The sound of water filled the small bathroom, a soothing rush that seemed to wash away the weight of the hospital. Through the fogged glass, Logan could make out Adrian’s silhouette, thin and blurred, as if he were slipping away into the mist. It hurt to see how much the illness had changed him, but Logan’s sadness was quickly overwhelmed by something stronger: admiration, love, an unyielding resolve to be there for Adrian no matter how hard the road ahead.
“Lo,” Adrian called out, his voice faltering.
Logan’s senses went on high alert. He stood immediately, one hand on the glass door, his mind already conjuring the worst—a fall, a head injury, blood spiraling down the drain.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice edged with worry as he cracked the door open. “Are you okay?”
Adrian turned off the water, his hair dripping, his skin pale beneath the droplets. “Hey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s fine,” Logan said, his breath settling as he took in Adrian’s steady stance. Relief washed over him, cool and calming. “Did you need something?”
Adrian hesitated, a bashful look softening his features. “I do, actually.”
Logan tilted his head, curiosity threading through the concern. “What is it?”
Adrian’s voice dropped, almost shy. “Join me? Both of us had a long day, and... the hospital just makes me feel gross.”
“You sure?” Logan asked, a hopeful note slipping into his words.
“I don’t want to waste another second without you, Logan Vaughn.” Adrian’s tone was firm, his eyes clear despite the fog around them.
Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He stripped off his clothes quickly. Stepping into the shower, he reached for Adrian, pulling him under the warm stream. Water cascaded over them, a gentle rhythm that mirrored Logan’s hands as he washed Adrian with care. His touch was practical but infused with affection, his fingers tracing the outlines of bone and skin with a reverence that spoke of love more than lust.
Adrian leaned into him, his weight a soft press against Logan’s chest. Logan washed himself quickly, his own needs secondary to Adrian’s comfort. The heat of the water, the continuous hum of droplets against tile, it all created a cocoon where nothing else existed but them.
Once outside, Logan gently wrapped Adrian in a towel, drying him with the same care he had displayed all evening. He quickly dried himself as they headed back to Adrian’s room, passing a startled Dean in the hallway.Adrian turned on the heat in his room and threw Logan some clothes, which he accepted gratefully.
Once dressed, Logan leaned against the doorframe of Adrian’s room, taking it in for the first time. It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t particularly spacious either; a cozy, personal space with little embellishment. The large window overlooking the ocean immediately caught Logan’s attention; the view was breathtaking and calm, a mirror of the life Adrian had built here. Against one wall, two surfboards leaned together, one slightly propped over the other. They seemed like sentinels of a life Adrian still clung to, even in his illness.
At the center of the room stood a big bed under the window, the sheets slightly rumpled. Beside it, a guitar rested against the wall. Logan’s eyes caught on it, studying it for a moment, and without meaning to, he found himself searching—searching for something that wasn’t there.
Adrian’s voice broke through his thoughts. “It’s a different one,” he said softly, his tone quiet, his gaze locked on Logan as though he’d been waiting for that moment.
Logan turned, eyes refocusing, and saw Adrian already fully clothed, leaning against the bed. He’d been watching Logan’s unspoken question, and there was a flicker of sadness in his expression.
“Oh,” Logan murmured, his stomach tightening with a small pang of disappointment. He remembered vividly the guitar Adrian had played in the video—the one he had given him, the one that carried the words he had scrawled on it in a moment of youthful devotion. He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it felt like something precious had slipped further from his reach. “On the video, you had it,” he said, his voice light, but the weight behind his words unmistakable.
Adrian walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. Logan hesitated for a moment before following, taking a seat beside him. Adrian looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together briefly before speaking.
“I burned it,” Adrian confessed quietly, his voice steady but heavy with emotion. “Burned it all. I got the results that confirmed what I suspected, and I was so… angry. I took the guitar, the album I made you, and even the test results and burned them all. Everything I had that reminded me of you.” He paused, his voice growing softer. “I left your other stuff, the things you didn’t take with you. But the things that meant something to me? I couldn’t keep them. I burned them along with the test results. It was the same day I decided I didn’t want treatments.” Adrian glanced around his room, his heart aching, intentionally omitting a specific item he had kept from Logan.
Logan sat in silence for a moment, letting Adrian’s words settle over him. His chest ached with the weight of what Adrian had carried alone for so long, and once again, the only words he could manage felt woefully inadequate. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, for what felt like the hundredth time, his apology laden with all the regrets he couldn’t begin to express.
Adrian didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he reached for Logan’s hand, his grip warm and reassuring, as though he were trying to tell him that some part of it, at least, was behind them.
Logan’s eyes drifted to the surfboards leaning against the wall, and something caught his attention. He stood, crossing the room and moving the front board aside to get a better look at the one behind it. His breath caught when he saw it, the memories rushing back in an instant. “I see you didn’t burn all of my stuff,” Logan remarked, his voice tinged withsatisfaction as he ran a hand over the surfboard he had left behind. “God, I missed this board.”
Adrian’s laughter broke the tension, light and easy. “Well,” he started, a crooked grin tugging on his lips, “burning a surfboard felt like a violation. Especially an expensive one like that.”
Logan glanced at him, a slight smile forming. Adrian’s humor was gentle yet familiar, reminiscent of a long-forgotten song. “I haven’t used it,” Adrian went on, reclining on his hands, “but Dean was eager to sell it, said we could make a good profit. I believe he has a plan to steal it and then sell it off eventually.” He playfully teased, his voice adopting a mock-serious tone.
Logan shook his head as he sat back down beside Adrian.
“Would you play something for me?” Logan asked after a moment, his voice quiet, almost tentative, as he motioned toward the guitar leaning against the wall.
Adrian glanced at it, then back at Logan, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he reached for it. He snatched the guitar and settled himself on the bed, shifting until he was comfortable, the instrument balanced on his lap. His fingers brushed the strings, testing the tuning, the soft hum filling the room like a whispered promise.
“What do you want to hear?” Adrian asked, his voice casual but tinged with something deeper.
