November 21, 2020—Tel-Aviv, Israel—The Next Day #3
Logan moved to the living room and sat on the couch, deciding to wait and see what Adrian would do.
He clenched his fists, his thoughts a chaotic mess of frustration, jealousy, and regret.
From the living room, he could see Adrian at the counter, his movements methodical as he made coffee.
Every so often, Adrian glanced at Itay, his expression guarded, unreadable.
“You’re not going to say anything?” Itay asked in Hebrew, his voice rising, tinged with anger. “You’re just… back together with him?”
Itay’s frustration filled the space of the small apartment. It was so poignant, so thick that Adrian felt it in his own body.
Over the years since Adrian and Itay had broken up, Itay had tried to move on.
He’d dated here and there, half-hearted attempts to fill the void Adrian had left behind.
But none of it ever worked. Deep down, Itay had never stopped chasing Adrian.
The moment Logan walked out of Adrian’s life—marrying Sandy and leaving Adrian broken and vulnerable—Itay had stepped in, trying to rekindle what they once had.
Itay had tried everything. Again and again, he reached for the ruins they’d once called love, he’d brushed the dust off old memories and tried to remind Adrian of the long years they’d shared, their history, the love they’d built.
He’d begged him to see reason, to let himself be loved again.
But Adrian had been impenetrable, a fortress of anguish and heartbreak.
It didn’t matter how many times Itay told him they could start over, that they could build something new—Adrian couldn’t hear it.
His heart still belonged to Logan.
Even in the stillest hours, when the memories were too painful to bear, Adrian remained loyal to them.
To him. His heart curled toward Logan’s memory like a prayer, forgetting how to love anyone who wasn’t that magnificent force.
That beautiful man, with stormy eyes and a smile capable of liquefying rocks into flowing lava, had effortlessly dissolved Adrian’s soul as well, merging it seamlessly with his own for the rest of eternity.
Adrian knew it would be a quiet cruelty to fall into Itay’s open arms, knowing his heart drifted far from reach.
Every breath, every fragment of his soul was already captivated by another, his existence tethered to a name that wasn’t Itay’s.
How could he offer a love that burned half as brightly as the one he harbored for Logan?
How could he present an absent heart that beat in sync with the rhythm of Logan’s name?
How could he feign that a flickering candle could embody the wildfire and fireworks he truly desired?
To take what Itay offered so freely would be to weave tenderness into betrayal, and Adrian could not bear to wound a heart so unguarded.
When Adrian’s diagnosis came, Itay had been devastated.
Furious, even. He’d tried to reason with Adrian, to beg him to fight, to plead with him not to give up.
“You can’t do this,” Itay would say, his voice trembling, his hands grasping Adrian’s frail shoulders.
“You can’t leave like this.” But Adrian, pale and hollow-eyed, only smiled that faint, tired smile of his.
A smile that spoke of surrender, not to fear, but to inevitability.
Night after night, Itay sat at his side, sometimes raging, sometimes weeping, sometimes begging in a silence so loud it seemed to crack the air between them.
Yet every time, Adrian slipped further away—not in body just yet, but in spirit.
His gaze grew distant, his words fewer, until it seemed he lived more in the echoes of memories than in the present.
One night, Itay had finally broken. “It’s him, isn’t it?
” The words had cut through the stillness, sharper than the whettest blade.
He didn’t need to say the name. Logan’s absence loomed as heavily as his return would.
“It’s him,” Itay repeated, his tone a mix of accusation and defeat.
Adrian hadn’t answered, but his silence spoke more than words ever could.
“You’re willing to give up your life for him?
” Itay’s voice had cracked, his tears falling unchecked.
“Adrian, it makes no sense! He’s not worth this—he’s not worth your life!
” He would be shouting at that point, his hands shaking, his love turning to fury in the face of Adrian’s refusal.
But Adrian didn’t flinch. He simply looked at him, his expression soft, almost pitying, and retreated once more into the quiet, impenetrable space inside himself.
How could a man with a vacant chest, a torn soul, and a shattered gaze feel anything, anything at all, when all of his tomorrows had been stolen, swallowed by a vast, black void that kept sucking the joy from his life?
What Itay failed to understand was that Adrian’s life—the fire that once burned so brightly in him—was already gone. Logan had taken it with him that night two years ago when he walked away without a word. The candle had flickered, and when Logan left, it had gone out entirely.
And now Logan was back.
Itay’s voice, raw with emotion, pierced the silence again, dragging Adrian from the depths of his memories. “Do you really think he’s going to stay this time?” Itay demanded, each word trembling with heartbreak. “After everything? After what he did to you?”
Adrian didn’t respond right away. He turned back to the coffee pot, his movements deliberate, the soft clink of porcelain against metal filling the space between them. He poured slowly, his hands steady, though his shoulders sagged under a weight only he could feel.
“Itay,” he began, his tone the echo of a thousand conversations before, “we’ve been over this. You need to stop doing this to yourself.”
Itay’s jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I need to stop doing this to myself? What about you, Adrian?” His voice rose, trembling with hurt. “He broke you. He ruined you! He left you for her—left you in pieces—and now he just walks back in, and you’re going to let him?”
Adrian’s gaze shifted briefly toward the living room, where Logan sat on the edge of the couch, his body stiff and his head bowed low. Though Logan was within earshot, the words exchanged between Adrian and Itay—spoken in Hebrew—were a shield of privacy he couldn’t penetrate.
Yet even without understanding, Logan wasn’t blind to the storm brewing in the room.
The tension radiating from Adrian and Itay filled the air like static before a lightning strike, and Logan’s hunched shoulders betrayed that he felt every unspoken accusation, every lingering bruise, as if they were aimed directly at him.
Adrian turned from the counter, coffee forgotten as weariness settled in his eyes. “It’s not that simple,” he murmured. His voice was gentle, almost apologetic.
Itay’s head shook in disbelief, his voice trembling, teetering on the edge of breaking.
“It is simple, Adrian! He hurt you, and you’re just—” His words faltered, the weight of his emotions spilling over in his tears.
“You’re letting him do it all over again.
After everything…” His voice cracked, his love for Adrian bleeding through every word. “After everything…”
Adrian leaned back against the counter, his fingers briefly brushing his temple, as if the words were too much to hold. The silence stretched. Itay’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, searching Adrian’s face for any sign that he would change his mind, that he would choose differently this time.
“Itay,” Adrian said softly, breaking the stillness, “please don’t.
” His words were gentle but resolute, like the closing of a door that had been left open too long.
His gaze lifted to meet Itay’s, and the heartbreak in his familiar eyes was too much to bear.
“Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to me. ”
But Itay couldn’t let it go. His voice rose again, desperate now. “I’ve asked you for another chance so many times. I would’ve done anything—anything—for you. And you always said no. But the second he comes back…” He couldn’t finish, his voice faltering, caught in the tangle of his anguish.
Adrian stepped closer to Itay, his movements wary, as if every step carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.
His trembling hands rose to cup Itay’s face, his thumbs brushing away tears that fell freely now.
The intimacy of the gesture was comforting yet final, as though Adrian was holding not just Itay’s face, but all the years, the love, the relationship, the laughter, and the heartbreak they had shared.
From across the room, the sound of a sharp gasp broke through the fragile moment.
Adrian’s chest tightened, his breath catching, but he didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to look to know it was Logan.
That sound—half shock, half ache—was unmistakable, and in his peripheral vision, Adrian could see the ripple of movement.
Logan was no longer seated, his body taut and on edge, as though ready to intervene or perhaps flee, unsure which instinct to follow.
He stood now, his presence an undeniable storm in the room, waiting, watching.
Adrian could feel Logan’s eyes burning into him, a silent plea for acknowledgment, for reassurance.