《 Logan Howlett 》 Imagines

Old Scars, New Wounds

The night was silent, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze passed through the forest. The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light over the clearing where Logan sat, leaning against a tree, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. The shadows played across his rugged face, highlighting the deep lines and old scars that told stories of battles fought and lives lost.

He took a long swig from the bottle, the amber liquid burning its way down his throat, but he barely noticed. It was a pain he welcomed, a distraction from the other kind—the kind that never really went away. The kind that haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?"

The soft voice broke through the stillness, and Logan didn't need to turn around to know who it was. He could sense her—he always could, in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. Y/N stepped into the clearing, her figure bathed in the moonlight as she approached him.

"Nah," Logan grunted, not looking up. "You?"

Y/N shook her head, though he couldn't see it. "Not really. Thought I'd find you out here."

Logan let out a low, gruff chuckle. "Guess I'm gettin' predictable in my old age."

She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes as she sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. For a moment, they were silent, just sitting together, the cool night air wrapping around them like a blanket.

Logan finally turned to look at her, his expression softening. "You okay, kid?"

Y/N's gaze met his, and she nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"Everything," she admitted. "The past, the future... you."

Logan's brow furrowed, and he looked away, his grip tightening around the bottle. "Ain't much worth thinkin' about when it comes to me."

"That's not true," she said gently, reaching out to place her hand on his. "You've done more for me than anyone else ever has. You've been there when no one else was, Logan."

He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of memories. "I've hurt a lotta people, Y/N. Done things I can't take back. People like me... we don't deserve—"

"You deserve more than you think," she interrupted, her voice firm. "You deserve peace, and happiness, and... love."

Logan's eyes flicked back to hers, searching her face for something he wasn't sure he even believed in anymore. "Love, huh?"

Y/N nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yeah, love. You're not as alone as you think you are, Logan. You've got me. You always will."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The night seemed to hold its breath, the world shrinking down to just the two of them, sitting side by side under the stars. Logan's heart, so often hardened by loss and pain, softened just a little at her words.

Finally, he set the bottle aside and reached for her hand, his rough, calloused fingers curling around hers. "Thanks, Y/N."

She smiled, squeezing his hand gently. "Anytime, old man."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that made her smile widen. They stayed like that, hand in hand, as the night wore on. The world outside their little bubble of peace seemed distant and unimportant, if only for a while.

For the first time in a long time, Logan felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn't completely lost. Not as long as Y/N was by his side.