She watched him pass her by in the corridors and she never pulled him up on his behaviour toward her, the indifferent look he had in his eye that was missing in the early hours.

It was a different Logan she saw in the early mornings, the nights when they were in sync with each other. His nightmares and her rememberances, often as not she'd find him resting on the large sofa of the common room. Jones in the Rec Room watching something weird on the big screen with the sound going through his headphones.
Usually there'd be hot chocolate for her and a large mug of java for him on the table, it was something they didn't discuss when the sun rose. It just happened.

Like the first time he kissed her in the pre-dawn light of a spring morning, the way his skin had traced with tiny fibres as she'd taken his thoughts and powers from him. Her mind filling with information, with feelings, with everything he *couldn't* find words to say. Simple words, small words, but huge in their kind of world.

He loved her.

Not hearts and flowers love, not MIlls and Boon or Harlequin Romance, but bone deep. A need to see her every single day, to watch her breathe, to see her smile, to know she was *alive* and with *him*.

He touched her when they were sat in the night, her snuggled into his embrace, finding the solace that she craved. Sure he knew she wanted him to take it further, to touch her in more than a brotherly way and he had. He'd surprised her with that one night, she'd been all achy and waspish because of her period. She never knew why he'd picked then to touch her but he had.

Later when she'd been cleaning herself up in the shower, the pink water running down the drain sluicing from her still swollen lips. She wondered if it had been the blood, the scent of her hormones at their peak. He hadn't allowed her to reciprocate, to ease the ache he had in his jeans but she'd seen the fire in his eyes knowing that if she had touched him it would have ruined something between them.

It had been last week when he'd finally allowed her to touch him, he'd brought her over twice, once with his fingers inside her, the other with his lips on her breasts, suckling them through her thin cotton shirt. He'd pulled her over his lap, resting her on his hips, dragging her over his erection, her body wetting the denim under her. When his hands had gone to her gloved hands and brought them down onto him, catching his eye and seeing what he needed from her she opened his jeans for him. Hands trembling as she touched him, his skin flawless through the dark of the room, she wanted him inside her but he just held her against him. Wanked himself over her, using her wet folds as a channel, his growling tense body shuddering to hold himself in check.

Just before he came he pulled her hands tight against his dick, making her hold him close to her sex, her own clit pulsing against the iron hard yet softly warm flesh of his body. What she saw in him scared her, the darkness there, the hunger, the desire to devour her whole elated her but also reminded her that he wasn't a 'normal' man. He was Logan, he was *Wolverine*, he brought her over again rubbing her along his shaft, marking her with his scent. Claiming her for his own, the night was theirs, the sleeplessness they both suffered a curse and a blessing.

So when he passed her in the hallways, his mind on other things, on other people she never pulled him up on it. She knew the place she had in his heart, in his mind, she'd seen it for herself. Yet the darkness had been hidden from her and yet she understood that Wolverine was a danger to her. He could rend her soul apart and leave her for dead and think nothing of it, the man in him wanted her to understand all of him, to want all of him.

Love wasn't easy, it wasn't how the rest of her year thought it was, the stories she heard of sweet moments and shared looks over food in the dining hall. It was brutal, harsh, powerful and strange, it held her against her will to a man who was in turn held to her in the dance of life. Two opposing forces, life and death, mingled in each other.

He loved her and it was enough, the darkness where no one else could look on them and see their souls bared under the same weight. She was young enough to be his daughter and he was older than history or thats how he felt. Yet when the darkness dropped them together, and the world of the subconscious moved them into sync. A dance that they'd play out to the end, finally revealing it to the daylight when they'd be found in the Common Room asleep. Her half naked and his clothes everywhere, but he was missing, the wide open doors to the garden were enough of a clue to where he'd gone.

After that there were no arguements, no more indifference toward her, just acceptance. It's okay to love one person but two in the same body? That takes time and it takes some getting used to as well, but then whoever said love was easy?