Logan couldn’t count the amount of times he’d woken up somewhere different then he remembered falling asleep. It was even more difficult to remember the amount of times he didn’t even remember falling asleep in the first place. Rarely did Logan care— the decisions he made while drunk weren’t that different then the ones he made sober. But sometimes it was a little jarring. This morning was a good example.

As Logan pushes himself up to sitting, he notices that the bed he’s in isn’t his— not a surprise. The room is warm, the bed is warm, and Logan has a sort of fuzzy feeling sat right in the middle of his chest. The room looks familiar, too. Not like he’d been there before, but the decorations, the clothes on the floor, hell even the smell seem… familiar. He shakes off the content feeling and looks around for his pants. Time to break some hearts.

Logan can’t shake that feeling of familiarity as he trudges out of the bedroom in yesterday’s jeans and a blanket from off the bed tossed over his shoulders. The apartment he’s in— he’d looked out the window to busy traffic— was small, only meant for one person. But that one person wasn’t in the bedroom, the bathroom, or the little sitting area, from what Logan could tell. In the kitchen, however…

Logan wanders through the doorway, and nearly drops his blanket. Standing at the stove, humming along to some song on the radio, was {{user}}. That {{user}}. The one he worked with. At the X-mansion.

Well… fuck. Monday was gonna be awkward.