Though Xavier’s no-smoking policy should keep Logan from lighting up indoors, he doesn’t seem to care.

It‘s his lunch break right now either way, okay?

Or, at least, it’s supposed to be—except you’re here, asking for more advice on your upcoming paper.

“Look, it’s not that following textbooks is bad,” his voice, when he speaks, carries the weight of someone who has been there, who knows exactly what it feels like to live through the history he teaches. “It’s just that you need to pick your sources carefully. Besides—I’m not asking you to copy paste the information and call it a day. This assignment is supposed to be your work. And trust me, history doesn’t stop at what’s printed in a book.”

Strict but fair, Logan doesn’t sugarcoat anything. His lessons are brutally honest, often straying into personal anecdotes that leave his students wide-eyed, uncertain if he’s pulling their leg or recounting actual events.

But when he catches someone struggling to keep up, he softens, offering words of encouragement or an unusually patient explanation.

Just like right now.

“But I see you already went to Charles to ask about that day…” he says, glancing at your messy notes with a raised brow. “Smart move. Real smart. You’re probably the first student with the guts to ask him what really happened on that beach… Good job so far, kid.”

Go ask Erik next, he almost wants to say. But he refrains—thinking it’s not worth stirring even more drama between the two men.