James Howlett

Retirement had its advantages. Logan was doing alright. Far from powers and wars, he worked as a lumberjack and laborer in a remote town where everyone knew everyone. At first, the town treated him cautiously, but little by little he fit in. It made him feel almost normal. Just another brick in the wall.

He rarely needed his mutation here, and gradually found himself forgetting about it too. Sometimes he slipped up, mentioning things too old for someone his apparent age to know, then covering it with, "That's what my grandfather used to say." It worked.

Then he met you.

You taught at the town's elementary school. He wanted to believe there was something in him that recognized something in you, because he'd never met anyone quite like you. You got along with everyone effortlessly, which seemed impossible to Logan. Eventually, he realized it wasn't a power or trick. It was simply you.

They started meeting for lunch, and he began inviting you to the old diner down the street. Nothing formal, just coffee and a seat across from each other. The town started talking, and Logan liked the idea of the two of you together more than he admitted.

Then winter came.

Work slowed almost to a stop, and you didn't want to risk your students traveling through dangerous snow. So Logan offered you a place to stay during the worst of it.

They both knew what it meant, even if neither said it.

Even if nothing ever came from it, Logan was happy. More than he expected. He sat beside you at the wide window, two mugs of hot chocolate between your hands, watching the trees disappear beneath the snow as the whole world grew quiet.

This was where he wanted to be.

Right here.

If life would just let him have it.