan straightened, watching you carefully. “Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey. If you ever feel like you need to talk… about all that time kickin’ the crap outta you…” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I’m around.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded back, stepping away toward the wings. “Anytime.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, you found yourself standing there, staring at the space he’d left behind, wondering if he remembered more than he realized.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Leaving already?” Hank asked, his deep voice soft but tinged with disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe of your room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the half-packed duffel bag on the bed.

You turned to face him, zipping up the side pocket of the bag before offering him a faint smile. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “My job’s done. These kids learned pretty quickly. They don’t need me hanging around.”

Hank stepped into the room, his large frame taking up far too much space as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could stay…”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you looked down at your hands, gripping the strap of your bag. The idea tugged at you, and you couldn’t deny it. A part of you did want to stay. It had been a few months—far longer than you’d initially planned—and yet leaving felt harder than it usually did.

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “I know he would miss you,” he said gently, his voice softening. “In his own weird way.”

Your heart gave a traitorous thud, and you swallowed hard, glancing toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the walls, the light catching the faint dust motes in the air. You knew exactly who Hank meant.

“Hank,” you said, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, his tone a mixture of teasing and sincerity, “it’s not every day Logan actually lets someone get under his skin.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, though it was tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Under his skin? Pretty sure he’d describe me as an itch, not a friend.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “Perhaps. But even Logan doesn’t get that annoyed unless he likes someone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made both of you glance toward the door. A moment later, Logan appeared, his usual scowl in place as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, though his eyes flicked to your bag with something far harder to read.

“Not at all,” Hank said smoothly, stepping toward the door. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

You shot Hank a glare, but he only smiled innocently before brushing past Logan and disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

“So,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Packing up, huh?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Time to hit the road. The kids are in a good place, and my work here is done.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Work? Looked more like pirouettes and tutus to me.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t knock it, Logan. Ballet’s tougher than it looks. I’d like to see you last five minutes in a pair of pointe shoes.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. “I like my dignity right where it is.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel bag. “You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you over the head.”

“Careful, darlin’,” Logan shot back, his voice teasing but low. “I might actually start to think I’m gonna miss you.”

The playful tone of the conversation faltered for a split second, the weight of his words landing heavier than either of you expected. You looked at him, your smirk fading as your eyes searched his face.

“Well,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off, “don’t get too sentimental on me, Logan. I’ll think I’ve broken you.”

Logan didn’t laugh. His expression grew more serious, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not bein’ sentimental. I mean it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. “Logan—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping before meeting yours again. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Before you could respond, Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low huff. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you before.”

You froze, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece something together. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said slowly. “Flashes of… I dunno, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral even as his words sent a ripple through you. “Logan, that doesn’t mean anything,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Dreams are just… dreams.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Maybe. But it feels real. Like I’m rememberin’ something I’m not supposed to.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Logan…”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes locked on yours. “I don’t know what it means, but…” He exhaled, the sound rough and frustrated. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

You managed a faint smile, though your chest felt tight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Logan nodded once, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff again, though the softness in his eyes remained.

“You too, Logan,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“He isn’t here,” Hank’s familiar voice rumbled as you stepped through the heavy oak doors of Xavier’s mansion.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your chest before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “Who said I came back for him?” you quipped, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I missed you, you big fluff.”

Hank appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his blue fur catching the soft light streaming through the tall windows. He grinned as he descended, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet foyer. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. As he reached the bottom step, he opened his arms, and you moved forward, letting yourself sink into the familiar embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders. “My dear, I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You gave him a faint smile, setting your duffel bag down by your feet. “Well, you were right. This place has a way of sticking with you.”

Your gaze wandered, taking in the grand entryway—the polished wood floors, the scent of old books, and faint traces of Storm’s jasmine perfume lingering in the air. It felt the same as it always had, and yet different, as if the mansion itself had shifted in your absence. It had been three months since you’d left, determined to put some distance between yourself and the memories this place stirred up. But the farther you went, the more you felt the pull to come back.

Something about being here this time had gotten under your skin, burrowed into the part of you that you usually kept locked away.

Hank seemed to sense your hesitation. His perceptive blue eyes studied you carefully, the teasing edge to his voice softening. “What brought you back this time? Missing the kids already? Or…” He trailed off meaningfully, giving you a knowing look.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to avoid his gaze. “Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Start with what?” he asked innocently, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

You bent to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the staircase. “I just felt like it was time to come back, okay? No ulterior motives.”

Hank followed you, his footsteps were heavy but deliberate. “Hmm,” he murmured, and you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. “I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him toward the sitting room. You hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to let this drop, so you sighed and followed him in.

As you stepped into the room, the crackling of a low fire greeted you, the warmth immediately chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your journey back. Hank moved to pour himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table and offered you one with a tilt of his head. You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest instead.

When Hank finally spoke, his voice was careful but direct. “Logan left shortly after you did.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. “Oh?”

Hank’s sharp eyes flicked to you over the rim of his cup. “He went to Alkali Lake.”

Your breath caught for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to shrug casually. “Is that so? I guess he's still looking for answers.”

Hank hummed, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “Indeed. He seemed… restless. More so than usual. Charles sent him there.”

You shifted your weight, pretending to be absorbed in the crackling fire, but you could feel Hank watching you, his gaze pressing against the cracks in your carefully constructed mask. “Well, you know Logan. He’s not exactly one for sitting still,” you said lightly.

Hank didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. “You knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

You frowned, turning your gaze to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded you with that gentle yet unyielding intensity that only he could pull off. “You care about him,” he said simply. “And don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you looked away, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it,” Hank said gently.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “I think I’ll talk to Charles,” you said abruptly, moving toward the door.

“Of course,” Hank said, his voice soft and understanding. “But if you need to talk…”

You glanced back at him, offering a small, strained smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You found Charles in his study, the quiet hum of his voice reaching you before you even entered the room. He was finishing up a conversation with Storm, who nodded at you in greeting as she passed by on her way out.

“Ah,” Charles said, his warm smile appearing as he gestured for you to come in. “It’s good to see you back.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind you. “Why did you send him there?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “Logan?”

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hank said you sent him to Alkali Lake. Why?”

Charles sighed, folding his hands in his lap as his gaze turned contemplative. “Because he was searching for answers. And I thought he deserved a chance to find them.”

“At that place?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Charles’s gaze softened, his eyes piercing yet kind. “You know as well as I do that Logan’s past is complicated. He came to me, searching for guidance. I simply pointed him toward where I believed he might find what he was looking for.”

You turned away, pacing to the window as you tried to steady your thoughts. Memories of Alkali Lake clawed at the edges of your mind, and the idea of Logan going back there made your chest tighten.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you muttered.

Charles was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “He’s stronger than you think. And, perhaps, finding the truth is the only way for him to heal.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t remember.”

Charles tilted his head, studying you carefully. “And yet, it seems to me that you do.”

You turned to face him, your arms folded tightly across your chest like a shield, but you couldn’t keep the vulnerability from your eyes as they met his. He was right, of course—he was always right. You did remember. You remembered everything.

And that was the problem.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray you, “things happen for a reason. Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”

Charles’s expression softened, his piercing gaze never wavering. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he studied you. “Perhaps you feel that way,” he said gently, “but Logan doesn’t. He wants to remember—he longs to, even if he doesn’t realize how painful the truth could be.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against your arms. The lump rising in your throat made it difficult to speak. “You shouldn’t have sent him there,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “You could’ve just told him. You could’ve looked into his mind and shown him.”

Charles sighed, his expression tinged with a sadness that only came from decades of making impossible decisions. “I could have,” he admitted, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “But sometimes it’s best to let one discover the truth on their own. To take the journey themselves, rather than having it handed to them.”

You shook your head, pacing a few steps toward the window before stopping, your hands bracing against the ledge as you stared out at the sprawling gardens. The sky was painted with the fiery hues of sunset, the warm colors stark against the shadows creeping across the grounds.

“You don’t know what he’s walking into,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less strained. “Alkali Lake isn’t just some mystery to solve—it’s a wound that doesn’t close. Whatever he finds there… it’ll destroy him.”

Charles’s chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his voice still calm but tinged with something deeper, something more insistent. “Logan is stronger than you think. He has endured more than most men could even imagine. And while you may see Alkali Lake as a wound, for him, it may be the key to healing.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Healing? Is that what you call it? Ripping open the past just to bleed all over again?” You turned to face him, your voice rising slightly. “You think that’s going to help him?”

Charles remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting yours. “I think,” he said carefully, “that Logan deserves the chance to decide for himself. To understand who he was, and who he could become.”

You looked away, your jaw clenching as the weight of his words settled over you. “He doesn’t need to remember everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Charles. “Some things… some things are better left buried.”

Charles regarded you silently for a long moment, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute. “You could help him.”

The words made your heart jolt, and your eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

“You could help him,” Charles repeated, his gaze unyielding. “You know him. You understand his pain in ways others cannot. Perhaps you are exactly what he needs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the door. “No,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked slightly. “That’s not my place. He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said, tilting his head slightly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the connection. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

You froze in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as you glanced back at him. “This isn’t about me caring,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the lie in your voice. “This is about you sending him to a place that’s going to tear him apart, and expecting someone else to pick up the pieces.”

Charles’s gaze softened, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not expecting anything, my dear. I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. Just as he does.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed against the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. Without another word, you turned and walked out, the faint echo of your footsteps fading down the hall.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting by the window in your room, the pointe shoes you’d brought with you resting in your lap. The moonlight spilled across the polished floor, painting the room in silvery shadows.

You hadn’t danced since the day Logan had interrupted you in the theatre, but now, your legs ached with the restless energy that only movement could soothe. Setting the shoes aside, you rose to your feet and began to move, the quiet hum of your memories guiding your steps.

But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, his words echoed in your mind.

“I’ve had these dreams. Flashes of… I don’t know, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

You faltered mid-spin, your movements slowing until you stood completely still, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. The memories he didn’t fully understand were ones you couldn’t forget. The snow, the forest, the way his eyes—wilder, more broken than—had locked onto yours as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, resting your head in your hands. You had told yourself that coming back to the mansion was about the kids, about the familiar comforts of a place you’d once called home. But deep down, you knew it was about him.

And now he was gone.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken, but one thing was certain—if Logan ever truly remembered everything, you weren’t sure either of you would survive it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You descended the staircase beside Hank, nodding absentmindedly as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest research—something about neural pathways and genetic mutations. It was fascinating, you were sure, but your thoughts had drifted. A week had passed since you returned to the mansion, and yet it still felt strange to slip so easily back into the rhythm of this place, like stepping into an old pair of shoes you’d forgotten you owned.

“Logan! You’re back!”

Rogue’s excited voice cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your hand tightening on the polished wood of the banister. Your eyes darted to the entrance below, where Logan stood just inside the door, a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as gruff as ever, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly mussed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Rogue darted across the hall to embrace him.

You lingered on the stairs, watching the exchange with a small smile. Rogue stepped back, saying something too low for you to hear, and Logan responded with a grunt that made her laugh. The sight of it tugged at something in your chest—something you weren’t ready to name.

“Wonder why he’s back,” Hank said beside you, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You didn’t miss the knowing look he gave you, and you sighed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice teasing but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Still, your heart raced, betraying the calm exterior you were trying so hard to maintain. The thought crossed your mind—fleeting and impossible—that maybe Logan had come back because you were here. But no. That wasn’t how things worked. You had left before him, made it clear you didn’t intend to stay, and Logan… well, Logan wasn’t the sentimental type.

As you descended the last few steps, Hank still at your side, Logan’s gaze lifted. His smirk faded as his sharp eyes found yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Relief? It was gone before you could name it, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

“You… made it back,” you said, your voice softer than you intended as you offered him a faint smile.

Logan’s brow twitched, and he set his duffel bag down by his feet. “Looks like we both did,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that always sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, stepping off the last stair. “But, you know… this place has a way of dragging you back.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his lips twitching as though he might smile. “Does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward but heavy enough to feel like the air between you had changed somehow. Hank, ever the socially astute one, cleared his throat and patted you lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… catch up. I have some experiments to check on.”

You shot him a warning look, but he just grinned and disappeared down the hall dragging Rogue along with him. Leaving you alone with Logan.

“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms casually. “Alkali Lake. Find what you were looking for?”

Logan let out a low huff, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Nothin’ there but snow and bad memories.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened at his words. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let this get to you, wouldn’t let your emotions bubble to the surface. But it was hard. You knew what Alkali Lake meant, not just to him but to you as well.

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a smirk. “Guess you can cross that one off the list.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you carefully. “Guess so.”

There was a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were working up to something. You shifted under his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders.

“What?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Had another dream,” he said suddenly, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken lingering beneath his words.

You froze, your smirk faltering. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You were in it again.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “You sure it wasn’t Rogue this time? Or Storm? Maybe I’m just a stand-in for all the women in your life.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. It was you.” He stepped a little closer, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. “This time you were… dancin’.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You broke eye contact, looking down at the scuffed floorboards. “Sounds like a weird dream,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softer now. “Weird thing is, it felt… familiar.”

You looked back up at him sharply, your stomach twisting. “Familiar how?”

Logan shrugged, the movement almost too casual, but his brow furrowed as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Don’t know. I just… felt like I’d seen it before. You, up on some stage or somethin’, spinnin’ around. There was music. Somethin’ old… Swan Lake, maybe?”

Your throat tightened. The memory flashed in your mind—the theatre, the faint strains of Swan Lake, the way you’d let yourself get lost in the dance only to find Logan watching you from the shadows.

“Well,” you said finally, forcing a smirk. “Maybe you’re just jealous of my skills.”

Logan snorted, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah, sure. That’s it.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, and you thought you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something uncertain, almost vulnerable. But then he stepped back, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good to see you back,” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough that you almost missed it. “Place is better with you here.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking down the hall, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

Logan might not remember everything, but the pieces were there buried just beneath the surface. And whether you liked it or not, it seemed those pieces included you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Charles suggested I… help him,” you said, your tone sharp as you leaned against Hank’s lab table. The polished steel was cold under your hands, grounding you as you tried to organize your thoughts. “Can you believe that? The old man won’t use his powers to look inside Logan’s mind, but he expects me to do it—in some weird, roundabout sense.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully, his attention divided as he adjusted the burner beneath a bubbling beaker. “Charles has his methods,” he said evenly. “Though I suspect he thinks you’d be a better help because you… knew Logan. From before.”

Your stomach tightened, and you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Hank, I’ve known almost everyone. I’ve been alive longer than any of you. It doesn’t mean I have all the answers.” You hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “And you can’t expect me to just… spill my guts to him. What if it triggers something in him? The feral side?”

That made Hank pause. He looked up from his work, concern creasing his blue-furred face. “I’ve heard about that side of him,” he said cautiously, “but I’ve never seen it in person.” His voice lowered. “Have you?”

The question made your chest tighten even more, your heart thudding against your ribs. You turned away, your eyes settling on a shelf of meticulously labeled vials, pretending to study them.

“We’ve seen it, haven’t we?” Hank pressed, his tone gentler now.

Finally, you nodded, the memory bubbling to the surface unbidden. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. “My dear,” he said carefully, “you’ve always made it seem as though you knew Logan in passing… like acquaintances from a battlefield. But…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Hank, it doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ve got time,” Hank replied simply, leaning against the counter and folding his massive arms across his chest.

You threw him a look, but the patience in his gaze—the quiet, unyielding kind that Hank was so good at—made you falter. You pushed off the table and started to pace, running a hand through your hair as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“I met Logan decades ago,” you began, your voice tight. “During a war. A different one from the ones the X-Men are used to. He wasn’t like he is now. He was wilder, more dangerous. Barely in control of himself. A weapon, not a man.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Weapon X?”

You shook your head. “No. This was before that. This was… something else. Something darker.”

You stopped pacing, your arms falling to your sides as the memory gripped you. “I was passing through this remote town in the Canadian Rockies. Just trying to stay out of the way, you know? That’s what I did back then. I didn’t get involved. Didn’t put down roots. And then…” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “Then I heard the screams.”

Hank’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“There were bodies,” you continued, your voice distant now. “Shredded. Blood everywhere. And in the middle of it was him. Logan. He wasn’t himself—not the man you know now. He was… feral. An animal. He couldn’t even speak. Just growled and snarled like a beast.”

Hank adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grim. “And you fought him?”

You let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I tried. I had to. He was killing anything that moved. I thought I could stop him, but… I underestimated him. He tore through me like paper.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “But your healing—”

“Exactly,” you cut in, nodding. “He saw me heal. Saw me get back up when I should’ve stayed down. I think it… confused him. Maybe even snapped him out of it a little. He stopped attacking me, but he didn’t calm down completely. He just… stared at me. Like he didn’t know whether to rip me apart or run.”

“And what did you do?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light spilled into the lab, casting long shadows across the floor. “I didn’t run,” you said softly. “I stayed. I talked to him. Calmed him down somehow. It was like he recognized something in me, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I stayed with him for weeks after that. Helped him regain some sense of himself. Taught him how to fight his instincts. We… we bonded.”

The last words came out quieter than you intended, and you felt Hank’s gaze sharpen.

“You didn’t just know him,” Hank said slowly, as though the pieces were finally coming together. “You cared about him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “I left when he got better. Disappeared. I thought it was for the best. And now he doesn’t even remember me. So, yeah, Charles wants me to help him, but I don’t know if I can. And even if I could… I don’t know if I should.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the bubbling of the beaker the only sound. Finally, Hank sighed, his voice softer now. “Perhaps you underestimate how much of you he might still remember, even if it’s not clear to him yet.”

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down like an old, familiar burden. “He doesn’t remember. At least, not the whole picture. And honestly? It’s better that way.” Your voice softened, but a bitter edge crept into it. “He shouldn’t have to remember all the pain he caused. All the blood.”

Hank froze for a moment, his hands stilling over the set of vials he was arranging. The soft hum of the equipment filled the silence as he carefully chose his words. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” You cut him off, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You turned toward him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Hank, if you had lived as long as we have… seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve done… You’d want to forget too. You’d want it wiped clean, all of it. Trust me.”

Hank straightened, his broad shoulders rising slightly as he considered your words. “You’re speaking for Logan,” he said slowly, his voice calm but firm. “You’re deciding for him.”

Your eyes flicked away, focusing on the far corner of the lab. It was easier than meeting his gaze.

“It’s not like Logan was given a choice back then,” Hank continued, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “And now he has one. A chance to choose for himself who he wants to be—what he wants to know. You’re taking that away from him by deciding for him.”

The words hit harder than you wanted to admit, threading a knot of tension through your chest. You opened your mouth to argue, to say something to push back against Hank’s steady reasoning, but no words came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “I’m not taking anything away from him,” you said finally, your voice tight. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Hank asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. “From what? From himself?”

“From the truth!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and you took a step back, shaking your head as if to banish the emotions bubbling to the surface.

Hank studied you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t believe he deserves the truth, do you?”

Your laugh came out bitter, almost hollow. “Deserve? What does that even mean? Deserve doesn’t matter when it comes to this. What Logan’s been through, what he’s done—he deserves peace. And that’s not something he’s going to find at the bottom of a memory.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression a mix of empathy and challenge. “You think peace is ignorance?”

“I think…” you said slowly, your voice faltering. “I think there are some things you can’t come back from. Some things you shouldn’t have to come back from.”

“And yet he keeps fighting,” Hank said, his voice quieter now. “Every day, Logan fights to be better. To be more than what he’s been through, more than what was done to him. But you… you’re standing in his way.”

His words struck like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not standing in his way,” you said finally, but the words felt hollow.

“Are you sure about that?” Hank asked, his tone gentle but unwavering.

You turned away, gripping the edge of the lab table so tightly your knuckles turned white. “He doesn’t need to remember me,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what happened back then. He doesn’t need to carry that weight.”

Hank hesitated before stepping closer, his voice soft but unrelenting. “Maybe. But are you sure this is about what he needs? Or is it about what you don’t want to face?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Later that night, you found yourself sitting alone on the stage, the empty theatre shrouded in silence. Your legs stretched out in front of you, the ribbons of your pointe shoes loose around your ankles. Though the music had long since stopped, the soft strings of a violin still lingered in your mind, weaving through the restless thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Dancing used to help, used to be your escape when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. It felt like it only made things worse. The memories, the what-ifs, the fears you’d buried so deeply—all of it rose to the surface when you moved. Hank had been right, and you hated it.

It wasn’t just about Logan. It was about you. About the things you didn’t want to revisit, the things you’d worked so hard to leave behind. The terrifying truth was, if Logan ever pieced it all together—if he ever remembered everything—you weren’t sure either of you could handle it.

The quiet creak of the double doors opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, your hands resting on your ankles as Logan stepped into the theatre, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked more relaxed than he had when you first saw him after returning from Alkali Lake, like some of the tension he always carried had finally eased. Maybe his trip had given him some kind of closure. Maybe it had only left him with more questions.

You didn’t know which possibility scared you more.

You dropped your gaze to your pointe shoes, fingers fumbling with the ribbons as if untying them could somehow distract you from the way Logan’s gaze lingered on you.

He snorted, the sound soft but amused as he moved farther into the room. “Didn’t feel like dancin’ tonight?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying a faint teasing edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “What do you want, Logan?”

He shrugged, stepping farther down the aisle until he was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. His expression shifted, the smirk fading as his sharp eyes narrowed. “Figured I’d check in. You’ve been avoidin’ me since I got back.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, tugging your pointe shoes off and setting them beside you. The excuse sounded thin even to your ears.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice flat as he folded his arms over his chest. “Sure you have.”

You sighed, pulling your legs up onto the stage and crossing them in front of you as if the position could shield you from the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want, Logan?”

His gaze dropped to the floor before lifting again to meet yours. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. “You’re keepin’ stuff from me.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Logan said, his voice low and firm. He stepped up onto the stage, closing the distance between you. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You looked away, focusing on the empty rows of seats stretching out into the shadows of the theatre. “Logan, I—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Every time I get close to somethin’, you shut me out. Every time I try to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on in my head, you’re there, lookin’ at me like you already know the answers.” He paused, his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. “You do, don’t you?”

Your hands tightened in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not that simple,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan snorted, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nothin’s ever simple with you, is it?”

“Logan, please,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “Let it go.”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing right in front of you. “No. Not this time.” His voice was quiet but resolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I went to Alkali Lake and found nothin’ but ghosts. I keep havin’ these dreams, these flashes, and half the time, you’re in ‘em. You tell me to let it go? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I know there’s more? When I know you’re holdin’ somethin’ back?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. “You don’t want to remember,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Not all of it. Trust me, Logan. You don’t.”

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice rising as the emotions you’d been suppressing finally broke free. “Do you have any idea what’s buried in your head? What remembering could do to you?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “What’s buried in yours?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and all you could do was stare at him. Finally, you looked away, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not about me,” you said weakly.

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “This is about you just as much as it’s about me. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what I’ll remember. Of what it’ll mean for you.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer, almost pleading. “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t know.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Logan’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’ll break you,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I can’t be the one to do that to you, Logan. I won’t.”

The two of you just stared at each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Logan stood, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not gonna stop until I figure it out. Until I figure us out.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the determination in his eyes. “Logan—”

He shook his head, cutting you off, his tone low but firm. “No more runnin’, darlin’. Not from me. Not from this.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill. “You—you can’t just expect me to tell you everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Why not?” Logan said, his gaze piercing as he stepped closer. “Is it a long story? I’ve got the time—we both do.” His voice softened slightly at the end, but the determination in his tone didn’t waver.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“All I hear are excuses,” Logan snapped, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Excuses from Chuck about my mind bein’ too fragile. Excuses about how I’ve gotta ‘find the answers myself.’” He gestured toward you, his movements sharp. “And now excuses from you about dreams bein’ just dreams. Do you think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t deserve to know what the hell’s been bouncin’ around in my head all this time?”

“It’s not about what you deserve, Logan!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you stood suddenly, your body tense with emotion. “It’s about what you can survive. You don’t know the weight of it—the guilt, the anger, the regret. You think finding all the pieces is going to fix you, but it’s not. It’s just going to break you more.”

Logan stared at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. But something in his eyes—something raw and pleading—made you falter. His voice softened, the edge fading. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But it’s not your call to make. It’s mine.”

The truth of his words cut through your defenses like claws, and you sank back onto the stage, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady your breathing. The silence between you stretched, heavy and charged.

Finally, you broke it, your voice quiet but resolute. “Fine.”

Logan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tried to gauge your meaning.

“I’ll tell you,” you said, swallowing hard as you looked up at him. “But I can’t promise it’s going to be pretty. And I can’t promise it’s not going to hurt.”

Logan’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he moved toward you. He sat down beside you on the stage, the movement slow and deliberate. His elbow brushed against yours, and the quiet warmth of his presence steadied the storm inside you, if only for a moment.

“I ain’t lookin’ for pretty,” he said quietly, his tone gentle now. “And I’m not afraid of hurtin’. Just… tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment, your hands twisting in your lap as memories you’d buried for years rose to the surface, raw and unrelenting. Finally, you took a deep breath, your voice shaking as you began. “We crossed paths again a long time ago.”

Logan frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. “Again?”

You nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It was…after everything happened when I first found you.” You hesitated, your voice dropping. “I thought I’d never see you again. Honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because… because you deserved a fresh start. You needed one.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his silence was expectant, urging you to continue.

“I was in New York,” you said softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Dancing. There was this small theatre, nothing fancy, but it was mine. I was performing that night—Swan Lake, actually. I remember being backstage, nerves eating at me like they always did before a show. And then the curtain rose, and I…” You paused, shaking your head at the memory. “I saw you. In the audience.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nodded, your smile fading. “You were sitting in the second row, staring at me like you’d seen a ghost. I almost stumbled through my first few steps because I couldn’t believe it was you. You looked… different. Cleaner. Put together. But the way you watched me—it was like you remembered something. Something buried.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor as if searching for the memory.

“When the performance ended,” you continued, “I went backstage, thinking you’d leave. That maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I came out, you were still there. Waiting. I didn’t know what to say, but then you said it first.”

Logan glanced at you, his voice quiet. “What’d I say?”

You hesitated, the memory sharp in your mind. “You said, ‘It’s you. You’re the one who helped me.’”

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “I remembered you?”

“Some of it,” you said softly. “Not everything, but enough. Enough to know we’d met before. Enough to know I’d helped you when you weren’t… yourself.” You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling in your lap. “We went out afterward. Got drinks at some dingy little bar down the street. You asked me why I helped you back then, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I told you the truth.”

Logan looked at you, his voice rough. “What truth?”

You met his gaze, your eyes glassy. “That I didn’t want to. That I’d seen what you were capable of, and it terrified me. But there was something about you, Logan. Something human buried under all that rage. And I thought… I thought if I could just reach you, maybe you wouldn’t be lost forever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession settling between you like a fragile thread. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave yours, his expression unreadable but his eyes impossibly soft.

“You were right,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What?”

“You reached me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know one thing: you didn’t let me go. You could’ve, but you didn’t. And that…” He shook his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “That’s somethin’ I won’t forget, even if the details are gone.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, wiping at them quickly. “I don’t know if I helped you, Logan. Not really.”

“You did,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You still do.”

The words hung in the air but they carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. Logan reached over, his rough hand covering yours briefly before pulling back. The touch was fleeting but enough to let you know he meant it.

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starksweasley · 14 days ago

Text

Under the Night Sky // James Potter

Summary: In which James is the perfect match for your stubbornness (fluff)

Word Count: 5278

The tension between James Potter and you had been palpable all day. It was a silly fight, really, born of stress from the looming uncertainty of war, but it left both of you raw and on edge. After a particularly biting exchange in the Gryffindor common room, James stormed out, and you followed suit, each too stubborn to be the first to reconcile.

The Great Lake called to you, a place where you could release your frustration. Its calm waters reflected the starlit sky, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions within you. You sank to the grass near the shore, your knees pulled to your chest as you tried to steady your breath, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the cool blades of grass.

A crunch of footsteps on the gravel path behind you made you glance over your shoulder. James was there, his silhouette lit softly by the moonlight. He hesitated, his hands shoved into his pockets, taking in your figure with a soft sigh before walking closer. His usual confident stride was slower, as if he feared pushing you further away.

"Hey," he said softly, careful not to startle you. His voice held none of the heat from earlier, only a tentative gentleness. He lowered himself to sit beside you. You didn’t turn to look at him but kept your gaze on the water. The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, he broke it.

"I’m sorry. About earlier," he murmured, nudging your shoulder lightly. His gaze stayed on the rippling water, waiting for your reaction. The slight tension in his jaw betrayed his nervousness, though he tried to hide it.

You glanced at him briefly, your expression unreadable, before looking away again. The cool breeze brushed past, carrying the faint scent of the lake water.

"What? You’re still mad at me?" he teased, though his tone lacked its usual bravado. He shifted slightly, leaning a little closer.

"Obviously," you replied, your tone clipped. You could feel his gaze on you, searching for any sign of forgiveness.

He leaned closer still, his warmth brushing against your arm. "How long are you going to hold this grudge?"

You stayed silent, and he sighed dramatically, running a hand through his unruly dark curls before poking your side. A small smile played on his lips as he tried to coax one from you.

"You’re being stubborn," he groaned, tilting his head to look at you with exaggerated exasperation. "You know, this is terribly unfair."

You bit your lip and looked back at the lake, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. His gaze softened as he caught the movement, his smirk growing wider, a hint of giddiness returning to his expression.

"Stop that," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "It’s distracting."

"Good," you shot back, still refusing to look at him.

James let out a low chuckle. "You’re trying to be bratty, aren’t you?" He poked your side again, his grin widening when you rolled your eyes.

With a huff, you pushed yourself to your feet and made your way to the water’s edge, ignoring the way his eyes followed you. The cool grass gave way to damp stones, and you waded in barefoot, letting the icy water sting your skin. The chill was sharp but oddly grounding, helping you shed the lingering tension from earlier.

James’s smile softened as he watched you, his chin resting on his hands. The sight of you in the moonlit water made something stir in his chest, something he’d been too afraid to admit aloud.

"Do you always get this grumpy when we fight?" he called out, his teasing tone returning.

You ignored him, dunking yourself fully into the lake with an unceremonious splash. When you resurfaced, laughter bubbled from your lips, carried by the cool night air. The water clung to your clothes, darkening the fabric and making it stick to your frame, while droplets glistened like tiny diamonds against your skin.

James’s grin faltered as his breath hitched. His gaze lingered for a moment too long on the way the droplets rolled down your skin, catching the moonlight. Realizing where his thoughts had gone, he shook his head and looked away, his cheeks heating despite the cool breeze. He tugged at the collar of his jumper, as if the air had suddenly grown warmer.

You spread your arms wide and tilted your head back, looking at the sky as laughter continued to spill from you. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away with every ripple of water around you. James couldn’t help but smile at the sight, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

"You’re beautiful," he thought but didn’t dare say aloud. The words lingered on the tip of his tongue, heavy with meaning.

When you turned to look at him, his eyes were already on you. Caught staring, he quickly averted his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck. His nervous fidgeting only added to his charm, and you found it harder to stay annoyed with him.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile curling at the edges of your lips as you splashed deeper into the water, your mood visibly brighter now. James watched you with a tenderness he hoped you wouldn’t notice, his heart hammering as he tried to work up the courage to say what he’d been holding back for so long. There was something so magnetic about you. James felt almost ensnared in you, like he was willingly wrapped in a web of your making. His eyes trailed after you, filled with a mix of awe and frustration.

"What?" he asked lightly, raising an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

"Don’t look at me like that if you’re not going to come join me, Potter," you shot back, your tone light but challenging, your arms spread as the water rippled around you.

James paused, his eyes trailing over your figure in the moonlit lake. He swallowed hard as fleeting thoughts he probably shouldn’t entertain crossed his mind. Clearing his throat, he responded, "Yeah? And why’s that?"

You spun back around, giving him a pointed look. "I’m not giving out any free shows."

A low chuckle escaped him as he took in your playful defiance. The view of your back, with the thin fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin, left little to the imagination, and James had to shake himself out of his thoughts. Standing up, he rolled the cuffs of his trousers to his knees and began walking toward the water.

"Free show, huh? Is that what you think I’m after?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement as the cool water lapped at his feet.

You hummed softly in response, splashing water over your face and letting it drip down, the sound light and carefree. James moved closer, his heart hammering as if your laugh alone had a direct line to it.

Without warning, his hands found your hips, his presence behind you both startling and relieving. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "What if I’m not after a free show?" he murmured, his voice low and intimate as he gently tugged you back, your body pressing against his.

You jumped, the sudden proximity catching you off guard, but his hands held you steady. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he felt you stiffen slightly in his arms.

"Relax," he said softly, one arm wrapping securely around your waist. "Not gonna bite you."

You weren’t so assured, your body still tense against his. James chuckled lightly, his breath brushing your ear. "You’re making me feel like a monster," he teased.

In a flash of mischief, you turned your face and bit playfully into his bicep. A surprised sound escaped him, and he drew back slightly, his laughter breaking the quiet night. "Didn’t realize I was dealing with such a savage!" he exclaimed, his hands squeezing your waist lightly. "Careful, wouldn’t want to bite off more than you can chew."

"You started it. I’m still mad at you," you retorted, though your smile betrayed your words.

"Oh, please." He scoffed, but his hands remained on your hips, tracing light circles over the damp fabric of your shirt. His touch was both comforting and electrifying, and he leaned closer. "You’re the one who was dancing in the water, knowing full well what effect it would have on me," he murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

"I just wanted to be in the lake," you replied, your voice quieter now. "You’ve yet to say sorry."

James sighed softly, his hands trailing upwards, the pads of his fingers grazing your stomach. "Why should I apologize?" he mumbled, placing a gentle nip on your neck, leaving a faint mark that warmed your skin.

"You called me shrill and volatile. That was mean."

"And I apologized for that," he muttered against your neck, his lips finding a sweet spot as he left another light mark. "But you can’t deny you were acting a bit volatile," he drawled, his lips curling into a smirk against your skin. "And you are a bit shrill."

"I am not! And you didn’t apologize!" With a burst of indignation, you shoved him off of you, the water splashing as you broke free.

"Oi!" James stumbled back, his arms flailing before he landed gracelessly on his backside in the shallows, the water soaking his trousers and shirt. His hair flopped wetly into his eyes as he looked up at you, mock indignation painted across his face.

Your laughter rang out, pure and uninhibited, as you watched him struggle. The magic around you seemed to hum with your amusement, the water swirling playfully at your feet. "You so deserved that," you said between giggles, the moonlight catching the sparkle in your eyes.

James grinned despite himself, his heart pounding at the sight of your joy. The lake water danced around you as if it were alive, responding to your touch. Shaking his head, he pushed himself to his feet, brushing the sand off his damp clothes.

"No? Then what would you call it?" he countered, his tone light as he stumbled toward you, water squelching in his shoes. "Because both those words seem to describe you pretty well right now."

Your frown deepened, and he couldn’t help but laugh at your expression. "That frown just helps prove my case," he added cheekily, reaching out to touch your arm.

You pushed his hand away, your stubbornness flaring up again. "What, you’re still going to be petty about this?" he whined. "C’mon. I’ve already said sorry for calling you shrill."

Huffing, you crossed your arms and stepped around him, your feet splashing as you made your way back toward the shore. James stood there, watching you stomp away, his lips quirking into an amused smile. He couldn’t help but be amused by your pouty behavior, even as his chest clenched with affection.

Giving a sigh, James starts to follow after you, wading through the shallows and onto the sand. His steps are slow, his gaze flicking between the ground and your retreating figure.

Suddenly, you yelp, stumbling as you step on something sharp hidden beneath the sand.

James’s head snaps up, and in an instant, he’s at your side, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

"You okay?" he asks, his hazel eyes scanning you quickly, his grip firm yet gentle.

"Damn glass!" you exclaim, your face scrunched up. "I’m bleeding from a gash on my foot."

James swears under his breath as his eyes drop to your foot. The sight of blood makes his jaw tighten. "Oh crap," he mutters, scooping you into his arms without hesitation.

"Ouch! James!" you squeal, squirming in his hold, but he ignores your protests.

"Hush, darling," he mumbles, adjusting you carefully in his arms. "Hold still, or I’ll drop you."

You continue to squirm, but his grip doesn’t falter as he carries you toward a dry patch of sand. He sets you down gently, crouching beside you as his gaze returns to your injured foot.

"Damn," he murmurs, his brows furrowing as he examines the cut. "It’s pretty deep."

You wince as his fingers gently prod at the wound, and he quickly pulls his hand back. "Just stay still," he says, his tone soft but firm. "Let me grab something."

His eyes scan the area, and he spots a towel someone had left behind. Reaching out, he grabs it and folds it up before returning to you. Your face is scrunched up in pain, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The sight makes his chest ache.

"It’s okay," he whispers as he gently lifts your leg onto his lap. His movements are slow and deliberate, trying not to cause you more discomfort. You watch as he starts wrapping the towel around your foot, his fingers deft. "You don’t have to do all that," you mumble, your voice wavering. "I know you hate me right now."

James freezes for a moment, his soft eyes flicking up to meet yours. "I don’t hate you," he says, his voice steady but surprisingly tender.

He finishes tying the towel securely around your foot and lowers your leg gently back down. "You’re just annoying," he adds with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

You sigh, tears slipping down your cheeks—whether from the pain or his words, even you’re not sure. James notices immediately, his smirk fading as guilt flashes across his face.

"Hey," he says softly, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes away a stray tear, the gesture tender and unexpected. "I don’t hate you. I could never hate you."

"You’re sure?" you ask, your voice small as you search his face for any hint of insincerity.

"Of course I’m sure," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want you to think that. I could never hate you."

He’s suddenly very aware of how close your faces are, his hand still cradling your cheek. The warmth of your skin against his palm sends a jolt through him, but he doesn’t pull away.

"I know I’ve been annoying," you finally admit, your voice trembling. "I’m sorry. I’ve just been so stressed. I swear I’ll tone it down."

James chuckles softly, his thumb lightly brushing your cheek. "You’re alright. It’s okay," he reassures you. "You’re not annoying. You’re just… you."

His words hang in the air, his hand still resting on your cheek as though he’s reluctant to let go.

"Just me?" you ask, tilting your head slightly. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He smiles, his thumb gently poking your cheek. "It’s a good thing. No one else is quite as difficult to deal with as you," he teases, grinning as you pout in response.

"Sorry," you mumble. "I’m sorry. I know I’m a pain."

"No," James says, his voice softer now as his hand moves to tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. "You’re not a pain. You’re like a ball of fire and sunshine."

A grin breaks across your face, and he can’t help but smile back. There’s a strange, almost overwhelming happiness that wells up in his chest every time he sees you smile. His hand remains gently cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles across your skin. The touch is both electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You know, you look cute when you’re not scowling at me,"

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

James’s smirk only grows as he leans in slightly. "Yeah. But definitely not as cute as you are when you’re getting mad at me."

The grin on his face widens as he pictures you pouting, your face flushed red with annoyance. His expression is so smug, it’s almost unbearable.

"Don’t make me mad again," you warn, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Why not?" he asks, his chuckle low. His hand stays on your cheek, and he leans in just a fraction more. "But it’s so much fun seeing you all riled up…"

Your glare sharpens, and without warning, you pinch his thigh.

James lets out an uncharacteristically high-pitched squeak, his grip on your cheek tightening slightly as he jolts from the unexpected pain. "Ow!" he exclaims, his free hand instinctively shielding his leg. "What was that for?!"

You flash him a sly grin. "I like seeing you riled up too."

James’s eyes widen, his face a mixture of shock and amusement. "Riled up?!" he repeats incredulously, his voice pitching higher. "I wasn’t riled—ow!" Another yelp escapes him as you pinch his other thigh, the smugness evaporating from his expression.

You laugh loudly and your eyes quickly dart to his lips.

James notices immediately. His heart stutters, a warmth spreading through him that has nothing to do with the cool night air. Your gaze flicks back up to meet his, and his throat feels dry as he swallows. His chest brushes against yours, the proximity making every nerve in his body burn. His hand stays on your cheek, unmoving.

"So, are you gonna make a move, or are you gonna make me do it?" you rasp, your voice low.

James’s eyes crinkle as he grins and cocks his head.

"Don’t make me ask again," you add impatiently.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His eyes lock with yours again for a fleeting moment before he closes the gap, his movements almost desperate. His lips press against yours with a hunger that surprises even him.

You smile into the kiss, your hands fisting the fabric of his wet shirt as you yank him closer. The sound he makes—a mix of a hum and a gasp—sends a thrill through you.

His free hand finds its way to your waist, his fingers curling against your skin roughly as he pulls you against him. The water from your damp hair drips onto his face, but he doesn’t seem to care, too consumed by the feel of you. You pull at him, wanting to feel impossibly closer, your lips moving against his with fervor. He tastes like spring rain and lemon, and you can’t get enough. James responds in kind, his kiss deepening as his tongue slides over your lips, seeking more of you.

When your lips part slightly, inviting him in, a low sound rumbles in his throat. His tongue slips into your mouth, exploring, tasting, savoring every second. His hand moves from your cheek to the side of your neck, holding you tightly as his kisses grow more hungry. Your nails dig sharply into his back.

Finally, you pull away, both of you panting for breath. Your foreheads rest together, and James’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his mind swimming from the intensity of the kiss. He looks at you, dazed, unable to focus on anything but the way your body had fit so perfectly against his.

James’s breath is still uneven as he stares at you, his lips slightly parted, the intensity of the moment lingering between you. Your words break through the haze, pulling his focus back.

"I’m still mad at you," you say, your tone half-teasing, half-serious.

"Mad?" he echoes, his voice more of a pant than anything else. "You’re mad… after I just kissed you like that?"

You smile slyly. "Hey, I kissed you like that."

A small grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Oh yeah?"

"You still owe me an apology," you counter, raising an eyebrow.

He rolls his eyes, but his hand stays at your neck, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your damp skin.

"Fine, fine," he mutters. "I’m sorry I called you shrill and volatile… happy?"

"I’m not kissing you again unless you say it like you mean it," you warn, crossing your arms.

James sighs dramatically, feigning frustration, but the smile on his face remains. His hand tightens slightly on your neck as he looks into your eyes. "I’m sorry I called you shrill and volatile," he repeats, his tone quieter, tinged with sincerity. "For the record, I did mean it when I said you were cute, though."

You smile at last. "Okay, I forgive you."

"Oh, thank Merlin," he laughs, relief flooding his features. His grin widens as he leans back slightly.

You lift your arms with a pout. "Can you carry me back? My foot hurts."

James’s laughter bubbles out as he sees your exaggerated expression. "Seriously?" he jokes. "You don’t want to walk?"

"The cut on my foot hurts," you whine, your pout deepening.

He sighs heavily, though the smile never leaves his face. "God, you’re lazy," he mutters under his breath before stepping forward, his arms circling your waist as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs straddling his hips.

"I’m not! I’m injured," you protest, frowning at him.

"Oh yeah, right. Your little cut," he teases as he adjusts you into a more comfortable position in his arms.

"Fine, put me down if you’re gonna have a tone," you snap, though your voice lacks any real heat.

"Now you’re just being difficult," he says, continuing to walk, his strides steady despite your added weight.

"Put me down, jackass!" you screech, thumping lightly on his back.

"Oh, that’s just rude, you banshee" he cries out, feigning offense. "Here I am, carrying you back even though you’re perfectly capable of hobbling yourself, and you call me a jackass."

Despite his words, James makes no move to set you down, his grip on you firm and secure as he carries you toward the castle. His eyes flicker over your figure, admiring the way your eyes glint even though the sky is dark. He thinks your face is utterly mesmerizing, even when your chin is turned up in that bull-headed way you like to do it.

"You’re so mean," you accuse, pouting as you glance at him from the corner of your eye.

"Me? Mean?" he echoes, his voice mock-indignant, though his lips betray him by twitching upwards.

You give him a single nod and James snickers, unable to hold back his laughter as he watches your overstated expressions.

"I’m not mean," he teases. "You’re just a little crybaby."

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you are! That pout hasn’t left your face for the last hour.”

"Well, that’s it. I’m not kissing you anymore," you declare, your tone defiant.

"Oh really? I don’t think you can resist me that easily," James says, pulling you closer against his body.

"Watch me," you shoot back.

"Oh, I’m watching, alright," he teases, his gaze flicking over your face. "You’re lucky you’re so cute when you’re mad."

You kick his arm but immediately stiffen as the movement triggers a sting in your foot. James’s laughter falters as clocks the change in your demeanor.

"You okay?" he asks, his tone more serious.

"I’m fine," you mutter, though the pain in your voice is clear.

James doesn’t look convinced. "You sure?"

You shake your head, wincing as a sharp sting burns your foot.

His eyes narrow, and he gently sets you down on a nearby tree stump. The bark bites into your wet skin but you don't give it any notice. Instead, your attention is on the boy on his knees in front of you. He holds out a hand. "Show me your leg,"

Reluctantly, you lift your foot slightly, placing it in James' awaiting hand. He notices the tremble in your movements and the way blood has seeped through the thin towel wrapping the cut.

"Looks like it hurts," he mutters, guilt flashing across his features and furrowing his brows.

Your lip wobbles as another jolt of pain seems to light your nerves on fire, and James immediately notices. The sight of your watery eyes makes his chest ache, a pang of regret settling deep. He reaches forward, gently pulling up your pant leg to inspect the injury more closely. His touch is light, but you still grunt, your leg jerking slightly.

James’s eyes scan over the red, swollen skin near your ankle, his frown deepening. "How bad does it hurt?"

"A little," you reply, though the tremor in your voice betrays you.

He huffs softly, his expression a mix of exasperation and concern. "Your foot’s clearly swollen. It doesn’t look ‘a little’ painful."

He gently presses his fingers against the inflamed skin, testing its sensitivity. You flinch away immediately, and his face tightens as he pulls his hand back.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "Does it just hurt to touch, or does it hurt to walk?"

"I’m fine," you reply quickly, though your face betrays you.

He sighs heavily, "For the love of Merlin, just admit you’re hurt! There’s no need to be so bloody stubborn all the time. It’s clearly hurt, so just admit you’re in pain."

You sigh, relenting. "Okay, well… it does really hurt."

His jaw locks for a moment as he thinks. He reaches down, his hand cradling your injured foot gently. Leaning in, he presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to the top of your foot. The tenderness of the gesture makes your stomach flutter, your breath catching in surprise.

"Alright, I’m going to carry you back the rest of the way to the castle. Don’t even try to argue, or I’ll just tease you."

"No, it’s fine," you reply stubbornly, turning away to limp off.

James groans loudly in play frustration as you start hobbling forward. "Ugh, just stop for a second," he mutters under his breath. In one swift motion, he walks up behind you, scoops you into his arms, and starts carrying you toward the castle.

"Hey!" you giggle.

"I told you not to try to argue," he laughs. His arms tighten around you to hold you securely.

You sigh and finally rest your head against his chest, your body relaxing against him.

His smile softens as he feels you melt into his hold. "Finally giving up?" he teases.

"No."

"Uh huh. That’s why you’re leaning against my chest and resting your head on me," he says, his grin widening. "Face it, you like being carried."

"Oh, shove off," you retort, your voice muffled against his shirt.

James laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest. "You can be a real pain in the arse sometimes, you know that?"

"So can you," you shoot back.

"Oh, I know I can. I’m fully aware I’m obnoxious," he admits, his tone full of playful arrogance.

He walks a few more paces, then glances down at you with a thoughtful look. "Why are you always so stubborn anyway?"

"I am not," you reply defensively.

"Yeah, you are," he counters. "It’s like, anytime I try to help or do something for you, you just resist and go against me."

After a long moment of thought, you finally whisper, "I don’t want to need anyone.”

"Why not?" he asks, frowning as he looks down at you. "You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know."

"It just feels like I do.”

"But you don’t," he says firmly. "You have your friends, your family, and you have me. We’re all here to help you. You don’t have to do everything on your own."

"I have you?" you ask, looking up at him with wide eyes.

James sighs dramatically, his gaze softening. "Of course you have me, you daft idiot. We’re dating, aren’t we?"

"We… we are?" you stammer, blinking at him in surprise.

He freezes for a moment, staring at you with incredulity. "Are you messing with me? You’re seriously asking if we’re dating?"

"You never asked me out officially," you mumble, feeling your cheeks heat.

James stares at you for another moment, then lets out a loud scoff of disbelief. "Are you joking?" he asks, his voice a mix of shock and amusement. "After everything that’s happened between us, you thought I had to officially ask you out?!"

"Um… yes?" you reply meekly.

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping his lips as he resumes walking. "Unbelievable," he mutters under his breath, though the fond smile on his face gives him away.

James stares down at you, his arms still cradling you securely. "We’ve been sleeping in the same bed together every night. We’ve kissed, gone on dates, I’ve called you mine… and yet you thought I hadn’t actually asked you out?"

He throws his head back, laughing loudly, the sound echoing in the still night. When he looks back at you, there’s disbelief written all over his face. "I can’t believe how oblivious you are, love" he says, still chuckling. " I thought it was pretty goddamn obvious."

"Oh," you mutter, blushing furiously as realization dawns on you.

James grins widely, his amusement shifting into something softer as he sees your cheeks flush. "I can’t believe I actually have to say it… but just to make it fully clear," he continues, his tone growing more serious, his eyes full of affection. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend," you reply, a shy smile playing on your lips.

"You’re damn right you’re my girlfriend," he says arrogantly, his grin returning. "You’re mine, darling."

"And you’re mine," you reply, your voice steady. You lean forward and press a sweet kiss to his collarbone, and he grins, letting out a quiet, contented sigh. His arms pull you closer instinctively, his embrace full of warmth and possession.

As you rest your head back against his chest, James resumes walking, his steps steady as he carries you toward the castle. He looks down at you with a fond smile, his voice soft as he says, "You know I love you, right?"

"You do?" you ask, breathless.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head in disbelief. "It’s actually quite pathetic how much I love you."

His gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips as he swallows hard. Slowly, he leans down, closing the gap until your lips meet. The kiss devours you, his free hand moving to cup your jaw and hold you in place. He sighs against your lips, deepening the kiss with a fervor that makes your head spin.

Your breath catches. "I love you too," you mutter against his mouth. "So much it’s almost sickening."

His chest heaves as he processes your words, and then a grin spreads across his face—a grin so wide it’s almost blinding. "You really do?" he asks, incredulous and elated all at once.

"I really do," you confirm as you laugh.

He lets out a breathless sound, shaking his head in amazement. "Tell me again," he demands, his voice rough with emotion. "Say it again.”

"I love you," you say, smiling up at him.

He chuckles, his joy spilling out. "Again," he says, a mix of plea and command.

You kiss him once, then along his face, each kiss punctuated with a soft, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

James groans quietly, his grip on you bruising as he feels your lips against his skin. He’s completely drowning in your affection, his heart swelling with every word.

"Gods, I love you so much," he whispers between kisses.

"Say it again," you repeat his own words back to him.

"I love you," he says, his grin growing. "I love you.” A kiss on your nose. “I love you.” A kiss on your cheek. “I love you.” A kiss on your other cheek.

And as he carries you into the castle, your laughter mingling with his, you both know there’s no place either of you would rather be.

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