November 19, 2020—Tel-Aviv, Israel—Two Days Later #7
Logan was still standing there, unable to move, as if his feet were cemented to the sand, while Adrian’s figure disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the golden hues of the setting sun.
The world around him seemed to blur, the roar of the ocean fading, leaving only the echo of Adrian’s words reverberating in his mind.
Cancer. Dying. Six months.
The words transcended mere syllables; they dissolved, evaporated, then cascaded over him like rain, flooding the ocean within, conjuring waves that battered him and stole his breath.
They were tearing Adrian from him, and his name hovered on Logan’s lips, a silent prayer, a profound longing, a forsaken plea that echoed with vengeance when all others had fallen to desolation.
He could feel the brumal chill seeping into his bones, freezing him from the inside as the realization began to settle in his chest, and the frost claimed all the space his lungs could no longer fill.
And then Dean’s words clicked into place.
The realization slowly struck him, as his mind was overwhelmed, with three words ringing louder than all others.
Adrian wasn’t just walking away; he was slipping through Logan’s fingers forever.
Hot tears spilled down Logan’s cheeks, burning his eyes, as a knot of emotion tightened in his throat.
His bottom lip trembled like a child lost and yearning, and he let the tears fall.
There was no stopping them. The pain clawed its way through him, overwhelming and raw, leaving him hollow.
Adrian was dying.
The thought made him stagger, bile rising in his throat as his stomach churned.
He doubled over, pressing a hand to his chest as if that might somehow dull the ache that burned there.
How had it come to this? How could the man who had pulled him from the ocean, who had saved his life in every way that mattered, who was the only source of comfort in Logan’s miserable life, be fading like this?
But the despair didn’t last. It couldn’t. Adrian had left behind too many ghosts, too many fragments of things never spoken. The silence between them wasn’t just empty; it was unfinished. And Logan could no longer live in the ruins of almost.
His breath hitched. His hands trembled. But he straightened, bone by bone, like someone remembering how to stand. Grief would have to wait.
Answers came first.
Movement. Action. Something.
He couldn’t afford the luxury of falling apart, not when there was still a chance to put something back together.
The gray house was visible from where he stood, a stark reminder of where Adrian had gone, and Logan ran toward it, unsteady as the shifting sand beneath his trembling steps.
His legs burned, his breaths sharp and labored, but he didn’t stop.
Couldn’t stop. By the time he reached the terrace, his hands juddered, not with life, but with the shudder of something about to detonate.
The sliding door opened beneath his touch, and then he was inside, his body moving before his mind could process the madness of it.
The air was thick as stormwater, humming with rage, dripping with grief, heavy with longing, saturated with the unmistakable gnawing pang of regret, the pungent sillage of a love neglected until it soured into ruin.
Adrian stood in the middle of the room, his arms crossed, his jaw locked tight.
He was thinner than Logan remembered, and it hit him like a gut punch, the way his skin seemed to stretch over sharper bones, the way his eyes—God, his eyes—smoldered with exhaustion beneath all that fury.
When he saw the photos Mr. Boyed sent, he initially thought Adrian looked relatively the same.
He was gravely mistaken; perhaps it was the excitement of seeing Adrian again, or the camera angle, or the distance between them, but Adrian was no longer the same.
Logan was looking at someone who was ill, and that person was the love of his life.
Dean stood beside him, glancing between them with wary eyes, a silent witness to the storm brewing.
“Get out!” Adrian spat, his voice sharp as broken glass, and Logan felt them to his core, felt them slicing him, wounding him. Adrian turned on his heel, heading for the hallway.
“Ad—Adrian, please!” Logan cried, his voice breaking as he wiped at his tear-streaked face. “Please, just talk to me. Please! Just—just look at me.”
Adrian froze for a moment but didn’t turn around. “No,” he said firmly, though his voice wavered, betraying the war inside him.
Dean, caught in the crossfire, hesitated before mumbling, “I’ll let you talk,” and moved toward the front door.
“No need,” Adrian said sharply, his eyes flashing toward Dean. “Logan is not staying.”
“Adrian, I’m not leaving.” Logan’s voice cracked as he took a step closer. “Please. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes to talk to you.”
Dean’s eyes softened as he glanced at Logan, then at Adrian, before slipping out the door without another word.
The silence stretched thinly between them. Adrian finally turned then, and Logan wished he hadn’t. Because those eyes—those damn eyes—weren’t just angry. They were hurt. They were tired. They were hiding something Logan didn’t yet understand. And that made it worse.
“You have some nerve,” Adrian spat, his voice shaking now, no longer as controlled as he wanted it to be.
“Coming here… After everything. After the way you—” He laughed, bitter and cold, but he didn’t finish that sentence.
“You said you’re sorry,” he said coldly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I heard you. Now leave. I’m sure you know how. ”
Logan flinched, breath caught like a whisper in the night.
Before words could dance upon his lips, before explanation could weave its tale, Adrian’s voice, a tender hush, fell like silken rain.
Yet within that softness, a sharpness gleamed, cutting through the still air, leaving Logan exposed, raw beneath the weight of unspoken truth.
“Or would you rather wait until I fall asleep so you can slip out real quietly, just like last time?”
The accusation struck Logan like a blow, reverberating through his chest and before he could think, he strode forth with purpose, positioning himself in Adrian’s path.
“Adrian,” he breathed, his voice trembling, quivering, a fragile note now that he stood so close to Adrian again.
“I—I don’t know what to say. I don’t think ‘sorry’ is enough, but it’s all I’ve got. Please, just—please hear me out.”
Adrian’s breath trembled. His jaw locked, his lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line, but the rage beneath his skin was restless—unstill, unquiet.
A shudder rippled through him, a violent tremor barely contained, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as if gripping at the fraying edges of something breaking apart.
His throat bobbed, his breath a stuttered thing, caught between fury and something too tender to name.
Then—he moved.
Suddenly, Adrian’s hands seized Logan’s shirt, and in the next breath, Logan’s back collided with the cold, unyielding wall. The force of it rattled through his bones, stole the breath from his lungs, but none of it mattered—because there, mere inches away, was Adrian.
So close that Logan could feel the tremors dancing beneath Adrian’s skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest echoing like a restless sea on the brink of a storm, yearning to unleash its fury.
Close enough to kiss, to melt into that breathtaking proximity.
Close enough to disappear into the gravity that had never really let them go.
Close enough to behold the haunting ache mirrored in those whiskey-colored eyes, those deep, soulful wells that Logan chased endlessly through the corridors of his memories.
Close enough to reach out and undo the tie on Adrian’s hair, like Logan had done countless times before. He could have touched his face, traced the lines grief had drawn, kissed the place where fury and pain lived beside love.
Even in anger, Logan wanted him.
No—he needed him.
And if Adrian offered anything, even rage, Logan would take it. Take it all. Take him.
Adrian’s voice broke open, ragged and wrecked.
“You fucking left me!”
The words cracked like thunder, splintering through the air between them. They struck Logan forcefully, echoing through the silent house and spilling into the pain that separated them, where the ocean roared and crashed, unsettled just like the space between them.
Tears poured down Adrian’s face, his anguish spilling out. “You left! You got up and walked away, like I was nothing!” His grip tightened on Logan’s shirt, his body trembling with the force of his anger and heartbreak. “You tore me apart! You ripped me to pieces and didn’t even look back!”
Logan didn’t fight it, didn’t try to pull away. He let Adrian’s words crash into him, let them cut him open and expose every ounce of his guilt. Adrian’s pain was a storm raging in front of him, his eyes screaming the truth of his torment louder than his voice ever could.
“I know,” Logan choked, his own tears falling in rivers. “I know I did. And I hate myself for it, Ad. I hate myself every single day for what I did to you. I am sorry!”
Logan’s tears fell freely, warm trails cutting down his face as if Adrian’s words had unearthed him—dug down through layers of scar tissue and time, brushing dust from bones he thought were long buried.
He didn’t resist Adrian’s grip when he was dragged forward, didn’t fight back when he was shoved again.
He couldn’t.
The anger, the sorrow, and the betrayal pouring from Adrian were raw, unfiltered, and well deserved. Logan could only stand there, silent and breaking, as Adrian unleashed everything he had kept buried.