Because if you had even an ounce of perspective, you’d know—I was gone for you. Ruined for anyone else. There was no one else. There never could be.
So I gathered everything I had—my pride, my fear, my trembling heart—and I gave you the truth. I tried to say it carefully, gently, like I wasn’t setting fire to the air between us. I tried to shape the words into somethingthat wouldn’t frighten you away. And then—before I could even finish—you crossed the room. You kissed me.
And just like that, everything changed.
No one had ever kissed me like that before. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a claim. I finally knew how a kiss, how a real kiss, should feel. You owned me in that moment, and I let you. More than that, I wanted you to. I had never felt so relieved in my life, because finally—finally—you knew.
January 12, 2022—Seattle, Washington—Six Months Later
Oneyearandtwomonths. That was how long Adrian had been fighting. That was how long Logan had been watching him slip through his fingers.
The hospital doors parted with a mechanical hiss as Logan stormed through them, a gust of winter air chasing him inside. Snow clung to the shoulders of his coat, forgotten and melting fast, soaking into the wool. His breath came in ragged bursts, fogging the air in front of him. His heart no longer beat in the ordinary rhythm of life; it battered against the cage of his ribs, wild, frantic, like a bird bewildered by its own wings. Within that tumult it seemed to answer some hidden summons, some revelation not yet unveiled, some script still being inscribed upon the corridors through which he wandered. The cadence of those desperate pulsations bore intimations of knowledge his mind could not yet name, as though the blood itself were deciphering a secret alphabet while the intellect, obstinate or unready, remained in darkness, whether by its refusal of the truth or by its helpless bewilderment before it.
He hadn’t heard much, just a low and calm voice with something trembling underneath, saying: “Come” and “Now.” Logan knew there were other things Dr. Tierney had mentioned; there were sentences in that phone call, but all his mind could process were those two words. And that was all it took.
He’d been in the middle of a meeting, some polished corporate cathedral filled with leather chairs and glass water pitchers, surrounded by menwho measured power in quarterly profits and silent nods. His father had sat beside him, all jaw and certainty, speaking in that clipped tone he reserved for boardrooms and battlegrounds. But the moment Logan saw Dr. Tierney’s name flash on his screen, the rest of the world fell away. The voices blurred. The light dulled. Everything narrowed down to that single point of gravity.
He didn’t excuse himself. Didn’t explain. He simply stood up, turned his back on all of it, and walked out.
Now, under the harsh fluorescent glow of the hospital corridor, Logan gripped the nurses’ station like a man holding onto the edge of a cliff. His fingers were numb, knuckles white, his body vibrating with a storm of urgency he couldn’t contain.
“Dr. Tierney,” he rasped. His voice cracked under the strain, too loud, too desperate. “Where is he?”
“Here.”
Logan spun around, breath catching in his throat as Dr. Tierney approached, his footsteps quiet against the linoleum.
“Where’s Adrian?” Logan’s voice faltered, a single thread unraveling. “Is he okay?”
His composure fractured in a heartbeat. The bubbling of panic gave way to insidious fear. Not fleeting, not shallow, but real fear, glacial and enduring, the kind that seeps into the bones and draws nourishment from the core itself, hollowing from within until only brittle scaffolds remain. Such bones, emptied of their secret strength, were fated to crumble beneath the crushing burden that Logan, trembling, strove to bear.
Dr. Tierney’s expression remained professional, but Logan could see past it. There were shadows under his eyes, stiffness in the way he held his shoulders. A man carrying more than his own exhaustion.
“His condition took a turn early this morning. His white count is dropping,” Dr. Tierney said.
Logan forgot how to breathe and how to exist. He knew what it meant. A drop in white blood cells meant Adrian’s immune system was collapsing, his body’s last line of defense thinning to almost nothing.
“He spiked a fever… We were able to stabilize him, but he’s very weak.” Dr. Tierney continued, his words resembled a scalpel more than syllables.
Logan’s breath hitched. The air in the hallway felt thinner now. He tried to pull it in, to hold it in his chest, but it slipped through him—like trying to breathe underwater. Grief was already expanding inside him, slow and thick.
Dr. Tierney studied him, silent for a moment, the way someone looks before breaking a truth open. Not cold. Just careful.
“The chemo isn’t working the way we’d hoped. It’s held things off longer than we expected, but it hasn’t been strong enough. We’ve managed to slow the disease… but there’s no remission. No regression.”
The silence that followed spoke with a gravity no clinical term could ever summon. The fear he had known before Dr. Tierney’s explanation was but a single drop of blood in a crystal sea, insignificant beside the deluge that now consumed him. This fear was no longer formless; it had grown sinew and substance, had carved itself into his essence, riving him with merciless precision. He was left desolate, stripped of even the faintest promise of healing, a vessel not of recovery but of ruin.
Behind him, he could feel the presence of his father. Silent. Watching. A shadow of concern cloaked in expensive wool. Somewhere nearby, a monitor beeped in uneven rhythm. Footsteps squeaked past. A nurse cleared her throat. All of it drifted around Logan like a world half-sinking underwater.
“What are you saying?” His voice was barely there. A rasp. A question already afraid of its answer.
Dr. Tierney’s gaze didn’t waver. It softened, just slightly, but not enough to shield the truth.
“I’m saying… we’re out of time for waiting. His marrow is failing. If we want to keep fighting, we need to move forward with a stem cell transplant. Now.”
A pulse of silence passed between them.
Logan could barely swallow. His throat burned. The words hovered, but he couldn’t speak them. Because underneath it all, he already knew.
