hidden, part two
Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/justdiedinhisarms/819983249198776320/the-crowd-roared-so-loudly-that-i-couldnt-even?source=share
The dorm room was a disaster zone of fabric, drinks, and half-empty makeup palettes. Eleanore was currently struggling to attach her Thor cape, cursing softly under her breath while I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to figure out how to arrange my Tesseract shoulderbag without it looking like a glorified grocery sack.
"Does this make me look like a god, or just someone who got lost on the way to a comic convention?" Eleanore asked, spinning in front of the mirror. She looked fantastic, honestly. "You look like a god," I confirmed, standing up to adjust a small Loki helmet on my head.
It wasn't a surprise that Dean Dilaurentis and Beau Maxwell organized a party for their birthday. I knew the party was going to be iconic; Beau wouldn't have it any other way. The theme was "Iconic duos," and the pressure was on.
Eleanore had spent the last three days gushing about our costumes. She was a huge theater fan, and honestly, she lived for this stuff. At first, we'd toyed with the idea of going as Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, but we both had the same goal for tonight: look hot.
Eventually, we settled on the different dynamic of Loki and Thor. We were able to make this look sexy, so we were proud.
As we arrived, I greeted Beau first, as he was one of my closest friends. We'd met on the very first day of college, and he'd quickly become my go-to confidant. I couldn't tell Garrett everything as he was far too protective. Beau knew how to handle my moods. He was dressed as Goose from Top Gun, and honestly, I had to suppress a laugh. I still remembered the ugly, sobbing mess I'd been when Garrett forced me to watch that movie years ago.
"You look way too happy to be a doomed pilot," I teased, bumping my shoulder against his. Beau grinned, his aviator shades sliding down his nose. "It's the legacy, Y/N. It gives me power. Plus, I think I pull off the pilot look better than Maverick does." I shook my head, laughing, and scanned the room until I found the rest of our group.
Garrett was playing the part of a vampire, and Dean was the Maverick to Beau's Goose. Then I spotted Tucker. He seemed to be... a bee?
"Hold this, please," Eleanore said, shoving Mjolnir into my hands. My costume was rapidly becoming a confusing logistical nightmare. She didn't wait for a response, just marched straight over to the bee and started chatting. I sighed, leaning against the kitchen island. A group of girls from my class found me to take me to the dance floor. It was easier than hovering around the hockey players. I danced for a while, letting the bass vibrate in my chest, until a guy I'd never seen before stepped into my personal space.
"Hi," he shouted over the music. I stilled my movements, giving him a polite, guarded look.
"Hi."
"What's a pretty girl like you doing, dancing all alone? D'you have a boyfriend?" He asked. I almost rolled my eyes. Corny. He wasn't particularly attractive, and his vibe was off. "Just having fun," I said, offering a tight, dismissive smile as I tried to turn back to my classmates.
"Let me get you another drink," he suggested, reaching for my arm. I pulled back.
"No, it's fine, I still have plenty," I said, holding up my half-full can.
He didn't take the hint. "Come on, just one dri-"
"She has a drink already, man. Leave her be," a familiar voice said from behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know it was Logan.
"Just-" the guy tried to argue.
"I said no," I exclaimed promptly, my voice firm. The guy huffed, "Whatever.", shooting a glare at Logan before slinking away, his posture looking significantly less broad now that he'd been called out. I watched him leave, then turned to face Logan. He was looking down at me, holding my gaze with that intensity that always made my breath hitch.
"I can take care of myself, by the way, Loge," I said, though there was no real heat in it. He smiled, a slow, relaxed expression. "I know, trust me. I just don't like that guy anyway. He's a weirdo."
I hummed, softening. "Then thanks."
"You're welcome," he said, not moving away even though the guy was gone. "I saw you from across the room. Looking like you were about to commit a crime, and I didn't want Garrett to have to bail you out of jail."
I laughed, the tension in my shoulders finally dropping. "Oh, please. I'm a future lawyer. I'd have gotten myself off on a technicality."
"Ah," I said, finally looking at his outfit. "You're matching with Tucker. The bird and the bee?"
He nodded, then chuckled as he scanned your outfit, Mjölnir (Thor's hammer) in one hand, a can of beer in the other. Your tesseract bag was still draped around your shoulder.
"You know," Logan started, amused. "I think the point of Loki's entire character was that he couldn't pick up the hammer."
"Well, let me tell you a little secret, bird. I am secretly not actually Loki. I am worthy of this hammer."
He laughed, a genuine, warm sound that made something in my chest flutter. "If you say so. Just don't blame me when you accidentally cause a thunderstorm in the middle of the living room."
We continued our banter in the middle of the dance floor. Dean suddenly appeared between us, slinging an arm around Logan's shoulders.
"There you are!" he shouted over the music. "I've been looking for my favorite bird."
"Please stop calling me that," Logan deadpanned.
Dean ignored him completely. "Y/N, settle something for us. Tucker insists bees are birds."
I blinked. "... What?"
"He says they both fly."
"I never said that," Tucker protested from somewhere behind him. "I said they're basically cousins."
"They're not cousins," Logan sighed.
"They both have wings."
"So do bats."
"They're goth birds."
The laugh escaped before I could stop it.
Dean pointed triumphantly at Tucker. "See? She laughed. I win." He yelled above the music as he made his way to Beau.
A couple of moments later, Eleanore and Tucker were dancing together.
I was dancing too, getting drunker and drunker with every drink I had until a familiar J.Lo. track started blasting. As much as I loved the song, the crowd was getting too claustrophobic. I stepped away, absentmindedly pulling Logan with me. I felt the alcohol buzzing in my head, and I desperately needed a breath of fresh air.
I didn't even realize I'd grabbed him until we'd crossed the kitchen. My fingers were wrapped loosely around his sleeve, and somehow he hadn't let go. Every few steps someone brushed past us, forcing us a little closer together before the crowd swallowed them again. Neither of us mentioned it. Neither of us seemed particularly eager to break the contact.
We walked outside and headed toward the pool. The night air was crisp, biting at my bare shoulders and serving as the perfect antidote to the sticky, overheated air inside. I let out a long, shaky exhale, the kind that feels like it's pulling the weight of the whole week off my chest.
I sat at the edge, pulled off my shoes, and dipped my feet into the water, sending a jolt of cold through me that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature. Logan sat down next to me, his presence heavy and reassuring. He didn't say anything, just let the quiet stretch out between us. It was rare to have this kind of stillness with him; usually, we were surrounded by teammates, or loud music, or the persistent, underlying tension of my brother being nearby. Here, with the reflection of the colored party lights dancing on the surface of the pool, he looked different. More vulnerable.
We sat in silence for a moment, side-by-side. I closed my eyes, drowning out the muffled thrum of the music from inside. Logan wasn't putting his feet in, but he was facing me directly, watching me. When I opened my eyes, I caught him looking at me with an unreadable expression.
"You know," I said, my voice quiet, "you're cute."
His breath hitched, and he blinked once. I smiled, then let out an involuntary hiccup. Fuck, I'm so drunk, I thought. I stared ahead, feeling his gaze burning into the side of my face. I wanted to do more than just say he was cute. He was fucking hot. I stood up abruptly at the realization and wobbled.
Logan was quick to stand, his hands steadying my back. His palms felt warm against my skin, sending a jolt of heat through me. "Whoa, careful there." Logan was always able to handle his alcohol well, and I envied that; I just always felt like I needed to pee after only three beers.
"I'm fine, John," I insisted, trying to walk away, but my feet didn't want to cooperate. I sighed, turning back to him. He was grinning. "Could you just help me get to the room? Then you can get back to the party."
On the way to the room, he kept his hand on the small of my back, guiding me, ready to catch me every time I swayed. The first five steps were fine, until I nearly tripped over my own feet. He caught me instantly, his fingers gripping my waist. I laughed, the sound rippling through me, and felt his hand tighten.
God.
The house was a maze of closed doors and muffled laughter, and every step I took felt like a battle against my own balance. My shoulder brushed against his arm a couple of times, each contact leaving a trail of fire on my skin. He was moving slowly, his steps synchronized with mine, as if he were trying to prolong the walk as much as I was. Every time I stumbled, his hand didn't just catch me; it lingered. His palm was broad and hot against the small of my back, his thumb tracing a slow, steady pattern against my shirt that made it impossible to focus on anything else.
We found the room, and he stepped aside to let me enter, but I didn't move past him. Instead, I leaned against the doorframe, facing him.
"Logan?"
"Yeah?" he answered, a little too quickly. I wanted to pull him closer, to close those final inches and see if he'd finally break his own rules. My heart was thudding so hard against my ribs I was sure he could hear it. I wasn't just drunk on the cheap punch; I was intoxicated by his soft touches.
I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. I pulled away slowly, watching his eyes widen. His forehead was now softly grazing mine.
"You're so drunk," he whispered, his voice thick.
"Maybe. So are you," I retorted.
"It's not the same," he said, his gaze dropping to my lips. "I still know what I want."
He disconnected our bodies, stepping back. I felt a pang of cold disappointment, but I kept my face neutral. "You have no idea what I want."
He was standing so close now that I could see the tiny gold flecks in his eyes, his gaze darting down to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes. His jaw was tight, like he was physically forcing himself to stay in control.
Logan didn't know what to say to your words. He knew he wanted you more than anything. He couldn't even begin to think you'd feel the same way. Because then he'd have a problem. A big, Garrett Graham-shaped problem.
After my last words, I decided I needed to sleep this off. I stepped into the room, needing to be alone before I said something I couldn't take back. I refused to meet his lingering gaze. "Can you please make sure that Eleanore comes up safely?"
His eyes softened, the guard coming back down. "Of course. I promise."
That seemed to satisfy me. I climbed into the bed, feeling the weight of the room settle around me. I heard the door click shut, and I didn't even hear Logan press his forehead against the other side. He waited until he heard the rustle of blankets before letting himself sigh into the silence, completely wrecked.
He was so royally fucked.