“Hey Logan.“

Rogue plops down on the empty seat next to me and places her lunch on the table. She's wearing that cute but serious face she sometimes gets when she's working on a really tricky essay.

Not that I stare at her when she's doing homework in my room...my eyes just happen to be resting on her every now and then...and stay there for a variable amount of time.
Dunno how that happens.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

Oh yes, she can ask me any favor she likes and I'll be glad to help her out. If there's any itch she needs scratched...ah fuck that. I know I should keep my mind out of the gutter and focus.

“Sure, kid.”

“I...want you to teach me something.”

Try to keep your thoughts clean when she's saying that. Batting her eyes ever so innocently, looking up to me and biting her lip. Impossible.

“What do you want me to teach you?” I ask, pretending to be focusing on my food and not her.

“You know, that thing you do. With your eyebrow.”

Oh. Of course this has to be something totally random that has nothing in common with the things I'd like to teach her.

So I questioningly raise one brow at her. “That?”

“Yes, yes, that!” she almost squeals, seeming excited.

And that glow in her eyes when she's excited about something, the slight hint of pink in her cheeks...call me a wimp, but she's so cute in moments like this that it actually makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Makes me want to forget all about age difference and about being just friends; about right/wrong questions and that killer skin of hers. That coma might just be worth it.

“Does that kinda thing turn you on?” I ask, cocking my brow again, just to tease her a little. She blushes and I smile. Mission accomplished.

“I just wanna be able to do that, is all,” she replies shyly. “To rise only one brow at a time. I tried, but I can't do it.”

I don't bother to ask why she comes up with random crap like this. Who knows what's going on behind those puppy eyes. People say I should know best because she tells me everything, but most of the time I really don't. And I don't care as long as I see she's happy. I'll be wiggling that brow all day long for her if that's what it takes.

“Well,” I start, arching my eyebrow again. “You just kind of...” Damn. I honestly don't know how I do it. Comes kind of naturally, I guess.

She's looking at me expectantly, big curious eyes and pretty smile and all.

It does turn her on. I know it.

“Sorry, kid, I don't know how I do that. Just sort of...happens?”

Is she actually pouting? And pushing her lower lip forward, completely oblivious of just how much I want to, need to kiss her right now?

“Too bad,” she mutters, disappointed.

And disappointment is just as cute as excitement. Actually, any emotion looks good on her. But I still prefer the happy ones. And I feel sort of responsible for causing them, oddly enough.

“Maybe there's something else I can teach you? I'm good at a lot of things.”

Good job for making that sound casual and not as suggestive as it really is. Damn, she's just a little girl...I shouldn't even be thinking this.

And then she has an idea. Her eyes light up again and so does my world.

“Teach me how to ride a motorcycle!”

“Sure.” I'll say yes to anything that keeps that smile on her lovely face.

Wait...I just agreed to...what?!

“Logaaa~an?”

Here we go again.

“You promised!”

Did I? I'm pretty sure I didn't promise her to teach her to ride a motorcycle. I might have agreed to, but didn't promise. Big difference there.

“We can't. It's raining.” Lame but true.

“Please! I don't mind getting wet.”

Double meaning, anyone? The girl needs to watch her mouth or I'll never be able to keep up this BFF crap we got going on.

Truth is, I'm not planning on setting the kid on a motorbike anytime soon. It's okay for me to ride it, being indestructible and all that jazz. I hit a tree, I walk; no blood, no foul.

But her? She's just a fragile little girl with very breakable bones and pretty skin that needs no bruises. No way she'll ride a damn bike.

“Fine,” she says after a while of trying to stare me down, an annoyed wrinkle on her forehead and her southern accent coming through.
“Fine. I'm going shopping then.”

Shooting me one last dark look, she turns around and stomps out my door. She is too freaking cute when she's mad at me.




After a quiet day at the Mansion, which I mostly spent trying to think of safer ways of riding a motorcycle, contemplating ways to make up to Rogue for breaking a promise I never made and waiting for her to come back from a shopping trip of seemingly epic proportions, I'm in desperate need of a beer.

Who knew trying to get back on the good side of a cranky lady friend could be so exhausting?

I never spent that much time thinking about how women felt or anything, they were mostly just...there. No emotions involved. Which was a pretty damn smart way of dealing with things, to be quite honest.

Because all this worrying and thinking and looking but no touching isn't fun.

But it's not like I can control my thoughts and direct them anywhere else than to her, so I gotta deal with it now.




Finally, Rogue returns to the Mansion; I can smell her the moment she enters the door. About damn time, it's getting dark outside.

She follows her two chattering roommates up the stairs...and fuck me if I'm standing behind a corner, watching.
This is getting ridiculous.
But I just had to take a quick look to make sure she's okay, she has spent the entire day with those two chick-flick-characters come-to-life after all.

And I'm right, she doesn't seem okay, she looks a little exhausted and there are shadows under her eyes. I swear, if those two have ruined her day in any way, I'll personally make sure they never open their lip-glossed little mouthes again.

I quickly make my way back to my room and hope that Rogue will come by to tell my about her day once she has dropped off that huge collection of bubblegum-colored shopping bags.




My prayers are answered when I hear a couple of shy knocks on my door.

“Come in.”

“Hi.”

She shuts the door behind her and collapses onto my bed, right next to where I'm sitting...when I look down at her, all I see is that damn cleavage-revealing blouse she is wearing and I have to force my eyes away.

“You still mad at me?” I ask her, directing my gaze at her face, staring at her lips when they turn up in a tired smile and she starts speaking, eyes closed.

“Maybe...”

“Anything I can do about that?” I've got a couple ideas...

“'sides teaching me to ride?”

...yes, that's about the direction my thoughts are going. Can't she watch what she's saying for once?

She opens her eyes and seems to study my face for a while before she goes on.

“Shopping sucked.”

I knew it! I knew those friends of hers tortured her and if I get my hands on them...

“I wanted to buy these really great black gloves but I had no money left...they're satin and they feel so soft and they're the prettiest I've ever seen...but they're 30$ and that's exactly the amount I spent on this really cute mini skirt before I saw them.”

She props herself up on one arm, looking up at me with big, sad eyes.
“My life is tragic, Logan.”

“I'm sure it is,” I reply dumbly.

Just give me one more sec before I can reply to that...just a moment before I have processed the mental image of my little girl in a mini skirt, that same semi-innocent white blouse she's wearing now, only with the buttons open, and those satin gloves she's described to me.

“You want me to take you back and buy 'em for you?”

“You'd do that for me?!”
She's acting so surprised now, but I'm sure this was her plan all along. Sometimes I think she's not as innocent as she pretends to be...but I sure as hell don't mind either. It's the mix that turns me on - a perfectly good girl most of the time but a clever little vixen whenever she feels like showing it.

“Sure, sure,” I say, playing it cool, like this isn't a big deal.

“Logan?”

“Hm?”

“Can we take the motorcycle?”

“Maybe. But you won't be the one driving it.”

She'll be behind me, legs wrapped around the bike, arms around my waist, holding on tight and pressing her cute little face into the soft leather of my jacket...oh no, wait, actually she's wearing my jacket. Yes, that's better. And the mini skirt. Slightly inconvenient for the bike, though....well maybe...

“Ooh, and you know what, Logan?”

There's that glow in her eyes again and I know she's plotting. There is some kind of vicious plan forming in her head and I will have to suffer for not keeping my promise.

“What?”

“I'll teach ya how to shop.”

As a man, you have a certain idea of shopping.
You make a mental list of what you need: new sweater, some toast, some cream cheese, beer, pack of beef jerky and hair gel (no need to comment on that, it's just a hypothetical example of what somebody's shopping list might look like. Didn't ever say it was mine, did I?)
So, you got that list in your head and then you go in.

Much like hunting, shopping is a very methodical and logical process. You look for what you need, and when you see it, you grab it. Then you get the hell outta the store.

Shopping with Rogue, however, is a whole different story. See, we even have a goal: she wants her gloves. She's seen them, she remembers the store that has them, all we need to do is walk into that mall, buy the gloves and get on out of there. But somehow having that aim means nothing to her.

The minute we enter that purgatory they call Honey Creek Mall, her eyes start to glow and she tugs at my sleeve, pulling me from one shop to another, pointing at various objects on display and going on and on about how pretty they are.

Now, the glowing and pulling part is all right with me. She's happy, I'm happy; that concept hasn't changed. But I just don't understand whatever concept she seems to have...or doesn't have.

“Don't you wanna go get your gloves?” I ask her, making an honest effort to hide my impatience.

“Mhm...”
She produces a happy little mewing sound that has me thinking of various ways to make her do that again...I know, I know, I wasn't gonna go there. But what am I supposed to do? I'm in a freaking mall, I need to keep my spirits up somehow.

“Then...why are we looking at...shoes?”

“Because they're pretty...just look.”

'Pretty' isn't necessarily the word I would use. As of right now, her eyes are focused on a pair of good old fuck-me boots. Black leather, high heels and all the fantasies that come with that, for only 49,99$.

“I was gonna teach you how to shop, remember Logan?”

“Right...”

So she's still into this whole teaching-each-other-stuff thing. Normally, that would be a huge turn-on. Even without the Catholic school girl outfit that I'm imaging her in right now...

But Rogue being the teacher was never part of the plan. And shopping sure as hell wasn't part of the curriculum when I last checked. It might not be as dangerous as riding the motorcycle, but excruciatingly painful in a very different way.

“Lesson One: Window shopping is fun and a good way to warm up.”

The word 'window shopping' rings a bell in my head and I'm pretty sure she explained it to me once. You don't actually buy stuff, you just look at it. Sounds pointless and frustrating as hell, but apparently it's what girls do.
I'll never get it. I know all about looking and admiring from afar and never actually getting what I want...it is not fun. It is not a Saturday afternoon activity.

“Got it,” I reply, hoping we will get to the part of actually buying stuff very soon. Or at least trying on clothes. Or fuck-me shoes. Whatever she wants. As long as she distracts me from all the annoying background noise like screaming babies, giggling girls and the sighing of exhausted parents...and the fact that I'm in a mall in the first place.

“Lesson Two: you don't always have to purchase something,” she explains, rising her index finger teacher-style.

The cute gesture makes me forget all about the pressing issue that we're still nowhere near completing our mission of buying a pair of gloves and I nod.

“Sometimes it's fun to just try on different outfits that you would never ever buy. Just to see what they look like and maybe take some fun pictures with your phone.”

Ah, we're getting to a more interesting part now. Rogue trying on clothes. And taking pictures...I could definitely warm up to the idea of that.



After exactly 74 minutes of watching her change from one outfit into the next, I have to reassess. If all I had to do was sit there and look at her, we'd be just fine. But she actually wants to hear comments on what she's wearing.

And exactly what am I supposed to say when she comes prancing out of the dressing room in a tiny black dress and the aforementioned high-heeled leather boots, flashing me a shy smile?

I think the “pretty” I choked out didn't sound too convincing and she returned to the dressing room with slightly slumped shoulders.
That was about half an hour into our little Rogue-plays-dress-up-and-Logan-is-being-a-dirty-old-pervert adventure.

After one hour, I was sure she had to be finished some time soon. We had gone through the theoretical part of Lessons Three and Four, Market Analysis and Objects On Sale and I was more than ready to get out of there.

When the huge yellow watch above the dressing room doors clicks to 4:15, I decide that 75 minutes are enough to illustrate the concept of Lesson Two and politely ask her to change back into her own clothes and please, please, pretty please take me to the store where her gloves are now.

“Are you sure? I was gonna try on some new pajamas...”

As cute as she might look in those, I stay strong and nod my head. She doesn't seem like she's mad at me for interrupting her lesson and I sigh in relief.

“One more thing....”

Oh no. What now?

“I really want those boots...”

And here we go again, an innocent I-feel-bad-for-asking-you face and the biggest puppy eyes in the history of girls begging men to buy them stuff.

I can already picture her walking the Mansion with those heels, her long legs hidden in black leather up to her knees and gloriously naked to the hem of the mini skirt.

And I really shouldn't buy her those shoes because they will only fuel thoughts that I know I shouldn't have...but while I'm telling myself that, the money is already changing hands and suddenly a very happy little girl is hugging me, holding a pink plastic bag containing the new pair of boots.

And that hug, that smile, the joy in her eyes...I spent a damn good 50 bucks here.



I'm not entirely sure why I'm carrying three huge shopping bags by now. Just like I'm not sure how Rogue convinced me that I needed new clothes and managed to drag me into presumably a million stores.
The one thing that's easy to figure out is how she made me buy the stuff I did. All she had to do was sit there, look pretty and go “ooh, I like that on you” and I'd take it.

I'm so fucking easy to manipulate it's not even funny anymore...and doesn't she know it.

At least I can see light at the end of the tunnel: we already bought her gloves and it's pretty safe to say we've been to every store in the mall, so it has to be over any minute now.

“On to Lesson Seven. I think you'll enjoy that one.”

Or so I thought, until she comes up with that. My misery will never end.

“It's called Food Court 101.”

Food? Well thank God, finally there's something I know how to deal with. You buy, you eat, you're happy. End of story.

“The essential thing when it comes to eating at the mall is that you have to pick something yummy, cheap and completely unhealthy.”

“Okay.”

“Pop Quiz: ice-cream or a burger?”

Oh shit. She never said there would be quizzes. Should I have paid more attention? Shit. Okay, focus now, focus.
Ice-cream or burger...yeah it's ridiculous that I'm even thinking about shit like this, but apparently my free will and common sense walked out the door a long time ago. Probably when I first saw her in that dress with the heels...focusing now!
I'd go for the burger, no doubt. Coz there's meat and I like that. Protein or whatever it is that's in there, makes me feel all good. But her...well she's a girl so it's all different. She does eat ice-cream a lot when she's at the Mansion...hanging out with those two chatterboxes, having movie nights or sleepovers or whatever it is little girls do. I'll just give it a try.

“Ice-cream?”

And yep, I'm right. She beams at me, showing me two thumbs up and motions for me to follow her to the ice-cream stand.

“You're a really good student, Logan,” she giggles and yes that actually makes me feel a little proud.
Because it means she's enjoying herself - unlike me; but I guess ya gotta make sacrifices if you really love someone.

...

.....

.......

Did I just say I love her?

...

.....

Huh.

...

.....

I'm speechless. There are no fucking words.

...

Shit!

....

......

Well at least I didn't say it out loud.

I hope.

“Logan are you okay? Is something wrong? You look...nauseous,” Rogue says and she's looking a little worried.

I just look at her blankly, shrugging. She's still waiting for some kind of an answer.

“Uh...the quiz. It...made me nervous.”

Riiight.

Why? How? What to do? How to deal?

That's pretty much the extent of the thoughts that are running through my head while I'm in my room, hiding away from the rest of the world like some of the kids do when they're in some teenage identity crisis. Can't believe it has come to this.

I'm surprised I even made it here without any accidents on the way back home. I was so confused that I even stuck to the speed limit – I know; what the hell, right? I mean that's something Scott does, not me. Jeez.

But really, what am I supposed to do?

I thought being attracted to Rogue was bad, but realizing I'm in love with her? Please! I don't fall in love, ever.
It's way too complicated.

I meet a girl, we have sex, we never see each other again; that's usually how it goes. It's not that I don't respect women or anything; but love or long-term relationships...all that crap just ain't my cup of tea.

Now there aren't only the constant fantasies and dirty thoughts in my head, but also some fluffy stuff that feels like cotton candy...and not in a good way.
That shit is sticky. Not fun to have in your brain.

And all because of this adorable little girl that's way too young for me. I thought having the hots for Jeannie was the peak of “never gonna happen” and sexual frustration, but Rogue easily tops that; not only because of the fluffy candy.

Damn...there's a bunch of mental images coming up...my girl eating cotton candy, tugging at it and then licking it off her fingers, one by one...oh shit. This ain't good. I have to find some kind of distraction...

Go out and fight somebody? Maybe a cage fight? That usually makes me feel better...but then again, I'm not really up for it.
Wouldn't be able to concentrate. It's sad to admit but I'd probably get my ass kicked because I'm too busy thinking about her.

So I guess the next best thing is to go downstairs, grab a beer and hope the rec room isn't full of kids. I think there's a rerun of Die Hard on TV later, that should make me feel better.




It's almost midnight already, so most of the students are on their way to bed. I pass by a group of boys heading back to their rooms and it looks like I'm really lucky, the room is deserted -

- except for Rogue and her two roommates. The universe really isn't on my side today.

“Hey Logan,” Rogue chirps cheerfully.

She's kneeling down in front of the DVD-player, a box of discs in her hand.

I give the girls a nod and then back right out of the door again. Whatever chick flick they're gonna be watching, it won't really brighten my mood.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Uh...to bed?” I reply lamely.

“No, no, no,” Rogue says, motioning for me to come back. “Sit. You can watch Heroes with us. Right girls?”

Her two friends seem a little intimidated by my presence but nod their heads eagerly, giggling.

Being the lovestruck idiot I am, of course I do what she says and take a seat on the couch while I watch her pop in a DVD. She throws the remote to Kitty and then comes to sit on the floor, between my feet; her head lightly resting against my knee and I'm beginning to questions my sanity. She's right there, sitting between my legs, for fuck's sake!

Trying to focus my thoughts anywhere else but on my little girl between my knees, I turn my head to her friends. Jubilee is holding the box of DVDs, studying the text on the back.

“What are we watching?” I ask, sincerely trying to be interested in what will be happening on the TV screen in a few seconds.

But asking that question was possibly the biggest mistake of the entire evening, because Rogue turns around to look at me and explain what the show is about.
All I can focus on are her lips. She's wearing red lip gloss that smells like cherries and every time she says a word with an 'o', she gives me a good image of what they would look like wrapped around -

“...isn't that cool?”

I gulp. Didn't catch a word of what she just said, so I just grunt noncommittally. She seems to be content with that.

“Gimme that, please.” She puts one hand on my thigh to prop herself up high enough to be able to reach the DVD box that Jubilee is holding out for her to take.

I hold back a frustrated groan and dig my fingers into the cushions on the couch.

“Tonight we will teach you how to be a fangirl.”

I raise one eyebrow and give Rogue a quick grin when I see the smile it brings to her face.
Right. That eyebrow fetish of hers. Well it's only fair to tease her a little when she's doing...that.

“You can believe your ears, you'll be a fangirl. The term isn't really limited to the female gender; it's more of a state of mind, really.”

I have no idea what she's even talking about but nod and stretch my legs a little, because fuck I need to get my crotch out of her face if I don't wanna die of unsatisfied desires tonight.

“The show we're watching – or better, the show we're currently fangirling about; it's a verb as well – is called Heroes.”

She takes a small booklet out of the box and points at pictures of various people in it while she's explaining me some more about the storyline.

“Basically, the people on the show are just like us, because they have powers and all. But most of them don't know that there are others like them out there, so it's very confusing for them. See, this guy here can walk through walls, like Kitty.”
She shows me the picture of a black guy who is strangling some hot blond chick.

“This guy here, Peter, can absorb other people's powers when he's near them, so we figured he's kinda like me. And he's very cute, so I'm mostly his fangirl.”

He's just a fictional character, I keep telling myself as I feel jealousy tying my stomach into a tight knot. She just called herself someone else's girl! Fangirl. Whatever. She's mine.

“And this, Claire Benett...” she begins and points at a petite blond girl with a cheerleader uniform and , I have to admit, a kind of pretty smile.
“...is you,” Kitty finishes and breaks into a fit of giggles along with Jubilee.

I shoot them a dark look. Nobody associates me with a cheerleader in any way and lives to see the next day.
Wolverine doesn't do high kicks. Got that? Good.

I throw in a little growl just for good measure and to make sure they don't tell anyone about my cheerleader mutie twin.

And 'cause I suspect growling kind of turns Rogue on as well.

“It's just coz she heals herself...you know?” Jubilee says to her defense, creeping away from me and grabbing Kitty's hand for moral support.
It's actually pretty funny how scared these girls are of me.

“You can be her fangirl,” Rogue suggests, capturing my attention again. “She's cute, don't you think?”

I'm about to tell her that the little blondie is a bit young for me (looks about 15 or something) and that I'd rather “fangirl” over/for/about(?) the other chick I saw, but bite my tongue in the last moment.
Who am I to talk about girls being too young for me to lust after, huh?

“Okay,” I reply, “so what do I have to do?”

The terrible two break into laughter again, immediately stopping it when I even as much as look at them from the corner of my eye.

“Well, basically...you just get really really involved with everything she does...you like her a whole lot, so you worry about her when something bad is about to happen to her, and cry when she's sad, and squeal a whole lot whenever she's on screen...especially when she's wearing something cute...that about it, guys?” she asks, raising her head to check back with her friends.
They nod, by now all cuddled up under a big blanket in the corner of the couch, as far away from me as possible. Be afraid, kids. Be very afraid.





Nobody would believe the things one could learn while watching DVDs with three little girls.

Jubilee taught me that a profound knowledge of genetics can be quite a turn-on, if presented correctly and with an Indian accent.

From Kitty, I learned that continued squealing and screaming eventually leads to a lack of oxygen so severe it can make you dizzy. And hurt the ears of everybody around you. I'm not sure if I'll ever recover from that.

But my teacher Rogue taught me the most important thing of the day: Projection.

The lesson was implicit, but I got it. Or maybe I just heard what I wanted to hear.
Either way, we had an interesting conversation while we were watching her object of fangirling and mine interact.

“Too bad they're like cousins or something...I think they would be cute as a couple,” Rogue commented; still sitting between my legs, by the way, having way too much fun pretending she didn't know she was torturing me.

I didn't reply immediately, looking at her expectantly while her roommates started babbling about how it probably wasn't true at all and that they weren't in fact related, because they're pretty much the poster couple of the show and have to get together at some point.

“Peter is the first other person with powers that Claire meets,” Rogue explained to me. “So it's really exciting for her, knowing she isn't alone. And he saves her life and then borrows her power to heal himself, so they're pretty close right away.”

“But isn't he like 15 years older than her?” Kitty throws in, unknowingly asking the question that's been on my tongue all along.

“Oh well, if it's love, it's love. They are together in real life, you know. Milo and Hayden.”

Of course my little girl delivered the whole thing with such amazing innocence that I would be crazy to think anything of it.
And still, I couldn't keep my mind off that little talk all night.




“So, kid, how'd I do?” I ask her when the girls finally start getting tired and get ready to go upstairs to their room.

“Hmm...” She puts a finger to her lips and furrows her brows, as if in deep thought.

“I think you need to work on the squealing. Didn't even hear you try just once.” Very perceptive, kid. She didn't really expect me to squeal did she?

“But the whole empathy thing and getting worried about her...you were quite good with that.” Easy. All I had to do was imagine it was her.
She smiles sweetly, enjoying my dedication to our little game.

“It's your turn tomorrow. I think I taught you enough to survive in here for a couple more days.”

“All right. You think of something you wanna learn, okay?”

“And lemme guess, can't be the motorcycle?” she asks, slightly disappointed.

“Yep, you got it. G'night, kid.”

“Night, Logan.”