Before Logan could fully process this, the door opened again, and someone stepped out.
Logan had to do a double-take. The man who emerged was tall, almost like him, with a long curtain of pale blond hair that fell over one side of his face, concealing it. As he moved closer, Logan caught a glimpse beneath the hair and felt his breath hitch. Half of the man’s face was covered in burn scars—raised, uneven flesh that twisted across his features, warping the bridge of his nose and rendering one of his eyes a milky white. The other eye, however, was a piercing, electric blue that seemed to see straight through Logan.
Sasha was wearing a loose sweater, the sleeves pushed up to reveal tattoos crawling up his forearms, bold lines and intricate designs weaving into the burned flesh beneath. The scars extended past the ink, jagged and uneven, impossible to miss. Logan found himself staring for a beat too long before quickly averting his gaze. As Sasha moved, his steps carried a slight limp, a subtle hitch that was noticeable. And yet, there was nothing hesitant or uncertain about him. He carried himself with quiet confidence.
Reaching the counter, Sasha stepped beside the man Logan had been speaking to, Lucian, and with an almost absent gesture, leaned in and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. His arm slid around Lucian’s back as though it belonged there, fitting into place effortlessly. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now.
Lucian turned to him with a smile that was warm and familiar. They stood close, their body language easy and intimate, like two people who had shared a thousand such moments before. Logan’s gaze flicked down, catching the glint of a wedding band on Sasha’s hand where it rested lightly on the counter. The sight hit him harder than he expected, an ache tightening in his chest.
He thought of Adrian. Of the empty space where a ring should have been. The idea should fill him with so much hope, but in truth it left him hollow, a cruel reminder of what he’d lost. Logan blinked, forcing himself to refocus as Sasha turned his attention toward him. That piercing blue eye fixed on him again, unreadable, waiting.
Lucian gestured toward Logan. “This guy’s got an emergency. Think you can take a look?”
Sasha’s good eye flicked to Logan, cool and assessing. For a moment, there was only silence, and Logan’s heart thudded as he struggled to decipher the man’s expression as he wondered what had happened to him. Then Sasha nodded.
“Let’s hear it,” his voice smooth as silk, a Russian accent tingeing the words, laced with a kindness that stood in stark contrast to his rough exterior.
Logan began explaining his idea, showing Sasha the photo on his phone and weaving the story that tied it all together—the words, the image, the meaning behind it. Sasha listened intently, his focus sharp as he nodded along, occasionally asking clarifying questions. He pulled a notepad from behind the counter, his tattooed fingers deftly sketching as Logan spoke. With each word, the rough lines on the page became something more—Logan’sscattered thoughts transforming into something vivid and alive.
Logan couldn’t understand how Sasha managed it, how he could reach into his mind and pull out exactly what he’d imagined, but there it was. The sketch was perfect, raw yet precise. Sasha grabbed a liner pencil and, with the same sure movements, lightly traced the design onto Logan’s arm to give him a sense of placement. “Like this?” Sasha asked, tilting his head slightly.
Logan nodded, unable to contain the flicker of awe in his voice. “Yeah. That’s it. That’s exactly it.”
After Logan gave his approval, Sasha gestured for him to follow. They headed into the back room, where the sterile smell of disinfectant mingled with the faint hum of music from a hidden speaker and the air conditioner. Sasha motioned for Logan to sit in the chair, and as Logan settled in, Sasha set to work preparing his tools—disinfecting the area, slipping on gloves, and methodically organizing the inks.
As Sasha worked, Logan broke the silence. “So… the guy out there, Lucian… you… married?”
Sasha paused, glancing up from the ink bottles with a faintly amused expression. A slow, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes,” he said simply. “He’s my husband… and my entire life.”
Logan nodded, feeling a faint pang in his chest. “Sorry about earlier,” he said awkwardly. “I kind of stared at you. I didn’t mean to, it’s just, you know…”
Sasha didn’t respond right away. Instead, he placed the tattoo gun aside, took Logan’s arm in his hands, and gently disinfected the skin. “Don’t worry about it,” he said at last, his tone calm and measured. “It happensa lot. There was a time when it bothered me, when I felt ashamed. But… I’ve moved past that. Now, I don’t let it define me. It’s just a part of me, nothing more.”
Logan nodded again, his throat tight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, hesitating for a moment before unlocking it and scrolling to a song. “This is Adrian,” he said, his voice quieter now. “My Adrian. Well… if he ever forgives me. He gave me a bracelet once, and I lost it. So…” Logan trailed off, unable to find the words to explain what he was trying to do. “Yeah. You know.” He already told Sasha about the bracelet, but only in rough details of the image, not the deeper meaning behind it.
Sasha didn’t say anything. He leaned closer as Logan pressed play, and the soft strains of Adrian’s voice filled the room. Sasha listened, his expression unreadable as the melody unfolded. When the song ended, he sat back, his piercing blue eye meeting Logan’s. For a moment, Sasha said nothing, but he gave a small, subtle nod—a gesture that seemed to say,I understand.
The process hurt like hell. Every sharp sting of the needle drove deeper into the skin, resonating with Logan’s guilt and longing. But he welcomed it, embracing the pain as a kind of penance. He deserved it, he told himself, for everything he’d done and for everything he’d lost.
By the time Sasha finished, Logan was exhausted but strangely lighter, the weight on his chest easing as he stared at the finished design. The tattoo was perfect, more than he could’ve hoped for. It wasn’t just art—it was a reminder, a promise, and a piece of Adrian he would carry with him forever.
Sasha cleaned the area carefully, wiping away the last traces of ink. He reached for a roll of plastic wrap, unspooling it and carefully wrappingit around Logan’s arm. “This is just to keep it protected for the next few hours,” he explained as he secured the edges. “Once you get home, take the wrap off and wash it gently with warm water and unscented soap. Don’t scrub, just pat it dry. After that, use a thin layer of tattoo ointment. Repeat that process twice a day for about two weeks, and no swimming or direct sunlight for a while.”
Logan nodded, trying to memorize the instructions through the haze of exhaustion. “Got it. Thanks,” he said, flexing his arm slightly and feeling the slight sting of the fresh ink beneath the wrap.
Sasha gave him a small smile as he cleaned up his station, his movements precise. “Take care of it, and it’ll heal beautifully. And if you have any questions, just call. Or come back in.”
Logan stood, feeling a rush of gratitude and something else he couldn’t quite name. “Thanks… for everything.”
Sasha nodded, his gaze steady. “Good luck, Logan. And take care of yourself, too.”
As Logan left the shop, he stopped at the counter to settle the payment, making sure to hand Lucian a generous tip for Sasha.
As Logan hopped into a cab, he made a mental note to rent a car. Relying on taxis was getting old; it was too slow and too inconvenient. But he didn’t have the time to figure out a car right now. For now, there was only one thing on his mind: Adrian.
Logan was on his way, and this time, he wasn’t leaving without being heard. No more running. No more avoidance. He was ready to fight for the man he loved, no matter how long it took or how hard it would be.
By the time Logan reached Adrian’s door, the sky was bleeding gold into dusk, the sun melting like honey over the Tel Aviv skyline. He stood therefor a breath—maybe three—his knuckles hovering just above the metal. In seconds, he’d be close to Adrian again, and he knew his heart would go off like a live wire the moment he saw him. When his knuckles finally found the door, the soft, tentative tap echoed with a delicate flutter, sounding so faint compared to the significance of that moment.
