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“Logan, can you zip me up?”
Rory stood in front of the mirror in her childhood bedroom at Lorelai’s house, twisting slightly to see the back of her dress. The navy fabric was sleek and elegant, hugging her in all the right places, but the zipper was stubbornly out of reach.
Behind her, Logan finished adjusting his cufflinks and turned toward her, his slow, signature smirk appearing as he took her in. He took her in with a glance that made it clear he wasn’t in a hurry to leave.
“Damn, Ace,” he murmured, crossing the room in a few long strides. “Are we sure we have to leave?”
Rory rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile pulling at her lips. “Yes, we have to leave. The last thing I need is Paris hunting us down and launching into a fifteen-minute tirade about our lack of “loyalty and flagrant disregard for the sanctity of punctuality”, which, by the way, I’ve already heard twice today. I’m pretty sure she’s coming by herself as well, so someone needs to keep her company”
Logan hummed, stepping behind her. He traced his fingers lightly up her spine before finding the zipper and dragging it slowly upwards. As he did, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the nape of her neck.
Rory shivered slightly. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmured, lips trailing just beneath her ear.
She sighed. “Logan, we are literally in my mother’s house, with our children and my mother in the next room. If we’re not out in two minutes, she will come looking for us, and I really, really don’t need a repeat of 2005 when she walked in on -”
Logan groaned. “You know, it’s actually impressive how fast you can kill the mood.”
“It’s a gift,” Rory quipped, turning to face him.
Logan smirked and let his hands settle on her hips, fingers trailing over the silky fabric of her dress. “For the record, I’m going to spend the entire night thinking about peeling you out of this.”
Rory patted his chest. “Well, I promise to let you unzip me later.”
His smirk deepened as he gave her a quick, playful smack on the butt. “Ace, you just keep getting better.”
They made their way downstairs, and the moment Lorelai spotted them, she let out a low whistle.
“Mama’s looking hot!” she declared.
Rory groaned. “Oh my God.”
“What? You do! And Logan, well done on the suit coordination. You look very Hugh Grant in a rom-com.”
“I’ll take it,” Logan said easily.
Jack, curled up on the couch in pyjamas, barely looked up from his book. “Gross.”
Emma, sitting cross-legged beside him, giggled. “Daddy said Mommy is pretty.”
“She is,” Logan agreed, dropping a kiss to Rory’s temple.
Jack groaned. “I’m not listening to this.” He clapped his hands over his ears.
Lorelai grinned. “Oh, I like this one.”
“Alright, alright,” Rory said, picking up her clutch. “We’re leaving. Be good for Mimi. Emma, bed time is 8 and Jack be in bed by 9, lights out at 9:30.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jack assured them. “Have fun at your old-people party.”
“Excuse me, old-people party?” Rory shot back.
Jack shrugged. “You’re going to hang out with a bunch of people you knew twenty years ago. That’s what old people do.”
Rory turned to Logan. “I do not like how clever he’s getting.”
Logan smirked, ruffling Jack’s blonde hair. “Hey, it’s impressive. But for the record, I am only three years older than your mother.”
“Three crucial years,” Rory said, gently patting Logan’s cheek. “Ancient, really.”
“Okay, out,” Lorelai said, shooing them toward the door. “Go relive your glory days, drink fancy cocktails, and try not to do anything that ends up in The Yale Daily News tomorrow.”
“No promises,” Logan called over his shoulder as he led Rory out the door.
The reunion ball was in full swing by the time they arrived, the Branford Dining Hall decked out with twinkling lights, laughter and conversation filling the air. Familiar faces were everywhere - some looking exactly the same, others barely recognizable.
Logan had just handed Rory a glass of champagne when she stiffened beside him.
“Wait a minute,” she murmured, tilting her head. “Is that -?”
Logan followed her gaze.
Paris Geller, in a lace emerald-green dress, was weaving her way through the crowd with her usual air of controlled chaos. And beside her.
“Doyle?” Logan said, confused. “Aren’t they -?”
“Divorced,” Rory finished, eyes wide. “God, this is going to be interesting.”
Before they could say another word, Paris and Doyle reached them. Paris, ever efficient, skipped past pleasantries.
“Looking good, Gilmore,” she said.
“You too,” Rory said awkwardly, still looking between her and Doyle. “So, uh, you two?”
Paris lifted her champagne glass. “Just for tonight.”
Doyle grinned. “Old times’ sake.”
“I needed to get laid,” Paris clarified.
Logan, mid-sip of his scotch, choked violently.
Rory smacked his back as he coughed. “You good?”
Doyle lifted his glass in a silent toast, utterly unfazed.
Logan, still struggling for air, pointed at him. “You knew that was coming.”
“Oh yeah,” Doyle said, nodding. “I braced myself.”
Paris rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Blondie. I’ve known about your pre-Rory escapades. I shared a wall with you two in college, remember that Blondie. And we all know you’ve mastered the mechanics, unless, of course, those two small humans calling you ‘Dad’ were some kind of immaculate conception scenario?”
Logan was still recovering from his scotch-related near-death experience. “Just wasn’t expecting that particular phrase to be thrown out so… casually.”
Paris smirked. “Why waste time? We’re all adults here.”
“Debatable,” Rory muttered into her champagne.
Paris ignored her. “Anyway, there’s no point in letting a perfectly good opportunity go to waste. I’m an efficient woman, I have needs, he has needs and as much as the divorce was the best decision of my life, Doyle remains moderately acceptable in bed and knows what I like.”
Logan shook his head, exhaling. “You really do know how to make an entrance, Geller.”
Paris shrugged. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
Later, as Logan went to grab another round of drinks, Rory scanned the room, letting nostalgia wash over her. The ballroom was a sea of old classmates, some still clinging to their former glory, others looking like they’d aged thirty years instead of twenty. Every so often, she’d catch a familiar face, triggering a memory from her Yale days. Some warm and fond. Others involving far too much coffee and Paris screaming about the incompetence of the Yale Daily News staff.
They had all moved on. Found their way in the world. Outside of the confines of New Haven.
That was when she saw her.
Tall. Blonde. Standing just a little too close to Logan at the bar. Twirling her hair and laughing in that oh-my-god-you’re-so-funny-please-take-me-home kind of way.
Rory’s eyes narrowed. Oh, hell no.
She strode over, slipping an arm around Logan’s waist and smiling at the woman with the kind of warmth that, if examined too closely, might resemble the look of someone about to commit a minor crime.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Did you get my drink?”
Logan, ever quick on the uptake, handed her the glass. “Of course, Ace.”
The blonde’s smile faltered. “Oh,” she muttered, taking a step back. “He didn’t have a wedding ring.”
Rory’s eyes narrowed further. “And that means… what, exactly?”
The woman blinked, seemingly deciding this was not a battle she wanted to fight. With a quiet “Nothing, never mind,” she disappeared into the crowd, her retreat quicker than necessary.
Rory took a sip of her martini, still watching her go. “Unbelievable.”
Logan turned to her, eyes full of amusement. “Jealous?”
She scoffed. “Of her? Please.”
“You did just swoop in and make a very clear territorial claim.”
“I did not stake a claim.”
“You practically planted a flag in the ground.”
She shot him a look. “I was ensuring you weren’t being lured away by some reunion opportunist who thinks her and her cheap-ass pink dress is the only thing standing between her and your pants.”
Logan smirked. “You know there’s a very easy solution to all this, Ace.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Do not turn this into a marriage conversation.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.” He took a sip of his drink, eyes still twinkling. “But now that you’ve brought it up.”
“Logan.”
He chuckled. “Relax. I know better than to propose twice.”
“Good. Because I still don’t want a ring.” She gestured around them. “You’re just wearing one to the next event so we can avoid whatever that was. I forget how handsy people get around you.”
Logan shook his head, thoroughly entertained. “You’re really cute when you’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous,” she huffed.
“Sure, Ace.”
“Seriously.”
“Totally.”
She levelled him with a glare.
He grinned, setting his glass down and offering his hand. “You gonna stand here fuming all night, or are you gonna dance with me?”
Rory sighed, dramatically placing her drink on the table. “Fine. But if another woman twirls her hair at you, well, I don’t know what I would do. But I’d do something. Maybe throw my drink on her.”
Logan laughed, pulling her onto the dance floor. “Noted.”
Not long after, as they made their way through the ballroom, they suddenly found themselves face-to-face with a familiar Australian.
“Finn?” Rory raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t in my year. You really shouldn’t be here.”
Finn, ever the picture of mischief, grinned. “Well, love, that redhead over there was in your year, so I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Rory sighed. “Of course.”
Logan just shook his head, amused. “Some things never change.”
Finn raised his glass, nodding in agreement. “And that, my dear boy, is the beauty of it.”
Rory crossed her arms. “Is it really? I’m not sure I’d call the entire Yale experience ‘beautiful’ - I mean there was a night spent in jail and many breakdowns during my time here.”
Finn smirked, glancing over his shoulder at the redhead he’d clearly been eyeing. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about your academic experience, love. I was referring to the sheer number of redheads in this room. It’s almost too good to be true.”
Logan chuckled.
Finn’s grin widened, and he raised an eyebrow dramatically. “And, my two god-children. How are they? Jack must be terrorizing poor Emma by now.”
Rory and Logan exchanged a glance before they both said in unison:
“You’re not their godfather.”
Finn feigned hurt, putting a hand to his chest. “You wound me, both of you! I’m just trying to be a good influence on the little ones.”
“You’re not even allowed near them when they're holding sharp objects,” Rory just glared at him.
Logan added with a grin, “You can’t exactly be trusted with the ‘godfather’ title, Finn. Remember the time you let Jack eat nothing but ice cream for an entire day?”
Rory muttered under her breath, “And I was the one cleaning Jack’s vanilla-scented sick all night.”
Finn shrugged, clearly unbothered. “I’m a fun godfather. There’s a big difference.”
Rory raised her eyebrows. “There’s a difference?”
He took a sip of his drink, giving her a pointed look. “I’m a memorable godfather. You two clearly don’t appreciate my flair for the dramatic.”
Logan smirked. “Sure, Finn. Keep telling yourself that.”
Rory just shook her head, still smiling. “You’re lucky you’re amusing, or we’d have to actually consider this godfather business.”
Finn let out a dramatic sigh. “One day, you’ll come around. I’ll just have to continue charming your children into thinking I’m the best thing since sliced bread. I’ll be teaching them how to form their own sub-parties and how to select the most excellent scotch.” He then turned his attention back to the redhead, clearly already distracted by her.
Logan, watching Finn with amusement, leaned in and whispered to Rory, “I think we’re safe from him officially being their godfather.”
Rory chuckled, glancing over at Finn, who was now blatantly trying to strike up a conversation with the redhead.
And with that, they turned their attention back to the night ahead, both secretly glad that some things really never did change.
It’s 3:42 a.m., and Lorelai is still awake. The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes when the whole world seems to be asleep. She’s perched at the window, watching the streetlights outside flicker and sway, and then she hears it, the rumble of the cab turning into the driveway, the familiar sound of tires crunching against gravel.
The door to the cab swings open with a soft thud, and Lorelai leans closer, her fingers instinctively pressing against the cool glass. There, in the glow of the porch light, she sees them.
Rory and Logan.
Drunk.
Laughing too loudly.
Stumbling together as though the world was spinning around them, yet there they are, still holding on to each other.
For a moment, it’s almost like she’s been thrown back to 2005. It’s surreal, almost dizzying. She can almost hear the echoes of the past, that night, the night Rory had stumbled out of a different cab, her hair tousled, her body draped in jewels and a very similar blue dress.
That same man, the one who had also stumbled out of the cab that same night 22 years ago, is now beside her again, holding her up, guiding her in the same way he did all those years ago. Only this time, it’s different. They’re different. The path they’ve walked together has been rocky and twisted, but it’s led them here.
Lorelai’s chest tightens, but it’s not with fear this time. Not like before. The weight of her worry over that first night, when she wasn’t sure what Rory had gotten herself into, when she believed that Logan was just trouble. No, that fear is gone.
She watches as Logan steadies Rory, his arm looping around her waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Rory leans into him, her head tipping back, upturned to the dark starry sky, a smile playing on her lips as she tries to regain her balance, but there’s no doubt in Lorelai’s mind. It’s not just the alcohol making her tipsy, it’s Logan. He’s always had that effect on her, hasn’t he?
Rory’s voice is thick, her words slurring with the remnants of champagne, but it’s the affection that comes through so clearly, the softness in the way she says his name, the playful teasing that feels so right.
“Careful, Gilmore,” Logan teases, his tone warm, almost tender, as he laughs lightly.
Rory rolls her eyes, but her hand reaches for his neck anyway, pulling herself up slightly to kiss him, the kind of kiss that lasts a little longer than it should, all heat and familiarity. “I’m fine,” she slurs, pushing him playfully. “You’re the one who’s wobbly.”
Lorelai holds her breath, pressing her hand against the windowpane, watching them move up the path, her eyes tracing their every step. The sound of their laughter drifts through the cool night air, and for the first time in years, Lorelai doesn’t feel anxiety creep up her spine. She doesn’t feel the knot of fear that used to tighten in her chest whenever she saw Rory and Logan together.
No, this time it’s different. This time, it’s not about uncertainty. It’s about knowing. Knowing that these two have fought through all of the mess (which quite frankly, they created), all of the confusion, the breakups, the time apart, the challenges. They’ve fought their way back to each other. They’ve grown. Together.
They sway for a moment, both of them holding each other up. The sight is so intimate, so comfortable, so much like home. Rory’s head rests against Logan’s chest, and for a second, it feels like nothing else matters in the world.
Just them.
Here.
Together.
Logan leans in, his lips crashing onto Rory’s with the kind of urgency that takes her breath away. It’s messy. Hot. Their mouths clash together in a way that makes Lorelai’s heart race just watching it. Rory responds instantly, her arms wrapping around Logan’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
Their hands are everywhere - gripping, tugging, pulling. Rory’s fingers tangle in Logan’s hair, the weight of their bodies pressing against each other, too tangled up to separate, too caught in the moment to care.
The kiss is frantic, hungry, as though they haven’t seen each other in years, not the eleven they’ve spent together, not the life they’ve built. This kiss is all fire and desperation, the years of their history showing in every sharp inhale, every rough movement. It’s the kind of kiss that could stop time, one that makes everything else fade away.
Lorelai leans back from the window, a hand pressed to her chest. She’s not sure why her heart is pounding - why she feels this strange mixture of emotions, like she’s watching something incredibly intimate, almost forbidden, yet knowing it’s exactly where they need to be.
She hears their footsteps getting closer, the laughter still ringing out in the night air.
“We should probably stop before Mimi comes out here and starts lecturing us,” Rory jokes, her voice a little slurred. “Or worse, Taylor sees us. I don’t think we need another one of those talks about public decency.”
Logan laughs, his arms still around her as they make their way up the path. “You mean the one where she claims we’ve gone backwards in time to 2005?”
“I swear, she still remembers the vow renewal like it was yesterday.” Rory smirks, resting her head on his shoulder as they reach the door.
Logan laughs again, squeezing her hand. “Well, it’s not like she’s wrong. It was a very public disaster.”
“Not a disaster, but definitely memorable,” Rory teases, and Lorelai can’t help but chuckle from her spot behind the curtain.
Lorelai steps back from the window, a breath escaping her lips. She walks quietly over to the door, just as they reach it.
The door swings open, and Rory and Logan step into the house, still leaning on each other, smiling like they’ve just shared a private joke only they understand.
Then, they freeze.
There, standing in the living room, is Lorelai.
“Hi,” she says casually, trying not to look too amused.
Rory and Logan both blink, caught off guard, their faces morphing from playful drunkenness to sheepish teenage guilt. It’s a look that makes Lorelai smile a little to herself - because, no matter how many years pass, it’s the same look she’s seen so many times before.
“Mom,” Rory starts, her words coming out a little slurred, “We didn’t know you were awake.”
Logan, his cheeks flushed with the lingering heat of the kiss, runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yeah, we didn’t expect to find an audience.”
Rory and Logan exchange a look, one that says it all: they’re both thinking it, this is just like the old days.
Some things never change. And some things are better that way.