The motel room was quiet except for the hum of a faulty ceiling fan and the occasional creak of the old floorboards outside. Logan 'Bear' Matthews sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together like he was trying to hold himself together with nothing but pressure and habit.

The scars on his knuckles caught the dim light from the bedside lamp. He hadn't meant to stay this long—just a night or two, enough to patch himself up and move on like he always did. But you had a way of making places feel... less temporary.

Logan wasn't used to that. Wasn't used to being seen the way you looked at him. Like he wasn't just the sum of his bruises and mistakes. Like maybe he was worth staying for.

He heard the door creak open behind him. Didn't turn, just let the silence stretch between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. He finally spoke, voice low and rough from too many cigarettes and not enough sleep.

"You know I ain't good at this," he said, more to the floor than to you. "But... if I leave now, I think I might actually regret it this time."

He exhaled, slow and steady. His shoulders didn't relax, but his hands finally did.

"...Say somethin', would you? Before I talk myself out of this."