November 26, 2020—Tel-Aviv, Israel—The Next Day #17
Aliana lay in the bed, her skin pale, her head wrapped in a soft kerchief.
And there, sitting at the edge of the bed, was Adrian—just a little boy, no older than five, his small hands wrapped around hers, his face solemn as if he understood, even then, that the world was about to take something from him that he could never get back.
Logan swallowed hard, but no words came.
The pages turned, and time passed with them.
Adrian grew older in the photos, his face sharper, his stance stronger.
Most of the pictures were at the beach—his first surfboard, his first real wave.
There was something breathtaking about seeing him like this, young and fearless, salt in his hair and sunlight in his smile.
“I…” Tammi started, then stopped, miming a camera with her hands, pressing an invisible shutter. “Those,” she said, pointing to the album, her eyes shining with pride.
Logan, still mesmerized by the images before him, turned to Adrian and whispered, “You’re beautiful.”
A betraying warmth bloomed in Adrian’s skin.
They were halfway through the third album when the sound of footsteps brought them back to the present.
Aaron and Alon had returned.
Logan didn’t miss the redness in Aaron’s eyes, the way they looked swollen, puffy—like maybe, just maybe, something had finally cracked open inside him.
Alon, oblivious to the weight in the room, plopped onto the couch beside Adrian and peered at the album. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Mom is showing Logan embarrassing pictures of me,” Adrian muttered, resigned to his fate.
Logan laughed, flipping another page.
“Have you seen him naked as a baby? Or the one where he thought he looked cool with a skateboard?” Alon smirked.
Adrian groaned. “You both suck.”
But Logan just grinned, his fingers still laced with Adrian’s.
“Yeah… it was a tough phase with the skateboard and those… rapper clothes, huh, Ad?” Logan teased, his silver eyes glinting with amusement as he glanced over at Adrian with a smirk.
Adrian groaned again, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shut up, or I’ll post your embarrassing pictures on Facebook, Alon.”
Alon just grinned, unbothered, while Logan chuckled and turned the page.
The laughter faded slightly as the next set of photos came into view.
Adrian, standing ahead of his unit, clad in crisp white navy dress uniform—sharp, immaculate, a stark contrast to the Adrian Logan had met chasing waves and sunrises.
His hat sat perfectly in place, his black shoes gleamed, his posture was rigid, disciplined, and god, he looked so different.
His body had been even more muscular then, his hair cropped neatly, his expression unreadable.
He was so damn hot in uniform.
Not now, Logan scolded himself. You’re in his parents’ living room, for god’s sake. This is not the time to picture Adrian in that uniform and then taking it off. Slowly.
He shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat, and flipped to the next photo before his thoughts betrayed him further.
Then, suddenly, he stopped, his eyes widening with recognition. His lips curled into a smile.
“Wait… is that Dean?” Logan laughed, pointing at a young man in the photo standing beside Adrian, looking every bit as disciplined and severe as Adrian had.
“Yeah,” Adrian affirmed, his tone infused with glee.
“Oh my god, I would never have recognized him,” Logan said, shaking his head.
“Why not?” Alon asked, leaning in slightly to look at the picture.
“I don’t know, just look at him,” Logan gestured at the image. “He actually looks… uptight here, like a serious person. Nothing like the Dean I know now.”
Adrian snorted at the assessment, while Alon, still staring at the photo, mumbled absentmindedly, “I think he looks just fine.”
Adrian glanced at him, catching the slight blush on his brother’s face before he turned away, feigning indifference.
Ah. So his suspicions were right.
Alon had a crush.
It made sense now, the extra bitterness in his voice when talking about Adrian’s friend, the subtle defensiveness.
If he was gay or bi, if he had spent years struggling with it the way Adrian had once struggled, then of course some of that anger was about more than just standing in his brother’s shadow.
Adrian didn’t say anything. He didn’t let his face betray the realization.
He just let it pass—let Alon have his moment—and turned his attention back to his mother, who, miraculously, with her broken English, still managed to share story after story, each more embarrassing than the last, about his childhood to Logan.
“He not know that… ah… she want him—” Tammi laughed, slapping her knee. “He take her to movie and ice cream. He think, ‘we friends!’ She paused for dramatic effect, eyes gleaming. “She kiss him… and he to run!”
She burst into full laughter, clearly delighted with her delivery. Adrian groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Mom, please.”
Logan was already laughing, leaning back on the couch, completely enthralled. “You were quite the heartbreaker, weren’t you, Ad?” he teased, nudging Adrian’s leg.
Of all the embarrassing stories she could’ve chosen, she had to tell that one.
Adrian had been fifteen. The girl from the next building had chased him down for weeks, asking him to take her to a movie—some random action thing—and then for ice cream.
He’d finally caved, assuming it was friendly.
But at the end of the night, she leaned in to kiss him, and Adrian, overwhelmed and blushing to his ears, mumbled a goodbye and practically bolted.
“He was!” Tammi said, proud as ever. “After he… gay, come out the closet,” she nodded seriously at Logan, as if clarifying something important, “I have boys—many many boys!—come to house. Try talk to him. Boys all over. Boys from school, army, neighbors. Cute boys. All of them.”
“Many, many boys? Boys all over? You don’t say,” Logan asked, eyebrows raised, smirking at Adrian, his voice low and full of mischief. His eyes had gone dark—warm, amused, a little possessive.
“But my boy, he is gentleman,” Tammi said, tapping her chest. “He… picky. Very very. Want…” she gestured with her hands, searching for the word. “Connection. Not just kiss-kiss. You know?” She winked. “Feeling. Real love, yes? He… ah…ah… sensitive. My boy, sensitive, very.”
“Mom, please,” Adrian groaned again, his ears now a deep shade of red. “She is exaggerating.” He said to Logan.
But Tammi was already launching into the next story. “Once, he in beach, yes?” she started again. “No shirt, tan, my boy beautiful—”
“Mom,” Adrian cut her off.
“No, no, I want to hear it,” Logan said, flashing Tammi a charming grin, and she melted on the spot, grinning right back.
Logan, of course, was eating it all up, wearing a satisfied smile like a man who had just discovered treasure.
By the time the night began to wind down, dessert plates were empty and Adrian’s parents had managed to parade out every embarrassing story they could remember.
Tammi, in particular, seemed delighted to recount every boy who had ever shown interest in Adrian—from classmates to army buddies to a barista who once left his number on a napkin.
To Adrian’s quiet relief, Alon had joined in the jokes, had laughed with them, and—most importantly—his father had made an effort to include him, asking him questions, acknowledging him in a way Adrian knew hadn’t happened often enough before.
And with that, Adrian’s heart eased.
Maybe—just maybe—things would be better for Alon now.
As the evening came to a close, Logan exchanged numbers with Tammi, Aaron, and Alon, promising to keep them updated about Adrian’s treatments.
And then, the moment Adrian had been dreading: the goodbyes.
Tammi wrapped him in her arms first, hugging him so tightly it almost hurt, holding onto him as if she could keep him from slipping away.
They all said it wasn’t a goodbye.
But it felt like it could be.
Adrian buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of home, of warmth, of her.
“Love you, Mom,” he whispered, so softly only she could hear. “Thanks for being my mom… even when you didn’t have to.”
Tammi let out a soft, broken sound, clutching him tighter. “Don’t be silly,” she scolded through her tears. “You are my son.”
She held him for several minutes, unwilling to let go. And when she finally did, her hands lingered on his face, smoothing his hair back like she was committing every detail to memory.
Then came his father.
Aaron didn’t say much—he never had been the type for long, emotional speeches—but when he pulled Adrian into a tight embrace, Adrian felt the tremor in his grip, the way his breath hitched against his shoulder.
His father was crying.
And so Adrian held on, pressing his hand against his father’s back, holding onto this moment.
“Love you, Dad.”
Just in case.
Alon was next.
His little brother didn’t say much either, but his hug was firm, his voice steady when he said, “Good luck.”
And that was enough.
Finally, after saying their goodbyes to Logan, Adrian and Logan stepped out of the apartment, making their way back to the car in silence. The air was cooler now, crisp against Adrian’s skin.
Logan unlocked the car but didn’t get in right away. Instead, he turned to Adrian, his silver eyes searching his face.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Adrian let out a slow breath, staring up at the sky for a moment before looking back at Logan.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Logan nodded, as if he understood.
And then, wordlessly, he reached out, taking Adrian’s hand and lacing their fingers together.
Adrian squeezed his hand in return, and for now, that was enough.
“So... many, many boys, huh?” Logan simpered. “School friends, neighbor’s kids, army buddies, baristas, surfers...? I’m sure I’ve missed a few,” he flashed a teasing smirk at Adrian.