Page 146 of Written in the Waves
But he would never tell him how much he loved him.
He would never let himself love another soul, because there was no one else who could fill the hollow space Adrian would leave behind.
He would carry Adrian with him, in the quiet corners of his mind, in the pieces of his shattered soul. He would remember him on the beaches, in the sunlight, in the salt spray of the ocean—those golden days that had given him more life than he’d ever known. But he would never set foot in the water again. The waves, the horizon, the freedom he once loved—they would be too much to bear. They would whisper of Adrian, of what he had lost, and Logan would never survive it.
He would return to his life as everyone expected, slipping back into the role of a Vaughn, the name heavy on his shoulders. He would walk the path laid out for him, play the part everyone demanded. But he wouldn’t surrender, not entirely. They could have his body, his presence, his compliance. But his mind, his heart, the fractured pieces of his soul—those would remain untouched. Those would stay here, forever bound to the man he loved.
Logan moved through the room like a thief in the night, collecting the scattered clothes Adrian had peeled off him just hours ago. Each piece felt heavy in his hands, as if they carried the weight of all the moments that had led to this one. He pulled them on quickly, the familiar fabric clinging to his body like a memory he couldn’t shake, then slipped his sneakers back on, the laces trembling beneath his fingers.
He walked to the nightstand, each step a battle to keep himself from falling apart. His tears wouldn’t stop, carving silent rivers down his cheeks as he picked up his laptop and charger, sliding them into his half-empty bag. He grabbed his phone, his wallet, his body moving on autopilot, though his soul was rooted firmly to the man sleeping just a few feet away.Slinging the bag over his shoulder, it felt like nothing compared to the crushing agony in his chest.
His hand lingered on the fabric of one of Adrian’s shirts—the one Adrian loved most, the one he wore constantly despite its frayed edges. Logan brought it to his face, inhaling deeply, his chest heaving at the scent that was so unmistakably Adrian. It was a blessing and a curse, the smell forever etched into the fibers of the shirt, a cruel reminder of everything he was walking away from. His fingers tightened around the delicate cloth, folding it with care, longing to carry a sliver of Adrian into the solitude of sleepless nights, to have his scent whispering sweet nothings in the dark. Yet, at the final moment, he hesitated; the shirt slipped from his grip, falling softly to the floor. For though it might have offered warmth, that comfort would forever be tainted by the shadows of his aching heart.
His gaze fell on the memory book Adrian had made for his birthday. His hand hovered over it, trembling, as he bit his lip to keep from sobbing aloud. The cry that caught in his throat was raw, threatening to spill over, but he swallowed it back and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Opening the album, he stared at the beautiful images—the photos of him, of them, together, their love captured in every frame. It was too much. He closed it abruptly, his breath hitching, because he knew. If he took it with him, he would come back. He would find his way back to Adrian, and that was a weakness he couldn’t afford.
Logan glanced at his wrist, the little lifesaver bracelet catching the early morning light. His fingers brushed over it, the small charm and worn thread feeling like a tether, a lifeline that kept him connected to Adrian even now. He thought about leaving it, about placing it atop the memory book as a quiet goodbye. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t take it off, couldn’tsever that final connection. It was just days ago when Logan vowed to never part with that bracelet, to never take it off. Maybe, deep down, a part of him didn’t want to let go entirely. Maybe he needed to carry this small piece of Adrian, a silent marker of the man who had saved him in every possible way. Something that whispered,you belong to him.
The pain in Logan’s chest was unbearable as he turned back to the bed. Adrian lay there, his brown sun-kissed hair scattered over the pillow, soft strands catching the first rays of light. His tanned skin glowed, the muscles of his back rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. He looked like a dream, like everything good Logan had ever known wrapped into one perfect person. The sight was too much to bear, and Logan’s tears came harder, his vision blurring as he memorized the scene: the first light painting Adrian like a masterpiece, the bed still warm with the remnants of their love.
Together, they were thalassic, carrying in their veins the same ancient tides, the same saltwater that bound them inseparably to each other—the same currents that spoiled and sanctified them in a single rhythm. And when Logan left, it was in vain; for the blood in his body would keep dragging him back toward the ocean of his existence, only now his ocean had a name: Adrian.
So, Logan turned away from the warm bed, and by doing so, he was leaving behind the man whose love for him was so deep it starved him for breath, trembling violently in his wake. He left everything behind—his surfboard, his camera, his wetsuit, most of his clothes. But more than that, he left behind the love of his life. The man of his dreams. The man he hadn’t known he needed until it was too late.
Everything that he loved, everything that he cared about remained in that room.
The man who had saved him in every way a person could be saved.
He stood at the door, one hand trembling on the handle, every bone in his body shaking as if it knew the betrayal he was about to commit. Behind him, Adrian slept, the rise and fall of his chest steady, peaceful, unguarded. Logan’s mind screamed for his legs to move, but his soul clung stubbornly to the room, to the bed, to the man who was still his anchor. The simplest act—pressing down, pulling open, walking away—felt impossible, as if gravity itself conspired to hold him here.
He lingered, devouring the sight of Adrian’s sleeping form, clinging to it as though his gaze alone could etch it into eternity. In the silence, he prayed for interruption, begged for mercy—for Adrian to stir, to wake, to catch him in the betrayal of leaving. To rise and seize him by the wrist, to call him a fool and drag him back from the edge. To banish the storm of panic with words he could almost hear:It’s okay, ahuv sheli. Everything is okay. I love you. Just breathe, just stay, just be with me.
A sob ripped loose. He pressed his forehead against the door, but his eyes stayed fixed on Adrian. This cabin, this room, this bed—they were the last place on earth where air existed. Beyond these walls stretched only emptiness, a world stripped of breath and light. To leave was to step into a vacuum, to walk willingly into death.
Logan Vaughn was the one who walked out of that room. But Logan remained behind. The real Logan lingered there, scattered like seafoam across the floor of the tiny cabin, fragile and untethered, a fleeting trace of his true self left behind in the place where it was safe to exist.
Logan had also left his heart in that room, shattered and bleeding, every ounce of joy he had ever felt now forever etched into Adrian’s existence. Loving Adrian had been the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to him. But love, like love, had cut him deeply. Letting someone in, allowing another soul to reach places within him that he’d kept hidden for so long, had left scars. Scars that ran deep, burning and bleeding with every step Logan took away from the life he’d built with Adrian.
The thought of never seeing Adrian again, never hearing his voice, never gazing into his whiskey-colored eyes—it tore at Logan’s chest like claws. Never watching Adrian break through the surface of the ocean, his golden hair glistening like the sun on water. Never feeling his kisses, or hearing the soft whimpers he made when he came. Never running his fingers through Adrian’s hair as it spilled in wild, sunlit waves across his face. Never hearing his steady, grounding voice when Logan’s thoughts became a jumbled mess. The weight of all he would lose crushed him, but he kept moving.
He ran down the street, his tears blurring the world around him, and flagged the first cab he saw. Sliding into the backseat, Logan told the driver to take him to the closest airport. Then he buried his face in his hands and cried. He cried harder than he ever had, his sobs ragged and filled with a pain he couldn’t contain. His cries turned to soft whimpers, and then back to sobs, his grief spilling out like a storm that wouldn’t end.
The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror, concern flickering in his eyes. More than once, he asked Logan if he was all right, if there was anything he could do. But there was nothing anyone could do. Nothing could fix the ache that hollowed out Logan’s chest, leaving him raw and empty.
Logan’s intentions were good. At least, that’s what he told himself. His heart insisted Adrian deserved better—someone who could give him the stability, the future, the love that Logan wasn’t capable of providing. Adrian had already given Logan everything, and it was too much. Love was too much.
It wasn’t malice or selfishness that drove Logan away; it was fear. Fear that he would ruin what they had. Fear that he would hurt Adrian by staying, by dragging him into the wreckage that Logan felt he was. So, he left. Not to escape love, but to protect Adrian from it.
The cab came to a stop, and Logan paid the driver, his hands trembling as he handed over the cash. He walked into the airport in a daze, the bright lights and bustling crowds a blur. At the ticket counter, he bought the first flight out, barely registering the clerk’s words or the destination printed on his ticket. The noise of the terminal washed over him, muted and distant, drowned out by the voice in his head.
It was his heart, calling him a fool, yearning for him to turn around, to go back to where air still existed. It echoed the sound of his soul shuddering, a haunting melody. Thus began a numbing sensation, creeping in slowly, battling with an intense desire to feel, to embrace the light once more.
And then—then—Logan Vaughn sat at the busy airport.
The End…for now!
