I still see your eyes in the glow of the rising moon.
So I reach.
Further and further into the abyss,
Chasing the love that was lost to the tide.
Chasing you.
Chasing us.
Chasing forever.
December 24, 2020—Seattle, Washington—A Month Later
Loganpulledintothehospital parking lot, his heart pounding, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as he took a steadying breath. It was Christmas Eve, and even the bitter Seattle cold couldn’t dull the warmth curling in his chest at the thought of seeing Adrian again.
Had it really been just a handful of days since he last saw him?
He reached into the passenger seat and grabbed the paper bag that was sitting there before leaving the car and venturing outside into the freezing cold.
Logan’s breath hitched as he stepped through the sterile, whitewashed corridors of the hospital, the scent of antiseptic thick in the air. Christmas Eve lights twinkled faintly through the glass-paneled windows, but inside, time moved differently. Slower. Heavier. Every step he took toward Adrian’s room felt longer than it should have felt.
In his hands, he clutched a small paper bag containing a collection of things Adrian loved. A book, though Adrian was often too tired to read now, and when he did read, he preferred audiobooks so he could listen with his eyes closed. Socks, warm and soft, for feet that were always cold. Chamomile tea. And cookies from the small bakery they had discovered early in treatment, when the doctors had cleared Adrian for a brief walk. Bundled in layers against a Seattle December his Middle Eastern body was still learning to endure, Adrian walked hand in hand with Logan to the lake. They sat on a nearby bench, the bakery bag resting between them,and although his appetite was thin, Adrian closed his eyes in quiet delight after every bite.
Logan clung to these small, human things; they were the ones who gave a homey feeling to those corridors and walls. They were the ones, in his mind, anchoring Adrian here, preventing him from drifting away from this world just a little longer.
When Logan reached the door, he didn’t knock.
This was home. This was all that was left of it.
Inside, the machines hummed their quiet, merciless symphony. The beeping of the heart monitor, the slow drip of the IV. And there he was—Adrian. Smaller now. Hollowed out. His once golden skin was almost translucent under the fluorescent lights, his breathing steady but fragile, as if his lungs were made of glass. The sight of him, the undeniable truth of his frailty, punched the air from Logan’s lungs.
But then Adrian opened his eyes, those deep, honey-whiskey eyes that had once stared at him across salt-sprayed waves, full of fire, full of life. And he smiled. A small thing, barely there. But real.
He set the bag down without a word and went straight to the sink to scrub his hands; it was hospital protocol.
When he turned back, Adrian was watching him with quiet amusement, his lips twitching in the faintest ghost of a smirk.
“You’re still washing your hands like a surgeon,” Adrian murmured, voice hoarse but teasing, as his dry lips fought to smile.
Logan huffed a laugh, but it cracked at the edges. “Can’t be too careful.”
He moved to Adrian’s bedside and leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. Then, lower, to the corner of his mouth. Itwas barely more than a brush of lips, but it was everything. A thousand unspoken apologies. A million silent I love yous.
Then he sank into the chair beside him, fingers tangling instinctively with Adrian’s, anchoring himself in the illusion of warmth that still remained.
Warm.
God, he needed that warmth.
Adrian sighed, his lashes fluttering as exhaustion pulled at him. “You don’t have to be here every second, you know.”
Logan tightened his grip around Adrian’s hand, his throat thick, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, I do.”
Adrian studied him for a long moment before his lips curved, just slightly, into something delicate and knowing. The kind of smile that had once driven Logan mad with longing, the kind that had felt like the sun breaking through heavy clouds. Now it was quieter, softer, like the last ember of a fire refusing to go out.
“Merry Christmas, ahuv sheli.”
