noise | john logan (2)
part one
Summary: Weeks after Dean's party, you encounter Logan by accident when you're asked to take pictures of the guys during a hockey interview.
Pairing: John Logan x fem!readerÂ
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings/tags: mentions of childhood bullying, parental issues, reader has food sensory issues and trouble understanding social cues. leaning hard into her being ND just fyi <3 dean and garrett being kinda annoying but they mean well. hannah being a cutie. photographer!reader. this is kind of a slow burn so nothing really happens tbh except logan being a nice young man :)
Notes: this is a series now? maybe?? i have no idea what's happening but thank u for all the support on the first fic! i guess if u guys are still interested, i'll keep writing these two!
i don't do taglists but you can follow @sanguinelibrary for all fic updates
the divider
âYo. Hey, Logan. Loooogan. Dude.â
Logan peeks one eye open. Dean is crouched in front of him, at the side of his bed, shirtless, which is pretty much the last thing he wants to see ever.Â
Dean smiles with all of his teeth. âHey, sunshine. Drain's clogged again.â
Logan grunts. âWhat'd you do this time?â
âAbsolutely nothing. It was Garrett.â
âIt was not, asshole,â Garrett says, strolling into Logan's room. He throws a shirt at Dean. âI just got home. Someone thought it'd be a great idea to pour bacon grease down the drain.â
âWhy are you both in here? This doesn't feel like a conversation that requires a town hall meeting,â Logan grumbles.
âWell, I donât cook, so it canât have been me. Mustâve been Tucker,â Dean says.
Tucker walks in then, as if on cue. âIf you're spreading bullshit about me, Dean, I'm here to defend myself. For the record: yes, I did make bacon, and there's a plate downstairs. But I was not the one who poured grease down the drain, because I'm not a fool.â
They all look at Dean, who bobs his head. Logan really wishes he had a stack of pucks to chuck at them right now.Â
âYeah, I lied earlier,â Dean says. âIt was me. I wanted to use the cup.â
Logan smiles flatly. âI already knew it was you, dumbass. You clog every drain in the house once a week. Vote time. Everyone in favor of kicking Dean out forever?â
The three of them say aye. Dean squawks like a big blond bird.Â
âNay! It's not my fault. How am I supposed to know what to do with bacon grease?â
âYeah, how's the little prince supposed to know?â Tucker says, rolling his eyes.Â
Then he bolts for the door, Dean on his heels. Logan sighs and lies back, staring up at the ceiling. He dreamt about you again. You were on the ice, skating with him, telling him how much you like Taco Bell. He kissed you.Â
Then Dean clogged the drain and woke him up.
âHey, don't forget that we still have that interview at the stadium today,â Garrett says, typing on his phone. No doubt texting Hannah. Logan is proud to say that he no longer has a crush on Hannah Wells, as fleeting as that was. No, he has a crush on her friend, who is smart and beautiful and who probably hasn't given him another thought since the party three weeks ago.
He missed you in class this week. He even stayed behind and pretended he had a question in order to scan the room to check if maybe he didn't see you the first time. But you were nowhere to be found. And it's not like he can text you. He scoured Instagram, Snapchat, and even Facebook for your account, until he felt like a fucking creep and stopped, the search fruitless. Hell, Logan would write you letters if it meant talking to you beyond the two sentences you exchange in class.Â
You did wave at him last week. Usually, you pack up your things as fast as possible and run out of the lecture hall. So when you lingered long enough to smile at him⊠well, that was pretty fantastic.Â
âYeah, thanks,â Logan says.Â
Garrett nods. âI'll see you there. Wellsy wants to study.â
Logan lets his head fall back against the pillow as Garrett leaves. He thinks what Garrett's doing with Hannah will probably end with one or both of them getting hurt, especially since theyâre both so obviously such soft hearts. Logan saw Garrett listening to Hannahâs Instagram songs more than once. Garrettâs absolutely in denial about how much he likes her. But at least they talk to each other.Â
âFuck,â he says to himself, palms on his eyes.Â
You lost your silica gel.
It's not terrible⊠no, it is. It's thrown off your whole week, actually. You've been on websites longer than usual, looking at fidget toys, sorely tempted. You're especially taken with a moldable squishy with beads inside. It's like the mother of silica gel, and your fingers itch with anticipation of how it would feel.
But you can't. It's eighteen dollars, which is certainly one reason why you shouldn't buy it, but it also would make noise. And even if you used it outside of class⊠what if someone found it or caught you using it? How do you explain that?Â
And you hate feeling like you need a toy to keep you grounded. Your stomach hurt so badly that you skipped class on Monday, which sucked because you didn't see Logan. But you were thinking about having to see your mother during the break and your upcoming finals and nothing, not even listening to music, helped the resulting pain in your stomach.Â
Your mother has always told you that it's psychological, and treats your anxiety like a moral failing on your part. If you would just try harder⊠but you don't know how to do that. You're already trying so hard. It's difficult enough to eat everyday, and go to class, and sleep enough, and not rot in your dorm.Â
Your mother would be pleased if you told her you went to a party. She'd dismiss the fact that a guy harassed you. She wouldn't believe you if you told her about Logan and his pretty curls and mouth. No man is looking to just be friends with you.
She was the one who wanted you to go away for college. You didn't mind staying local, but she said you'd never âgrow into yourselfâ if you didn't move away.Â
Your nails have been bitten to stubs. You've been growing them for a month, and all your hard work is lost. The silica gel occupied your hands but now that it's gone, you've fallen back to nail biting.Â
Hannah said she would meet you at the stadium after her class this morning. Two days ago, you told one of the editors of the Briar newspaper that you bought a new camera. You've taken pictures for them before, but never during an event. Stupidly, you revealed your new purchase, and the editor excitedly asked you to attend an interview that some of the Hawks players were giving today, and take pictures for the paper.Â
If only you knew when to keep your mouth shut. Taking pictures of people is stressful. You hate it. They often want you to turn them into someone they're not through the camera lens. People can never just be themselves on camera. That's why you take pictures of birds or buildings or sunsets. They just are, and you can capture them in all their candidness. Most of the world doesn't perform for a cameraâonly people do.Â
Hannah is the first one to greet you when you get inside the stadium. You walk to the bleachers together, where a video crew is setting up.Â
âThis is great,â Hannah says. âPeople are gonna see your pictures, as they should.â
You shrug. âI guess so. I didn't really want to do this.â
âYour photos are really good,â she says. âAnd getting them published in the school paper is huge. What are you worried about?â
You sigh. âI don't know. It's kind of scary when people see you through the camera.â Fourth wall breaks unnerve you for the same reason. âAnd what if the players hate the pictures?â
âWell, Garrett's doing the interview, and he wouldn't let anybody on the team say anything to you about your pictures. But it's only a few of them, I think. Do you want me to stand with you?â
You nod, the pit in your stomach loosening a little. Hannah always seems to know what to say.Â
She beams. âOf course I'll stay.â
But as everyone finishes setting up, Coach Jensen approaches you. Hannah explains that she's Garrett's tutor, and Coach tells her that she can stay, but only in the bleachers.Â
âI'm here to support my friend,â she says. âItâs her first time photographing for the team. Please?â
âSorry. Only press and photographers can be here.â
She looks at you sympathetically. âI'll be right over there, okay? You'll be great.â
You watch Hannah go sit, wishing you had the silica gel.
Garrett is the first player interviewed. You take many pictures, so there are lots of options to choose from when you send them to the paper. He doesn't look at you once, which is splendid.
Next is Dean. He's fired up in his interview, swearing that Briar will crush the competition. Then it's Tucker, who seems a little nervous in front of the camera. You understand completely.Â
You lower your camera as you see Logan approach the local reporter. He shakes her hand and says something you canât hear. Then he looks in your direction. He pauses, then grins widely, waving at you. You wave back, face suddenly warm.
âSo John,â begins the reporter. âHow is the team preparing to win the next three games? Youâll need three wins to keep Briarâs ranking.â
âYeah, you know, we work really well as a team, and Garrettâs a great captain, of course, so I have no doubt weâll win. Weâve been putting in plenty of hours of practice.â
He glances in your direction. Click. Youâre not supposed to snap pictures when people are looking at the camera, but you canât help it. You wonât send that one to the paper.
âHow are you personally feeling about the season?â the reporter asks.
You take more pictures. Logan keeps glancing in your direction, so much so that the reporter eventually holds her hand up.
âJohn, sorry, but we really need you to look at the camera,â she says. âIs there something distracting you? A light? A noise?â
âNope,â Logan says, standing straighter, shaking his head. âAll good.â
He answers a few more questions. The reporter thanks all of them for their time and then the crew packs up. You put the lens cap on your camera and pack it up in its case.
âHey.â
You look up from your case. Loganâs in front of you. This close, you can really take in his appearance: his swoopy hair, his azure jacket with the Hawks emblem on the chest. He smells like apples, as always.Â
âYouâre here,â he says, before you can say hi back.
You nod, confused. âUm. Yes?â
âI didnât know you were a photographer.â Heâs smiling as hard as he does when the Hawks win a game. âI havenât seen you photographing games.â
âI donât. The paperâs editor asked me to take pictures for their article on the team.â
âCan I see?â
You hesitate. âI canât retake pictures.â
âI know. Iâm asking because I want to see your pictures, not âcause I care about how I look in them. You donât even have to show me the pictures from today. Do you have more?â
âYou want to see my other photos? Theyâre of birds and stuff like that.â
âI fucking love birds. And I mean that.â
You blink. âOh. Okay. Me too.â
âI didnât see you in class this week,â he says.
âI was sick.â
âThat sucks, Iâm sorry.â
You nod. You donât tell him why you were sick. He doesnât need to know. No one knows except Hannah. And speaking of, you can see her walking down the bleachers.
She stops next to you. âHey! How was it?â She looks at Logan, and seems a little startled. âHi, Logan. Whatâs up?â
âHey, Wellsy,â he says. You try not to frown. Itâs stupid to want Logan to have a nickname for you. Wellsy isnât even his invention.Â
âLogan wants to see my photos,â you say.
Hannah raises an eyebrow. âOh, really? I didnât know you liked photography, Logan.â
âOh, big time,â he says, looking at you.Â
Hannah widens her eyes at you. You have no idea why. She pats your back.
âYou did great,â she says. âIâll see you later?â
âI thought you wanted to get lunch together,â you say.Â
âUhâŠâ She glances between you and Logan. âIâll catch up with you. I have to tutor Garrett anyway. He canceled on me yesterday.â She rolls her eyes. âHockey players.â
âOuch,â Logan says, nudging her.
Hannah smiles sweetly. âYou and Tucker are the best players, and you can quote me on that.â
âGarrett will definitely be hearing that.â
âGood.â She squeezes your arm. âIâll see you later, okay? Have fun.â
You watch her go, feeling lost. âShe said we were going to eat lunch together. Why did she change her mind?â
âOh, um, I donât think Hannah meant anything by it,â Logan says. He chews his lip for a second. âGarrettâs such a diva, honestlyâheâd probably whine about not studying today even though he canceled on her yesterday.â
You do know how important the philosophy midterm is to Garrett, especially since heâs currently failing. And Hannah has complained about how stubborn he is.Â
âI guess that makes sense,â you say. âIâll go eat by myself then. Itâs one oâclock, so itâs lunchtime.â
âI could come with you.â Logan clears his throat. âUh, if you want, I mean. No pressure. You can say no.â
âOh. No, Iâd like that.â You smile. âAnd I can show you my photos, right?â
âYeah,â he says, sounding breathless. âPlease do.â
Logan has three chicken thighs on his plate.
âHockey season,â he explains as he sits. He bought your food with one of his meal swipes. You told him he didnât have to; he said he wanted to.
You sit opposite him with your own food. Nothing had seemed appetizing, but you have a headache, which is your bodyâs way of telling you that you really need to eat. Sometimes you donât feel hungry, but logically you have to eat at least three meals, so you try to time eating around the same time, so you donât have to rely on faulty signals that never arrive.
And when Hannah eats with you, it helps, because then you arenât distracted by other things, like listening to music or watching a show. You canât do those things in front of another person, because itâs rude. When you eat alone, you frequently forget youâre supposed to be eating. And by the time you remember, the texture or temperature of the food has changed, and itâs no longer appetizing.Â
âEating that much chicken doesnât make you feel sick?â The thought of eating that much meat in one sitting makes you want to vomit. Not to mention the chicken ick. Chicken is an extremely unsafe foodâif you detect a hint of tendon or fat, you canât eat it.
Logan shakes his head. âNah, Iâm hungry. Dean can easily tear up, like, five of these.â
He starts eating, scooping the chicken with the gravy, peas, and potatoes in one forkful. You watch, fascinated. Eating probably wouldnât be such a chore if you could eat like that.Â
You were going to try and convince Hannah to go to Taco Bell with you today because thatâs the only thing that sounds edible today, but since youâre with Logan, you canât do that. Probably you canât go to Taco Bell every time you see him⊠still, youâre tempted. Maybe you can just sit here until Loganâs done eating, and then you can go get what you want.Â
You take a deep breath. No, you should eat. You should eat like a normal person. You want your headache to go awayâitâs too hard to talk to people when you have a headache, and you really want to talk to Logan.
You unwrap the foil your turkey burger is in. You take it out and remove the whole wheat repulsive bread, then put the meat on your plate. You cut it into small triangles with your knife and fork.Â
âNot a fan of the bun?â
You look up at Logan, hunched over the plate. You eye him suspiciously.Â
âThis bread tastes like cardboard,â you say slowly, watching him for judgment. âI like fluffy white rolls only.â
âThatâs my favorite too. Garrettâs always on me to eat more whole grains.â
âMaybe another brand would taste good. School food tastes like slop sometimes.â
Logan laughs. âSeriously. I think Iâm spoiled by Tuckerâs cooking. Heâs a master chef.â
You squeeze a packet of mayo, then hot sauce, then mustard. This is your trick for when you donât want to eat: you overdo it with sauces you like, to mask whatever youâre eating. At least you donât have to taste the turkey burger, though that doesnât dismiss the possibility of a bad texture.Â
You chew, staring at your plate. You forget youâre not alone until Logan taps your shoulder. You jump.
âSorry,â he says. âAgain. Seems like Iâm always doing that.â
âI zoned out.â
âYeah, youâre really focused on your food there.â
âI have to be, or I wonât finish it,â you say. âNothingâs appetizing right now, so I have to make myself eat.â
You quickly finish the burger, which isnât the worst, to be fair, but youâre not happy to eat like you were yesterday with the tater tot casserole the cafeteria served. They serve that once every two weeks, and itâs your favorite day on campus.Â
âOkay,â you say. âNow I can talk to you.â
Logan smiles. âAwesome. Can you show me your pictures?â
âOh, right. Yes, I can.â
You get out your camera and move to sit next to Logan. He leans in to look at your cameraâs screen, but he doesnât touch you. You kind of wish he would. You bet heâs warm and solid.
âWait, go back,â he says.
You were skipping through the pictures from todayâs interview. You press the left arrow to go back.
âThere! Oh my God, thatâs so funny. Please use that picture for the paper,â Logan says, snickering.Â
Itâs a picture of Garrett, mid-yawn. His face is scrunched, mouth wide open.Â
âThat was a mistake,â you say, but youâre smiling too. You canât avoid Loganâs infectious giggles.Â
âNo, that was a gift from above,â Logan says, still laughing. âGod, thatâs perfect. If you donât send it to the paper, please at least send it to me.â
âHow?â
âDo you have Instagram?â
âNo,â you say. âI deleted it. It made me feel bad about myself.â
âHonestly? Good for you. Iâm not on it that much either.âÂ
âThe only people who I want to talk to have my number anyway,â you say. âSo it doesnât really matter. I donât care about random studentsâ lives.â
âYou rock,â Logan says. âSeriously. Youâre my hero.â
You canât take it when he says things like that. All you can do is look away, your face heating up.
âWell, uh,â he continues. âThis might be presumptuous of me, but⊠dâyou wanna exchange numbers?â
âItâs not presumptuous,â you say. âI like talking to you.â
He lights up. âSame here.â
You type your number into his phone.Â
Hi :) says the message on your phone.
Hi, you text back. You change his contact to Logan đ.Â
âIâll send the picture when I upload them tonight,â you say.
âIâm gonna terrorize him with it in the group chat. Show me more pictures? You said you saw some birds.â
âI did.â You shuffle through the photos until you find one of a hawk flying low. Itâs one of your favorites; you were so proud to capture it. Itâs only a little blurry too.
âThat is so fucking cool, whoa.â Logan scoots closer to look, his arm touching yours. You donât move away. âYouâre amazing at this. What else did you capture?â
You show him pictures of the nearby lake, sunsets, a deer, the Boston skyline. Logan loves them all, and tells you many times how good of a photographer you are.
âYou could do this professionally, seriously,â he says. âLike, you should photograph our games. You could get paid for it.â
You shrug bashfully. âI donât know. Itâs not even my major. Itâs just a hobby.â
âSo what? Youâre really good.â
You gnaw the inside of your cheek. âMaybe.â
âYeah, think about it. I could talk to Coach, see whatâs open.â
You and Logan are pretty much curled up next to each other by now. Your arm and thigh are pressed against his. He is indeed warm, and you can feel his muscles shift against you. You think of him in the gray sleeveless shirt at the party. You couldnât stop staring at his biceps. You want to hold them, trace the veins on his forearms.Â
And when he turns to talk to you, heâs so close. Close enough toâ
âYo, Logan, you started without us?â
Raucous laughter breaks the moment. As soon as you see Loganâs teammates, you put a foot of distance between you two, shifting to the next chair over.Â
âHey, man,â Garrett says, tapping Logan's shoulder. âI thought you said you were gonna hit the gym.â
âPlans changed,â Logan says. He doesnât look very happy to see them. Youâre puzzled.Â
âHi,â Tucker says, waving at you, saying your name. You wave back.
And then Garrett and Dean seem to notice you. Dean grins, looking between you.
âAh,â he says. âPlans changed. Got it.â
You donât like the tone of his voice. You donât like the way he and Garrett are smiling at each other.Â
âHow do you know Logan?â Dean asks. âYou a hockey fan?â He winks.
âIâve only been to one game. Logan and I are in developmental psychology together.â
âYou guys study together?â Garrett asks, glancing at Logan. The table shakes, and Garrett winces. âOw! What the fuck, man? Whyâd you kick me?â
âBecause youâre both asking idiotic fucking questions,â Logan says. âLay off. Sheâs not a suspect.â
Your skin itches. You donât like being watched. And theyâre watching you, you can tell. Theyâre studying you. Figuring you out.Â
âActually, I should go,â you say, getting up. You try not to eye the others as you say it.Â
âAre you sure?â Logan asks, getting up with you.
âYes, I have finals to work on.â You gather your things, putting your backpack over your shoulders. âThank you for the meal swipe.â
âYeah, anytime,â Logan says. âIâll see you in class on Monday?â
You nod. âYou will. Iâve taken two unexcused absences and the syllabus said that Dr. Jenkins will demote us by a letter grade for any more than that.â
ââS not a real threat,â Garrett says around a mouthful of rice. âThey have to put that on the syllabus, but a lot of professors donât care. Dean was absent eight times in that class.â
âAnd I still got a B minus,â Dean says, fist-bumping Garrett.Â
Tucker shakes his head. âYeah, and you failed the subsequent course because you missed so much of the semester, dude.â
âA win is a win.â
âSo Dr. Jenkins lied?â you ask, brows furrowing.
Garrett shrugs, digging his knife into his chicken. âKinda. More like a bluff.â
You squeeze your backpack straps, your chest feeling tight. âWhy does everyone know the secret rules but me?â
All week youâve been anxious about potentially missing a third class because of your stomach. You were prepared to chug as much Pepto Bismol to avoid that as you needed to. Has everyone else been living without a care in the world, not forcing themselves to go to class when they feel sick? Youâve gone when you were sure youâd throw up. You went to class in the throes of the worst gallbladder pain youâve ever felt, right before you got it removed.Â
Garrett stops chewing, looking at you. In fact, theyâre all staring at you. Fuck.Â
âWhaddya mean, secret rules?â Dean asks.
Fuck, fuck. Youâre being weird. Stop it. Stop.Â
âHey,â Logan says gently, drawing your attention to him. He moves so heâs the only person you can see, blocking out the rest of the cafeteria. âIf you donât feel well, you should skip, but you arenât, like, losing out on some grand life experience if you miss half the semester. Thatâs what college is for. Youâre doing the right thing. Itâs not a secret rule, itâs just a loophole that some assholes like to exploit.â
Dean scoffs. âExcuse me?â
Logan ignores him. âSo I hope you come on Monday, but if you feel sick, rest up, okay? Tuckerâll make you soup and Iâll bring it over.â
Tucker leans around so you can see him and gives you a thumbs-up in confirmation. Your breathing gets a little easier; your shoulders soften.Â
âOkay,â you murmur. You drift towards him, and Logan brushes your fingers. You arenât brave enough to take his hand, so you touch and step back.Â
âCanât wait to see your pictures in the paper,â Logan says.
You smile. âTheyâre of you.â
âYeah, but you took âem. Who cares what theyâre of?â
You duck your head, feeling shy again. Itâs a residual shyness, but sometimes you get so aware of how nice and handsome Logan is, and the fact that he goes out of his way to talk to you. Not that youâve ever cared much about the college social hierarchy, but you arenât immune to the charms of a hockey boy who sings praises about your photography. Youâve been trying to shake this aching want for more ever since the party. You canât.
âWell, um, bye. Iâll drop off your wings soon,â you say.
âStop by anytime.â
âSee ya around,â says Tucker.
âYeah, see you,â Garrett says. Dean nods.Â
You mumble a short goodbye to them, still feeling flustered. You hope Logan wonât hold it against you.Â
Once outside, you take out your camera outside and flip through some of the shots of Logan. Youâre not sure what he likes so much about your photos, but now youâre a little glad that the editor asked you to take pictures.
âHey, wait up!â
You turn around. Loganâs jogging toward you.Â
âWhat are you doing?â you ask as he stops in front of you.
âUh.â He puts his hands on his hips, breathing hard. âUm. Hm. Good question. I donât know, actually. I just feel like we ended on a weird note in there.â
You frown, nodding. âI know. Iâm sorry I was weird and freaked out in front of your friends.â
âWhat? You didnâtââ
âI did, Logan. I know I did. I saw Dean and Garrettâs faces. They thought I was weird. And I was, to be fair. I reacted too strongly to the absence thing. Sometimes I do that, and I donât realize until someoneâs really obvious with their face that I, you know, emoted wrong.â
âYou did not emote wrong,â Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. âYou didnât, okay? I promise that Garrett and Dean didnât think that. They were probably just confused. You and Hannah are, you knowâŠâ
âNerds?â you finish.
âSmart, studious, all that. And I know we keep it hidden, but weâre actually not winning any Nobel prizes in between practice. Theyâre not used to knowing people who worry about attendance. Thatâs all it was, I promise.â
You purse your lips, trying to figure out if heâs telling the truth. You canât, so you just ask. âDo you mean it?â
âYes,â Logan says. âI mean it.â
âItâs okay if you donât. I wouldnât hold it against you. Lots of people have thought Iâm weird. Lots of boys. Lots of athletes. I was terrible at kickball in middle school, and people hated me for it. I would sit out early so they wouldnât purposely kick the ball at me.â
His eyes get sad. Thatâs an expression you recognize on Hannah too.
âThatâs fucking awful,â Logan says. âWe arenât all like that. Iâm not, anyway, and the guys I hang out with arenât either. Even if you are weird, itâs not a bad thing. Not at all.â
No oneâs ever told you itâs okay to be weird. Theyâve only ever denied that you are, even though youâre pretty sure you are. You canât help it either. But Logan doesnât mind. Youâre still good. He still likes you. No one is going to kick a ball at you.Â
âOkay. Can you tell me how to get to the Hawks house? Iâm going to drop off your wings before Monday.â
âSure, so youâre gonna walk down this little path here, Cooper Avenue. Then youâre gonna turn left, onto Montgomery. Then youâll walk all the way down till you get to Pickett Lane. Itâs like a dirt path. And youâll turn right onto that. Weâre the first house on the left.â
You nod, even though youâve already forgotten all that. Youâre terrible with street names. âIâll be there.â
âI look forward to it,â Logan says, grinning.Â
You start to walk away, then you turn around and return. âI actually donât remember anything youâve just said. Iâm bad with streets and directions. Can you tell me in terms of landmarks?â
âI can absolutely do that,â Logan says softly. âOkay, you know the statue of the guy on the horse?â
âYes, the famous horse wrangler who carried children on horseback to Briarâs first schoolhouse in 1846.â
He tilts his head. âHow do you know that?â
âItâs on the plaque.â
âHuh. Embarrassingly, Iâve never stopped to read one of those plaques. I should do that.â
âHe brought children to school for eighteen years. One of them ended up founding Briar University.â
âShit, wow. Thatâs cool.â
âHistory is cool.â
Logan hums. âYouâre cool. And that mentality is why Deanâs the loser for missing half the semester and you arenât.â
You smile. âI guess so.â
âOkay, so, horse wrangler. Turn left when you get to him. Then youâre gonna walk past that student vegetable garden you photographed. Keep walking until you see that giant oak tree with the knots in the trunk. The one that students make out under. Or, uh⊠study?â
âAttempt to study, anyway.â You know the struggle well.
âThereâs a path there, and youâll walk until you see our house on the left.â
âGot it,â you say. âFor real, this time.â
âGood. Then Iâll see you at some point, before class. If you want to stop by.â
You look at the cafeteria. âThey wonât mind?â
âNah, we always have people come over, donât worry. Hey.â Logan bumps your arm gently. âThey wonât bother you. And if you want, text me, so youâll know Iâll be home.â
The sun is in his eyes. Speckled tree bark. Rich, black tea. You want to kiss him so badly.
âI really do like talking to you,â you say.
âMe too.â Logan steps closer. Your heart is in your throat.
âOkay, well, see you!â And youâre gone.
Thereâs a photo from this morningâs interview you took of Logan. Heâs looking at youâwell, the cameraâsmiling, a curl falling into his eyes. You donât send it to the editor, even though itâs one of your best photos. Instead, you set it as his contact picture on your phone.Â
youâre gonna kill me this is soooooo cute âșïžđ















