Summary: Logan loves going down on you. He lives for it, he craves it, he loves everything about it. But what he didn’t expect was your reaction when you were the one who goes down on him.
Warning/s: Minors do not interact. Smut. Mature. 18+. Oral sex (F and M receiving). Unprotected sex. Comfort. Crying. Established relationship. They are unhinged, horny, and thinking about sex all the time but they love each other too. Be responsible for your own media consumption. Grammar/Spelling. If I missed anything, let me know kindly!
Word Count: 3.5k
A/N: I’m in no way a pro when it comes to writing smut but I try and this is me trying (and probably experimenting on my writing too). Got inspired while listening to Tears by Sabrina and a conversation I had with my best friend.
I have another Logan fic in progress but it’ll be some time before it’s up since I’m not confident about it yet. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Like, reblogs, and comments are very welcome and appreciated!
MASTERLIST.
Please do not translate and repost.
Divider by chrisssiren.
Logan is sick, he’s sure of that. But the thing is, as cliche as it may sound, you are the only person who could cure him. He had known a long time ago that he loves going down on girls, he lives for it. But nothing ever prepared him for you and the changes you brought into his sex life.
He’d been with many girls before you, yes. What you and he are doing—at least, some of it—he had done it before. You knew it, having to be one of the witnesses of some of those sexcapades he did in the past. However, that’s never been an issue between you two. Sex with you is something that Logan has never experienced before. But no, it’s not some, “You’re different from other girls” kind of bullshit. It’s the feeling that was different.
You see, the girls he had been with? It was always rushed, short-lived. It was only for the sake of sleeping together. But with you? You build up the moment, but still make sure not to waste time. You make him feel hot and excited, but give him what he wants to balance it out. You let him do what he wants, but signals him when to stop. You make him crave for you, crave for it. And when you especially know when he needs it? You give it to him, no questions asked.
And Logan would always savor the moment when you just unfold your legs for him, when you let him lap at your center like a starved man, and when you encourage him to keep going; even stretching your legs further so he could have more space.
Logan loves your pussy, and he loves every single second of being down on you and if he could live between your legs, he would.
There’s something so addicting about having them wrapped around his head, or when you spread it for him so he could bite on your inner thighs, or the way it almost suffocates him when you’re on top of him, riding his face while he busies himself admiring the swell of your breasts; the way they move when you jerk forward because his tongue hits a certain spot, or the way your chest falls up and down so you can get enough oxygen in your lungs, or when your nipples hardened he just had to let go one of your legs so he could play with them.
Yet he loves it more when you tugs at his curls, moaning for him. The sound you make going straight to his cock, thrusting on the bed or in the air depending on where you got him eating you out. He loves the look on your face—how your mouth forms an o-shape when he sucks at your sensitive nub or when you cover it to muffle the sounds because his friends are sleeping, how your eyes glaze when you’re near, how your lips turn swollen from too much biting, and how your head falls backwards to reveal your neck, thinking about biting the flesh once he’s fucking you.
Logan swore he could cum by just eating you out, but looking at you enjoying yourself? That’s another thing he needs to control. He could combust with a single, “Making me feel so good, Johnny.” but he’d do his best to restrain himself. He’d only allow himself to finish once you do because for him, it’s you before everything else. There were times that even after making you cum three times, he’d hold it in because that won’t be enough. He’d wait for you to say, “Please, let me feel you. I want it.”, that he’d permit himself to let go and you’d be so full of him. Then, he would look at your face only to see you smiling at him, so lost in the pleasure and so fucking beautiful, and he’d take pride knowing he’s the one who made you feel that way—and he feels like cumming again, his cock hardening inside you once more.
He thought that would be it, nothing else could make him feel like he’s doing it for the first time aside from eating you out and you, looking so pretty for him. But boy, was he wrong.
It happened for the first time when Logan felt a little more beaten up after practice. Completely drained and exhausted from all the physical and mental challenges hockey takes from him. You knew the moment he slumped beside you on his head, dropping his gym bag on the side, that he’s spent.
“Hey, gorgeous. I missed you.” Logan’s hands automatically searched for your waist as his head hits your lap, his hair still damp from the shower. He relaxes the moment your hands massage at his scalp, down to the back of his neck, and to his shoulder blades. His usual protective guard is down and at that moment, under your gaze, he’s just a guy who needs comfort.
Your boyfriend needs comfort.
“I missed you too, baby. How are you?” Logan lifted his head a bit, his eyes cast downward, his body barely holding his weight, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at you before seeking your warmth again. You bit your lip and maybe, seeing him like that—sore, tired, worn out—is what triggered your desire to take care of him. He spends so much energy in hockey, in studying, in the garage, in everything that he does, including looking out for you without being asked that seeing him vulnerable makes you want to put him first. So an idea popped in your mind.
“Hey, come on, lay down properly.” Logan obliged, rather slowly. You were standing at the foot of the bed, supporting his movements. Once he’s comfortable, you start removing his clothes. He didn’t think much of it at first, he always sleeps with only his boxers on and you learned about it early on in your relationship. It even got to a point that you were the one undressing him and you’d cuddle under his covers.
However, Logan felt your hands caressing his legs as you crawled on top of him. Your fingers tugged down at his boxers until it reached just above his knees, but before you could take it off, Logan caught your hand, crease forming between his brows. He understands immediately what you were trying to do, and it’s not that he doesn’t want it. He’s just not sure if he could do any action tonight and he will never forgive himself if he allows it to happen only for you to not to feel good.
“Thank you, gorgeous, but I don’t think I can do—”
“Who said you’re doing anything?” You raised one eyebrow at him, the corner of your lips curving into a tempting smile that had Logan heaving a deep breath. He knew it’s happening, you looked so good and while the rest of his body is tired, his cock sure isn’t as it slowly grows hard between his thighs, directly under you. “Just lay down for me, John, okay? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to be rewarded for it.”
And nothing ever prepared him for what happened next.
Logan never presented the idea of blowjob, nor you brought it up yourself. In the entirety of your relationship, you never went down for him. You never put his length in your mouth, you never gagged at the feeling of him hitting your throat, and you never knew what it was like to look up at him over your lashes. But just because it never happened, doesn’t mean you never wonder what it would be like.
It’s not like you never gave head before. You have a fair share of experience yourself like Logan, but you keep on wondering if it would feel like the way it made him feel. He told you about it, how going down on you made him feel like an entirely different person. That the way your pussy feels against his mouth was nothing like he ever felt before. That if your legs suffocate him and he dies accidentally, he’d still thank you for it.
You knew it wasn’t about the experience, you knew it was the feeling. Because you trust him, you allow yourself to be vulnerable and comfortable with him that the intimacy instantly feels different. So, you took advantage of the moment to test it out yourself.
“Are you sure about this? You know you don’t have to, right? We can just—”
But Logan’s head dropped back down on his pillow when he felt your hands around him, pumping him slowly, getting him to completely relax for you. A heavy and ragged sigh escaped his lips at the feeling, his broad shoulders sinking into the mattress, shutting his eyes close to regain some control. And he thought that he’s doing a great job at it, he’s getting used to the feeling of the slow movements of your hands that he willed himself to open his eyes.
“Fuck, that feels good, gorgeous.” He rasped, voice thick and rough at your ministrations. The exhaustion of the day leaving his body. The tension, the expectations, the brutality of the world outside his room fading behind him as he let you take care of him. His hands gripped at his bed, not wanting to pressure you to take anything further by putting them on your head.
You shifted your weight, finding a more comfortable place between his thighs. And then you see it before you feel it; the intimacy did feel different.
You saw how Logan does his best to keep his hands to himself, you feel how he tries not to thrust upwards in your hands, you feel from the way he remains so compliant with your touch that he’s not rushing you, and you saw how his eyes glint with encouragement to do whatever you want next—continue or stop, entirely up to you.
The moment was slow and heavy with trust. And that did something to you, probably the way it did something to Logan.
It made you feel good, confident, trusted, and loved.
When Logan felt your movements have slowed, he peeked at you to see that you got this dazed look on your face. He was about to reassure you that it’s okay to stop when you looked down at his dick and leaned forward, replacing your hands with the warmth of your lips. Logan choked on his breath, the words caught in his throat as he felt his self control leaving his body as he completely surrendered to you.
Logan’s entire body went still for a second, a low, guttural moan vibrated in his chest before he forced himself to relax again. His fingers gripped at the sheets again, tighter this time as his knuckles turned white. You saw this from the corner of your eyes and tapped at his thighs, reaching for one of his hands and guided it above your head. He had to fight every instinct to take over because of the action, but he reminded himself that tonight, this is what you want.
You moved over him, finding your rhythm as your eyes flicked up to look at him. His head was still thrown back, buried in his pillow, exposing his adam’s apple. His sweat glistened on his collarbone and you moaned at the sight, he looked completely undone and ruined by your touch. And the same feeling came back.
Looking at Logan, completely at your mercy and stripped of his usual protective and strong stance made you clench your thighs together. You continue pumping at his length while switching between sucking and lapping at the head, his tip leaking pre-cum. Logan’s grip on your head tightened and it should hurt, but you just took him further inside your mouth. You gagged slightly, the sound causing him to massage your jaw, motioning for you to breathe through your nose as he guided your head to stay in place.
“That’s it, gorgeous, don’t forget to breathe.” You understood what he said, you knew when to stop if it gets too much for you, but your mind started to jumble. Because how could he be so sweet and caring yet so filthy at the same time? When you felt your lungs needing some air, you pulled back, a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. And Logan was about to throw a praise when you lick from his base before taking him whole again.
“Fuck me—slow down, gorgeous. You’re killing me.”
It feels too good; the thickness in your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum oozing out directly on your tongue, the control he’s trying to gain, the way he grips at your head and caresses your cheeks just to feel himself bulging from it. Everything feels too good and without meaning to, a stray tear spilled over your lashes, tracking down your cheek and landing softly on his thighs. Logan snapped up immediately at the unwelcomed feeling, only to see you crying. The immense pleasure brought by your mouth dissipates in the air as he scrambles to seat.
“Woah, woah, hey, talk to me.” He whispered, afraid that if he went a little louder, you'd cry even more. He wanted to move to your side, but for some reason, your hand is still wrapped around his length and you’re still between his legs. Logan tried his best to meet you eye-to-eye with the position, his hands gently cupping your face, his thumbs wiping away the dampness on your skin. “Sweetheart, please, talk to me. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it something I did? Was I too much?”
You only shook your head at him and Logan had to stop the sigh that wanted to escape his lips when he felt your hand gripped him, and instead focused on making sure that you’re okay. “Hey, it’s alright, we can stop now, hmm? It’s alright, I got you.”
But then you opened your mouth and Logan cursed at himself because maybe he heard it wrong, maybe he heard you wrong. There’s no way you’re crying because of that, right? His girlfriend, who is usually composed, independent, strong-willed, and doesn’t take shit from others, is crying.
All because of his dick.
He studied your face, your eyes that were blown out with lust, your lips hanging open in anticipation, your brows creased together awaiting his response. But above everything, he saw honesty and trust and it dawned on him that he didn’t hear it wrong. Logan heard you correctly.
“I don’t want to stop. I want your cock.”
Because that’s what you really said and you didn’t plan on taking it back.
Not when Logan’s eyes darkened with want as he held your face so softly, waiting for you to take your words back. Not when the words made you shudder when it left your lips, not when it caused you to rub your thighs together, not when your eyes basically watered again at the thought of it in your mouth, in your hands, in your pussy. Not when you’re pushing Logan back on the bed to hover above him, so sure of yourself, repeating the words.
“I love your cock, Johnny.”
Logan doesn’t know what to do. You are equally as obsessed as he was and he doesn’t know what to do with that. He never cried when he’s down on his knees, trapped between your legs, but he sure felt like it every single time. You make him addicted, you make him starve and crave, and you make him mad about it. And seeing you, like a reflection of himself, enjoying yourself, destroys him in a delicious way.
You spent the rest of the night sobbing at the feeling of his length in your mouth and Logan lives for it. He’d smile at you, comfort you, and praise you for it while anchoring himself to keep it together.
“Fuck, gorgeous, you take me so well.”
“You love it? Say it again, come on.”
And between his praises and the fullness of him inside your mouth, you’d look up at him just to ask, “It’s my dick now too, right?”
And Logan had to physically stop himself from pulling you back down his length, his grin widening with mischief and his eyes twinkle with something you’ve never seen before. Without breaking eye contact, his thumbs traced your lips before sliding it inside, your tongue automatically swirling around it as you await for his answer.
“So fucking right, gorgeous, it is.”
The night ended with both of you tangled in his sheets, satisfaction and pride swimming in your system. You were safely tucked beside him after your unexpected discovery, Logan peppering your head with kisses. And he thought, that was it. What he didn’t know was that behind your peaceful form, you discovered another thing.
You love Logan when he respects you in bed. But you love it more when he gets filthy.
He was on his way back to the hockey house when it happened the second time. He just bid goodbye to a classmate when his phone buzzed in his jeans. It was a message from you. An entirely unhinged message from you.
“I need it, please.”
Logan drove so fast back to the house and when he opened the door of his room, there you were, dressed in his jersey. But it didn’t take long for both of you to get undressed. The moment escalated so quickly as you dropped to your knees in front of him, tugging at his pants.
“Take it out, baby.”
And Logan never complied so fast in his life. Not even when Coach Jensen told him to do better with his moves, to skate faster. But you got him on chokehold with just your words and the next second, you were taking him in your mouth, the dirtiest words escaping his lips.
“You want it so bad, yeah? You missed it?”
“So pretty like this. Keep going. Come on, you got it.”
“Open your mouth wider, gorgeous. I thought you said you wanted it?”
And you’re equally as bad as him. The words you thought that you’ll never say are encouraged out of you because of Logan, and the way he looks at you with so much adoration and pride.
“This is only mine, right? It’s mine.”
“It feels so good in my mouth, Johnny, I don’t want to stop.”
“Yes, I wanted it. I can take it. Please.”
Logan thought—once again and he’s wrong—that would be it. But you’re sneaking into the shower room when you know he’s the only one using it and would join him. Saying how you could not wait any longer and you’d end up spending an extra hour in the showers because both of you couldn’t get enough of each other.
Or at Beau’s party, when he looks too good drinking with his friends and he’d throw teasing glances your way and he’d take it far by sending you a message, mentioning how one of the rooms was his for the night and he’d be waiting for you. Both of you would end up making out and eventually, him on top of you. He fucks you like he’s never done before, but you’re crying for it and he’d be damned if he doesn’t make it worthwhile.
And Logan is fucking sick. Because he couldn’t take the image of you crying for him, for his dick. Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re thinking about it too, because he does. In the middle of the class, during practice, while showering. Any chance that he could get, he’ll think about it. During those times, he’d shoot you messages.
“Can’t stop thinking about you, gorgeous.”
“Bet you’re soaking wet for me right now.”
“So fucking hard for you, gorgeous. Is your class over?”
He’d smile so hard because your replies matched his energy, it matched his freak. He’d go over them, read them over and over again just to make sure that he’s reading it right.
“I dreamed of you fucking me and I want it now.”
“Can I come over before practice? I’ll just suck a little.”
“Do you think we can get a replica of your dick? Just for study purposes.”
Both of you are so obsessed with each other that even your friends noticed it right away. The changes in your relationship that weren’t there in the beginning, the stolen glances, the mischief behind the smiles, the sneaking in the middle of a conversation. When you and Logan disappear at the same time, they'll understand what’s happening quickly. When they catch one of you smiling at your phone, they know that you’re exchanging unhinged messages yet again.
But underneath all that—the sole reason why both of you are crazy about the sex, about each other—was the foundation you built together over time; the trust, the intimacy, the care, the love, and the understanding where the pleasure should end and begin. The respect you put into the relationship and the boundaries you’ve set, the communication between what you can cross and not.
So, yes, Logan is sick, but at least you cure him and he does the same to you—in more ways than one.
A/N: Thank you for reading, lovely! Stay safe always ♥️
Summary: As a photography student, taking photos became an outlet of your every emotion. And eventually, it also became the sole witness of the love you secretly harboured over the years for Logan. Every chance you could get to capture him during his game, or a party, or a group hangout, you will take it. Until you noticed a pattern, he never looked at the lens of your camera but rather at your friend, Hannah. Yet, a shift occurred when the journalism club announced their annual media and arts exhibition and suddenly, you were left confused to understand the thing you never thought was possible.
Warning/s: Angst. Fluff. Photographer!AU. Friends-to-lovers. Slow burn. Making out, 18+. One sexual innuendo. Mixed with messages screenshots. Reader spaced out three times and is in denial (but it’s because she didn't want to ruin their friendship & she needs confirmation). Logan refers to her as “ma’am”. All of them are in the same circle. They are in their senior year except the reader (junior), just for their first meeting to make more sense. There may be grammatical and typographical errors. If I missed anything, please let me know kindly.
Word Count: 15.8k
A/N: Hi! This is my first John Logan fic that I’ve been writing for two weeks so I hope you guys will like it. I am not new to tumblr and not new to writing, but it’s been a while since I last posted something here. Let me know what you think. Likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. Enjoy!
MASTERLIST.
Please do not translate and repost.
Divider by chrisssiren.
The first time you used a camera was during Christmas eve. You were five and curious, and everything around you seemed to be very vibrant, very festive, and very fast moving like the cars your father and uncles always watch on TV every weekend. You didn’t fully understand what was happening, but the cheerful atmosphere left you feeling giddy and excited that you just wanted to freeze the moment and admire it. Your eyes wander around the room, studying the face of every family member present. The reflection of the colorful fairy lights sparkling inside your eyes, mirroring the shiny ornaments dangling from the Christmas tree not far from the center table of the living room. That’s when your eyes landed with intrigue on the camera left abandoned on the wooden furniture while the rest of the room glowed with celebration—waiting to be used, waiting to capture the moment.
It was your grandma’s camera, a gift she gave herself back then. You stole a quick peek at her, only to meet her eyes already twinkling with approval that made you even more excited. She gave you an encouraging nod, and then it happened.
There was pure fascination as you turned on the small device—that you soon realized was too heavy and too big for a five year old to be holding—and pressed the small button that triggered the flash as it captured the whole living room. The result left you in bewilderment. While the photo remained still, the room kept moving. Your cousins were talking, the adults were sharing a drink, kids your age were still running around the house, and the lights were blinking in the same pattern. But you and the photo staring back at you from the camera remained still.
The initial bewilderment changed to awe and that awe grew to something you love: a hobby you spent most of your time doing. And ever since then, working behind the cameras has been your most favorite thing to do. What was once a hobby eventually turned into a program you chose in college and suddenly, it was your whole life.
Because, how amazing it was to see a single photo, but it could tell a lot of different stories at the same time?
Your love for photography also became a part of your extracurricular activities when you became one of the photojournalists of Briar University’s journalism club when you applied during your freshman year. You cover different events ranging from sports, academics, musical showcases, theatrical plays, and even parties Dean and Beau love to throw every now and then. Though, the last one wasn’t the kind of media your journalism adviser would like to see in newspapers or social media accounts, you sure enjoy capturing moments when people are not paying attention. When the world is moving and you have to stand still in the middle of it to savor what is happening and forever store it in your camera.
You found a sense of adoration and beauty in it. It was your very kind of poetry. If for Justin, it was in the way he wrote his songs; if for Allie, it was in the way the stage embraced her talent; if for Hannah, it was in every ounce of emotion and vulnerability she poured in singing; and if for Garrett, it's in the ice rink and the adrenaline it made him feel; for you, it was this—the silent shutter of the camera in a rather loud and fast pacing world.
Because while everyone else was busy living their lives aloud—laughing, fighting, talking—you were observing quietly, hiding behind your camera, the blinding flash of it, the shutter sound it makes, and the continuous click of the small button that captures frame after frame.
It’s not like you hate catching the attention of your audience, or that you hate when people look directly at your lens, or that you hate doing planned photographs. But you learned early on that people change when they know they’re being watched; their posture practiced, their smile instantly too wide, asking if they look a bit much or a bit less, or sometimes, they turn away altogether. But if you stay still enough, if you become a presence that blends with the wind carrying a lens, they will let you do your thing while you let them do theirs without any mask.
And you enjoy it, people enjoy it. The members of journalism praise you for capturing the best moments. The subject of your photos during different events asking for a copy for their own use because it should be posted too outside Briar’s official account and sent to their families and friends. The praise was just a bonus because you loved doing it and you promised yourself that you’ll never let the praises get inside your head.
But most of all, you love how it allows you to admire someone without giving away so much of yourself.
“Job well done, ma’am. Did you take a good shot of me earlier?” You jolted from your seat when Dean unexpectedly appeared from behind you and slung his arm around your shoulders, peeking over at your laptop as you finished transferring files from your camera that you covered earlier during their game and the afterparty at Malone’s.
“Jesus, Di Laurentis! Why can’t you be normal and appear without giving me a fucking heart attack?” Dean laughed as he straightened his posture before getting distracted when he saw himself on the screen of your laptop. “Wait! I like this one! Please, post this one. Allie will love it.”
You’re currently at their place off campus after having a blast at Malone’s. They just won another game against Eastwood and the energy just kept rolling and was brought to the diner until Della literally had to push everyone outside. You didn’t bother going back to the dorms at Bristol’s since Hannah and Allie practically dragged you with them to the house, drunk and ready to call it a night.
Tucker was sleeping peacefully beside you, who kindly offered you his room for the night despite your protests. You knew you won’t be sleeping soon since you still have to edit the raw photos from the game earlier and Tucker deserved to sleep peacefully inside the comfort of his room. But his Mama didn’t raise him like that, he said. Still, from his room, you ended up joining him in the common area where Dean is currently giving you hums and nods of approval of your shots. Logan also told you that you can sleep in his room, you can take his bed and he’ll sleep on the floor. But you can’t stay with him, especially not with your camera and laptop that’s been keeping your secret safe for so long.
“Oh, Logan totally ate here! Look, you captured every single moment of his goal perfectly.” While Dean was still busy assessing your photos, pointing out the best ones and the funny ones, your mind started drifting elsewhere at the mention of his name.
John Logan.
The man with the number 22 on his back whenever he’s on ice, the man carrying the red toolbox whenever he needs to fix things, the man whose arms always wrapped protectively around his sibling’s shoulders, the man who’s always ready to help carry your heavy equipment whenever you have events, and the man who occupied not only the storage of your camera but also the space in your mind ever since you met him almost three years ago.
And it was all because of your camera.
It all started during Briar U’s Freshmen Day and you were busy setting up your camera when someone accidentally took out your entire setup with a stray foam hockey puck—that travels with a frightening speed—straight from the athletic department’s promotional booth.
You had just carefully leveled your tripod on the campus quad, dialing in the settings on your brand-new DSLR you gifted yourself, when a loud, panicked voice yelled not too far from where you were standing, “Heads up!” Before you could even make sense of what’s happening or where the voice even came from, a piece of orange foam smacked directly into your lens hood. The impact wasn't enough to break anything, fortunately, but it sent your tripod spinning. Your eyes widened in panic as your body twisted in the direction of the puck and your camera. Automatically, your hand reached to save the expensive equipment and in an instant, you lunged forward, tripped over your own camera bag, and fell.
When you looked up, a pair of muddy, dirty sneakers and the hem of faded blue jeans met your line of vision. A crease on your forehead immediately formed as you felt your cheeks heating up. But no, it’s not because you were embarrassed, it’s because you were furious. Clearly, whoever that person was who sent your setup flying to the ground with the puck, and you with it, wasn’t being careful.
“Oh, shit! I am so, so sorry. Please tell me you’re alive.” You squinted up into the blinding September sun with your hand trying to cover your eyes, breathing out a sigh of frustration that soon turned into a silent gasp when you got a good look at the person.
Kneeling down in front of you was a guy you thought just fell from your favorite romantic book. His messy and fluffy dark hair swaying like a curtain that frames his face perfectly, his stupidly mesmerizing brown eyes glinting with both amusement and concern, his cheeks are dusted with a hint of flush—from embarrassment or heat of the sun, you’re not entirely certain, and he’s flashing you a smile too easy for the disaster he just caused.
The camera!
And that snapped you out of your thoughts, gasping and scrambling to your feet to check your DSLR. “Fuck, my camera.”
But before your hand could make contact with the device, the guy quickly but carefully picked up the tripod and handed it to you like the action in itself was an apology. You quickly snatched the equipment from him, rather with force, and meticulously searched the lens with the rest of the parts. When you made sure that the camera wasn't damaged, you turned toward the guy, who’s patiently waiting for you to notice him, and glared. He raised his arms and offered a sheepish smile this time. “Hey, I am really sorry. Garrett, my friend, dared me if I could hit the tree from fifty yards away and I guess, my aim was a little .. off?”
“Right, hockey puck guy. And I guess that makes you a very, very qualified hockey player, yes?” You grumbled sarcastically while rolling your eyes, setting up the tripod once again and expertly fixing the settings, completely ignoring the presence behind you. This earned you a snicker from him and that earned him another sharp glare from you.
“Woah, hockey puck guy has a name and it’s John Logan.” He held out his hand, expecting you to give him your name in return like the rest of the girls he met that week. But when you just stared at his hand, annoyance still clear on your face, he only grinned. That’s when he noticed a nametag on your left chest, your name written in a funny font. You noticed him staring at it, which prompted you to cover it with your hands as his grin widened. “So, that is your name. Gorgeous.”
“Okay, hockey puck guy has a name and it’s John Logan, you got my name, we made sure my camera is okay, I’ve set it up again, you said sorry, apology accepted, and I have things to do, what else do you want from me?” You didn’t know how your voice reached the booth where Logan came from since you’re sure it was at a normal level, but you heard a blonde guy and a man wearing a pink apron hollering from their booth, “Yeah, Logan, what do you want from her?”. Yet, the moment you raised an eyebrow at them, they immediately closed their mouths and turned their backs on you, while one of them, which you assumed was Garrett, gave you an encouraging thumbs up.
“Ignore them. They are a bunch of kids.” This time, you gave him your full attention. Meaning, he is now at the receiving end of your deathly glare. Logan really finds everything amusing, and he’s wondering if it’s possible to glare at someone with so much passion because that’s what you’re doing now.
“Alright, I do really feel bad for what happened so please, allow me to make up for my terrible aim. That being said, I am officially volunteering to be your personal muse for today and I will abandon my hockey booth just for you. Do you need photos? I am your guy because if you haven’t noticed yet, I am highly photogenic.” And to make his point, he did random poses with the foam hockey puck, with his jersey, and even made faces which contradict being photogenic. This almost made you laugh because he looked ridiculous doing so, but you instantly composed yourself.
“Logan, right? Okay, Logan, I appreciate the poses, but my assignment for today is candid photography and not sports modeling.” You tried to sound uninterested, bored even. However, you noticed how your voice shook when you said his name the second time, your heart suddenly doing weird thumping rhythms against your ribs. There’s no denying that Logan is truly and utterly attractive, but he didn’t need to know what he’s already aware of.
“Oh, that’s perfect. I can do that.” He insisted and true to his words, he linger in your booth totally abandoning his very own one. The guy who gave you thumbs up earlier, which you correctly guessed as Garrett, even came up and gladly gave Logan the permission to be your personal muse—assistant, actually—for the day. And for the past two hours? You confirmed that Logan both can and can’t do candid things, depending on the situation.
Another two hours passed and this time, it was you going around campus to capture the activities prepared by the students themselves. Logan was just tailing behind you, carrying your equipment while saying hi to the people you and him passed by, which are mostly girls—that you soon learned are called the puck bunnies.
Sometimes, when you have your camera up and ready to take candid shots of the events in your surrounding, Logan’s face would suddenly pop into the frame. That will either draw an exhausted or entertained reaction from you.
There were shots of him where he was being completely normal, photogenic. But most of it? You didn’t even want to describe. The a capella group booth? You did a good job framing everyone in the shot. Except, Logan was suddenly behind one of the alto singers, his hands clasped together and looking at the maestro with so much focus. The cheerleading squad doing stunts in the oval? You captured the timing perfectly when they tossed the cheerleader up in the air and then there’s Logan, who just did a jump shot with both his arms stretched out. Then a photo of their booth, where Tucker is currently giving a masterclass of some sort to the interested student, except, yes, except, Logan is beside his friend acting attentive, but his hand is very busy and very actively doing evil works above Tucker’s head.
When you finally returned to your booth to take a rest and to review your shots, you let out a laugh as Logan handed you a bottle of water that he already had open which you blindly reached for before he gently guided your hand to it. “Alright, ma’am, hydrate yourself first.”
“Logan, you completely ruined my photos!” You laughed once again, but it’s more delightful this time. Your eyes are still studying the photos, your finger is busy clicking the small button beside the small screen, and you are entirely unaware of your surroundings, already lost in your bubble.
The sound of your laughter also drew a smile on Logan’s lips, chugging his own bottled water while stealing glances at your face. He couldn’t help but think how natural you are acting toward him. It wasn’t something bad and he wasn’t sure if it’s good either. Maybe he wasn’t just used to this anymore and it’s refreshing. Girls fawn over him because he’s a hockey player, popular, good-looking, an instant boost in their social status, but even after knowing these things the past four hours you’ve spent together, you treat him just the same.
“I mean, look at this! You just made a face while Coach Jensen was lecturing the team earlier!” That brought him back to the present, wiping the side of his mouth as he got reminded of copying their coach while he was just literally behind him.
“Nope, I didn’t ruin anything. I added a new flavor to your techniques.” Logan jokingly corrected and walked the short distance to where you were sitting and peek over your shoulder at the playback screen. The proximity almost made you jump, but you condition yourself to stay calm even though the closeness is slowly making your heart beat rapidly just like what happened earlier. You could smell his cologne, fresh like citrus with a hint of sandalwood and felt his breath fanning beside your cheeks as he spoke, “See? Your shot was so good I looked like an art. Knew it, I belong in the gallery.”
“Nope.” You said, mimicking him, trying your best to stay grounded. “It belongs here in my camera because anyone who sees it will be traumatized.”
“Wow, we just met a few hours ago and here you are hurting my feelings.” A playful chuckle bubbled inside you and was about to throw in another remark but decided to stay silent at the last minute and smiled instead. But Logan took your silence seriously, as he scrambled to sit beside you. He stole your camera from your hand and turned it off, carefully placing it in your bag after capping the lens. And all of a sudden, he seemed so shy under your confused gaze.
“Look, to fully make it up to you, from the foam puck incident to ruining your photos, can I buy you a drink? We can go to Malone’s. What do you say?” You paused and looked intently at his ridiculous, hopeful smile, then at your bag that appeared to be small atop Logan’s lap, and got reminded of the things he did for you today. Even the most unhinged one like photobombing your shots. “Please?”
“Alright, fine.” You sighed in surrender, packing up the rest of your things and watched as Logan rose to his feet with a triumphant fist in the air. “But hey, I was just joking earlier. You didn’t ruin any of my photos. If anything, you made my freshmen day memorable. So, thank you. But! I am gonna have to ask to stay ten feet away from my camera from now on.”
“Okay, okay, that’s fair.” You started walking after asking someone to cover for you for a few hours, with Logan easily falling into step just beside you. And naturally, he took your things from you and carried it himself without even asking you. As if he had done it multiple times in the past even though you only met him today. “But just so you know, the camera loves me. Your camera loves me and you're gonna have a hard time keeping me out of the frame.”
You and Logan reached Malone’s and spent the rest of the afternoon talking. Everything just fell into place in its own way. Fitting, not awkward, comforting, but also thrilling at the same time. And both of you have no idea yet about how right he was about his last statement.
You’re gonna have a hard time keeping me out of the frame.
And sure enough, you spent the next years keeping him in it.
“Hey, you okay?” You snapped your head up toward Dean’s direction and soon realized that you spaced out, his elbow nudging you gently. He’s now holding a glass of water with one hand and the other a bottle of beer. But instead of behind you, he’s now occupied the seat beside you. He passed you the glass of water, in which you said thanks before taking a sip. “Gotta keep you hydrated. Logan will kill me if he learns that I find you awake and didn’t even offer you anything to keep you hydrated.”
“Yeah, he’s very keen on turning me into this online game character, watergirl.” You joked as you keep scrolling, categorizing, and watermarking the photos you’ll soon upload on the university’s website and social media accounts. Making sure that the best ones are chosen carefully while the rest are saved if the students requested for a copy. “How’s Allie, by the way? She was so drunk when we left Malone’s.”
Dean smiled at your question, remembering how he carried Allie earlier and mentioning how they looked like a married couple. “She’s fine. Peacefully sleeping on my bed while reciting random lines from Drunk Shakespeare. I’m scared of her sometimes, you know? She’s—that photo of Tucker is impressive, let me mark this one, can’t miss it—yeah, as I was saying, she’s making me lose my shit with just a smile and that’s fucking terrifying for me and—Logan is so fucking hopeless.”
Surprise etched on your face at the sudden change of topic to Logan. You glanced at Dean and then back at your laptop screen, trying to make sense of what’s going on. Then he pointed at three of the photos and when you observed what’s in it, you immediately understood what he meant.
Photos you took at Malone’s. Photos you took from the entrance with a clear vision of the bar and the small stage at the center. Three photos that appeared to be identical until you saw the shift in Logan’s facial expression. Because in the photo, he was at the side of the stage. At first, he was having a blast and cheering for Tucker; the second one, he was looking over at the bar where you left Hannah and Garrett to spend their time together; and the last one, he got this frown plastered on his face.
Then, it slowly dawned on you.
Dean is also aware of Logan’s one-sided feelings.
“How long have you known?” You silently asked, your voice shaking a little at the end. For the longest time, you thought you’re the only one who knows since everyone seemed to be clueless about it. Logan is really good at hiding his emotions. Before anyone else could figure him out, he’s already way ahead and moved on or at least, he tries to. But your camera, like your own version of a mask to hide yourself and your own feelings, always captures the moments when Logan is looking at Hannah, with or without Garrett.
“Logan’s feelings for you?”
“Yes—what?! Di Laurentis, what the fuck?!” And if that wasn’t enough confusion and surprise for the night, another figure in the form of Tucker appeared from your other side, exhaustion evident in his eyes but he decided that listening and joining in on your conversation with Dean is suddenly very appealing than falling back to his previous slumber.
“Yes, Logan’s feelings for you. Let’s talk about it.” Tucker rubbed at his right eye like a baby, while the other one was blinking at you slowly.
“What—oh, my, you two. Let’s not read too much into my friendship with Logan because he doesn’t have any feelings for me. Not in that way.” Dean and Tucker stared at each other, as if asking themselves if you’re being serious. Then at the same time, they turned to look at you, as if they were asking you the same thing this time.
“Be for real.” The way that they are so in sync almost spook you if it weren’t for the fact that they seemed to know something you don’t. Or that it’s giving you hope and you didn’t want that. Especially if it’s not directly coming from Logan, especially if it could potentially ruin something so precious.
“I’ve known since she first attended our game.” Tucker said, stealing your laptop from your lap to check out the photos himself. He unmarked the photo of him that Dean just saved earlier and chose a funny one of the latter in replacement.
“I've known since day one.” This time, it was yours and Tucker’s turn to look at Dean rather incredulously. He got this proud look on his face as if he just decoded the answer to the country’s greatest national treasure. “What? Come on, Tuck! I’ll understand if our beautiful friend right here doesn’t see it, but haven’t you really noticed the way Logan is always tailing her like a lost puppy ever since they met during Freshmen Day? At this point, he’s become the second shadow of her figure.”
Gears seemed to be twisting and turning inside Tucker’s head as he focused his gaze on you. Your laptop was now left deserted on the center table as he made sense of what Dean just said. “You’re onto something here, D, because I remembered Logan asking if she’s going to cover the first game for that semester.”
“Right? And he never played so well his entire hockey career when he saw her behind our bench taking photos. Dude scored 2 goals and secured our win.”
Dean also pointed out that one event organized by music major students which Logan was too lazy to attend even though Hannah and Garrett asked them to volunteer. Yet, the moment he saw a photo of you with Birdie posted by Jules on The Fifth Line page with the caption, “The artist and her muse?” Logan drove back to the university at an impossible speed and looked for Jules just to say, “Excuse me but I am her first and only muse.”
Tucker also pitched in his observations and before you know it, they are fully discussing your ‘friendship’ with Logan without filter and how you guys are not just friends as if you’re not present in the room with them. You couldn’t deny that they are making a fair point, but as much as you want to believe them, your photos are literally staring back at you. The sequence of Logan’s change of emotions and facial expressions whenever he sees Hannah are too obvious to ignore. And the most shattering part? This is not the only evidence you have, because you got tons of it.
You breathed out a sigh unconsciously as Dean’s and Tucker’s voice faded into distance.
For years, you find comfort in every click of your camera and the way the photos freeze in time. It even got to a point that your camera became an extension of your nervous system. You’ve learned that if you’re anxious, the framing is always slightly tilted to the side; if you’re sad and down, you avoid having humans in your photos because in that way, no stories could be told; and for almost three years that you’re in love, the focus was entirely on Logan.
You had tons of photos of him. Him laughing at a crowded party with Tucker pushing his whole body on the sofa. Him mid-air on the ice, a fierce focus and determination plastered on his face that his head gear couldn’t hide. There was a photo of him sitting on the hood of his car at the beach, a summer getaway with your friends, the sun behind him creating a halo over his head and turning his hair a shade lighter. Your camera bears witness to the feelings you’ve buried and every snap was a quiet confession you never dared to say out loud. So you did the easiest thing—frame him and make him the masterpiece of your own gallery: your heart.
Yet like a double-edged sword, your camera grants you to hide your feelings while it also shows you reality. And that was how you figured it out.
You and some of the journalism club members were spending the night, once again, in your designated office, tweaking raw files, editing online newspaper layout, and writing headlines and captions, immersing yourselves in the comfort it provides. However, there’s something you’ve noticed the past three nights that you’ve been there.
A devastating pattern your photos showed you.
It started with a photo during their game. You stood up from where you were sitting with Allie and Hannah to find a good spot because you noticed that Logan was making a move to score a goal and you didn’t want to miss the moment. And sure enough, he did. You were so proud of that series of shots because you perfectly captured Logan’s winning goal followed by him sending an arrow celebration to the crowd, directly to where Hannah was clapping and screaming in joy.
Once you observed the photo, you pulled up folder after folder, going through your archives as curiosity drove you to check your photos of Logan.
There was a photo during your group hangout at Malone’s. Garrett was telling a story about his date with Hannah with the latter responding with an angelic laugh. You were directly seated on the same side of the booth with them, pressed against the wall with Logan standing beside them at the aisle. This gave you a perfect view of the couple and unfortunately, Logan’s reaction. There was a soft smile on his lips, but there was something in his eyes that you can’t quite figure out.
Then a bonfire by the lake during Friendsgiving. Logan and Tucker disappeared inside the rented house to get more food and left you sitting with Hannah, Garrett, Allie, and Dean. You thought that the angle from your side was a bit off so you stood up and walked toward a tree not far from them, just enough to frame the bonfire and the two couples acting so lovely. There was the shutter of your camera and Logan’s perfect timing to appear once again, his confused eyes immediately landing on Garrett and Hannah.
Then comes the latest one, a party at Beau’s home. Logan was in the living room talking to Tucker and Birdie, a red cup in his hands that he chugged down in one swing. He looked extremely good under the lights so you raised your camera, adjusting the lens, and ready to freeze the moment when Logan moved. He spun toward the kitchen’s doorway where you left Hannah a moment ago, waiting for Garrett. You noticed that her boyfriend was already standing behind her, and you turned to check the digital preview of your shot just to see Logan already frowning.
You stopped scrolling, you stopped comparing the moments, you closed the folders, bid good night to your fellow journalists, and packed up your things. It was cold outside when you stepped out of the building despite the thick coat you were wearing, but there was nothing colder than the newfound information that made home in your mind. That you weren't the only one hiding behind a lens to cover the fact that you’re hopelessly in love. Because Logan was doing the exact same thing with his own eyes. The only difference was, your camera captured everything—including the fact that he would never see you, because he was too busy watching her while you were looking at him.
And for the first time in years, the comfort you find in every click of your camera became a sound of the slow and quiet breaking of your own heart.
The present only settles once again when you smelled something close to a beef soup and saw that Tucker prepared three cups of instant ramen, which you’re not sure if they are even allowed to eat. Dean carefully handed you your own cup, a bit of smoke escaping the slightly opened lid, and let the heat warm up your hands. And then you realized something, they are still talking about you and Logan.
“Tucker, you are a genius! Because there was one time during—”
“Guys, in case you forgot, which I know you didn’t, I’m still here. And I’m telling you, Logan doesn’t see me that way.” You stared at both of them, fully opening the lid of the ramen and cautiously sipping the hot broth as your friends started doing the same thing. Dean slurped at the noodles, only to regret it right away when he spat it back to his cup. You and Tucker shared a disgusted look, but your friend is too busy eating and too busy thinking to even pay attention to you both.
You thought that the conversation would end there, the three of you sharing a hot, comforting, and much needed midnight snack in the living room. But the universe decided otherwise. Because just when Dean finished his food, a bit red due to the heat with sweat covering his forehead, he blurted out something that made you choke.
“Alright, bestie, let’s say Logan is not totally and utterly and hopelessly and disgustingly in love with you, how are you going to explain the folder in your laptop that said ‘the muse’ with hundreds of Logan’s photos?” It was your turn to get flushed, but you’re sure it wasn’t because of the ramen you’re eating. It wasn’t because it was slightly spicy, no. It’s because they caught you. Your secret.
You could’ve easily denied it, but there’s no way you could’ve hidden the way you froze. Your hand mid-air, the noodles dangling from your fork, your mouth slightly open, and the way your eyes darted around the room, downright ignoring your friends, gave it away. You put down the cup beside your laptop to properly look at Dean and Tucker. There was no judgment in their eyes, the playfulness gone as well. They are just present and gazing at you with understanding. As if telling you that they also know and that your secret is safe with them.
“Well, there’s really no explanation for it. It’s there and you know, Logan isn’t exactly hard to like. And even if there is an explanation, I’m not going to explain it to you, D. Maybe to Tucker, yes.” Dean gasped at your words and clutched at his chest, mouth opened wide in fake offense while Tucker raised his brow at his friend proudly, raising his hand to high-five you.
The night continued on like that. The three of you joking around, throwing banters here and there, you showing them the Logan folder and telling random stories that you’ve witnessed while taking them. Eventually, it became a night of throwbacks as you pulled up your archives and reminisced the past three years you’ve spent with them.
The clock strikes at four AM and all three of you decide that it’s time to sleep. They helped you pack your things and cleaned up the cups of ramen after. Once everything is at their specific places, Tucker told you to go and occupy his room but you only shook your head.
“Tuck, it’s okay. Take your room, I’ll crash at Logan’s. Although maybe my camera and laptop could stay in your room? I mean, I know Logan wouldn’t snoop into my things, I trust him. But yeah, I don’t want to take my chances.” Tucker gave you an ‘Are you sure?’ look, but when he saw that you’re being serious, he nodded and took your things with him. When you turned around to finally go up, you bumped into Dean who got a teasing grin on his lips, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Oooh, she’s going to sleep in Logan’s room. Are we going to hear some—” He didn’t get the chance to finish what he was about to say when you elbowed him at his side, walking past him and toward the stairs. You heard him mumbling something to Tucker but the moment he saw you looking, he just smiled and gestured for you to keep going.
Once you all made it on the second floor, you all bid each other good night. Tucker was the first to disappear inside his room still carrying your equipment but not before giving you a hug. “Sorry for prying into your folders. We shouldn’t have opened it since we already know that it’s Logan’s. But promise, we won’t tell him. So proud of you today. Your photos are outstanding, like always.”
You smiled at his words and returned the hug, patting his back in the process and sent him to his room. You were about to do the same until Dean called out for you, his head peeking from behind his door.
“Hey, there’s no denying that you are incredibly good at capturing genuine feelings in your photos. It shows, and I wish I have the same talent. But maybe you’re missing something in Logan's photos? What I meant to say is, just—just try not to hide too much behind your camera, okay? I know you love it and we do too, but don’t forget to live in the moment as well. Good night, bestie!” He already closed his door before you could even ask what he meant, his words replayed in your mind in a loop. You didn’t dare to ponder too much about it, though you might have an idea, because you felt the exhaustion catching up on you and decided to think about it once you have the energy.
The moment you made it inside Logan’s room, you saw him peacefully sleeping under his covers. His bed is enough to fit two people and you could easily sleep beside him, but you decided to choose the safe option. So, you took two blankets from his cabinet, stole one of his pillows, and sat on the floor just beside his bed to look at him once more.
He was hugging a pillow and his body is facing you so you have a clear vision of his face that is illuminated by the moonlight peeking from the window. He looks so beautiful like this. Sleeping so serene without a care in the world. You smiled as you felt your eyelids getting heavier and with one last glance at Logan, you lay down on the floor and turned your back on him, muttering a silent good night—a picture of his calm resting figure the last thing you saved in the space of your mind before you drifted off to sleep.
The smell of Logan’s cologne greeted your senses when you woke up, followed by the comfortable and fluffy feeling beneath your body. You blinked against the morning sun and stretched your arms, becoming aware of the fact that you were buried under a thick, navy-blue comforter rather than the blankets you wrapped around yourself with last night. You were pretty sure that you passed out on the floor. Not unless you crawled all the way up to his bed last night.
Before you could fully process the confusion of how you got up there, the bedroom door slowly opened and Logan’s head appeared, his wide and cautious eyes directly landing on you as if to check if you’re still sleeping. When he saw that you’re already awake, though still a bit out of it, an easy smile graced his lips as he walked in. Then you notice the paper bag he was carrying. The mouth-watering scent registered in your mind and with one look at Logan, you quickly catch on that he bought your favorite food.
“Look who’s alive.” His grin widened when you made space for him on his bed, silently inviting him to sit beside you. He handed you the brown paper bag and helped you with the food, setting the drink on his nightstand after telling you to take a big sip. “Good morning, ma’am. You look good.”
“Yeah? I probably looked like a mess right now, but thank you?” You laughed at his words, taking a bite of your meal. Logan just waved it off and urged you to eat while he scrolled at his phone. “Also, you should really stop calling me ‘ma’am’. Even Dean is calling me that.”
“Well, you are the boss in this dynamic and I’m just happy to follow your lead. And believe me, D is calling you that just to tease you.” Logan replied without even looking at you, still busy using his phone, as if what he just said didn’t hit you in a whole different way. As if you shouldn’t be saying such a thing because it’s obvious, like both of you have already established that a long time ago. But at that moment, for you, he just basically admitted something beyond his words. And suddenly, you were reminded of what Dean told you last night.
Maybe you’re missing something in Logan’s photos.
Try not to hide too much behind your camera.
Don’t forget to live in the moment.
You don’t want to overthink it, you don’t want to make something out of pure observation, you don’t want to give meaning into his words especially after what they mentioned to you last night. You don’t want to believe their words, not when your photos show an entirely opposite thing.
Logan has feelings for you, Tucker and Dean said.
Logan is always looking at Hannah, what your camera captured for you.
You couldn’t even bring yourself to develop any kind of negative feelings toward Hannah. The girl is very kind and she helps you out a lot if you have events and vice versa. She made sure that your ‘Welcome Back to Uni’ video for last year’s semester has good and upbeat music and you were always the one she calls to film her music videos with. You’ve always been present in each other’s lives since Logan introduced you to her and there’s no way you could hate her.
You shake off the thoughts in your head and focus on the present.
Live in the moment.
Logan is still beside you, but you noticed that he’s closer now. His leg is touching yours, his body leaning on you that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. He tilted his head until it landed on your upper arm, a soft sigh escaping his lips at the contact.
The proximity isn’t something new between you and Logan. After hanging out with him a couple times, you’ve learned that he’s rather clingy when he becomes comfortable.
At the hockey house during movie night? He’d plant himself beside you just to pull you against him. Or sometimes, he’d make you his personal pillow and will lay his head on your thighs. Whenever you have university events to cover? He always had his arms around your shoulders when you’re not taking photos, or he’d play with your fingers while you’re checking your images. And even when he’s carrying your equipment, he’d still find a way to stay close to you. At parties? He will always place his warm hands over your hips or waist whenever someone is standing too close for your own comfort. And even if it’s just the two of you, his body will just automatically cling to you like a magnet.
But just because it’s not new doesn’t mean it makes you feel normal. No, you’re far from feeling normal. You even got to a point that you feel like the closeness will be the death of you because your heart rate always spikes up. You seemed calm outside, a relaxed smile on your face, joking around with your friends, but inside? A total chaos. And that’s happening right now.
Logan appears to be unaware of this since he just stole a bite of your breakfast by bringing your hand with the food to his mouth and took a gulp from your beverage that you’ve been drinking. Given, he was the one who bought it and maybe he intends to have it shared, the whole thing just happened so naturally it almost gave you a heart attack. So before it could actually happen, you tried to focus on something else.
“Hey, did you carry me onto your bed?” You cautiously asked, trying to stabilize your voice.
“Yeah. Well, actually, you kinda did it yourself when I was about to. I think you felt my arms because you literally said, ‘Logan, leave me alone’, but still let me guide you toward my bed anyway.” Logan chuckled at the memory as he copied you and you raised your eyebrow at his overexaggerated execution of what happened, a sarcastic smile on your lips. “But no, even if you tell me to leave you, I won’t. The floor is bad for your back so, yeah.”
“Then I guess that deserves a, ‘thank you, Logan’.”
“Always, ma’am.” He shrugged casually, his attention back on his phone even though there was a satisfied gleam in his eyes. He didn’t dwell on it though, and instead watched the video currently playing on his screen. But not even a minute passed, he locked his phone and glanced up at you. “By the way, where are your camera and laptop? You didn’t leave them in my room so I assumed it was downstairs, but I didn’t find them.”
The question caught you off-guard. You took a moment to let the question hang in the air, diverting your attention to the last of your food. It wasn’t like you’re planning to lie to him or avoid the question altogether. However, lately, Logan is always eager to see your photos of him. But due to the amount of it that you haven’t let him see, it’s getting harder and harder for you to hide the folders. Especially when he borrows your laptop to send himself a copy of the available ones that you allowed him to see, separated from the original transferred file folder. And the rest where he was just the sole focus while the rest of the world blurred behind him? Those, he cannot see just yet.
“Oh, they’re in Tucker’s room. I was supposed to stay there last night since he offered his room but we kinda ended up in the living room with D—”
“I have my room, you can always stay here.” Logan’s eyebrows shot up at the information, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face and he did the thing with his lips that he always does whenever he’s thinking. But before you could read him, he already turned away.
“You know what? I am giving you my full permission to access my room whenever you want to. And before you protest, which I know you will, don’t. From now on, this room is yours now as much as it is mine. That’s why, you should grab your things from Tucker’s room so we can check the photos you took last night—forget it, I’ll go get it myself.”
Logan was about to stand up when you grabbed his arm that was just leaning on you earlier. There was an unsure smile over your lips, not used to this side of Logan. Sure, you’ve seen him talking a lot, but that’s when he’s playing video games or on ice with his teammates. And on other occasions, when he’s reviewing for his exams. But not like this, not in this kind of situation. He almost sounds envious of the fact that your things are staying somewhere else other than his room. But you pushed the thought at the farthest back of your mind and instead, teased him.
“Logan, relax. If you want me to move in with you and be roomies, all you had to do was ask. There’s no need to use the photos as an excuse.” Logan plopped down beside you again, his eyes studying your face to see even a hint of your seriousness in it. He sighed when he saw none, it was just you joking around with him.
“I mean, think about it, it’s not a bad idea. It would be like a work-university-hockey-life balance for me and you can ask me for help or annoy me whenever you want to.” This time, faux confusion swims on your expression as you ponder over his words.
“I’m not sure I understand. Am I gonna be part of the university and hockey category so you can have professional and unlimited photos of yourself, in exchange of me annoying you—hold up, did you just call me annoying? Excuse me, John Logan?” He laughed out loud at your words, throwing his head back in the process. When his laughters died down, there was an adoration pooling in his eyes that you weren’t prepared to see.
“You’re not annoying.” He softly said. “And my life, you fall in the life category. The whole of it, but only if you want to.”
Your stomach did a violent flip as silence enveloped the room. You didn’t even know how long it stretched out, but you are pretty sure that you just kept staring at each other. The moment was vulnerable and it’s scaring you, especially when Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. The same adoration is still present but now mixed with honesty and yearning.
“Life category, interesting.” You swallowed hard, anchoring yourself to stay calm when you heard that it came out a little breathier than it should. “And you didn’t deny the unlimited photos. In case you haven’t realized the severity of your silent acceptance, that means a lot of storage space in my hard drive. Are you willing to buy me storage space for the whole of it?”
You didn’t know how you managed to say those. Maybe you’ve finally mastered the art of masking it up, of not acknowledging what this might be, of ignoring the insinuations, of accepting that Logan is really just like this and there’s nothing real special about how he treats you.
But Logan’s lip twitched, a fond smile spreading across his lips that reached his eyes as they smiled with him, leaning forward in your direction. “Anything you asked me to, ma’am, you got it.”
“You’re so annoying, Logan. Get out of my face.”
Logan moved a bit, but his body is still pressed slightly against you. He watched you for a moment as you started cleaning up the paper bag, his smile now softening into something curious. The bubble of vulnerability floating around inside the room a moment ago shifts into a much comfortable state. Like the conversation itself made peace with the two of you, like it understood that whatever occurred isn’t just something that came and passed, but it stayed and will live with the both of you.
“Hey, we’ve been friends for years now and I’m sure I haven’t asked you this, but why did you choose candid photography? Of all styles, why do you love it so much when people are not looking?”
You paused, looking back on the reason on how your love developed for that certain style. Soon, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips and then you realized something. Over the course of three years, aside from the main reason why you kept doing candid photography, Logan unknowingly spent it being your favorite subject and he never knew about it.
Eventually, you let out a sigh, the smile still maintained which didn’t go unnoticed by Logan. “There we go, there’s that smile.”
“It actually started when I was five. When I took a photo of my family while they were busy doing their own things, it was Christmas that time. The world kept spinning, but time froze and so was the moment when I used the camera.” A soft laugh escaped you as you tried to find the right words, your voice dropping just a little.
“And that’s beautiful. Because I learned that they don’t just freeze in time, it holds stories as well. When I asked my mom later on if she remembered what happened, she told me a version different from my uncle. My cousin said she was chasing her cat, my grandma said she was just watching me, my other cousin said she was busy critiquing her mom’s roasted chicken, and my story? I was the one who took the photo and it was so, so beautiful, Logan.”
Logan was just silently listening beside you, studying your every word and making mental notes on how this certain conversation is making you feel. What do you look like, how you talk about it, your hand gestures, and how your face contorts into different expressions. His silence urged you to keep going, the words pouring out.
“Also, people are more honest when they don’t know there’s a camera. Because when they know, they put up a wall. I have nothing against that, I do that too sometimes and I love it when they pose for the camera, I pose for the camera. But candid photography? It captures how people actually look around them. What they’re feeling in that instant and who they are looking at.”
Then suddenly, you were thinking of the photos you had of him. During his hockey games, at parties, at Malone’s, at a group vacation, and a few completely random moments where your camera happens to be with you and you can’t resist taking photos of your surroundings. Logan dwells on your words, still quiet but present.
Then all of a sudden, he took your phone from his nightstand and asked you to open it. He pulled up your gallery and clicked on one of the photos, handing the phone to you.
“Tell me a story then.” And of all the photos that he chose, he chose the one where you guys spent Friendsgiving on the lakehouse. The photo you took where he suddenly appeared from inside the house and directly looked at Hannah.
“Uhm, suddenly? Well, I remembered Allie complaining that Dean was leaning too close to her and that Garrett was starving and he wanted more of Hannah’s lasagna and Tucker’s turkey.” You purposely skipped out the part where he was visibly seen in the background. You ignored the look he has on his face and focused on the sole subject of the photo, the couples.
“I’m in the photo too. What’s my story?” You turned to look at Logan, your mouth suddenly dry. You cannot possibly say, “Oh, you’re looking at Hannah, right? And you had this look on your face because you wished you were in Garrett’s place instead.” So, once again, you chose the safe option.
“How could I possibly know? You were too far.” You laughed dismissively and locked your phone, but Logan wasn’t finished.
He didn't say anything for a moment, thinking over his words as he bit his lower lips. He just stared at you, his dark eyes shimmering with courage and searching your face as if what he wanted to say was something that could make or break the moment, as if you are what he wanted to say. The silence grew heavy with unsaid words until Logan opened his mouth.
“I know. You were—” But the harsh buzz of his phone cut him off. He pinched the bridge of his nose at the intruding sound, breathing out heavily as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He cursed at the small device, reading the message before tucking it back inside his jeans.
“Sorry to interrupt our conversation, ma’am. But I have a plumbing business to attend to and apparently, a car that suddenly broke down.” He sighed, collecting the garbage from his bed and the nightstand. He offered you a regretful smile, standing beside his bed, not ready to leave just yet. “Anyway, stay as long as you need if you don’t have classes but shoot me a message if you need a ride back to campus, okay? Make sure to get your things from Tucker too. Remember, my room is yours now.”
“Wait, I thought I’m the boss here? Why are you giving me orders?” He walked toward the door, but stopped right at the threshold at the sound of your teasing voice. He turned back, his gaze locking onto yours one last time, his own tone copying yours.
“You’re still in charge, but even you have house rules to follow. Like, Rule No. 1: You are not allowed to walk back to campus when I’m capable of driving you back there—”
“And I’m also capable of walking, Logan.” The playful glint in his eyes is still present, but it’s softer now. He exhaled, knowing well that you have something to say in return. But he stood his ground and stepped out of his room, only to peek inside once more just to tease you.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot seem to comprehend that statement so I’m still driving you back to campus, alright? See you later.” With a quick wink he threw your way, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you alone in his bed with your heart hammering against your ribs. And you finally let out the heaviest huffed you breathed out your entire life. The past hour that you’ve spent with him almost felt like a lifetime and you were nearing your death. You silently thanked whoever that was who called him for a job, because if Logan stayed a bit more, you’re not sure what’s going to happen.
You were still recovering from everything when your own phone buzzed between your hands, the notification sending your heart in shock at the unexpected sound. When you’ve calmed down, you check to see what it’s all about.
The notification was from the journalism club group chat. And it’s about the annual exhibition related to media and arts. However, this year’s theme wasn’t about the usual subject. It wasn’t about “what the journalism club covers?” but it’s about “who makes the coverage happen?” The editor-in-chief, Meadow, who is a senior, wanted to shift the attention to the students that keep the Briar university media alive and the adviser approved it.
You opened the link and it directed you to a private document where the complete details of the exhibition laid out. There, in bold letters were BEHIND, the overall theme for the exhibition. You scrolled through the document until you saw the part specifically for photojournalists, the assignments and guidelines carefully listed out.
BEHIND: The Lens.
Each photojournalist must showcase a minimum of 10 (20 at maximum) high resolution and raw images where they were the subject. (Photos taken during an event, party, personal getaway, etc. as long as they are the subject are acceptable.)
It is important that they are carrying their camera, doing their usual task as photojournalist.
Those were some of the important ones that you read. And it said twenty days. You only got twenty days to prepare everything. That includes the photos, the captions, the stories, the editing, the perfect printing, the exhibit setup. You love Briar U, you love your adviser, you love being a journalist and a photographer, but doing everything in twenty days? While also juggling other courses and activities? You thought you might as well just disappear.
You’re already thinking about how you’re collecting the photos. Maybe your fellow photojournalists have stolen photos of you while you’re covering, maybe your friends got a few as well. But it’s a very rare occasion for a photojournalist to be photographed. There’s a reason why you’re the ones carrying the camera and for a moment there, you started stressing out. You’re lucky to get at least five or eight, but ten to twenty? You really hope your friends have some photos, even the blurry ones would suffice.
You were still reading the guidelines when you received a message from Logan.
And that was enough to forget the stress as you started getting ready for the day, the corner of your lips beaming with anticipation. The only thought in your mind is Logan and how he always knows when to appear, even unknowingly.
“They changed the guidelines, guys! Imagine that! And now, they wanted a maximum of twenty photos. Like, how would over a hundred photos fit in the gallery? I only have ten photos at the moment, which met the initial guideline. We only have seven days left. We barely got everything together, Ms. Rodriguez is sick, and at this point, I’m not sure if the exhibit is still feasible at all.” You all but ranted at your friends at the diner, pushing a fry around your plate in which Logan picked up to bring near your lips so you could finally eat. “Stop feeding me, Logan. These fries are just as stressed as I am, they taste so bad.”
Allie and Hannah gave you a sympathetic look, offering you a light squeeze on your shoulder since that was the only thing they could do for now. Three out of your ten photos actually came from them, four were from Tucker, Garrett, and Dean, while the remaining three were from Logan. They have asked around themselves but to no avail, and the stress is slowly eating at you.
That moment, it dawned on you that being a candid photographer means literally blending with the wind because none of your subjects notice you which you don’t mind in many cases, but you do now. Even your friends from journalism don’t have photos of you. Well, they have. But you were not carrying your camera, you were instead posing for theirs.
“And I mean, I can’t fake it. I can’t just ask you guys to take pictures of me right now because that’ll be unnatural which kills the sole reason why I’m doing this in the first place. Candid is my brand, my trademark.”
Garrett then chimed in, a memory flashing in his mind during your rant. “Wait, I think I have another photo of you during my birthday but it’s in my old phone. I’ll check it later, okay? Can’t promise you it’s good though.”
You almost cried at that, sending Garrett a grateful smile. This made you turn to your friends, the same look on your face, while Logan was still busy feeding you fries from time to time. “Guys, any photo will do at this point as long as I have my camera. It’s not even important now whether I’m checking photos or just simply holding it, I just need the photos because they must be printed by Friday this week and it’s already Tuesday. I swear, I’ll treat all of you to dinner once this is over.”
Hannah shook her head as she reached for your hands, enveloping it with hers as she smiled at you. “Hey, we got this, okay? I’ll double check if I missed anything from our beach trip last summer. You’ll complete the twenty photos, babe, trust me.”
You didn’t know if it was the dread of the upcoming deadline playing with your mind but you saw Hannah throwing Logan a look. But when you glanced at him, he didn’t say anything, he also stopped tending to your fries. He just took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes looking back at Hannah before landing on you for a second longer than usual until he looked down at his phone. You felt the familiar ache in your chest before you turned away from him yourself. He was probably thinking about something else, or someone else. And he didn’t speak anymore for the duration of your stay after that.
Time passed by quickly in the diner as you spent it sending out messages to your friends to help you collate photos for the exhibit. You even got Beau and Dexter to help when they joined your table. And before you know it, all of you call it a day.
By the time you got back to your dorm, with Logan driving you, he still hasn’t said a word. You didn’t know what’s going on or what he was thinking about, but his silence is affecting you. Logan was never this quiet when he’s with you, so you’re not very sure how to approach the situation.
“Thanks for the ride, Logan. Be safe on your way to the house.” You muttered quietly as you unfastened your seatbelt. When he stayed silent, you started to collect your bag and camera between you and him, refusing to look his way. But when you were about to hop out of his truck, he stopped you, his hand reaching out to gently grab your arm. However, even with the contact, he still didn’t say anything. “Logan, are you okay?”
“Yeah, uhm, let me walk you to your room.”
You just nodded in response and waited for him as he parked his car. On your way to your dorm room, that’s when he started asking questions about the exhibit. How many more photos do you need, can’t you really just take new photos, what else is lacking, what kind of photos do you want the audience to see the most for your entry, and the like. You were surprised how attentive he is now compared to when you were at the diner, but you weren’t complaining.
When you reached your room, you offered to invite him inside but he kindly declined and mentioned there’s something important he needs to do tonight. You shook your head in understanding and gestured that he should go back home.
“Thank you, again, for the ride, and for listening to my rants. Message me once you’re back home, okay? Good night, Logan.” You stood there for a moment, waiting for Logan’s response that didn’t come. Instead, he engulfed you with a hug. His warmth quickly spreads throughout your body, your arms automatically wrapping around him.
“Research shows that hugging can reduce stress so let’s stay like this for a moment.”
It was completely random, you thought. But it’s true, you felt yourself melting against Logan as he held you close to him. His arms only tightened on you when you tugged at his sweater, trying to be as close to him as possible. It wasn’t the first hug that you shared, but there’s something about this one that felt different. It felt intimate and not just for the sake of physical contact.
You didn’t know how much time had passed when you loosened your hold on him, pulling a foot away to look at him. “I don’t know how many times I’m gonna say thank you tonight but thank you. That hug really helped a lot.”
Logan gave you a slight tap on your nose as he completely let go, though reluctantly. The silence came back, but it’s much more comfortable now unlike earlier. Logan busied himself by fixing your clothes that wrinkled during the hug and gazed directly at your eyes.
“Don’t stress, okay? I got you. Tonight, allow yourself to relax. You’ll be okay, I promise.” And then he left, right after sending you inside your dorm, after hearing you lock the door, after making sure that you’re safe.
And especially after gracing your forehead with a kiss that he couldn’t help himself to give.
You weren’t sure what to do with what happened.
Logan, who was supposed to like Hannah, just kissed your forehead and just left. He hugged you for who knows how long and then he kissed you. After telling you not to stress and to relax for tonight, he did the exact thing that kept you from doing so. Obviously, you couldn’t relax. You don’t kiss your friend on their forehead. Because that will blur the line between being friends, nothing in the friendship would feel normal after that.
Not unless Logan kisses all his friends to their forehead, you wouldn’t react this way. Well, he did kiss Garrett one time on the same spot but you were playing some drinking game that time. Do the dare, tell the truth, or drink the weird mixture prepared by Tucker. But that was a totally different scenario. See, that’s the thing, Logan doesn’t kiss all his friends that way and he wasn’t definitely playing with you earlier. And that is a territory that you’re trying to understand at two AM in the morning.
You’re currently sitting on the floor of the journalism club office after accepting the fact that sleep is miles away from your reach because of two things. One was obviously because of Logan, and two, you’re still contacting friends about your photos while also brainstorming possible layouts and captions. Ms. Rodriguez allows students to stay for as long as they need in the office. Especially at times like this when everyone is busy preparing for an event.
A few other members also came to do their assignments. But unlike you, they are actually accomplishing something. You glanced at the door when one of the editorial cartoonists bid good night, wishing the rest of you good luck to finish your tasks. And you hoped that it’d work because you badly needed it.
Puffing out a breath, you put your attention back to your laptop and continued scrolling on your archives. You knew it was no use since the photos were not you, but looking at them brings you comfort. Until you pulled up Logan’s folder.
The Muse.
You clicked at the small icon and patiently waited for it to load. The photos appeared one after another, the pixels forming into clarity. You gasped, the small numbers on the left down corner of your screen still surprising you whenever it stops at a certain amount. You’ll never get used to it, because you know that as long as the lens of your camera catches Logan, you’ll click that small button to capture him. The sequence of his whole existence turning into pages inside your album.
I am your guy because if you haven’t noticed yet, I am highly photogenic.
He mentioned during your first meeting, and did he lie? No, he didn’t. Because keeping his words, he wasn’t just photogenic but he also became your guy. The last years proved that, the present proved that. You just didn’t know how much longer you could keep it in considering the observations of your friends and the way Logan acted the past few days, especially earlier. And you thought to yourself—hiding his photos is one thing, suppressing your feelings is another, and a girl can only do both for a long time.
“Ruin the friendship, babe. He’s a senior, who knows what will happen after graduation?” Meadow suddenly appeared behind you, balancing her laptop with her left hand while the right one was carrying probably her third cup of coffee since 12 AM. “And before you deny it, I’ve seen the way you look at him and the way he looks at you, and I’m telling you, it’s worth ruining the friendship.”
“Meadow, it’s not—” But she’s already backing toward the door, her playful eyes never leaving your form. And before she completely left, she pointed at your phone beside your laptop. “He sent you a message, by the way, but you were too busy looking at his photos. Live in the moment, babe. Good night!”
You didn’t get to respond to her as she briskly went and closed the door, leaving you dumbfounded and realizing that she said the same thing as Dean. Your phone buzzed again, preventing you from thinking over the words. You picked it up to see four messages from Logan.
Curiosity and excitement clouded your mind as you opened your email, thinking that maybe he collected the photos Garrett and Hannah promised to double check for you and a few more from him and the others. When the page loaded, Logan’s mail sat at the top of your inbox which contained a shared drive link with a camera emoji as the title.
When you click the link, you expect to see blurry and casual frame phone snaps. The photo Garrett said was probably bad, the photo from the beach getaway by Hannah, but you saw none of those. Instead, you had to wait a full minute for the folder to fully load.
Your breath caught in your throat as the sheer volume of files flashed before you, each thumbnail beginning to clear.
There are hundreds of them. Hundreds of candid photos of you.
It was all you.
Holding your camera, browsing the photos, capturing others.
You were completely in your element.
And they were all taken by Logan. You confirmed this by seeing the small watermark, JL22, located at the uppermost right corner of the photos. A watermark you helped him design a year ago that you never see him use. But now, you understand. He never intended for it to be seen by other people, it was solely just for you.
You scrolled at the shared folder, your heart hammering against your ribs as if it wanted to jump out. The corner of your eyes started to sting without permission, tears forming the longer you browsed. The photos weren’t accidental nor taken with low-effort, and as someone who has been doing photography, Logan’s angles were so good he might be mistaken as part of the club. The lighting was perfect, the focus was measured, the background fading behind as you stood out.
You’ve taught Logan how to use a camera one time, but you didn’t realize how much attention and effort he put into that day for his photos to turn out this way. They were taken so carefully.
Or maybe because he’s been observing you, he’s been paying attention. That while you were too occupied adjusting your lens, his focus was already on yours.
The tears in your eyes fell one by one but you weren’t sure what the reason was. All you know was you’re overwhelmed, you’re confused, and you really want to talk to Logan about this. Because this completely changed everything. The hug and the kiss? It was just the start, but this? You’re crossing a whole foreign zone in this predicament.
You clicked on the photos and observed each one, remembering the moment and what you were doing—what was your story.
There was a picture of you during an off-campus party, your face half-hidden by your camera as you try to capture Justin and his band. Another photo was you sitting behind Logan’s truck during your beach getaway as you set up your tripod to shoot the sunset, looking for the best angle. And there was a candid shot of you from a random day in the library but this time, you were transferring files, your camera resting safely beside your laptop.
You continued scrolling, too mesmerized to stop. Because at that moment, you felt seen, you felt loved. It feels like Logan learned how to appreciate you and what you do based on how you appreciate the world, and it was destroying your walls—both in good and bad ways.
Until you noticed something. A pattern, again. But it wasn’t the kind that breaks you, it was the kind that showed you another side of the story, Logan’s side of the story. And there was only one way to prove these patterns. You opened the tab containing your own archive, splitting the screen so you have it side-by-side with Logan's shared drive.
The photos you took at Malone’s to celebrate their win, the same night you spent hanging out with Tucker and Dean. Your photo was taken from the entrance and Logan was looking at Hannah and Garrett over at the bar where you left them to hang out. And Logan’s photo was you, laughing and capturing the couple in front of you, right before you left them.
The photo during your group hung out at the same diner. You were pressed against the wall as you pictured the same couple teasing each other. But looking at Logan’s photo, he didn’t even include Hannah and Garrett, he just focused on you while you were still holding your camera.
And there was Friendsgiving by the lake. He was in the background emerging from the lakehouse, confusion obvious on his face. Then you glanced at his version, and the picture was taken inside the house, you were still sitting beside Hannah, preparing to photograph your friends.
Then Beau’s party. Logan was frowning at your photo, looking at the kitchen’s doorway where Garrett stood close behind his girlfriend. But then there was you, perfectly captured by Logan, at the same kitchen doorway where you were showing Hannah something in your camera.
Realization hit you at once. Logan hadn’t been looking at Hannah all this time, he had been looking at where he last saw you, which was usually beside the latter. He wasn’t tracking her movements, he was tracking yours. He wasn’t paying attention to her in ways that you thought, he was paying attention to you. He positions himself in every possible corner of the room to give himself the clearest sight of you—the person holding the camera, the person who’s always engaged behind the lens of her camera that she totally missed the eyes of the person she wanted to catch the most.
Live in the moment. Maybe you’re missing something in Logan’s photos.
That instant, it occurred to you that the reason he rarely looked at the lens of your camera was because he was too busy trying to catch your eyes. You're too occupied watching Logan and the way he's looking at Hannah, that you missed who he's actually looking at.
Sitting on the floor of the journalism club office, the overwhelming feelings slowly dissipate as your mind clears out. Your heart goes back to its normal rhythm, while your mind is gradually absorbing the new information you’ve found out. Your emotions are still not at its one hundred percent best, but the ache of the last year believing that Logan likes someone else is now being replaced by a cure you didn’t know existed.
A breathy laugh escaped your lips as you stared at the split screen in front of you. Because all along, you thought that you and Logan were in the same heartbreaking situation of being in love with someone you could never have.
Turned out, both of you have been harboring a secret and hopeless love for each other.
You then looked at the printer a few feet away from you, then back at the laptop. You already printed out the first ten, you just have to choose ten more. And after a few careful consideration, you’ve chosen the best ones from his folder, a satisfied smile crossing your lips at the last one.
The night is getting deeper, but you know that Logan is still awake. So, while the printer was doing its job bringing the photos in its form, you took your phone from your bag and messaged him.
The last of your photo was printed out when you heard the entrance door open, Logan’s head peeking behind as he glanced inside the empty office. You smiled at his presence, gesturing for him to come inside as you picked up the final photo to put beside the other ones to dry down.
He didn’t come in right away, he just stood at the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets as a slow and knowing grin spread across his face. He had his eyes locked onto yours, watching you organize the things you used for printing and at the photos hanging just behind you.
His photos.
Logan felt a sense of pride knowing that you were able to complete the twenty photos because of him. He always calls you ma’am, he always says that he’s happy to do whatever you ask him to, but what he doesn't say is that he likes taking care of you. In ways that you allow him, without making you feel like you’re dependent. And this is just one of the ways he shows it. Making himself present, but not hovering.
“You weren’t kidding, those are mine.” He softly said, his voice carrying a gentleness to it that made you look at him. At the same time, he glanced down to meet your gaze. “They’re beautiful.”
For a moment, none of you speak. You just let the silence take over the both of you, his words lingering like a reminder of what’s about to come, of the reason why you messaged him. Both of you understood that it wasn’t just about the ride, but it’s also about the path you’ll navigate after tonight.
“They are, and you were the person behind these photos.” The way you said it went straight to Logan’s heart, because you said it with ease, with normalcy. You sound so proud and it did something to him. “Come in, please. We need to talk.”
Logan walked over, the gap between you disappearing instantly and suddenly, the room felt small. But he didn’t push, he didn’t crowd your space, he just let you take the next step. Just like he always did. He always patiently waits for you, in many ways that you could name. Then you nudged at your laptop so the device was facing him, the screen displayed your folder and his; showing him that both of you kept an archive of each other.
“First of all, thank you. For the photos, it truly helped me complete my entry for the exhibit. You have no idea how grateful I am for these.” You began, your eyes casting toward the ten printed photos that hung in a line above you. You started tracing the outline of yourself and the way Logan made you appear like a main character in his photos, an intimate tug at your lips forming. “And I’m sorry, for not seeing it sooner.”
You exhaled shakily, twisting around to face Logan who’s already looking at you. “When I saw your email, what it contained, your photos, I realized that I relied on my camera too much and what it showed me. Dean was right, there was something missing in your photos. I missed to capture the way you’re looking at me, because I thought you were looking at someone else.”
Logan’s expression softened, it was a subtle change in his eyes but it was enough for you to notice. He was hanging on every word that you’re saying, longing for it to unfold. But being the man that he is, he didn’t say anything, he just let you find the right path through your thoughts.
“Then, it dawned on me that you were not hiding your feelings for someone else—you were not hiding anything at all. It’s always been laid out there for me but I was too scared to ruin what we have. Because what we have is good, Logan. You’ve been such a good friend to me and I can’t ruin that. But looking at my photos, at your photos, I feel like I only captured a fraction of what is actually happening.
“And that it was actually me that has been hiding a lot. Behind my camera, behind the blinding flash of it because it was easier for me. It was easier to look at you when I have my camera because it lets me control how I see things, how I see you. And that’s not fair.”
The admission almost broke Logan’s heart, because in the past three years that he’d known you, this is the first time that he saw you totally break down your walls. Sure, there were the vulnerable times when you allowed yourself to rely on him, to cry in front of him, but he never saw you this way. And he wanted nothing but to tell you that it’s okay, that he doesn’t find it unfair. That he understands because if he were being honest, he didn’t exactly come clean himself. He never actually admitted his feelings for you and he could only hope at that moment that he had done it a long time ago.
“I always say that I love candid photography because there is always a story behind it. But you, you’ve always been my favorite person to picture yet I didn’t exactly give you the chance to tell your side of the story.” Then you took a step forward, there was still space between you but it’s almost nonexistent now. “If you want, I wish to hear every single version of the stories you have through your lens. I’m done telling mine, Logan, I choose to listen this time, I choose to see this time.”
Logan let out a quiet, breathy laugh, keeping his emotions at bay. He doesn’t know whether to slap himself to confirm if this was a dream or just put you in an embrace, in his arms, and hold you for the rest of time. But he stopped himself and moved forward, and he swore he could almost feel your heart beating the same rhythm as his.
“Oh, baby, it wasn’t unfair. You have every right to interpret this however you want, because I didn’t say anything sooner. And I’m sorry too, for making you feel that way.” He said, his tone dropping to a velvet whisper that seemed to absorb the remaining space between you. His hands hovered beside your arms, testing the moment, and when he didn’t see any hint of hesitance on your face, he wrapped his hands around yours.
“I wished I did things differently, there was no reason for me to keep my feelings a secret. But I believe I was just terrified as you are because you were right, what we have is really good. And I will never be able to handle knowing that I could potentially break what we have because I started seeing you more like a future than a friend.” He confessed, his gaze dropping to your joined hands, staring at the way they fit perfectly together. Like it was sculpted to be that way. You felt your tears build up once again and you looked up to prevent it from falling, your throat constricting as you do so.
Logan drew comforting circles against your skin before his eyes met yours again with a raw and obvious vulnerability, yearning to look at you and to be looked by you. He let go of one of your hands just so he could wipe a stray tear that fell, and eventually, he gently cupped your cheek.
“I cannot go back and change what happened, but I can definitely make up for it starting now. And if you wanna know what I want? I want us. I want what you want and everything that you don’t. I want myself with you, not just for now but for—”
“The whole of it.”
“Yeah, baby, the whole of it. But only if you want to?” You laughed, the glee sound of it echoing in Logan’s mind, taking note of how you looked right now. And while you’ve always been beautiful in his eyes, he couldn’t help but notice the way you appeared so breathtaking in his gaze that second.
“John, did you just use the same words you told me a week ago?” His hand that was holding your cheek dropped back to his side as he sheepishly smiled at you, but you saw a depth behind it. He genuinely wanted to know the answer, because that time in his room, you didn’t give a clear response and he understood why. But now, things have changed. You knew that the moment the both of you walked out the journalism office, you’ll no longer be just friends. Your relationship will be more, and that includes making decisions.
“Hey, you didn’t have to say anything now. We have time, love, there’s no rush.” Logan gave your hand a squeeze, a final assurance to his words. But you shook your head, your mind swirling with something else.
“Logan, I spent—we spent a lot of years not saying anything and I don’t want to do that anymore. And this is not us rushing, this is you and me finally choosing us. And I want more of it, I want the whole of it.”
Logan exhaled heavily, like he wasn’t expecting you to say the words he’d been dying to hear. None of you said a word, but the silence was enough to speak for itself as you tugged him closer to your body. Logan’s hands automatically held your hips, while yours wrapped around his neck, drawing him toward your face.
Your foreheads bumped together as your eyes meet, the connection palpable. He didn’t move, he was just waiting again on your next move. But his grip tightened on your body when he felt you gently grab the back of his neck, a hint of coyness on his expression.
“I want it, Logan. I want you.”
And with one pull, the gap completely disappears as your lips connect for a kiss. The hesitation, the holding back, the years you’ve spent watching each other from lens’ reach, all of it evaporated the second your lips met. It was everything both of you have expected and more.
Logan’s tightened grip on your hips moves toward the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as if the proximity wasn’t enough; while his other hand cradled your cheek, guiding your head as he deepened the kiss. You felt everything at once instantly—the yearning, the warmth, how the contentment settled in, how both of your bodies melted into each other.
You pulled back just a little to catch your breath, only to dive back in for another kiss. A low ragged breath escaped Logan and it turned to a quiet rumble against your chest as he started laughing in between kisses.
“Point proven.” Logan’s forehead rests against yours, the smile lay permanent on his lips. His voice is a little rough, but it was laced with affection that touched your heart. He leaned in again, but the kisses this time are lighter, softer, as it lingered and traced down your jawline up to the spot just below your ear, and back to your lips.
You naturally arched into his touch as the kiss grew more desperate, hungrier. His tongue swiped at the top of your lips, as if asking for permission to explore your mouth, and you didn’t hesitate to let him in. Despite the growing passion, both of you made sure to savor the moment. Memorizing the pattern of the kiss, which angle makes Logan heave a breath, and what makes you shiver when his hands explore what he can touch.
He broke the kiss for a second just to gaze at your eyes, a glint you’ve never seen before swimming in them, and buried his head at the junction of your neck to inhale your scent. You still felt him leaving small kisses on your skin, his hands engulfing you in another hug.
“This is per—you’re so perfect.” The admission left you chuckling as you played with the back of his neck, massaging his scalp, while your other hand rubbed at his back. The comfort and solace it brings made Logan sigh in your arms. “I didn’t even want to think how I managed to go on the last years without this. If I had known that it'd feel like this, I would’ve shown you how I feel for you.”
“Well, you never have to think about it now. You got me.”
A few minutes have passed when Logan lets go, glancing around the office as his eyes land on the wall clock, realizing that it’s time to go home. You quickly caught on at the change in his posture and started gathering your things, which Logan took from you right away.
“You ready to go, ma’am?” Logan stretched out his hand your way, waiting for you to clasp your own ones with his. And when you did, he tugged you beside him to lay a peck on your forehead, satisfaction filling his system. “Alright, let’s get you home.”
Once outside, you started locking the doors but Logan stole another scan of your photos from the glass window. Then he caught the last photo you printed out and it made him pause. He didn’t think you’d notice, but he should’ve thought better than to believe you wouldn’t. His expression softened at the realization that you picked out his most favorite photo from his own folder.
It was a perfectly angled and photographed image of you in the hockey house. You were holding your camera toward his direction, your lips curved in a smile as you took a picture of Logan. At that time, you thought he was busy looking at his phone. But that was proven wrong because while you definitely stood out in the picture, Logan was in the background, his reflection clear on the mirror just behind you. A perfect image that showed how the camera works in two ways.
With one last glance, Logan pulled you to walk alongside him, a newfound peace settling in.
And as you turned a corner going to the parking lot, you looked up just to see Logan already staring back at you. And as much as you don’t want to admit, Dean has always been right all along.
You should live in the moment.
Do not hide behind your camera all the time.
So you’ll not miss what’s happening in front you.
And as you’re nearing his truck, it struck you that while you're busy loving him through the lens of your camera, he's spent the past few years loving you through his very own eyes and you can’t wait to do the same.
BONUS: Exhibit day, opening.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reaching up to this point. It was totally a challenge writing this one but I pushed through. This one was actually self-indulgent and I had so much doing this. Anyway, always stay safe, lovelies! ♥️
summary: as a photography student, taking photos became an outlet of your every emotion. and eventually, it also became the sole witness of the love you secretly harboured over the years for logan. every chance you could get to capture him during his game, or a party, or a group hangout, you will take it. until you noticed a pattern, he never looked at the lens of your camera but rather at your friend, hannah. yet, a shift occurred when the journalism club announced their annual media and arts exhibition and suddenly, you were left confused to understand the thing you never thought was possible.
title: tears ; 🌧️
summary: logan loves going down on you. he lives for it, he craves it, he loves everything about it. but what he didn’t expect was your reaction when you were the one who goes down on him.
