November 19, 2020—Tel-Aviv, Israel—Two Days Later #11
Logan’s voice cracked, but he kept going, the words tumbling out in a rush.
“I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up that night to tell you I was scared.
I’m sorry I blocked you. I’m sorry I married her in front of you, and that I acted like you didn’t mean everything to me.
God, Adrian, I’ve been sorry every single day since I walked away. ”
Logan wiped at his eyes, tears spilling from them in a wet trail that spoke of the pain.
His body throbbed and trembled with longing, a restless ache seething beneath his skin as he was so close to Adrian, yet could not reach out and touch him.
He longed for the comfort of Adrian’s arms, the warmth of his skin, the quiet reassurance of his presence.
It was a longing that had never left him, and now it seared like molten metal.
When it became painfully clear that Adrian wasn’t going to respond, Logan’s resolve crumbled.
Slowly, he sank to the floor, his back pressed against the wall, the weight of his sorrow pulling him down.
He let his head rest against the cool surface, just inches from Adrian’s bedroom door, as if the nearness might somehow bridge the chasm between them.
The silence on the other side was smothering, a void that swallowed everything he had left to give.
He sat there, legs drawn up, as close to Adrian as he could get without crossing the line he knew he’d long since forfeited. The minutes stretched into hours, the stillness of the house broken only by the faint crushing of waves in the distance.
Now that he was so close to Adrian, the smallest distance between them felt unfathomably vast—too immense to confront, too painful to endure.
With his soul recognizing its other half just beyond that door, separated by nothing more than a mere board of wood, he was left in a state of helpless longing.
At some point, sleep must have claimed him, because when Logan stirred awake, the house was cloaked in darkness.
His neck throbbed from the awkward angle, and the hard floor beneath him should have seeped November’s chill deep into his bones.
But instead, he felt unexpected, comforting warmth.
Blinking groggily, he cast a bleary gaze downward and discovered a blanket lovingly draped over him.
The soft fabric exuded an unmistakable scent; Adrian’s scent.
The intoxicating smell, a blend that Logan’s brain recognized too well—like a predator stalking his prey, it surged through Logan, awakening a torrent of memories that lingered inexorably in his mind.
He recalled the peaceful moments spent lying in bed with Adrian nestled in his arms, enveloped by that familiar fragrance.
It was a delicate blend of sweetness and cleanliness, intermingled with hints of his cologne and the shampoo he favored—all woven together with an essence that was purely Adrian, a scent imbued with warmth and comfort.
Beside him, a small portable heater hummed quietly, its glow casting faint shadows against the wall.
Logan’s breath caught in his throat. At some point, Adrian must have emerged from his room, seen him curled up against the wall, and chosen to help him.
It was such a painfully Adrian thing to do, silent, tender, and full of a love that lingered, refusing to be extinguished, even after everything.
His eyes shifted toward the door beside him, still closed but no longer a fortress.
No longer an impenetrable thing built to keep him out.
Instead, it felt like a veil—thin, fragile, something he could almost slip through if he reached for it.
He pressed a palm to the wood, fingers splayed out, feeling for something, some warmth, presence, a heartbeat on the other side.
“Ad,” he murmured, his voice raw from sleep. The name barely rose above the hum of the heater, but it carried everything—years of longing, of regret, of love never given the chance to settle, to rest, to be enough.
Silence.
Logan swallowed against the weight of it, his pulse drumming in his ears. He thought of pushing the door open, stepping inside, spilling every word that had burned inside him for the past two years, but he stopped himself. He didn’t have that right. Not anymore.
This is about Adrian. He reminded himself.
So instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen flaring to life with a harsh, bluish glow.
His pupils shrank instantly, tightening against the sudden flood of light, and for a moment, his eyes stung, his vision swimming as they adjusted.
He squinted, blinking rapidly, the brightness searing afterimages into the darkness.
His thumb hovered over his contacts, scrolling with slow, thoughtful intent until it stopped on Adrian’s name.
Buried beneath years of neglect, beneath all the things he had tried to push away. But he had never really erased him.
A gasp slipped from him as his eyes caught the small, cruel reminder beside the name: Blocked. A severed connection, a wall of his own making. He had built it, steel-clad it, made damn sure Adrian could never reach him again.
And yet, Adrian had still left him a blanket. Still turned on the heat. Still saw him.
His chest ached as he tapped the screen, removing the block, as if the act itself could undo the damage, could bring back all the things he had let slip through his fingers. He sat there, staring at the name, at the thread of messages that hadn’t disappeared—that hadn’t let him forget.
That thread was the sole thing that made Logan cling to this cellphone, refusing to upgrade it no matter what.
Logan’s breath hitched as he scrolled up, back through time, through every moment of Adrian reaching for him when he had refused to reach back:
November 13, 2018
You can’t just leave. You can’t do this to me.
This is us. You and me. Remember? It’s me, Logan.
I’m begging you.
Please, answer the phone!
Please don’t run. Please, not from me. Please pick up the phone!
I love you. Okay? There. I said it again. I LOVE YOU. So now what? You’re gonna disappear on me?!
Logan, please. Come back. Please pick up the phone!
I’m not okay. I can’t breathe.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to lose you.
Please answer. Please just… let me hear your voice. One word. Are you okay?
The last message Adrian had sent him. A plea that had gone unanswered.
Logan squeezed his eyes shut, guilt clawing at his throat, at his ribs, at the spaces in between. He scrolled further, before everything shattered, before that night, before the running, before the silence.
And there it was.
A life reduced to pixels on a screen. The echoes of a love that had once been whole, woven into the quiet, mundane things, the kind of texts people send when they don’t think there will ever be a last one.
Logan scrolled, his breath shallow, his pulse a dull, aching thrum in his ears. Fragments of them. Of the life they had built. Of the ordinary moments that had meant nothing at the time but now felt like everything.
His thumb hovered over the screen as the dates blurred together, time folding in on itself.
August 25, 2018
I’m heading out.
September 4, 2018
I’m grabbing dinner. They’re out of your favorite. What do you want instead?
Just get me what you get yourself. I’ve finished packing. We’re all settled for tomorrow.
October 29, 2018
Where’s my hoodie? Did you steal it again?
That’s my hoodie now… I found the aloe vera gel brand you love and got some antiseptic cream and ibuprofen. I’m waiting in line to pay, and I’ll be back in 15 minutes.
Ad, I just cut my arm on some coral… you’re overreacting…
November 2, 2018
Where are you? I’m waiting for you at the market’s entrance like we said.
Trying to barter with a local for fresh fruit. I think I accidentally agreed to help him move furniture.
What?!
Would you answer the fucking phone?
Sorry, he had a lot of furniture! I got like six kilos of mango, though.
Kilos?
American…
November 5, 2018
You are so beautiful when you sleep. I went for a run, didn’t want to wake you.
Did you for real leave me in bed for a run?
You were sleeping…
Come back.
I’m trying to run here.
*attached photo*
Fuck. You are so hot. I’m on my way.
Now, years later, the photo flickered back to life on the small screen, and Logan felt heat rise in his throat, his pulse hammering as if Adrian might appear in the doorway again.
He scrolled past too quickly, as though speed could protect him, but the image clung like fire to the inside of his skull.
There he was, sprawled across tangled sheets, bare and unguarded, morning light dripping across his skin.
His body was all heat and shadow, golden tones catching on the ridges of his stomach, the broad weight of his chest, the long cut of his flank, narrowing into the hips.
His hair fell in loose disarray, his eyes half-lidded with that lazy, reckless invitation that made restraint impossible.
The camera caught everything: the thick line of his forearm, veins rising faintly beneath the skin, the casual sprawl of his shoulders that made the bed seem smaller beneath him.
And lower—his hand curled loosely around himself, head exposed, flushed and wet with the promise of more.
Not explicit enough to give everything away, but enough to taunt, enough to command Adrian back to him.
It was more than a photo. It was a challenge, a seduction, a trap. He had known exactly what he was doing.
And Adrian had fallen for it instantly.
Logan’s thumb hovered over the screen, his body suddenly feeling too small for all the weight inside him. His fingers clenched around the phone, around the past, around the unbearable realization that he had spent two years pretending he didn’t miss something that had been a part of him.
That Adrian had still seen him. Even when Logan had left him in the dark, Adrian had still reached out.