My eyes flew open, and I sat straight up in my bed. I felt myself sweating through my old Yale t-shirt. What was that? It had taken me years, but I was sure that I had finally packed all of those feelings into a tiny, imaginary box and buried them deep inside. Admittedly, some days keeping that box locked up was harder than it should be after years apart, but I had not had a dream like that in a long time. A dream about him. About Logan.

I sat in the dark trying to recall the details of the dream… I had been sitting at my desk at work, alone in the office; everyone else had gone home for the night. I was staring at the half finished article on my computer screen. I knew I didn't have what I needed to finish it; I didn't have a real angle. I needed to come up with something inspiring, but I was at a loss, then my phone rang… There it was- that's how he came up… I answered the phone, and he was on the other end of the line. His smooth, confident voice, "I'll help you with your article, you just have to agree to a few conditions."

He had made that promise to me before, not in a dream but in real life, years ago when we were working at the Yale Daily News. That was the beginning of us. We knew each other before, but that weekend with the Life and Death Brigade, that was when he pulled me in with his charm and adventure. He was always a little cocky, but he was smart enough to able to back it up, even if he didn't always act like it. He could be reckless, and he made mistakes, but underneath his devil-may-care façade, he really was sincere, caring, and even romantic. And that smirk, that little half smile of his that he knew exactly how to work to his advantage. It wasn't fair. I never stood a chance. Even when things hadn't been easy between us, we were still good together. We had fun together, and helped each other grow. We loved each other.

No. That's enough of this. That was almost four years ago, we have been apart twice as long as we were together, and I haven't heard from him at all in that time. Why was I doing this to myself, sitting in the dark thinking about what once was? This is what that tiny, invisible box was for. I just need to shove it all back in, lock it up and throw away the key. I needed coffee.

I could see through the small windows above my bed that it was still dark outside, and a look at my alarm clock told me that it was almost 4:30. 4:30 in the morning? I haven't been up this early since the campaign ended, and even then, at this hour I was probably still half asleep with my face against the bus window on the way to our next stop. Still, I'm not risking going back to sleep now. At this point I would probably end up sleeping through my alarm, or worse, fall back into a dream that I would rather not revisit. I pulled myself out of bed and shuffled my way to the other side of my studio apartment in search of caffeine. Normally, I would consider the auto timer on the coffee maker to be one of the greatest inventions of our time, but it did me no good this morning; I was awake before the machine was even warm. I hopped in a quick shower to clear my head while I waited for my coffee to brew, and was already feeling a little better by the time I smelled the rich aroma drifting into the room.

I poured myself a large cup of coffee, and sat down on my well-worn couch in front of the TV, with CNN still on from when I had fallen asleep the night before. I never have time to do this; maybe I should get up early more often. Realistically, that's not going to happen, but I decided that might as well enjoy some "me" time while I had it. As I sat there enjoying my coffee, I found myself looking around my apartment. It was tiny studio on the fourth floor of a pre-war walk up, not in the best shape, and not in the best neighborhood –definitely outside of the magical, rent-controlled world of big city sitcoms, but when I landed my job at The Post, I took what I could afford. My mom isn't thrilled that I'm living here at all, let alone by myself, and if she ever told Luke how much I pay to live here he would lose it. For that matter, if my grandparents saw it they would probably try to have the building condemned, but despite being implored to carry pepper spray, and the need to use my oven as a bookshelf, I don't mind it. Honestly, what else would I use my oven for anyway? Looking around the cramped but cozy space and I was happy to be living here, even with the late winter cold spell that had settled in the city. But enjoying coffee under a big avocado tree in a sunny backyard wouldn't be so bad either…

What is wrong with me today? I shook my head and downed the rest of my coffee. I shuffled through the garment rack that served as my closet to find something to wear to work. Maybe if I got my day started I could get my head on straight. I put on my grey suit, picked a pair of black pumps out from under my bed, and pulled on my coat. I grabbed a Pop Tart out of the cabinet as I picked up my bag and headed out the door. I got on the M train down the block from my building and rode the 20 minutes to 51st Street. On my way into the building I stopped at the coffee cart on the corner. I still haven't found coffee as good as Luke's, but this was a decent placeholder… so was that personal coffee cart at Yale. I bought a second cup of coffee and headed into the lobby. I really needed to get to work.

** I do not own any characters or content relating to Gilmore Girls **

A/N - This is the first chapter of my first FF. Chapters two and three are up simultaneously. I know this one is a lot of set up, but keep reading and let me know what you think!