Noah's POV
I see Logan every day at the stadium.
If I'm not the one in charge of his drills, Clio is. But he's always there. Around me. Sweaty and determined. Swinging his bat, pitching his ball, laughing with Sven and Mateo in the locker rooms, running laps with his tail flicking eagerly behind him.
I see him every day—and yet, seeing him now is different.
It's familiar. But it's also something else. Something… heavier.
Maybe it's because I know how he smells when he's just woken up, all skin-warm and sleep-mussed. I know how deep his voice gets, how he stumbles around for the first few minutes like the floor's made of clouds and he's drunk on good mulled wine. I can see he's still in that fog now, judging by his pinched brows and the way his eyes are trying to decide if I'm real or a dream.
"Noah?" he murmurs.
Yep. His voice is thick with sleep. And hearing it sends a guilty shiver down my spine.
I open my mouth.
"Logan… hi."
Stupid.
