The next day, Scott didn't get out of bed.

They'd come home late, nearly midnight. After the movie, they'd gone out for ice cream. There'd been a tense moment, yeah, when some assholes had taken it into their head to make an issue out of Scott's glasses, but the kid had handled it gracefully and, backed up by some menacing glares from Logan, it hadn't escalated.

He'd been laughing. Talking. Stealing glances at Logan across from him at the table, foot pressed against Logan's own. Relaxed and happy and strangely--bizarrely, really--normal.

Normality was not something in Logan's life, and yet, sitting at a table with four hyper teenage mutants full of hormonal lust, stealing ice cream and whipped cream from Scott's sundae, everything felt normal. Like he had a life and lover and place in the world. That he wasn't perpetually on the outside anymore, denied a past, present, or future.

Okay, so maybe that had freaked him out a little bit. The idea of a future. Any future, but especially one with him. Scott.

But he'd kept that to himself. Hadn't said anything, continued to act normal.

They'd gotten home. Ushered the kids off to bed. Spent a good half an hour ridding themselves of their own excess hormones until, rumpled, lips swollen, Scott had pulled away, reluctantly.

"Have to go make sure they're all in their own rooms," he said. "Whoever takes them out has to make sure they're tucked in."

Logan grabbed Scott's hand. "Want me to come with you?"

His nose wrinkled, smile lopsided. "Naw, it's okay. I'll be fine."

"You coming back?" He held his breath, hoping. They'd yet to share a bed, not since that first night. When they did sleep together, it was on the couch, pressed together in the small space, Scott practically on top of him. It gave Logan a stiff back and a crick in his neck. Of course, the pain went away as soon as he stood, thanks to his mutation, but still. He'd like an entire bed to sprawl in one day.

"No. I'll head back to my room." Scott had stepped forward again and pressed a light kiss on Logan's mouth. "See you tomorrow."

Logan hadn't seen him since. He himself had skipped breakfast, wanting to get a workout in. Then he'd had to break up a fight that had broken out between a couple of kids. And stand there while Storm lectured them to death. And when he'd gotten free of that, he'd run into Rogue, who'd wanted to talk about the movie and Bobby and what a great time she'd have.

Consequently, it was nearly noon before he realized he hadn't seen Scott once that day.

"Elf!" he growled when he met Kurt on the stairs. "You seen Scott?"

The other man shook his head, tail immediately grasped in his hand. "No, Mr. Logan. I have not seen him since dinner yesterday."

"Quit calling me Mr. How many times I gotta tell you that?" he said, shoving past Kurt. If the blue man answered, Logan didn't hear; he was pounding up the stairs, anger and worry coursing through him, drowning out everything else.

Scott's floor was deserted, as usual. It was like the kid was trying to close himself away from everyone. If there was a space in the attic for him, Logan had no doubt Scott would happily--or, not happily, but whatever--squirrel himself there and never come out again. Just shut himself away from life.

"Scott?" He didn't knock. He just threw open the door and stepped inside, needing to make sure his Scott was okay.

Scott was in bed. On his back, pillow clutched to his chest. He was awake, but just lying there. Listless. His feet rolled in circles while humming tunelessly.

"Scott?" he said again, softer. This wasn't what he was expecting. Maybe tears or... or rage or something. But this was... nothing.

"Hey." Even Scott's voice was flat and dull.

Logan hesitated before crossing the room to the bed. "Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"You don't look okay." He sat on the bed. "Why are you still in bed?"

"I can't get up."

"You can't. Get up." He looked over Scott carefully. "You hurt?" The kid didn't look injured, but what did Logan know? He wasn't a doctor. Maybe he'd tripped last night after going to bed, or had twisted his back or any number of things. Scott was strong, but since Jean's death, he'd seemed frail and lost. He'd lost weight, lost muscle, lost... self. So Logan didn't know.

Scott rolled onto his side. "No, I'm not hurt. Just tired. It's like my body's too heavy to move or something." He yawned. "I'm comfortable here."

Logan stretched out on the bed, facing Scott. Lightly, he traced Scott's face, the curve of his ear, down his jaw, up over his lips. Those Goddamn, beautiful, addictive lips. "This about last night? About going out and having a good time without her?"

"Naw. I mean, I've been having a good time with you for awhile now. You'd think that would be more of a betrayal or something, right? Moving on so quickly with someone she cared for. Trusted."

Think, Logan. Make it better. "Having a good time isn't the same as moving on. Before we were just... fooling around. Getting back to living. But last night... last night, we went on a date."

"So?"

"So. That's kind of serious."

"And sleeping together isn't?"

Logan snorted. "Half the school sleeps together the way we do, Scott. Go into any room, you find kids puppy-dog piled on top of each other, conked out. It's all comfort, right? No really moving on."

Scott swallowed. "I feel..." His lower lip trembled. "Last night, with you. It felt normal."

Logan didn't know what normal was. He couldn't remember if he ever had anything normal.

"I didn't think about Jean. Not once. We used to take kids to the movies all the time. Sit there, watching them watch the movie. Hold hands. Remember what it was like when we were. You know." He swallowed again. Lifted his glasses away from his tightly shut eyes to wipe the tears that had pooled on the ruby quartz. "I hate going to the movies. Can hardly tell what's going on. It's too washed out with my glasses. I go to be with the person I'm with, and last night, I was there with you. Completely. Happy, like I haven't been since..."

"Jean."

Scott nodded. He sighed and rolled onto his stomach, hiding his face. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being like this. Acting like this."

"Don't apologize."

"Don't pity me."

Logan snorted. "You think this is pity?"

Scott turned his head and put his glasses back on. "Logan, this thing. Whatever it is. Between us, I mean. This thing should end before it begins, okay? You don't..."

He got off the bed. "We are not having this conversation."

"Logan..."

"No. No, end of discussion. Now get up."

Scott sighed heavily. "Just go away."

Growling, Logan bent over. He took Scott by the wrists and hauled him out of bed. Even with his considerable strength, it wasn't easy. Scott was deadweight, limp and unresisting, but heavy. Once Logan got the kid sitting, he bent over and draped him over his shoulder.

"Leave me alone!" Scott said, but his protest lacked real strength or conviction. He didn't even struggle as Logan carried him to the bathroom.

"Look, I get it. You're depressed. Best thing for that is not laying around thinking about it. Even I know that."

"What do you know?"

"Do you have any idea how depressing not knowing who you are and where you come from is?"

Silence. Then, "It's not the same."

"You wanna trade sob stories?" He dumped Scott in the bathroom. "'Cause I've built up enough in the last fifteen years to compete with whatever teenage heartbreak stories you've got."

Scott lifted his chin, mouth pressed together in defiance. Even through the ruby quartz, Logan could feel the heat of those laser eyes.

He gave back as good as he got, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed.

"My parents died when I was five," Scott said suddenly. "Plane crash."

"Sad." He stepped forward, hooked his fingers under Scott's shirt and tugged upward. "My first real memory is being drawn into a fight by a bunch of punks. I was tired, hungry, barely dressed, and this group of guys jumped me. Defended myself just fine until the damn claws came out. Don't know who was more scared, the guy I'd just skewered or me."

Scott lifted his arms. His shirt slipped off. "I have brain damage. That's why I can't control my blasts."

"I don't know how old I am." He pulled Scott up. The claws came out. He swiped twice.

The kid was good. He barely flinched.

His pants puddled around his ankles. "I spent three years on the street. Two of those years, I never opened my eyes." He stepped out of his ruined pants.

"There was a woman, about ten years ago. Drifter." Logan went to the shower and turned it on. "I let her stick with me for awhile. Ended up killing her one night. Nightmare."

"Like Rogue."

"Like Rogue." He tested the water. "Get in."

"Close your eyes," Scott said. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear.

Logan couldn't help that the movement drew his eyes to Scott's crotch. And the muscled, tapered legs. The taut abs. The sharp hipbones.

The fair skin turned pink, everything. Scott's stomach, his legs. When Logan raised his eyes, following the color, he saw that it stained Scott's defined chest, up his neck, painted his cheeks.

"Scott," Logan said, voice rough.

A pointed, pink tongue wet rosy lips.

Whatever control Logan had broke. The growl rose in him again as he moved forward. His hands took Scott around the waist, yanked.

"Logan, no." Scott's hand came to Logan's chest, holding him back. "No. Logan, no. No, please, no." His voice trembled, shook.

Damn.

It took everything in him to stop before he did something stupid. His hands tightened on Scott's hips, and the kid arched, drawing in a sharp breath.

"It's okay, kid," Logan rasped. He forced himself to unclench his hands and slide them up Scott's spine. "It's okay. I won't do anything. It's okay." He rubbed Scott's back and continued to sooth until the tremors faded and Scott was resting against him easy.

"Sorry," Logan thought he heard Scott say against his shoulder.

"You say something?"

Scott lifted his head. "Sorry." He kept his gaze on Logan's shoulder, not looking up. "I'm acting like an idiot."

"No more than usual." Logan kissed Scott's forehead. "My timing is bad. Although, I gotta say, I never thought briefs could be sexy."

That got a crooked smile out of him. "I suppose you wear boxers?"

"Why bother with anything?"

He flushed. "Well, uh, you need to get out so I can shower. I don't like to waste water."

"There's a surprise. Can't have a boy scout wasting water." He kissed Scott. "Go. I'll leave you alone."

And he did. Leave Scott alone. However, he did book it back to his own room for the world's fasted jerk-off. Taking himself in hand, Logan closed his eyes, picturing Scott's body, the defined muscles, the roses-and-cream color. The way his underwear left so little to the imagination. Which was good. Logan hated trying to imagine.

Lust abated somewhat, Logan cleaned himself up and went back to Scott's room. He was still in the shower.

Pretending that it was in no way domestic, Logan stripped Scott's bed and tossed the sheets in a pile on the floor. No way Scott was getting back in that bed, not today. Well. Maybe that night. But when he came back out, he was leaving the room no matter what.

Scott came out wrapped in a towel, water dripping down his chest. He frowned when he saw the bed. "Hey. I'm still tired."

"You didn't eat breakfast. It's past lunch now. You need to eat."

"Make the damn bed, Logan." Scott stalked to his closet. The clothes he pulled out were real clothes, not more pajamas.

"Do I look like your maid?"

"You stripped it."

"Stripping is something I can do," he said suggestively. "Any time, anywhere."

That got a smile out of Scott. "Good to know." He grabbed underwear from the dresser and disappeared into the bathroom.

Logan went into the hall. The linen closet was next to the room Wagner was staying in; he grabbed some sheets and took them back to Scott's room. He was greeted by the sound of a hair-dryer buzzing in the bathroom.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered to himself. "Goddamn prissy boy. Won't let one hair out of place, walks around with perfect skin, pretty smile. Can't dress to save his life."

He threw the bottom sheet over the mattress and snapped it into place. Top sheet next, hospital corners ground into his memory from before his memory even began. Pillow cases on the fourteen million pillows Scott used to keep him company. Comforter--or, what Scott referred to as a duvet--on top. No wrinkles. Everything top shape, bounce-a-quarter-off-it perfect.

Slim arms wrapped around his waist. A cheek rested against his back. "Thank you," Scott whispered.

He wasn't talking about the bed.

Logan covered Scott's hand with his own. "I worry about you, Slim. Afraid I'm moving too fast. Afraid that I'm lettin' you waste away." He took a deep breath. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Whatever you're doing, Logan, keep doing it. Please." The arms tightened. "Don't give up on me."

He turned and kissed Scott. "We're still okay, right?"

His face lit up, relief relaxing Scott's face into a beautiful smile. "Yeah, Logan. We're great. Real great."