Maybe it's because he's just come home, still smelling and feeling that blonde on his body, but she's drowsy and ruffled and looking for all the world like she should be in his bed, buried beneath several blankets, kissing him slowly and deeply, hands twisted in his hair.

It's unnerving. Not that long ago she was fifteen and surly and too much like he used to be. Now, she's nineteen and sassy and too much like he is. It's cute on her, the gruff way she would die for all the X-Men without a second thought. It's affection in its purest form, and it wasn't until her that Logan realized just how rare it was.

He was the first to earn it, to earn a place of forever in her heart, and he's begun to appreciate it.

He appreciates it now more than usual, with her leaning back against the armrest of the rec room's couch, grinning at him. She knows where he's been. He appreciates that too, that she sees him as a man and not a teacher and hasn't for a long time now.

It's been the same amount of time since he stopped seeing her as a student, the same amount of time where he's never thought of her as a child, never saw her as simple or innocent.

But he doesn't think about that, sitting at the other end of the couch, helmet resting on his thigh.

She makes a cheeky comment about his bed habits, and Logan returns the banter, thinking about how he never used to do that either.

It isn't until an hour later, that much closer to sunrise, that things change again. He says something, something warm and husky, and her bare foot slides across the couch to stop so close to his bare hand that he can feel her heat. He doesn't move, but looks up. She's staring at him, waiting. He looks back down at her foot. Her nails are unpainted now, but he knows that sometimes, inside her boots, she has black nails. He reaches out and touches the hem of her sweatpants. He wants to touch her, so pushes the fabric against her leg, wrapping his fingers around her ankle.

He remembers then, that tonight's the first night he's thought of her like this, but not the first time he knew he would.

He lets go of her and stands. He looks down at her. She's curled into herself, eyes focused on her knees. He's going to invite her to his room, but that blonde's still on his body, so he doesn't.

He never used to care, but he does now, and he shows her by touching her white locks of hair and asking if she'll go into town with him tomorrow.