And now—Here. In this room, with Logan silent beside him and love threatening to slip through his fingers, he didn’t need the internet to tell him what it was.
If Logan left now, if he walked out that door to the arms of another—Adrian’s heart would not survive it.
Not poetically.
Not figuratively.
Literally.
It would flicker once—and then fall quiet, simply... cease.
“Stop.” Logan’s voice was low, but it cracked with something too fierce to contain.
Adrian’s gaze pierced through the silence, and Logan felt the weight of it, the remnants of war etched into his irises, a haunting guilt swirling in the depths. An aching desire flickered there, a longing to feel enough yet lost in uncertainty. Love glimmered alongside a deep-seated fear, clingingto him like a shadow. The anguish of unfulfilled cravings mingled with doubt, resonating in the silent spaces between them.
Logan clenched his jaw and tightened his fists, fixing his gaze on the ground while a fire ignited in his chest. His mouth remained drawn tight, without any hint of a smile. He lacked the gratitude or joy Adrian had anticipated; instead, only a simmering rage lurked just beneath the surface.
“Stop that,” Logan said again, more urgently. He reached out without hesitation, threading his fingers into Adrian’s—cold and fragile and trembling. “Right now. Stop.”
He held his hand like it was the only lifeline that mattered. Like it was the only truth in the room.
“Don’t you dare give me away,” Logan ordered, his voice thick, his throat burning. “Don’t you ever let go of me like that again. You’re still mine. You’re stillyou.I’m yours. You don’t have to earn me back.”
Adrian’s eyes filled, finally, but still the tears didn’t fall. He blinked furiously, his jaw clenched, his shoulders rigid.
“You silly, stubborn, impossible man,” Logan murmured, brushing the lightest kiss against Adrian’s temple, against the fever-warmed skin that had once tasted like the sun, like salt, but now tasted simply like home. “I love you. I am in love with you. Cancer or not. Healthy or sick. Here or anywhere. Do you understand that?”
He turned his head away, swallowing against the hard knot in his throat. It wasn’t only from the raw, ulcerated lining that stretched from his mouth down through his gut, though every attempt to swallow felt like fire. The lump now also took the pain of fear and shame. But Logan wouldn’t let him go, not this time, not ever again.
“I don’t want anyone else. Ever. Not Zack, not anyone. If it’s not you, it’s nothing. If it’s not sex with you, I don’t want it. If it’s not waking up next to you, falling asleep next to you, spending every breath, every second, every stupid, beautiful moment with you, then I don’t want it. Do you get that?”
Adrian’s breath hitched, his fingers curling around Logan’s with what little strength he had left.
“I love you,” Logan whispered again, voice breaking now, his forehead pressing against Adrian’s, their breaths tangling between them. “I dreamed about being with you when I was with Zack. Hell, I think I’ve only ever wanted you. Maybe I’m not even gay, maybe I’m just—” Logan let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Maybe I’m just Adrian-sexual, because you are it for me. You have always been it for me.”
Adrian let out a trembling breath, his other hand lifting—slow, weak—to rest against Logan’s cheek, thumb brushing against the stubble there, as if he were memorizing the feel of him, as if this moment, this love, were something he could take with him, even into the dark.
“Say it again,” Adrian whispered.
Logan kissed his knuckles. “I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
Adrian closed his eyes, exhaling softly.
“Again,” he begged.
“I love you, Adrian. And I willneverlove another.”
More days came and went, folding into each other like soft, worn pages of the same book. Time began to lose its shape. Mornings bled into afternoons, afternoons into evenings, until the light outside became just another thing to ignore. Dr. Tierney insisted on keeping Adrian longer—”for observation,” he said. The hospital has long since become a second home, not just for Adrian and Logan, but for the people who drifted in and out—friends, family, nurses who stayed an extra five minutes to chat, visitors who brought soup, books, stupid jokes.
Ada Mae, who started as an assistant and has become more of a friend, made it a point to visit at least once a week. Jane and her husband came twice a week, engaging in quiet conversations and expressing care through small acts—fluffing pillows, straightening blankets, and distracting Adrian with stories unrelated to illness.
His parents came too, their worry never quite masked by polite smiles. Adrian’s parents, thousands of miles away, called often, their voices breaking slightly over the line as if distance made everything worse. But they had come twice since their last visit, unwilling to let their son fight this alone.
And Tom, one of Adrian’s oldest friends, who had flown in for a two-week stay with his now fiancée.
