“Oh, when you put it like that…” Zack’s grin widened before he turned to serve another customer, his laugh carrying lightly through the air.
When the bar emptied out and the hum of conversation faded to nothing, Zack turned back to him. “You coming up?” he asked, his voice low, his smile laced with something dangerous and seductive.
“Hell, yeah, I do,” Logan replied, his voice laced with more eagerness than he intended.
“Good. Let’s go,” Zack said with a wink, turning to usher out the last stragglers. “I’ll clean up tomorrow.”
Minutes later, they stumbled into Zack’s apartment. The tension between them shimmered in the air, but Logan barely noticed. He moved on autopilot, letting Zack guide him, letting the night press its weightdown until he couldn’t feel anything except the pull of familiarity. The world blurred at the edges, sounds muffled and indistinct, like he was wading through a thick fog.
His hands traced Zack’s skin, but the sensation felt distant, muted, like touching glass instead of flesh. The movements were automatic, mechanical—reaching, pressing, clutching—yet his mind was somewhere else, slipping further and further from the room with every breath. The smell of saltwater filled his nostrils, sharp and vivid, even though the sea was nowhere near. He could almost hear it, the rhythmic crash of waves, the low hum of the tide pulling away, over and over, endlessly.
Adrian.
The name hovered on the edge of his consciousness, unspoken but deafening. He wasn’t here, not in this room, not in Zack’s arms. Logan was adrift, caught between the heat of another body and the haunting memory of Adrian’s touch. He could feel him—surely it was him—the weight of his body against Logan’s, the warmth of his breath grazing his ear, the way he smelled like the ocean itself, like sunlight and salt and the impossible.
Logan’s fingers stretched across Zack’s back, but it wasn’t Zack he felt beneath his hands. It was someone else entirely. He closed his eyes, and the room dissolved into a vision of golden light and endless blue, of Adrian chuckling, his voice untamed and alive. Logan could almost see him there, riding a wave, the sea curving around him like it was meant to carry him and no one else. The vividness of the image was uncanny, a near-perfect echo of the man he loved. It felt like a herald from hell itself, bearing only sorrow yet wearing Adrian’s borrowed face, destroying him with the very thing he longed for most. It taunted him with that merciless “almost,” a cruelty shaped in familiar light. He believed he stood only at the thresholdof damnation, taking hesitant steps toward it, never realizing he was already burning.
And then, suddenly, hands pulled him back—Zack’s hands, solid and insistent, grounding him in the now, when his mind kept slipping into the past. Logan moved, his body responding without thought, falling into the rhythm Zack set. Words tumbled from his lips, but they were fragments, incoherent and fractured, whispers from a place far away. He couldn’t remember what he said, didn’t know if Zack understood, and he didn’t care. It wasn’t for him.
Adrian’s laughter echoed in his ears, louder now, almost mocking. For a moment, Logan thought he might reach out and touch him, hold him, but the image slipped away like water through his fingers.
“Adrian,” Logan’s lips shaped the name, but no sound escaped. It was a whisper without a voice, a ghost of a word that had haunted him for two years. He hadn’t spoken it aloud, not once, not since the day he left. He’d thought about it endlessly—sometimes as a comfort, more often as a wound—he let his lips form the word with out a sound, but now, the shape of it felt foreign on his tongue, like an artifact unearthed after years buried in the dark.
His chest tightened as the name lingered in the air between thought and speech, a fragile thing threatening to shatter.Adrian. It wasn’t just a name; it was a life, a moment, a choice he couldn’t undo. And now, as his lips moved soundlessly, saying his name like a prayer as he came by the hands of another, it felt as though saying it might break him entirely.
When it was over, Logan collapsed into the mattress, his breath ragged, his mind still miles away. Zack’s voice broke through, soft and teasing, butLogan didn’t hear it, didn’t process the words. He was staring at the ceiling, his heart pounding, his body spent, yet he felt hollow, untethered.
They lay side by side, their bodies slick with sweat and their breathing uneven, Zack turned to him. “Logan, stay,” he said softly, his eyes locked onto Logan’s silver gaze.
“I can’t—” Logan began, but Zack interrupted him.
“Come on. You look wrecked. You need sleep, man. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours, I promise.” His hand brushed against Logan’s, a gesture as simple as it was firm. Without waiting for an answer, Zack reached over and flicked off the light, deciding for both of them.
Logan lay there, staring at the darkness, his mind fighting to resist the quiet that crept in. But his body betrayed him, and his eyes closed despite himself.Just for a little while, he told himself.Just for now.
When Logan opened his eyes, the faint light of dawn painted the room in muted hues of gray and gold. Zack was sitting at the edge of the bed, freshly showered, his damp hair curling slightly at the edges, dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans. He looked at Logan with a quiet smile, his easy confidence softening as the morning light brushed against him.
Logan rubbed his eyes, his limbs heavy with the weight of interrupted sleep. He stretched, offering Zack a lopsided, groggy smile. “Morning?”
“Yup. Kind of,” Zack said, checking the time on his phone. “It’s 7 a.m. Just finished cleaning the bar,” he added with a playful wink. “Totally worth it.”
Logan huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “So, you’re going to sleep while I go to work? Great.”
“Like always,” Zack teased, smirking. For a moment, they sat in a companionable silence, the weight of the day not yet pressing on them.Then Zack’s expression shifted, softening as his voice dipped lower. “Happy birthday, Logan.”
The words struck Logan like a low, dull ache in his chest.Right. The twelfth. He sighed deeply, the date settling heavily over him like a shroud.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice flat. “How’d you know?”
“When you’re drunk, you get really chatty,” Zack replied, grinning, clearly pleased with himself.
Logan flushed slightly, shaking his head at the thought. But his mind was already drifting elsewhere. Instinctively, his gaze fell to his wrist, searching for the familiar weight, the thin thread and charm of his lifesaver bracelet. It was an unconscious ritual, one he’d performed a thousand times, especially on days like today… days when he needed grounding, when the ache of memory throbbed louder than usual.
But it wasn’t there.
Logan froze, his breath catching sharply in his throat. His wrist was bare. The discolored band of skin where the bracelet had sat for years stared back at him, stark and unforgiving. A scar of absence.
He stared at it for several long, still seconds, his mind refusing to catch up, his body going cold. Then the panic came—flooding him like a rising tide, crashing into every corner of his being. He bolted upright, nearly tripping over himself as he stumbled out of bed, his movements frantic and jerky.
