Dean just smirked. “I’m sorry, but you basically set me up for that one. And let’s be honest, I’m growing on you.”
Dean grinned, stretching lazily as he pulled out his phone. The glow of the screen reflected off his face, casting a soft light over the teasing smirk tugging at his lips.
“Get out of here, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.” He stretched out in the chair, all long limbs and lazy ease, tapping on his phone screen. The soft blue glow lit his features, casting gentle shadows across his face. There was a smirk tugging at his lips, yes, but something else had crept in.A softness. A stillness. The kind that came from what—or who—waited on the other side of the screen.
Logan rose from the bench, stretching the stiffness from his spine, his limbs unfolding with the slow, aching reluctance of someone who’d been sitting far too long. He turned toward the elevator, ready to call it a night, or at least pretend he could, but something made him pause mid-step.
Dean hadn’t moved.
Still rooted to the same spot, still staring at his phone, but the expression on his face had shifted. This wasn’t the easy grin he wore when laughing at something stupid, or the cocky smirk he threw around like spare change. No, this was quieter, softer. A smile that didn’t reach for attention, that didn’t perform. It hovered on his lips like something half-remembered and wholly cherished.
He looked at the screen as if it held more than pixels, like it carried meaning. As if what glowed there wasn’t just light, but something delicate, something alive. Somethingreal.
The phone buzzed gently in his hand, the sound barely more than a sigh, and Logan watched as Dean’s eyes softened further, the faintest shift in his expression betraying everything. He bit down on a smile that wasn’t meant to be seen, and a breath caught in his throat like it had to make space for whatever had just reached him through the glass.
There it was, that stupidly tender look, all soft edges and quiet reverence. Like someone reading a letter they’d memorized but still couldn’t get through without feeling it all over again.
His thumbs moved slowly, deliberately, as though each word he typed was a string of glass beads he didn’t want to crack. His whole body hadgone still, except for that barely-there smile, the kind people wear when they think they’re alone with something beautiful.
And Logan just stood there, watching the whole thing unfold with a slow lift of his brow.
“Who’s that?” Logan asked, voice casual, but laced with quiet curiosity.
Dean blinked, momentarily pulled out of whatever space he’d disappeared into. “Huh?”
Logan gestured to the phone. “The one that’s making you grin like a fourteen-year-old girl scribbling hearts next to the name of her crush in her diary.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. Not quite a grin. Not quite a smirk. His gaze flickered—briefly, instinctively—toward Alon’s room, then dropped again to the screen.
“Oh, fuck you,” he said lightly, like it meant nothing. “We’re just dating. Four months now.”
The words floated away, intended to vanish before taking root. Yet, Logan perceived their underlying meaning: the subtle curl at the edge of Dean’s mouth, the calmness of his hands, and the slight dip in his voice that hinted at something more serious. All of this was evident in the silence that surrounded their exchange. He noted how Dean’s shoulders relaxed, his body appeared eager, the brightness in his eyes, and the smirk that formed—along with the change in his gaze.
Logan tilted his head, a slow, knowing smirk creeping across his face.
“Dude… if you’re counting the months, that’s not just dating, she’s your girlfriend.”
Dean hesitated. Just long enough for Logan to know he’d struck something deeper. His thumb stilled on the phone screen. His posture changed—not tense, just uncertain.
And then, slowly, carefully, Dean dropped his gaze.
He was quiet for a beat. Then another. Like he was sorting through the thousand ways not to say the thing he’d already decided to say.
When he finally looked up, his voice was quieter than before. Less sharp. Less armored.
“You let me in on a secret,” he murmured. “So I’ll tell you one too.”
He didn’t look at Logan. He didn’t have to.
A breath passed. The kind of pause where something important waits.
“It’s a he,” Dean said finally. “Not a she.”
And just like that, the world didn’t change—but something did.
There was no cinematic stillness, no collapsing ceilings or dramatic hush of fluorescent lights. The hallway buzzed with the same tired hum, nurses still moved past with quiet efficiency, machines still blinked behind closed doors. But inside Logan’s chest, something shifted—quiet and seismic. A thread pulled loose. A beat caught between his ribs.
Dean. Of all people—Dean—had just come out tohim.
