He exhaled.
Zack cleared his throat, drawing Logan’s attention back. His hand was still fidgeting in his pocket, fingers twitching like they were clutching something important.
And then—
Zack pulled his hand out.
In his palm sat a small, familiar object.
A bracelet.
Logan froze.
His breath caught. His heart stopped.
“Oh my god.” His voice came out as a whisper, barely there, like a prayer. His feet moved before he could think, taking him toward Zack, toward the object in his hand—toward the last piece of Adrian’s soul he had ever been entrusted with.
“Is that—?” Logan gasped, his voice tight.
“Yeah.” Zack nodded, clearing his throat as he handed it to Logan.
With trembling fingers, Logan took it, the familiar woven threads brushing against his skin, delicate yet unbreakable. He felt as if he was holding time itself. Like holding Adrian’s past, his love, his sacrifice.
Adrian inhaled sharply, his eyes locked on the bracelet—the one he had once given away with his whole heart.
A tear slipped down Adrian’s cheek, silent and unannounced, as Logan reached out and placed it in his hands.
Adrian clutched it instantly, his fingers curling around the worn threads, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His mother’s bracelet. The last tangible piece of her, the last thing she had given him before the sickness had taken her.
Imma. Mom.
The room felt too small.
Too full of emotions none of them knew how to hold.
“Did you find it?” Logan asked breathlessly. “How? When?”
Zack shifted, exhaling slowly.
“I didn’t find it.” He glanced between them before settling his dark gaze on Logan. He took a breath. “I took it.”
Logan’s head snapped up. “What?” He blinked, stunned, confused, unraveling. “What do you mean?” His voice was softer now, almost afraid.
Zack’s voice faltered, his dark eyes drifting somewhere beyond the present, as if he were rewinding through the nights, the moments, the quiet suffering that had led them all here.
“You were…” he started, then stopped, inhaling sharply.
Zack was remembering it. The empty bottles at the bar, the shadow underneath his eyes, remnants of countless sleepless nights. Logan would sit in the dim, flickering glow of his apartment, staring into the abyss, lost in the phantoms of his own creation. Logan was physically beside him, yet a thousand miles away in spirit. There was always a sadness lingering at the edge of his gaze, a perpetual shadow that seemed to cling to him. It was as if he was everlastingly teetering on the brink of a collapse, his smile a rare and almost wistful sight. His demeanor was forced, a mask of feigned normalcy, struggling to conceal the turmoil that brewed just beneath the surface. It was a painful dance of existence, where connection felt elusive and the weight of his unspoken thoughts loomed heavy in the air.
“You were spiraling,” Zack finally remarked, his voice softer now. “You were... absent.” Those words barely captured the depth of the sorrow residing within Logan, which Zack had observed, but that was all he offered.
Logan felt something heavy press against his chest, something suffocating, something familiar.
“I couldn’t watch you like that anymore,” Zack continued, his voice raw. “You weren’t just drinking—you were disappearing. You were disconnected, guarded, drowning in your own misery, and no matter what I said, no matter what I did, I couldn’t reach you.”
He exhaled, glancing at Adrian, and for the first time, something flickered in his expression—something like jealousy, but softer. More resigned.
Because Zack had always cared for Logan.
