Jean’s fingers twitched by her side, and she turned to face the door. Her heart thudded once... twice. Was he avoiding her?

Then, finally, the sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs. Her breath caught. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

The doorknob turned.

Logan stepped in quietly, eyes scanning the room before landing on her. He looked tired, his jacket already off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Still not a word.

Jean looked up at him. "I thought you weren’t coming."

He didn’t answer right away. Just walked over to the other side of the room, pulled open the closet, and grabbed a pillow and a blanket.

Her throat tightened. "You’re not sleeping here?"

Logan’s back stiffened.

"I thought you would need some space ," he said, his voice low.

She stood up, her voice barely a whisper. "And what if I do?"

He turned around. His eyes... filled with guilt, conflict, and something deeper... met her for the first time all day.

Silence stretched between them.

And then he walked past her, placed the pillow back on the bed, and without saying another word, sat on the edge and rubbed a hand over his face.

Jean sat beside him slowly. Not too close.

The space between them was filled with too much unsaid.

But maybe tonight... silence would do.

Jean slid under the covers beside him, the faint scent of soap and fresh laundry clinging to him. For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Finally, she turned on her side, her voice soft. "Logan... talk to me."

He didn’t move. Didn’t even look at her.

"You’ve been avoiding me all evening," she pressed, her tone trembling between worry and frustration. "Why are you behaving like this with me?"

His jaw flexed, and after a long pause, his voice came out low, almost hesitant. "I don’t deserve you."

Jean’s brows drew together. "What are you talking about?"

This time he did look at her. His eyes, usually sharp and guarded, seemed weighed down by something heavy.

"I’ve treated you badly... all this time," he said, his words slow, deliberate, as if each one hurt to say. "I pushed you to the edge. Pressured you to your limit. Always demanding answers. And now that you’ve finally given me one..."

His throat worked as he swallowed, breaking eye contact. "...I feel gutted."

Jean studied him, her confusion mixing with an ache in her chest. She had expected many things from him... anger, coldness, even avoidance but not this.

He ran a hand over his face, almost as if ashamed to look at her again. "You didn’t owe me your truth, Jean... and I made it feel like you did. I can’t take that back."

Her heart clenched, but before she could respond, he lay back down, staring at the ceiling again, leaving her in the silence between them.

Jean remained on her side, eyes fixed on him, wondering if this was the first time she’d seen Logan Kingsley truly vulnerable.

Jean’s chest tightened. She had seen him angry, smug, even cruel but never like this. Never stripped bare of all that armor.

Quietly, she reached out and rested her hand over his, her fingers curling around his knuckles. "Logan," She murmured, "stop saying you don’t deserve me."

He didn’t look at her, but his hand tightened almost imperceptibly around hers, as if holding on without meaning to.

"You’ve hurt me," She admitted softly. "Yes. But... you’ve also protected me, stood by me when I least expected you to. You’re here. That matters."

His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line, as if he didn’t know whether to believe her.

"I don’t want to keep living in the past," Jean continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I don’t want you drowning in guilt. If we’re going to make this work, we have to... let go."

For the first time that night, Logan’s eyes met hers. There was still guilt there but also something warmer, something that flickered like a flame fighting to stay alive.

Jean gave him a faint smile and shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. He didn’t move away. His arm came around her almost hesitantly at first, but then it stayed there, solid and warm, like he was afraid to let go.

In the quiet of the room, their breathing found the same rhythm. The past wasn’t erased, but for now, it was forgiven at least enough for them to fall asleep side by side.

_____________________

Jean woke to the faint scent of coffee.

Her lashes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was sunlight spilling across the sheets and an empty space beside her. For a moment, she thought he’d left early, but then she heard quiet footsteps.

Logan emerged from the bathroom, hair damp from a shower, sleeves rolled up as if he’d been up for hours. He carried two mugs kept on the coffee table, steam curling above them.

"You’re awake," He said, his voice low but without its usual edge. "I made coffee."

Jean blinked at him, still half in a dream. "For me?"

He set one mug on her bedside table before sitting on the edge of the bed. "For both of us," He replied, but there was the faintest curve to his lips, like he couldn’t help it.

She sat up, wrapping her hands around the warmth of the cup. "I like how you are getting back to your usual self... bringing me coffee and a kiss..."

"Ah yes and a kiss," he admitted simply. His gaze stayed on her for a beat longer than usual, as if memorizing her face in the morning light. "May I?"

Logan leaned in to kiss her lips as Jean wrapped her arms around his neck. Their lips met into a soft brush at first and then they deepened it in a slow dance. Melting into each other’s embrace now more than ever.

Jean felt a slow, quiet flutter in her chest. He didn’t owe her grand gestures; this small, deliberate act felt far more intimate than flowers or diamonds.