Chapter Text
Logan stood near the front doors of the mansion in a dark suit with a dark tie knotted slightly imperfectly. Upstairs, Morph was still getting ready. Logan checked his watch, grunted, and adjusted the cuffs again. Waiting wasn’t one of his skills.
“Looking sharp.” Jean’s voice drifted down from the staircase.
Logan raised a brow. “Don’t start.”
Jean came closer. “I’m not starting anything. Just making an observation. You clean up better than you think.”
He gave a grunt that might’ve been thanks.
“You know… people are going to assume Morph is your date.”
Logan’s jaw ticked. “Lemme guess, Jubilee put you up to this?”
Jean shook her head. “No. This is me, as your friend, reminding you that Morph’s going to walk into that room on your arm, and everyone’s going to see it that way.”
Logan’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t care what people think.”
“I know you don’t,” Jean said carefully. “But what about what Morph thinks?”
Logan finally turned to look at her. His voice was low, steady. “Ain’t tryin’ to trick ‘em. Asked ‘em to come so people’d leave me be. That’s it.”
Jean searched his face, reading more than he wanted to give away. “Just… be careful, Logan. Morph’s been through a lot. Intentions matter.”
He let out a long breath, scratching at his side burns. “I know.”
The staircase creaked softly. Logan looked up and froze.
Morph descended the steps with graceful ease. Their suit was midnight blue with soft pink trim at the lapels, sharp and tailored on top but flowing down into a dramatic high-low cut that revealed pale layers of tulle underneath. The tuxedo bled seamlessly into something more fluid, more theatrical, like Morph themselves, refusing to pick one box and fitting into none. The matching bowtie was crisp, the shoes gleaming in two-toned white and black. Even the details sparkled; matching bracelets on each wrist, nails painted a deep blue to catch the light. A pin glimmered at their lapel, bold and unapologetic. Their short hair was a light pink, matching the tulle of their outfit. They looked radiant.
Logan’s throat went dry. He didn’t say anything at first, couldn’t. For a man who had words for every fight, every insult, every grumble in the book, his brain simply stopped.
Morph caught the look, and their lips tugged into a sly smile. “Too much?”
Logan just managed to shake his head.
Jean, standing just behind him, smirked knowingly and excused herself with a quiet, “Have fun, you two.”
But Logan didn’t hear her leave. His eyes never left Morph.
“Ready?” Morph asked lightly, striking a pose halfway down the last step.
Logan gave the smallest of nods, still caught between admiration and disbelief. “Yeah, ready.”
Logan headed for the door, wordlessly leading the way outside. Morph followed, shoes clicking against the stone steps, every bit the picture of elegance until their eyes landed on Logan’s car parked at the edge of the driveway.
The battered Jeep sat there, its scratched paint, dented bumper, and soft top sagging slightly on one side.
Morph stopped dead on the steps. “Absolutely not.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder. “What?”
Morph gestured at the Jeep with both hands. “That? You’re not seriously thinking of rolling up to Captain America’s wedding in that.”
Logan frowned. “What’s wrong with it? Gets us from A to B.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Morph repeated, scandalized. They swept down the rest of the steps and planted themselves squarely in Logan’s path. “We look like this—” They motioned to their dramatic suit with a flourish. “—and you want to pull up in a car that looks like it just lost a fight with a moose?”
Logan scowled, muttering, “Damn thing’s reliable. Don’t need nothin’ fancy.”
Morph arched a brow, lips twitching. “Lucky for you, the Professor keeps a whole garage of nice things. You know, vehicles that don’t smell like wet dog and motor oil.”
“It don’t smell like—” Logan started, then cut himself off with a grunt.
Morph folded their arms, waiting.
For a long beat, Logan stood there, stubborn as stone. Then he sighed through his nose, glaring at the Jeep like it had betrayed him. “Fine. But I’m drivin’.”
Morph’s smile lit up like a victory banner. “Deal.” They tossed Logan the keys to one of Charles’ polished black sedans before he could change his mind.
Logan caught them, grumbling under his breath as he stalked toward the garage. “Spoiled shapeshifters…”
Morph trailed after, smug as a cat who’d won the best seat in the house. “You’ll thank me when the valet doesn’t laugh in your face.”
The sedan purred up the long drive to the estate where the wedding was being held. The place looked like something out of a magazine: white columns, sweeping lawns, and strings of lights that shimmered even in the daylight. Rows of expensive cars lined the gravel path, all gleaming chrome and spotless paint.
When Logan cut the engine, he sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel, jaw tight. Morph watched him with a knowing smile. “Second thoughts?”
“Maybe,” Logan muttered, but he pushed the door open anyway.
Morph slipped out of the passenger side, the train of pink tulle catching the breeze. Heads turned before they even reached the steps. Conversations faltered. Cameras flashed.
“Guess the valet isn’t laughing,” Morph whispered, sliding up beside Logan as he handed off the keys.
Logan gave a low grunt, but his eyes flicked over the crowd, already clocking how many people were staring, whispering.
The two of them crossed the threshold together, the great doors swinging open to reveal a sea of heroes and dignitaries. All eyes, for one brief moment, were drawn toward the unlikely pair making their entrance.
Logan kept his gaze forward, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. But the slightest squeeze of his arm against Morph’s told a different story.
The murmur of voices rose as Logan and Morph stepped deeper into the hall. The place was dazzling: vaulted ceilings, chandeliers scattering light like rain, and rows of chairs already filling with the who’s who of heroes. Every corner seemed to hold a familiar face: Carol Danvers laughing with Sam Wilson, Tony Stark playing with his cufflinks while pretending not to eavesdrop, a handful of SHIELD agents in stiff suits.
Eyes tracked them as they passed. Some subtle, some not. Morph walked with practiced ease, chin high. They exchanged a nod here, a small wave there, effortlessly diffusing curiosity.
Logan, meanwhile, kept his gaze locked on the front of the room like he was marching into battle. His grip on Morph’s arm was steady, a lifeline more than a gesture.
“Relax,” Morph murmured under their breath, lips barely moving. “You look like you’re about to gut the flower arrangements.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Logan muttered back.
Logan led them to seats in the back row. A few heads turned again. Natasha Romanoff, three rows up, glanced back with the faintest hint of a smirk. Clint Barton gave a quick grin and a little two-finger salute before turning back around. Logan ignored them all.
Morph crossed their legs with a flourish, smoothing the line of their suit and leaning closer. “See? Not so bad.”
Logan grunted, tugging at his collar. “Easy for you to say. You actually like people.”
Morph’s lips curved in a sly grin. “I like you.”
Logan shot them a sidelong look, startled, but Morph was already turning their attention to the ceremony, feigning innocence.
For the first time all day, Logan almost smiled.
The string quartet was just tuning up when the chair beside Morph creaked under sudden weight. A shadow fell over them.
“Ho!” a booming voice announced. “I thought that familiar mane belonged to none other than The Wolverine!”
Logan groaned under his breath before he even looked up. Sure enough, Thor Odinson had dropped into the seat next to Morph in a tailored suit that somehow still looked like armor. His golden hair was braided at the temples, a broad smile on his face as he clapped Logan on the shoulder hard enough to rattle the chair.
“Logan, son of… well, whatever mysterious forest spawned you, it gladdens my heart to see you here!” Thor declared.
A few heads turned at the volume. Morph bit back a laugh, eyes sparkling.
Logan scowled. “Thor.”
Thor turned then, as if only just noticing Morph, and his expression softened into delighted surprise. “And who is this most radiant companion? Surely the fates themselves have woven you into this day.”
Morph gave a theatrical little bow of the head. “Name’s Morph. Logan’s… plus one.”
Thor’s eyes widened, then his grin returned even brighter. “Wonderful! At last, the gruff Wolverine has found a kindred spirit willing to walk at his side into halls such as these!”
“Not like that,” Logan growled, but his ears betrayed him, tinged faintly red.
Thor laughed, throwing back his head in a way that made the crystal chandeliers tremble. “Say what you will, old friend, but it brings me joy to see you among companions. Too often you walk alone.”
Morph leaned closer to Logan, a smirk tugging at their lips. “See? Even gods ship us.”
Logan muttered something unintelligible, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Thor, oblivious, settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “This shall be a glorious union indeed. A day of love, of fellowship, and of bottomless goblets. I insist we share a toast later, Logan! For old battles, and for new beginnings.”
Logan just grunted, but Morph caught the way his shoulders eased a fraction.
The buzz of conversation across the hall quieted as the officiant stepped forward. The string quartet shifted into a graceful melody, soft and deliberate, drawing the crowd’s attention toward the front.
Thor hushed himself at once, though “hushed” by his measure was still audible two rows over. “Ah—it begins.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his massive hands together.
Logan’s posture stiffened. He’d never been one for ceremonies; too much sitting still, too much spectacle. The eyes, the silence, the way everyone held their breath at once. His fingers twitched against his knee.
Morph noticed. Their hand drifted to rest lightly on his arm—casual to anyone else, deliberate for him. The tension in his shoulders eased, just a fraction.
His eyes should’ve been on the altar. On Rogers and Peggy, on vows and rings. But they weren’t. He watched Morph instead.
The soft curve of their smile. The way their eyes warmed at the sight of Steve and Peggy together. The rare moment where they weren’t guarding themselves, they weren’t playing a role. Just present.
When they caught him watching, Morph smirked faintly. Logan huffed and looked away. But for the first time all day, he didn’t mind sitting still.
Applause swelled as the ceremony ended and the couple made their grand exit. Then the room loosened, voices rising, and the press of bodies shifting toward the open doors. Logan stood slower than most, waiting out the rush of people, his expression already sliding back into a scowl.
Morph fell into step beside him, their hand resting on his shoulder, just enough to anchor him as the crowd spilled toward the reception hall. Music shifted into a lively jazz rhythm. Servers wove between clusters of guests with trays of champagne and finger food.
A long bar gleamed at the far wall, polished wood and rows of bottles catching the glow. Logan made a beeline for it. Morph kept pace with an amused smile. “Ah, yes. The promised land. Open bar.”
Logan grunted. “Best part of these things.”
The bartender barely had time to greet them before Logan ordered two fingers of whiskey, neat. Morph leaned on the counter with casual flair. “Gin and tonic. Heavy on the lime. And keep ‘em coming, because I have a feeling I’m about to earn this.”
They were right.
People peeled off from their clusters as soon as they spotted Logan. Logan’s grunt responses kept them at bay, but Morph slipped in smoothly, shaking hands, tossing out quips that had people laughing instead of lingering.
One SHIELD agent leaned in, clearly eager. “Wolverine. Good to see you.”
Logan’s grunt could’ve meant hello or back off. Morph rescued it with a bright grin. “Morph. Shapeshifter, X-Man, and Logan’s official social shield. Pleasure.”
The agent blinked, then laughed, disarmed. Logan drank in silence while Morph kept them busy, sliding conversations along like a pro.
Then a familiar voice cut through the rest. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Logan turned and, for the first time all night, his face actually cracked into a smile. “Bucky.”
“Been a while.” Bucky clasped his hand.
“Too long.” Logan’s voice held genuine warmth.
Morph raised a brow, sipping their drink. “Well, well. Someone you actually like. I was starting to think I was your only friend.”
Bucky glanced at them. “And you are…?”
“Morph,” they said brightly. “Logan’s plus one. Human shield against small talk.”
Bucky shook their hand, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Finally. Someone with sense.”
Logan snorted into his glass, but didn’t argue.
Morph drained their gin and tonic and set the glass neatly aside. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, now’s my chance to use the restroom without leaving Logan to the wolves.” They flashed Logan a grin before weaving into the crowd.
Bucky watched them go, then turned back with a smirk. “So. You finally found yourself a partner.”
“Not like that.”
“Sure.” Bucky leaned an elbow on the bar, voice low. “I’ve seen you fight half the world without blinking. One look from them and you go soft.”
Logan scowled into his glass. “You’re seein’ things.”
“Maybe.” Bucky shrugged. “For what it’s worth, it suits you. You deserve someone who can take the edge off.”
Logan didn’t answer, but the weight of Bucky’s words settled in his chest.
A few minutes later, Morph re-entered the room. Logan straightened instinctively, eyes tracking them through the crowd.
Bucky noticed. And smiled.
Morph joined the two of them at the bar just as the servers began ushering guests toward the dining hall. They hooked their arm through Logan’s, smooth as if it belonged there. “Miss me?”
Logan only grunted, draining the rest of his whiskey before setting the glass aside.
The flow of guests funneled them into the hall, where long tables gleamed with silver and crystal under the soft glow of candlelight. Logan slowed at the entrance, scanning the posted seating chart. His expression darkened.
Morph leaned closer. “What’s wrong?”
Logan jabbed a finger at their names. “This.”
Morph followed his gaze, then gasped. “Oh my God. We’re at the fun table! Us and four Avengers?”
Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You don’t get it. They love to gossip. And you—” he gestured at Morph’s glowing smile, “—you’re gonna get along with ’em too damn well.”
Morph smirked, unabashed. “So the problem isn’t that you don’t like them. It’s that they’re going to like me. Got it.”
Before Logan could answer, Bucky appeared at his shoulder, reading the chart over his arm. “Looks like we’re tablemates. Don’t worry, Clint’s mostly housebroken.”
Morph arched a brow, delighted. “Mostly? Can’t wait to test that.”
They followed the crowd to their table. Natasha Romanoff was already there, sleek in black silk, speaking quietly with Bruce Banner, who adjusted his glasses with a shy smile. Clint was leaning back in his chair, tie askew, smirk firmly in place.
Clint stood to greet Bucky with a quick kiss, and then he glanced at Logan and Morph, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ohhh. Well, well, well. Look who brought arm candy.”
Logan grumbled something noncommittal as he took his seat. Morph, on the other hand, slid gracefully into the chair beside Natasha with a grin. “Finally, someone who gets it. I was starting to think I was the only one here willing to make him look good.”
Natasha’s eyes flicked to Logan, then back to Morph, lips curving. “I like you already.”
Bruce chuckled softly, pushing a breadbasket toward them. “This is going to be an interesting dinner.”
The bread basket had barely made its first pass when Natasha turned to Morph, eyes sharp and curious. “So,” she said lightly, “how do you and Logan know each other?”
Logan shifted in his seat, bracing himself. Morph, of course, lit up like they’d been waiting for the cue. “We’re teammates,” they said, casual but warm. “Part of the X-Men. Been running into trouble together for years now.”
Natasha’s brows lifted with polite interest, but Clint leaned forward, “You’re an X-Man? Okay, you have to tell me everything. What’s your deal? What’s your mutation? Don’t hold back.”
“I shapeshift. Anyone, anything, faces, voices, clothes. It’s handy for espionage, and for parties.”
“Parties?” Clint asked, intrigued.
Morph winked. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen me sing karaoke as Sonny and Cher in a duet with myself.”
Clint let out a bark of laughter, slapping the table. “Oh, I like you.”
Logan groaned, already seeing the disaster. “Told ya,” he muttered to Morph.
The rest of dinner passed quickly. Clint kept the table laughing with half-true stories, Bruce chimed in with dry quips that caught everyone off guard, and Natasha let her edges soften, asking questions that drew Morph into the spotlight again and again. Morph rose to it with ease, spinning tales from X-Men missions with just enough mischief to make Logan groan but never enough to give away anything serious.
Logan ate in silence for the most part, but somewhere between Bruce’s deadpan humor and Morph mimicking Clint’s laugh so perfectly the archer nearly fell out of his chair, Logan realized his jaw had unclenched. The food was good, the company surprisingly better, and he wasn’t counting the minutes like he usually did at things like this. Against all odds, he found himself enjoying it.
The clinking of a glass echoed through the hall, cutting off the table’s laughter. Tony Stark stood near the front, raising his champagne flute with a grin.
“All right, folks,” he said, voice carrying easily. “If I could have your attention, it’s time to embarrass the newlyweds with heartfelt stories and sappy words.”
Polite chuckles rippled across the room, and the first speech began, warm and charming.
Morph shifted in their seat, posture perfect, but their hands slid casually into their lap under the tablecloth. Their phone buzzed faintly against their palm as they thumbed it open, keeping their expression politely attentive for anyone watching.
They fired off a quick text to Jubilee.
Update: Steve cried before Peggy did. 10/10 for sincerity.
A second later, Jubilee’s reply lit the screen.
OMG. PICTURE. GIVE ME A PICTURE.
Morph angled the phone sneakily, pretending to adjust their napkin. Snap. A blurry-but-identifiable shot of Steve dabbing at his eye with a handkerchief. Sent.
They smirked faintly to themselves, then typed again.
Logan is pretending not to be invested and currently losing. Ears pink.
Across the table, Logan cleared his throat and reached for his glass, as if he could sense the commentary. Morph quickly slid the phone face down against their thigh, keeping their innocent expression firmly in place.
Another buzz.
LMAO. Pls tell me you’re holding his hand when they do the toast.
Morph’s lips twitched. They typed back, one-handed, stealthy as a spy.
Don’t tempt me.
At that moment, Tony’s speech hit its emotional peak, applause breaking out around the room. Morph clapped along, slipping their phone away before Logan could notice.
When the table settled again, Natasha gave them a sidelong glance, one brow arched. “Texting during speeches?”
Morph’s grin was shameless. “Multitasking.”
Logan just groaned, muttering, “Bub…” but there was no heat in it.
The last of the speeches ended to warm applause, glasses clinking as the newlyweds rose for a kiss that sent a cheer rolling through the hall. Chairs scraped back almost in unison, the crowd already flowing toward the adjoining dance hall.
The lights dimmed as the band shifted into a soft melody. The announcer’s voice carried over the chatter: “Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Rogers to the dance floor for their first dance.”
The room erupted in applause as Steve led Peggy out, the two of them moving with a quiet, graceful ease. The music swelled, and a loose circle of guests formed around them.
Morph clapped along with the rest, leaning slightly toward Logan. “Well, that’s our cue.”
Logan raised a brow. “Cue for what?”
“Escape,” Morph whispered.
Logan followed as they threaded through the crowd, slipping to the edges of the room where the bar gleamed in warm light.
“Another round?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey. Neat,” Logan said immediately.
“Gin and tonic,” Morph added with an easy smile, elbow braced against the counter.
Drinks arrived quickly. Behind them, the dance floor glowed—Steve spinning Peggy to thunderous applause. Morph watched, their smile softer now. “Romantic, isn’t it?”
Logan snorted. “Too many eyes for my taste.”
Morph lifted their glass. “To surviving social events.”
Logan clinked his whiskey against theirs. “I’ll drink to that.”
The band rolled into the next song. More couples joined, and soon the dance floor was filled with people and laughter.
“Careful,” Morph murmured. “They’re multiplying.”
Logan took another sip, unbothered. “Long as nobody drags me out there, we’re fine.”
“Noted.”
Logan had just set his empty glass on the bar when the heavy footsteps approached.
“Friends!” Thor’s voice boomed over the music, making the bartender flinch. “Why do you lurk in the shadows while merriment unfolds before us?”
Logan groaned, rubbing at his temple. “Because I got no interest in makin’ a fool of myself.”
Thor clapped him on the back so hard his glass rattled. “Nonsense! The dance floor is no place for fools, it is for warriors celebrating life and love!”
“Pass,” Logan said, signaling the bartender for another whiskey.
Thor turned then, eyes sparkling as he focused on Morph. “And you, radiant shapeshifter? Surely you would honor me with a dance.”
Morph arched a brow, their grin spreading. “Radiant shapeshifter, huh? You do know how to flatter.”
They tipped back the last of their drink in one smooth motion, set the glass down with a flourish, and held out their hand. “Lead the way, thunder god.”
Thor swept them up gallantly, guiding them into the throng as the music swelled.
Logan stayed put, jaw tight, whiskey in hand. Morph laughed as Thor spun them under the lights, hair catching the glow, their movements bright and unguarded. A cheer rose when they threw in a playful shapeshift mid-dip, hair long and glittering before snapping back with a wink.
Then Carol cut in with a mischievous grin. Bruce shuffled in, awkward but earnest. Clint grabbed their hand, dragging Bucky into some chaotic four-person spin. Morph flowed through it all effortlessly, radiant, the center of gravity.
Logan’s grip went white-knuckled. He told himself it was the noise, the spectacle, the eyes on them. He hated crowds. That had to be it.
But every laugh twisted like a blade. Every hand at their waist felt wrong. And one thought circled, sharper each time it came:
That should be me.
He stared into his whiskey, tried to lose himself in the amber swirl, but his eyes dragged back every time. Morph, twirling. Morph, smiling at someone else. Morph, brighter than he’d seen them in years.
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Wolverine.”
Logan turned to find Natasha sliding onto the stool beside him, glass of red wine in hand. She didn’t glance at the dance floor, just sipped and smirked like she’d read him cover to cover.
“Ain’t jealous,” Logan muttered.
“Mmh.” She arched a brow. “You’ve been staring at Morph for ten minutes. Grinding your teeth so loud I can hear it over the music.”
He said nothing, only tipped back the rest of his drink.
Natasha leaned closer, her voice low. “Tell them, Logan. Before someone else notices what you already see.”
His glass hit the bar harder than he meant it to. “Ain’t the place. Ain’t the time.”
She gave a small shrug, swirling her wine. “Maybe. But moments slip away.”
For a beat, their eyes met. Then Logan turned back to the bar, voice rough. “Drop it, Romanoff.”
Her smirk returned, faint but knowing. “For now.” She melted back into the crowd, leaving Logan alone with his whiskey.
The band shifted, tempo dropping into something slower. Couples gravitated closer, swaying in time.
Thor caught Morph’s hand again, drawing them in with surprising gentleness. Logan’s jaw clenched as he watched Morph rest a palm against Thor’s chest, smiling up at him. The sight clawed at something raw inside. But then Morph shook their head, laughing, and gave Thor’s arm a squeeze before stepping back. Thor bowed with a flourish and swept off toward another partner.
Morph slipped through the crowd, weaving back to the bar. They dropped onto the stool beside Logan, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed, suit glittering under the lights.
“Bartender,” Morph said, tapping two fingers against the counter. “Another gin and tonic, please.”
Logan eyed them sidelong. “Didn’t think you’d tear yourself away.”
Morph smirked. “What, and miss the chance to sit in silence while you brood into your glass? Never.”
Logan shot them a look that was rough but edged with something warmer. “Coulda fooled me. Seemed like you were havin’ the time of your life out there.”
Morph accepted their drink, clinking it lightly against his whiskey. “Maybe. But the company’s better over here.”
The words tightened something in his chest. He hid it with another sip.
“Y’know,” Morph said after a pause, swirling the ice in their glass, “I get why people like this. The lights, the music, the spectacle. But…” They shrugged. “It’s a lot.”
“Yeah.” Logan’s voice was low, steady. “Ain’t built for it myself.”
Morph gave him a sidelong smile. “Shocking. Wolverine, not a fan of high-society parties? Who could’ve guessed?”
He huffed. “Don’t need eyes on me. That’s why I asked you along.”
Morph tilted their head, smile softening. “And here I thought it was my devastating charm.”
Logan’s gaze caught theirs, words slipping out before he could stop them. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
The sincerity made Morph blink. Their usual quip died on their tongue. Instead, they took a sip, eyes thoughtful.
Silence stretched until Morph leaned an elbow on the bar, angling closer. “You ever think about it? Having something like this?”
Logan frowned. “What, a big weddin’?”
“Obviously not,” Morph said, quieter now. “But the whole… not-being-alone thing.”
The words hung between them. Logan stared into his whiskey. “Ain’t easy. Stickin’ around. Most of the time it don’t last. Either I screw it up, or…” His hand flexed, claws itching under his skin. “Or they don’t stick.”
Morph tilted their head. “But you asked me to come with you. To this.”
His chest tightened. A rough, uneasy chuckle slipped out. “Figured you’d keep the wolves off me.”
“That all?”
Their eyes met, close, too close. The music faded under his heartbeat. He opened his mouth, words clawing up his throat.
Because it’s you. Because I wanted you here. Because I don’t want to do any of this without you.
But he swallowed them down with the last of his whiskey.
Morph tipped back their gin, ice clinking. Then, without warning, they caught his hand. His fingers twitched in surprise, but their grip was steady, sure. Morph leaned in, close enough for their breath to brush his ear.
“Come with me.”
Logan froze, instinct screaming to dig in his heels. But the protest stuck in his throat. Before he could find the words, Morph was already tugging him off the stool.
They cut a quiet path through the bustle of the reception, slipping past the clusters of laughing guests. The music dimmed as they neared the doorway, the hum of voices fading behind them. Morph didn’t look back, just pushed the door open with their free hand and tugged Logan into the hall.
The hush hit like a wave. The hallway was lined with tall windows, moonlight cutting silver bars across the floor. Their footsteps echoed softly as Morph led Logan up the broad staircase, past portraits of dignitaries. They moved quickly and purposefully, still holding his hand like they were afraid he’d change his mind if they let go.
At the top of the stairs, Morph slipped down a short hallway, shouldered open a narrow door, and stepped aside with a flourish.
Moonlight spilled in. The balcony beyond was small, tucked neatly between two stone columns, overlooking the manicured grounds. The faint murmur of the reception drifted up from below, muted now into nothing more than background static.
Logan stepped through, the cool night air washing over him. He inhaled deeply, shoulders loosening in a way they hadn’t all evening. “How’d you know this was here?”
Morph leaned casually against the railing. “I, uh… got lost on the way back from the bathroom earlier.”
Logan shot them a look.
“Okay, not lost. I might’ve gone exploring. Figured if I was craving a breather, you’d definitely need one. Too many smells, too many people, too much noise. So I made a note.”
For once, Logan didn’t have a quick comeback. He just looked at them, the way the moonlight caught the sharp lines of their suit and softened them all at once. His chest eased, the ache of the crowded ballroom replaced by something else, something that made his pulse climb for reasons he didn’t want to name.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Good call.”
Morph’s phone buzzed in their pocket. They fished it out, screen lighting their face, and snorted out a laugh.
Logan raised a brow. “What now?”
“Jubilee,” Morph said, thumbs tapping as they scrolled. “She wants more pictures. Apparently, she’s ‘living vicariously’ through us and demands shots of the fabulous guests. Her words, not mine.”
They tilted the phone so Logan could see: a stream of Jubilee’s messages littered with sparkle emojis, GIFs, and a demand for “a full fit check on Thor, Black Widow, and anyone else serving lewks.”
Logan huffed, leaning on the railing. “Figures.”
Morph chuckled, shaking their head. “She’s obsessed with the fashion parade. Honestly, I can’t blame her. There are some killer outfits in there.”
Logan’s gaze lingered on them, the sharp cut of their suit, the way moonlight softened the pink trim against the midnight blue. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, “You’re the best-lookin’ one here.”
Morph froze, phone still in their hand. Their smirk faltered into something quieter, surprised, as they searched his face. “Logan…”
He realized what he’d said a second too late. He turned back toward the grounds, “Just sayin’ the truth.”
Morph’s chest tightened at that. They slipped their phone back into their pocket, a slow smile spreading. “Guess Jubilee’s not getting any more outfit pics. She’s gonna have to settle for a review.”
Logan kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, but his ears were red.
“You know,” Morph said slowly, “this is the first time I’ve ever gotten to pick an outfit like this. Something fancy. Something that feels like me.”
Logan’s head turned toward them, brows knitting.
Morph gave a small shrug, keeping their eyes on the moonlit lawn instead of his face. “I’ve worn fancier before. Sinister used to drag me along to galas, parties, whatever schemes needed a bit of decoration. And yeah, the clothes were… show-stoppers.” Their voice dropped, quieter now. “But they weren’t mine. He always told me how to look. What to be. Even when I looked fabulous, it wasn’t… me.”
They finally glanced sideways, eyes catching Logan’s in the silver light. “This? This is the first time I got to show up in something I chose. Not a costume. Not an order. Just… me.”
Logan’s jaw worked, but he didn’t speak right away. He just looked at them, really looked, like he was seeing the suit, the smile, the shimmer, but also the truth under it.
“Looks damn good,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “Because it’s you.”
Morph’s chest tightened at the words, the weight of them heavier than any compliment. They blinked once, then exhaled a soft laugh. “Well,” they said, straightening their jacket, “I should probably get back. I did promise Thor another dance. Can’t keep a thunder god waiting.”
They turned toward the door, one hand on the handle, and Logan’s hand shot out, closing around their arm.
Morph blinked, startled, turning just as Logan pulled them back and grabbed the back of their neck with his other hand.
Their mouths collided in a kiss that was all fire and restraint snapping at once.
For a second, Morph froze. Then the glass in their chest shattered, and they melted into it, free hand curling into the front of Logan’s jacket. The kiss was rough, hungry, and underneath it something desperate, something that had been clawing at him all night.
When Logan finally pulled back, his breath was ragged. He kept his hand on their arm, as if afraid they’d vanish if he let go. Morph stared down at him, lips parted, eyes wide and shining in the moonlight.
“Well,” they whispered, voice shaky but laced with a grin. “Guess Thor’s gonna have to wait.”
Logan’s chest rose and fell. “To hell with Thor.” And he leaned up again, catching Morph’s mouth in another kiss, slower this time, deeper, like he didn’t want to let go. Morph answered without hesitation, pressing closer, their hand curling against the back of his neck.
When they finally pulled away, both of them breathless, Morph rested their forehead against his. “Logan…” They gave a shaky little laugh. “We should probably—”
“Don’t.” His voice came rough, rushed, like the words had been dammed up too long. He pulled back just enough to look up at them, his grip still firm on their arm. “I don’t wanna go back in there. I don’t wanna watch anybody else put their hands on you, or spin you around like you’re theirs. I don’t wanna stand at the bar pretendin’ it don’t matter.”
Morph blinked, caught off guard. Logan rarely rambled.
He pressed on, voice low and raw. “I wanna go home with you. I wanna be with you. You’re the only one I want, Morph.”
Morph stared at him, the smile tugging at their lips breaking into something softer, something unguarded. Their chest ached in the best way. “Well,” they whispered, eyes shining. “That’s one way to skip the small talk.”
“Ain’t good at that part.”
Morph slid their hand into his, threading their fingers tight. “Lucky for you, I am. So let’s start here: yes, Logan. I want that too.”
The night air wrapped around them, calm and quiet, while the music inside swelled on without them. For once, Logan wasn’t worried about the noise, the eyes, or the questions. He had his Morph. And he wasn’t letting go.