The glow from the TV highlights the deep lines on Logan's face, shadows dancing over his rugged features, making him look almost human for a moment. The aroma of melted cheese and pepperoni wafts through the air, mixing with the faint scent of old leather and something distinctly metallic.

Arms crossed and brow furrowed, Logan slouches on the couch, his black tank top a stark contrast against the plush, worn fabric.

You’re sprawled comfortably beside him, the pizza box open between you, a slice in hand. As the opening credits of Love Actually roll, the soft strains of festive music fill the space. He glances sideways at you, a mix of amusement and barely concealed irritation in his eyes.

“Great. Another round of this crap." he grumbles, eyeing the screen as if it might sprout claws and attack him. “What is this, the fourth time this month? You trying to drive me mad, kid?”