‿ JOHN LOGAN was a firm believer that love at first sight was fake, then he saw you get checked into the boards at full strength. That was enough to convince him you were his soulmate.
!! wc: 4.5k. fluff. fem!reader. yearner!logan. hockey player!reader. dean and tucker cameos of course. should i make a mini series about logan x hockey reader. taglist open. ENJOY. COMMENTS ENCOURAGED.
The rink smelled like cold air, sweat, and freshly resurfaced ice, the familiar combination settling heavily into your lungs every time you pushed off the bench and stepped back onto the surface.
Your legs already ached.
The game had turned aggressive halfway through the second period after one shitty call spiraled into another, and now every shift felt sharper around the edges. Faster. Meaner. The kind of game where players stopped caring about penalties and started caring about pride instead.
You preferred games like that, if you had to be honest.
Your ponytail stuck damply to the back of your neck beneath your helmet while you skated toward center ice, adjusting your grip against your stick as the referee dropped the puck between you and the opposing center.
The collision happened almost immediately after that.
Sticks clashed. Skates carved violently against the ice. Somebody shouted from the bench behind you while bodies slammed together hard enough to rattle the boards, but your focus narrowed the way it always did during games until the rest of the rink became background noise.
You stole the puck cleanly and pushed forward.
A defender cut toward you from the left.
You dipped your shoulder, trying to slip around her.
Instead, she drove straight into your side.
The impact sent you hard against the glass with a crack loud enough to echo through the arena, pain blooming sharply along your ribs as the boards shook beneath you.
The crowd reacted instantly, and so did your teammates.
But you barely had time to register any of it before irritation outweighed the pain completely.
You shoved off the glass immediately, stealing the puck back before the defender could recover properly, and skated straight down the ice with enough force behind your strides to make your thighs burn.
Somewhere behind the opposing bench, somebody yelled, âHoly shit.â
The puck left your stick seconds later, and the goal light flashed red.
You barely had time to breathe before gloves slammed against your helmet and arms wrapped around your shoulders, the team crowding around you near the bench while the arena noise swelled louder overhead.
âYouâre insane,â your captain laughed breathlessly against the side of your helmet.
You grinned despite yourself, adrenaline still racing violently through your system.
The celebration around you lasted only a few seconds before the line changed again and everybody scattered back into position, skates carving sharply across the ice while the energy in the rink climbed even higher after the goal.
You pushed a hand briefly against your ribs while skating backward toward center, testing the ache already beginning to settle beneath your padding.
It hurt.. not enough to matter, yet.
Across the arena, Logan still had not looked away from you.
He sat forward in his seat slowly, forearms resting against his knees while the rest of the crowd blurred into noise around him. The game continued moving at full speed beneath the arena lights, players shouting over one another while the referees reset the faceoff, but his attention stayed fixed entirely on you.
Dean noticed first, because of course he did.
âYou good, bro?â he asked, glancing sideways from his seat beside him.
Logan barely blinked. âWho is that?â
Dean followed his line of sight toward the ice where you were circling near center.
âThe defenseman?â
âThe one that just got launched into the glass.â
Tucker snorted from Loganâs other side. âThat doesn't narrow it down at all. They've been nasty tonight.â
Logan ignored him completely.
You pushed your helmet back slightly while talking to one of your teammates, visibly unfazed by the hit you had taken less than a minute earlier, and something about that seemed to irritate Logan further.
He wasn't irritated with you.
At the fact that nobody else on the ice appeared nearly as bothered by it as he was.
âSheâs fine,â Dean said casually, mid bite of his overpriced arena pretzel. âWomenâs team plays mean as hell.â
âThat wasnât a casual hit.â
Dean shrugged. âShe got back up.â
âNot the point.â Logan groaned, leaning back in his seat and letting his legs spread a bit.
Tucker looked over slowly then, eyebrows lifting slightly as realization started creeping into his expression.
âOh my God,â he muttered. âYouâre obsessed with her.â
Logan finally tore his eyes away from the ice long enough to glare at him.
âIâm not obsessed.â
âYou looked ready to fight somebody for checking her.â
âShe hit the glass hard.â
âShe also scored immediately after.â Dean piped up with a shrug and a wink.
Loganâs jaw tightened slightly.
The game resumed again before Dean could say anything else, but Loganâs attention kept drifting back toward you no matter how hard he tried to focus elsewhere. Every shift you played seemed sharper than everyone elseâs. Faster. More aggressive.
You didnât hesitate.
Most players slowed right before impact without even realizing they were doing it, bodies instinctively bracing against pain before collisions happened.
You didnât.
You kept driving forward like fear genuinely never occurred to you.
Halfway through the third period, you slammed another player into the boards hard enough that Tucker actually winced.
âJesus Christ,â he laughed. âSheâs terrifying.â
Logan said nothing.
Your helmet turned slightly while backing away from the boards afterward, and for a brief second the arena lights caught the side of your jersey clearly enough for him to see the number stretched across your back.
Twelve.
Before he could make out the name above it, you skated off toward the bench again.
Logan leaned forward immediately.
âTwelve,â he repeated.
Dean stared at him. âWhat?â
âHer number.â
Dean burst out laughing. âYouâre actually trying to identify her right now?â
Logan reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled his phone out without answering.
âOh, this is bad,â Tucker said, grinning openly now. âHeâs gone.â
Dean leaned over slightly while Logan opened the Briar womenâs hockey roster, scrolling quickly with his thumb while the game continued in the background.
âTwelve,â Logan muttered quietly to himself.
The roster loaded slowly.
Tucker watched him with open amusement. âYou donât even know this girl.â
Loganâs eyes stayed fixed on his phone. âWorking on it.â
Dean laughed under his breath. âYou got all this from one hit into the boards?â
Logan finally looked back toward the ice.
You were standing near the bench listening to your coach, one glove hanging loosely from your hand while you nodded along absently, cheeks flushed from exertion and baby hairs sticking damply to your forehead beneath your helmet.
Then you smiled at something one of your teammates said.
Five minutes ago you had looked vicious enough to start a fight in the middle of the rink. Now you looked warm and relaxed. The contrast was something that Logan understood and admired.. something that was also making him constantly reconnect his wifi in the hopes that it would load faster.
Logan looked back down at the roster immediately.
âThere,â Dean pointed suddenly, leaning closer. âNumber twelve.â
Loganâs thumb stopped scrolling.
Your name sat there on the screen beneath your player photo.
Defense. Junior. The same number stitched across your jersey.
For some reason, finally knowing your name only made the strange tight feeling in his chest worse.
Tucker looked between Logan and the phone before laughing again.
âYouâre done for, bro.â
Logan barely heard him.
Down on the ice, you stepped back into play again, completely unaware that a man several rows above the rink had just memorized your name like it was something important.
By the final stretch of the third period, Boston College had stopped looking organized and started looking frustrated.
Every pass they attempted felt rushed, every hit carried just a little too much irritation behind it, and Briar only seemed to feed off the shift in energy. The game had become brutal in the way rivalry games always did once pride got involved, fast and physical and loud enough that the sound of skates carving into the ice blended together with the roar of the crowd overhead.
Your lungs burned every time you pushed off into another sprint, exhaustion settling heavily into your legs beneath the adrenaline, but it barely registered anymore. The ache in your ribs from earlier pulsed every time you twisted too sharply, yet even that felt distant compared to the rush of momentum building around your team.
The scoreboard hanging above the rink read 5â1.
Boston looked furious about it.
You stole another pass near center ice before one of their forwards could recover properly, intercepting it so cleanly that she nearly lost her footing trying to turn around after you. The crowd reacted immediately, noise erupting through the arena while you accelerated down the ice with one of your teammates racing alongside you.
A defender moved toward you.
You waited until the very last second before sliding the puck across the ice.
Your teammate buried it immediately.
The red goal light flashed, and before you fully registered it, the arena exploded.
By the time you reached the boards again, your teammates were already swarming you, gloves smacking against your helmet and shoulders while somebody nearly crashed hard enough into your back to knock you forward.
You were laughing before you realized it, adrenaline making everything feel sharp and electric beneath your skin while the Boston goalie snapped her stick against the post in frustration somewhere behind you.
Several rows above the glass, Tucker stood abruptly from his seat with the kind of dramatic excitement only hockey players seemed capable of.
His hands coming together with immense force as his claps echoed alongside the rest of the cheers in the arena.
Dean laughed immediately beside him, though his attention shifted toward Logan a second later once he realized there had been absolutely no reaction.
Logan had not looked away from the ice.
Not once.
His forearms rested against his knees while his eyes tracked you, a small grin tugging at his lips despite the intent behind his eyes.
Dean noticed it first.
Or maybe he had noticed earlier and only now found it entertaining enough to comment on.
âY'know,â he said slowly, âmost people blink occasionally.â
Logan barely reacted.
âYouâre staring at her like youâre scouting for the NHL,â Tucker added, dropping back into his seat.
âSheâs good,â Logan answered simply.
It came out quieter than either of them expected.
Not dismissive. Not casual. He was just certain.
Dean glanced sideways at him then before looking back toward the ice again where you were circling near the bench waiting for the next line change.
âThat is not a normal amount of interest for someone youâve watched exactly one game of.â
Logan didnât answer immediately.
The truth was he had stopped paying attention to the rest of the game almost twenty minutes ago. Every time you stepped onto the ice, his focus shifted toward you without thinking. The speed, the aggression, the complete lack of hesitation every time another player came near you. You played like somebody who trusted herself completely, and there was something about that confidence that had rooted itself beneath his skin almost instantly.
The final buzzer sounded not long after.
Briar won 7â1.
The entire team spilled onto the ice immediately afterward while music blasted through the arena speakers and students crowded harder against the glass cheering. Your helmet disappeared during the celebration at some point, leaving your hair flattened messily around your face while one of your teammates jumped against your side hard enough to throw both of you off balance.
You caught her automatically, laughing hard enough that Logan could see it even from the stands.
Dean leaned back in his seat slowly.
âOh, you are fucked,â he muttered.
Logan finally dragged his attention away from the rink long enough to frown at him slightly. âFuck off." He shoved Dean's shoulder while the two of them laughed as Logan's eyes wandered back to the ice.
You were standing near the bench now talking to your coach, your gloves tucked beneath one arm while you nodded along absently. The arena lights reflected faintly against the sweat still shining along your forehead, and even exhausted, you still looked completely awake somehow. Alive in a way that made it difficult to stop looking at you once he started.
After a short victory lap, the team slowly started disappearing through the tunnel beneath the stands while the energy in the arena softened into postgame noise. You lingered near the ice longer than most of your teammates, still talking to someone through the glass while tossing a puck over for a kid with a little Briar hockey jersey on.
Then your head turned slightly toward the stands.
Toward him.
Logan went still.
Even from this far away, he could see the brief flicker of awareness cross your expression as your eyes passed over the crowd and paused for half a second too long in his direction.
It wasn't recognition, despite the fact that he wanted it to be. It was really just awareness.. like you had felt someone watching you.
Before either of you could hold the moment long enough for it to become anything real, one of your teammates grabbed your arm and dragged your attention away again, pulling you toward the tunnel with the rest of the team.
Logan kept looking toward the empty space you had left behind long after you disappeared from sight.
The next morning felt painfully slow after the energy of the game the night before.
Campus had settled back into its usual rhythm by the time Logan crossed the quad toward his lecture hall, students moving in uneven streams through the cold while coffee cups steamed between gloved hands and backpacks bumped against shoulders in crowded walkways.
He barely noticed any of it, all he could think about was crawling back into his bed after his classes wrapped up.
Not because anything was wrong, which honestly only irritated him more, but because every time he closed his eyes he kept replaying flashes from the game in frustratingly vivid detail. The sound of skates against the ice. Your laugh during the postgame celebration. The way you kept getting back up after every hit like it genuinely offended you to stay down.
Dean had called him pathetic three separate times already that morning.
Logan still wasnât entirely convinced he was wrong.
He pushed open the door to the lecture hall a few minutes before class started, stepping into the familiar low buzz of conversation and keyboards tapping. The room smelled faintly like coffee and winter air dragged in from outside, students already settling into seats while the projector glowed dimly against the front wall.
Logan started down the steps automatically, his hands settled in his pockets while he made his way towards the usual row he sat in.
Then, his steps came to a screeching halt.
Three rows from the front sat a navy blue Briar athlete backpack slouched beside one of the seats.
Womenâs hockey was embroidered, and small along the top of the front pocket.
His eyes caught on the small keychain hanging from the zipper almost instantly.
#12.
For a second, he just stared at it. Then his gaze lifted higher.
You sat half turned in your seat talking quietly to the girl beside you, one sleeve pulled over your hand while you absentmindedly highlighted something in your notebook with the other. Your hair was perfect, and despite being beneath a helmet earlier that morning for practice, he was sure it smelled like vanilla.
Without all the gear and arena lights around you, you looked softer somehow. Still pretty enough to make his chest tighten annoyingly hard. Just⊠real now. Close enough to touch.
Logan stood there long enough that somebody behind him had to awkwardly step around him to get down the stairs.
He moved automatically after that, though his attention stayed fixed on you the entire way down the aisle.
You still had not noticed him.
Part of him almost preferred it that way, because now that he was actually standing in the same room as you instead of watching from the stands, he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say.
Which was new.
Logan was not usually nervous around women. Confident, relaxed, occasionally arrogant if Dean was being honest, but never nervous.
Yet suddenly he was hyperaware of everything. The sound of his shoes against the lecture hall floor. The fact that his heartbeat felt stupidly loud. The way your fingers tapped absently against your pen while reading over your notes.
He passed your row. Kept walking. Then, immediately regretted it and pretended to take a phone call to abort back up a few rows.
By the time he dropped into a seat a few rows higher, Dean â who had walked in behind him at some point â looked close to losing his mind laughing.
âHoly shit,â he whispered while sitting beside him. âYou panicked.â
âI didnât fucking panic.â
âYou literally walked past her like a Victorian dude seeing an ankle.â
Logan stared straight ahead. âShut up.â
Dean leaned back in his chair, visibly delighted. âYouâre down horrendous.â
Logan ignored him, though not very successfully considering his attention had already drifted back toward you again.
You were still focused on your notebook completely unaware of the crisis currently happening several rows behind you.
Then, as if sensing it somehow, you glanced over your shoulder.
Your eyes landed on him immediately with a flicker of recognition swiping across your face almost instantly.
Logan watched the exact second you noticed him noticing you. You looked away first, and that was enough to make warmth crawl unexpectedly up the back of his neck.
Dean saw the entire interaction and looked ready to combust.
âYou made eye contact,â he whispered dramatically, his eyelashes batting in a playful fashion.
âPlease be quiet.â
âAre you in love?â
Logan rubbed a hand slowly over his face.
Class started before Dean could keep talking, though that honestly did not help much, considering Logan spent the first twenty minutes hearing absolutely none of the lecture.
His focus kept drifting. He noticed how you chewed lightly on the end of your pen while reading. The way you fidgeted with your necklace while listening to the professor. You wrote quickly, confidently, barely ever crossing things out or hesitating before moving onto the next line.
At one point, you stretched slightly in your seat and winced.
Subtle and quick. But Logan noticed immediately, of course he did, he was noticing everything you had done for the past 30 minutes.
Your ribs.
The hit from yesterday had clearly bruised you worse than youâd acted like it did. The thought of that was enough to bother him for the rest of class.
When the lecture finally ended, students started gathering their things immediately, backpacks zipping loudly while conversations picked up around the room.
Logan watched you zip your backpack shut carefully before standing. Then he watched two different guys notice you at exactly the same time.
One of them moved before he was able to finish fumbling to put his laptop away.
Of course he did.
Tall, confident-looking business major type. The kind of guy that was probably in a frat with a snap score of at least 2 million.
Logan felt irritation spark instantly.
The guy smiled at you while adjusting the strap of his backpack. âHey, youâre on the hockey team, right? You played last night?â
You looked up politely. âOh-.. uh, Yeah.â
âYou were really good.â
Logan hated how genuine the compliment sounded, he was expecting this douche to be superficial and just ask for your snap to add to his roster.
You smiled softly anyway. âThank you.â
The guy opened his mouth again, clearly gearing up to continue the conversation.
Then Logan stood.
Dean looked up immediately with the kind of excitement usually reserved for live sporting events.
âHo-ly shit,â he muttered.
Logan ignored him completely before heading down the stairs.
He wasnât entirely sure what his plan was, only that the idea of walking out of this room without talking to you suddenly felt impossible.
The guy was still talking by the time Logan reached the bottom of the stairs.
Something about study groups, or maybe coffee. Logan honestly was not listening closely enough to tell the difference.
Your attention stayed politely fixed on him while you adjusted the strap of your backpack higher onto your shoulder, though there was something slightly distracted about your expression, like your mind was already somewhere else entirely. Exhaustion lingered faintly beneath your eyes from the game the night before, softened only slightly by the fact that you still looked unfairly pretty standing there in your Briar hockey sweatshirt and sweatpants.
The small keychain hanging from your backpack zipper knocked lightly against the fabric every time you moved.
#12.
Loganâs eyes caught on it again before he could stop himself.
âYou play unbelievable, by the way,â the guy continued. âThat goal in the third period was insane.â
You smiled politely, surprised that this guy actually had gone to the game, and wasn't just using it as an excuse to hit on you. âThanks, Boston's never an easy opponent.â
The conversation should have ended there.
You clearly wanted to end it there.
But the guy kept standing in front of you anyway, lingering just enough that Logan recognized the strategy immediately. Stretch the interaction out long enough and eventually it becomes something else.
Normally he wouldnât have cared.
Except now he did, annoyingly so, at that.
Before he could overthink it, he stepped closer.
âYou should probably ice your ribs.â The words came out naturally, low and calm, though the moment they left his mouth, you turned toward him immediately.
Recognition crossed your face faster, and it wasn't just vague familiarity, but rather memory this time.
You had seen him in the stands last night, and Logan got to watch the exact second it clicked for you.
âThe guy from the game,â you smiled before seeming to realize you had spoken out loud.
Your voice sounded rougher than he expected, slightly worn at the edges from yelling over rink noise the night before.
Something about it settled heavily in his chest.
âYeah,â Logan answered quietly.
For a brief second, the other guy still standing beside you looked deeply confused by the interaction happening in front of him.
âYou know each other?â he asked.
âNo,â both of you answered at the exact same time.
That seemed to catch you off guard a little because your mouth twitched faintly afterward, like you were trying not to laugh.
Logan felt warmth spread unexpectedly through his chest at the sight of it.
The other guy looked between the two of you again before apparently deciding he was suddenly no longer part of the conversation.
âWell,â he said awkwardly, adjusting his backpack strap, âIâll see you around.â
You smiled politely again. âSee you.â
The second he disappeared into the crowd of students leaving the lecture hall, silence settled briefly between you and Logan.
Up close, he noticed details he hadnât been able to see clearly from the stands. A faint bruise near your jaw partially hidden beneath your hair. The exhaustion lingering beneath your eyes. The slight stiffness in your posture every time you shifted your weight too quickly.
You were definitely hurting more than you wanted people to notice.
âYou really should ice those ribs,â he repeated more quietly this time.
Your eyebrows lifted slightly. âYou could tell?â
âYou flinched during class.â The answer seemed to surprise you, no one besides your roommate paid enough attention to notice when you had an injury you were insistent on downplaying.
Heat crawled faintly into your expression before you looked away for half a second, adjusting the sleeve pulled over your hand.
âItâs fine,â you murmured. âJust bruised, at least nothing's broken. â
Logan frowned slightly. âThat hit looked bad.â
âIt was bad.â
âYet, you got right back up. Scoring after nearly breaking the glass is some insane shit.â
Something softer flickered briefly across your face then.
âKind of have to in hockey.â You shrugged in amusement, a smile tugging at your lips that was much more genuine than with the frat guy from a few moments ago.
And Logan was taking that as a win.
Students continued filtering loudly around the two of you while the lecture hall slowly emptied, but Logan barely registered any of it anymore. His attention stayed fixed entirely on you, on the way you shifted your backpack higher against your shoulder or how your fingers tapped absently against the strap while thinking.
âSo, you came to the game? There was more turnout than usual for our game's last night, it was fun.â you asked after a second.
The question sounded casual, though curiosity lingered beneath it.
Logan nodded once. âYeah, I went with some of my roommates, we decided last minute because one of them wanted a fucking pretzel.â
âAnd now youâre giving medical advice to strangers?â
A smile tugged unexpectedly at his mouth. âYou donât really feel like a stranger.â The sentence slipped out before he could stop it, and immediately his eyes squinted a bit in regret, and his brows furrowed.
Your eyes lifted back to his immediately.
For one horrible second, Logan considered the possibility that he had just sounded insane, but your expression softened instead in a very subtle way.
âWell,â you hummed quietly, âyou still donât know me.â
âI know your name.â
The moment he said it, your eyebrows lifted again.
âI-... uh, looked up the roster.â Logan had the decency to look slightly guilty as the words left his mouth.
You stared at him for half a second longer before laughing softly under your breath, and the sound hit him with the same force it had the night before in the arena.
It was soft and warm, to anyone else it would be like music to their ears, but to Logan? It was dangerous.
âThatâs a little insane,â you told him, playfully putting on a disapproving face that quickly dissolved into a smile.
âYeah, no, for sure.â
The honesty of the answer seemed to catch you off guard enough that you laughed again, shaking your head while starting toward the aisle leading out of the lecture hall.
Logan naturally fell into step beside you without thinking about it. From across the aisle, Dean held up two thumbs-ups and mouthed 'Fuck yeah,' which Logan was happy to drown out with the conversation that was slowly building between the two of you.
authors note: hello lovely friends! back from the dead with some actual writing this time. warning this hasnât been proof read or anything fancy just my silly little thoughts <3
warnings: one small nightmare but no detail at all
âyou are the most infuriating person iâve ever interacted withâ you whisper under your breath.
the low chuckle behind you made you want to stab someoneâs eye balls out. his eyeballs out to be more specific.
âaw cmon you know iâm just playing around. iâm sure youâre fully capable of opening a door. but who knows, maybe youâre only book smart. not door smartâ
that infuriating prick. you were going to whirl around and give that cheeky motherfucker a peice of your mind. wipe that silly beautiful smirk-
click!
the handle under your palm suddenly jerked downwards and the door of the hotel room flew open. you let out a small sigh of relief, hoping the pouge behind you would stop making his comments now.
unfortunately that wasnât the case as he opened his mouth and said, âlook at that. people can learn new tricks.â
you scowled to yourself, choosing to ignore his dig, and walked into the stingy hotel room. it smelled like all the other humid and frankly gross hotel rooms the school had bought for you in your years on the decathlon team. the smell was almost comforting, or at least familiar.
pope though, whoâd only recently joined the decathlon team, scrunched his nose in disgust. âwhat in the world is that smell?â he asked.
you shrugged your shoulders and placed your suitcase on the twin bed you wanted to claim.
pope chuckled again, amused. âso what? now iâm getting the silent treatment?â
you simply ignored him and made a big show of unpacking your smaller bag. slowly, you pulled our your toriletry bag, phone charger, and the crazy amount of flash cards youâd spent hours making in the previous weeks. the one you knew pope wanted but was too proud to ask for.
âoh wow very mature of you. look iâm not all that thrilled to be sharing a room with you either but at least iâm not being a bitch about itâ he scoffed and began to mimic your actions, pulling out his far more inferior flash cards.
you whirled at him, mouth downturned in anger. âi am not being a bitch,â you answered. âiâm simply trying to make sure you and i donât kill each other before the weekend is over and keeping my distance. rooming with you wasnât in my plan either, trust me. why would i want to room with my natural enemy.â
you turned away from him in your own dramatic fashion and made a point not to continue looking at him. as good as he looked in that burnt red shirt which hugged his arms in just the right way and - what?
shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you kept unpacking. this was just nerves. you were frankly a little freaked about tomorrows competition. going up against some of the greatest schools in the state was no small thing. what if you werenât good enough?
you didnât notice the only other body in the room come up behind you. close. dangerously close.
âoh iâm youâre enemy now, am i? you do realize weâre on the same team right? so technically we are partners.â he paused and leaned in close to your ear, âequals.â
you straightened at the word, and at his proximity to your face. âwe are most definitely not equals. i have way more extracurriculars than youâ
he scoffed. âwell i have more letter of recommendation than you. and iâm debate team captain .â
the proud tone in his voice almost made you smile before you squashed it back down. without even turning to look at him you answered, âwell i have a much higher gpa than you.â
he hummed under his breath, like he was enjoying the banter between the two of you. ânot after this semester you wonât. donât think i donât know about that c minus in biology. thatâll push me right back up to valedictorian.â
you stiffened. that silly c minus. stupid biology. stupid miss david who hasnât rounded your grade and couldnât teach for the life of her. pope was going to hold that stupid grade over your head the entire weekend. heâd win. youâd fail.
you couldnât turn to face him. knowing youâd be met with that smug smirk of his. the one you sometimes, occasionally, pretty frequently, enjoyed seeing. enjoyed being the cause of.
so you simply let out a huff in response and shimmied to the bathroom before he could say anything else. in doing so, you slammed the door in his face.
god you were so not good with guys.
by the time you were done in the bathroom, youâd only let a couple of tears slip and pope was under the covers in his own twin bed.
when you emerged he looked at you with concern, but as quickly as it was there it disappeared and he said to you, âgood glad youâre finally out of there. i was starting to think i might have to take your questions at the completion tomorrow. on second thought that wouldnât be so bad, go back in there.â
you gave him the slightest most pathetic smile in the world, in no mood to join in the back and forth the two of you always had with each other. instead you silently got into bed and twisted so you werenât facing him.
as you fell asleep you thought about the boy in the bed a couple feet away from you. the flash cards that had been on his night stand. the color of his eyes. the smirk he only ever sent your way during decathlon meetings. how every time you got nervous he seemed to start up some petty little fight which distracted you from your anxieties. in some ways, he was a lot better than you.
the thought sent you into restless sleep.
you woke up gasping. sweating and scared. you sat up, holding your chest. you were disoriented, not sure where you were. a moment ago youâd been on a stage in front of millions of people incapable of remembering the enzyme involved in digestion and now you were in a dim humid room.
before you could get your bearings a voice to your right asked âare you okay?â
you gasped again, turning towards the source of the question.
pope. beautiful pope who was still awake and had his flash cards on his lap, the lamp next to him still turned on. but at that moment, pope was looking at you. with a look so concerned he might jump over to your bed.
checking the clock on your nightstand and seeing it read three am, you turned back to the boy. âwhat the hell are you doing up? we have to be awake in five hours.â
at your snippy, and reflective, response popeâs shoulders loosened slightly. as if he was happy to have you participating with him. he motioned towards his flash cards.
âunlike your lazy ass, im getting some cramming studying doneâ
the way he said it almost felt like.. an invitation? and yet the words made it seem like a challenge all at the same time. maybe youâd accept both.
you pulled your covers off and sauntered over to his bed, dramatic as ever. he watched your every move. you decided right then and there that you loved having pope heywardâs eyes on you. to have him look at you in that way. more than anything. maybe even more than winning the decathlon.
before sitting down on the end of his bed you grabbed your own, again, superior, flash cards from your bag. surprise flashed through popeâs features. you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling and giving yourself away.
âwhat?â you asked, âdid you think i would study with your shitty flash cards?â you scoffed, âiâm not stooping to that level.â
before you could hesitate too much, you passed them to him. âand since youâre technically on my team i guess you can use them as well.â
pope, unlike you, made no move to hide his blinding grin. and even though you were sitting down you thought you might fall over at the sight.
âi knew youâd finally realize iâm your equalâ he said as he started flipping through your perfect cards.
you kept silent, not confirming nor denying what you both already knew to be true.
inching forward slightly, he looked up at you and said: âmaybe we could start with biology? iâve been struggling a little bit with the newest topic.â
you knew he was lying. his perfect and consistent scores were proof enough of that. and if it had been anyone else to mention that class, you would have slapped them silly.
but pope got it. he knew how much the c minus had killed you inside. he understood. probably more than anyone else ever had. you could see it in the way he was looking at you now. with love. concern. friendship.
so you answered, âwell if you need the help i guess so. cant have you making us lose, can we heyward?â
hihi !! i love your fics i just read your p&p nikolai fic and ur social media au one. your humor and writing is the prettiest, no other way to put it <33
i had a question, what's nikolai's modern fancast that u used for him in "hot girl nik" ? ur mind is brilliant cause i see nikolai exactly the same way ?? the imperfect eye bags really capture nikolai in my opinion because on and off in the books they describe to nikolai always looking tired and i just love that fancast because it represents him so well <3
ty for your time !! keep being the girlboss you are <3
hey bae !! this was all so nice you're so kind oh my god thank you so much <33 (also... your username? do i spot a fellow lcdp stan?)
dude i know !! he's so perfect for nik already but the eye bags are just the cherry on top of the cake, aren't they? his name is hugh laughton-scott and he's a model !! he's also the main fancast for henry from red white & royal blue so you may know him from there <3
thanks for being so kind !! keep girlbossing right back bestie <3
there is no possible way for me to get sick of u bella <3
and omg hsjsks yeah i did start writing . but no pressure to interact w it at all !!! iâd hate for u to feel obligated to read it or anything haha :â)
you're the cutest and have my whole heart actually !!
and i don't feel obligated at all hun!!!! just really looking forward to coming back and reading all ur stuff cause i'm sure it's gorgeous, i think it might be legitimately impossible for you to be bad at ANYTHING.
hey mei my love !! i'm well thankfully, just not rlly have any hyperfixation to write for at the moment so i'm not as active on here as i was :( i hope you're good babe, i miss you more <3.
'behind enemy lines' is one of the best fics i've ever read in my life â€ïžâšđł thank you so much for writing and sharing it!! you are a very talented author, the way you write is truly compelling. xDđ
personally think that fic is messy as fuck but i'm very glad u like it, love !! and thank you for the compliments hkjhkj <33
