Or at least, that’s what Dean told them.
Logan had no doubt they were sharing a bed. He wasn’t an idiot.
And every time Dean casually mentioned sleeping on the couch, Logan made sure to raise his eyebrows, smirk knowingly, and make the most exaggerated, ridiculous faces—especially when Adrian was around.
It had become something of a ritual—Logan teasing Dean, Dean refusing to flinch, and Adrian caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.
But the first time it happened—the very first jab—it was over coffee.
Adrian had only just come out of isolation. It was early, the world still gray through the windows, and the three of them had gathered in Adrian’s hospital room.
That’s when Logan struck.
“How’s the couch treating you, Dean?” he asked innocently, sipping his coffee with exaggerated calm, eyes gleaming with mischief.
Dean, too proud to take the bait, barely glanced up. “Fine.”
“Oh, yeah? Not too stiff? Not too cold? No back pain from those terrible cushions?”
Dean’s jaw tightened, fingers twitching around his mug like he wanted to throw it across the room.
“It’s. Fine.” He hissed.
“Huh.” Logan tilted his head, all mock innocence. “Weird. I could’ve sworn I heard the guest room door open in the middle of the night. And close. And then open again. And closed. Any idea why, Dean?”
The glare he received could’ve melted steel.
“And this morning when I was getting water… I didn’t see you on the couch… where did you sleep?”
“I was probably in the bathroom,” Dean said dryly, as his look suggested that he was thinking of a burial place for his body.
Logan winked at him when Adrian was not looking. “That must be it…”
Adrian, blissfully unaware of the full implications, raised an eyebrow. “Why are you annoying him?”
“Because it’s fun,” Logan grinned, and Dean muttered something under his breath that definitely included a curse, which only made Logan laugh harder.
Riling Dean up had become one of his favorite pastimes.
“Have you noticed that Dean’s being weird?” Adrian’s voice was hoarse one afternoon, thin from fatigue but still sharp, still full of that old, suspicious edge as he picked disinterestedly at his lunch.
Logan froze for half a beat.
Adrian sat slumped against the pillows, pale in a way that gnawed at Logan’s stomach. His skin looked translucent under the fluorescent lights, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were etched too deeply to ignore. Still, there was a spark behind them—that glint of observation that never left him.
“Like... he barely leaves Alon’s side,” Adrian continued, pushing his spoon in lazy circles around the tray.
Logan shifted in his chair, gaze dropping. “Maybe it’s just... the situation, you know?” he said too quickly, too casually.
Adrian didn’t press—not yet—because in the next moment, his body tensed, his face paling further as his stomach rebelled against even the thought of food.
Logan knew the signs.
Adrian swallowed hard, trembling fingers setting the spoon down like it was made of lead. His whole frame tightened, bracing.
“Ad...” Logan leaned forward, his voice low, coaxing. “You have to keep eating.”
Adrian shook his head weakly. “Can’t.”
