“I’m sicker than you are,” Logan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been sick without you. You are what makes me better. You are what I want. I just want to be here with you, to love you, to hold you. That’s all.”
Logan’s eyes bore into Adrian’s, every word weighted with the truth. “If you think I would ever leave you again, and because of sex no less, then I am obviously doing a terrible job at showing you what you mean to me. You’re everything, Adrian.”
Adrian’s lips parted, but no words came. His breath stuttered, and the dam broke. Tears spilled over, and Logan held him through it, his embrace strong and consuming. He didn’t let go, not even when Adrian’s sobs shook his frame, not even when the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Logan was there, an anchor, a lifeline, a promise that the ocean between them had finally stilled.
Chapter 15
Hope at the Edge of Goodbye
And the thing that frightens me the most, the thing that coils tight around my heart, sharper than fear, heavier than grief, is that I don’t care. I don’t care if tomorrow never comes. I don’t care if the sun rises and I am not here to see it. I don’t care if tonight is my last breath, my last heartbeat, the final frame of whatever story I thought I was living.
It’s a bad sign. I know that. I should be afraid. I should want to fight. I should claw my way toward something—toward life, toward hope, toward anything but this void. But I don’t. I am hollow. I am an echo inside my own skin, a ghost haunting the empty rooms of my own life.
For so long, I’ve been moving through the motions, wearing someone else’s skin, pretending to live. The diagnosis was like a key turning, a lock clicking open. It allowed me to finally peel back the façade, to shed that borrowed skin, to stop pretending. It was a permission slip to let go. To stop trying. To stop caring.
I told myself I needed time to think. To really decide. Maybe I didn’t take enough time, maybe I didn’t take any time at all. But what does it matter? Time feels like a trick now, a slow drip of seconds into a well with no bottom. Each breath is thin and wasted, each moment stretching out, elastic and empty.
The clock is ticking. I can hear it, a steady, taunting rhythm. And instead of wanting to stop it, to steal back the hours, all I want is to grab the dial and spin it faster, faster, until the hands blur and everything just... disappears.
What is wrong with me? How did I become this—this numb, brittle thing, all splinters and silence, desperate not for more life but for less of it?
November 26, 2020—Tel-Aviv,Israel—The Next Day
Loganblinkedawake,reachingfor Adrian instinctively, but the other side of the bed was empty. He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, and his eyes caught the sight of his clothes, folded neatly on Adrian’s pillow. They smelled of clean cotton and a hint of Adrian—fresh, familiar, and comforting. A small, involuntary smile tugged at Logan’s lips as he realized Adrian must have washed and dried them while he slept.
They had spent most of the night tangled in the dark, Adrian’s breath hitching against Logan’s chest, his fingers clutching Logan’s skin as if letting go meant falling apart. His tears rolled over Logan’s bare skin, and Logan didn’t move, didn’t shift away from the dampness or the sharp edges of Adrian’s sobs. He just held him, his hand moving slowly up and down Adrian’s back, a quiet rhythm in the storm. Adrian had shuddered, his body curling tighter against Logan. His breath came in uneven bursts, like the remnants of a broken engine struggling to start. Logan kept his voice soft, a steady hum of half-formed stories and old jokes, words with no purpose but to fill the silence between Adrian’s gasps.
Little by little, the tension ebbed. Adrian’s grip loosened, his breathing slowing until it matched the quiet thrum of Logan’s heartbeat. His eyelids fluttered, the fight slipping from him as exhaustion took hold. Logan stayed still, barely daring to breathe, watching the way Adrian’s lips parted slightly in sleep, the remnants of salt on his cheeks.
And Logan observed him, weaving together the threads of transformation, seeking to unravel which of these shifts bore his fault.
Logan got dressed in a hurry, pulling on the freshly ironed fabric, then headed to the bathroom where he quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth.
When he stepped into the living room, the morning light had already spilled across the floor, golden and gentle. Adrian sat in its glow, a silhouette carved by the sun, his hair a tangle of soft highlights. He held a cup of tea, the steam curling up. Adrian lifted his head, and their eyes met. There was a hesitation there, a shyness that didn’t belong on his face but had found a home there all the same. His cheeks held the faintest flush, a bloom of color in the otherwise pale landscape of his skin. He broke the gaze first, a small movement, the tea cup settling onto the coffee table with a soft sound.
Despite the light, despite the quiet, the marks of the night still lingered on him. Shadows clung to the edges of his eyes, his body still weighed down by the echoes of exhaustion. Logan saw it all; the remnants of their rough night etched into every line, every curve. He knew this would not be the last time, that the upcoming dawns would hold more weary mornings like this.
But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he crossed the room with purpose, the space between them vanishing in a breath. He climbed onto the couch, straddling Adrian’s lap, knees pressing into the worn cushions on either side of him. There was no hesitation as he leaned in, capturing Adrian’s lips in a kiss that spoke where words would fail.
The kiss was a slow burn, a promise and a plea. Logan poured everything into it—the ache of their lost years, the raw edges of forgiveness, the quiet, stubborn certainty that this time he wasn’t letting go.
Adrian’s hands found his waist, hesitant, then firmer. When they finally broke apart, their foreheads pressed together, Logan’s breath mixed with Adrian’s, tangled in the small space between them. And for a moment, there was nothing else—no illness, no fear—just the soft rhythm of their hearts, finding their way back to the same beat.
Logan deepened the kiss, savoring the warmth of Adrian’s mouth and the soft press of his tongue. When he finally pulled back, he leaned in to kiss the tip of Adrian’s nose, a playful grin spreading across his face.
“Morning,” Logan murmured, his voice still husky from sleep.
Adrian’s lips curved into a smile, his arms tightening around Logan’s waist. “Afternoon,” he corrected gently, his voice sweet and teasing. He rested his forehead against Logan’s for a moment, as if drawing strength from the closeness between them. Logan chuckled softly, his fingers finding their way into Adrian’s hair, twisting and playing with the soft strands.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Adrian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I truly don’t know what got into me—” Logan kissed him again, cutting him off, plunging into a deep kiss, tasting Adrian’s tongue and moaning in pleasure.
“Adrian, we have a long journey ahead,” he said, gently stroking Adrian’s skin with his thumb. “It’s frightening, and it’s only been a week since I came back, so… please don’t apologize for it, alright, love?”
He tilted Adrian’s head back slightly, his thumb brushing along the curve of his jaw. “Okay,” Adrian murmured again, transfixed by Logan.
“Go on a dinner with me tonight,” Logan said, his tone low and intimate, but laced with hope.
