Without a word, Adrian laced their fingers together and drew Logan into the bathroom. They undressed each other in a hush, the fabric fallingaway like old fears. Logan traced the bruises along Adrian’s skin as if reading a map only he could decipher, and Adrian shivered, steady-eyed and unafraid.
Steam rose when the water began, wrapping them in its gentle veil. They stepped beneath it, hands roaming in quiet conversation, each touch an unspoken promise.
When they emerged, towels wrapped loosely around their hips, the house was still silent. They moved through it like ghosts, barefoot and damp, leaving faint footprints behind as they made their way to Adrian’s room. The door clicked shut behind them, and the world outside seemed to fall away. Adrian let the towel slip from his waist and climbed into bed, the sheets cool against his skin. Logan followed, his movements almost synchronized, and turned off the light before sliding under the covers. The darkness cradled them, intimate and tender.
Logan pulled Adrian to him, his arms wrapping around him. Adrian rested his hand on Logan’s hip, fingers tracing the sharp lines there, a reminder of all Logan had lost. “You’ve lost so much weight, Lo,” Adrian whispered, his voice carrying a mix of worry and love. His hand lingered as if he could somehow hold Logan’s pain in his palm. “Even though you look better now… you still seem pale, drained.”
Logan appeared as though the ocean itself had claimed a piece of him, never to return it. Like a man who had left his love behind in a distant Australian cabin, only to wander endlessly through the vast, empty expanse of his own regret. His eyes, once wild and luminous like the waves he once soared upon, now bore the dull, weary shimmer of one battered by unseen currents, too exhausted to resist. Adrian watched intently, sensing the hollow spaces, the toothed edges, the fractures beneath Logan’sskin. And yet, amidst the weariness, Logan still radiated a kind of divine beauty—an unbreakable, eternal radiance that no tide of loss could diminish. He was a testament to the resilience of the soul, a reminder that even in darkness, there exists a radiant, indomitable light.
Logan hesitated, his words catching in his throat. “I… I haven’t surfed since… since Australia,” he admitted. “I tried once… when I decided to find you. But other than that, I haven’t even touched the ocean. I drank instead. Every night. And then I’d go to work. Some days… I didn’t even sleep.”
Adrian lifted his head, his gaze piercing in the dim light. He cupped Logan’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek. “You gave up surfing?” he asked, disbelief threading his voice. “You, Logan? Surfing is your soul. I can’t… I can’t believe you let it go.”
Logan’s eyes were shadowed, the ocean behind them stormy. “You are my soul. It felt useless,” he murmured. “Everything felt meaningless without you.”
Adrian pressed his lips to Logan’s neck, his kiss a soft balm against a wound. “And your weight?” Adrian asked, his voice quieter now, more tentative.
“Stopped eating,” Logan said, the words almost inaudible. “I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. Ada Mae had to remind me to eat most days… sometimes I’d just ignore her.”
Adrian blinked, a small, bittersweet smile flickering on his lips. “You, Logan, not eating? That doesn’t even sound real,” he said softly, but his heart ached as he kissed Logan’s chin, a fragile gesture of comfort.
Logan’s voice broke through the silence, serious but tinged with a faint smile. “What can I say? I guess… you’re my appetite, Adrian.”
The words lingered in the air, a tremor on still water, circles widening, drifting apart into silence. Adrian’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. “I love you so much, Logan,” he whispered.
Adrian’s head sank back onto Logan’s chest, his ear pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I’m going to take care of you, Lo,” he murmured. “We’ll take care of each other. Tomorrow, you’re going to eat like a real Logan again.”
Logan smiled, his arms tightening around Adrian like an anchor grounding them both. “Yes,” he whispered. After a pause, his voice turned playful. “Though I hope you’re on the menu, too.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Adrian’s lips, the touch more affection than desire. His hand slid over Adrian’s waist, drawing him in, the space between them folding away.
But Adrian stiffened, his breath hitching. Logan felt it immediately, his body stilling, the warmth of his palm resting gently against Adrian’s side. “Hey,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to see him. “What’s wrong?”
Adrian’s eyes stayed closed, his lashes trembling against his cheeks. His voice, when it came, was thin and fragile, a thread unraveling in the dark. “I know you. I know… you want. I know you want to have sex. I just… I don’t know. I don’t know if I can give you that.” His words fell out in fragments, each one a piece of his fear. “I love you,” he added in a broken voice.
Logan’s playful glint faded, replaced by a softness that reached deep, touching the places where only love could go. “Adrian, I wasn’t—” He stopped, his words curling back into his throat. “I was just teasing you, like we used to. I just wanted to hold you, to kiss you. Nothing more.”
Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, but back then I could follow up with those teases.” His voice was tight, laced with a sorrow that felt older than time. “I could give you what you needed. Now, I can’t even…”
Logan’s hand remained steady against his side, a warm, unyielding presence. “I don’t need that,” he said gently. “I just need you.”
Adrian shook his head, his face turning into the pillow, hiding from the weight of his own insecurities. “But you could have anything,” he whispered. “Anyone. You’re young, beautiful, successful. You could have someone who’s… whole. Not someone who’s sick and…” His voice cracked, the last word dissolving into silence. “I don’t want you to regret it, Logan. I don’t want you to look back and see all the time you wasted on me.”
Adrian broke into tears, the dam of his insecurities finally giving way. The weight of the past six days crashed over him—the shock of Logan’s return, the sterile halls of hospitals, the sharp-edged words of doctors, the looming trial program, the thought of leaving Israel, of uprooting his fragile world to chase a chance away—it all pressed down on him, too much, too fast.
His breath came in uneven gasps as he fumbled for words, his mind a blur of fear and guilt. “I’m scared, Logan,” he choked out. “I’m scared of leaving, of starting over, of hoping for something I might not get. I’m scared you’ll regret this, regret me.” Words were spilling from his lips, and then he uttered, “I’m afraid you’ll… leave again.”
Logan’s arms tightened around him, but Adrian’s body remained rigid, his own doubts keeping him distant. “I’m not… I’m not even a real boyfriend,” he continued, his voice raw. “I can’t give you what you need. I can’t even… I don’t feel like me anymore. I’m not the guy you fell in love with. I’m not strong or whole. I can’t even give you something as basic as sex, like a normal boyfriend would. I want to, I do… I… Logan. I do. I… don’t know—”
His words hung in the air, heavy and jagged. The truth of his fears exposed, naked and vulnerable. Adrian’s chest heaved, his tears hot against Logan’s skin as he pressed his face against his shoulder, hiding from the world, from himself.
“Adrian,” Logan’s voice cut through the air, firm and unwavering. “You look at me right fucking now.”
Adrian’s eyes fluttered open, and Logan’s face was so close that he could feel his breath, warm and steady. His expression was fierce.
“I love you. Get that through your thick skull because I do not want you to doubt me, not even for a second. You think I came back here for sex? I’ve had sex, Adrian.”
Adrian’s face crumpled, his hand rising to cover his shame, but Logan caught it gently. He kissed Adrian’s knuckles, his lips a soft promise against the rough skin. “Listen to me. It’s important.” He kissed Adrian’s warm cheek then, before continuing. “I’ve had sex in the past two years.” Logan’s voice didn’t falter, but his eyes shone with a different kind of truth—something painful, something real. “But I wasn’t there. I told you, I didn’t feel anything. It was empty, just a way to forget, to numb the ache of not being with you.”
He squeezed Adrian’s hand, grounding him, refusing to let him slip away into his fears. “If you think that what I care about right now is sex, then you’re wrong. My love, you’re so wrong.” His voice softened, the sharp edges giving way to something tender. “I don’t care about that. It’s the last thing I’m worried about.”
