Logan's POV
"Logan…"
I hear my name drift toward me from the edge of some strange, half-forgotten dream.
"Logaaaaan."
I reach for the sound, following it like a rope through fog.
And then—I'm awake. My vision clears slowly, and the first thing I see is a face that makes me forget how to breathe.
Noah's watching me with soft eyes and sleep-mussed hair falling over his forehead. His fingers are combing through my hair like it's instinct, like he's done it a hundred times in his sleep. One hand cups the back of my neck, thumb brushing lazily behind my ear. I can hear the low murmur of the TV in the background, something they were watching earlier, still playing. I don't look at it. Why would I, when I've got a literal deity above me?
"Wow," I whisper, still blinking through the haze.
Noah raises a brow. He's trying to look unimpressed, but I catch the twitch of his lips. He's fighting a smile and losing.
