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He feels tired to the bone, which is a bad omen, but he blinks through it and he sees a ghost.
He should be used to it. He isn’t. This ghost is very much alive and still haunting, and all he can hear is Scott’s firm, “Suit up. I need you.”
Whatever he said the first time round, it escapes him, crushed by the lingering torment of what is going to happen, the path he is leading them down.
His mouth is dry, and he watches Scott step tentatively closer. “Logan? Can this wait until we’re on a plane to Switzerland?”
Looking at the mutant, at the old costume and his memory come to life, he thinks: not like this.
It keeps coming, relentlessly, and Scott has died before, he’s tried to kill Scott before, but not like this. Never like this.
It takes a moment’s hesitation to grab Scott and pull him towards him, kissing him clumsily and tasting like adrenaline, and it takes Scott a moment to throw away his inhibitions and shove Logan against the window in his haste to reciprocate.
He withdraws, eyes level with Scott’s chin and says, hoarsely, “Scotty. I’m… There’s no time. I can’t… not like this.” Carefully, he manoeuvres around him and grabs his suit, trying as hard as he can to ignore the rise and fall of Scott’s chest.
“Logan,” the other man says forcefully as he pulls his shirt over his head. “Logan! Dammit!”
Scott continues, but Logan interrupts him by kissing him, as easy as breathing, and comes up for air with, “Please. Trust me on this, Slim. I need to go.”
There’s a moment, and a nod. The arms around his waist fall and he gives Scott one last look, the calm before the storm.
Anyone but him.