"You've got Logan. 'Intimacy is not about sex. It's about truth. It's about the willingness to expose yourself, to be vulnerable, to be truly seen.' – Maxime Lagace."
Logan still wasn't used to waking up in a dark room. Normally, his alarm blaring at him was a backup to the soft light filtering through his blinds, nudging him awake. He wasn't naturally a morning person - far from it - but years of chasing the best waves at dawn before school had forced him to adapt.
Now, in the blackout-induced quiet, he lay still for a moment, disoriented. Then, like the slow turning of a page, the memories of the night before came rushing back. His chest tightened, a thrill of disbelief sweeping over him as he twisted in bed. Relief flooded through him when his eyes adjusted to see Veronica lying beside him, her breathing steady, her golden hair fanned out across the pillow.
She hadn't fled.
Logan's hand hovered just above her shoulder, hesitating as if touching her might shatter the moment. He'd half-expected to wake alone, the empty bed a familiar echo of her flighty nature when things got too intense. But she was still there, and he couldn't help but marvel at the sight of her, peaceful and unguarded in sleep.
He knew he'd pushed her to her breaking point last summer. Whether it was the gunshot that blasted through his Xterra window or the blaze of his reckless revenge that finally tipped the scales, he wasn't sure. Either way, Veronica had pulled away. She'd craved normality, something he couldn't offer her, and for a while, she'd chosen distance. Yet here she was now - not just in his house, but in his bed, tangled in his sheets.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched her. There was something achingly sweet about the way she slept, her sharp edges softened by dreams. It was one of the things he loved most about her: her contradictions. People always underestimated her - drawn in by her petite frame and doe eyes, only to run headfirst into her wit, her strength, and her unyielding resolve. She was a force of nature.
Veronica shifted, her lashes fluttering as her eyes opened. She blinked sleepily at him, her lips curving into a soft, dreamy smile. "Morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Good morning," Logan replied, his voice soft and unguarded, matching the quiet intimacy of the moment. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, the kind he couldn't quite suppress, no matter how much he tried. It was absurd, really, how she had this effect on him. With just one look, she could reduce him to an awkward, giddy teenager.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against the soft curve of her cheek. He couldn't help it. His heart did that strange fluttering thing again when she met his gaze, and before he could second-guess himself, he leaned down to press his lips to hers - a simple, slow kiss.
Her smile deepened against his mouth, warm and inviting, and for a heartbeat, the world outside their little bubble seemed to disappear. It was just the two of them, cocooned in the quiet of the morning, the storm's aftermath forgotten for a moment.
The ache in his muscles was a satisfying reminder of the night before. The raw, desperate urgency with which they'd clung to each other still hummed through his veins like a live wire.
Veronica pulled back slightly, her eyes narrowing in that familiar way, sharp and observant. She studied his face with a kind of intensity that always left him feeling a little exposed. "You're staring," she teased, her lips twitching into a mischievous smile.
"Can you blame me?" Logan asked, his voice low. He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary. "You're a sight for sore eyes."
Her cheeks flushed, pink creeping up the sides of her neck as she rolled her eyes. But the warmth in her expression - the way her guard dropped for just a split second - was a rare and precious thing, one that he couldn't help but cherish.
Veronica stretched, her body arching in a tantalising way, a soft yawn escaping her lips. As she sat up, the sheet slipped from her shoulders, exposing her bare skin to the cool air as she glanced back at him. "Have you been downstairs yet? Checked for any storm damage?"
Logan ran a hand through his tousled hair, his eyes still locked on her. "Not yet. Figured I'd enjoy the luxury of waking up next to you before diving into disaster recovery mode."
"We lost the power last night," she said, her voice laced with a quiet anxiety. "I guess we don't know if it's coming back."
He nodded, his mind already racing through the possible implications of a power outage. "Yeah, I know. But we've got an emergency generator, and enough fuel to last for a while, I think. Still... I need to figure out how long it'll last. I also need to be sure the fridge and freezer are getting power," Logan said, his tone more serious now. "Heat's going to be the issue. We'll probably need to ration it, keep it to the essentials. The generator's not going to last forever."
Veronica nodded slowly, her brow furrowing. "It's SoCal, right? This cold snap can't last forever. We'll just bundle up."
Logan raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Agreed. But if you're planning on getting anything done today, no knee-high socks. Those things are dangerous."
Veronica smirked, her cheeks still flushed. "I'll wear what I want, Logan."
"Of course you can," he said with a shrug, but his grin widened. "Just don't blame me when the cleanup takes twice as long because I can't keep my hands off of you."
"Who says it will be your hands slowing things down?" she shot back, a wicked glint in her eyes.
They dressed quickly, piling on layers against the chill. By the time they made it downstairs, the mess from the night before greeted them with unceremonious clarity. The shattered vase still lay in a pile of broken glass. Logan grimaced as he caught sight of it. "That'll be fun to clean up."
Veronica nodded. "Let's focus on the outside first. Who knows what's waiting for us out there?
Let's just hope the roof's still intact as getting a roofer during a pandemic is going to be super inconvenient."
They stepped out onto the porch, the storm's aftermath sprawled before them like some war-torn battlefield. The lawn was a jumbled mess of twisted tree branches, a few scattered roof tiles, and debris tangled in the damp grass, and across the stoned areas. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and broken leaves, the chill of the wind biting through their clothes.
Logan surveyed the scene, nudging a palm frond with his foot. "Could've been worse," he said, though the sheer scale of the mess stretched out before them like an unsolvable puzzle.
They worked methodically, clearing the larger branches first, stacking them in a corner of the yard. But as they moved deeper into the grounds, Logan's eyes caught sight of the old shed at the far end of the property. A frown pulled at his lips as he wiped his hands on his jeans. "That doesn't look good," he said quietly.
Veronica followed his gaze, her brow furrowing as she took in the sight of the sagging roofline. They approached the shed, the damage far worse than either of them had anticipated. A large tree branch had landed on the roof, which had then partially caved in exposing the interior like a wounded animal. Tools, seeds, and gardening supplies lay scattered among the wreckage, some crushed under debris, others exposed to the steady drip of water from the torn roof.
Veronica stepped closer and peered through the broken doorway. "This is bad," she muttered, a flicker of worry in her voice. "Everything we need to grow the vegetables is in there - seeds, pots, tools." She glanced over at Logan, determination hardening her tone. "We have to salvage what we can."
He nodded, squinting at the damage. "Let's move it all to another storage room. It'll be dry there."
Together, they worked quickly, moving the salvaged items to the other building. The air inside the shed was thick with the musty scent of wet wood and metal. The dim light filtering through the damage cast long, mournful shadows, making the space feel even more claustrophobic.
Just as they were nearly done, Logan's hand spotted a trowel underneath a broken, twisted beam. With a muttered curse, he bent down to free it, but his arm scraped against a jagged piece of metal. The hiss of pain escaped him before he could stop it.
"Damn it," he muttered, pulling back as a trickle of blood appeared along his forearm.
Veronica was by his side instantly, her gaze sharp and concerned. "What did you do?" she demanded.
"It's nothing," Logan insisted, but the blood staining the arm of his top was a clear betrayal.
Veronica grabbed his arm, leading him outside into the dim light. She pulled up his sleeve, her fingers brushing his skin with a gentle precision. Her brow furrowed as she inspected the wound. "It's not too deep, I don't think it will need stitches," she said, her voice softening. "But that metal was rusty. Let's go inside and get it cleaned up."
Sighing, he let her lead him back towards the house, his other hand pressed tightly against the wound to stem the blood flow.
In his bedroom, Logan pulled out the first aid kit, briefly musing on how many other teenagers even owned one, let alone relied on it as much as he had. Over the years, he'd become his own medic out of necessity, learning to patch himself up countless times. Whiskey was usually his anaesthetic of choice, dulling both the physical pain and the sharper ache of his father's mercurial temper. It was a grim, familiar ritual.
Veronica worked beside him with quiet precision, her hands steady as she sifted through the kit for the necessary supplies. Logan watched her, an odd pang in his chest. It partly felt foreign - someone tending to him, someone caring enough to help. His mother used to, long ago, but even that had stopped. She'd learned to retreat, drowning her own guilt in spirits and half-hearted denials that things weren't as bad as they seemed.
But it wasn't just the strangeness that unsettled him. It also stirred memories of that night months ago, when he'd stumbled into Veronica's home, battered and bruised from his clash with the PCHers. She'd stayed with him, her touch soft and careful as she had cleaned his wounds the best she could.
"This is going to sting," she said softly, soaking a wipe in alcohol. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, briefly apologetic, before returning to the task at hand. "But we need to clean it."
Logan winced as the alcohol hit the wound, but he held still, forcing a smile. "It's fine. Doesn't hurt that much."
Veronica's lips pressed into a thin line as she cleaned the wound gently. "I just don't want it to get infected," she murmured, almost to herself as she applied the antibiotic ointment.
"You know," Logan said, his voice hushed as he watched her finish, "you make a pretty hot Florence Nightingale."
Her head snapped up, and a wicked smile spread across her face. "Oh really? You have a thing for sexy nurses?"
Logan shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. "Not really. Just you. You, in any outfit, in any role…" He trailed off, letting the implication linger.
She laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Okay, okay, I get it. But it's a shame I didn't bring my undercover outfits. Not sure any are that sexy, though."
Logan raised an eyebrow, his smile deepening. "I'm always happy to be a test subject."
Veronica smirked as she concentrated on fixing a large band-aid in place, before finishing up by wrapping a white bandage around his forearm to protect it. "We'll see."
"You know, I think you definitely have the right tools for a sexy nurse right now," he teased, his voice low and playful.
Veronica shot him a pointed look. "Logan, you're injured," she protested, her brow furrowing, even as her lips betrayed a hint of a smile.
But Logan's expression remained relaxed, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You have no idea how distracting this injury is," he said, his voice rich with mock seriousness. "Honestly, who's going to take my mind off this awful, terrible pain I'm in right now?"
Veronica rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the amused smile that tugged at her lips. "You're impossible," she muttered, her voice soft but warm, filled with affection. Before he could respond, Veronica's lips were on his, urgent and hungry, as if she couldn't wait another moment. Her fingers found their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up desperately, as her lips trailed down his neck and over his chest.
Logan's grin was a sly whisper against Veronica's mouth as his fingers deftly unbuttoned her shirt. "You did say it would be your hands on me," he teased, his breath dancing across her skin.
Veronica's laughter was a surprised burst of air, her head pulling back in mock incredulity. "And your hands are exactly where?" she asked.
Logan's gaze flicked down, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he realized his other hand had wandered to cup her ass. He gave her a playful squeeze, his fingers moulding to the curve of her body. Veronica's eyes sparkled with mirth, and Logan leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that left them both breathless.
As they pressed closer, the world outside receded, leaving only the thrum of their desire. Their movements became frantic, clothes discarded in a flurry of fabric and skin. The air was charged with tension, the only sound the soft gasps and whispers of their entwined bodies.
Logan felt adrift and fragmented as he stood by a pool shimmering under the harsh midday sun. Lilly lounged at the edge in a pale bikini, her laughter light and carefree, as though nothing bad had ever touched her. Veronica was there too, her hair damp as she waded in the water, glancing over her shoulder with a suggestive smile which told him to follow her. But something felt off. The sunlight was blinding, the heat oppressive, and Logan couldn't shake the strange weight pressing down on his chest.
"Why is it so damn hot?" he murmured, his voice sounding far away, even to himself.
The laughter faded, the pool and its shimmering surface dissolving into darkness.
"Logan… Logan, wake up!"
He was yanked from the clutches of sleep by a firm shake. Veronica's voice, sharp with urgency, sliced through the lingering fog of his dream. As his eyes snapped open, the first thing he registered was the heat - an unbearable warmth radiating from his own skin. He felt like he was on fire, but that couldn't be right. The heating was still off, and he'd been shivering as he drifted off to sleep the night before.
He groaned, disoriented, his mind struggling to connect the scattered fragments of thought. "What…?" he muttered, attempting to lift his head, only to find it too heavy, as if his entire body had been weighed down overnight.
"You're burning up," Veronica said, and he realised her voice was edged with worry. She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and he could feel how cool she felt compared to him.
Blinking hard, Logan tried to shake the remnants of the dream. Every muscle in his body ached, not just from his injury but something deeper, more insidious. His throat felt raw, each shallow breath scraping painfully. He swallowed with effort and managed a hoarse rasp. "It's just the flu…"
"How can it be?" Veronica pointed out, but her face paled as she moved, her hands carefully pulling the bandage off his arm. When she peeled it away, her breath hitched sharply, and he followed her gaze to his injury. The once-clean bandage had turned dark, the wound beneath it an angry red that spread farther than he remembered. It smelled pungent, and his nose wrinkled as it hit him.
Her eyes widened in horror as she inspected the wound. "This... this wasn't like that when I last changed it." She almost whispered it to herself, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "It's looked fine the last couple of days, and it was cleaned."
He tried to push himself up, but his body felt like lead. He collapsed back onto the bed with a groan. "I'll be fine," he promised, trying to brush it off. "It's probably just a little infection. I've had worse." It was clear even to him how weak the reassurance sounded.
Veronica was already shaking her head. "No. This isn't just a little infection. Have you had a tetanus shot?"
Frowning, he tried to think. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."
"That's good. That metal was really old and dirty, Logan. An infection could have got in your blood. You need antibiotics." She looked frantic as she moved closer to him. "Do you know if you have any?"
Logan closed his eyes, his mind hazy with exhaustion. "I doubt it," he admitted, his voice a little more strained now. "But I'll be fine. I'll tough it out."
But the words tasted wrong as soon as they left his mouth. His heart raced as he wondered, deep down, whether he could tough this out. What if the infection spread further? What if he couldn't fight it on his own?
Veronica didn't reply immediately, but he could see the fear flickering in her eyes before she pushed it aside. "Stay here," she said urgently, standing up. "I'll find something. I'll look through the whole house if I have to."
She was gone before he could protest, her footsteps fading as she rushed to search. Logan lay back, his head spinning, too weak to do anything but close his eyes and try to focus on breathing. His body ached in ways he couldn't explain, and every time he drifted back to sleep, he snapped awake feeling even worse.
The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, but soon enough, Veronica was back, her face still pale. "Logan," she said, her voice strained, "I searched everywhere. The whole house - every drawer, every bathroom cabinet. I couldn't find any antibiotics. I did find a shocking amount of pain pills, but nothing else. I don't know what to do."
Logan barely managed a nod, his throat too dry to speak. But he could see the anxiety in her eyes. He blinked slowly, his chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. "You're doing everything you can," he assured her. "Just... just stay with me."
She reached out to hold his hand, the touch soft as she bent forward and gently kissed his brow. "Of course."
The rest of the day bled together in a blur. Logan drifted in and out of sleep, his body shaking from the fever, each time he woke finding Veronica at his side. She had filled a bowl of water, and had a cloth that she dipped in, easing it across his skin to try and help cool him.
Each time he woke she gave him a drink of water, and later spooned some soup into him, her soft voice trying to reassure him with each passing moment. She stayed close, but there was nothing she could do to stop the relentless course of the infection.
He tried to reassure her at first, tried to offer some kind of comfort, but his energy was fading quickly, and soon he couldn't summon the strength to say anything at all. He simply allowed her to care for him, his body too tired to fight anymore. His vision blurred in and out, his breaths shallow, the world around him fading into a suffocating haze.
The more time passed, the harder it became to feel anything but gnawing fear that felt like lead in his stomach, and the weight of it pressed on him until there was nothing left but the sleep that consumed him once more.
Eventually, it was just her presence, warm and steady, holding him through the night as the darkness closed in.
Slowly, Logan blinked his eyes open, the dim orange emergency lights casting a glow across his room. A low groan escaped him as the familiar weight of the fever pressed down, thick and suffocating. He'd hoped that by morning, the fever might have broken, that the ache in his bones would have lessened. But he felt just as he had the day before - weak, dizzy and every breath more difficult than the last.
Veronica was there beside him, perched on the edge of the bed, her gaze locked on him with a mixture of concern and something else - something sharper, more resolute.
It made his chest tighten.
"What time is it?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and cracked from the fever.
"Around 8 a.m.," she replied, her tone taut and carefully controlled. She drew in a deep breath, and he could see the shift in her posture - her shoulders squared, her jaw set like stone. Her eyes, shadowed with determination, hinted at an unspoken resolve that made his pulse stumble with unease.
Only then did he notice the change. She had swapped her rumpled clothes for something more practical. She looked like someone braced for a fight, and the sight of her sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with his fever.
"Logan," she began, her voice quieter now, but with a note of finality he couldn't ignore. "I need to go out. I need to find antibiotics."
The words hit him like a cold wave, his body instinctively recoiling. He tried to focus on her face, but his thoughts were a swirling mess. He blinked, trying to shake the fog from his mind, but his body was betraying him, heavy and uncooperative.
"What?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly, barely above a whisper. "You can't go out. It's not safe, Veronica. Not in this - " His hand waved weakly towards the window, towards the world outside, as though he could convey the chaos with a simple gesture. His voice was ragged, thick with fear and frustration. "It's not worth the risk."
"I know it's not safe," she interrupted, her gaze soft but unyielding. "But I can't just sit here and do nothing. We're running out of options, and it doesn't look like your body can fight this right now." She hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking away as though weighing the gravity of what she was about to say, but when she looked back at him, there was no doubt in her voice. "Logan, it will be okay. I've got weapons for protection," she added quickly, her eyes never leaving his. "And I'll be careful. I'll sneak around, be in and out and back before you know it."
Logan winced, trying to sit up, his muscles aching and shaky as he tried to push himself upright. "It's not about being sneaky, Veronica," he managed to say, his breath shallow, body burning with feverish heat. "It's about risking your life. It's not worth it. You can't go out there, not for me."
Her eyes hardened at his words, and she crossed her arms, a flash of frustration tightening her features. "I happen to think it is worth it, Logan. I'm not just going to sit here when there's a chance I could do something."
Logan's heart ached at the raw emotion in her voice, but he fought to keep his own under control. The weight of everything - the helplessness, the fear - pressed down on him, crushing his resolve. He gripped the sheets, his fingers digging into the fabric as if he could hold onto something solid, something real.
"You're not throwing your life away for this," he said, his voice ragged and hoarse. "It's too reckless. We don't know what's out there, and I... I can't—" The lump in his throat grew, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. The fear, the desperate need to protect her, crushed him. "Please," he whispered, voice breaking. "Don't make me watch you walk out there for me. I can't live with that, Veronica."
Her gaze softened, but the fear still simmered underneath. She shook her head, her lips trembling as she tried to hold herself together. "What do you want me to do, Logan? Sit here and pretend everything's fine while I watch you suffer? Watch you die?" Her voice broke, tears slipping down her cheek, and Logan's chest clenched. She quickly brushed the tears away. "I can't do that. You can't ask me to just sit here and let you fade away."
He stared at her, his breath coming in shallow gasps, but the weight of her words, the raw conviction behind them, hit him harder than anything else. She wasn't going to back down. And no matter how much he wanted to protect her, he knew she wasn't going to sit idly by.
"Veronica," he managed to choke out, his voice weak and fragile, "You can't do this. You don't have to—"
"I will," she interrupted, her voice firmer now, more resolute. "I have to. I can't just sit here and watch you like this, Logan. I can't. The decision is made – I've already got everything together I need."
The words hung in the air between them. Logan exhaled, the last of his strength seeming to drain away as he lay back against the pillow, hands gripping the edges of the sheets. "You're insane if you think I'm letting you go out there alone," he muttered.
She met his gaze, eyes softened for just a moment. "I think I can take you right now, so you're not stopping me."
Logan blinked at her, the fatigue clouding his thoughts. His chest tightened, his heart pounding as he looked at her. "You're really going to do this, huh?" His voice was barely a whisper, the weight of it falling between them.
"Yeah," she replied, her tone firm, unyielding. "I am."
A long silence followed, the tension palpable as Logan's mind raced. He didn't want to risk her life, didn't want to put her in harm's way. But deep down, he knew she wasn't going to back down, and neither could he.
"Fine," he sighed, after what felt like an eternity. "But we're both going. If you think I'm going to let you go out there alone, you're wrong."
Veronica's expression faltered just for a second, her eyebrows furrowing in surprise. "How the hell are you going to manage that? You're not exactly in any condition to—"
"I'll manage," he interrupted, his voice rough but determined. "I'll make it work."
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, then finally, she nodded, her lips tight but resolute. "Okay. We'll go together," she said softly, but with a quiet strength in her words. "You can stay in the car, but we'll get what we need."
Logan forced a strained smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Beneath the surface, every muscle in his body felt weak, his head heavy with fever, yet he gritted his teeth and searched deep within himself. He had survived worse. He'd walked into school with his back shredded by wounds and never let it show. He'd carried on through the unbearable loss of Lilly, the death of his mother, never once letting the weight of it break him. He could do this.
With a grimace, he hauled himself up from the bed. His head spun, the dizziness threatening to swallow him whole. But Veronica was there instantly, steadying him, her hands gentle on his arm, guiding him upright.
"Come on," she said, her voice low but filled with tenderness. "Let's get you dressed."