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There were a lot of things about Logan that slowly began to change as he lived with Wade and Althea in their cramped little apartment. He didn’t notice it at first, but it was like he was starting to be domesticated. I know, the thought was weird to Logan, too. It wasn’t something he thought he was capable of, and yet here he was. Living the closest thing to a domestic life you could have with a mercenary and his blind roommate. It was leagues better than his life back in his universe, but it all still felt abnormal to him. So many things started changing all at once before Logan could even get used to the first.
The first change Logan noticed was his eating habits.
After living in bar bathrooms for Logan-didn't-even-know-how-long, it was safe to say that the man hadn't been used to having three meals a day for a while. He was hardly even used to eating one meal a day.
Now that he wasn't living—or barely living—by himself anymore, he was gaining some semblance of a normal meal schedule again. He got into the habit of making breakfast for Wade and Al, being the only early riser in the household, but kept it to two servings. He owed them, he thought, and he didn’t need to be dragging them down more than he already was by being there. It was only after a few tossed around comments from Wade about Logan being the only one who never had breakfast that he started making portions for three.
Breakfast time became an unexpected moment of peace for Logan, his own little bubble of quiet until the chaos of the place stirred awake later in the morning. His routine was pretty simple; get up, shower, rummage through Wade’s collection of oversized shirts to find something that both fit his broader frame and didn’t have the most ridiculous text plastered on the front, maybe shave a little if he felt like it, start on breakfast. The coffee maker was always the first thing to turn on, as Logan knew damn well that all three of the apartment’s inhabitants couldn’t be trusted with basic socialization without caffeine first. By the time Logan scavenged enough from the fridge to throw together something decent (today it was french-toasted bagels), the coffee pot would already be halfway full.
After splitting the slightly-soggy bagels onto three mismatching plastic plates, Logan lined up the coffee mugs and started pouring. He could hear the unique sound of Wade waking up in the morning—specifically the sound of him flopping around like a fish before cursing the sun for always managing to shine right into his eyes—and started scooping sugar into his Fluttershy themed coffee mug. (Half a mug of coffee, four sugar scoops, topped off with creamer. Logan knew most of Wade’s preferences like the back of his hand, this only being one of the many.)
Said mercenary wandered into the kitchen mid-stretch. He reached for his freshly stirred cup of coffee first and foremost, muttering a small ‘thank you, Wolvie’ that was quieter than Logan could ever expect Wade to be any other time of day. The two coexisted in blissful quiet, Wade sitting on the empty portion of the counter while Logan popped the lid onto Al’s thermos-mug hybrid; he had found it for ten bucks at Walmart the last time Wade dragged him. Logan was baffled that Wade had never considered getting her something like it that wouldn’t easily spill if she bumped something his dumbass misplaced.
“You know, I feel like if the French could see these bagels they would have plenty of slurs to say about it,” Wade said while stuffing his face full of the aforementioned bagels. Logan merely rolled his eyes at him. He didn’t sit down to eat himself until he heard the rhythmic tap-tap of Althea’s cane against the hardwood floors. As she sat down into her usual spot at the table, Logan slid her coffee into her hands.
The room began to fill with Wade’s chatter as the man drained his morning dose of caffeine, easing from the stiff remnants of sleep with each sip. Logan didn’t engage much, only throwing out his typical occasional insult when Wade said something particularly stupid or answering Al if she asked him a question. It was their little routine. Their own casual morning together that Logan was growing more and more accustomed to by the day. It was nice, having a life with people in it after spending so long entirely alone. It was terrifying, but nice.
– – –
The second change Logan noticed was his sleeping habits.
Not quite his sleep schedule, no. That remained the same, going to bed around midnight after corralling Wade onto their shared pull-out bed and waking up at 8 AM sharp the next morning. The part that was different was how he was sleeping.
Usually, Logan didn’t really care about the state of whatever surface he slept on. He’d been sleeping on bathroom floors and cold pavement before Wade dragged him out of his universe and into this new life. But now, he couldn’t help the need to push blankets and pillows into little structures and walls that surrounded the two of them on the springy mattress.
He wasn’t sure why he did it. Was it for safety? Safety from what, exactly? He and Wade were literally immortal, it’s not like there was anything that could kill them. Was it for comfort? Maybe after spending so long sleeping on hard, cold surfaces, his mind and body was craving as much softness and warmth it could get?
Whatever it was, it was embarrassing. Wade didn’t seem to notice—or, far more likely, he did notice and just isn’t commenting on it. But that would also be strange, wouldn’t it? Wade Wilson doesn’t know how to shut up about anything, the damn moron. It seemed safe to say that the Merc with Undiagnosed ADHD simply hadn’t picked up on Logan’s fixation with walled bedding.
Speaking of…
“Wade, get off me,” Logan grumbled. He nudged at the body currently trying to innocently scootch its way over into sharing even more space than they already were. Wade huffed out a frankly pathetic little whine, wiggling even closer in a more aggressive manner. Logan sighed.
“Whatever, fuckin’ needy…” Despite Logan's muttered insults, he let Wade curl into his side in a way that left him worrying about the man's comfort. Logan was almost a whole foot shorter than him, and yet Wade preferred to be pressed against him as small as his taller frame could possibly get. It was… almost cute.
Maybe it was okay that Logan sought comfort in layers upon layers of bunched up blankets, if Wade was okay with seeking out comfort in him.
– – –
Logan was starting to go soft, months after landing in this universe. It was a problem.
The more time he spent living with Wade, cuddling up with him on the pull-out, venturing to their neighborhood Walmart together—Logan felt himself softening around the edges. Not just in the figurative sense, he'd been softening up physically, too. Al said it was a good thing when she heard Logan muttering about it, told him it meant he was well taken care of. Like a damn house cat.
Logan was NOT a house cat.
“C'mon, Wolvie, I need you to focus.” Wade was lightly smacking at Logan's side, dragging him around the store the pair had recently walked into. It was definitely out of their age range, meant more for younger adults still hanging onto the remnants of highschool humor, but the tattooed and pierced cashier didn't bat an eye upon seeing two Grown Ass Men walk in at two in the afternoon.
“How about this one?” Wade held up a white shirt with what Logan could only describe as the most pathetic creature he'd ever seen in his entire life printed on it. The thing looked like a wet cat mixed with a neglected dog, standing below the word ‘chopped’ in a simple black font.
“It's fucking stupid,” Logan spoke, unamused. Wade pouted.
“You have no sense of humor, peanut.” Wade held onto the shirt, continuing to rummage through a clearance rack. “How are we supposed to find you a new look if you hate everything with comedic and artistic merit?”
“Autistic merit, maybe…” Logan mumbled, staring at stacked shirt shelves displaying a poster version of a nonsensical shirt design with ‘rizz em with my tism’ printed amidst the chaos. Wade glanced over, giggling over a ‘my balls itch’ shirt like a teenager before moving on to the T-shirt wall by the register.
“Alright, peanut, we can budget in one shirt from here that isn't clearance for you,” Wade gestured to the large wall displaying anything ranging from more ridiculous joke shirts to modern anime merch, “This might have something more your style.”
Logan eyed the wall, taking in the surprising amount of band shirts for artists he knew. Blink-182, Nirvana, even Nickelback. As Logan thoroughly investigated all of the options, he scanned through the shelves to find the one he was looking for.
Wade watched curiously as Logan picked out a size, following after him when he immediately booked it to the register instead of sharing his find like a douche.
“What'cha getting?” Logan showed him the front of the T-shirt after it was scanned and bagged. It was a print of an album cover, one Wade recognized the moment he set eyes on it. Dizzy Up The Girl, The Goo Goo Dolls. Notably, the very same song that Iris was on. Logan knew how much Wade adored it, always calling it ‘their song’ and begging Logan to dance around the flat with him as if either of them knew anything about dancing. (“You should know dancing, Loges, you were literally in musicals,” whatever the fuck that meant.)
“Aww, you got a shirt of the album our song is on? How sweet!” Wade clung onto Logan's bicep and leaned his head right on top of Logan's—he's telling you, Wade is too tall for all this damsel shit. The cashier smiled probably for the first time since they came in, a small thing that was probably more genuine than the plastic smiles she gave customers usually, and wished them a good day.
They walked to the next store like that, attached at the hip. This time it was a small thrifty place, far more likely to have things both Logan would wear and they could afford. Still, he wasn't upset with their T-shirt purchase. It was something special.
Logan didn't let his mind linger on what ‘special’ meant in this scenario.
– – –
“Logan… are you purrin’?” Logan stopped dead in his tracks, silencing the soft rumbling sound the moment attention was drawn to it. Then he gave Rogue a half-assed glare and watched as she raised her hands in surrender.
“Alright, alright, pretend I didn't ask,” she said. Logan grumbled something to himself, but let it go. The mission continued as if nothing happened, but Logan still found himself cutting off the contented sounds before they could surface.
Before Logan even entered the X Mansion after they returned, he knew something was wrong. The air smelled alarmingly bitter, yet deceptively sweet, like acid being poured over a lemon pound cake. Smelled like Wade. And he was not happy.
“Ohh, just a short mission my ass! What fucking took you so long?” Wade was impatiently sprawled across one of the sofas in the main room, fully dressed in red spandex with the mask securely set in place. The sight made Logan frown a bit, but he couldn't put his finger on why.
“Got held up. There was more to clean up than we thought,” was Logan's answer. He waved off Rogue and she gladly took the opportunity to flee the scene (not without a ‘catch ya later, sugar’) before an upset Deadpool did anything rash. Wade scoffed as Logan walked towards the sofa, standing right in front of it and staring down at Wade with crossed arms. The man in red sighed.
“I was gonna ask you to come on a job with me… but you weren't here.” Logan could hear the unspoken meaning behind the words, something Wade would never admit out loud. He thought Logan had left.
“Fuckin’ moron,” Logan muttered, tone a little lighter than most times he would call Wade that exact insult. After nudging Wade aside to free up a portion of the sofa, Logan sat down next to him. Without a second thought, he let the little rumbles that have wanted to flood his chest all day rise to the surface. Logan tensed as Wade shifted, the purrs halting for a moment, before relaxing again as Wade settled with his back pressed right against Logan's chest.
“You're like a kitty cat, purring all over the place,” Wade joked. Logan flicked at his masked forehead, earning a nonserious whine in protest. He didn't stop the sound, though, especially not when Wade was already smelling much happier than he did when Logan first got back.
Purring was useful for something. Logan logged that note in the back of his mind.
– – –
Once Logan started freely purring around Wade to help with his rather unstable mood changes, the weird thing with the bedding started getting worse. Whenever he and Wade would settle in to sleep, Logan kept moving pillows and situating blankets and Wade had started to notice. Gave him the same kind of light teasing he did with the purring.
“What, are you nesting? I don't think we have enough blankets for all that, sweetums.” The word made something click in Logan's brain the moment Wade said it. Nesting? Was that it? Was he trying to build a nest? Why the hell would he do that??
Before he could overthink himself into an aneurysm, Wade had gathered extra blankets from some closet Logan always forgot existed. They were thicker, usually saved for the middle of winter when the heater inevitably broke. Logan eyed the blankets as they were dropped onto the mattress, his brain already deciding exactly where they would go. Wade watched him with an amused smile as he sniffed at the blankets and shoved most of them around Wade’s side of the pull-out.
Logan didn’t want to think about why he was doing these things, but he was starting to get it now. He was doing it for Wade more than himself, a way of keeping him warm and safe and cared for. Just like how he’d cook for him, and walk that fuckass dog while he was out on a job, and join the X-Men on smaller missions for extra cash despite his still lingering Issues. Everything he did was for Wade, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. That animal in him, the wild thing with snarling teeth and unpredictable anger had latched onto Wade like he was its zookeeper. It liked him. It wanted to protect him. It’s been a long time since Logan allowed either himself or the Wolverine to protect anything other than himself.
“Peanut?” Wade bumped his knee against Logan’s, snatching his attention in seconds. Wade was already settled into the blanket structure (Logan refused to call it a nest) so comfortably, looking so at ease despite how objectively weird Logan was being. Maybe the crazy son of a bitch trusted him, for some dumbfuck reason. Wouldn’t that be something?
After failing to answer him verbally for an already suspicious amount of time, Logan gave him a low grunt. Peak communication, I know.
“I don’t know where all of this nesting stuff is coming from,” God, don’t call it that, “but you know you’re safe here, right?”
Logan blinked, processing his words. You’re safe here.
“Yeah, bub, I know.” He didn’t sound so sure about it when he said it, but it was the truth. Logan knew he was safe in Wade’s home by now, and he wanted to make sure it was safe for Wade too. He wouldn’t let himself think too hard about why, but Logan had a desire to keep him safe that was becoming too prominent to ignore any longer.
Now that their mattress wasn’t making that feral part of Logan feel the need to tear his hair out, he let Wade cuddle up to him just like he always did. Logan let the soft purring sound happen freely, having learned that it both kept Wade calm and sometimes helped him sleep. He was content, in this little moment. Wade was kept warm and secure, Althea was already asleep in the room down the hall, Puppins was snoozing next to her unicorn toy in the slightly too large dog bed Wade had gotten her.
Everyone he loved was safe.
– – –
Logan might be a house cat. Maybe. Potentially.
Listen, it wasn’t his fault, okay? Having adamantium claws lodged in your arms wasn't exactly a painless experience. He needed to ‘stretch’ them sometimes, for lack of a better word. Move them around a bit. Maybe stretch out his hands and fingers at the same time. It’s not like he was purposefully mimicking the way a cat ‘makes biscuits’, as Wade called it. It was just another thing Logan had to do to alleviate some of the pain that came with being The Wolverine.
That didn’t stop Wade from teasing.
“You know, I could get you a cat tree to claw at instead of you tearing up my couch more than it already is,” Wade said from the kitchen. Logan cursed at him, idly extending and retracting the claws as the muscles around his knuckles started to ache. At least he kept his clawing centered around the back of the couch, expertly avoiding shredding the very carefully arranged blankets on the mattress. Once his hands started to loosen up, he retracted the claws a final time and cracked his knuckles.
“Ooh, I know! What if you used me as a scratching post, big guy? Would that help your little paws stop hurting?” Wade teased. The harsh growl rose from his throat before he could even process the reaction. Wade went silent for a second, clearly not expecting such a sound.
“No,” Logan said firmly. Wade had the nerve to laugh at him.
“You know it wouldn’t kill me or anything. Temporary collateral damage, angel baby,” the merc assured. That didn’t change the fact that it’d hurt him. Logan didn’t want to hurt him, not since living together. Wade dropped it when Logan’s silence stretched just a little too long.
“Alright, alright. I get it. Mac and cheese is done, by the way!” Wade pranced his way into the living room with two bowls in hand. They were a matching set, one colored a dark purple and patterned with blue diamonds and the other a pale orange and patterned with apples. Logan took the apple-patterned bowl, shoveling Kraft noodles into his mouth with the larger metal spoon that Wade absolutely hated. Logan supposed Wade was a little spoon guy in more ways than one.
Even all this time after stumbling into this universe, almost ten months according to Wade, Logan was still getting used to the various ways he was changing. Though, by this point he found himself enjoying these differences between his past self and his present. He was happier now, healthier, safer.
Most importantly, he had someone to keep safe. Someone he couldn’t let down.