Oneshots

Stubborn/Warmth

A worn-out neon sign flickered above the entrance as you stumbled into the dimly lit dive bar, casting a faint glow on the weathered stools that lined the counter.

Logan scowled as you approached, having detected your scent while nursing a glass of whiskey. "I warned ya not to show up, (Y/N)." He grumbled, "If you're lookin' for a party, you're in the wrong damn place. I ain't celebratin' birthdays."

"A bourbon please," you call to the bartender as you sit down beside him, the old, worn-out bar stool squeaking under your weight.

"I know that, Logan. You tell me every year," You sigh and catch the glass the bartender slid over to you.

"And yet, you chose to ignore the warning." He shook his head slightly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a sip. "You don't learn, do ya?" He didn't turn to look at you, his gaze focused on the dwindling whiskey in his hand.

"I'm stubborn," you give him a half smile before sipping your drink.

He grunted lowly, the corner of his lip curling up faintly. "That's one way to put it." He took another drink, the ice clinking against the glass. "You're like a moth to a flame, except the flame's tryin' to keep you away."

"And yet I can't help but reach for its warmth," you shift in your seat to face him better, your glass clinking as you set it down.

"Warmth?" He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You're more likely to get burned than warmed." It was clear he was not welcoming your presence, yet he continued the conversation with his usual gruff demeanor.

"Yeah, I know. It's not the first time you've burned me." You sigh through your nose and perce your lips, turning back to the bar and picking up your drink.

"And yet you keep coming back for more." He shook his head again, a hint of frustration in his voice. "You never know when to quit, do ya?"

"Maybe it's time I should," you sigh once more and slam the rest of your drink back, the ice hitting the bottom of the empty glass with small clinking noises.

He watched you silently as you tossed back your drink, a glimmer of something unrecognizable passing through his eyes. "Sounds like you're finally starting to see some sense." He muttered, setting down his own glass with a faint thunk.

"Anyways, I should get going," you stand from your seat, placing a fifty dollar bill on the bar top before pulling a small box out of the pocket of your jacket and sliding it towards Logan.

"Happy birthday," you mutter, patting his shoulder as you walk towards the exit of the bar.

Logan's eyes narrowed as he spotted the gift you set beside him. He watched you walk away, a mix of irritation and reluctant gratitude on his face. "No point in wastin' your money," he called after you gruffly, though his words lacked their usual bite. "I ain't celebratin'."

"Just take the gift, you stubborn man," you wave your hand lazily in the air as you glance at him over your shoulder once you open the door of the bar.

He grumbled under his breath as he picked up the box, running a rough hand over it thoughtfully. "Stubborn...who's the stubborn one here?" He muttered to himself, watching you slip out the door.

It was a small gesture, but he couldn't help but feel a hint of warmth mixed with his usual grumpiness.

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589 words. It's just a short thing