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underwater (part ii) | john logan

john logan x f! reader | part i

premise: after he confronted you at your first diving meet, you managed to successfully avoid logan for a few weeks. it becomes harder to stay away from him when your professor puts you in a group project with his best friend. category: enemies (exes) to lovers, pure angst word count: around 4.7k content/trigger warnings: cursing, yelling, garrett's a dick at the beginning but he learns his lesson, logan's still an asshole (for now). brief mention of a hospice. brief mention of hoarding. brief mention of feeling suffocated (reader is panicking in that moment.). i can't think of any other warnings, but please let me know if there are any that i missed. context/author notes: thank you guys for the engagement on the previous part, i really appreciate it! this chapter sets up the foundation for this story imo. there's not a lot of interaction between the reader and logan, but it will build after this. slowly foreshadowing why reader had to come back to massachusetts. we'll get more details about their breakup later on. as always, feedback is much appreciated. and if you want to be added to the taglist, you can comment on this post or message me! also, if i previously tagged you in an earlier chapter and now you do not want to be tagged anymore, please lmk. if you don't, i will assume that you still want to be tagged. not proofread as of 06/19/26. sorry for the typos.

When you manage to execute four horrible dives in succession, you’re surprised that Coach Alvarez is not tearing your head off in front of your teammates. Maybe she took pity on your disastrous form and decided to grant you some mercy, considering it’s only 6:00 AM on a Monday. Nobody wanted to be here.

Instead, as one of your teammates practices their forward somersault, your coach gently pulls you aside to a small corner of the Aquatic Center where nobody else could hear you.

“You good, Y/L/N?” Her eyes are lasers as they scan over your face, and you feel exposed uner her gaze. But you also detect the underlying tenderness in her tone. “You’ve been off since the meet against Northeastern. And the one against Georgetown. And the one against Eastwood.”

You tap your fingers restlessly against your thigh as she lists off the schools. You hate that she’s right.

Even though you’ve been consistently scoring in the top three in your category, you’ve been making silly, rookie mistakes at each single meet. Whether you rushed your entrance, or you didn’t pull your knees in all the way, you always received some deduction in your score.

But during your time at Berkeley, you never made any of these mistakes.

Sure, you were always anxious at meets. Even though you’ve been participating in diving competitions for more than ten years, the glaring stares from both the crowd and the judges continue to distract you.

Additionally, as if you needed another distraction, some blonde guy named Dean tried hitting on you after the Georgetown meet. He was attractive and charming, but the cockiness exuding from his presence was suffocating. You weren’t going to go out with him anyways, and you were trying to figure out a way to let him down nicely.

But as soon as he mentioned that he was hockey player, you immediately shut him down with a terse, “I don’t date hockey players. Sorry.”

Dean was left slack-jawed at your curt response, and how briskly you walked away from him afterwards.

When Coach Alvarez clears her throat, you bring your attention back to her, eyes focusing on the whistle hanging from her neck.

“Yeah, it’s just been hard coming back here,” You pause, trying to figure out the best possible way to convey your emotions. “I don’t have the greatest memories of Massachusetts.”

Understatement of the fucking year.

A wildfire burns throughout your body, heating up your skin and sending flames straight to your chest, almost reaching your heart.

It’s been five weeks since the start of the semester and three weeks since your ex-boyfriend shook you to your very core. His words echo in your brain every time you close your eyes at night.

“Of course!” The pure animosity in his eyes is forever seared into your memory. “Walk away, it’s what you do best.”

The wildfire swells and grows, quickly and ruthlessly scorching your heart into a pile of ashes.

“I see. I’m sorry to hear. We can set you up with a counselor if you would want,” Coach Alvarez offers. “But you do need to get your head in the game. You can’t be making these rookie mistakes as a junior.”

You restrain yourself from flinching at the harsh words, but you know that she ultimately has good intentions. Even then, you’ve heard much worse from your high school coaches.

“Understood, Coach.”

“Good,” She sighs, before gesturing at you to follow her back to the pool. When the two of you head back, she directs the team to the weight training room next door, ordering everyone to do their cool down and stretching routines before leaving for class.

Luckily, all of your teammates have been nice and welcoming to you so far. You’ve even hung out with some of them after practices and meets. However, after weeks of analyzing all of their interactions from the sidelines, you can clearly see that the girls have such a tight-knit bond formed after years of going to Briar together. You awkwardly smile at their inside jokes and remain silent whenever one of them brings up a cherished memory. Since the start of the school year, a pit has slowly developed in your stomach, growing wider and deeper with each passing day.

Maybe you are an intruder. One person already seems to think so.

“Could’ve given me a warning at least, you know. Before you fuck up my life for the second time.”

You don’t want to fuck up his life. Or anyone’s life. You didn’t even want to come back, but you had to—

“Hey, Y/N!” A friendly voice snaps you out of your trance, grasping your attention. Gorgeous blonde hair shrouds your vision. “Hey, Y/N, you good?”

You look up to your teammate, stretching your lips into a fake smile. She must have been calling your name for a while. “Oh, sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

“I feel you. Midterms are coming up and everyone’s on edge,” She reassures you, propping a towel behind her back. “All of us are in need of a fucking break, so the girls and I are thinking about going to some other Briar games this weekend. You know, take our minds off diving for a bit.”

Her kindness overwhelms you, especially after spending however many minutes convincing yourself that you don’t belong here. You swallow a lump in your throat, pushing away the tears that are already welling in your eyes.

Kendall has stuck by your side since day one, and you’re incredibly grateful for her.

“That would be great,” You shakily reply, and your teammate beams at you. “I heard there was a soccer game against Emerson coming up on Saturday, if you guys were planning on going to that.”

“Actually, we were planning on going to the hockey game against Brandeis! Nour and I go to pretty much every game, we’re such big hockey fans…”

You tune her out after she mentions the hockey game, hoping your face doesn’t reveal the panic rushing through your body. God, you thought your time at Berkeley would’ve desensitized you to that word, but your nerves still send you into fight-or-flight mode whenever someone mentions hockey.

You have nothing against the sport itself, of course. But after four years of attending every single one of his games and buying him Bruins jerseys and tending to the injuries on his chest, your brain automatically associates hockey with John Logan.

Hockey reminds you of the times you fooled around in his truck before practices, or the times you went to sleep wearing his high school jersey, his arm arms protectively wrapped around your waist, never wanting to let you go.

And hockey also reminds you of the time when you yelled and cried and pleaded with him to just fucking listen to you. It reminds you of his heartsick eyes and tear-stained face.

It reminds you—no, it taunts you with the last text he sent you two years ago.

I fucking hate you.

“Does that work with you?” Kendall’s question brings you back to your present setting, where you’re sitting with her in the locker room benches and not bawling your eyes out in your childhood bedroom.

Judging by the worried look on her face, you suspect that you failed at hiding your emotions. But you take a deep breath in, nodding and giving her a tight-lipped grin.

“That might work,” You spur out a lie, having no fucking clue what she said to you in the past minute. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’m heading to the shower now,” She gets up, and before she leaves, she places a gentle hand on your shoulder, soft brown eyes full of sincerity. “And let us know if you need anything, okay? We got your back.”

Despite only knowing you for a few weeks, Kendall really knows how to tug at your heartstrings.

You haven’t yet told the girls the reason why you had to come back. You were planning to, though. And all of them were more than understanding, encouraging you to take your time warming up to them.

“Thanks. Same goes for you, Kendall,” You give her a small, but genuine smile, and she moves her hand to her forehead in a mock salute before leaving you alone in the locker room.

There is no way in hell that you are going to that hockey game.

Later in the day, your TA in Sociology hands back your exam from last week. Your eyes light up when seeing the 94 on the top of the paper, allowing yourself to take some pride in your hard work.

Your good mood instantly dampens when your professor announces that your next assignment will be a group research project.

And she has already assigned the groups.

In a way, you’re a bit thankful that she assigned the groups beforehand, given that you don’t know anybody in this class. However, you’re also terrified, and you hope that your groupmates are solid.

Your professor sent an email to the entire class listing out the groups. You finally see your name, along with two unfamiliar names written right under yours.

Garrett Graham Beau Maxwell

Yup. As you expected, you have no idea who these people are. Fortunately, your professor also wrote down every one of your classmates’ email address next to their names.

You’re about to draft an email when you suddenly hear your name being called out.

“Y/N! Hey!” Turning around, you notice two guys walking down the stairs to meet you at your seat. One of them has a wide smile on their face, and the other one has…a bit of frown?

“Hi?” You ask as they come closer to you, trying to subtly look at them up and down to see if you recognize them. “Do I know you guys?”

“Oh, no. But we know you,” The smiley one explains, friendly eyes remaining in contact with yours. “We went to your meet against Northeastern a few weeks ago. You fucking killed it.”

You weren’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth, but you’re pleasantly surprised. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“We first heard about you from Dean, if you remember him? He was super impressed by you. He dragged us all to the Northeastern meet. I think he asked you out.”

Of course you remember Dean.

“Yeah, I remember him,” You chuckle nervously, trying to forget how fucking awkward your interaction felt with him. “And he did ask me out, but I’m just…I’m just not looking for anyone else at the moment. He’s cool.”

There’s a moment of silence after you utter those words. You wish there was a trapdoor underneath your feet.

Luckily, the smiley one breaks the silence.

“We’re athletes as well, actually,” He says, gesturing to himself and his friend. “I play football.”

“And we’re your groupmates,” The other one finally speaks, responding in a rather low, sharp voice.

“Ah yeah, I should’ve started with that. I’m Beau,” The smiley one courteously extends his hand out for you to shake, and you eagerly offer your hand as well.

“Nice to meet you. And I assume you’re Garrett? Do you play football too?”

“No, I’m a hockey player.”

Beau clasps a hand on Garrett’s back. “He’s the captain, actually. Pretty fucking cool, isn’t it?”

No. It’s pretty fucking awful.

Now, at least you have some inkling as to why Garrett is staring at you with a stony expression. You list a series of premises in your head.

The logic thus presents itself simply:

Premise one: Garrett is the captain of the hockey team. He knows his teammates well.

Premise two: Hockey teammates are like brothers. You know that from high school.

Premise three: Your ex is on the hockey team. He definitely knows Garrett.

Premise four: Your ex hates you.

Conclusion: Garrett, by association, hates you.

Not to mention the fact that Garrett most definitely knows Dean. And who knows what Dean told him about you.

However, Beau is nothing but cordial with you. Though he's not on the hockey team, you assume that Dean also told Beau about how you rejected him. Yet, he's still treating you with kindness.

“That’s awesome,” You bring yourself to utter a weak response, hoping that Garrett does not see the dread plastered across your face. “Anyways, we should start this thing soon. Maybe this week?”

“Works for me,” Beau replies, and Garrett nods. “What’s your number? I’ll make a groupchat.”

You list off a series of digits to Beau while Garrett just scrolls on his phone. You’re thankful for his shift in focus, especially since you weren’t sure how long you could continue to stand upright under his intense glare.

“Anyways, I need to head to my next class,” You walk towards the door, giving them both a small smile. “I’ll text you guys.”

You don’t stay to hear their responses, intent on leaving the lecture hall as quickly as possible.

Finding a time that worked with all of your schedules was challenging. Eventually, the three of you decide to meet at the library on Wednesday night.

As you make your way to one of the private study rooms, your phone buzzes with a text from your groupchat.

(7:04 PM) Beau: Sorry guys, running late. Practice went on for fucking forever. Be there in 15.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you register Beau’s message. So far, you felt comfortable with Beau. He was nice and always sent a barrage of memes in the groupchat.

But Garrett continued to intimidate the fuck out of you.

And when you enter the study room, you see that the broody hockey player is already seated. He doesn’t even look up from his laptop when you come in.

You would rather reject Dean for a million times than be in this claustrophobic room with Garrett.

“So, uh, Beau’s running late,” You attempt to strike up a conversation, sitting down and taking out your laptop.

“Yeah, no shit,” He mutters, and your heart drops even more. “He texted both of us, you know.”

The smartass comment tips you over the edge. Now, you’re not hurt anymore. You’re fucking annoyed.

Because why is this man treating you like the devil when he barely fucking knows you in the first place?

“Jesus fucking Christ,” You blurt rather loudly, and he turns to look at you, finally deeming you worthy enough of his attention. “I’m sorry, did I do something to offend you? What’s your problem—”

“Logan’s my best friend,” Garrett cuts you off with a straight face. You can’t exactly pinpoint the emotion displayed in his tone. “He’s the closest person I have to a brother.”

Logan, right. You forgot that he usually used his last name to introduce himself. You always referred to him as John. You still think of him as John.

“Logan” just feels like a stranger.

You let out a much-needed exhale, shaking your head. “Well…I’m glad you guys have that bond.”

He doesn’t offer a reply, his face pointedly turning away from you and back to his laptop.

You chuckle, self-deprecation and sarcasm dripping in your tone. “I assume you know all about me, then.”

“I don’t, actually,” He retorts, stony eyes suddenly staring back at you. “Logan refuses to tell me anything about your breakup. He just says that he never wants to see you again and that you’re the worst person he knows.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, I mean…I don’t want see him either,” You sigh, dropping your head into your heads, feeling a familiar ache start to invade your chest. “It’s a long story.”

The question comes out of absolutely nowhere.

“Why are you back here?”

A volcano suddenly erupts in your chest. Pure anger flows like lava through your blood. You rub your temples to calm yourself down, but it’s useless. And besides, Garrett needs a taste of his own medicine.

You’re done trying to be nice.

“Excuse me?” You snap back in a dangerously low voice, forcing yourself to keep your voice level.

You take pride in how your self-composure visibly shocks Garrett. His eyes widen, and his expression softens. And as you continue to stare daggers into his soul, the 6’1” arrogant hockey player begins to stammer.

Good.

“I…I guess I don’t know you well enough to ask that.”

“No, you really don’t,” You clench your jaw, your harsh gaze unwavering. “I mean this respectfully, but it’s none of your business. I came back for personal reasons that do not involve my ex whatsoever.”

As you try to start working on your project, he continues to sneak glances at you. Suspiciously. As if you’re hiding something.

However, his glare doesn’t hold the same animosity as it used to a minute ago.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me. I know that I broke John’s heart. I know that the breakup was hard on him. It was hard on me, too,” You choose your words carefully, ignoring the sharp thumping in your chest. You’re trying your very best to not sound annoyingly defensive. But you need to stand your ground.

After all, Garrett Graham doesn’t know the whole story.

“You don’t have to like me. Hell, you can even hate me. But we were assigned to be in the same group, so I think we should treat each other with basic human decency. We will never interact outside of this project again, anyways,” You say to him plainly, still keeping eye contact with him.

Finally, his shoulders relax, and he nods at you, biting his lip. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

“Cool,” You sigh, grabbing your textbook from your bag. “Once Beau’s here, we can start sifting through secondary sources.”

Luckily, by the grace of the gods, Beau walks in a minute later, apologizing for his tardiness. Afterwards, the three of you start working, and the rest of the night goes surprisingly well. Everyone completes their designated task, and you guys plan to meet again on Sunday night.

When you walk out of the study room, Beau asks if you want to hang out with them afterwards. You don’t even bother to look at Garrett’s face. You politely decline, saying that you needed to catch some sleep before your early morning practice the next day.

Initially, you think that you handled the entire night with composure and civility. But as soon as you collapse into the driver’s seat of your car, tears furiously gush down your cheeks. Sobs wrack your entire body, and your throat closens in on you, exhausting your entire air supply.

You didn’t want to come back to Massachussetts. You never wanted to come back to Massachussetts.

Maybe John and Garrett and the rest of his friends don’t believe it, but you’re not here to see him again. Or to ruin his life.

The sudden ringtone blaring from your phone physically jolts you, interrupting your breakdown. Even with the tears clouding your vision, you can make out the caller ID.

Munsen Hospice Center.

You grab a pair of tissues from the glovebox, trying to collect and prepare yourself before you hear the bad news coming from the other line.

Early Sunday morning, everyone at Briar receives the same email from the Dean of Student Affairs. The pipes had burst on the second floor of the library, causing widespread water damage. The renovation will take at least a week or two.

Thus, you have no idea where to study as soon as the sun sets.

The three of you meet outside the library, debating on where to go. Most cafés are closed. Ironically, most study halls are too loud for you, especially on the weekends. You don’t know where else to go.

Obviously, you can’t invite Beau and Garrett to your house in Munsen. Even though you’ve been back for six weeks, you’re still working on clearing up the space. Books and laundry baskets and trash bags and cereal boxes shroud every inch of the walls. No one had come by to clean up the hoarding mess. The responsibility was left on you, as usual.

Beau couldn’t offer up his place either, insisting that his frat house was always in a state of chaos.

Finally, you see Garrett physically hesitate to say the following words. His eyebrows furrow, and he grits his teeth.

“Let’s just work at mine.”

Garrett notices how you sulk your shoulders and retreat into your body. Ever since your conversation on Wednesday, he’s actually been a bit nice.

Well, that’s exaggerating. He’s been decent. You’re not going to give the man that much credit.

Beau immediately agrees, waving goodbye and heading to his car. Garrett turns back to you, sighing and rubbing a hand over his wrinkled forehead.

“I’ll tell him that we’ll be studying in the living room, so he knows,” He says in a relatively soft tone.

Your eyes narrow at him in confusion.

“Wait, you told him that we’re working together on a project?”

“I didn’t. Beau did. Told the whole house, actually,” He clarifies, and judging by the way he’s biting his lip, you know he feels uneasy about what he will say next. “Dean also lives with us, by the way.”

Of course he does. A giant lump grows in your throat. “Oh, okay.”

“I’ll send you the address, it’s only a five minute drive,” Garrett comments, suddenly looking down at his phone and avoiding eye contact with you. This whole situation is so fucking awkward to the point that Mr. Garrett Graham can’t even hide his feelings behind an icy expression.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you,” You say under your breath, walking away from him and towards your car.

Your hands tremble on the steering wheel as you drive to the house. They continue to shake as you lock your car and slowly make your way up to the steps, trying to prolong the inevitable. Garrett’s waiting for you at the entrance, silently opening the door and gesturing for you to come in.

“Thanks,” You mutter, and your eyes can’t help but dart around the house.

The cool-toned walls, adorned with various pictures and random road signs, provide a sense of calm to the environment. The wooden staircase and ceiling beams pair well with the sprawling trees covering the house that you saw when parking your car. The sofas and chairs in the living room look neat but lived-in as well, different blankets and throw pillows scattered across them. And of course, you immediately notice the fluorescent lights emanating from the air hockey table, which adds to the liveliness of the house. Surprisingly, all of the different elements compliment each other, and you feel somewhat at ease while standing in front of the staircase, a heavy weight disappearing from your chest.

However, as Garrett continues to lead you in, your eyes lock in on the various accessories and knickknacks around you. You see car keys, hockey sticks, duffel bags and winter coats all over the living room.

And you can’t help but wonder which key, which stick, which bag, and which coat belongs to John. Everything reminds you of him.

As if the tattoo he personally imprinted on your thigh isn’t enough of a reminder.

You awkwardly stand in the middle of the living room, wondering where you should sit. Being in here already feels like an imposition. You do not want to make any more mistakes.

“Oh, sit anywhere you want,” An unfamiliar voice speaks to you, as if he’s reading your thoughts, and you suddenly register the man standing in front of you. Like Beau, he also has a friendly smile. “I’m Tucker.”

You smile back at him, watching as he moves around the living room and picks up dirty dishes. “I’m Y/N.”

“Yes, I remember! You were one of the divers at the Northeastern meet,” Tucker mentions, walking backwards towards the kitchen. “You were awesome. I don’t know how you could do those crazy flips in the air.”

Judging by Tucker’s approachable nature, you assume that, like Beau, he doesn’t know that you’re Logan’s ex-girlfriend. At least, not yet.

You are about to reply to him when Garrett walks towards Tucker in the kitchen, shoulders raised in apprehension.

“Where’s Logan?” He questions in a low voice, but loud enough for you to hear. You can detect a slight unease in his tone. You ignore the sweat beginning to form on your palms. “He didn’t answer my text.”

“He had to go back to the shop, I think,” Tucker replies, clearly confused by Garrett’s furrowed eyebrows.

Beau arrives to the house a few minutes later, joking about how he had to do an “emergency detour” to grab a Red Bull before the grocery store closes. Garrett joins you as well, and the three of you continue with completing your project.

While working, you faintly hear some commotion upstairs. A man singing rather loudly in the shower. Garrett rolls his eyes at the noise, telling you to just “ignore him.” By “him,” you figure he means Dean.

For about an hour, the three of you work quite efficiently in the living room while Tucker quietly cooks in the kitchen. And surprisingly, you actually have a bit of a good time with them. Tucker gave you a glass of water (even though you never asked for one), Beau continued to make jokes about how he’s becoming an “academic weapon,” and at some point, Garrett even complimented you.

“Wow, you explained Durkheim’s theory way better than Professor Rezkin,” He comments, and for a good minute, you’re certain that you misheard him.

Everything was going well. You weren’t even thinking about John.

Until the front door abruptly opens, and you hear the familiar sound of his boots against the wooden floor.

You stop typing, forcing yourself to look at the laptop screen in front of you and not turn around to face him.

“Hey, you guys need to check the mailbox more often, we have so many…” His gravelly voice echoes throughout the house, and the sound of cardboard boxes quickly falling to floor makes you jolt from your seat on the couch.

Fuck.

The sharp intake of his breath renders you immobile.

“What are you doing here?” Logan demands, and you still haven’t turned around to face him. You don’t think that’s physically possible. You then assume that he directs the next question at Garrett.

“What is she doing here?”

The brutal emphasis on she completely rattles you, sending goosebumps down your skin. You feel an imaginary hand wrapping around your throat, mercilessly squeezing you until you pass out.

You immediately start packing your stuff.

“I texted you,” Garrett tells him in a controlled, even tone. “The library was closed. Working here was the best option.”

Meanwhile, Beau remains silent, staring at the three of you with wide eyes. Tucker also emerges from the kitchen, shock plastering his features.

“I thought you were ‘staying away from me,’ huh?” He snarls in your direction, and you’re still hunched over the couch, trying to fit everything into your bag with shaking hands. Luckily, Beau helps you, wordlessly handing you your textbook, kind eyes staring at you in concern.

When you don’t answer, he turns back towards Garrett, irritation clear in his tone. You’re undeniably certain that the vein in his neck is protuding. “You guys seriously couldn’t find another place to work?”

Logan’s only greeted with silence. When you look up in front of you, you notice the tense expression on everyone’s faces. The three boys remain motionless in front you, clearly surprised by Logan’s attitude.

Then, to increase your humiliation, Dean walks down the stairs, whistling without a care in the world. His eyes widen with pleasant surprise when he sees you.

“Y/N! Nice seeing you…” His cheerful voice quickly dies down when he quickly looks at everyone’s faces. “Uh, what’s going on?”

Garrett sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s late. The cafés are closed. Study halls are noisy. This was the best place.”

Even though you are fixing your gaze on the scruff marking your shoes, you feel his eyes burning holes into your head, stare completely unforgiving. “Bullshit.”

With burning eyes, you stand up and carefully lock eyes with Garrett. “I’ll send you guys the rest of my edits.”

While turning to leave, you accidentally bump into his chest, and you don’t even dare to look at him in the eyes. Facing him alone after the Northeastern meet was humiliating enough. This was fucking purgatory. You feel his chest furiously rumble before you immediately walk away.

“For fuck's sake Garrett, you know damn well that she’s not welcome here—”

“John!” Garrett yells, his commanding voice booming over Logan’s. “Knock it off!”

Before you could stomach anything else, you rush out of the house, slamming the front door shut.

taglist: @abominablesnowman24, @foxyprincessworld, @tinyceasarsalad, @littlepippilongstocking, @mpotter, @imjustagirl-intheworld2, @esposa-do-harry, @comeoninguys, @kravitzwhore, @st4rg1rlies, @pinkpantheris, @steadybelieverbanana, @tahaing, @evilplansandstuff, @caelleuna, @antobooh, @chunkiwunki, @lexi2005, @ridinnjeanssdichhhh, @lilpeachyyyyy, @mariiibash, @islagm34, @smilezzz-artzs, @monayyy-21

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