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There is dust dancing in the air, swirling in the fumes of disinfectant. They float and falter, only to seemingly disintegrate as they hit the wooden floor. There are piles of clothes, some in need of folding and some waiting to take a ride in the washing machine. Papers and books are pushed into a corner, waiting to return as you organize your writing utensils and silly trinkets.
You need to stop pushing off the task of cleaning your room, but it can’t be helped. Juggling being a teacher to a multitude of students and going on missions for Charles as an X-Man, your free time is slim to none. By the time the day is over, all you want to do is flop onto your bed and sleep until morning breaks. The idea of being more productive than you already were was exhausting to think about.
Yet here you are on a Friday evening, Walkman blasting music into your headphones as you run the rag across your desk, the wood sparkling from cleaner that smelled of citrus.
A hodgepodge of tunes played one after the other as the CD spun, all being love songs for the season of February. Some were simply romantic and joyous, while others played the melancholiest of sounds. It didn’t matter what kind of love song it was; you loved them all.
Valentine's Day was always a holiday you adored. Growing up, your family would always use it as an excuse to get together. While it has always been viewed as a time for romance, your family saw it as a time to celebrate the familial side of love. It created a cherished feeling for the season, especially with having a family that loved you no matter what. Even when all you saw was romance, your heart was happy.
At least, that was the case until a certain man came into the forefront of your existence.
Logan Howlett was something else. The first time you saw him, he was walking down the hall with the Professor getting the grand tour. You didn’t think someone could look so attractive in a jacket with the school emblem on it, but damn. The skin that pulled against his exposed collar bones made you want to sink your teeth into him.
It started as a small crush for a while. Even as an adult, you’ve always been fairly reserved around people unfamiliar to you. So, like a fly on the wall, you would look from afar, studying him closely. You would drink him in as he made himself more comfortable and it wasn’t until you accidentally made eye contact with him that your lives started to tightly intertwine.
You could feel your face heat up as you thought about how close you two have gotten. You wouldn’t say the two of you are inseparable, but it’s pretty damn close. Every time you come back from an errand, he is there waiting for you. Every morning, he is waiting for you in the kitchen to have breakfast together. Most evenings after the school day is done, he is meeting with you in your room to enjoy his cigar while you wind down with your secret stash of wine. It's become apparent to you that you are his go to, and it would be a lie to say he isn’t yours as well. You enjoy his company, which has transformed your feelings into something far greater.
You wouldn’t know what to call your relationship with him. You know it’s nothing super serious, but you feel the potential for it to be. You see how different he is with you; how his crass attitude seems to change into something much more sincere and open. You think he is much like you; the more he opens up, the more he shows he cares. Even so, you aren’t sure he would allow himself to indulge in the idea of belonging to someone.
The thought alone dampers your mood slightly, causing your shoulders to sag. As much as you love this time of the year, having Logan so close yet not quite in your grasp makes your heart crazed. You crave his companionship, and oh what you wouldn’t give to have it.
You wonder if he has Valentine's Day plans but knowing him you highly doubt it. You’d bet money that he doesn't even know the 14th is tomorrow, the days and months meshing together. Maybe you’ll do something for him anyways, like buy him some quality cigars or good whiskey to hide with your stash of alcohol. Maybe you could run out tonight and grab something.
In the midst of your thoughts, you hear Whitney Houston’s rich voice travel through your ears, causing you to perk up.
“Oh yes!” You whisper with excitement. “I haven’t heard this song in a while.”
You twirl over to your door, cracking it to help air out the fumes of disinfectant and wood polish. You grab the broom and start to sweep, humming along to the song until it’s too hard to resist opening your mouth.
“And IIIIIII will always love youuuuu,” you sing out, enunciating Whitney’s range as you brush away the remnants of dust and junk that found itself stranded on the floor.
There was something about this song that always drew you in. It’s a love song, yet it’s bittersweet. It’s a song that truly encapsulates loving someone so much that you must set them free. Maybe you love it because it’s a way for you to empathize, or it’s preparing you for the day you may have to let someone go with love. A small part of your mind wonders if you are already doing that with Logan, but it quickly vanishes; it’s just you and Whitney.
You can’t help but sing into the broom, dancing in circles that slightly scatter your dust bunny piles, but you could care less. When the sax solo plays, you hold the broom up front with fingers moving sporadically along the wooden handle. You make noises trying to replicate the sound of the alto, dipping back and forth recreating movements you’ve seen saxophone players make. You’re in the zone now; immersed in a dream as you sing along without a care in the world. Little did you know, there was someone watching you from your door.
Soon enough, you find yourself on your bed, broom being held like a mic stand, dipping down into a low bow before the climax of the song hits. You take a deep breath, preparing to unleash the iconic phrase and pitch from past your lips.
“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII EEEEEEE IIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOOOUUUUU,” your back goes back in an arch, lungs working overtime as air rushes out. You can’t hear yourself, and you know rather than the beautiful sound of Whitney Houston, you probably sound insane. You didn’t care though.
Well, you didn’t until your eyes landed on your now closed door, a body leaning against it with a smug grin on the face of the person who has infiltrated every part of your daily life.
Oh God… Logan…
“So, this is what you’ve been up to all evening.”
The broom drops from your hands, falling to the floor with a clank as your embarrassment permeates the room.
“Um… how long have you been standing there?”
He pushes off the door, hands behind his back as he continues towards you. “Long enough to see that stellar sax solo of yours.”
If your face could get redder, you’d be a maraschino cherry.
“So stellar in fact, I think I need a listen.”
“I’m not performing for you again,” you huff. “This is so embarrassing.”
“While I’d love to see and hear you again, I was talking about what you were listening to, sweetheart.”
You pause, looking at him confused. “You’ve never heard of Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’?”
“Should I?”
“Um yes!” You proclaim, arms shooting up into the air. “It’s one of the best love songs ever written and performed! Are you telling me you don’t listen to music?”
He is standing in front of you, and he’s tall enough to be leveled with your chest. His face tilts up, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s looking at you: both light-hearted and full of adoration that shows through the crows feet. It makes your heart race.
“Not many love songs play in a dingy, underground fighting ring,” he grins, raspy tone pleasant to your ears. “Come on, sit down. Give me a listen.”
You hear rustling behind him but quickly shift attention when he sits down, putting whatever’s in his hands out of your line of sight. You move to sit down beside him, removing your Walkman from the pouch on your hip. Your left leg is almost touching his right one, the heat begging to transfer with one touch. You remove your headphones, moving to put them over Logan’s ears, the band pressing down the points of his hair.
You giggle at this. “There go your cat ears.”
You go to shift the track back, and as you get ready to hit play, you feel a cushioned headphone against your ear. You turn and Logan’s face is very close to yours.
“What are you doing, Logan?”
“About to give this song you love so much a listen, but I want you to listen with me.” He smirks. “Is that okay, sweetheart?”
He’s going to be the end of me. What’s with him tonight?
You can’t speak so you nod, pressing play to let the song take its form. His eyes closed as he listened, allowing you to watch his facial movements as he reacted. You could see every crease and divot shift as he listened intently. You looked for key reactions during certain parts of the song, your lips quirking up when a smile appeared on his face.
A chuckle rumbles from his chest when the saxophone solo starts, your eyebrow raising in response. “What’s so funny?”
He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head as the song enters the third verse. You see him lock in, smile fading slightly as the song rolls on. You wonder what he’s thinking; what is Whitney telling him? It isn’t until she belts out the final chorus that his smile returns tenfold, making the butterflies fluttering in your belly go crazy.
The song fades out, and before the next track can play you press pause. There is a beat of silence before you pull away from the headphone, looking at Logan with a curiosity to know what his brain is churning.
“Soooo, what do you think?”
Logan looks to ponder, his fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. You feel the rough skin of his fingertips graze your tummy ever so slightly, causing a shiver to run down your spine. This moment is so intimate and for the first time you are seeing a vulnerability that Logan has never expressed before.
“I think…” he draws out, eyes lifting to meet yours. “I think I understand why you danced like no one’s watching, especially during the sax solo.”
You groan, face going into your hands with words muffled as he laughs. “You are so unserious. That’s all you got from this?”
“Oh, trust me. I got a lot more than you probably bargained for.”
You peek from between your fingers, hands becoming hot from the blood rush in your cheeks. You feel his hands wrap around your wrists, pulling your hands into his. “Did you know there is a Wolverine Alto Saxophone?”
You gawk at him, pushing against his hands playfully. “You’re so full of shit.”
“They don’t make them anymore. Fairly rare and a little hot headed but…” Logan brings both your hands to your hips, his own flipping on top with a slight grip that causes you to squeeze your flesh. “I’m sure the right player could handle it just fine.”
“Logan, are you flirting with me?” Your heart is racing, your mind controlling its speed as it goes 100 miles per second.
“Is it working?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Because if it is, I think you should play me sometime.”
Your breath comes out shaky, nerves racking your body. This is the closest you have ever been to being with him. You are so close to having an answer as to what you two are; what you two could be. You wonder what has gotten into him. What pushed this on?
A laugh comes from under your breath. “You are something else, you know that?”
“Hmm,” he hums, moving closer to you so his face is mere inches from yours. “What can I say? I can’t help myself.”
“Is that so? And why is that?” You challenge, hoping for him to say what you want to hear.
“I’ve got someone in my life who likes to press my buttons without even trying, and I think I wanna start pressing theirs too.”
“Wow,” you breathe out. “You’re good.”
“Yeah? Then show me.” His lips are almost on yours, a smirk plastered on his kissable lips. “Show me how good I am.”
You nod, leaning fully in to press your lips to his. He groans against your mouth; a sound so delightful it makes your skin raise. You remove your hands from under his, moving to his biceps to ground yourself. You can finally feel his grip on you, and it’s secure. He kisses you with a purpose, his movements precise, and it draws you in. It creates a gravitational pull between the two of you, your hands pulling on him and his own pulling your hips. Next thing you know, he is almost on top of you.
“Mmm,” he purrs. “You taste so sweet, baby.”
You pull away slightly, his lips chasing yours for a moment before you steady him. “Yeah? Well, you’re fun to play.”
His shoulders shake as he chuckles, going in for another round before he pauses. “Before I forget…”
He sits back up, reaching behind him as he grabs something that crinkles. You try to peek over his shoulder, curiosity getting the better of you, only for him to face you once more. Your eyes go wide as you see the bouquet of daisies in his hand, white tissue wrapping keeping them together.
You are in awe. You can’t remember the last time someone got you flowers. “These are for me?”
“They sure are,” He smiles with crinkled eyes. “Had to get flowers for my Valentine.”
You look down bashfully, tongue drawing over your lower lip, tasting remnants that are so him. “I didn’t think you’d care about Valentine’s Day.”
“You said you love Valentine’s Day. Seems right to celebrate my baby’s favorite time of the year.”
My baby…
He hands you the flowers, and you cradle them in your arms. They are lively and simply beautiful; a fresh, sweet scent floating up to your nose. Everything about this moment is sweet, and the flowers make it even sweeter.
“Soooo,” you draw out. “Does this mean you want to make things official?”
“Official?” He takes the flowers from your hands gently, placing them on the floor before pulling you onto his lap. You yelp as he squeezes you to him, vibrating with the urgency to be close. “I sure like the sound of that.”
You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling yet another wave of shyness at how he holds and looks at you. It’s something new, and it blossoms in your chest as he slowly rocks you with kisses against the side of your face. All you can think is that you love him, and you can’t help but think he loves you too.
Thank God for love and Thank God for Whitney Houston.