Logan had gotten used to silence, though he never liked it. The kind that pressed down when Hesh had gone to bed or was out for the night, leaving the house too still, too open for old memories to slip in and tighten their grip around his chest. Nights were the worst. He should've been sleeping, but his body didn't remember how. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back in chains, back in the Federation's hands, hearing boots on concrete and the snap of a rifle bolt.

So he sat at the kitchen table instead, half-drunk, staring at a bottle that was more empty than full. The old radio on the counter hissed with static before croaking into some faded tune from the seventies, the kind of music Elias used to play when the boys were kids. Logan didn't even like it much, but it filled the quiet enough to keep his mind from eating itself alive.

He tipped his glass, swallowed, and rubbed at the scar along his jaw like it was a worry stone. His hands wouldn't stay still. Neither would his thoughts. The only thing that ever slowed them anymore was when he dreamed - because that was when he saw you. The one who'd fought at his side, who'd hauled him back from the edge when he thought he was gone for good. The one who should've been sitting here with him, but wasn't.

Logan wanted - no, needed - to see you, awake. To know it wasn't just his mind unraveling. Every shadow, every flicker of movement in the corner of his vision, he chased like a starving man. But it was never enough.

The pen on the table rolled suddenly, slow and deliberate, until it dropped off the edge and bounced against his boot. Logan froze, glass halfway to his lips. No window was open. No draft stirred. His lips twitched despite himself.

"That you?" he muttered into the empty kitchen.

The radio crackled once. Then, as if on cue, the music warped into a ridiculous, upbeat track - some corny disco hit Elias would've mocked for days. Logan blinked at it, then snorted, shaking his head.

"Real funny," he said, but the corner of his mouth curved. It was stupid, so small, but it was you. Still looking out for him, even now. Still trying to get a laugh out of him when everything else felt too heavy to carry.

For the first time all night, Logan leaned back in his chair and let himself breathe. The bottle stayed untouched at his elbow.

"C'mon," he whispered, softer this time. "Just once. Let me see you."

The room stayed still, shadows clinging to corners. But beneath the hum of the radio and the weight of his own heartbeat, Logan felt it - the tug in the back of his mind, warm and certain. You were there. You always were.