Logan swallowed past the ache in his chest, his fingers tracing absent patterns along Adrian’s knuckles, feeling the faint tremor beneath his touch. “Merry Christmas, love.”
Adrian’s fingers curled around his, weak but steady. A reminder that he was still here. That there was still time.
“Missed you,” Adrian murmured.
Logan exhaled, his breath shaking. “Me too.”
Adrian’s gaze grew distant for a moment, his mind drifting somewhere far away, somewhere untouched by sterile hospital rooms and the warwaging inside his own body. “You know, I never really celebrated Christmas.”
“Really?”
Adrian hummed, shifting slightly against the pillows, wincing as the IV tugged at the tender skin of his arm. “Yeah… I always wanted to, though. It seems fun. With the tree and the gifts and those ridiculous matching pajamas.”
Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, rough around the edges but real. “Well, then, I believe you are definitely due for a Christmas.” He lifted Adrian’s frail hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles, the touch lingering. “A hybrid Christmas-Hanukkah extravaganza.”
Adrian’s smile was tired but genuine.
Logan swept his eyes over Adrian, still not quite accustomed to how intensely his pulse raced at the sight of him. His gaze dawdled on the gray knit cap on his head, knowing it wasn’t just for warmth.
He remembered the morning Adrian was admitted, the way they had stood in the bathroom at their apartment—because for Logan, it was their apartment now—staring at the long, dark ponytail in the mirror. Adrian had washed his hair carefully, combed it back one last time, before turning to Logan and saying, “Do it.”
Logan hesitated, scissors trembling in his grip. But Adrian met his gaze in the mirror, eyes steady, and nodded.
So, Logan did.
Tied the tail. Cut it. Shaved the rest.
Adrian sat there, staring at his reflection, his fingers ghosting over the buzzed skin of his scalp. He tried to make light of it, saying, “Reminds meof the army. Guess I won’t have to use all those ridiculous hair products anymore.”
But Logan heard it. The way his voice had caught. The way his throat had worked around the words.
They donated the hair. And on the drive to the hospital, Adrian ran his fingers over his shaved head, adjusting to the strange lightness. Logan stole glances at him the whole way home, thinking,different, but still Adrian. Always Adrian.
Now, a month later, there was nothing left to run his fingers through.
The chemo had been merciless.
From the start, the doctors had been brutally honest. Adrian’s cancer was advanced and aggressive. There was no easing in, no slow burn. They had gone full force, hitting him with everything they had.
No mercy.
No time to waste.
It had taken everything from him. His strength. His appetite. His sleep. Some days, it even felt like it was taking his spirit.
But not tonight.
Tonight, Adrian smiled at Logan with that same quiet, unshakable love, the love that had carried them across oceans, through lost years and broken hearts. The love that still burned, even now, even in the face of something neither of them could control.
Logan studied him, his heart aching at the sight. Of how much Adrian had lost, how his body had withered under the weight of the battle. His collarbones jutted out sharply, his fingers thin and delicate, wrapped around Logan’s hand like they might disappear if he let go.
But he was still here.
Still fighting.
And that was all that mattered.
Adrian’s voice, soft and hoarse, pulled him back. “How was your flight?”
