Work Text:
Notes Written In The Winter Snow
Logan came in from his run covered in fresh snow, looking almost happy for once. He shook himself off just inside the kitchen door, scattering flakes everywhere like a stubborn dog. When he looked up, he caught you staring at him with open amusement.
“You enjoyin the show?” He asked.
“I’ve seen better….” You said, and nudged the second mug of coffee toward him.
He raised a brow. “You were thinkin about me?”
“I just made too much coffee….” You said a little too fast.
He gave you a look that said he did not buy a word of it, but he sat beside you anyway and took the mug. The heat from his shoulder was close enough to notice, close enough to make you aware of every inch between you.
A minute passed in quiet. You tried to drink your coffee like a normal person and not like someone sitting next to a man she had been secretly pining after for months.
“So…” You finally asked, “....how was the run?”
“Peaceful.”
That surprised you. “Really.”
“Yeah.” He rested his elbows on the table. “Winter’s the only time the air feels clean. Quiet too. You can hear yourself breathe for once. Everything looks sorta new.”
You watched him talk with far too much interest for your own good. He kept going, hands moving a little as he described the way the sunlight hit the ice on the branches and how the crunch of snow under his boots reminded him of places he never talked about. Then he mentioned the north field.
“Whole thing’s untouched…..” He said. “Looks like a blank page out there.”
You smirked. “Careful. You are almost sounding poetic.”
He shot you an irritated look. “Don’t….”
“I like it….” You said. “Gives you unexpected depth. I can see it now. You writing little haikus in the snow.”
He grumbled something that sounded like “real comedian.”
You only grinned.
“I always manage to make you laugh….”
He tried not to, but a small smile broke through anyway. He finished his coffee and set the mug down with a soft tap.
“Thanks for this….” He said.
You shrugged, pretending it meant nothing. “Sure.”
He headed for the stairs, boots leaving faint wet prints on the floor. You watched him go, then looked out the window at the stretch of untouched white across the property.
A silly thought showed up. Persistent. Warm in its own way.
Notes in the snow.
Maybe not a haiku. But something.
Something he would find.
Something meant for him.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
Before dawn even tried to show up, you bundled yourself in a coat, grabbed the first stick you found near the porch, and trudged through the fresh snow toward the north field. The cold stung your cheeks, but it didn’t bother you much. You felt more excitement than anything else. It was ridiculous, really. Absolutely ridiculous. But you kept going.
The snow in the field came almost to your knees. You took two steps and immediately sank deeper than expected. The third step made you lose balance. You went down with a not-so-graceful thump.
“Great start….” You muttered to yourself.
You pushed upright, brushed snow off your gloves, and tried again. The field was completely untouched. White and wide and silent. It really did look like a blank page, just like Logan said.
Your heart did a ridiculous little flip at the memory.
You tapped the stick against your glove, took a breath, and stepped into the center of the field. You spent a solid minute staring at the snow, trying to come up with something clever. You had no idea it would be this hard. Every idea sounded either too cheesy or too obvious.
“Come on….” You whispered. “Just write something.”
You crouched down, leaned forward, and started dragging the stick through the snow. The first line was crooked. You smoothed it out with your boot and tried again. After three attempts, two more falls, and a lot of muttering, you finally carved out something that didn’t make you cringe.
Bet you can’t beat your best time.
It felt playful. Light. Safe. You stood and looked at your masterpiece. For something scribbled in the dark with frozen hands and a stick, it looked pretty good.
You felt silly. But you also felt….good. Warm, in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.
You hurried back inside before the sky changed color.
Logan almost missed the message during his run. You watched from your distant vantage point as he jogged right past it. He slowed after a few steps, turned, and doubled back like something had tugged at him.
He stood over the words, chest rising in slow breaths, snow stuck to the brim of his sweatshirt hood. He leaned forward slightly, squinting as if the message might rearrange itself if he glared hard enough. Then his mouth twitched. Barely. But enough.
He shook his head and kept running.
Later that morning, you were in the kitchen pretending to be entirely normal when Logan walked in.
“Ran it in twenty-two minutes….” He said.
You blinked. “Uh….good for you?”
He raised a brow. “Thought you’d wanna know.”
“Why would I wanna know that?”
He stared at you like he was waiting for a crack in the mask. “You weren’t out this mornin?”
You lifted your mug. “Logan, no. It’s freezing.”
He kept looking at you. Studying. Searching for a tell. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, keep your shoulders loose, sip your drink like he wasn’t five seconds away from reading the lie straight off your face.
Eventually he let out a low huff and walked away. Not convinced, but not sure enough to call you on it either.
The moment he turned the corner, your pulse finally slowed.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
You woke before the alarm again, pulled on your boots, and headed out into the morning dark with a little more confidence than yesterday. The snowfall had eased overnight, leaving the surface soft and perfect.
You picked another spot on his route. A spot where he couldn’t avoid the message even if he tried. You smoothed the snow with your glove and used the same stick from yesterday.
Try not to scowl at the snow today. It didn’t do anything to you.
You stepped back and admired it for a moment. Cute. Maybe a little bold. But definitely something he’d see.
You hurried inside before anyone else woke.
When Logan reached the message, he didn’t run past it. He stopped immediately. Bent down. Touched the snow beside the letters, not quite on them, almost like he didn’t want to ruin the writing.
From your bedroom window, you watched the whole thing. You saw his mouth twitch again. This time it was a real smile. A small one, but unmistakable.
Your own smile came just as easily.
The rest of the morning was a show.
Logan stalked through the halls asking people if they’d been outside early. Storm gave him a confused shake of her head. Bobby laughed. Jean blinked at him like he was asking who stole the moon.
“Somebody’s messin around….” He muttered to her. “I know it.”
You leaned on the wall nearby, enjoying every second.
When he turned and caught you watching, he narrowed his eyes at you like you were the one he needed to interrogate. His glare would’ve been intimidating to anyone else. You just grinned at him, wide and unhelpfully cheerful.
“What?” He asked.
“You look busy…” You said. “What’re you up to?”
He crossed his arms. “Tryin to figure somethin out.”
“Well, good luck with that….” You said brightly, giving him a pat on the shoulder as you walked past.
He made a sound that was half annoyance, half suspicion.
You didn’t turn around until you were safely down the hall.
Watching him puzzle it out was far more fun than it should’ve been.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
You woke before your alarm, the sky still deep and blue, the house so quiet it felt like everyone had forgotten the world existed. You had a theory. Logan had been sniffing around all yesterday, asking people questions, watching the hallways like he expected the culprit to walk around wearing a sign.
He’d try to catch the writer.
Of course he would.
Which meant he’d change his routine.
And if you wanted to keep this going, you had to stay ahead of him.
You bundled up, grabbed your stick from where you’d stashed it behind the porch, and slipped out one of the back entrances that only teachers and night-shift staff ever used. The snow was soft again, powdery under your boots, and the cold made your breath rise in thin white curls.
You took your time picking the spot. When you did you kneeled down and started writing, the stick dragging smooth lines through the snow.
Snow is slippery. Do not wipe out, grumpy.
You stepped back, brushing your gloves together. It looked clean.
You made it back to the mansion without crossing his path, slipping through the back hallways until you reached your room on the second floor. You peeked out the window just in time to see Logan step outside.
He was early. Thirty minutes early.
You snorted under your breath. “Predictable.”
You watched him move across the lawn, scanning the snow like he expected the words to jump up and introduce themselves.
Later that afternoon you found him in the hallway outside the rec room, adjusting one of his gloves with an irritated focus. He looked up when you passed.
“Still didn’t catch whoever’s writin those notes…..” He muttered.
You paused just long enough to smirk. “Maybe you should get up earlier.”
His head snapped toward you, eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Admit it. You’re messin with me.”
You blinked at him, all innocence. “Why would I want to mess with you?”
“I dunno….” He said. “You tell me.”
His expression was a mix of suspicion and something lighter. Almost hopeful, though you doubted he’d ever admit it.
You held his gaze and softened your voice without planning to. “Logan, I have no interest in making any part of your life unpleasant or difficult.”
He didn’t react right away. He just watched you, searching your face for something he wasn’t sure he’d even recognize.
Finally he grunted and looked away. “Yeah. Sure.”
But the doubt stayed in his eyes.
And the truth was, he wasn’t entirely wrong. You were messing with him. Just not in any way that could hurt him.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
Snow drifted against the windows in lazy spirals when you woke. You slipped into your coat again, breathing in the cold air that seeped through the mansion’s old walls. You weren’t exactly sure why your chest felt tight this morning. Maybe because today’s message felt different before you even wrote it.
Yesterday Logan had come back from a mission with a stiffness to his movements. You’d overheard Hank telling him he’d taken a hit hard enough to nearly break a few bones. Logan brushed it off like he always did, but you had noticed the way he moved. Slower. Heavier. Like healing took more from him this time.
You walked out into the early morning gray, boots whispering through the frost. When you reached his usual water break spot, you crouched low and drew your message in the snow with careful strokes.
Do not push yourself today. Even super-healing bones get tired.
The words looked small, but the meaning felt too big. You stood and breathed out, watching the warm cloud rise and fade.
When Logan reached the spot, you weren’t watching from your room this time. You were further down the hall, passing by the west windows as he slowed to a stop. Even from far away you saw the shift in him. His shoulders loosened. His face softened. His breath paused halfway out like something inside him had been touched rather than teased.
He studied the words, not just reading them but absorbing them. He crouched down and touched the snow beside the message, careful not to erase it.
Later that morning you crossed paths with him on the lower levels near Hank’s lab. You’d been on your way to grab training logs when you saw Logan limping slightly, almost unnoticeably, before straightening when he saw you.
You played it cool. “Any luck finding the mystery writer?”
He let out a low grumble. “No. But… I dunno.” He scratched behind his neck, avoiding your eyes for a second. “Today’s felt different. Almost like they care.”
You shrugged, pretending your heart hadn’t just knocked hard against your ribs. “Why wouldn’t they be someone who cares?”
He lifted his head slowly and met your eyes. The look he gave you was steady, quiet, and a little too honest.
“There aren’t many people like that around.”
The words landed deep. Too deep. You didn’t know what to say to that. Your throat closed up around anything you could’ve offered.
Before you could speak, he turned and pushed open the door to Hank’s lab. You watched him disappear inside, that last sentence echoing in your head long after the door swung shut.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
You tried to sleep. You really did.
But Logan’s words from yesterday kept replaying in your head.
There aren’t many people like that around.
You’d felt that sentence settle right under your ribs, warm and aching. You weren’t even sure why it rattled you so much. Maybe because it was true. Maybe because he believed it. Maybe because you wished—more than you should—that he knew he was wrong about that.
When dawn finally crept in, you gave up on sleep and pulled on your coat. The air outside was icy and still, the kind of cold that sharpened every breath but didn’t bother you much. Fresh snow had fallen again, smooth as linen stretched across a bed.
You walked out farther than usual, almost to the fence line. You wanted space. You wanted quiet.
You wanted to write this without feeling rushed or clever.
Your hands shook before you even crouched down.
You told yourself it was the cold.
But the truth was, the words felt too big. Too close to the surface. Too close to you.
You gripped the stick and dragged it through the snow, writing slowly, erasing a curve here, rewriting a line there. You stepped back, took a breath, then wrote again.
If you ever wondered…
Yeah. Someone cares. More than they should.
Your heart thudded in your throat. You stared at the message long enough to feel ridiculous, then brushed out one letter again and rewrote it, smaller this time. Neater. You didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.
For a moment you just stood there, snowflakes gathering on your coat sleeves, thinking this is too much.
Then you turned and hurried back to the mansion before you lost the nerve to walk away.
You didn’t watch from the window this time.
You couldn’t.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
Logan almost blew right past the fence line on his run. He wouldn’t have checked that far out any other morning. But something tugged at him—habit, maybe. Instinct. Or that damn feeling in his gut that the next note would be somewhere different.
He slowed.
Saw it.
Stopped dead.
Sixteen words carved into clean snow.
He read them once.
Then again.
Then one more time.
The cold didn’t register. His breath fogged in front of him, slow and steady, but everything inside him had gone strangely, sharply warm.
Someone cares. More than they should.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown either. His expression hardly changed at all—but inside something shifted, clicked into place with the certainty of a blade sliding home.
He crouched down, touched the edge of one letter with the back of his knuckles. The snow was fresh. The grooves shallow. This hadn’t been done long before he got here.
For a moment, he just breathed.
It’s her.
He didn’t need to think it through. He didn’t need to double-check. He didn’t need to sniff the ground like some feral thing even though he could’ve.
He just knew.
You.
It had been you all along.
And suddenly the entire week—the teasing messages, the timing, the warmth tucked beneath the humor—made a different kind of sense.
Logan stood slowly, eyes tracing the note one last time. His voice was barely more than a breath.
“…Alright.”
He wasn’t angry.
He wasn’t even annoyed.
He was…..something else entirely.
And whatever that something was, it put a steady decision in his spine.
He was done guessing.
Done circling around it.
Done pretending he didn’t know.
He’d catch you tomorrow.
Not with claws, not with force —just with the truth.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
You woke before your alarm—same as always now—but this time your stomach was tight with something sharper than nerves. You’d gone to sleep expecting the weight of yesterday’s note to fade.
It hadn’t.
You dressed quietly, slipped down the stairs, and stepped out into the cold. Snow drifted around you in soft spirals, muffling the world. You knew exactly what you wanted to write this morning.
You knelt in the snow, dragging the stick through the untouched surface, the first curve of the first letter forming beneath your glove—
“You’re not as early as I thought you’d be…..”
You froze.
The voice came from behind you—low, steady, unmistakably close.
You didn’t turn right away. You weren’t sure you could.
When you finally did, Logan was standing a few feet away, snow clinging to his hair and shoulders like he’d been out there waiting long enough for the flakes to find him. His breath puffed in slow white clouds. His arms hung loose at his sides, posture relaxed but eyes locked entirely on you.
He looked…..sure.
Not suspicious.
Not annoyed.
Just sure.
You cleared your throat and forced a shrug, trying for casual even though your pulse was hammering.
“Okay, look…..it hasn’t been me writing the notes….” You said lightly. “But since you kept accusing me, I figured I’d give it a try today. Y’know, get a feel for the art form.”
He didn’t blink.
“So maybe….” You added, tapping the stick against your glove, “.....we should wait and see if the real culprit comes out.”
Logan raised an eyebrow, slow and unimpressed. “How stupid d’you think I am?”
Your smile wavered into something nervous. “I think you’re plenty smart.”
He stepped closer. Just one step, but it felt like a shift in the air, like the cold snapped tighter around both of you.
He kept his eyes on yours, steady as anything.
“I know it’s been you….” He said quietly. “All week.”
You swallowed before you meant to. “...Maybe.”
Another step. Snow crunched under his boots, soft and final.
“I’m not great with words….” He said. “Never have been.”
The line hit you harder than you expected. You braced instinctively, heart tight, waiting for the other shoe to drop—for him to say he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, or didn’t want this the way you did.
Instead, Logan lifted a hand and cupped your face. His palm was warm despite the cold. His thumb brushed your cheek like he’d been waiting years to memorize that shape.
He didn’t hesitate.
He leaned in and kissed you.
The first brush of his mouth was slow, almost careful, like he was letting you change your mind if you wanted to. You didn’t. You melted into it before you realized you were moving, your free hand sliding up his chest and gripping the front of his jacket.
Logan deepened the kiss—warm, grounding, unhurried. His other hand settled at the back of your neck, drawing you closer. The cold vanished. The snow, the dawn, the entire world dropped away until there was only the heat of his breath and the low sound he made when you leaned into him harder.
It took your breath. Literally.
When he finally pulled back, you were blinking up at him, dazed.
He rested his forehead against yours. “I think that says as much as your notes.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Message received. Loud and clear.” You nudged his chest. “You could’ve done that on day two. Saved me a few freezing mornings.”
He huffed a quiet almost-laugh. “You could’ve admitted you liked me. Saved yourself a few freezing mornings.”
You narrowed your eyes, offended in principle. He smirked like he could read it.
Then he looked down at the half-carved message in the snow.
“Finish it.”
You glanced at the stick still in your hand. Your cheeks warmed again—but you’d already said the truth once this week. You could do it again.
You knelt and wrote the words cleanly.
I like you, Logan.
When you stood again, he was already stepping closer. He flicked a single claw out with a soft metallic snikt and crouched beside your message. Careful, deliberate, he carved his reply beneath it.
Good. I like you too.
You stared, smile spreading helplessly. “You’re not too bad with words….” You said.
He sheathed the claw, straightened, and slipped an arm around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His grip was warm and certain.
“C’mon….” He murmured. “Walk with me.”
You leaned into him as the two of you started across the snow-covered lawn, leaving behind a trail of footprints and the two simplest, truest notes either of you had ever written.