July 17, 2021—Seattle, Washington—Four Months Later #8
“Came to check on the guy you drank oceans of whiskey over,” Zack said, smirking, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
It was meant to be a joke.
And yet, Logan felt it.
Adrian let out a small chuckle, and Logan, almost instinctively, smiled back at him—a silent, Are you okay? in his gaze.
Adrian gave him a soft nod, his lips tilting up just a little, and Logan hadn’t even realized how tense he had been until it suddenly eased from his body.
He exhaled.
Zack cleared his throat, drawing Logan’s attention back. His hand was still fidgeting in his pocket, fingers twitching like they were clutching something important.
And then—
Zack pulled his hand out.
In his palm sat a small, familiar object.
A bracelet.
Logan froze.
His breath caught. His heart stopped.
“Oh my god.” His voice came out as a whisper, barely there, like a prayer. His feet moved before he could think, taking him toward Zack, toward the object in his hand—toward the last piece of Adrian’s soul he had ever been entrusted with.
“Is that—?” Logan gasped, his voice tight.
“Yeah.” Zack nodded, clearing his throat as he handed it to Logan.
With trembling fingers, Logan took it, the familiar woven threads brushing against his skin, delicate yet unbreakable. He felt as if he was holding time itself. Like holding Adrian’s past, his love, his sacrifice.
Adrian inhaled sharply, his eyes locked on the bracelet—the one he had once given away with his whole heart.
A tear slipped down Adrian’s cheek, silent and unannounced, as Logan reached out and placed it in his hands.
Adrian clutched it instantly, his fingers curling around the worn threads, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His mother’s bracelet. The last tangible piece of her, the last thing she had given him before the sickness had taken her.
Imma. Mom.
The room felt too small.
Too full of emotions none of them knew how to hold.
“Did you find it?” Logan asked breathlessly. “How? When?”
Zack shifted, exhaling slowly.
“I didn’t find it.” He glanced between them before settling his dark gaze on Logan. He took a breath. “I took it.”
Logan’s head snapped up. “What?” He blinked, stunned, confused, unraveling. “What do you mean?” His voice was softer now, almost afraid.
Zack’s voice faltered, his dark eyes drifting somewhere beyond the present, as if he were rewinding through the nights, the moments, the quiet suffering that had led them all here.
“You were…” he started, then stopped, inhaling sharply.
Zack was remembering it. The empty bottles at the bar, the shadow underneath his eyes, remnants of countless sleepless nights.
Logan would sit in the dim, flickering glow of his apartment, staring into the abyss, lost in the phantoms of his own creation.
Logan was physically beside him, yet a thousand miles away in spirit.
There was always a sadness lingering at the edge of his gaze, a perpetual shadow that seemed to cling to him.
It was as if he was everlastingly teetering on the brink of a collapse, his smile a rare and almost wistful sight.
His demeanor was forced, a mask of feigned normalcy, struggling to conceal the turmoil that brewed just beneath the surface.
It was a painful dance of existence, where connection felt elusive and the weight of his unspoken thoughts loomed heavy in the air.
“You were spiraling,” Zack finally remarked, his voice softer now. “You were... absent.” Those words barely captured the depth of the sorrow residing within Logan, which Zack had observed, but that was all he offered.
Logan felt something heavy press against his chest, something suffocating, something familiar.
“I couldn’t watch you like that anymore,” Zack continued, his voice raw. “You weren’t just drinking—you were disappearing. You were disconnected, guarded, drowning in your own misery, and no matter what I said, no matter what I did, I couldn’t reach you.”
He exhaled, glancing at Adrian, and for the first time, something flickered in his expression—something like jealousy, but softer. More resigned.
Because Zack had always cared for Logan.
Perhaps it had begun as something casual, an ease between them, yet somewhere along the way it deepened, almost imperceptibly, until it was no longer casual at all but something heavier, more luminous, dangerous in its tenderness.
And Adrian, watching, had recognized it at once, because he knew the signs too well; he had, after all, surrendered his own heart to Logan in a single instant, a surrender so complete it had frightened him, and it was that very knowledge—that soft and devastating recognition—that made him see it mirrored in another without effort, as if pain could recognize its twin in love.
“I knew there was no breaking through to you. No saving you. You were too far gone, too lost in your own pain.” His voice dipped, quieter. “But I knew you had a weird attachment to that bracelet.”
Logan stiffened.
“And I knew about Adrian.” Zack smiled faintly, but it was laced with something bittersweet. “You called for him that night. Over and over. You begged me to find him. You don’t even remember it, but you did. You were wasted, barely able to stand, and yet… you called his name.”
Logan’s stomach twisted in a mix of anxiety and confusion, the events of that fateful night shrouded in a fog of forgotten memories.
It was the night when he first listened to Adrian’s song, each note weaving through his mind like a bittersweet spell.
But the night spiraled out of control as he drank deeply, drowning the haunting refrains until they blurred and vanished from his thoughts, along with any trace of Adrian himself.
Zack told him, on the same day when he sent him to search for Adrian, about the event of that night, which Logan could only imagine.
“So I thought… maybe if you no longer had it, maybe if I took away the one thing tying you to the past, it would force you to move. To do something—anything—other than just sitting there and letting yourself decay.” Zack let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, as if still uncertain whether it had been the right thing to do. “And I was right.”
Logan stared at Zack, his fingers tightening around the bracelet, his heart pounding.
“You took it?” His voice was quiet, but laced with something else—something he couldn’t even define.
A part of him wanted to be angry.
Wanted to yell.
Because Zack had seen him in those dark, miserable moments—without the bracelet, without anything to hold onto. Zack had seen the hopelessness, the madness that had crept into Logan’s bones, the empty, aching rage that consumed him.
And he had done nothing.
Or had he?
Logan’s chest heaved, his thoughts tangled in knots.
Because Zack hadn’t done nothing.
Zack had forced his hand. Zack had unknowingly set everything into motion.
Because without the bracelet, Logan had felt an unbearable emptiness. And in that void, he had finally realized what he had to do.
That loss had pushed him.
That absence had led him home.
His throat felt tight.
He looked down at the bracelet in his hands, then up at Zack, and something shifted inside of him.
“Thank you.”
Zack blinked, as if he hadn’t expected that response.
“And thank you for giving it back,” Logan added, a small smile breaking through the storm in his chest.
Then, before he could think too much about it, he stepped forward, pulling Zack into a brief but firm hug.
Zack stiffened for a second—surprised, maybe—but then relaxed, patting Logan’s back awkwardly before they pulled apart.
Logan met his gaze. “You are a good friend.” His voice was steady now, certain. “And I’m lucky to have you.”
Zack swallowed, looking away for a second, then smirked, but it was softer this time—more genuine.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sentimental on me.”
But his eyes told Logan he had needed to hear that.
The door swung open again, and Dr. Tierney walked in with his usual calm, professional demeanor.
“Adrian,” he greeted warmly, his voice smooth as he approached the bed. “How are we feeling? Has anything changed since the morning? Any nausea? Irregular pain?”
He approached the bed with quiet confidence, scanning the tablet in his hand while Adrian lifted his head slightly, answering in a voice that tried to be stronger than it felt.
Logan sat beside him, one hand resting on the blanket near Adrian’s hip, thumb tracing slow, mindless circles into the fabric—a silent form of grounding, or maybe prayer.
Dr. Tierney listened, nodding, tapping something into his tablet. His brow furrowed with concentration, but not concern. Not yet.
Logan noticed the shift before it happened.
From the corner of the room, Zack straightened.
It was subtle—shoulders back, chin lifted, a quiet tension building like a ripple across still water.
His fingers ran through his dark hair with casual flair, and then he tugged the hem of his sweater, adjusting it just enough to let it fall better across his frame.
Logan sighed internally. Here we go.
As Dr. Tierney leaned forward slightly to check Adrian’s vitals, Zack took a step closer.
Not intrusive, but deliberate—like gravity had shifted slightly and pulled him into the orbit of the doctor.
His gaze had sharpened, eyes scanning Dr. Tierney from head to toe with a look that was somewhere between admiration and slow undressing.
Dr. Tierney, for his part, remained focused. At least, he tried to.
Zack cleared his throat, it was a little too loud, a little too performative. “Doc,”
Dr. Tierney turned, polite, measured. “Yes?”
Zack’s mouth curved into a smile, one that radiated wicked charm.
“Could you maybe check me out too?”
Logan froze mid-breath. Oh no. Not here. Not now.
Dr. Tierney blinked in surprise, a fleeting flicker of amusement—or perhaps disbelief—dancing across his features.
A subtle blush crept onto his cheeks, a clear indication of the double entendre that Zack had intended with his words, fully aware of the effect they would have.
After a brief pause, Dr. Tierney took a moment to gather himself, restoring his composed demeanor once more.
“If you’re not feeling well,” he said carefully, “you can head to the nurses’ station. They’ll—”
“No,” Zack replied, drawing the word out like melted caramel. He tilted his head, letting his voice drop an octave. “I’m actually feeling... very, very weak.”
Adrian coughed—whether from the remnants of laughter or illness, it was hard to tell.
Zack stepped forward again, closer now. Too close.
“It started,” he continued, voice thick with mock seduction, “right when you walked into the room.”
Logan dropped his face into his hands with a groan. “Oh my god.”
Adrian let out a soft, wheezing laugh and quickly pulled the blanket over his face, shoulders shaking with silent amusement.
Dr. Tierney stood completely still, the tension in his posture betraying how hard he was working to maintain composure. His grip tightened on the tablet. His jaw clenched once, then relaxed. Very slowly, he turned back to Adrian, as if Zack had simply ceased to exist.
“I’ll come back once your... visitor is finished,” he said with surgical neutrality.
Adrian, still catching his breath from laughter, simply nodded, wiping the moisture from the corner of his eye. It had been so long since he had laughed like that, really laughed.
The door clicked softly shut behind Dr. Tierney, and the moment it did, Logan turned slowly to Zack, giving him a look so dry it could’ve been dust.
“Really?” he said, voice flat, unimpressed, the rim of his coffee cup hovering inches from his mouth.
Zack, utterly unfazed, simply placed a dramatic hand over his chest, feigning a swoon like some lovesick character in a play.
“What?” he said, blinking innocently. “I think I’m coming down with something. A fever. Maybe even a... burning sensation. Somewhere serious.”
Adrian wheezed.
He burst out laughing all over again—loud, uncontrollable, and full-bodied.
The kind of laugh that made his chest ache, that left his lungs searching for breath.
He curled slightly to the side, gripping the blanket like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.
For a few glorious moments, the weight of his illness lifted.
He was just a man in bed, laughing with two idiots.
The sound of it cracked something open in Logan. He fought it, tried to keep his face neutral, but then his lips betrayed him—curling into a smile, then a grin, and finally, he gave in and started laughing too.
Zack, ever victorious, leaned back against the wall with the smug satisfaction of a man who’d just won a silent war.
“But seriously, though,” he mumbled under his breath, “that doctor is hot.”
Logan let out a long, exhausted groan, scrubbing his hands over his face like he could erase the moment.
“Please,” he muttered through his palms, “don’t mess with the doctor. I’m paying him way too much money, and I really need him to focus on Adrian. Not on... whatever seduction campaign you’re currently strategizing.”
Zack didn’t even pretend to hear him.
His gaze was still locked on the door Dr. Tierney had disappeared through, eyes narrowed like a hawk tracking prey.
“You think he swings my way?” he asked, tilting his head, genuinely pondering the odds.
Logan just stared at Zack. “He’s literally here to help Adrian not die.”
Zack pushed off the counter like a man with purpose, smoothing the front of his sweater and running a hand through his hair one more time. His smirk had returned—sharpened, lethal, impossible.
“Well, my dear friends,” he declared, voice all velvet and mischief, “before the hot doctor slips away forever, I’m going to finish what I started.”
Logan’s eyes went wide. “Zack, no—”
But Zack was already halfway to the door, striding out like he was walking into a battlefield he planned to seduce.
Adrian was shaking his head before the door even closed behind him.
“He has no limits,” he said, grinning.
Logan sighed heavily, surrendering to the inevitable chaos of Zack’s wake. He handed Adrian the tea he had gotten him and then slumped into the chair beside the bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “None at all.”