I always try to remember.
And maybe that is my curse. That even now, as time stretches thin and my body betrays me, I am still chasing the moment I lost you.
Even as my body withers, as my breath grows thinner, as time folds in on itself, I am still reaching for the shadow of you. Still tracing the shape of your name in the quiet spaces of my mind, still hoping… God, still hoping.
And if I am being honest—if I am letting it all spill out now, letting the truth slip from between my fingers like grains of sand—then here it is:
From all the things a man can wish for in his final days, from all the fleeting prayers whispered into the dark, having you is my deepest wish.
Not more time. Not mercy from what is coming. Not a reprieve from the inevitable.
Just you.
You, walking through that door, back into my life, back into my arms, like you were never gone. You, with the same reckless smile, the same impossible light in your eyes, the same hands that once held me like I was something irreplaceable.
You.
November 10, 2020—Seattle, Washington—Two Years Later
Loganlaysprawledonhis stomach, his body aching in that sweet, numbing way that followed a night of abandon. The sheets beneath him were cool now, sticking to his damp skin in places, and he could feel the slow thrum of his pulse in his ears as his breath evened out. He was back in Zack’s bed again, the room thick with the tang of sweat, musk, and the faintest trace of Zack’s cologne clinging to the air.
Being with Zack was like chasing the horizon only to find himself trapped in a painted sky. It was like yearning for the ocean’s untamed embrace and being given a shallow, chlorinated pool instead. He craved the crash of waves, the unpredictable pull of the tide, the way the salt air clung to his skin like a second heartbeat, and instead, he was met with the sterile perfection of repetition. The water moved, yes, but it lacked the chaos, the breath of something alive.
He stood there, ankle-deep in a memory of what he wanted, what he needed. The pool pretended to be the ocean, but it didn’t roar; it didn’t shatter against the shore, singing songs older than time. There was no horizon here, no line where the sun kissed the sea in an endless promise of more. No expanse to lose himself in, no wind to tear his name from his lips and hurl it into the wild.
Instead, there was chlorine burning his nostrils, concrete cutting off the sky. The water was cold, yet lifeless; clear, yet soulless. Around him, laughter echoed like static, distant, meaningless. He saw walls instead ofvastness, faces instead of freedom. The pool was a mockery, a hollow echo of the thing he truly craved.
And Zack—he was the water beneath his feet, filling the void but never quenching the thirst. He smiled, he touched Logan, and for a moment, Logan almost believed it was enough. But it wasn’t. Zack didn’t have the depth, the force, the storm in his eyes that made Logan ache. He wasn’t Adrian. He never would be. He was the placeholder, the shadow of the thing Logan couldn’t reach, and no matter how tightly he clung to him, the ocean would never come to him.
So he floated in this pool, pretending not to notice that the horizon was gone, that the waves were silent, that his soul was still stranded somewhere far, far beyond the breakwater.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the haze of the night blur in his mind. The sex had been a blur; a storm of limbs, moans, and the fleeting touch of hands that knew too well where to press, where to linger. And yet, even as Zack touched him, coaxed him, and pulled him into his orbit, Logan’s thoughts had drifted elsewhere. They always did. Back to the ocean. Back to Adrian. Back to the feeling of being saved, only to drown all over again.
He rolled onto his back, wincing slightly at the soreness in his muscles, and glanced over at Zack. He was lying next to him, naked and gleaming in the low light, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Zack’s lips curved into a smug, satisfied smile as he turned his head toward Logan.
“I’ve got to admit,” Zack said, his voice rough and low, “at first, I wasn’t thrilled about canceling my other plans for tonight when you showed up. But now…” He let out a soft chuckle, still glowing from their time together. “God, that was good.”
Logan forced a smile, thin and brittle, like a mask he barely remembered how to wear. He reached for the towel they’d thrown on the bed earlier and began wiping himself clean, his movements mechanical. Zack didn’t like his sheets dirty; Logan had learned that quickly. It was one of Zack’s rules, as clear as the one he’d made after that wild encounter in the bar bathroom a couple of weeks after their first time together.
“That was great,” Zack had said back then, still flushed and grinning after a particularly enthusiastic blow job against the stall door. “But from now on, it’s bed only. I have standards, you know.”
Logan had nodded then, just as he did now, falling into the rhythm Zack set with the same passivity he brought to everything lately. Over the past three months, between his busy schedule and the gnawing emptiness he refused to name, he’d shown up at Zack’s doorstep every chance he got.
It wasn’t the sex. Not really. Not the heat of it, not the weight of another body against his own. It wasn’t even the quiet after, the stillness that people always claimed was peace. For Logan, there was no peace, only blur, those hazy stretches where his body went slack and his mind hovered just outside of him, watching, waiting.
Sometimes it came before, sometimes after, sometimes right in the middle. He could never hold onto it long enough to know. But in that split in time, that sliver where the edges softened, he could almost believe. Almost see Adrian’s face instead of Zack’s, almost trick his body into remembering what it once knew as love.
The illusion never lasted. It never gave him pleasure, not the kind that lingered. When it ended, it left him scraped raw, emptier than before, as if something had been burned out of him, destroying his emotions so completely that tears no longer remained to mourn what was lost.
Adrian’s face flickered in his mind, unbidden. The way his eyes had lit up whenever he laughed. The way his hand had felt, pulling Logan back to shore, to safety, to life. The way he moaned and trembled beneath Logan’s touch. The way Logan felt when he was making love to him. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly, willing the memory away. Zack was still talking, his voice a distant hum that Logan barely registered.
He didn’t deserve to think about Adrian, not after what he’d done. Not after running. Not after marrying someone he didn’t love, locking himself into a life he couldn’t bear. And yet, Adrian was always there, waiting in the back of his mind like a tide that wouldn’t recede.
Logan turned his head toward Zack, his expression carefully neutral. “I should get going soon,” he murmured, already reaching for his clothes.
Zack frowned slightly but didn’t protest. “You always leave so fast,” he said, his tone teasing but laced with something else, something softer, something wanting.
Logan didn’t reply. He couldn’t. Instead, he slipped into his jeans, pulling his shirt over his head, and stood at the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at the floor. He felt Zack watching him, but he didn’t turn around. He couldn’t bear to look at him and see the shadow of someone else in his gaze.
