He looked like a man who had abandoned the labor of living.
And beneath all the fear, beneath the cracked layers of guilt and longing, a single truth pulsed like a wound:
What if Adrian looked at him now and saw a stranger?What if he no longer recognized the man he once loved?What if Logan—this Logan—was no longer enough?
It wasn’t rejection he feared; he had long since braced himself for that. What hollowed him was the terror that he was no longer worthy of Adrian’s memory, that even the echo of their love might find him inadequate.
He straightened, forcing himself to meet his own gaze in the mirror.You’re not the sameLogan, he thought.But you’re here. And you’re trying. All I have left is to try.
He was not the same Logan who had walked away, not just physically, but in every way that mattered. The Logan staring back at him from the mirror, hollow-eyed and threadbare, would have never left in the first place. BecausethisLoganhadbeen scorchedthrough loving and leaving Adrian, through the unbearable silence that followed.
The Logan standing here now was not the man he had once been. He was the one who hadsurvivedwhat happened, the one who had been shaped—no,scarred—by the absence of the love of his life. He was the Logan who had learned, too late, that love is not a thing you walk away from and expect to remain whole.
He was the Logan who lived in the shadow of what had been, who carried the weight of leaving like a stone in his chest. That magnificent, unbearable burden of his own making.
And he was the Logan who had lived through his own reckless choices, who had felt their sharp edges carve into him with every passing day.
Now, two years later, he had come back, not as the man who once left, but as the man who had been broken by it.
All I have left is to try. At the very least, after everything, try. Explain. See him again.
The reflection didn’t argue. The man Adrian would see might not be the one who had left him, but Logan hoped, prayed, that Adrian could still see the man who had loved him with everything he had.
Logan had spent two years refusing to let the thought linger, banishing it every time it tried to claw its way into his mind. But now, as he stood in the quiet of the hotel room, staring at his reflection, it came crashing down on him, a tidal wave of fear and jealousy he couldn’t outrun.
Adrian might have a boyfriend now.
The thought didn’t just sting; it shattered, like a fragile glass breaking apart inside his chest. It carved through Logan’s heart with relentless precision, splintering the profound silence that had taken root within him. Two long, agonizing years, two goddamn years of absence, of silence so deafening it reverberated through every fiber of his being. He’d walked away from Adrian like a coward—without a word, without a reason—merely the echo of retreat lingering in the air. And Adrian… Adrian had never been the type to falter in darkness. He was the guiding light that pierced through even the deepest shadows.
Logan’s gaze sharpened with clarity as his mind betrayed him with a vision: Adrian in a sun-drenched café, his laughter ringing softly amidst the hum of conversation. Across from him, another man sat captive in his orbit, gaze fixed with unblinking devotion. A hand rested casually on Adrian’s thigh, an intimate touch that hinted at unspoken stories, while lips brushed tenderly against his temple. It was a love story unfolding before Logan’s eyes, one he had once believed was his fate, yet now Adrian leaned into it, unguarded, radiant, offering that perilous love he carriedso effortlessly; the kind that made men believe in miracles, the kind that could turn a passing hour into eternal promises, vows sealed in flower arrangements and guest lists where another man took his place.
Because how could someone not fall in love with him? He was a walking eclipse, light and shadow at once, and men would line up to bask in him, to try and be enough. Maybe one of them had stayed. Perhaps one had pressed him to sheets still warm from their shared body heat, mapped the body Logan once worshipped, whispered into the dark the words Logan was too afraid to speak. Perhaps one had stayed when Logan had fled.
And worst of all?
Maybe Adrian let him.
Because when Adrian loved, he didn’t ration it. He poured it, like wine, like blood, like rain. He gave everything. He didn’t know how to withhold. Logan had known that. Had been on the receiving side of it. Had run from it. Had thrown it away.
And now someone else might be holding what he couldn’t hold.
Someone else might have been able to heal the curved wounds he left behind. Another might have gathered the fragments he shattered and coaxed them back into wholeness.
Perhaps Logan should have implored the investigator to uncover that small yet profoundly significant detail.
Maybe Adrian had found someone better. Maybe someone had come along and treated him with the kindness and devotion Logan hadn’t been able to give. Maybe he’d gone back toItay,his ex. The name alone was a dagger to Logan’s chest. Itay, with his easy familiarity, his shared history carved deep into Adrian’s life. The thought of Adrian in Itay’s arms, laughing the laugh that once belonged to Logan, leaning into himwith that unguarded trust, whispering those fragile sounds Logan had worshipped, made bile rise in his throat.
Logan bore no right to ache, especially not after his actions. Two years ago, he had faced the world and taken another’s hand in marriage, vows slipping from his lips while Adrian witnessed. If guilt ever found a home, it was not with Adrian; it forever dwelled within Logan, an agitated essence haunting his every moment. Yet the memory clung to him; it was as if the memory itself was smoke, choking him with every thought of the pact Adrian had made with his own heart. Two years ago, Adrian had taken the same journey, flown from his home to a foreign country, braved unfamiliar streets and languages, all for the sake of love.
Adrian had walked those streets with a fragile but determined heart, broken yet beating with the faint flicker of hope. Every step was a prayer, every breath a plea for this love to be enough. And when he finally reached his destination—when he stood before Logan with all of his love laid bare—Logan had turned him away. Cruel words had spilled from his lips, sharper than any blade, slicing through the fragile wings of Adrian’s hope. Logan hadn’t just refused him; he’d sent him away with nothing but the weight of rejection and the echo of shattered dreams.
Adrian had crossed oceans for Logan, only to be left standing in the wreckage of what should have been. And now, Logan dared to feel the sting of regret? The irony was a bitter taste in his mouth, as sharp and unforgiving as the memory of the love he’d lost.
Logan pressed a hand to his stomach, trying to quell the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. His insides twisted, his heart pounding with a mix of fear, guilt, and something far uglier: jealousy. He hated himself forit, but the idea of Adrian with someone else was unbearable. It knotted his stomach, a sharp, persistent ache that wouldn’t let him go.
What if Adrian had moved on? What if someone else now had the privilege of kissing those lips, running their fingers through that golden brown hair, hearing Adrian laugh in that soft, musical way that made the world feel lighter? What if someone else was holding Adrian at night, tracing the lines of his back, whispering words of love into the dark? What if Adrian was playing his guitar for another man, singing to him in the quiet of the night with shining eyes and his heart on his sleeve? What if Adrian was worshipping another’s body? What if, at this very moment, another soul were to experience the tantalizing brush of Adrian’s stubble against their skin, sending shivers cascading down like whispers of the wind? What if, in this vast universe, a fortunate being felt the gentle caress of Adrian’s fingertips as they glided over their flesh, tenderly cradling their face in an embrace that spoke volumes beyond words?
What if Adrian didn’t want to see him? What if he opened the door, took one look at Logan—worn down and waterlogged with regret—and just smiled? Not cruelly. Not with anger. But with a kind of quiet mercy that made it worse.
