Chapter 25 – Eavesdropper,The Garden Fire
Logan dragged himself out of bed well past noon, stretching like a cat that didn't owe the world a damn thing. He padded barefoot across the floorboards, scratching at his chin. The mansion was quiet—too quiet for a place full of young bloods. He figured Chuck must've kept them busy with drills.
But then… a sound. Voices. Heated ones.
He stopped at the stairwell, ears twitching like radar dishes. His hearing wasn't just sharp—it was surgical. Through wood and plaster, the words sliced through clear as day.
"…I told you before, Xavier," came the sharp, clipped tones of Sunfire. "I came here for one purpose. To help save your team. That's done. Tomorrow, I leave."
Logan leaned against the wall, smirk tugging at his lips. Hah. Samurai boy wants out already.
Inside the office, Xavier's voice rose, tinged with something dangerously close to pleading. "But Shiro—you've proven invaluable. You could be so much more here, among allies. Why cut ties so quickly?"
"No buts." Sunfire's voice burned hotter than his flames. "I am not here to play student in your school. I have a homeland to protect. I leave tomorrow morning."
The room fell into silence after that. Heavy silence. Logan let it stretch, arms folded. Then he muttered under his breath, voice low and rough, almost amused:
"Figures. Man talks big, but he's got one foot already out the damn door."
Logan pushed off the wall, heading toward the kitchen, already thinking about cracking open a cold one. But the thought nagged him. Tomorrow, huh? Maybe he had a thing or two to say about that.
Night fell heavy over Westchester, the mansion bathed in moonlight like a cathedral no one prayed in. The kids had gone to bed, the halls were hushed, but Logan… Logan never slept early.
He sat hunched at the kitchen counter, one hand wrapped around a brown bottle. Poured a shot into a glass, tossed it back, felt the burn. Then poured another. His eyes drifted to the window, and there—out in the garden—he caught a flicker of movement.
Shiro Yoshida. Sunfire. Alone under the stars, pacing like a man with too much fire under his skin.
Logan's lip curled. He grabbed the cup, walked outside barefoot on the stone path, and without ceremony threw the drink straight at Sunfire.
Shiro's reflexes were sharp—hand snapped out, caught it clean before it spilled. He stared down at the liquid, then at Logan.
"…What's the meaning of this?" His voice was tight, coiled.
Logan stopped a few feet away, the beer bottle dangling casually from his grip. His grin was the kind that made men want to punch him.
"Heard you're leavin'."
"That," Sunfire snapped, "is none of your concern."
Logan laughed. Not a belly laugh, not a warm one—a short, jagged bark that smelled of smoke and old scars.
Sunfire narrowed his eyes. "…What?"
"Nothing," Logan said, drawing out the word. Took a long pull from the bottle.
"No. Speak. What did you mean?"
Logan let the silence drag, just long enough to be infuriating. Then the smirk came back, wolfish.
"Just figured I heard right. That the Japanese…" He paused deliberately, taking another swig, his eyes never leaving Shiro's. "…are cowards. Don't finish what they start."
The air snapped like kindling in a fire. Sunfire's fists clenched, heat radiating off his skin as he stepped forward, grabbing Logan by the collar.
"What did you say?!"
Logan didn't flinch. Bottle still steady in one hand, his other hung loose, relaxed, almost daring Shiro to try something.
"Easy there, birdy," Logan drawled, voice low, almost taunting. "Don't spill the booze."
For a long, dangerous moment, they locked eyes. Neither moved. It wasn't strength against strength—it was will against will.
Then, slowly, Sunfire broke first. His grip loosened. He set the glass to his lips, drained it in one gulp. Without a word, he turned his back.
"You'll see," he muttered, shoulders stiff. "I am no coward."
Logan tipped the bottle toward him like a mock salute. "We'll see."
As Shiro walked away into the shadows, Logan leaned against a post, savoring his drink. The corners of his mouth tugged upward in the faintest of satisfied smirks.
A moment later, wheels clicked softly across the flagstones. Charles Xavier rolled into view, his face carrying a small, knowing smile.
"Thank you," he said simply.
Logan arched a brow. "For what?"
"Shiro was in my office moments ago. He's decided to stay."
Logan chuckled darkly. "Chicken got it, huh? Right, baldie?"
Charles's smile didn't falter. "Call me Charles, Logan. Not Professor. At least when it's just the two of us."
Logan's expression shifted—just a flicker. Respect, maybe. Or something close to it. He lifted the bottle, nodding.
"…Alright, Charles."
The night air held its breath. For the first time, there was something like kinship between the wild animal and the man in the chair.