The Book #2
But the ink didn’t warm under his touch.
The pages didn’t beat with a pulse.
Guest was gone.
But God, he had loved him.
Chance's hands trembled as he flipped to the next section of the notebook, the pages growing more worn and fragile with every turn. The ink felt like it might slip from the paper if he wasn’t careful.
The words that greeted him now were different.
There was no more pain, no more haunting regret.
Instead, there was a warmth—a tenderness that caught him off guard.
These pages, these words, were not filled with the dark confessions of someone on the edge, but with the quiet joy of someone discovering something new.
Guest had started writing about Chance.
"When I first met him, I thought it was just another face. Another person who would look at me and see the broken parts, the ones that could never be fixed. But then he smiled at me. Just smiled. Like he didn’t care about the scars, the ghosts I carried with me.
It was so simple. But it felt like he’d given me a moment of peace. "
Chance’s heart fluttered, the words like a balm to his broken soul.
The memories came rushing back—early mornings spent together, stolen moments in the quiet of their shared space.
Guest had been careful, hesitant at first, but eventually, Chance had seen him soften, like the man was learning to trust again.
"There’s something about the way he holds me. It’s like he doesn’t have to say a word. Like his presence is enough to quiet the storm inside of me. I could be falling apart, but when he’s close, I feel... safe."
Chance leaned his head against the back wall, eyes squeezing shut as his pulse quickened. Guest had trusted him. Trusted him in ways Chance had never truly understood until now.
"The way he looks at me is different from anyone else. It’s like he sees through me, but not in a way that makes me feel exposed. He sees the parts of me that I’m scared to even acknowledge. And he doesn’t look away."
The way Chance had always looked at him—so full of admiration, so deeply in love with everything about Guest, even when he didn’t believe he was worthy of it. And Guest had seen that. He had seen him.
Chance let out a shaky breath, the quiet ache in his chest deepening. He turned the page, desperate for more, even as the pain twisted within him.
"There was this moment today. I don’t know why it stands out, but it does.
He was sitting across from me, the sunlight catching his eyes.
And he just smiled. This smile. It wasn’t like the ones he usually gives, all guarded and careful.
This one was soft. It was... real. And I thought—maybe I’m not such a lost cause after all. "
Chance’s hand hovered over the next lines, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He had wanted so badly to be the person who could make Guest feel whole again.
"He talks to me sometimes, but it’s never forced. It’s like he knows when I need space, but he’s there, quietly, waiting for me to speak up. He never pushes, never rushes. I don’t know if he knows how much that means to me."
Chance’s chest tightened, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if he could somehow block out the tears threatening to fall.
He had been there for him. He had tried. Every day, he had tried to be the person that Guest could lean on, even when the weight of their shared silence felt too heavy.
"I think I could fall in love with him. If I let myself."
The words rang through Chance’s head, louder than they had before. He could feel the aching truth in them. He had known—he had known this was where it was all headed. It had always been more than just a friendship between them, but now… now it was too late.
Guest had wanted him. Had wanted this. Had wanted them.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, the tears slipping down his cheeks despite his efforts to hold them back. He turned to the next page, trembling.
"I don't know why, but there's a part of me that’s scared. Scared of how much I need him. Scared that if I let myself need him too much, I’ll lose him. But it doesn’t matter. I think I want to lose myself in him, anyway. I think I want to keep going, no matter how much it hurts."
Chance choked on his breath. The words blurred on the page as he gripped the notebook harder. The ache in his chest threatened to suffocate him.
They had never spoken about it. Never said the words out loud—I love you. But they didn’t need to. Not when it was this clear, not when it had always been there, unsaid, between every quiet touch, every glance, every shared moment.
"I think I’ve found something I’m willing to fight for. For the first time in a long time, there’s something in my life worth holding onto."
Chance felt his heart crack wide open. These were the words Guest had never said to him face to face, but had written down all the same. And now—now it was just ink on paper, his love, his feelings, left behind in the silence.
He wiped his tears away roughly, trying to steady himself, trying to breathe through the pain. He reached for the last pages of the notebook, almost afraid of what he would find, but needing to know.
The last few lines were written carefully, like Guest had taken his time, wanting to make sure the words were perfect.
"I’m scared of the future. But when I’m with him, I think maybe I could learn to love it. Maybe I could learn to live again."
Chance's hand trembled against the paper, the ink still fresh in his mind, the weight of it pressing down on him. The last piece of Guest he had left, a part of him that had never been fully spoken, now printed in front of him.
With a broken sigh, Chance closed the notebook gently, holding it to his chest as if he could somehow hold onto what was lost.
Guest had wanted to live. Guest had wanted them.
And Chance, broken as he was, would carry that love with him for as long as he could breathe.
The fire in the hearth had long since died to embers, casting only faint shadows across the cabin's walls. Outside, the wind had returned to its soft, mournful whisper, swaying the trees like a lullaby to the restless soul inside.
Chance sat still, the notebook still held tightly against his chest. His breath was shaky, uneven, but the tears had slowed now, leaving him raw, hollow. The pages were all turned. All the words had been read.
And still—there was nothing. Nothing that could fill the void left by Guest. Nothing that could bring him back.
He had loved him.
The thought echoed in his mind, a painful refrain, something he couldn't escape. Guest had wanted to live. Guest had wanted them. And Chance, despite the overwhelming grief, would carry that truth—carry that love—for as long as he drew breath.
But the rest of the pages were empty.
The words ended there.
Forever...
With a quiet, broken breath, Chance closed the notebook carefully, his fingers lingering on the cover for a moment longer than necessary. He held it close to him as if it could somehow shield him from the world outside, the weight of it a reminder of what once was.
He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, his head hung low, eyes closed tight against the darkness, the silence.
And when the tears came again, they were quieter now—fewer, but deeper.
The room was still. The wind had quieted.
And all that was left, was the echo of love.