December 24, 2020—Seattle, Washington—A Month Later #3
Careful of the IV in Adrian’s arm, thin and pale beneath skin that bruised too easily now.
Careful of the central line threaded into his chest, a lifeline and a threat all at once.
Careful of the dark blooms of bruises along his ribs, the new sharpness of bone beneath skin that had once been golden and strong.
Careful of how easily the body he loved seemed to be slipping away beneath his hands.
He slid an arm around Adrian, drew him in with infinite gentleness, fitting their bodies together in the small space. He pressed his face into the hollow where Adrian’s neck met his shoulder, breathed in the scent that was still his, beneath the antiseptic and the faint odor of saline.
And in that moment, there was no hospital. No beeping machines. No time ticking away at the edges of their fragile peace.
This was home.
Adrian sighed softly with content, melting into Logan’s embrace, into the warmth, into the familiarity of them. His body, fragile as it was, still fit perfectly against Logan’s, like it always had. Like it always would.
“You need to sleep, Lo.”
Logan answered not with words but with a kiss, pressed to Adrian’s cheek, slow and lingering, lips resting there as though he could drink him in, absorb him, carry him beneath his skin.
As if the sheer force of loving him might be enough to keep him here, in this bed, in this life, for just a little longer.
”I’ll just close my eyes for a while,” Logan mumbled.
Adrian breathed out quietly, a sound that held understanding and love and grief all woven together.
And as Logan began to drift, the weight of wakefulness loosening its grip, pulling him gently toward dreams, the last thing he heard was Adrian’s voice singing to him, a low hum, rough and thin.
Their song, unfurled in a low, smoke-rough murmur meant for his ears alone, a private lullaby, a spell uttered softly enough to carry him into that long-known ethereal garden of dreams, where the almost-s loosened their hold and sank back into the soil.
What had once survived only as a sanctuary of the imagined, conjured from hunger and ache, at last took form and weight.
Adrian was no longer a figure dreamed into being, but flesh and warmth and gravity, held, undeniably, within his arms.
Logan didn’t know how long he had slept, only that when he blinked himself back into consciousness, the room was softly glowing with lamplight, the low murmur of voices filling the air.
The sterile scent of the hospital was still present, but now it was mingled with the aroma of home-cooked food.
A soft draft brushed across his face, and as his eyes adjusted, he noticed the window slightly cracked open, letting in the December air.
It was freezing outside, but someone had opened it for Adrian.
The smell of food must have been too much.
His family was there.
He could hear Ann’s hushed, rapid-fire words, the excitement buzzing in her voice as she spoke to Adrian.
“Ann, be quiet! Your brother is sleeping, you know how exhausted he is,” Samantha scolded, but there was affection in her voice.
Logan stirred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and felt the solid warmth of Adrian still beside him. His heart tightened, his breath settling just knowing that Adrian was still there.
The soft rustling of bags and containers being placed on the small hospital table made Logan glance toward the cluster of people now filling the space.
Jane was unpacking something from a bag—food, from the smell of it. Samantha was watching Ann with amusement, while Ann, practically vibrating with curiosity, was already leaning toward Adrian, talking animatedly, her eyes bright with something between fascination and genuine care.
And then there was his father.
Standing by the door, still in his business suit, the tie loosened just slightly.
Their eyes met across the room.
His father was here.
That alone meant more than Logan could fully comprehend.
For years, his father had ignored him whenever he stepped out of line, whenever he wasn’t who he was supposed to be.
But now, he was standing in Adrian’s hospital room, holding a large bag filled with gifts while Cole carefully placed a small plastic Christmas tree in the corner.
And that meant everything.
“What are you doing here?” Logan asked, his voice hoarse with sleep, his fingers absentmindedly squeezing Adrian’s where they still lay between them.
He turned to Adrian, who was already looking at him with that small, knowing smile, the one that made sweat beads form on Logan’s skin and butterflies flutter in his stomach.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” Jane said matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
She arched a brow at him, her tone caught somewhere between exasperation and affection.
“You didn’t think we’d just sit at Mom and Dad’s like everything was fine while you were here, did you?
” She had that big sister voice, the one that was lined with “you’re stupid vibes” without ever saying the words.
Logan blinked at them—at all of them—his throat tightening as the weight of it settled behind his ribs. No. He hadn’t thought they would come. But here they were, every one of them, carrying Christmas with them into the pale light of this hospital room.
And so they stayed.
Through the night, through the slow passing of hours beneath the soft hum of machines, they sat together, sharing food, passing plates, laughter rising in gentle waves against the sterile air.
Samantha sat comfortably beside Adrian on the small couch in the softly lit room.
Her voice was bright and inviting, imbued with warmth and a relaxed ease, as if they had known each other for years.
She asked him questions effortlessly, her tone friendly and curious, eager to learn more about him.
Logan could see how it steadied Adrian, how it drew something soft across his features that had not been there in weeks.
And Logan, with Jane’s little girl tucked in his arms, let himself lean into that moment. He played with her through the evening, making faces, whispering nonsense sounds that sent her into fits of delighted giggles, her tiny hands reaching for his nose, for his chin.
Adrian watched them with a gaze that shimmered, the corners of his mouth tilting up in a smile that spoke of longing and love all at once.
“Wanna meet Uncle Adrian?” Logan cooed, voice soft as he shifted Olivia closer, mindful of the lines trailing from Adrian’s body, of the fragility beneath the smile.
Olivia gurgled, babbled something that might have been agreement, her hands reaching again. Logan held her carefully, close enough for Adrian to see her, to let her tiny fingers curl against his own trembling ones.
And Adrian melted, a soft sound leaving him, a tenderness pooling in his gaze as he traced every inch of her with his eyes, as though memorizing her for some future that felt both too near and too far.
Later, over dessert, Jane leaned back in her chair with a knowing smirk. “You know,” she said, her voice full of teasing affection, “you used to swear you’d never be the kind of guy who got all gooey-eyed over a baby. I think I’m watching you eat those words, little brother.”
Logan rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it, only a quiet glow beneath the weariness.
Even their father, slow to thaw as he always had been, began to soften by degrees. A word here. A faint smile there. And in the hush that followed one shared glance between them all—a breath caught between one heartbeat and the next—the world, for just a moment, felt almost okay.