Every time Logan packed his things and left Westchester someone stood to remind him he could always come home again. Except when he left on Scott’s command. With a job for X-Force those parting words were always about the same— don’t scare the kids by coming back in pieces.
Logan was almost a whole piece again when he staggered up to the door of that dingy little cabin. Little more than a single lodging at the edge of the estate, the boathouse was far enough from the dormitories and lawns that there was little change he’d run into any kids while he was looking like a human dissection specimen. He’d unofficially claimed that space that kept him at arms length from the school and for tonight, it was a good place to close his eye while the other one grew back in its socket.
Inside, he slung a duffle bag to the floor and peeled his shirt from his skin before realizing that somewhere behind the sharp coppery smell of his own healing flesh, and the damp pine that envelope this little dwelling, there was the smell of someone else here.
“Who the fuck is in here…” he grumbled, looking for a sign of movement in the dark with the one eye currently in service.
Ben had been at the school long enough to know exactly who the cabin unofficially belonged to. Most of the other students avoided it, either out of fear or a healthy sense of self-preservation, but Ben always found himself drawn to its darkness.
He'd never set foot in it while Logan was around, of course, but when the older man was off doing whatever it was he did Ben couldn't help but claim it for himself. It was far enough away from everyone else that he knew he wouldn't be bothered, and - well, if he was being honest with himself, he liked that it smelled like Logan. He liked seeing the small pieces of Logan's life hiding on the shelves, liked the idea that maybe it would be okay for them to spend time here together, just talking or sitting quietly without fear of being judged.
It was a stupid fantasy, he knew, but what was the worst that could happen?
Except that this time Ben stayed too long, and suddenly Logan was back, covered in blood and looking like he'd been chewed up and spit out by some terrifying monster, and there was nowhere to hide except the shadowy corners of the cabin.
Knowing that staying quiet would just piss the guy off, Ben slunk slowly forward, looking simultaneously afraid, ashamed, and just a little fascinated. He'd never been one to be grossed out easily.
"Hi," he mumbled, unsure of what to say. "It's, uh. It's me, Ben. Are you - you don't look so good."
Logan had no official claim over that dusty, isolated little hovel. In its neglect it had been an easy enough place for Logan to annex from the rest of the estate merely through his occupancy.
If his nerves weren’t howling enough with the staggering irritation and ache of his body knitting itself together again, the intrusion of a stranger’s scent had raised his hackles like a wounded animal alerted to the presence of predator. Until the sound of that gentle young voice reduced a simmer fury back down to his usual pretense of low-key irritation.
He sighed gruffly. “Hargreeves…” the name finally connected with the familiar smell and he turned the butchered side of his face away from the young man stepping out of the shadows. It was the same instinct that brought him to this cabin. Keep the kids away from whatever he brought with him. “Go back to the dorms. It’s way the hell past curfew.”
Thankfully, Logan didn't seem to be in any shape to toss Ben out, which meant he could take his time peering curiously at the wounded man's battered frame. Not the best idea, sure, but how many people in the world could take that much damage and stay standing?
Even after Logan turned away, Ben had seen enough to know exactly why he used this cabin whenever he came back from those long trips he often took. Most of the others - the littler kids especially - would no doubt have nightmares for months after seeing something so gruesome.
But Ben had never been like the others. He didn't care about blood or viscera, at least not enough to be disgusted by them. His own abilities were stomach-churning enough; living with them had helped him overcome any such aversion.
Maybe that was why he ignored Logan's command, choosing instead to remain where he was, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie and his own eyes bright despite the darkness.
"Do you want help?" The answer would probably be no, but it was rude not to at least ask.
He was tired, no doubt. But perhaps he had taken himself for a more intimidating figure. One that Ben might have outright obeyed when Logan barked at him. Maybe Kitty was right. He hadn’t been around the estate enough lately. Maybe he was losing his terrifying touch.
“With what?” A bold question from a man doing his best to ignore the twitching and swelling of his eyelid as a new eye was forming in the socket. “You gonna stitch me up? Don’t waste the first aid kit. I’ll be fine by the time you thread the needle.”
Turning back to the bathroom sink, Logan dragged his muddy hand across his ribs and sighed. That deep uncomfortable itch beneath the skin wasn’t just something healing internally. With a claw extruded from between his knuckles, he stretched his skin with the other hand and carved into himself until his self-butchery produced a spent slug, flattened at the point like a crushed tin can. It hit the tiles like a little stone and Logan sighed of relief.
“You squeamish?” He asked, but it wasn’t a challenge. That irritated gruffness was replaced with something else. Something that almost sounded guilty. Not just because he’d brushed off Ben’s help. But because he knew better than to foist his discomfort on a kid. “There’s one more in my back. I can’t reach it.”
It wasn't as though Ben wasn't afraid of Logan; all of the students were. It was impossible not to be intimidated by his huge frame, rough voice, and tendency to growl at anything that invaded his personal space.
But there was more to him than that, and Ben's curiosity outweighed his fear. Below the gruff exterior was a man who cared enough about kids to hide his injuries from them - even when they overstepped his personal boundaries and hung out in his sort-of-house when he wasn't around.
The response to his question made Ben duck his head for a second, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. They both knew that whatever first aid Ben could administer would pale in comparison to Logan's healing factor.
The sound of skin being sliced open made Ben look up again, his eyes catching on the bullet just as it hit the floor. He'd seen injuries before, but not like that. They didn't have guns at the school, at least not where the students could access them.
When Logan spoke again, it took a second for Ben's brain to process what he was saying. Was he asking for help? It seemed almost impossible. And yet, when Ben stepped forward and scanned the battered skin on Logan's back, it was all too easy to see where another bullet had buried itself, just beneath Logan's right shoulderblade.
"I can get it," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. It wasn't the idea of cutting it out that bothered him as much as it was his own fear of fucking up.
It would be easier with a knife, probably, but instinct took over, and before Ben really thought about it a small tentacle had emerged from beneath his hoodie, stretching out to probe cautiously at the skin around the wound.
“There’s knives in the kitch—” his directions were cut short when that unfamiliar sensation crazed his skin. It was like something his senses couldn’t parse, but it came with a familiar scent. Something akin to the dark force dimension. A trace of what Kurt came back smelling like when he ported through that world and back into this one. His head snapped around to the find the source of it, but the startled look on Ben’s face reminded him who was doing who a favour.
“Oh. Right…” he’d seen those ethereal tendrils before, he reminded himself. It was hard to keep track of which kids did what kind of weird things. Whether or not Ben could draw blood with powers like those Logan wasn’t certain. He couldn’t recall having ever seen the young man do that, but he supposed there was no one better to experiment on.
“Hey,” he said grumbling over his shoulder, “Do me a favour and don’t take your time.”
It wasn't until the tentacle reached the bullethole that Ben realized what he was doing. They'd become such a part of him that it most times he didn't really need to do much more than think and they'd suddenly be there, ready to do whatever needed doing. They were always accompanied by a sort of presence in his brain, as though they could speak directly to him in a language only they shared.
They'd never tried to extricate a bullet, though. Frowning in concentration, Ben did his best to heed Logan's words. The tentacle quickly pushed its way into the injury, snaked around the shell, and withdrew as smoothly as possible, dropping the metal onto the floor before disappearing back beneath Ben's clothing. It wasn't the cleanest method, but at least he hadn't cut Logan up more than he already was.
A knife in his skin felt hard and cold, but that was something his senses could sort out easily. There was no defining the way that otherworldly touch, felt. Despite look as thought they might crackle with some type of energy, they weren’t warm on his skin and when it pushed past the scar tissue into the muscle he could have sworn the chill of the touch might have spread through his veins had it lasted any longer.
He bit back a rough groan when that slug came out of him and without the interference of that wadded shrapnel his skin closed up quickly behind it. Caching sight of himself in the mirror his face, it seemed, had puzzled itself together too. Even his right eye, while still blurry to look through and too sensitive to even the dull bathroom light to open completely, was at least back where it was supposed to be. And for the first time since setting foot on the estate, Logan took in his reflection the way a person tended to looking at themselves in the mirror. He was filthy with dried blood and whatever left that blackness on his skin and in his hair. Mechanical grease? Char? He didn’t know. But he ran the sink and plunged his head under the water, scrubbing away the last evidence of his butchered state.
The towel on the rack didn’t look like it had been much more taken care of than Logan himself, but he reached for it and ruffled it over his head like he was towering down a wet dog. It felt good just feel all his skin again. No more sting of exposed nerves and raw flesh. He felt whole.
“Thanks,” he said earnestly, if not a little sheepishly too. A man didn’t take any great pride in asking a kid to tend his wounds. “Now. If you got whatever you came here for, you should get back to the dorms. They’re gonna be looking’ for you before long.”
Not many people have gotten close enough to the tentacles to know what they feel like. It wasn't as though Ben has a lot of close friends, after all, and besides, it just seemed weird to run around letting people touch them casually. Summoning them wasn't without its own side effects, either; Ben didn't think he'd ever get used to the discomfort of his skin opening up to let them pass through whatever barrier kept them locked away.
Thankfully, Logan didn't make any sort of fuss about it. As he washed away the remnants of whatever battle he'd been in, Ben couldn't help but stare at his rapidly-healing skin and - when Logan looked into the mirror - at the way his eyeball had suddenly replaced the empty hole that had been there moments earlier.
It was strange, but that strangeness just made Ben want to stick around longer. Unfortunately, he didn't have any good reason with which to convince the other man.
Never one to lie, Ben hesitated for just a second before finally admitting, "I don't want to go back. And I got my brother Klaus to cover for me." Klaus always understood Ben's need for space. He never questioned it, and he was a much better liar than Ben himself was.
What Logan knew about Ben was only limited by either man’s tendency to keep others at a distance. He was watchful of all the kids in this place of course, to the degree that he deserved to be, but he also knew they had enough keepers here that some of them were thankful to know at least one member of the so-called faculty might keep their secrets and give them space. For a moment he could only put a face to the name Klaus. Hargreeves, he thought again as he remembered their story. Collected by some eccentric old billionaire. The other ones were noisier than Ben. Klaus especially. They drew more attention to themselves. Got up to more trouble. But they stuck by each other like family. So why was Ben hiding himself out here.
He blinked lazily through the fog of that new eye, but the other one looked Ben over more closely now that his thoughts didn’t have to rise through the haze of pain and discomfort. Why the younger man was out here in the first place couldn’t be discerned from his dress or what he’d been up to when Logan came lumbering in. “Something go wrong, Ben?” He asked, careful in his language not to assign blame. If the younger man was hiding something, or hiding from something out here, he had to trust someone if it could be set to right. “Maybe you’re just out here cause you like the smell of white pine, but I can’t help feelin’ like you’re out here hiding from something.”
Family was great, and in a place like Xavier's Ben knew that having any family at all meant a lot more than it usually did, but even family wasn't always what you wanted. Ben was an introvert, and while his siblings knew that and tried to respect him they often ended up overwhelming him with their own issues and arguments.
The shift in Logan's tone was noticeable enough to force Ben's lips up into a weak smile. It was always fun to watch the gruff older man slip into his role as a teacher and mentor - it suited him better than he probably realized. Ben had been observing Logan from afar long enough to know that he would never push too hard for an answer. For some reason, that made Ben even more eager to tell him the truth.
"Not really," he replied, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly closed it and ducked his head, heat rising to his cheeks as he thought about what he was about to say.
"I just... like it here," he finished finally, his tone indicating that what he'd said was close to the truth but wasn't quite the entire reason.
He did try his best with the kids. Logan would never have admitted that for fear of falling so painfully far short of what they deserved. It was easier to say he didn’t try at all. At least that way no one was disappointed when Logan, by his mere existence in this place, unraveled their carefully laid lessons. He never sold himself as anything more than he was at his worst. Despite that, anyone looking close enough could see the way he searched for something softer in himself with the students at Xaviers. Resuscitating some haggard sense of optimism to give these kids the kind of strength they could use.
When Ben smiled even faintly, that concern would start to erode. The smile on his own weathered face was made of as much menace as understanding and he stepped up close enough to Ben to crowd his personal space. “I’ll take your word for it,” it was all but a whispered. “But lie to me now, and if they tell me tomorrow some mutant octopus tore up the library I won’t think twice about turnin’ you in, bub.” Warning was it might have been, there was too much levity there to carry the weight of honest intimidation.
When he thought Ben might blush under his scrutiny he breezed passed the boy, grazing his shoulder and making for the fridge where the beer was in no short supply.
“You just like it here,” he sighed like he didn’t believe it. Like he knew there was more under those words, he just couldn’t see to the bottom of the well they covered. “What do you like, Benny? The mouse problem? The pinging in the pipes? The leaky shingles?” He smiled knowingly and halted the hand that reached out to Ben with a beer. “How old are you?” he asked.
The teachers here were great, but they were all very... grown-up. Very responsible. Very determined to make sure the kids obeyed the rules and didn't push any boundaries. Ben understood why, of course - having superpowered children running around made for a dangerous enough life as it was - but that didn't mean he ached for something different, for just one person who would let him live outside the lines once in a while.
Logan was different. He was kind in his own way, but he was also unapologetic about how he lived. Just the fact that he stayed in his own place, away from the main school building, made him instantly more mysterious, and Ben loved mysteries. It also made him a little more frightening, but even that wasn't enough to keep Ben away.
When Logan suddenly closed the distance between them Ben felt his breath stop and his eyes go wide - but the words that actually came out of Logan's mouth left him laughing weakly, relief washing over him.
"I promise I didn't break anything," he replied, relaxing a little more now that he knew he wasn't going to get kicked out.
Logan's description of the cabin made him laugh again, his eyes crinkling up at the corners a little. He was about to reach for the beer when Logan asked about his age, and for a second he thought about lying.
Logan would know, though. Ben was sure about that. Somehow, he had a knack for sniffing out the truth.
"I'm nineteen," he confessed, his eyes glued to Logan's face, wondering how he'd react. He was a teacher, but he didn't exactly identify as a teacher on most occasions, right? How far did that sense of responsibility stretch?
He sighed a little sigh of disappointment when Ben uttered nineteen. But judging by the amused look on his face it was hard to blame the young man for being honest.
“That’s old enough where I’m from,” he said with a shrug. It was a risk that was apt to come back and bite him more than Ben, he knew, but Logan had never feared authority. Least of all when a little bending of the rules might do someone else some good. That was the different between him and Scott. His responsibility to others was not a set of rules to be followed. It was a negotiation between individuals. When Ben’s hand closed around the other end of that can Logan didn’t yet let go. “If you’re gonna come out here and drink my beer though, you better do me the courtesy of tellin’ me what you’re running from. Or to.”
Beer was probably not the answer to whatever drove Ben out here of course. But if Logan was going to inspire any honesty in the boy, he imagined he’d have to prove he was worthy of trust in the first place. His own can of something called Boneshaker opened with a crack and a hiss as he leaned on the counter and rattled a box of stale crackers only to be disappointed by the sad sound of crumbs alone.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Dominant Meme
how's this grab you?
Logan was almost a whole piece again when he staggered up to the door of that dingy little cabin. Little more than a single lodging at the edge of the estate, the boathouse was far enough from the dormitories and lawns that there was little change he’d run into any kids while he was looking like a human dissection specimen. He’d unofficially claimed that space that kept him at arms length from the school and for tonight, it was a good place to close his eye while the other one grew back in its socket.
Inside, he slung a duffle bag to the floor and peeled his shirt from his skin before realizing that somewhere behind the sharp coppery smell of his own healing flesh, and the damp pine that envelope this little dwelling, there was the smell of someone else here.
“Who the fuck is in here…” he grumbled, looking for a sign of movement in the dark with the one eye currently in service.
it's perfect! ♥
He'd never set foot in it while Logan was around, of course, but when the older man was off doing whatever it was he did Ben couldn't help but claim it for himself. It was far enough away from everyone else that he knew he wouldn't be bothered, and - well, if he was being honest with himself, he liked that it smelled like Logan. He liked seeing the small pieces of Logan's life hiding on the shelves, liked the idea that maybe it would be okay for them to spend time here together, just talking or sitting quietly without fear of being judged.
It was a stupid fantasy, he knew, but what was the worst that could happen?
Except that this time Ben stayed too long, and suddenly Logan was back, covered in blood and looking like he'd been chewed up and spit out by some terrifying monster, and there was nowhere to hide except the shadowy corners of the cabin.
Knowing that staying quiet would just piss the guy off, Ben slunk slowly forward, looking simultaneously afraid, ashamed, and just a little fascinated. He'd never been one to be grossed out easily.
"Hi," he mumbled, unsure of what to say. "It's, uh. It's me, Ben. Are you - you don't look so good."
yay!
If his nerves weren’t howling enough with the staggering irritation and ache of his body knitting itself together again, the intrusion of a stranger’s scent had raised his hackles like a wounded animal alerted to the presence of predator. Until the sound of that gentle young voice reduced a simmer fury back down to his usual pretense of low-key irritation.
He sighed gruffly. “Hargreeves…” the name finally connected with the familiar smell and he turned the butchered side of his face away from the young man stepping out of the shadows. It was the same instinct that brought him to this cabin. Keep the kids away from whatever he brought with him. “Go back to the dorms. It’s way the hell past curfew.”
no subject
Even after Logan turned away, Ben had seen enough to know exactly why he used this cabin whenever he came back from those long trips he often took. Most of the others - the littler kids especially - would no doubt have nightmares for months after seeing something so gruesome.
But Ben had never been like the others. He didn't care about blood or viscera, at least not enough to be disgusted by them. His own abilities were stomach-churning enough; living with them had helped him overcome any such aversion.
Maybe that was why he ignored Logan's command, choosing instead to remain where he was, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie and his own eyes bright despite the darkness.
"Do you want help?" The answer would probably be no, but it was rude not to at least ask.
no subject
“With what?” A bold question from a man doing his best to ignore the twitching and swelling of his eyelid as a new eye was forming in the socket. “You gonna stitch me up? Don’t waste the first aid kit. I’ll be fine by the time you thread the needle.”
Turning back to the bathroom sink, Logan dragged his muddy hand across his ribs and sighed. That deep uncomfortable itch beneath the skin wasn’t just something healing internally. With a claw extruded from between his knuckles, he stretched his skin with the other hand and carved into himself until his self-butchery produced a spent slug, flattened at the point like a crushed tin can. It hit the tiles like a little stone and Logan sighed of relief.
“You squeamish?” He asked, but it wasn’t a challenge. That irritated gruffness was replaced with something else. Something that almost sounded guilty. Not just because he’d brushed off Ben’s help. But because he knew better than to foist his discomfort on a kid. “There’s one more in my back. I can’t reach it.”
no subject
But there was more to him than that, and Ben's curiosity outweighed his fear. Below the gruff exterior was a man who cared enough about kids to hide his injuries from them - even when they overstepped his personal boundaries and hung out in his sort-of-house when he wasn't around.
The response to his question made Ben duck his head for a second, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. They both knew that whatever first aid Ben could administer would pale in comparison to Logan's healing factor.
The sound of skin being sliced open made Ben look up again, his eyes catching on the bullet just as it hit the floor. He'd seen injuries before, but not like that. They didn't have guns at the school, at least not where the students could access them.
When Logan spoke again, it took a second for Ben's brain to process what he was saying. Was he asking for help? It seemed almost impossible. And yet, when Ben stepped forward and scanned the battered skin on Logan's back, it was all too easy to see where another bullet had buried itself, just beneath Logan's right shoulderblade.
"I can get it," he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. It wasn't the idea of cutting it out that bothered him as much as it was his own fear of fucking up.
It would be easier with a knife, probably, but instinct took over, and before Ben really thought about it a small tentacle had emerged from beneath his hoodie, stretching out to probe cautiously at the skin around the wound.
no subject
“Oh. Right…” he’d seen those ethereal tendrils before, he reminded himself. It was hard to keep track of which kids did what kind of weird things. Whether or not Ben could draw blood with powers like those Logan wasn’t certain. He couldn’t recall having ever seen the young man do that, but he supposed there was no one better to experiment on.
“Hey,” he said grumbling over his shoulder, “Do me a favour and don’t take your time.”
no subject
They'd never tried to extricate a bullet, though. Frowning in concentration, Ben did his best to heed Logan's words. The tentacle quickly pushed its way into the injury, snaked around the shell, and withdrew as smoothly as possible, dropping the metal onto the floor before disappearing back beneath Ben's clothing. It wasn't the cleanest method, but at least he hadn't cut Logan up more than he already was.
no subject
He bit back a rough groan when that slug came out of him and without the interference of that wadded shrapnel his skin closed up quickly behind it. Caching sight of himself in the mirror his face, it seemed, had puzzled itself together too. Even his right eye, while still blurry to look through and too sensitive to even the dull bathroom light to open completely, was at least back where it was supposed to be. And for the first time since setting foot on the estate, Logan took in his reflection the way a person tended to looking at themselves in the mirror. He was filthy with dried blood and whatever left that blackness on his skin and in his hair. Mechanical grease? Char? He didn’t know. But he ran the sink and plunged his head under the water, scrubbing away the last evidence of his butchered state.
The towel on the rack didn’t look like it had been much more taken care of than Logan himself, but he reached for it and ruffled it over his head like he was towering down a wet dog. It felt good just feel all his skin again. No more sting of exposed nerves and raw flesh. He felt whole.
“Thanks,” he said earnestly, if not a little sheepishly too. A man didn’t take any great pride in asking a kid to tend his wounds. “Now. If you got whatever you came here for, you should get back to the dorms. They’re gonna be looking’ for you before long.”
no subject
Thankfully, Logan didn't make any sort of fuss about it. As he washed away the remnants of whatever battle he'd been in, Ben couldn't help but stare at his rapidly-healing skin and - when Logan looked into the mirror - at the way his eyeball had suddenly replaced the empty hole that had been there moments earlier.
It was strange, but that strangeness just made Ben want to stick around longer. Unfortunately, he didn't have any good reason with which to convince the other man.
Never one to lie, Ben hesitated for just a second before finally admitting, "I don't want to go back. And I got my brother Klaus to cover for me." Klaus always understood Ben's need for space. He never questioned it, and he was a much better liar than Ben himself was.
no subject
He blinked lazily through the fog of that new eye, but the other one looked Ben over more closely now that his thoughts didn’t have to rise through the haze of pain and discomfort. Why the younger man was out here in the first place couldn’t be discerned from his dress or what he’d been up to when Logan came lumbering in. “Something go wrong, Ben?” He asked, careful in his language not to assign blame. If the younger man was hiding something, or hiding from something out here, he had to trust someone if it could be set to right. “Maybe you’re just out here cause you like the smell of white pine, but I can’t help feelin’ like you’re out here hiding from something.”
no subject
The shift in Logan's tone was noticeable enough to force Ben's lips up into a weak smile. It was always fun to watch the gruff older man slip into his role as a teacher and mentor - it suited him better than he probably realized. Ben had been observing Logan from afar long enough to know that he would never push too hard for an answer. For some reason, that made Ben even more eager to tell him the truth.
"Not really," he replied, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly closed it and ducked his head, heat rising to his cheeks as he thought about what he was about to say.
"I just... like it here," he finished finally, his tone indicating that what he'd said was close to the truth but wasn't quite the entire reason.
no subject
When Ben smiled even faintly, that concern would start to erode. The smile on his own weathered face was made of as much menace as understanding and he stepped up close enough to Ben to crowd his personal space. “I’ll take your word for it,” it was all but a whispered. “But lie to me now, and if they tell me tomorrow some mutant octopus tore up the library I won’t think twice about turnin’ you in, bub.” Warning was it might have been, there was too much levity there to carry the weight of honest intimidation.
When he thought Ben might blush under his scrutiny he breezed passed the boy, grazing his shoulder and making for the fridge where the beer was in no short supply.
“You just like it here,” he sighed like he didn’t believe it. Like he knew there was more under those words, he just couldn’t see to the bottom of the well they covered. “What do you like, Benny? The mouse problem? The pinging in the pipes? The leaky shingles?” He smiled knowingly and halted the hand that reached out to Ben with a beer. “How old are you?” he asked.
no subject
Logan was different. He was kind in his own way, but he was also unapologetic about how he lived. Just the fact that he stayed in his own place, away from the main school building, made him instantly more mysterious, and Ben loved mysteries. It also made him a little more frightening, but even that wasn't enough to keep Ben away.
When Logan suddenly closed the distance between them Ben felt his breath stop and his eyes go wide - but the words that actually came out of Logan's mouth left him laughing weakly, relief washing over him.
"I promise I didn't break anything," he replied, relaxing a little more now that he knew he wasn't going to get kicked out.
Logan's description of the cabin made him laugh again, his eyes crinkling up at the corners a little. He was about to reach for the beer when Logan asked about his age, and for a second he thought about lying.
Logan would know, though. Ben was sure about that. Somehow, he had a knack for sniffing out the truth.
"I'm nineteen," he confessed, his eyes glued to Logan's face, wondering how he'd react. He was a teacher, but he didn't exactly identify as a teacher on most occasions, right? How far did that sense of responsibility stretch?
no subject
“That’s old enough where I’m from,” he said with a shrug. It was a risk that was apt to come back and bite him more than Ben, he knew, but Logan had never feared authority. Least of all when a little bending of the rules might do someone else some good. That was the different between him and Scott. His responsibility to others was not a set of rules to be followed. It was a negotiation between individuals. When Ben’s hand closed around the other end of that can Logan didn’t yet let go. “If you’re gonna come out here and drink my beer though, you better do me the courtesy of tellin’ me what you’re running from. Or to.”
Beer was probably not the answer to whatever drove Ben out here of course. But if Logan was going to inspire any honesty in the boy, he imagined he’d have to prove he was worthy of trust in the first place. His own can of something called Boneshaker opened with a crack and a hiss as he leaned on the counter and rattled a box of stale crackers only to be disappointed by the sad sound of crumbs alone.
// 2019 / JUNE
FortAnon //