November 26, 2020—Tel-Aviv, Israel—The Next Day #18
“Shut up,” Adrian muttered, his voice low and mortified as a deep flush climbed up his neck, blooming across his cheeks. He buried his face into the curve of Logan’s neck, trying to hide from the world—or at least from his mother’s wildly exaggerated matchmaking memoir.
“She thinks every guy who looks at me wants me,” he grunted against Logan’s skin. “And I told you how it usually goes. My height…” He exhaled slowly. “Let’s just say I’m fun to flirt with, but not the one they take seriously. No one wants to date the short one.”
Logan’s arms tightened around him in reply. “You are perfect,” he said, kissing the top of Adrian’s head.
The drive back to Adrian’s house was quiet, filled only with the hum of the tires against the asphalt. Logan held Adrian’s hand the entire way, his fingers a steady anchor, a silent promise.
Adrian’s throat burned with the emotion choking him, the kind of ache that had no release, no words strong enough to carry its weight. So neither of them spoke. They just breathed together in the hush of the night.
At some point during the drive, Logan made a call to the rental agency, arranging for them to pick up the car. By the time they pulled into the driveway, a man was already waiting. The keys exchanged hands, and just like that, another chapter closed.
Inside Adrian’s bedroom, Logan moved with tender urgency.
He drew Adrian into his embrace, pressing him close against his chest as if to shield him from the world’s harshest trials.
In that silent shelter, he held him not just with arms, but with strength, offering solace and resilience to both, entwined in a moment of shared vulnerability.
“I love you,” Logan murmured, his breath warm against Adrian’s temple. “And everything will be okay.”
Adrian didn’t believe it. Not really.
A deep, haunting fear lingered within him, echoing the reality that he may have just spent the night wrapped in the warmth and familiarity of his family for the last time.
But hearing Logan say it made breathing just a little easier.
Then, there was a gentle knock on the door.
Logan kissed Adrian once, gently, before pulling away and heading toward the door.
Dean stood on the other side, his face calm but his eyes saying everything his voice hadn’t yet.
“I’ll take you guys to the airport,” he offered, his voice rough, thick.
Logan nodded. “Thanks.”
They gathered their bags, rolling their luggage into the trunk, and then Dean started the car. The engine purred to life, and they were off. One step closer to leaving, one step further from home.
Adrian sat in the back with Logan, their hands intertwined between them. And as the city blurred past, Adrian spoke. He told them about what had happened at dinner, about Alon, about his father.
But not about what he suspected. Not about Alon’s crush on Dean, or the way it had hit him with sudden clarity. No. That was something Alon had to figure out on his own.
Dean listened, eyes fixed on the road, the tension in his shoulders betraying how deeply he heard every word.
His hands were tight on the wheel. He nodded occasionally, but said nothing.
Logan, beside Adrian, stayed quiet too, tracing gentle circles on the back of Adrian’s hand, grounding him, reminding him that he didn’t have to carry everything alone.
By the time they reached the airport, something had shifted. Not just between them, within them.
Dean parked in silence, his grip on the wheel a little too firm, his jaw locked the way it always was when he was holding something in. He didn’t say goodbye. He just got out, grabbed a bag, and started walking.
He insisted on taking them all the way inside. Through security. To the gate. Until the very last possible moment, as if, by staying close enough, by refusing to let go, he could slow time down. Maybe even stop it.
Adrian let him.
Not because he needed help. But because Dean did.
And, if he was being honest, he needed it too.
But then, there was no time left.
They had to cross the gate alone.
And just as Adrian turned to step away, Dean grabbed him. His fingers curled tightly around Adrian’s arm, his grip firm, desperate.
“We got through—” Dean started, but his voice faltered.
He didn’t have to finish.
Adrian knew what he was thinking.
He was thinking about all of it. The years.
The training. The diving into depths no one else had dared to reach.
The wars that had reshaped them into something neither of them fully recognized.
The missions that had turned them into ghosts of themselves.
The nights spent standing watch over each other’s backs, both knowing that death had brushed too close too many times.
The blood.
So much blood.
The fallen friends they have mourned and grieved together.
It was the strength and sacredness of their friendship—founded on sacrifice and deeper than anything Adrian had ever experienced.
They had been bound by things that no one else could understand, by the silent oaths spoken in gunfire and sea spray and the metallic taste of adrenaline on their tongues.
By the dark nights when Adrian cried so loud that Dean came into the room and held him.
And Adrian knew, without question, without hesitation—Dean would die for him.
He almost had.
And Adrian would have done the same.
“A lot,” Adrian finally said, his voice quiet but steady, a small, painful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Dean swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t survive all this shit just to die from cancer…”
Adrian had no answer.
Because he couldn’t say everything would be okay.
Because they both knew the truth.
Dean clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly before nodding once. “I’ll come visit you in a few months. Tom and I.”
Adrian nodded. “Keep an eye on Alon, okay? He’s in our unit now. Make sure he’s handling it. It should be my job, but… I don’t know if I’ll be able to. And he might need some help.”
Dean didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
And then Adrian pulled him into a hug.
Dean clung to him fiercely, as if striving to etch this fleeting moment into eternity, yearning to rewind time itself.
He held his best friend—his brother, his everything—so tightly, as though anchoring him against an impending departure.
The heart-wrenching reality hit: he was about to board a plane, facing the uncertainty of whether he would return.
Then, all too rapidly, it slipped away. Dean discreetly brushed away his tears, trying to catch his breath.
Logan grabbed his suitcase. Adrian grabbed his.
They turned to go.
And then—
“Hey, Princess.”
Adrian and Logan both turned.
Dean stood there, his shoulders squared, his chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. But his eyes—his eyes were red, and when the tears finally slipped free, he didn’t wipe them away.
“Remember what I told you,” Dean said, his voice cracking, raw. “I wasn’t kidding.”
Logan met his gaze, something unreadable flashing between them.
Logan looked at him. Something flickered behind his eyes, something quiet, protective, knowing. “I know,” Logan said. He smiled, just barely, just enough to mean something. “See you in a few months, Dean.”
And then, with one last look, one last breath, they turned and walked away.
Dean lingered at the airport, the weight of emotions anchoring him in place, as he observed the bustling crowd around him.
The bright lights and distant announcements faded into a blur, mirroring his scattered thoughts.
Finally, gathering his resolve, he turned away, navigating through the labyrinth of memories in his mind, eventually making his way back to the car.
With a heavy heart, he steered toward the solitude of an empty apartment, each kilometer echoing the silence he felt within.