But I’ve survived worse,he thought.I survived wars. I survived absence. I grew up in a country where sirens sang louder than lullabies, where you learned to fall asleep without comfort, where fear carved its place beside you like a second shadow. A place where you learned to flee in a heartbeat, where you buried your friends long before their grandparents, where every song was sung from the ashes, stitched with the pain of being Jewish, of being hunted, of carrying generations of sorrow in your bones. A place where joy was fierce because it knew how quickly it could be silenced—where every celebration could end in a blast.He had faced things that should have broken him, and they hadn’t. But Logan, this love, this moment, it unmoored him in ways nothing else ever had.
Adrian didn’t have the words, not now, not yet. So instead, he leaned in and kissed Logan, soft and fleeting, as if to tell his body what his heart already knew: Logan was here. With him. Real. And for now, that was enough. That was everything. All the things Adrian had once whispered to the waves, all the wishes he had never dared to say aloud, were standing right in front of him, holding him close.
After a moment, his breath steadying, a soft, almost dreamy smile touching his lips, Adrian lifted his hand and knocked on the door. Logan stood beside him, his hand resting on the small of Adrian’s back, a quiet anchor, a silent promise:I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.In the next second, the door creaked open, and a woman stood before them. She appeared to be in her late fifties, petite and soft around the edges, with light brown hair falling in gentle waves down to her chest. The color was touched by time, but still carried a quiet grace. Large glasses framed striking green eyes, eyes filled with too many emotions at once, joy and sorrow colliding, twisting, folding into something raw.
And once she looked at them both, she slowly smiled. A smile that melted the years from her face. A smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes,a smile that had carried too much pain for too many years, but then she pulled Adrian into her arms, murmuring words in Hebrew that Logan couldn’t understand, though their meaning was clear enough. Logan stood back, watching as Adrian held her tightly, her short frame almost engulfed by him.
When she finally let Adrian go, she turned to Logan.
“Logan, this is my mom, Tammi. Mom, this…” he glanced at Logan, his gaze soaring with admiration and awe, “ismyLogan.”
She looked at him with sharp, assessing eyes, the green behind her glasses brimming with something he couldn’t quite place. Then, she smiled—that same bittersweet, world-worn smile she had given at the door.
“Is nice very to meet you, Logan,” she said, her accent thick, her voice warm but measured.
“So do you, Mrs. Leon,” Logan replied, extending his hand.
Tammi ignored it entirely, and instead, she wrapped him in a hug. She smelled like chamomile and something sweet, like bread baking in an oven. There was warmth in the way she held him.
“No, no,” she said, releasing him, her voice firmer now, the Hebrew shaping her words. She patted her chest lightly. “Tammi. I Tammi.” She stepped back and waved them inside with a quick motion before closing the door behind them. “I to remember you from calls. Videos.”
Logan swallowed. “I do too,” he murmured, feeling suddenly small, like a boy meeting his best friend’s parents for the first time, instead of a man standing in front of the mother of the love of his life.
Tammi smiled up at him, lifting her gaze. “You… tall, so tall! So big!” she laughed, the sound light and unfiltered. Then she turned to Adrian and said something in rapid Hebrew that made Adrian’s face flush almost instantly.
“Mom,” Adrian groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What?” Logan asked, glancing between them, a crooked smile forming despite himself. The language barrier had a way of reminding him that, even now, he was still learning Adrian’s world—one word, one look at a time.
“Tell him,” Tammi nudged Adrian gently. “I… sorry, English for me,” she added, motioning with her hand to suggest it wasn’t her strong suit.
“That’s okay. Really,” Logan said quickly. “Thank you for welcoming me.” Then, turning to Adrian, he added with a grin, “Okay, what did she say?”
Adrian hesitated, cleared his throat. “She said… that you’re very, very handsome. And…” he paused, looking like he regretted every second of translating, “hot. That you seem like a good man. Impressive. A man’s man. That I chose well.”
Logan felt his cheeks grow warm, the compliment catching him off guard. He looked at Tammi and gave a sheepish smile. “Thank you, Tammi. I just… I hope there aren’t hard feelings. About before. About how I left. I know I don’t deserve how kind you’re being, but I’m really grateful to be here.”
“No. Adrian is to decide. Adrian love you, I love you,”
From the hallway, another figure appeared, and Logan automatically knew that this was Adrian’s father. There was no doubt about it. He was an older, heavier version of Adrian, with the same strong build and sharp jawline. However, while Adrian’s eyes were liquid whiskey warm and endless, his father’s were black, with deep lines framing them. WhereasAdrian’s physique had always been lean, bulky, and tight with muscles, his father carried a heavier gut and a set of wide shoulders.
Logan straightened instinctively. “Hello, sir,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Logan Vaughn, Adrian’s boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The words tumbled from his lips before he could even pause to reconsider them.Boyfriend. He hadn’t sought Adrian’s permission, hadn’t lingered to verify if it was appropriate to embrace that title amidst all the chaos that had transpired between them. But it was undeniably true. After all the turmoil, Logan felt a resolute clarity. No more hesitations. No more running.
Adrian belonged to him, and he to Adrian. If there was a time and place to reveal the depths of his feelings, it was now with Adrian’s parents.
He was Adrian’s boyfriend, and the pride swelling within him was intoxicating as he embraced those words.
Adrian’s father gazed at him, a fleeting emotion visible in his eyes—skepticism, maybe, or a subtle evaluation. Nevertheless, he grasped Logan’s hand, his hold steady, and his face inscrutable.
“Hello, Logan.” A pause. “Aaron.”
Before Logan could respond, Tammi and Adrian exchanged a flurry of words in Hebrew. Then Tammi gestured toward the small living room and walked off without waiting for them to follow.
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that told Logan more than words. “Their English isn’t great,” he explained, even though Logan had already understood that. “But they understand more than they speak. My mom said you should sit. Make yourself comfortable.”
Logan nodded, but something sat heavy in his chest.
